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Chapter Text

PERCY Jackson knew that after fighting a war, seeing his friends die and kill others with his own hands, one was expected to be a bit wary of sleep and dreams. As a rule, nightmares happened after traumatic or tragic experiences, and Percy had by far enough of those for several lifetimes.

Being attacked by your teacher at age 11 and stumbling into a life full of monsters, fighting and killing, was just the start of the incredible complex and traumatizing life of a demigod. And as a son of Poseidon, Percy already had his work cut out for him in that department since birth.

Getting knocked out and thrown back in time, where he had (more or less voluntarily) joined the biggest and most dangerous sea voyage in history, watching friends get smashed by clubs, a whole fleet drown, a monster snacking on humans and the King of Gods smiting everyone that was left, was still a much harder thing to live through.

Because when people died, they stayed dead.

All those monsters? Yeah no, those fuckers would be back again either in a few months or years to haunt him again. So, it wasn’t their deaths that should keep Percy from getting a few hours of shut eyes. It was much more plausible for all the humans and mortals, that had perished during the war, to haunt him at every waking moment.

Because some (or most) of them had died because of his actions, by his sword.

Even after all the tragedy and horrors he had witnessed in the past, their deaths weighing on his soul would be more than logical. It was almost a requirement at this point, seeing how his friends and fellow survivors at Camp Half-Blood were regularly plagued by night terrors or crying sessions because of all the things they were forced to do during the war.

Maybe that was why Percy had stayed away from camp for most of the past few months.

He couldn’t look into the faces, drawn tight from grief and loss and pain, and fake himself feeling the same. Because he didn’t. He didn’t feel bad about all he had done to save Olympus, or all demigods he had to kill for it. Maybe there was a pinch of regret for the youngest of them, being groomed by Kronos from the very start, but the son of Poseidon had given them all a second chance after the battle of the Labyrinth. It wasn’t his fault for them not taking it. And after that offer, he had only acted like all his experiences and his heart had taught him.

He understood his father now. Maybe better than ever before. Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

But he also kept the other advice he had been given, a time long past, close to his heart.

Ruthless does not mean cruel.

And with this, they had circled back to his original problem. Because Percy Jackson did not have trouble sleeping because of possible nightmares (at least, not the ones people thought he would - and should - have), but because he feared seeing nothing at all in his dreams

He feared (dreaded) not seeing him.

His Dream-Boy. Telemachus.

Because every dream without him felt hollow, useless, irrelevant. Everything else he saw, when sleep claimed him, seemed artificial or forced. The only exception were nightmares about the prince fighting, hurting or dying. But those were rare and after a while, Percy stopped fearing them. No, instead he even began to crave them. As a connection, a chance to see those beautiful caramel eyes again. Even if it tore his heart to shreds.

Some would think that after over three years of no lucid dreams, the pain of separation would pass, the longing cease and the agony of still hoping would dim. But none of that happened.

Percy was still hoping (pleading) to see him again.

So much so, that the demigod began imagining things.

He would turn around randomly when a thought struck him and he wanted to share it, expecting to see his friend somewhere close by, but there never was anything beside him.

Not even the strange feeling at the back of his neck had stayed. The one that made him felt watched and appraised, but in a good way. A secure way. Like someone was hanging over his shoulder. A silent watcher and quiet support. It had felt so much like Telemachus, that sometimes the demigod even hallucinated a version of his friend helping him in his most dangerous of perils. Like Telemachus trying to hold the sky with him, showing him the weak spot in his fight against Kampe, helping him level a mountain, coming with him to Calypso’s Island and pulling him out of the Styx.

But the most vibrant vision had to be the one during his fight against Kronos. Because Percy could’ve sworn it wasn’t him that plunged the sword into the Titan’s armpit. He had been way too busy holding his blood down on the ground to do anything else (just another thing he should probably think more about). But when the gods appeared, no one had mentioned anything, and all his mumbled explanations were waved off as exhaustion. Not even Hestia had said a word about it.

And now, the feeling was gone.

It hadn’t returned since that fateful day of the Olympian council.

It felt like the last piece connecting him to a part of his life (that was more dream than reality at this point) had vanished. Leaving him all alone. Drowning in his feelings of sorrow and grief and longing.

No one could understand him. Not even Grover. Not even Annabeth.

Both of his friends were busy or distant or both. Especially Annabeth. She blamed him for Luke’s death, had accused him of not trying hard enough to save him. (Which was fair, but what other choice did he have? Luke had been the enemy. Killing him was something the son of Poseidon couldn’t even bother to pretend regretting.)

Anyway, it was too hard for Percy to be around them right now, faking feelings of regret he did not have and masking all those negative ones he did feel. It was exhausting and not worth the trouble.

Only his Mom understood. Or she tried to, at least. She didn’t expect him to feel a certain way, or forced him to speak. Which was most likely why he did it anyway. Talking to his Mom was therapeutic and relaxing (not in the same way that conversations with Telemachus were, but it was a close thing). She listened more than most without interrupting (only his Dream-Boy had found some way to always find the right point to intercept without aggravating him) and her hugs felt amazing. As did her blue cookies and pancakes and her… everything. Being with his Mom again was healing, but it was slow. A process that could not be rushed, as everyone was so fond of telling him (he mostly ignored those talks nowadays, refusing to meet anybody if they only wanted to ‘catch up’). But sometimes… it felt like the cracks in his heart were too big for even his mother’s magic.

Sally Jackson was a smart woman, and she most definitely saw him getting worse with every passing day, despite healing the wounds from the war. In trying to help him solve whatever ailed his heart and mind, she had sent Paul away for a weekend and took him back to their cabin in Montauk.

To spend time with just the two of them.

Buried in blankets, hot chocolate and blue cookies ready, sitting in front of a cozy fireplace, Percy finally found the courage to tell his Mom about his wish to see Telemachus again, and how hard the Fates had rebutted him. It made the hurt unbearable for a moment, but when he was pulled into a warm embrace and cooed over for such a long time it should have been embarrassing, the pain dimmed a bit.

His mother proceeded to ask after the exact wording of the goddesses, and after receiving that, she was quietly thinking, until Percy was already on his way to an exhausted nap.

“They only said that there was no way to get back with the help of a god. Not that there isn’t one at all. Maybe we just need to find something to take you there without godly interference.”, she mused softly after a while, and a jolt of hope sprang down his spine. The son of Poseidon turned around in her arms with big eyes and a quirked lip. “You think there is one?”, he whispered, as if speaking loudly would already break the delicate possibility.

Sally Jackson smiled fondly and full of love as she stroked through his hair: “I do. The Fates said you were always destined to come home. That must mean something.” He was confused

“But I am home?”, Percy said with a furrowed brow. His mother’s smile turned a bit sad, before she leaned in and touched her forehead with his. “Are you?”, she breathed, the question honest and vulnerable. The demigod shivered.

“Home is not always a place, sweetheart. Sometimes it is a person.”, continued his Mom, calm and sweet, not in the least judging. Still, Percy indigently exclaimed: “But you’re my person! You are my Mom!”

“And I will always be. But that doesn’t mean you won’t leave the nest someday.”, she soothed immediately, not letting him out of her hug and her presence that smelled so comforting. While she caressed his arms, her tone changed to something grave. 

“Your heart is very ill, Percy. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”, Sally began, and the demigod froze in guilt. A perfectly placed hand on his chest smothered the hard edges in his posture while simultaneously highlighting the (still very big) cracks in his heart (or mind, or soul, or- whatever).

Sally Jackson was not done with her observation: “It’s been like this for years, but never this dire. Something changed after last summer and I fear that if we don’t get you where you need to be, you will succumb to it. Death by heartbreak isn’t uncommon on Greek mythology…”

She did not sound disappointed, or hurt, or judging, but Percy still refused to meet her eyes.

He felt bare and tender, like his innermost being had been dragged under the hard and cold light of reality. Hearing his problems and their (possible, but very much exaggerated) consequences named so clearly was horrible, but surprisingly helpful. The son of Poseidon knew his Mom was right.

Maybe… until she started to appear unsatisfied or hurt, he should play along for a bit? Just to see where this train of thoughts would go? Playing with hypothetical scenarios could not be any more painful than this very real ache in his heart, right?

“But even if there is a way…what if I can’t come back? I don’t want to leave you alone… Or leave at all.” He hastily added the last part after a too-long second of hesitation. His Mom called him out immediately, but with a teasing smile instead of sounding upset: “Liar.” 

He huffed and bathed in her bell-like laugh, before the mood settled again and Sally continued in her typical warm tone: “Do not worry about me, little pearl. You could write me letters and pay Hermes to deliver them. Just a few centuries later. I will open a post box just for that.”

“You got that nickname from dad!”, Percy exclaimed, trying to change the subject. He couldn’t allow himself to examine that possibility as something that could be real.

(It could work…)

His Mom nudged him, noticing his trick, but for once not calling him out instantly: “I did. It fits.” She let her words hang in the air for a moment longer, giving Percy the time to think about her suggestion more deeply. The conclusion was ambiguous at best, and he voiced it: “That would still mean I’ll never see you again.”

“Maybe, but…can you keep a secret, Percy?” Was there a hint of nervousness in her voice? The demigod was intrigued and looked up into her face. She met his eyes clearly, but something unspoken in them pleaded for reassurance. “Of course.”, he gave it instantly. Sally Jackson breathed a deep, calming breath and pulled him even closer.

As flushed as they were, Percy could feel her heartbeat fluttering and the spasm of her fingers. He adapted her mood and felt himself starting to fidget, until his Mom finally spoke: “Sometimes… I have dreams of another life. Of a palace surrounded by water, a loving husband and a kind son. And that son has a friend, brave and strong. I am waiting for my husband to come home and then feel loved when he draws me into his arms. Does that sound familiar to you?”

It did. Way to familiar. It was a story as old as time. Told to thousands, especially Half-Bloods. But it couldn’t be…

Could it?

Percy felt his brain move in highspeed as he mumbled: “You think you were…”

“Yes.”, confirmed his Mom, so obviously glad and relieved that he believed her. She stormed on with the original topic, before the son of Poseidon even got enough brains together to form a question. “So you would not have to say goodbye to all of me.”, Sally smiled uncertainly, “And don’t forget your immortal family! You told me how kind Lady Amphitrite and Lord Triton treated you. They would still be there, no matter how far back you go. You would still have a family.”

The demigod didn’t answer, but both of the Jackson knew that something in his heart changed that evening.

-

They did not speak directly about it again, and they didn’t need to, because their goal was clear. His routine upon returning to Manhattan got upgraded and now included hours over hours in the library and every history museum in whole New York.

He and his mom looted all they could find regarding the control of time, writing history professors at universities, buying books and alleged original copies of ancient reports for so much money that Percy began treasure diving again.

His Dad did not ask what it was for, but he send a few pearls his way anyway.

Their apartment became a research center. Even Paul contributed every part of his time he could spare. No one mentioned Percy going back to school again (which was probably for the best; the demigod didn’t know how controlled he could be around overactive teenagers after all he’d been through). They even got the original Odyssey from Homer, but Percy refused to read it himself.

If he got back, he wanted to be spared the headache of trying to preserve some timeline. It would work out as it should anyway, otherwise the Fates wouldn’t have given him even a sliver of hope. He decided to take their cryptic message as all the permission he was going to get to mess with time again.

So, instead of him reading the book, they instructed Nico with it, after the son of Hades dropped in one day to check on him. Together with his Mom, the other demigod went through the many, many pages alone, but with the same depressive conclusion as all their other research yielded.

A big black hole of nothingness. 

They even cornered Chiron and Mr. D when they both visited Camp a week before Christmas to drop off a few presents for the year-rounders, and prayed to Athena for wisdom. But all they got were pitying glances and evasions. For days and then weeks and then months, they found nothing but hints that led to nothing, or fiction that was too fantastic to be real. And as much as Percy was ashamed of it, his thoughts became darker. All the roadblocks they met, especially from the divine world, only hammered home how hopeless his endeavor truly was. After being rebuked one too many times, the son of Poseidon refused to ask anyone else in Camp for help.

It fell upon Nico to get Malcolm to give up all the texts in the Athena cabin for research.

Asking Annabeth was out of the question.

The daughter of Athena was still a sore spot for Percy. They never reconciled after Luke’s death, as she was still convinced of him being some tragic and misunderstood hero. Percy refused to feed into that delusion, and they argued quite harshly about it before he gave up.

She was still distant and hurt (and a bit afraid of him, after all he had done in the battle of Manhattan, which he found hypocritical as Hades). He’d given everything he had to make sure their side was victorious. Only because it wasn’t with methods that met her moral compass, didn’t mean it had been wrong to use them. But after the third fight about him supposedly not holding back enough, the son of Poseidon was more than happy to reciprocate the distance between them.

So, getting help from her was as likely as Percy giving up in his endeavor completely.

Their break-up also didn’t help with feeling less lonely and isolated, nor did it make the slowly growing desperation and hopelessness go away.

Maybe he needed to find a way to deal with the fact that he could not keep his promise to Telemachus after all...    

But then the unexpected happened.    

Chapter Text

“PERCY?”, his mother’s voice sounded through the flat, “Honey, I think I found something.”

With great effort, the demigod heaved himself out of bed and trudged through the hallway into his mother's study, stepping over several stacks of books and a few loose papers. He didn’t even bother with changing out of the long pajama pants and the dirty hoodie he had worn the last few days. His mother had seen him in worse condition, and she would only bug him about changing when Paul came over this evening for dinner.

“What is it?”, he asked tiredly when he stepped up to her desk to look over her shoulder. She was reading a book about ancient trading costumes they had picked up last week in a tiny antique store near Central Park. It looked old and had yellow pages, with a cover that was maybe made from real leather…Not exactly proof of its authenticity, but they were out of options. Percy had tried reading it first, but it was by far the most boring and dry text he had ever laid eyes on and after two pages he wanted to chuck it out of the window. Not that his ADHD helped.

So, his Mom had taken to it and obviously found something interesting. Whether it concerned their actual search or was just some fun fact was 50/50 at this point. Sally Jackson had even started a dream journal in the hope of getting some hint that may help, but until now the only thing she had seen were further indicators that her soul was indeed connected in some way to Penelope of Ithaca. A rough sketch of the face of the boy in her dreams showed a few resemblances to Telemachus, which was enough for both of them, seeing as his Mom was no artist.

At least the knot in his heart whenever he thought about what he had to leave behind if they really found a way became a bit loose with that certainty. Their interactions had not changed much, but his Mom was far more prone to gather him into hugs or spontaneous cooking sessions, making photos left and right and babbling life advice that sounded like it came from the back of a cereal pack.

She printed the photos every week and glued them into two identical albums, but other than that, she made no mention of them potentially never seeing each other again.

Back to the book and what his mother had found, Percy leaned further and inhaled her smell of chocolate, licoricey and cookies, before his eyes focused on the pages. The right side showed a big picture of some parchment that was full of lists and tables in ancient Greek about the export of corn or something. But it wasn’t the contents that made his heart beat faster and his breath hitch.

It was the handwriting.

Small and perfectly placed, cursive letters that were fancy and diligently drawn in a scripture that he could recognize immediately.

He had seen Telemachus work on his homework enough times to remember the way his elegant hand floated over the paper in sure strokes, leaving behind exactly those kind of letters. Warmth burned through his chest and up in his throat, making his eyes itch with the telltale feeling of tears gathering. His breath was shaky and wet as he gently caressed the page with the tips of his fingers.

“That’s his writing.”, he said aloud for his Mom, “I recognize it.”

“I know.”, she agreed softly, pointing to the words under the picture. There it stood, black on white: Yearly export reports by Prince Telemachus of Ithaca, approximately/allegedly three years after Odysseus’ return.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he roughly brushed it away. The pain in his heart bloomed with bittersweet happiness that his friend got his father back after all and that they had lived together happily.

“But that’s not what I called you here for.”, she ventured and turned the page, showing many more texts and explanations, but her finger pointed to a little picture in the corner, showing a blue wax seal that was surprisingly simple.

It took him a second to understand why it was so familiar, but then he gasped loudly.

Without hesitation, Percy took Riptide and laid the sword in its ring form beside the page. The lonely trident, engraved on the wider side, without any decorations or other features, was identical to the one depicted on the wax seal. They were the same.

Before his brain caught up with what that meant, his mother was already pulling him into a crushing hug, while she beamed with a smile: “You can’t remember giving Riptide for something like this, right? And as amazing as Telemachus is, he did not have access to your Ring to draw its design in this detail, did he? That means you will make it back, Percy! You will get back to him and let him burrow your sigil for this seal!” She mushed his cheeks together, her eyes twinkling in joy and elevation when she moved his head around, shaking him a bit like a rag doll, while stressing: “Do. Not. Give. Up. Yet! We will get you there somehow, and this is the proof!”

It really was.

The cracks in his heart drew together a bit.

-

“Dinner’s ready!”, Paul called as he pulled the door of the apartment close behind him, keys jiggling. He stumbled into the living room with three big pizza boxes and a fond smile when he saw both Jacksons sitting between papers and books strewn around like a bomb had gone off. In the background was a documentary about the trojan war playing on TV, but no one was really paying attention. His Mom got up from her spot on the couch to help her fiancé with the pizza and let him get his jacket and shoes off. Percy ignored their loving whispers and the kiss on the cheek his mother gave Paul to focus on the Greek text of some long dead philosopher who wrote about the first titan war. He only grunted a hello, before someone in the documentary spoke the words ‘travel through time’, which made his head snap up immediately.

Unfortunately, after a few sweconds, it turned out to be just an introduction to the next part of the documentary, and the son of Poseidon couldn't suppress a disappointed sigh. He put the book away when his Mom and Paul came back from the kitchen and the man put a cheesy treasure of a meal in front of him. Percy mumbled a dejected: “Thank you.”

“No problem. Have you found something?”, the teacher asked and opened the floodgates to a lot of frustrated ranting with that. Both of the adults sat on the couch and began eating, letting Percy blow off steam until his stomach growled forcefully. While he was destroying his pizza, the room became comfortably quiet, and they all focused on the documentation for a bit.

“That’s a beautiful pearl you have there.”, Paul randomly said between to bites, “I’ve never noticed before, but the color is pretty unique.”

“Huh.”, respond Percy confused, before his brain caught up and he noticed that his free hand had once more drifted to his necklace, playing with the beads and tokens, lingering on the sky-blue pearl the longest. “Oh, yes.”, the demigod mumbled with a painful stab to the heart. Luckily, Paul didn’t saw his grimace and instead continued: “It is really fascinating. After you told me about…everything, I guess, I thought at first that it must be some kind of magical artifact. I have never heard of a natural pearl developing such a distinct shade. It even changes in the light, did you notice?”

“It does look a bit like the pearls you used years ago to trick your uncle Hades to escape the Underworld.”, agreed his Mom and pulled Percy out of his spiralling thoughts about caramel eyes and a smile of slightly crooked teeth.

“What? Oh yeah... Wait, you saw that? I thought you were frozen or asleep or something.” Percy was confused. This whole conversation was so much out of his comfort zone. Why were they talking about something that happened years ago?

Percy looked down at the pearl and needed to admit that it had very few imperfections for a natural grown pearl. His brows furrowed and he opened his necklace to get a better look, turning the blue token in its beautiful and intrinsic silver cage. Now that he scanned it without the emotion he connected with the pearl and its giver, the son of Poseidon saw where Paul was coming from.

The pearl was not only beautiful in its colour, but the shape was a perfectly round ball with no dents or discoloration. How curious.

As he turned the gift in his fingers, his mother answered his question with a playful shrug: “I was, but my senses worked.”

The demigod hummed, letting his hands with the necklace rest in his lap as he thought back to that first Quest and where he had gotten his escape route. “I think Amphitrite gave them to me on my father’s request.”, he mused, “She didn’t give me her name, but I think I can recognize her now… and she IS a nereid. She said to step on them if I were in trouble and that they would take me wherever I needed to be…” The words slowed down as something in the back of his head began to tickle, conjuring nearly the exact wording from somewhere deep in his brain. He did not know why, but his heart sped up when he recalled in a whisper: “…that whatever belongs to the sea would always return-” his breath hitched “…return to it.”

With big eyes, the son of Poseidon inspected the gift of his dearest friend once more.

“I found the pearl by the beach we were last time, sitting in the sand as if placed there for me to find.“

“You can touch it and let it take you away when another stressful situation comes.”

The words and the voice of his Prince circled through his mind and heart, merging with the instructions Amphitrite had given him for her pearls.

“Take me away…”, Percy breathed, straightening up, heart racing, “Take me wherever I needed to be…returning…coming back.”

Was it possible? Was it really this easy?

With the most trepidation he ever felt, the son of Poseidon carefully pulled on the power inside his gut, letting it settle over the pearl, waiting for something, anything, to tell him this was just another false trail.

Seconds stretched into an eternity, but then…

The sky-blue pearl, the same colour as Telemachus favourite chiton, the same colour as the string in the cave of the Fates…it pulsed. Weak and equally shy as Percy had reached for it, but it answered. Warmth and comfort and the smell of honey and parchment filled the apartment, and Percy did not even notice how he began to cry, how his heart soared and ever water in the living room floated upwards.

“Mom!”, he gasped. His blurry sea-green eyes caught her calm brown gaze. The smile on her face beautiful and full of love, of support.

“I think I got it!”

-

It took more preparations than expected to travel centuries in the past with no real way (or plan) to come back. Now that he had found his one-way ticket, a new kind of fire had lit up inside Percy and he threw himself at every new task that came up.

Until it was finally time.

Here he was, only one step away from going back. From seeing his Dream-Boy. For real. And only one step away from helping Odysseus get home.

(Only one step away from never seeing his Mom again.)

They were at the beach in Montauk. Him, his Mom, Paul, Nico, Grover and Thalia. He had said his goodbyes to everyone else in Camp the week before. Annabeth had wished him well but didn’t want to be there when he really left. Their relationship had turned back to friendly but strained. He accepted that fact weeks (months) ago.

In addition, the son of Poseidon felt the sea behind him stir unnaturally, as more than one deity move through the waves up on the beach. A look over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion. His Dad, together with Amphitrite, Triton and Kym (a noticeable gap between her and Atlantis’ heir) were smiling and waving at him.

Percy had visited them too, only a few days prior, getting some last-minute advice on how to deal with ancient Greek gods and who he should rather not provoke (not that he planned to change anything about himself. The world would survive him and his antics – time was a loop). Turned out that all the gods had known he would find a way back eventually, but as per order of the Fates, no one was to help him.

That was also the reason why him declining the offer of godhood was not that big of a deal. All of them had known his answer already, seeing as they had met the older him (not as a god) already in the past.

It was all very confusing, and Percy didn’t know how knowing their future personas would influence his stance toward certain gods should he meet them in the past (future?). In the end, he would do what felt best. The past was already written, and he had obviously not destroyed it (would not destroy it?), so there were no real the-world-will-end-if-you-do-something-wrong stakes here. The demigod could live with that. (Really well, actually. It was one big worry lifted from his shoulders).

“Give us time to warm up to you, yes, little pearl?”, Amphitrite had cooed abashed during his visit, “You know that we will grow to love you, just have a bit of patience.”

“I’m gonna be antagonistic and mean.”, Triton hadn’t beaten around the bush, “I will challenge and provoke you. Do not rise to every bait and do not be too arrogant when you beat me in a fight, got it? That attitude was horrible to deal with.”

“Speak for yourself!”, Kym had cackled, “Percy was a delight to me from day one! We let loose so many great storms…you’ve got something to look forward too, brother! Oh, and don’t forget my favourite dish is meat tart with pine needles. You’ll need it.” Her wink had been more than exaggerated, but he saved that information even through his laughing.

His father had been the last one to bid him goodbye. “I only regret not having the time to rebuild our bond in the present to what it was in the past…. But the memories persevere, and I will treasure every moment I had with you.” The god of the Sea had drawn him into a surprisingly tight hug and then leaned their foreheads together as he whispered, only for him: “I will do things that you hate. I will earn your ire and wrath in the name of what I think is right. Please, Percy, find it in your kind heart to forgive me my transgressions once more. I will grow from them, I promise.”

“I’ll try.”, the demigod had answered.

Seeing as they had already exchanged hugs and goodbyes, his sea family was now only here to watch him leave (and getting one, very last, look upon their brother or child).

“You remember the Adress of the post box? And the second one in case of the first one closing?”, his Mom dreaded, flitting around him like a hummingbird and straightening his chiton. Percy smiled indulgently, but rolled his eyes: “Yes, I do. I wrote them down on parchment and my arm to copy somewhere once I’m there. Should I tattoo them in my skin?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You will not get a tattoo!”, Sally Jackson swatted at his head lovingly, before her eyes turned soft and she grabbed his face, “At least not until you have thought about it for like… at least three months!” Percy saw the wetness in her eyes and pulled his Mom in a hug when she once again started a little tirade about all the things he should know. That had become a trend for them, once the day he would leave was decided. He listened quietly to it all and vowed to follow each of her instructions, as ridiculous as they were.

When she finally let go of him and dried her tears, she smiled wobbly: “I know you have trouble remembering things, so I wrote it all down in letters. They should be in the small wooden box at the bottom of your second bag. There is one for every birthday until you’re 40. I didn’t have the time for more, but…”

“Thank you, Mom.”, Percy interrupted and drew her into another hug. His heart panged painfully when thinking about leaving her, but very deep down they both knew that this was inevitable.

Nico also piped up from a few feet away: “We wrote you something as well. It’s in the same box, so if you somehow get extra money, pay Hermes for some letter to us as well, yeah?”

“Will do.”, he smiled at his cousin.

After one last round of hugs and teary goodbyes, the son of Poseidon breathed deeply for the final time. He shouldered both of the linen bags (filled with everything he wanted to take with him, including some hoodies, cookies – and their recipe- and the big photo album) and carefully planted the naked pearl on the beach. He had kept the silver harness as a memento, but it was still hard to raise his foot to stomp down onto the only gift he had from his Dream-Boy.

“Give my regards to Telemachus and tell him to take good care of you!”, his Mom cried openly now and Percy also felt the tears leaving his eyes. “I will. And I’ll write.”, he smiled as brightly as he could, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He stepped on the pearl and the world he knew vanished in a swirl of blue and green, smelling like honey, parchment, and destiny.

Chapter Text

The first thing tingling PERCY’s senses was the smell of salty ocean and fresh rain, followed quickly by the gentle sound of crashing waves and grinding sand. The air felt worlds cleaner than anything New York or Camp could offer, and Percy had almost forgotten how untouched nature had been in the old days.

He was all the more amazed and pleasantly surprised by the beautiful condition of the sandy beach and the perfect turquoise shade of the sea. It only took a second to realize that he was standing on the same shore where he and Telemachus had originally talked about his Mom, and where the prince had found the fateful pearl that had been his ticket back.

He was in Ithaca…

For real this time. No dream or translucid body, no time crunch or deadline and no immediate danger on the other side of his consciousness.

He had never felt freer.

Percy chuckled, overwhelmed by all the feelings in his chest, ranging from bittersweet longing, to giddiness and excitement. He was really here. He would see Telemachus again! His prince was waiting inside the palace only a few miles away.

His legs were already moving in the direction of the tree line, when a strong tuck at his ankles made the demigod stop and look down. His confusing fell away when he saw two strings of water clinging to his legs, leading right back into the ocean.

He should’ve seen this coming.

A bit amused and only slightly exasperated, Percy turned around. He was already looking toward the open sea, where (as expected) the tall figure of his father materialized out of the water like an upside down waterfall. The god mixed his shapes once more between human and monstrous, donning the black edged arm with spikes and clawed hands, as well as the divine eyes and a fishtail that resembled a shark. Halfway submerged in the ocean, he was leaning on his trident heavily. The god of the Sea had an expression of disbelief and cautious hope on his face, that exploded into unguarded happiness and relief when his eyes found their sea-green counterpart in the demigod’s face.

“Hey Dad.”, Percy smiled quietly and with a tilted head. Poseidon gasped and moved several feet closer in an instant, changing his tail to legs to make his way further into the shallow part of the beach. The water strings around the demigod’s feet became tighter, as if afraid that he would vanish if they left him, and Percy let them be for now.

He had no clue how much time had passed since he had disappeared from here.

With sinking dread, the son of Poseidon imagined a twelve-year-old prince greeting him, but after a second, he decided it wouldn’t matter. Whether three months, three years, or even three decades had passed, he would find his groove with Telemachus again (even if his heart stung a bit while thinking about a grandpa-Telemachus). They had fit so seamlessly together before, it was unimaginable that their chemistry had vanished in something so inconsequential as time.

Luckily, his worries were buried soon, because Poseidon drew his attention with a breathless sigh, now only ten feet away: “Percy…my son.”

They stared at each other, lost for words or simply overwhelmed by the surprising situation. The demigod didn’t remember clearly what their last conversation had been and what their current relationship was. Some memories were hazy or had merged with dreams, and it was difficult separating the two versions of his Dad he knew.

In the end, Percy did not have to speak, because Poseidon was more than happy to fill the space between them. “You were gone from my reach, little pearl. I searched the whole earth for you. No one knew anything. I would’ve continued forever if the Fates had not intervened.”, the god of the sea hastily explained, before his tone became soft and careful: “Where have you been these past three years?”

What a loaded question for a time-traveler. Well, good thing that he had direct instructions from the Fates to not mess up more than necessary. Percy didn’t know who he’d even wanted to tell the truth. Now that he would remain here, it didn’t seem to matter as much to keep all the mystery and secrets.

“I…don’t know if I am allowed to tell you.”, the demigod said lamely, knowing how weak that excuse was, but with a bit of luck, his father was too focused on making a good impression to inquire further (their relationship had still been strained when he’d been transported back, right?). He was proven correct.

“Stay vague then.”, was the instant answer. The divine, pupilless eyes scanned over his body, cataloging all the changes he had gone through and all the little scars he had earned on his arms, hands and legs. The biggest one by far was the one on his face and the stab wound in his side (both remains of the mutiny though, so maybe Poseidon already knew about them). But the latter was covered by the white chiton. Still, the god furrowed his brown and lifted his hand as if to touch him but instead settled on remarking: “I see the remains of battles on your skin…Who made you suffer?”

There was an invisible threat in his tone that made Percy feel a lot of different things. Namely warmth for being cared for and amusement that his father’s tendency to fight his children’s battles was still going strong. But Percy did not need that protection. Not anymore. He had grown up, fought a war, won countless fights and killed monsters even some gods dared not to face.

It still felt good, hearing his father was willing to rage a flood upon his enemies. He was way more invested in his family in ancient times (or simply had more freedom to do as he pleased, without the big dick breathing down his neck).

“To many.”, the demigod said with a melancholic grin and shook his head, “But I beat them all. I survived every challenge and fought every foe thrown in my way.”

The god absorbed his words, carefully weighing them in his head and probably coming to the conclusion that they were true. His swirling, mighty eyes caught the grey streak in his hair, lingering in silent shock.

“You carried the sky.”, Poseidon stated eerily calm.

Percy mirrored his father’s farce of being unbothered: “I did.”

“For how long?”, came the next question instantly, and after shortly inner counting, the demigod guessed: “A week?”

The king of Atlantis inhaled sharply, his expression switching between disbelief, pain and pride. A weird mix, until he finally settled on resignation: “You cannot tell my why?” Percy shook his head and honestly said: “I’m sorry.” (Telling his father, God of the Sea, that a second titan war was coming, centuries in the future, couldn’t have any positive outcome at all and would be of use to no one. Keeping his mouth shut spared him a lot of headaches and heartbreak for now. Reliving the thing wasn’t on his bingo card for the day.)

The silence between them was only interrupted by the soft waves and distant cries of birds. It wasn’t tense, but also not completely comfortable and Percy found himself waiting with interest of how his father would react to all the new information. Whether or not he would force an answer (not that it would be successful, if Percy was one thing, it was stubborn and resistant to angry gods).

But Poseidon did not get angry or frustrated or even cold. He seemed to accept the limits of the questions he could ask and changed the subject seamlessly to something else that appeared to gnaw on him: “Are you going to disappear on me again?” There was no judgment in his tone, but he tightened the grip on his trident.

This was a question Percy could answer with an honest smile: “Not if I can help it. There is a promise I have to keep, and people I have to find.” That settled the god and made him relax a bit. He opened his mouth, but stopped before whatever lay on his tongue could escape. A curious expression of slight embarrassment flitted over his face and Poseidon rubbed his free hand over his mouth while he admitted: “I saved those humans you were so fond of. Send them in the way of some merchants. They should still be alive.”

And even though he already knew that, it felt really good for his father to say it again. As a reward, Percy gave him his brightest smile, and it felt damn good not having to fake it for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

The god relaxed even further upon that reaction. He tilted his head, eyes bright and focused on his son when he spoke: “I had hoped that…maybe it would earn me your goodwill and grace.”

Well, there was no reason for Percy to lie. He didn’t have the energy to spare for useless emotions. He easily held his smile and said: “It does. I’m tired of holding a grudge. What I saw since-…let’s just say I get what you meant now. About Ruthlessness. I tried to be like you-“

“I never wanted you to turn out like me.” Poseidon tried to interrupt him indignantly, but the demigod just raised his voice a bit and continued: “-but it didn’t work out. I cannot look away if others suffer unnecessarily. But I do not give third chances. Those who didn’t used their second one died by my sword without my regret.” Whether his father was proud or disturbed by this admission was impossible for Percy to discern, so he did not even try. By simply waiting through the silence he gave them both the time to process.

Finally, the god of the sea broke the quiet with a halting request: “I would love to hear everything you can tell me about the time you were away…would you join me in Atlantis?”

It was a big thing. To be asked to enter the underwater kingdom as a bastard, and a mortal one at that.

Percy grimaced and looked back toward the tree line, which hid the palace and city of Ithaca. His promise burned in his chest far hotter than any wish to reconnect with his sea family. One was immortal, having no problem waiting a little longer, but the other he had missed for three long, agonizing years.

There wasn’t really anything to consider.

“I want to. Really. But…there is this boy I have to see first. I want to establish a life here, and I’ll need a bit of time for that.”, the demigod ventured without hesitation, meeting his father’s eyes with determination. He would not be swayed, and he for sure would not let himself be dragged against his will. No matter how dark the aura of the god had turned. Or how close the churning storm clouds above them came to the shore. He would not be intimidated.

But there was also no reason to deny the god fully. Because Percy wanted a connection to them. Just not right now. So, he came up with a solution: “Why don’t we compromise? I will come with you for one full day of the week and-“

“Four.”

“Two. The whole weekend.” Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills. Both of them weren’t known for giving in, but in this situation, the demigod held all the cards. (At least under the premise that Poseidon didn’t want to force something and destroy the fickle trust between them). And indeed, the god gave in with a heavy sigh: “Very well…Then I will expect you here in five days’ time. Do not make me look for you.”

That threat was very real. But Percy was high from his victory and could not contain his cheeky smirk when he snorted: “Wouldn’t dream of provoking a god.” Poseidon’s gaze was more than skeptical, but with a raised eyebrow, he drawled: “Good…”

From behind his back, the god drew a small token.

It was a charm of a trident made of bronze and attached to a little ring. The whole thing was as small as his fingernail, and it took Percy a second to recognize the token as an earring. 

“Before you leave”, the god of the sea began, “please take this gift. It will put my mind at ease to know you are well.” The young man blinked perplex and stuttered: “I don’t have a pierced ear.”

His father smiled weakly and snapped his finger. A small sting in his left ear was all he felt before the weight of the charm pulled on his lobe. Percy craved a mirror to check out his new accessory, but vainness would have to wait.

He had a friend to visit.

“Thanks Dad.”, he smiled to his father and then stepped out of the water’s grip, “Bye!”

“I will be waiting, Percy.” Were the ominous last words of the god, before he vanished in a storm of seafoam.   

-

There were some good and bad news for the son of Poseidon. The good one? Finding the city of Ithaca was pretty easy. He just needed to walk the small stone path and then take the right turn (the left would lead directly to the back of the palace, heavily guarded and NOT the entrance he wanted to take this time. Percy would visit Telemachus properly, not like a thief or a secret in the dark). The bad one? Getting even somewhat near the palace was impossible for normal citizens (if you weren’t some invisible specter from the prince’s dream). There was no sign to point him in the right direction and the small streets were very confusing to follow.  

Another good thing was that no one in the city gave him a second glance. Maybe he had done a fantastic job at fitting in (debatable, but hope died last) or, which was the most likely possibility, the city was just so big that not everyone knew every face and they were used to frequently new visitors (-stupid suitors-). The corresponding bad thing to that was the ever-watchful guard by the gates to the palace grounds (it took Percy over an hour to find the right way and entrance), turned everyone away that did not have an invitation or was one of the suitors sent by nobility. Both things Percy did not have or wanted to be, so he was turned away the second he opened his mouth. And they weren’t very friendly about it either.

It had been five guards, all older them him and equipped with swords and shields (one had a spear). After briefly analyzing their postures, it was an educated guess that the son of Poseidon could’ve beaten them in a fight, but he did not want to start his stay here by being antagonistic and drawing the wrong kind of attention. So, he only sighed over their rude words and left.

Well, at least Telemachus was somewhat well protected. Even if it proved to be a pain in his ass right now. Wasn’t there some kind of time for open appeals by the people? He could’ve sworn Telemachus had complained about not being allowed to sit in on those yet…  

Maybe he should try again after nightfall after all? He knew the hidden paths to the prince’s balcony better than anyone (except Telemachus himself), so he stood a chance, but getting caught would ruin everything (being a criminal was not a great start for staying close to a prince), so he should probably think about that plan some more.  

For now, Percy took to aimlessly wander through the city of Ithaca, his whole life thrown in two heavy bags on his shoulders.

Ithaca was a beautiful city. He had noticed that already when he was looking for the way to the palace, but now that he took the time to truly appreciate the scenery and buildings, it became clear that the kingdom was a human paradise. Clean streets with little to no homeless people flitting around (as far as he could tell) and the bustling noises of peaceful negotiation and trades. Right in the center was a big marketplace, where all kinds of things were sold, from jewelry to metal, woodcarvings or food. Fabric, spices and trinkets were strewn around on white cotton sheets on the ground and children (as well as a few street dogs) were flitting through the legs of adults. In some of the really crowded areas glinted the helmet of a city guard or some other kind of military in the sun, keeping an eye out for troublemakers or thieves.

Percy lost himself in the smell of delicious food and the sound of many different conversations, getting slowly used to understanding ancient Greek again. He didn’t buy anything, but was very entertained by a puppet play from an old man at the edge of the bustling market and gave him a small pearl as payment (courtesy of future Amphitrite, the demigod had a small bag of all kinds of valuable sea stones to pay with until he got some understanding for the currency. Maybe the Drachma he collected would have worked, but those were mostly for Hermes when he would deliver his letters). The man thanked him with big eyes and a deep bow, while Percy smiled and asked if he knew some place where one could rent a room for the night.

He was directed to the harbor, where a little inn was run by some disgraced soldier. “Not the fanciest place, but they always have room and the food is okay.”, the puppeteer had said and that was by far more than the demigod had hoped for. In his head, he was already picking out a good place by the beach to sleep under the stars for tonight, but an inn sounded even better.

The way down to the harbor was far easier to find than the palace, seeing as masses of people steadily moved from there up the city or back down after their business was done. He followed the slow flow for a while until he spotted the little sign of a bed and a tankard above a building a bit away from the main street.

The inn was decently busy, considering the sun had just started to set. Most of the interior was a mix of sandstone and dark wood (like the bar further back and some of the tables), with torches on the walls and candles on each table. A variety of stools and chairs (that didn’t fit together perfectly) manned the bar or were used by the few patrons. Two serving boys ran around with trays and mugs of some wine or mead and Percy clocked immediately how they avoided a rowdy group of man at the end of the room, unless they were called over specifically. Whoever was the owner of this place wasn’t in sight, but the demigod still made his way to a table at the edge of the room and sat down with his back to the wall. There were three windows leading outside beside the door and although the atmosphere appeared light and carefree, nearly every man was carrying at least one obvious weapon.

Not that Percy was any better. He sat down his bags behind him, keeping them in reach and the periphery of his eye to dissuade anyone from trying to rob him, but his steel sword (should he think of a name?) did not leave his hip and Riptide was hidden in its ring form.

He didn’t have to wait before one of the young boys (around 10, maybe?) was skipping toward him, lowering his head in an act of deference that left a funny feeling in his chest. The child had black, shorn hair and darker skin as well as brown eyes, his chiton had two small tears at the seam, but looked clean.

“Good day. How may I help you, Sir?”, he asked friendly. Being addresses as ‘Sir’ felt so wrong that Percy could not suppress as wince, but he got himself together quickly and cleared his throat awkwardly. With (what he hoped was) a gentle smile, the son of Poseidon pulled out a Drachma, noting how the eyes of the child widened and said: “I’d like a meal with water and a room for however long that will pay for.” The reaction of the boy upon seeing the money told him it must be worth enough for at least one night, but he was gambling a bit, trusting his luck to get him through his first real transaction without outing him as absolutely lost with the currency.

The server swallowed loudly before answering with a small stutter, his tray pressed to his chest: “I’d have to ask the owner about the room, but I could bring you your meal while you wait.”

“That would be great, thanks!”, the demigod smiled.

He leaned back in his chair to wait, his eyes sweeping through the room once more before settling his focus on the group of men a few tables over. There were four of them, all drinking heartily and playing some kind of card game. Their shouts were loud enough to echo through the room and from their slurred speech, it was obvious they had been here for a long time. Percy narrowed his eyes in displeasure. Those men reminded him so much of Gabe that he felt his defense rising automatically and he needed to really focus to get his muscles to relax again.

He was just about to look away and try his best to ignore them, when a dark-haired one grabbed for the serving boy who was just walking by (the same one that had greeted Percy), pulling him harshly to their table by the arm, probably leaving bruises, before screaming for more wine. The boy nodded fearfully, but just when he passed another man a bit too closely (blond and burly and with an eyepatch), a hand snatched him by the neck.

“What’d you think you doing, rat?”, roared the wannabe-Cyclops, “Stealing, aye?! Just wait till I’m through with you!”

Percy was on his feet and moving before his brain could chirp up that it was probably a stupid idea to get into trouble this early in his stay, but the child had tears in his eyes by now (whether they were from pain or terror was unclear) and he would not stand for that. The child had not stolen anything and from the malicious gleam in the assailant’s eyes, the man knew it as well.

Wannabe-Cyclops shook the child like a ragdoll, much to the amusement of his companions and just when he turned to his frightened and cowering victim with another sneer, hand poised in a mocking strike, Percy reached their table.

Without hesitation and quick like a striking snake, the son of Poseidon closed his hands around the man’s wrist like an iron shackle, pressing right into the nerve and making him yelp in pain, releasing the boy. He may have heard bones grinding and loosened his hand minimally, but the confused and disapproving frown on his face stayed. The blond guy was probably about thirty, with a small belly and patchy beard. He had no other old scars or any indication of past injuries beside the eye patch, which was pretty suspicious, but not the point right now. The other three had gone silent upon his interference and the demigod used it to make a decent attempt at solving this civilly. 

“What’s your problem, man? We both saw that he didn’t steal anything.”, Percy tried to speak calmly, but an undertone of disgust was still perceivable. The serving boy had ducked immediately behind him and out of reach.

The man was not amused to be interrupted. He came to his feet like a shaking bull, obviously tipsy and not in complete control over his body when he ripped his hand out of the demigod’s grip. Percy let him leave. A bruised ego was not the way to go here.

“Hah?!”, eye-patch guy slurred, “Stay out of this punk! He stole my gold coin, I saw him with it a minute ago!”

The demigod threw one sharp look back at the boy, that had the him violently shake his head. The child’s pleading eyes darted between Percy’s old table and the four men, giving him a hint as to what Eye-Patch had most likely seen. His calculating gaze flipped back to the man. One last time he tried to reason with the drunk: “That money was mine, as payment for their service. You should-“

“Liar!”, roared Eye-Patch as he stumbled forward, fist raised. Percy could not suppress an annoyed sigh while he prepared to get this bastard to the ground quickly and efficiently. One sidestep and a small push against his ribs was enough for the blond to crash onto his knees. Percy had taken a small step back and out of Wannabe-Cyclops space and rubbed his temple in annoyance. Why was it always him that got into these kinds of situations?

Still, he did not want to mess his chances up here in Ithaca too much, so he pushed down the irritation and said with false calmness: “Look buddy, we both know the truth. Just get back to your game.”

By now, the other three had gotten to their feet as well and just when the son of Poseidon was sure that a fight was unavoidable, a sharp male voice cut through the inn: “What is going on here?”

The demigod turned around to what he hoped was the owner, only to stop mid-breath when his brain registered just who exactly his eyes were seeing.  

It was obvious the man had aged. There were a few more grey streaks in his dark hair and the wrinkles around his mouth were more prominent, but he still had the same stance and slightly mocking tilt of his head, as well as the sharp eyes and small mouth.

Percy’s heart jumped in his chest.  

He was not the only one to recognize the other. The man’s eyes became wide like saucers and his defensive posture fell away instantly while his jaw dropped in disbelief. He blinked a few times, before whispering hoarsely and with badly hidden pain: “It can’t be…P-Percy?”

The demigod grinned back immediately, bright and happy: “Hey there! Long time no-“

His sentence was interrupted by a fist that came right for his cheek.

Chapter Text

Let it be said that PERCY’s jaw would have been broke if it weren’t for his years of combat experience, war and his inhumanly good reflexes. The demigod was somewhat impressed by the precision and strength the drunken man could still pack behind his punch, but that didn’t override the need to knock that disrespectful human’s teeth out.

They were just in the middle of a heartfelt reunion, for gods’ sake!

The son of Poseidon scowled hard as he evaded the attack swiftly, moving his feet right in the path of Eye-Patch, to make him stumble again, while simultaneously catching the next punch from another guy with his hand. He tightened his hand over the knuckles until he could feel the bones resistance crack and the bald man (that was stupid enough to intervene) folded up like a sag of potatoes right onto his knees with a pained wheeze. Percy did not let go as he tilted his head to get a glimpse at his old friend.

“Are those your regulars? I would just hate to cause trouble and leave a bad impression.”, the demigod asked lazily, and the underlying message was clear through his crooked smirk.

Can I fuck them up or will there be consequences?  

Telesophorus, in all his snarky and critical glory, snorted derisively and answered: “Yeah, but I think they’ve had enough for today, so feel free to escort them out. Actually…”, the former soldier turned around to the other occupants of the suspiciously quiet room and said with his best no-nonsense voice: “I’m sorry, but we’re closing for the night. If this inconveniences someone greatly, come back tomorrow for an apology nightcap.”

Percy grinned and led Baldy around by his still caught fist like a dog on a leash. To the other two, still standing, he quipped: “You heard the man. Get out before I make you.” When his captive’s back was right to the door, he pushed him in that direction before letting go, making the man flay around like a chicken for two seconds before he found his balance. His two buddies had more braincells and made for the exit themselves, but not without throwing him some hateful and vicious looks, that the demigod answered with a cheeky wave of his hand.

Once they were out of reach and the other patrons made their way to the door as well, Percy spun around to Eye-Patch, who was quietly seething on the ground, red with humiliation. In one last attempt to end this altercation on a somewhat friendly note, the demigod held out his hand to help the other one to his feet again.

“Sorry for that.”, he smiled with all the charm he could muster, “No bad blood on my part, though.”

The response he got for his trouble to play nice was a wet patch of spit right on his fingers. The wannabe-Cyclops scrambled up and slapped the hand away with a sneer and Percy also lost all his forced politeness. As the man pushed past him, trying to shoulder check the younger, the demigod did not move an inch (he didn’t even notice the contact all that much, if he was being honest) and by that forced the other to make his way awkwardly around him. Just when Eye-Patch turned his back (not without giving one last stinky eye) to Percy, the son of Poseidon scoffed and flicked his wet hand subtlety in the man’s direction, making the spit leave his hand completely and splashing onto the dirty chiton of the other’s clothes. Right over his butt. The wet stain looked like the idiot had pissed himself and that gave Percy a petty feeling of vindictiveness.

“Asshat.”

His wide smirk froze for a second when he noticed the wide-eyed stare of the serving boy right on him, flicking between his hand and the stain, as Eye-Patch left the inn. In a truly reckless display of confidence, the son of Poseidon winked conspiratorial to the boy and put a finger over his mouth, gaze imploring.

The overwhelmed child nodded slowly and jumped a bit when Telesophorus addressed him gruffly after the last patron had closed the door behind him. “Chares, I want you to run to the dressmaker. Tell Zeno it’s urgent and that he better move his old bones here fast. Then go to the barracks of the city watch and call for Perimedes and Elpenor, they should be free right now. Ask them to fetch Hyginus if he’s not busy within the palace and then to come here as if the gods were behind them…they very well may be.”, the last part was muttered very quietly, but the boy (Chares) still heard it, his jaw growing slack as his brown gaze flitted between Telesophorus and Percy. He nodded shakily and with a hasty bow, before racing through the door. The old soldier just had enough time to scream: “Go home after that! Come back tomorrow.”

The demigod was bemused and giddy by this turn of events, but a bit peeved at the same time. With a mighty eyeroll he commented: “I bet he believes I am some kind of God now. Thanks for that.”

“Aren’t you?”, the soldier asked with a side-eye, making Percy grimace a little. “Nope.”, he replied, “Still only halfway there.”

“I see…let’s get you something to eat while we wait for the others.”

-

Turned out that all the awkwardness of seeing someone after years of no contact left quickly once a hearty meal was between them and the joy of seeing each other brushed away all the other feelings. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into their old dynamic. Telesophorus was a bit antagonistic, but well-meaning and his gaze spoke everything his mouth refused. Mainly how glad he was for Percy to be back.

The soldier answered questions about the inn easily, saying that he took over after they came back and how he learned how to cook from his sister decently enough to not run off all the patrons before hiring his nephew and another boy to help with serving.

They skirted around all the difficult topics for now, still waiting for their other friends for those conversations, but after the demigod had complimented the food and the inn enough, the mood still turned a bit somber. Telesophorus said that the building had belonged to Straton before the war, and that it had taken a bit of work to get the thing running again.

“It’s my tribute to him.”, the man grumbled, “He was my friend. And I felt his life’s work deserved to be remembered. I did not want to return to being a sailor, so the decision was an easy one to make. And it works well to keep in contact with the others.”

A big rock settled itself in Percy’s gut with those words and he pushed the leftovers of his meal away. Thinking about all those that had still perished on their journey was a sore spot. Even after all this time and although the guilt had taken a step back, it was still burning parts of his heart like an old campfire. Especially the deaths of those he had known and cherished, but wasn’t close enough with to try and save.

Not everyone who had gone along with the mutiny was a bad person. Most had simply been desperate and saw no other way. But even so, after having had years to come to term with what happened, the son of Poseidon still believed that most of them should have been clever enough to see the greater picture of Odysseus’ actions.

Not that thinking about the king helped his mindset right now.

In the end, what happened was neither his fault nor his responsibility. He had been a child, tasked with the impossible (yet again). And for all the odds that had been stacked against him, Percy thought he had done good, saving a few of his friends. There were at least five reasons to be proud of, and it was that the young man clung too.    

“I know we’ll probably speak about it some more once everyone’s here, but I just need to say it now, Percy.”, Telesphorus then interrupted seriously, leaning a bit over the table to catch his gaze with honest sincerity, “Thank you for saving my life.”

The dark cloud of guilt and pain over his heart drew back, allowing him to accept the thanks with a small smile.

In that moment, the doors to the inn were thrown open and in all his grumpy-old-men glory, Zeno stomped into the room. He was already complaining before even giving himself the time to assess the situation: “What has your sword in such a twist that you think it justifies ordering me around like a common slave? Where is your respect for your elders, you pu-“ He choked on his words the second his eyes saw Percy sitting on the table, waving like a lunatic. Telesphorus beside him snorted amused when the older soldier gaped like a puffer fish for a few seconds.

In the end, Zeno raced over way faster than Percy had ever seen someone his age move, and pulled him in for a gruff hug that felt more like a wrestling grip. “Gods bless you boy!”, he exclaimed and made the demigod laugh happily. When he was pushed away again, not even the light slap on the back of his head dampened his grin, making Zeno complain: “Where in Hades have you been? Making your elders wait so long is disrespectful! What if the ferryman had already taken me, hah?”

Percy replied playfully: “Why, we would have needed to plan another adventure to the Underworld, of course!” His words made the two soldiers balk in outrage and the son of Poseidon let the next few reprimands about respect for the gods and the rules of their world wash over him good naturally, warmth spreading in his chest and a smile plastered in his face.

Elpenor and Perimedes turned up together, a bit breathless and without Hyginus, but that was overlooked for a bit, when both men screamed in joy upon seeing Percy, tackling him in tight twin hugs that felt amazingly like something an older brother would do. The ruckus of them talking over each other in questions and exclamations was soon shut down by Zeno, who screeched about manners, while Telesophorus got behind the bar to get all of them a drink.

The sun had already gone down once everyone was settled down around the table, tankards in front of them, filled with watered wine to ease every remaining tension (which was minimal at best). His friends all looked a bit older and gruffer, here a new wrinkle or grey hair, but all of them were well fed and smiling contently, quipping and riling each other up in a way that spoke off a great comradery.

Percy fit in seamlessly, even after his years of absence, and playfully accepted the comments and praises about his looks, seeing as he had grown up quite a bit from thirteen to sixteen, gaining height and muscles equally, as well as scars and (of course) his own grey hairs, which he was teased mercilessly for. “Just wanted to copy your style, Zeno! Grandpa is the new look I heard!”, the demigod gave back, and he did not even defend himself against the kick to his shin.      

Once the first bouts of banter and small talk were over, the mood became comfortable calm, and Perimedes took a deep gulp of his wine before saying: “Hyginus is not able to make it today. The prince has a bad day again, locked himself up in his room and the Queen worries. She wants him on stand-bye for now.”

This made Percy perk up instantly. With his brows drawn together in deep worry he asked loudly: “What wrong with Telemachus?!”

Shocked silence and confused blinking were the only reactions he got. When no one answered him at first, the demigod became impatient and the wine in their glasses vibrated slightly. He did not even feel the pull behind his navel for such small uses of his powers anymore, but the others definitely noticed. 

“Do you…know his Royal Highness? Percy?”, Telesophorus asked warily as he pushed his mug a bit away from him. The son of Poseidon was too focused on other things as he promptly waved the words away: “In a way…Please tell me what’s going on?”

Whatever his expression or tone revealed, it was enough for Zeno to get the man talking: “No one knows, really. We just get the gossip once a week from Hyginus. The prince has had a few months of being sad and reclusive for years, but this seems worse somehow. I heard he has only left the royal wing twice since his birthday half a year ago.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him physical. Hyginus has examined him three times already, but he doesn’t eat or speak much anymore.”, added Perimedes with a small shrug, but his eyes were sharp and trained on the youngest of their group.

“Some say his joy for life has vanished because he felt his father’s death.”, whispered Elpenor, “The suitors take it as their sign to double the efforts in charming the Queen. Not that she reacts much to it. Her thoughts are far too concerned for her son.”

The heavy silence his words conjured was interrupted by Percy’s sharp scoff. The demigod leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and expression tight with certainty. “Bullshit. Odysseus is alive.”, he stated heatedly, not even caring that he was revealing something about the future so casually. His thoughts were caught on Telemachus being unwell because of…something. And it irked him that he didn’t know what it was.   

“Do you know that for sure?”, asked Telesphorus breathlessly and all the soldiers leaned in, sparkling hope in their eyes that pulled the son of Poseidon back to the discussion on the table. For a moment his heart sank, but then he thought: Why the hell not?   

“Yes, I do. He will make it back; we just have to wait for a while.”, was his answer, making the men cheer and toast to each other in jubilant delight. Perimedes grinned happily and inquired curiously: “Will you go out and look for him?”

Percy shook his head with a pained grimace: “No. I promised him to look after his son and wife if I made it to Ithaca before him. At least until he returns. And I’ll keep that promise.”

Especially if Telemachus is ill. How can I make Apollo owe me a favor? He most likely won’t lose his keys to the sun chariot again... Is he even the sun god already?

His thoughts were interrupted by Telesophorus, as the man got them all back on track in the conversation: “Which leads back to the question on how you know our prince personally?”

The answer to that one would require a lot of soul baring and uncomfortable truths that may have him sound crazy and unhinged. Maybe a deflection could work? “Why do think you I do?”

Zeno scoffed patronizingly: “Please, we have seen you trying to weasel out of difficult question for years.”

“And you’re a bad liar.”, quipped Elpenor with a charming smile.

“Debatable!”, Percy tried to intercept, but he was blatantly ignored when Perimedes flawlessly took over the explanation: “Anyway, you are not subtle at all with your affections! Your eyes were practically storming when we hinted something was wrong and sparkling a second later in his defense. You are obviously…fond of him.” Even though he stumbled upon the last few words, the rest of his small speech was spoken in such certainty as if he had just said the sea was blue. No way for Percy to spin this some other way, and the heat on his cheeks only confirmed their suspicions.

“So spill!”, order Telesophorus as he rose to refill their wine.   

In one last, horribly weak, attempt to get out of this conversation, the demigod tried to reason: “I- It will sound crazy.”

Zeno snorted, before he let out the biggest full-belly laugh the young man had ever heard from him: “Pah! We have seen sirens and souls and holy cows, been chased by gods and attacked by monsters out of this world. We can take a little crazy, boy!” The others appeared equally amused. When his drink was re-filled and he took another deep sip, Percy accepted his defeat.

“Okay then...”, gave the son of Poseidon finally in with a great sigh. He moved in his seat to find a more comfortable position, before he began his explanation: “Demigods like me sometimes have dreams of… important people or things, like, actual seeing what’s going on in different parts of the world. They’re pretty random most of the time, sent by some deity who needs our help or just to give us relevant information for whatever Quest we’re on. Usually, the dreaming demigod is only able to watch whatever is going on. So…I started to dream about Telemachus after you picked me up on Polyphemus’ Island, and somehow I was, kind of, able to talk to him in those dreams? We became friends before I know who he was and…the rest is history?”

He was stumbling through something he had never needed to explain to anyone. All of the other demigods already knew, many of them even more than Percy, and his Mom had mostly talked to Chiron about all the craziness being a demigod entailed. So, he wasn’t sure how coherent most of his sentences were, but by the silence they created, there must’ve been something missing.

Or his friends were simply overwhelmed. That was a feeling he could relate too very well.

When someone finally deigned himself to reply, it was Elpenor that opened his mouth first: “Did you- Did you ever tell Odysseus about meeting his son in dreams?”

Percy cringed, because he knew exactly how the truth would be perceived, and he wouldn’t even be able to blame them. He had been selfish and self-centered at that time. He wasn’t surprised when his ‘No’ was immediately met with a ‘why’ from Perimedes. 

Trying to grasp words that would explain twelve-year-old-Percy’s thoughts without making him sound like the worst person in the world was hard, but his friends deserved honesty. (As did Odysseus, once the king came home). “At first…It was because I didn’t know, then because you didn’t know, that I was a demigod that is, and after that came out, we had so much on our plate that I kind of…forgotten about it?”, the son of Poseidon lowered his head in shame, but he still caught the quietly exchanged gazes of his comrades. It was obvious they did not believe him. But to his great surprise, they weren’t digging deeper and accepted his words for now, focusing on something else.

“Does the prince know you sailed with his father?”, asked Perimedes curiously.

This was somewhat easier to answer. Percy smiled (a bit proudly) when he said: “Yeah…he figured it out when we went to the Underworld. He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met! Honestly, I was kind of surprised I could keep it a secret at all.”

He may have sounded a little gushing, but how could he not when talking about his Dream-Boy? In the years he didn’t have his witty advice and gentle conversations, it became that much more obvious how bright and amazing the prince actually was.

No one would’ve appreciated him saying this though back home (mostly because few of them even knew that Percy had been traveling through time), except for his Mom (who’d put up with his rambling about the ancient prince more than enough), but now there were four individuals in front him who may appreciate knowing how smart the heir to their kingdom was.

Even if they all looked a bit flabbergasted right now.

Telesophorus took a deep gulp of his wine before stating dryly: “That…really is crazy.”

“But it makes sense.”, amended Zeno, face lowered and gaze thoughtful.

Percy’s interest perked up: “Really? How? Why?”

Telesophorus took it upon himself to begin their own story with the prince by saying: “Because it was his Royal Highness that received us when we first landed back in Ithaca. He got us alone in a room, hinted at knowing you and your heritage and told us straight up that we should be very careful in what we say about you and our travels.”

Elpenor joined as well, visible impressed with the prince: “He really is smart, came up with a whole story for us on how we got stuck with the lotus eaters before a merchant ship and its crew freed us and took us home.”

“We weren’t supposed to know anything else of what might’ve happened with our captain or the ship, to avoid everyone panicking and drawing conclusions.”, added Perimedes.

“Granted, we weren’t even sure how Odysseus could have survived our last… godly encounter, but we weren’t about to disobey a royal.”, grunted Zeno his own assessment.

“Especially since he settled us with the jobs and lives we now have here. Gave us enough money for our loyalty to not disgrace our families and get a head start at settling down. He was really generous and helpful, so we stuck to his story when the Queen questioned us.”, finished Telesophorus their tale.

“We got some shade for leaving out captain alone from the people, but that wasn’t anything that isn’t true so we can ignore it mostly.”, added Perimedes a bit sullen.

The demigod was deeply caught in the implications, head tilted and thoughts racing. A prickle of something important settled in his heart and he nearly missed Elpenor’s next words when it finally clicked.  

“We weren’t bothered much after that and everyone was happy.”

“It was Telemachus…”, breathed Percy in disbelief after listing to his friend’s recollections. His head was swimming in thoughts and feelings, all surrounding his Dream-Boy and how in Hades he might have known that it would be necessary to control the narrative of Odysseus’ voyage.

Had some god visited him to give a hint?... That was the only possibility that came to the demigod’s mind.

And that only hardened his resolve.

When he looked back up from his hands, all the eyes of his comrades were on him, waiting for whatever next action to be taken. It was so good, being together with his friends again (although most of them were way older than him).

“I need to see him.”, the son of Poseidon stated clearly, no space for other opinions. His gaze caught onto Elpenor and Perimedes: “You work with the city watch? Is there a way for me into the palace without sneaking in?”

Elpenor blinked a few times, before grimacing: “Unless you want to pose as a suitor…I don’t think so? But even if you could get in… no one is allowed in the wing of the royal family except the guard or the medic, and the prince does not leave his chambers often…”

“You could participate in the fighting contest in three weeks.”, suggested Telesophorus thoughtfully, “The Queen herself is always in attendance and selects a few promising men to become part of the palace guard, since most of them get driven off by the suitors after a few weeks. If you impress her enough, that may be your chance to get close to his Highness long-term.”

Zeno nodded and played with his beard: “You would be the youngest… but if you haven’t gone rusty by now, you have a decent chance at beating all of them. Most competitors have not seen real battle, and we know what you are capable of…Have you kept up with training?”

Percy’s heart bloomed with warm hope the further the plan got expanded. But the timeline made his heart drop regardless. “Three weeks? Isn’t there a faster way somehow?”, he knew he sounded desperate and whining, but nearly a month sounded like an eternity. He was finally in Ithaca, finally in reach of his Dream-Boy, and now he would need to wait even longer?

“If you want to see him without causing a security breach or expose yourself as what you are…yes. That is the quickest way.”, deadpanned Zeno with an eyeroll, “That means, depending on if you even can beat a few other participants and impress her Majesty... Have you kept up your training?”

Percy wasn’t cocky by nature, but after the second Titan war and him beating Kronos as well as Kampe in combat…a smitch of confidence wasn’t out of place, so he scoffed, a bit hurt from the insistent questioning. He had beaten all of them three years ago, did they really think he would not get better with time?

No, he definitely wasn’t pouting.

The son of Poseidon decided on answering as honestly as he could without revealing too much: “I can’t tell you much about where I’ve been or what I’ve done, so let’s just say that wars in the divine world are no less bloody than humans’. Believe me, my sword is sharper than ever.” Zeno and Telesophorus got his allusion instantly and grimaced in sympathy.

Perimedes look confused for a second but got it as well when Elpenor suggested with a gentle smile: “That’s good! We should probably still train together a bit. Perimedes and I have thought about competing ourselves this time. Palace guards get a very good wage.”

The other soldier scratched his chin thoughtfully and added: “Getting a read on where your skills stand in comparison to others could also help reducing your instinctive use of…other talents. I guess you don’t want everyone to know who your father is?”

That was a very good point he had not thought about until now, but of course his friend was right. Announcing himself as someone who had by nature a legendary status was not smart if he wanted a peaceful life.

“Definitely not. That’s a good idea!”, the demigod agreed before he turned to his right, “Say, Telesphorus, could I stay at the inn for a while? It would only be for five days a week. My Dad demands…family time on the other ones, and I can pay, of course.”

All of his friends stared disbelieving at him after he mentioned the God of the Sea’s need for ‘family time’, but the Innkeeper got himself together fast.

“Nonsense.”, he protested heartily, “You will not pay for anything under my roof, kid. Get your ass back in shape and join the guard to see your prince. You have done enough for us, time to give something back!”

“Yes.”, agreed Zeno in his gruff manner. He looked Percy over with a disgusted scoff before saying: “Do come over once you’ve won the competition. I will make sure you’re dressed acceptably when you meet his Highness. Can’t allow you to run around in rags like this!”

Percy beamed and his heart swelled with fondness. He really loves his friends.

“Thanks guys! I really missed you.”

Chapter Text

Finding the first foothold in Ithaca in the form of his very supportive friends proved to be just what PERCY needed. Now that he had people in place who at least somewhat knew about his peculiarities, he could explain away his lack of insight concerning all those little details about basic life in ancient times with his heritage as a demigod raised in isolation. That allowed the son of Poseidon to ask all the questions he desperately needed answers to.

On his first full day, Percy made sure to hide away any evidence of him being from some other time. The room he was given was at the end of the hall of the first floor and had a very small balcony. Besides a bed and a small dresser, there were no other furniture, but it was more than enough for him. He put away his leather armor from Camp and put the other chiton he had gotten from the Aphrodite Cabin in the dresser. On the insistence of his Mom, the demigod had taken a few books in English with him (mainly a children’s book his Mom had always read him and one very heavy tome about the biggest happenings in ancient history – he had not looked at that one in more depth than a brief skim), which he hid together with the photo album, the wooden chest of letters and his stash of golden Drachmas to pay Hermes for his replies, behind a loose stone tile directly above the door in the ceiling. The few pieces of modern clothing he had brought weren’t incriminating enough to be hidden, so he simply let them be in the bags for now.

After making himself somewhat comfortable, Percy slipped down into the main room and pestered Telesophorus to be allowed to help with breakfast and got an impromptu lesson of money handling and the currency here out of it as well. The soldier told him about the different kinds of coins and how much certain things were worth so that the merchants wouldn’t pull one over him should he ever need to buy something. When Percy remarked that he had thought about taking up his old hobby of treasure diving, his friend warned him not to flood the market with valuable pearls or jewelry. But he did point him to a few people who might be interested in buying such things occasionally.

Soon after, both of the serving boys returned. Chares (Telesophorus’ nephew) and Nikias (the son of a fishermen who knew the old soldier from before the war) were both quiet children, but whether that really was their personality or just the expectations of the time, Percy vowed to find out. Their big and wide eyes looked at him in a silent reverence that made the demigod squirm and Telesophorus chuckle. He tried to ignore it and be as friendly as possible, but somehow that only made it worse. Especially when he snarked back at Telesophorus without a care for politeness after the man had made some comment about the saltiness of his eggs and ducked under the retaliating swat for his head.

That cemented him as…whatever made the kids look at him like he hung the stars.

Luckily, Percy could soon duck out of the uncomfortable situation when Elpenor appeared to collect him for their first training. The formerly youngest man of Odysseus’ crew had aged as well. He wore his experiences in a quiet confidence and certainty that suited him. In the three years they had not seen each other, Elpenor had mellowed out a bit. He still sent easy and joyful smiles the demigod’s way, but there was no more fidgeting and the skip in his step was missing. He looked like an actual and responsible adult now, with tamed hair and tanned skin and from the looks they garnered as they walked through the city, the very few women on the way agreed that he had become quite the catch.

These women were mostly covered in long dresses and cotton veils of different colors, but not even the flimsy fabric over the lower parts of their faces could hide their giggles and smiles when Elpenor and Percy passed them. The older women blinked after them with a fond eyeroll before pushing the younger ones back on the track of wherever they went.

Percy was happy for his friend to have grown into himself that much and voiced this as well in lighthearted teasing, when they passed one girl that actually stumbled over her dress after her eyes had turned toward them. The demigod smiled kindly at her (all too used to similar humiliations - he wasn’t the most graceful person aside from when he held a sword), but that only made her turn even redder and race away instantly.

He winked at Elpenor, but the soldier simply shook his head with a booming laugh before clapping him on the back: “Believe me, she wasn’t looking at me, kid. The women have already seen more than enough of old me. You’re the fresh meat. And one that stood up to a few very prominent figures yesterday, if I heard correctly.” The soldier ignored his spluttering when he steered them across another street before adding with a smile: “Get used to it. Ithaca is the capital of gossip. Everything you do will be watched and spread before midday.”

That was a terrifying prospect all on itself, but maybe…

Maybe some gossip will reach the palace and Telemachus’ ears.

Would the prince recognize him from those tales? He had changed in the last three years after all, and not only physically. But it was a possibility and most certainly the only good thing about being the center of attention (again). Maybe Percy could live with it if it was for the purpose of seeing his prince faster.

Three weeks felt so damn long already.

-

There were two arenas in Ithaca.

The bigger one was near the palace and only used by nobility to train or for special games and occasions (like the contest). The communal arena was much smaller and did not even have real seating, only a few rows of rough stone benches that would not fit more than a hundred people max. The ground was covered in dirt, not soft stand and a few patches of grass fought hard to come through the trampled down earth, making the floor uneven and difficult to navigate.

Not that that would be a big problem for Percy. He had fought in much more dire conditions.

The arena (if you really wanted to call it that) had a few brittle weapon rags that were pulled out every morning by the responsible city guard, as Elpenor told him. One of those was always present to overlook the individual training or small classes and make sure no one got seriously hurt. The guard on duty today was a man in his forties with a big belly and small stature, leaning heavily on a spear that was bending concerningly. He was taking a nap in the middle of the day and that told Percy all he needed to know about the level of fights fought in this place.

He and Elpenor were one of the firsts there, only two others had taken up a bit one space further away, one bowman, aiming for rotten straw puppets, and one sword fighter that just went through a few basic stances that looked wobbly and unsteady. The demigod clocked immediately that his feet were too close together to grant a solid stand. But he wasn’t here to train others like he had done before the war at Camp Half-Blood. He was here to gauge his own skills in comparison to mortal soldiers. Elpenor would probably be a good standard to set.

His skeptical look did not go unnoticed, and his friend nudged him playfully while whispering: “Not everyone can be trained by legendary war heroes. Focus on yourself. Let’s warm up.” Chastised, the demigod turned away and began jogging to get his muscles loose.

Percy wasn’t sure what he had expected from their first spar, but it sure as Hades wasn’t to disarm Elpenor withing the first two strikes. Both men blinked perplexed, equally stunned by the quick end as their gazes moved to the weapon on the ground simultaneously, as if that would change anything.

“Sorry?”, the son of Poseidon offered unsure when he bent down to get the other’s sword. They were both fighting with live steel, as they always had on the ship, forgoing the brittle wooden swords from the racks. Their weapons were roughly the same size, Elpenor’s a bit longer and heavier, but well balanced and Percy swung it around for a second before handing it back.

“It’s okay.”, breathed the soldier with a mix of awe and vexation. He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile as he added: “Maybe tone it down for us normal humans? Like…a lot?” Percy laughed awkwardly and got back into position. He was lucky that no one had noticed his first try, seeing as he was apparently still in war-mode internally, not holding back and bringing his opponent down as fast as possible. Fortunately, Elpenor hadn’t registered as a true enemy in his brain. They might have had to clean up blood otherwise.   

After that disaster, they both decided to take things slow. Very slow. Snail-paced, really. Exaggerated movements and too long reaction times helped Percy to get back in the groove of fighting for style and honor, not survival. It must’ve looked really funny, like two absolute newbies swinging their swords to an invisible choreography, instead of real sparing, but the demigod couldn’t care less. He liked going back to the roots. To repeat the basic motions slowly and deliberately, instead of instinctively and in the heat of a battle. It made his body more conscious about the muscles it needed to strike from various angles and made him feel far more in control of his power and speed. And it was surprisingly exhausting.

Elpenor smiled the whole time, correcting his own stance or grip to mirror Percy and after maybe an hour of going at a pace that even an old granny could’ve evaded every strike (no disrespect to old ladies, those had another kind of fire burning in their bones!), they slowly sped up a bit, including shuffling feet and sparse dodging.

It was still in slow motion, but at least they had gained some form of dynamic again. Now, they weren’t only concentrating on the arms and weapons, but including their surroundings and possible movements. It was actually…really fun. Like they rehearsed some kind of dance, watching the other move and then react in a way that was maybe not the most efficient, but the most exciting, forcing them to think on their feet and find counters that demanded creativity instead of brute strength.

It gave Percy a good impression of their differences in skill and stamina, making him realize a few of his own patterns that he needed to dispel since they had gone unrecognized until now. Those had only worked against prior opponents because the demigod was either overwhelmingly fast or unrelenting, or because his control over water made up for the weak points he had created through the patterns. Seeing as the son of Poseidon did not plan (or need to) to use those advantages, their spar was a nice opportunity to experiment with new movements.

When they finally reached a pace that made their swords clang every three steps (still slow in Percy’s eyes, but far more reasonable for everyone else), Elpenor was sweating like crazy and panting hard. They took a break and sat down on one of the stone benches.

The arena had filled over the course of the morning. A few pairs of warriors were sparing now, giving them curious glances from the side but ultimately left them alone. Watching them helped Percy develop a sense for the timing and patterns of human fights, which were surprisingly different from the spars at Camp (or the encounters with other demigods he had on the battlefield). Half-Bloods had naturally quicker reflexes, more strength and a higher speed (same as most monsters), but in Percy’s case, his advantages were boosted by his ability to sense liquids and their movements passively around him, making him oddly perceptive of all people in his vicinity. Not to mention how a quick splash of water re-energized and healed him almost completely, making him a beast of stamina and endurance for even mythological beings to face.

Yeah, holding back now was not an option, but a requirement, if he did not want to stand out like a shark among fish.

Sadly, Elpenor needed to leave around midday to begin his shift as a guard by the harbor, so Percy packed up as well and strolled back to the inn for a quick meal and to help with whatever preparation was needed for the evening.

-

The days after passed pretty quickly. Besides sparring, alternating between Perimedes and Elpenor, or training his body without a weapon, the son of Poseidon didn’t have a lot to do and he quickly annoyed Telesophorus with how much he followed him like a lost puppy. The innkeeper finally sent him away to bother Zeno, leading to the dressmaker cursing his name and ordering Percy around his shop to help carry fabrics or crates. He was taught how to mend the holes and tears in clothes properly, but even that did nothing to diffuse the jittering feeling in his bones, screaming at Percy that he still had way too much energy left.

It was a relief for everyone when the weekend came. For Elpenor and Perimedes, because both men had complained more than once about sore bodies and screaming muscles after their training (which was still going very, very slow for the sake of everyone’s sanity and pride) and for Zeno and Telesophorus because they could finally do their trades in peace. Percy was simply glad to finally have an excuse to dive back into the enticing ocean, following the call he had ignored since the day he landed on Ithaca’s shore.

-

The water felt awesome.

It felt like home. It felt like a hug. It was the single most amazing feeling ever, except for his mother’s embrace or maybe speaking with Telemachus. But diving into his father’s domain was for sure somewhere high on the list. Now that he thought about it, Percy had actually quite a lot of things nowadays that made him feel good.

Huh, weird.

Anyway, the ocean welcomed him with warm, playful currents and the vibrations of a mighty song from deep below, ringing right into his bones in way that made the warmth in his chest expand instantly through his whole body. A week of not using his powers (and not even allowing himself to think about them, if he was being honest) and Percy felt ready to burst. He couldn’t remember a time he felt this much energy and it took a bit until the demigod realized it was most likely related to the increased power everything mythical had in ancient times. At the end of the battle for Manhattan, the son of Poseidon had felt somewhat similar mighty, Kronos at his feet, caught in his body that Percy controlled through the liquid in his veins.

Being able to control blood (and more precisely the immortal kind – ichor) was an ability the young man had not thought about favorable for a time.

Kronos’ words about him being a monster, and abnormality, had rung in his head long after the Titan was already scattered again. He knew that the modern Olympians were most likely aware of his talents, but no one had mentioned it, and Percy had adapted as well, feeling like speaking about it would make his freakishness real and force him to confront the views and opinions of others about it.

Some things are not meant to be controlled.

And while that may be true, the son of Poseidon had since accepted that he did not feel bad about what he could do. It was part of him; just another ace up his sleeve, something that could help him protect those he loved.

It always depends how we use the abilities given to us.

Once again it had been his Dream-Boy that saved Percy from self-hatred and gnawing fear of his own powers. He would choose what to do with it. And he chose ruthlessness, but not cruelty.

Thanks to a lack of monster attacks in his most recent past, that also meant that the demigod didn’t yet have volunteers to test the limits of this power, so he refrained from doing anything with it. Controlling Kronos’ blood had already been a mighty rush of endorphins, and Percy had seldom felt more powerful as when his enemy was trapped by the heat in his chore and nothing else but his will.

But diving into the sea of ancient Greece felt actually really close to that.

The son of Poseidon let himself drift with the currents, not really having a preference for where to go. His father would find him either way, so he joined a school of fish further outside the reef on their way to a particular tasty plankton spot (as one of the older fish happily shared with him). On the way there, he was distracted by a pretty lemon shark, who nudged him with her snout and asked shyly to play fetch with a big bone from some long dead sea creatures. Percy agreed instantly. After using his powers to throw the bone far away, he then proceeded to command the sea to propel him in a different direction, making the shark (who he was allowed to name Judy) hunt after him with her bone.

That cat and mouse play continued and became even more fun when a few of Judy’s friends joined. A swordfish (called Thais) had a few ropes from a net tangled around his nose that Percy helped with and after that he became his greatest adversary in the game (thanks to his snout). Burning energy by playing with fish and swimming through the ocean was far more satisfying than slow-motion fighting with his friends. As helpful and sensible as starting slow was.

Percy had lost all sense of time when he felt the ocean shift massively around him, making him dizzy for a second before the powerful presence of his father settled somewhere to his right. The demigod ignored him for a moment in favor of saying goodbye to his new friends and telling them he would come back soon to play again. Judy nuzzled his face gently before swimming away. When Percy turned around to his father, a carefree and happy smile was still on his face, and he made his way over with a little extra twirl through the water.

“Hey Dad!”, he called, “You’re late.”

Poseidon had once again donned his more human features, with the addition of a deep blue fishtail and a slightly longer beard, but his eyes looked mortal, with pupils and sclera, a near exact copy of Percy’s own. Right now, they radiated warmth and gentle awe as they watched his son glide effortlessly along the waves.

“I am. But you seemed to have found good company to entertain you.”, said the god (he did not apologize, but that was okay for now. Percy wasn’t really angry, playing had been fun).

The good mood of the younger man appeared to help the King of Atlantis relax a bit. It was obvious that he was a bit unsure about their dynamic after their last encounter, but Percy truly wanted to start a good relationship with his father.

“They were! I felt pent up all week. Playing was a great way of getting a bit of energy out. I was surprised that not using my powers would make me feel so restless.”, the demigod admitted freely, not even attempting at staying still, zooming around the god in lazy circles, while the deity’s eyes followed his every movement.

Before an awkward silence could ensue, Percy asked curiously: “So…are we going to Atlantis? Or do you have something else planned?” He longed to know what would count as ‘quality time’ to an almighty being, especially in ancient times, and a tiny piece of him hoped not to have to meet the rest of his paternal family this early. Rubbing elbows with Triton and convincing Amphitrite to like him sounded like a future-Percy problem.

Luckily, Poseidon was equally eager to have some father-son time, because he said: “Maybe next time. Would you like to go deeper? There is a mostly deserted sea trench further down. We could…play a bit with your abilities? I would like to see what aspects of my domain you have inherited.”

“Sounds good to me!”, agreed Percy with an easy smile.

Chapter Text

Goofing around with the literal god of the sea in a deep trench far down in the ocean hadn’t been on his bucket list until now, but it was definitely something Percy wanted to do again. Poseidon was surprisingly chill once they’d reached the darker parts of the sea, so far down that only a sliver of sunlight reached them. Thanks to his heritage, the demigod could still see perfectly clearly, but he was sure that his irises were glowing like little lanterns. His fathers’ did as well.

The god had commanded the currents to dispose them somewhat halfway down the trench, whose rocky walls were covered with half dead corals or sharp mineral chunks. They passed the hull of a sunken ship on the way down, disturbing the fish and mussels, who came out to see who would dare to venture this deep into the sea. When they saw their King, the fish mumbled a few respectful greetings before quickly scuttering back into the ship.

Now they were simply floating, separated from the outside world and Percy felt unexpectedly giddy at the prospect of getting to experiment with his powers. His father appeared more relaxed as well and with a lazy smile he moved his hand in a wide arc behind him.

“Let’s see if you can keep your balance.”, was the only warning the demigod got before he was pushed back and upside down by a jet of warm water. A startled laugh slipped out as Percy automatically reached for the warmth in his chest and with a small tug in his gut, the waves caught him upright again. With a challenging smirk, the younger man tried to copy the movement of the god and sent his own water-whirl back. Not that it reached Poseidon before he dispelled it with the flick of a finger.

After that, the game was on. The first few minutes were utilized to carefully test the others (mostly Percy’s) level of focus, force and control with soft waves that did nothing more than ruffle his hair or spin him around like a leaf caught in a current. It was like a very tame version of a rollercoaster, but soon the frequency of the water attacks increased, as did their power.

Percy was grinning and whooping as his father conjured his own version of an amusement park made of invisible water slides and obstacles. Soon, the demigod twisted and turned fluent around most of them, the water aiding him in controlled boosts or focused, but sharp turns. He even got the opportunity to send a few watercannons back at his Dad, but the god easily avoided them or changed their direction back to Percy. It was obvious that raw power would not get him the satisfaction of a hit, so the young man decided to try a different approach.

Their little game became more intense.

Percy moving faster and faster while the waterjets from the god increased as well. One grazed the demigod side briefly, before the boy twisted gracefully out of the way right by the wall of the trench. The water slammed into the rock with full force, making the ground around them tremble and a big chunk of stone was blown away, directly at Percy.

“Woah!” He instinctively raised his hands to protect his head from the massive rubble and pulled at the ocean to get him away, while a warm rope-like thing wrapped around his middle simultaneously and slung him out of the danger zone. The combined force catapulted him far further than planned, making the demigod collide in a tangle of water and limbs with his Dad. Both father and son stared with wide eyed shock at each other, before watching how the stone sank harmlessly into the dark water of the trench.

After a few seconds, the demigod realized that the rope had not loosened around him, and a quick glance down made him let out a startled choking sound. Because it wasn’t a rope, but a long black tentacle that came out of Poseidon’s hip, changing his tail back to the squid appendages from their first meeting. But that wasn’t even the most bizarre thing, because all the tentacles were hopelessly tangled and twisted around each other, Percy and Poseidon, capturing them in a net of the god’s own making.

The boy couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, tears of mirth welling up in his eyes as he weakly punched his Dad’s chest. The god breathed a deep sigh before saying with absolutely no infliction: “I guess that was a bit too much power.”

“You think?”, wheezed the demigod, out of breath from laughing so hard. “Maybe it’s my turn now to play whack-a-mole? I want to be able to do that too.”             

After a judging look as if to gauge how serious his son was, the god shrugged and detangled them from his own limbs before coaching Pery on how to correctly accumulate water pressure. They moved from simple blast over to cutting jets and even the basics of creating whips. For hours, they stayed in that trench and when night truly fell, Poseidon simply carved them a big space out of the walls in the form of a comfortable cave. From wherever gods conjured things, the King of Atlantis managed to get furniture out of corals and anemones and a dolphin even brought them dinner made from seagrass and some kind of mushy flesh Percy decided not to ask about.

Sitting in their own little lair, completely hidden away from everyone else, the demigod felt settled and warm. The thought that Poseidon had created something like this only for the two of them made him unable to stop smiling and he found himself gushing helplessly over their training and his progress, pestering his dad for even more tips. Poseidon listened with quiet intent, focused on everything (and be it a stupid joke or pun) his son said, making him glow with happiness.

“You should learn how to wield a trident.”, remarked the god after they had eaten their food and settled down into a smaller space of the cave, decked in blankets and pillows. Poseidon shrunk his form a little more to fit better, but part of his tentacles still spilled over Percy’s legs (not that he complained).

The demigod grinned: “I’d like that! But can it please be underwater? Training on land is such a bore recently!” His voice had changed into a whiney tone, and he really felt like a petulant child when his father chuckled. He agreed easily and then proceeded to ask what made him so frustrated with fighting on land.

That led to Percy explaining how he had spent his time this last week. Catching up (as far as he could with all the secrets he had to keep) with his old friend, finding a somewhat semi-permanent residence and picking up training again to prepare for the contest. He lamented how unused he had grown to fighting without the need for survival and how his battle-reflexes were hard to contain, but also talks about how indulging them would make him stand out too much because of his strength and speed (which humans simply could not achieve most of the time). That for now, slow-motion and choreographed spars was all he could manage without exposing himself and, as nice as it was to relearn the basics and the tighter control it allowed him to have over his muscles and movement, that fighting this way was simply not stimulating enough for his brain.

“I feel like I am actually getting worse.”, he closed his little rant and flipped his hair out of his eyes frustratedly. Even though he was many miles underwater, the demigod had stayed perfectly dry. After a deep breath he admitted quietly: “I’m afraid of losing my touch and growing slow…What if a monster finds me and I am so unused to fighting them that it poses a real danger to me or my friends?”

His father, who had listened until now mostly silent, hummed. “We could test that tomorrow if you want. Find a lowly monster near a coast and see how you fare.”, suggested Poseidon thoughtfully and Percy perked up instantly. “Yes, please!”

That he would ever LOOK for a monster to fight him, Percy could’ve never imagined. Especially after the war. But with the knowledge of his dad having his back (and seeing it more like a test than a real fight) made the thought easier. He was not going to be thrusted in front of another army, expected to deal with them single handedly. This was only to soothe his self-doubts and be sure he could still take them if necessary. It was the perfect solution to his fretting.

The god interrupted his musing when he asked in feigned disinterest (that sounded painfully fake): “Why do you train like this at all? Why limit yourself and your skill just for some mortal contest?”

Percy felt his face heat up instantly. The way his father sounded both confused and skeptical only highlighted how crazy his plan would sound for an immortal, who never had to go out of his way for anything. If gods wanted something, they got it. Mostly without really working for it.

And while it would be a really embarrassing conversation for Percy to admit to his father that he was doing all of this just to see a boy (even if to him, it wasn’t just ANY boy, it was Telemachus! His best friend. The main reason for him coming back at all), the demigod was not actually ashamed. And he had no incentive to lie, so he tried to force the redness back down before speaking (it did not work, his face was still glowing with heat).

“Ah… You remember I said I had to meet someone?”, the young man began haltingly. After receiving an acknowledging hum from Poseidon, Percy continued. Slowly and trying so very hard to sound casual (and not gushing like he had always done when speaking with his Mom about his Dream-Boy), he said: “Well, that person is a boy. My best friend. We met through some crazy demigod dreams when I was traveling with Odysseus. We could communicate through them, and they were fairly often, so we grew close quickly and he…he is really awesome, Dad.” The son of Poseidon looked up and he was pretty sure the sappiest expression ever was branded on his face.

Percy could practically feel the pink in his cheeks and the sparkling in his eyes, but Telemachus always triggered that reaction when he thought or spoke about him. And as much as the young man had sworn not to start praising his friend, he couldn’t stop the next words from escaping in an excited rush: “Talking with him is so easy and he just gets me. Like… he listens and gives really good advice. He never judges me or my actions, but he also isn’t a pushover. Always saying his opinion and, Dad, honestly, I’ve never met anyone more clever, or witty or-“

The dumbfounded, jaw slackened face of his father made him stop immediately and Percy only clocked now that he had once again missed the point of no return by miles. The water must be nearly boiling around his face right now.  

No way his father was gonna let his little …talk (?) go without a comment, so he quickly pushed on to the actual problem. In hopes of distracting the King of Atlantis from his son’s obvious feelings, the demigod rushed on: “R-Regardless, he is…also kind of the prince of Ithaca? And the palace is pretty much guarded all around the clock. Telemachus doesn’t know I am here yet, so the contest is my only chance of meeting him without sneaking in. Because the best fighters will be selected by the Queen to join the royal guard and if I manage to impress her, I won’t only gain access to the palace, but also a place to stay and the perfect position to protect him. So I really, really need this to work. And if I have to fight and move like a drunken snail so that no one finds out that I’m the son of a God- which would just bring the exact kind of attention I’m trying to avoid- then that’s what I’ll do. - No offense.”

His breathing was a bit ragged after that literal word vomit, but at least he had explained mostly everything now and could die in the aftermath of his own embarrassing rambling. Percy ducked his head low, ears and face and neck burning. All the blood rushing through his head made him slightly dizzy. Waiting until the hammer fell in form of his father’s reaction was actually worse than being called out directly.

The demigod had not expected to be feeling that jittery while he waited for the god of the sea to do or say something.

When it finally came, it was in the form of a quiet and serious question.

“You- You really like this boy, don’t you?”, Poseidon asked with an unreadable tone and Percy lifted his head to at least get a read on his expression. The King of Atlantis looked thoughtful and serene, maybe caught in some memories? At least it wasn’t furious, angry or disappointed. (Or mocking. He did not know how he could have survived being mocked right now. His feelings were way too intense for that.)

But his father’s question was as easy to answer as swimming was: “Yes. He is one of the most important people to me. Seeing him again is the reason for me being here.” Even with all the confusing feelings surrounding the prince of Ithaca, Percy knew for sure that he wanted to see Telemachus at any cost. To speak with him again. To share his thoughts and mind and be received with open arms and a smile.

Yeah, Percy wanted his Dream-Boy back.

Urgently.

(And if the flutter in his belly and the jitter in his bones meant there was something else hidden underneath all the fondness and happiness of being friends witch such an amazing boy…let’s just say that Sally Jackson and Greek mythology had raised him to be pretty open-minded).

While he watched his father process his answer, nodding slightly at each word, not surprised but also not judging, the demigod came back to a question that had burned in the back of his mind since the start of the day. Maybe now was finally the time to ask it. (And it would be a good opportunity to evade teasing for now. Distraction worked a lot more often than people thought).  

“Actually, Dad…I’m curious.”, began Percy with a tilted head after enough time had passed, “Why haven’t you asked me again how I managed to vanish and where I’ve been? Not that I want you to ask that! But…I expected you to be a bit more insistent…If that makes sense?”

Poseidon hummed pensively, before focusing his glowing eyes on his son. After watching him for a few silent moments, the god of the sea then spoke: “The Fates called for a council meeting the second your presence came back into our world. They were…very insistent about all of us attending immediately and then revealed how your thread was at first woven into another part of their canvas that they had yet to work on. They did not spell it out, but most of us know what that means… A few wanted to question you immediately, but Lachesis threatened, quite effectively, to make the lives of all of our still unborn children miserable and short, should we consider doing something like this.” A small smiled played around the edges of his expression, showing that his father was partly annoyed and party proud of their interference regarding Percy’s (and the future’s) protection. One of the god’s tentacles slowly crawled over his calf, engulfing it in warmth, but the young man didn’t mind. He was much more invested to hear the rest of Poseidon’s words.

The god continued with an absentminded face: “The Fates aren’t usually so invested in a mortal’s life, so the council decided to let it rest for now. But even despite that decision, the Moira made every god and goddess present swear on the Styx to not ask question about your…situation. Our freedom and access to you are not restricted, so maybe expect someone else to drop in or mess with you from time to time. And remember that just because we cannot ask, does not mean you could not slip up yourself.”

That warning set itself deep inside Percy’s mind and he vowed not to forget it. Being careful when dealing with gods was already important before, but now it became even more pressing. If his divine family wanted to get information about the future without being allowed to ask, there was no telling with what schemes they could come up with.

While the demigod mused over the words, Poseidon was not yet done with his report. He scoffed: “Anyway, Zeus, of course, demanded an explanation as to why you were allowed to dabble in our father’s domain this freely and the Fates’ answer might interest you. Atropos was adamant that you are no threat to our pantheon in any way and that your presence here is their reward for all the things you accomplished under their guidance and for the better of us all. I dared not ask for more specifics, but it is obvious that you fought hard and long to receive such a blessing. The Fates are seldom this generous.”

That was indeed interesting. Because while the Moira themselves had not helped him get back, they also did not stop him, and their words had given him the hope to try in the end. Why those old ladies didn’t simply tell him how to get back (if this was to be a reward) was beyond his comprehension, but there was for sure some garbled reason.

Maybe something about free will and decisions of humans or whatever it was that made mortals much more flexible in their lives and happiness than gods. Either way, Percy didn’t really care for the convoluted thoughts of the three ladies. He was here. He did not have another Prophecy hanging over his head, and his main goal for now was to get a spot in the palace guard.

What a normal plan for once, he mused.

And maybe he also wanted to get to know his divine family better. Now that they were actually allowed to be part of his life. (Percy would have set the goal to change that stupid rule, but the fact that it had remained in his youth was proof he would fail anyway, so why even try? It was already done).

Poseidon obviously agreed with his silent sentiment, because the god leaned a bit closer to Percy and caught his gaze before saying seriously: “In the end, I do not care for their shenanigans and plans. I’m just glad for this second chance to get to know you. I will listen to everything you’d want to share about what lies ahead, but I am much more curious about you. About the person you are. What makes you laugh and what makes you rage. What inspired you and where your passions lie. I want to know my son. And not the hero you surely are, or whatever deeds you did to bring me honour. All of that can happen someday else. For now, you are more important to me.”

Those words made something gentle and warm bloom in his chest. A connection built between father and son as they looked each other in the eye, searching for insincerity or deception, but only finding twin emotions of hope and fondness. And love. An Emotion so great it survived time and space. Something so inherent of life, that Percy felt his whole being expand upon receiving this kind of attention from his father. Finally. Fully. After all this time of hope and wonder.

No more Zeus coming in the way, no ancient rules stopping them from interacting or speaking. They could actually build a connection, a relationship. Like a real family.

Even if that family came with teasing. A twitch in the corner of Poseidon’s mouth was the only warning Percy got, before the god grunted amused: “Well…Seems like I know one passion already.” He gave the demigod a look that spoke more than a thousand words. But his father still found it necessary to groan: “But Percy, did it have to be the son of that pesky Odysseus?”

Through the hearty laugh of the god, his son’s head grew hot like the sun, blood flushing his cheeks and a look of utter, horrifying betrayal and embarrassment passing over his cheeks. With the flick of his finger, the demigod sent a yet of cold water in his father nose, making the king of Atlantis splutter for a second.

Percy used the break to try and find words: “Telemachus is just…just…” He had tried to say something witty, but thinking of his friend softened him immediately, making it hard to find words other than the honest truth.

With a deep and longing sigh, he whispered painfully sincere: “Yeah… it had to be him. He’s it, Dad. And, I think…it will be him for… I guess until he grows tired of me?”

Speaking words this clearly only emphasized the magnitude of his feelings.

The son of Poseidon was caught inside his own head for a while, trying to shift through the myriad of memories and butterflies.

Yeah, Telemachus was it for him.

A fact that Poseidon seemed to realize as well, making him give a bone-wary sigh. The god crossed his arms and grimace a small pout when he grumbled: “I hope for his sake that he proves worthy of your devotion.”

Percy instantly zeroed in on his father, brows furrowed, and body coiled. Tense and ready for action. “Don’t threaten him.”, he hissed harshly and then added for good measure: “If you make me chose, you won’t like the outcome. And please don’t talk about Odysseus that way again. He is my friend.”

Poseidon lost some of his cool as well, the sea around them beginning to churn, but as soon as the currents had drawn up, the god already got his emotions back under control. His eyes were sharp and calculated as he said: “I don’t want to argue with you, so I will let the topic of that man rest for now… As much as I want to hear more about your…friend, that Telemachus, I think it is time to sleep now. Tomorrow, we will hunt.”

That ended the discussion indefinitely, but Percy was actually glad about it. He did not want their first day to end on a bad note, and if he remembered correctly, there would come a time for a confrontation between his two…male guardians anyway. No need to rush it now.

Chapter Text

Hunting monsters with the god of the sea was the single most pleasant way PERCY had ever met some of them.

The whole day they spent racing from shore to shore, on the prowl for a lone pack of hellhounds or a few Telchines, reminded the demigod a lot of the farming in single shooter games he had played when he was younger. Easy picking of easy targets to gain experience and get rewards. Because the monsters he faced were exactly that: easy pickings. None of them was even remotely a challenge for Percy to dispose of, making both father and son start to bet about how quickly he could do it and be back in the water. It became more fun after that, driving the demigod to do steadily more difficult manoeuvres or use his powers in creative ways just to decrease the time.

Riptide sung a lot that day and the son of Poseidon was exhilarated to not have to hold back for once, going for deadly attacks or lethal traps more often as time moved on. The strain using those caused was exactly the kind of exercise he had been craving.

After half a day of low-level monsters, his dad grew a bit bored, and they decided to tackle an opponent slightly bigger. Without even mentioning it, Percy knew that Cyclops and Laestrygonians would not be on today’s menu (simple because not all of them were bad in this time apparently? Or all of them held his father’s favor). But there was a big and mean sea serpent terrorizing one of the outer posts of Atlantis that the king wanted disposed. So who better to task with it than the bloodthirsty demigod craving to prove himself?

Percy’s fight against the serpent took way longer, but most of that time was because Poseidon found it incredibly funny to send little currents his way to mess with his balance or speed, giving the monster more opportunities to attack and forcing the young man on the defensive. At first, he was frustrated with his fathee, but he soon learned to adapt and anticipate certain interceptions, making it slightly easier to change his own pattern and finally, after like half an hour or so, he killed the beast with a decisive stab in the eye. Seeing the serpent burst into golden dust was satisfying as Hades and settled the gnawing doubt in the demigod’s heart for good.

He could still take monsters.

The day was far advanced by that time and Poseidon was needed back in court, so they saw each other off with a loose hug that felt like warmth and home (and doused him in the smell of salted caramel for at least half a week) before his father pointed him in the direction of Ithaca’s coast.

On the way back, Percy ran into Judy and Thais again and they played catch until the beach was on the horizon.

-

Turned out that vanishing for two days to have bonding time with the god that fathered Percy mad his friends nervous and high strung until the young man was back in their eyesight.

Granted, after the experience all of them had with Poseidon before, it was only logical to be worried about his bloodthirsty and resentful attitude. And it was also understandable that none of them believed Percy when he summed up their weekend as playful banter and therapeutic monster slaying. At least they stopped watching his every movement after all of them (individually) had made sure there were no wounds or injuries on him.

All of his friend acted like mother hens when he returned to the inn, to the great amusement of the few patrons, as well as Chares and Nikias, who took over the service while Telesophorus was distracted.

To Percy’s great surprise, another familiar face waited for his return. Hygnius took over the inspection for his bodily wellbeing immediately (of course) all the while his snug in a few hugs disguised as palpitation of his ribs, but the demigod did not call him out on it.

Elpenor and Perimedes could not stay long, having been given the night’s watch by the harbour, but both soldiers said how happy they were to have him back and that they could resume their training tomorrow morning, earning them a great sigh of aggravation from the young man.

Together with Zeno and Hyginus, Percy took residence at a table near the bar (so that they were to chat with Telesophorus when the man wasn’t in the kitchen). He learned that the medic had been filled in about everything they had previously discussed, making it easier to find a relaxed rhythm in the following conversations.

When he was asked in more detail about his time with his father (everyone avoided any other name or description of the god like the plague, only naming his relation to Percy or calling him barnacle beard – which the youngest found hilarious-), the talk turned once more toward training and the preparation for the contest.

Percy lamented about how he would need to start at zero again because of his relapse into old patterns during his time in the sea and the demigod felt his motivation sink to rock bottom. He contemplated throwing the towel and just try to sneak into the palace to see his Dream-Boy, when Zeno huffed unimpressed while taking a big swing from his wine.

“If you’ve got trouble keeping it down, why not give yourself a handicap? A blindfold maybe? Or binding an arm to your torso? Have you ever tried fight with the other hand? Could be a nice challenge for a few days.”, the dressmaker suggested, obviously joking, but his words were taking quite serious by the other two.

Percy’s eyes became wide in wonder as Hyginus hummed thoughtfully, his gaze slipping to Riptide (in ring form) and his steel sword. “That is actually a very good idea.”, the medic proposed, “You have two swords, why not learn fighting with both at the same time? You’ve got the strength and coordination. It may feel like starting from scratch at first, but it could be an advantage if others underestimate you.”

That last part made the young men perk up, forehead creasing as he analysed the tone of his friend: “What do you mean?”

“Your constant presence in the arena has been noted.”, Hyginus said with a telling tilt of his head, “Even I have heard rumours from guards inside the palace about some young upstart wasting his time, trying to learn how to swing a sword. He is said to be so slow that even a child would beat him.”

Humiliations rose inside Percy, burning through his chest and throat up into his head. He gritted his teeth harshly and the mug in his hand cracked. It took all his restraint to not shatter the hardened clay completely. Those words would have been devastating for his confidence, if he hadn’t spent a few days with his father, proving to himself that he was still strong and capable.

“We know it’s bullshit.”, Zeno grunted, his eyes showed clearly that the older soldier had noticed his reaction, “But Hyginus may be right. Learning to fight with your weak hand can be a goal worth pursuing for you and still generates an image of mediocrity for others to fall for. No one will clock you. And once the contest starts, the others are arrogant and ripe for picking.” To underline his words, the older man plucked a grape from the table between them and threw it into his mouth.

The candle in their table flickered, throwing ominous shadows while Percy mulled that plan over. It was a quick calculation that led him to an easy decision. Just the thought of slowing himself down deliberately one more day was torture, but the idea of expanding his skillset on the other hand…

The demigod clenched his left fist experimentally.

Time to start training for real.

-

Now that Percy knew he was being watched, being judged, being gossiped about, he felt the stares the second he stepped into the arena with Perimedes. The walk through the city had not been very different. Only few people were up this early, mainly women or younger girls on the way to one of the fountains or springs to wash clothes (the demigod had originally wanted to refuse when Telesophorus came to collect his laundry for his sister to wash, but after the man had explained that laundry was one of the only reasons for social gatherings amongst women, he had bitten his tongue and gave up his clothes). It was horrible how restricted some people were just because they had different genitals, but as of now, there was little Percy could do but treat the women as his mother had taught him.

With respect, reverence and kindness.

Which was why he instantly helped when a women lost her grip on the basket in her hands as they passed her on the streets. Before the fabrics could spill onto the dirty street, Percy already caught the container with one hand and his knee, while the other fetched a chiton that was drifting to the ground. He collected everything quickly and made sure the woman was okay, before giving her the basket back and leaving with a respectful nod. Perimedes didn’t say anything, but his gaze spoke loud enough.

And Percy did not care one iota that he was acting strange or unusual. Not in this instance.

-   

The arena was still quite empty, but there were a few more people than last time. Most likely because the contest was in two weeks. The demigod tried to ignore the many eyes on himself when he followed Perimedes in his warmup jog around the perimeter. He had told his friend that he would change his sword hands for the foreseeable future and to please not make a big deal out of it (or laugh too hard when he would inevitably fumble with it).

Fighting with the sword in his left hand felt…strange. Not wrong per se, but definitely weird and offbeat. They started with the same slow movements as last week, but this time, Percy was thankful for every extra second he got to correct his grip or stance to accommodate the new angle he had to take to deflect strikes. More than once, he sat the wrong foot first and then needed to duck ungainly to avoid being hit.

It wasn’t challenging physically (except for his wrist, who was unused to the new movement and hurt fiercely after two hours) but Percy’s brain had to work overtime to accommodate the change in pace and rhythm. His reflexes were still great, but so trimmed to react to a right-handed attack or defence, that they sometimes led him right in the path of the oncoming strike, and not out of it.

Perimedes was kind enough not to comment, but he also wasn’t gentle, pushing the younger man further and further, not pausing or giving him time to doubt his decision. The result wasn’t great that first day and his body was littered with little cuts and darkening bruises he could have avoided easily, if the demigod hadn’t been so focused on getting his left arm to cooperate. But one dip into the sea and Percy was as good as new (not that he would be able to do that very often, now that he was watched by the other trainees, but the energy boost was desperately needed today).

Percy was more than tired after that and locked himself into his room for the rest of the evening, paging through his photo album and feeling bittersweet melancholy. After going down for a quick meal, he began writing his first letter to his Mom. He did not send it immediately. It wouldn’t make any difference for the future, and he was too exhausted to deal with a godly visit right now. Maybe after the contest he could send a few letters at once?

-

The next two days passed in a similar fashion, but at the end of them, Percy at least felt like he had made some progress. He could hold onto his sword now without being disarmed every second spar and his wrist had grown used to the rotation and weigh of his weapon. The spars were still slow, but more evenly paced and with every passing hour, the demigod’s movements became more fluent and refined. He was on a very good path to be ambidextrous someday. Even considering his stamina and dedication, it was utopian to expect him to master it in a few, short weeks completely.

He would need to switch hands again for the contest. Just to make sure he would really win.

Either way, Percy also used his time in the arena to observe his future opponents (if all of them joined anyway). Most of them were mediocre at best and probably 90% could’ve been beaten by every demigod in Camp Half-Blood, but for mortals who had not seen war, a few indeed showed promise.

But a group of three men in dark chitons and with ragged beards was not among those promising.

All of them had darker skin and darker hair, and their jeers echoed across the space in a subtle show of dominance. The thing that drew Percy’s attention the most was the fact that they were smart. It was obvious that they were here to observe instead of training and the way they sparred lackluster with each other only underlined it. Not one of them showed their true strength or skill. Percy recognized the drawn shoulders and tense wrists for the same restraint he had tried to show at first.

The unknown proficiency made them a tick more dangerous than everyone else in the arena, but the demigod was not overly anxious. Their footwork was trash, relying too heavy on strength and one good push would make them topple over like dominos. No matter how weak they tried to appear, the patterns in their movements were too constant to be show.

So, it wasn’t the possible danger they posed that captured Percy’s focus, it was what left their mouths in mocking sneers.

And it made him want to drown them all.

Slowly. Painfully.

And this time, he wouldn’t fear feeling their last moments. He would relish in it.

“I’ve got our first payment this morning. It’s an encouragement to stick to the plan.”, the man with startling blue eyes (that contrasted harshly with his skin and hair, making him look like some kind of ghost) mumbled a bit more subdued, but still loud enough for Percy to hear.

The demigod was just going through another step sequence. His back was to the three men, but an inconspicuous look revealed the smarmy smirks of the other two.

A man with a high and squeaky voice tittered in response: “Those suitors sure have money and time enough. Lazy pricks.” One quick glance showed that he was the tallest and thinnest of the bunch, like a weed.

The third man answered with a thick accent that slurred his words nearly unrecognizable: “As if you wouldn’t take the opportunity to wine and dine on the crown’s cost while having the nicest ass in all of Ithaca dangling in front of your face all the time.”

“Whose are we talking about? The prince’s or his stuck-up bitch of a mother’s?”, the Ghost answered jeeringly, an unmistakable hunger in his voice.  

Percy’s muscles locked up instantly. The warmth in his chest filled his whole body in seconds, the gushing of the ocean became louder and louder, even though they were miles away from the sea. Or maybe it was the blood that suddenly ran unbearable hot through his veins.

Calling, enticing him to let loose.

He wanted to turn around and pummel them into the ground, not even caring if it were with his fists or swords or their own teeth. Seeing their disgusting blood wet the dirt would be the most satisfying thing ever. And it would be deserved.

The sky above darkened sinisterly and the only thing holding the demigod back for now was the indecision on how to make them eat their words most effectively.

There were so many weapons at his disposal. The waterskins on their belts, the sweat on their backs, the spittle catching in their mouths-

His senses heightened and the thrum of power inside him let him feel the liquid inside their bodies moving sluggishly. Percy just needed to yank and-    

“Both good. But I like mine juicy and young. So you can keep the Queen.”, came the answer flippant answer from the accented one. His teeth were crooked and more than three were missing, causing his slurred speech. He was small and fat. The perfect punching bag size.

The demigod felt the first drop of rain hit his cheek, soaking up directly into his skin. He did not even notice that he had stopped moving until Perimedes was directly in his face, eyes wide and terrified. His friend gently gripped his left wrist, the one with the sword and held on tightly.

It wouldn’t even be an effort to rip himself free.

But Percy didn’t want to hurt his friend, so he refrained, his brain still lagging behind a bit.

There were no thoughts in him. Just feelings and pictures of mayhem and bloodshed.

Perimedes said something, his face drawn together tightly and his pupils blown wide. Percy could see the sea-green blaze of his own eyes reflected in the brown irises of his friend. Bright and dangerous.

The only words reaching him were the ones of Squeaky, the weedy tall one. “Did you hear that she refused to be touched by anyone since the king left? She must be dripping for a man.”, he said, sealing his fate and drawing the strings of their immanent death tighter.

There would be no second chances.

But somehow, Percy’s body remained frozen, caught up in his own morbid need to hear the end of their conversation. If this was a plan to hurt his Telemachus, the demigod had to know it.

“For sure. It’s no wonder the suitors are so pent up.”, that was hideous-teeth guy.

Ghost cackled and the metallic sound of a sword being sharpened sliced the air: “As long as it’s loosening their pockets, I am fine with that. Once we’re in the guard, they will pay good money for a bit of alone time with the servants.”

Not one of the three noticed that the sky had turned an eerie green, collecting clouds and sending a slicing wind through the arena. The sea roared louder, their blood moved faster. Just a little. Just to make them sweat. Just to make him feel more in control.

“Or with the prince. I heard he never leaves his room anyway. No one would notice him having visitors.”

“And it’s not like he could even do anything but take it. That one isn’t a warrior at all. Bet he is getting wrecked regularly by the suitors anyway. You think he’s loud?”

They would die.

Their Fate was sealed. Atropos could cut their strings right now.

Because even if they somehow, by a miracle (or godly intervention), survived his wrath and hate today, their vile and loathsome words would never be forgotten. And not even Chaos himself would be able to save them. They would die by his hands. If not today, then at the contest, in front of those they had mocked and jeered and disgraced. He would give his prince their heads, their deaths a sacrifice to his Dream-Boy’s wholesome being, only worthy of being worshiped by those who had proven themselves to him.  

Percy would drench the sand with their blood and make them weep in agony for every word they had ever spoken, before cutting them into tiny pieces to feed the pigs. Their deaths would be a massage, an example of the future to all those who would dare to raise a hand or abominable words against those he loved. He would become a mirror of his father. Ruthless. Without mercy.

For those men, he would be the monster. Ripping. Tearing. Killing.

And he would enjoy it.

…

The sky was pitch black. Thunder boomed.

Faint screams reached the edge of his awareness.

Rain came crashing down like a tidal wave, wetting everything thoroughly in seconds.

The demigod felt the raw power of the water rush through his veins. There was no stopping him. He turned around, stretching, clawing for the warm feeling of pulsing, red, live-sustaining-

“Percy!” The cry came together with a sharp sting on his cheek. The son of Poseidon reeled back, blinking, before recognizing the face in front of him.

Perimedes. A friend.

A terrified friend, eyes full of horror and shaking with his whole body, but still standing, still by his side.   

“You need to leave!”, he called in desperation, pointing toward the harbor. Percy felt his prey slip away with the rest of the crowd, down the city, to escape the storm. His storm. But the warm pulse of their blood was like a beacon, letting him feel where exactly they were running. He easily could-

“You'll drown all of Ithaca! Think of Telemachus. Go!”

.

Telemachus.

.

Telemachus - My Dream-Boy.

The warmth lost some of its painful burning intensity. Percy breathed deeply, fighting against the crashing waves of his wrath, wrangling it back for a moment.

His Prince was still here. Still waiting.

Waiting for him to show up.

Nothing bad had happened yet. (Hopefully)

Please let nothing have happened yet. Let him be save and sound.

Killing the rats right now would not help anything but give him more problems and headaches. He needed to be patient. Needed to see his Dream-Boy first. Make sure he was safe. That their future together was set in stone. And then, then he could-

Perimedes was right. Percy needed to leave. Right now. Because for all his logic, the emotions churning through him were too big to be contained forever. They needed an outlet. Soon. Something would be destroyed by his powers for sure, and it couldn’t be Ithaca.

Without wasting another second, the demigod whirled around and raced through the street. He didn’t care about who saw him when he reached the coast and threw himself into the water, directing the currents to take him away as fast as possible.

When he felt the coldness and darkness of the deeper waters, Percy finally let go.

The ocean exploded.

Chapter Text

It was PERCY’s father who found him in the end.

But only after the demigod had already destroyed a deserted and half-dead coral reef in his rage. Chunks of ripped apart stone and dead biological mater swirled in the water around him, which was tinged grey from the stirred-up sand. A crater of the size of a ship was torn in the ground, cracking the ocean floor like a spiderweb. And while most of his initial fury had retreated behind his other feelings of disgust and fear and aggression, the mix of power and emotion was still boiling high in his blood.

No living soul dared to venture closer. Percy had felt them all swim away frantically in the back of his mind before he let the first wave of unlimited anger rip out of him. But now, panting and still very much dangerous, the god of the Sea didn’t hesitate to materialize next to his son.

Poseidon had obviously forgone any plan to look even remotely mortal when he’d felt the sea ripple and strain under his son’s influence. The deity’s upper body loosely came together in two arms and a chest, while fins and scaled covered the skin in a glowing canvas of blues and greens. His head was covered in black spikes, only showing the two deep, shining holes of his eyes. But it was the lower half of the god that was truly different than normal, because everything under the belt took the form of a mighty hippocampus, including hooves and tail (all equally spikey), swishing agitated and causing minor whirlpools. The King of Atlantis was massive, not even trying to reduce his form as he loomed over his demigod child.    

“Perseus.”, addressed the dark voice Percy, sending shiver and chills down his spine, but not breaking him out of his emotional turmoil. The deliberate use of his full name tingled a dark part in his brain, that preened at being recognized as a destroyer right now.

His father saw him for what he truly was. And was not judging him for it.

The demigod tilted is head, but wasn’t able to move his muscles anymore without releasing the second wave of destruction that was boiling in his bones. His rage had not yet cooled enough to give the reigns back to reason. It still resided to deeply in his heart.   

“Are you back to yourself?”, asked Poseidon calmly, moving around him in a protective embrace, shielding the young man with his ginormous body.

Percy unclenched his jaw to let out a guttural hiss: “No.”

The statement vibrated through the water unopposed for a moment, until the god breathed in deeply. His teeth were sharp and dangerous when he gave his son an understanding smile that was neither gentle nor soft, but pure intent: “I see. I will get you somewhere to let lose.”

In the blink of an eye, the demigod was swished away by the sea, pulled along the currents at a neck breaking pace that only soothed his need to move (-to do something-) somewhat. Percy lost track of what part of the ocean they were in after a few seconds, concentrating on the supernova in his chest to not implode immediately. He still had a mental tracker on those rats and the pumping of their blood made his teeth ache.

He needed to stop their hearts, needed to bleed them dry and watch the life leave their eyes to be sure that they were never able to touch-

Percy forcefully slammed that thought away, focusing on the warm water around him as his father reached whatever he had been aiming for. The sea felt as empty as before, all aquatic life had deserted this part as soon as they had smelled his rage in the water. To only alive things around them were-  

“Those ships belong to slave traders. They didn’t offered anything for a save passage or paid tribute to me. I thought you might appreciate a target that reacts to their deserved destruction.”, explained Poseidon with a sharp grin as he pointed to the three keels above them. People were moving around on the vessels, the liquid in their bodies clearly marking their existence in Percy’s eyes. He zeroed in on them like a predator watching his prey. Drool pooled in his mouth as he imagined tearing the wood apart and sinking those other disgusting humans.

Yes, slave traders may deserve the toned-down version of his anger. But there were also…

“The slaves.”, he gritted out, head swivelling from the ships to his father, pleading. The Stormbringer rolled his eyes in an exaggerated gesture before sighing deeply. He waved his clawed limbs in playful annoyance before answering his son: “Will be spared if you wish it.” He sounded a bit like a child who was asked to clean up after his playtime.

It made a sliver of amusement rise under all of the hate and fury. The demigod demanded his compliance with a simple: “Yes.” and ignored the next eyeroll. Poseidon then drew back a bit, giving Percy room and space to work with. 

“Very well, I’ll take care of it.”, the god conceded and then added, with a darker voice full of anticipation: “You can let go now.”

And Percy did.

All the rage and hate and disgust exploded into a whirlpool of ripping waves that would’ve made even Charybdis jealous. Gaining speed and volume, the rushing water nearly drowned out the panicked screams of the humans, as the sky turned black and green, unleashing a stormy hail that gave the chaos a rhythmic background beat.

Percy was reminded of the first storm he had witnessed in Greece and how trying to control it had felt like conducting. The same experience, now only a hundred times stronger, made the demigod raise his arms in a command, silent and intense.

Waves crashed, water build, rain poured. People screamed and pleaded and cried, while wood chipped and creaked ominously, as the sheer pressure of the storm began to rip at the ships, making them sway and turn like little ducks in a bathtub with a toddler.

And Percy enjoyed being the toddler in that metaphor.

With the knowledge and trust that his father would save all innocent slaves, the demigod lifted the lid from his boiling powers, letting the warmth and burning pull swarm his mind. His body a mere conductor for the divine might of the sea, he let himself be pushed along with the storm. The currents carried him safely from one tidal wave to another and Percy made sure to inflict as much damage as possible each time, throwing the ships against one another until one mast broke and fell into the sea with a deep splash.

A body followed shortly after.

The first time it happened, Percy stopped immediately. Hanging in a limbo between one wave and the next, his eyed found the thrashing person, fighting against the sea pulling him down. Pain shot through his heart like a spike and the young man instantly called for the ocean to help the person, to lift him up to the surface.

Then he saw the whip on his belt. Crusted over with dried blood. His guilt vanished.

“You will save all the slaves and everyone under the age of twenty.”

Percy did not recognize his voice as he addressed his father. It was far deeper and had a weird vibrating quality to it that made his brain rattle. And was he speaking louder? Or was that an echo? Poseidon did not seem concerned, even as his grin turned a bit sharper. His Hippocampus-tail swatted the demigod’s head, leaving a sting behind. The massive head of the god bowed down to him, growling into his ear: “Do not talk to me like that. I may comply for now, but you will ask next time. I am not a god who’s bossed around by a baby seal.”

The insult and threat both lost a lot of seriousness when Poseidon ruffled his hair with a warm little wave, before drawing his gaze back to the ships, where more people were thrown overboard by the stormy tides. Percy indeed saw how a few were plucked away from the debris by invisible water-hands and then disposed of on the surface outside of his hurricane and in the swimming distance of an island.

While he returned to causing mayhem and chaos, the demigod was a bit more himself again and used the few braincells he had to direct the broken mast into the ex-slaves’ way. It would be stupid to expect all of them knew how to swim.

After his conscience was appeased, Percy had no more reason to stop his storm from raging and ripping the ships apart. He lost himself in the feeling of water and waves, pulling on his hair and clothes and his very essence to become part of them. And he somehow did. With closed eyes, the demigod immerged himself in the feeling of rising with the tide, of surfing on the currents and of crashing with the pressure of thousand gallons of saltwater. It was his hand that ripped apart planks and mast, his teeth that tore through sails and the rare chunk of metal, and his breath that swallowed the crying mortals down into the abyss.

When Percy came back to himself, his raging wrath was settled, his breath came in exhausted puffs and the world slowly came back into the right focus. His father was still a looming presence above him, but he was no longer alone. When the young man’s eyes finally felt like they were back in his skull, he blinked a few times, confused.

Because beside his father was a figure he recognized (and was only half surprised to see. They had messed with her domain after all).

Kymopoleia, Goddess of violent storms, eyed him up with thinly veiled curiosity. Her jellyfish hair mixed with Poseidon’s black strands as the daughter turned to her father, arms crossed and lips drawn into a pout. “That looked like fun!”, she said accusatory, “Why wasn’t I invited?”

-

Percy was too tired to listen to the excuse his dad invented to appease his half-sister. He was spent, exhausted in body and mind, which was finally, blessedly quiet. He only closed his eyes for what felt like a minute, but when he awoke in their little cave deep in the trench, time had passed and Poseidon was absent, having only left him a little note, engraved in a flat stone slap by the entrance.

My dear son,

You have been asleep for quite some time. I am needed back in court, but Kymopoleia has agreed to check in on you regularly and make sure you do not lose substance. I called upon my physician to make sure you are simply exhausted after that tremendous display of power and control, and he said that after a bit of rest, you would recover completely.
I would’ve taken you with me to Atlantis, but I was unsure whether that was something you’d be okay with and did not want to risk your ire.
You are, of course, welcome to join us at any time. You only need to follow the call of the seashells; it will lead you straight here.
It might be better for you to return to the surface for now. Your friends have started to pray to me, and it becomes bothersome. Please assure them you are alive first.
I hope you will wake up in time for your contest. Kym should have left some indication of time’s passing, if she isn’t there with you.  

I really enjoyed our little outing. Know that those you were determined to save have reached an island.

I will await you in Atlantis, Percy. Please do not make me wait forever.

In Love,
Dad.  

Oh, and I left you your spoils from our hunt last time. My best smith made leather armor befitting of a prince out of the sea serpent’s skin you slew. Please wear it at your discretion. 

Still groggy and not quite in control of his senses, it took Percy longer than normal to understand all of the words and their meaning. But when he finally got them together, his heart sank to the bottom of the trench. He looked around frantically, searching for another message and not finding anything at first glance.

How long was he out?

Their little lair gave no indication in itself, the corals and anemones shone colorful and slightly luminescent, tinting the space in a soft light. The cozy pillows and blankets in the corner were undisturbed, as was the table and little shelf. The only new thing was the bed he had rested in, and the armor stand by the entrance, easy to reach but hidden enough to not be in direct view from the trench.

On it, there was the most beautiful armor Percy had ever laid his eyes on. Seeing as the serpent had had turquoise skin, it was to be expected that the majority of the armor would be of the same color, but that didn’t mean the demigod wasn’t amazed by it. The breast plate was made from different pieces, fitted together like scales and outlined by bronze-golden applications. The color scheme continued in the arm and shin guards, as well as the shoulder pads. The armor glimmered in the water, catching the light fetchingly on the scale-pattern. It looked like an ancient treasure, expensive and royal in make. Like something a king would wear, not dear-old-Percy.

In all his wonder, the demigod nearly forgot his original worry about time, until his foot caught on a rocky stone halfway down to the entrance. He looked down and saw five other stones in a perfectly even line that had not been here before, and a sharp metal plate leaning against the wall. The writing on it was a different scripture, sharper and smaller, chaotic and hard to read. Luckily there wasn’t much.

I am mortally offended!
You'll find a way to make it up to me, brother! I expect a proper apology for the cruel exclusion from such a great hurricane. (We could create so much mayhem together, sweet child…) And a thank you for my effort of watching over you! I will not forget this, so you better won’t as well.   

The pure dramatic aura the whole message excluded settled the churning in his gut a bit. If Kymopoleia was in the mood to write something like this instead of cursing him, it meant she was most likely just looking for attention and recognition. Something Percy was very willing to give to his half-sister. But not now, because the five stones could either mean days or weeks and if he had missed his chance of seeing Telemachus, Percy would accept his sister’s invitation to another vent-session immediately.

But all hope was not yet lost. If five days had passed, he still had a chance to make it to the contest. Depending on the time, he may have a few more hours to get back to Ithaca and compete.

Or the contest had already begun, but that was truly the worst-case scenario.

Percy had never swum faster. Propelled forward by the waves and guided through the currents, he made for Ithaca. On his way, he was even able to hitch a ride from a very friendly pack of dolphins, who chittered happily and allowed him to hold on to their fins and raced each other the be faster. The demigod had no idea what time it was, but when he came up to the beach it was late morning and the sun had not reached its highest point yet. Hope bloomed in his chest.

The demigod shook off the last remaining water drops and rushed over the golden beach, making it in record time to the outskirts of the city, only slowing down enough to not look like a maniac as he jogged through the mostly deserted streets. Percy felt his heart speed up when he found the inn empty and locked, meaning his friends were already on their way to the palace arena, where the contest was being held.

Without further ado, the boy dashed up the streets toward the palace gates. He wasn’t sure where exactly the arena was located, but as soon as he saw the stone walls surrounding the grounds, a steady stream of chattering people pointed him in the right direction. There was no rush among them for now, giving Percy enough time to easily slip through the cluster of men and woman talking excitingly.

The arena was impossible to miss, as after a few bends, the tall sandstone building rose above the green treetops. It resembled a small Colosseum with its circular structure and entrances on several sides. A small stone plaque announced that participants should use the southernmost entrance and have their registration ready.

Percy’s heart stopped. He could not remember that Perimedes or Elpenor had mentioned something of a registry. Blood rushing through his ears, the demigod stumbled around the arena toward the south entrance.

Maybe he could sneak in somehow? Fake a name? Should he hope his friends were not yet here and use one of their names? But what if they asked questions he couldn’t answer?    

His panic proved to be unfounded, because between all the buff and half naked guys standing in line to be let in, Percy saw the telltale sight of two breast plates stamped with the sigil of the Ithacan army. On the ship of Odysseus, they were found countless times, but only a few possessed the original nowadays. Especially here.

After pushing between two growling men posturing in an embarrassing display of forced masculinity Percy could only role his eyes at, the demigod indeed got a look at his two soldier friends, standing in line with grim faces, looking around searchingly, but hopeless.

“I’m here!”, the son of Poseidon gasped out of breath as he skidded to a stop by their side, hands on his knees and fighting against the dizziness and his burning lungs.

“Percy!”, Perimedes called with audible relief, clapping him soothingly on the back and rubbing his arms. Elpenor came into view with a big jug of water he offered the young man while saying: “We nearly gave up hope. Do you have your equipment?”

The demigod tapped the steel sword at his belt before he took the water, sipped two times and then doused himself with the cool liquid. He felt his muscles relax immediately and the warmth in his chest hummed contently.

Seeing as he just came out of a days long restorative sleep and a long swim in the ocean, the small boost was enough to get him to nearly 100% capacity again. Not that Percy thought he would need it all in this contest, but it was always better to be overprepared.

When he raised his eyes, he saw Perimedes grimace: “No armor? That could be rough. If you had said something-“

“The bigger problem is that I have no registration. Didn’t know we needed one.”, the son of Poseidon interrupted. He was honestly not really worried about the missing armor. He didn’t plan to fight like he had in the spars. No point in holding back here (except to not go for the kill, that was against the rules as Zeno had told him once). He would use both his stronger hand and all the reflexes his divine blood had given him. It was pretty unlikely that one of the mortals would be able to actually harm him, and if they did, it would be more for show than anything else. He had a Queen to impress after all (but not so much that she could suspect something was different about him, so maybe he would need to pace himself after all).

That was, if he even was permitted to participate without being enrolled.

But his friends saved him once more when Elpenor pulled a crumbled bit of parchment from behind his breastplate. He grinned at the demigod: “They opened it two days ago. We've taken the liberty to register you. Your father is unknown, but your mother is one of Zeno's numerous nieces. No one will ask for details, but we've listed the name Silicia. Sounds similar to Sally, I hope that's okay?”

“You guys are the best!”, beamed Percy before pulling both of them in a quick hug. Perimedes sighed strained as he said: “Age 16 and sword as a main weapon fits, right? Gods Percy, you gave us all a heart attack. Just vanishing for days straight! We were worried sick. What if you hadn’t made it?!”

The young man winced and flipped a few strands of black hair out of his eyes as he said apologetic: “I’m sorry. I was knocked out for a few days and just woke up like two hours ago.”

“What happened?”, asked Elpenor curiously, but with a short look around, Percy shook his head: “Later, okay? But I am fine, really. We need to concentrate here.”

“The both of us maybe.”, grumbled Perimedes with a fond headshake, “You will breeze through this. Just… Please spare us a humiliation, okay?”

The demigod laughed and then it was their time to enter the Fighters' lounges. A bored guard with an amazing mustache took one short look at their parchments, grunted and then checked some boxes on his own little booklet. He scrutinizes Percy for a few seconds longer before commenting: “A bit young for the guard, aren't you boy?”

The son of Poseidon just gave his most innocent smile (he ignored the exaggerated shivers of Elpenor and Perimedes upon seeing his expression) and said: “Is there an age restriction?”

“Guess not.”, replied the moustache man with a furrowed brow and then stamped his registration like all the others, “Just make sure you parents don’t complain if you get a bit banged up.” Percy smile turned sharper when he took his parchment back. As he followed Perimedes and Elpenor into the tunnels of the arena he grumbled: “Just make sure those mighty men don’t come whining when they get beat up by me.”

Elpenor swung an arm around his shoulders and snickered: “Calm down. You get your chance to show all of them who’s the shark soon enough. Just leave some of them for us to impress the Queen as well, we would really like to join you in the palace guard.”

“It would be nice if you had my back.”, the younger man mused with a bittersweet smile, “Like old times.”

Perimedes appeared on their other side and said with an encouraging slap on Percy’s back: “We can stick together as long as possible. It’s an all-out brawl fight every time, everyone against everyone, but they stop once the last five or so are remaining.”

“That’s gonna be us then.”, decided the son of Poseidon confidently when they made it to a bigger room full of stone benches on sandy ground. A few beat up straw puppets allowed for some last-minute training and there were many more participants than expected. Their little group drew back into a corner, observing the others while Elpenor mumbled: “If you need to take us out to make it to the end, do it. We owe you more than we could ever repay, and seeing your prince is important to you. We can just try again next time.”

Percy was just about to shake his head and shut that idea down, when he caught a sight in his periphery that made him freeze instantly. Three men. One tall and slender, with a squeaky laugh, the other plump and with hideously crooked teeth and the last one with light blue eyes that gave him a ghosty look.

The rats.

Percy’s blood was burning before his brain even realized what was going on, and it was only thanks to Elpenor’s tight grip around his biceps (his nails digging deep enough to leave dents) that stopped the demigod from stalking forward and slashing his sword through flesh and bone. Then Perimedes stepped in his vision, taking his chin in a painful grip, forcing his sea-green eyes to focus on his friend.

“Deep breaths.”, the soldier whispered, and through an inhumanly amount of self-restraint, mixed with pain and the promise of later retribution, Percy managed to let go of most of the tension in his body and relax into the safe hold of his friends. The son of Poseidon closed his eyes and concentrated on the blood sloshing through the bodies touching him, calm and steady, anchoring him.

When Elpenor felt him relax, he loosened his grip and Perimedes made a cautious step back. Percy looked at his friends, but some part of him was still clocking every breath and movement of the rats. “They’re mine. Do not come in the way.”, he warned darkly and with all the gravity of a leader, who demanded obedience. It was the tone he had used in the battle of Manhattan with the other Campers and in the fight against Hyperion and Kronos.

His friends exchange a telling look, before Perimedes cautiously said: “Killing is not allowed in the contest.”

“And excessive blood spilling will be punished as well.”, added Elpenor equally quiet.

Percy smirked, sharp and dangerous (and maybe a tad unhinged): “Maiming does not need blood.”

Perimedes expression was a mix of wary, exasperated and a bit calculated. Then he sighed deeply and mumbled: “Just don’t overdo it. You need to impress the Queen. And she isn’t one for senseless violence.”

“Noted.”, was the only concession Percy was willing to give, before a deep voice called them all to attention.

The contest was about to begin.   

Chapter Text

PERCY’S jaw dropped when he got his first good look at the site of the contest.

The arena really was like a Colosseum of ancient Rome. Or future Rome, in this case. Countless tiers of pale stone grandstands stretched skyward, framing the elliptical sandy arena. The first tier began just under three meters above the ground, protecting all spectators from whatever was happening below on the battlefield. The decorations were simple but elegant and carved into the stone. Three entrances were distributed along the lowest section for fighters to enter the ring. Only one was in use now, as all the contestants spilled into the arena.

Percy felt like he was in the movie Gladiator, as he watched the whole procession with wide eyes. It smelt like old sweat and dried blood when they walked through the tunnels, but once they passed through the entrance, the scent was added to by cleaner air and slight dust from the sand. His blood began to pump excitingly.

Then came the noise.

Hundreds upon hundreds of people were up in the stands, screaming, talking, laughing, betting. Their voices created a canopy of busy chatter that was nearly overwhelming, even without all the hot blood rushing in excitement and giddiness that registered at the edge of Percy’s consciousness. The onslaught on his senses didn’t stop while the fighters entered the arena completely. On the contrary, the atmosphere exploded even more, making the demigod wince slightly.

He was not the only one turning around in slow circles, taking in all the people and sudden attention, but it was obvious that most of the fighters were used to this kind of ruckus. Despite the heady feeling of being cheered on (the demigod had no illusion that most of the spectators were rooting for someone else, or simply the bloodshed itself) he drifted back to his two friends, taking a position slightly in front of them naturally.

“Attention, attention!”, called a loud voice from the balcony on the opposite of the arena. Everyone turned around to look at the man, dresses in the finest, dark green silk, who stood at the edge of the ancient VIP-box. The elegant stone railing separating the balcony from the other tiers only reached the man’s thighs, making sure that the people residing there could still see all of the action below. In his hands was a mouthpiece that amplified his voice to be heard above all the other shouting. 

“Dear citizen of Ithaca, dear guests and dear competitors, all rise for her Majesty, Queen Regent Penelope of Ithaca, wife of the great King Odysseus, and their son, his Royal Highness, Prince Telemachus of Ithaca!”

All the air instantly vanished from Percy’s lungs.

His heart stopped, only to resume racing in the loudest possible way, drowning out everything else. The screams of the crowd grew distant. Whatever else the Announcer said was swallowed by the blood rushing through his ears, as the sea-green gaze of the demigod sharply settled onto the balcony.

Searching. Hoping. Praying.

His mouth was dry as the desert, when under the shadow of the red sun sail a person moved to the front of the balcony.

Queen Penelope was as pretty as the reports, drawings and the single vision he had seen made her out to be. Flowing caramel hair, that glittered like gold in the light, framed a symmetrical face blessed with even lips, a dainty nose and two huge eyes in the color of burning sapphires. The Queen wore a beautiful dress, colored in the lightest purple, that left her shoulders free, where a sheer white shawl sat comfortably, covering her hair and back. Her golden accessories glinted in the sun as she raised her hand in greeting. An expression of cool calm and a reserved smile graced her features, before she sat down elegantly in a highchair in perfect view of the arena.

Percy didn’t notice any of that. He spared the Queen only a passing glance in his search for the person he truly (desperately) wanted to see.

It was like a reverberating shock through his entire body when he finally stepped into the light.

Ethereal, beautiful like a painting, the prince moved across the balcony, robbing Percy of any ability to think or feel anything except the overwhelming rush of home and comfort and desperate, all-consuming longing. Like a caged bird, his heart fluttered wildly in the demigod’s chest, begging to break free and fly to the other, as his eyes hungrily drank in the sight of his Dream-Boy. Finally in reach.

Finally, here.

For real.

No dream or vision.

Breathing was an unnecessary function in the face of such beauty. For the air would only be knocked from is lungs again when his unworthy eyes next laid their gaze upon this creation of the gods.

His Prince had grown.

Of course he had.

It had been three years for both of them.

But Percy was still reeling from the undeniable proof of time’s passage in the form of broader shoulders (were they now covered by even more freckles? Percy couldn’t wait to find out…) and cheekbones sharp enough to cut stone. Telemachus’ skin was tan (but still pale compared to Percy’s), his chocolate brown hair now reached his chin in soft curls, that were held back by a golden laurel wreath (how he longed to feel its softness between his calloused fingers) and he wore a perfectly cut chiton in sky-blue, matching the white and golden accents of his jewelry and belt, as well as the detailed embroidery.

He cut a mighty fine figure up on the balcony, looking exactly like the prince from all the fairytales Percy had read when he was little. But a flash of white around Telemachus’ throat drew his eyes away from the way the young man’s clothes flattered his form.

The necklace looked out of place, way too casual for the splendor of fine fabric that dressed him. The big shark tooth dangled enticingly between the prince’s collarbones.

Like a claim, like a statement. Visible to everyone.

He still wore Percy’s gift.

Openly. Proudly. Unafraid of judgment or contraire opinions.

The son of Poseidon felt the heat of possessiveness deep in his gut. A silent purr that grew louder with every second the tooth touched his Dream-Boy’s skin. 

The demigod mourned the fact that he could not see how tall his friend had actually grown, as he fluently sat down next to his mother. Would the son of Poseidon need to look down to meet his enchanting eyes or would they be on eye level?

Thinking about eyes, it was noteworthy that Telemachus didn’t look down into the arena once. The gaze from caramel-colored irises was fixed straight ahead, only briefly scanning the crowd before turning back to the balcony. The prince looked bored and absent-minded, not listening to whatever the Announcer or his mother were saying as he stared into nothingness. And while his beauty was indeed radiant, it was also obvious how lifeless everything else about him appeared. Empty eyes, expressionless face, not one hint of the smiling and witty boy Percy had met in the meadow or his room so many times.

Telemachus looked like a puppet, only going through the motions that were expected of him. No passion or drive behind the movements and so devoid of any emotion it stabbed Percy in the chest like a hot knife. He understood the worry of Hyginus and the Queen instantly. Everything in him screamed at the demigod to do something, to make the prince look down, to catch his eyes, to show him that the wait was over. That Percy was finally here.

Finally home.

But there was no way for him to draw this kind of attention, especially seeing as in that moment Telemachus pulled out a thin book from his chiton and skimmed listlessly through the pages.

The son of Poseidon wanted to curse. Badly.

He didn’t notice how the rules of the contest were explained (the gist he had gathered before was: fight everybody at once and who remains standing at the end may have a chance to make the cut – and Percy intended to make that cut now more than ever) or how the Queen wished all the competitors luck in a drawling voice that spoke off cold detachment.

The only thing capable of drawing him out of his wistful trance, starring at Telemachus, was the sword that nearly beheaded him. It was thanks to Elpenor pushing him out of the way that he was spared from that fate. His friend choked out a warning, half laugh and half hiss, as Perimedes engaged the attacker in combat immediately, drawing him away.

“We need to concentrate here.”, mimicked Elpenor mockingly and swatted after Percy with the back of his hand. “Get your head in the game and stop swooning!”, the soldier ordered sharply, before pushing the younger man around to face his first opponent.

Still a bit dizzy, the demigod parried a sloppy strike from a mace, before twisting the tip of his sword down. That forced the other man (with a truly impressive beard) to follow his movement and got his head bend down to the perfect height to slam the pommel of his weapon against his temple, knocking him out. Just stepping over the downed body, another fighter already came up to take his place. The shield he wore became a nuisance for Percy, until the demigod rolled under his spear attack and punched the man straight in his unprotected kidney (not all the competitors wore full body armor), making him groan and lower his guard. One good strike with the flat side of his sword had this man down as well.

Taking a short breather, Percy saw that Elpenor and Perimedes were both fighting in his back, building a loose triangle that allowed more reckless maneuvers because their backs were protected. The next two opponents the son of Poseidon disposed of equally quickly, before his gaze wandered once more to the balcony. The Queen watched the chaos in the arena impassively and Telemachus sat slumped in his chair, hand against his cheek and eyes glued to his book.

The wind breezed through his hair, making the dark tresses swing enticingly and when the prince crossed his legs absent-minded, he exposed a sliver of pale thigh that sent a warm tingle down Percy’s spine. The demigod swallowed hard, before he ducked under another attack, drawing blood for the first time when the other man moved hectically and right into the path of his sword.

The original plan had been to only cut the strings of his breast plate, but the shallow wound on his shoulder wasn’t too bad of an outcome, because it distracted the fighter long enough for Percy to knock him out as well. As of now, the pommel of his sword had seen more action than the blade, which was really telling about the skills of the other contestants.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t hold back?”, panted Perimedes when they ended up side-by-side against a really big man (that had startling similarities with a bear, both in size and strength). Without the need to talk, the soldier went low, striking the bears thigh, while Percy jumped high, aiming for the biceps and after delivering two other cuts against important tendons, the man went down and waved his hand in a sign of surrender. “I’m not.”, answered the son of Poseidon confused, earning him a scoff from Perimedes. His friend pointed at his weapon with a mocking smirk: “Then why are you fighting with your weaker hand?”

“Huh?”

But when Percy looked down, he saw that it truly was his left hand holding the sword. Embarrassment flooded his ears and neck hotly, and he swatted after Perimedes weakly when his friend cackled. Both of them were swiftly drawn back into fights, but the demigod stubbornly decided to not switch hands mid-battle if it wasn’t necessary. It would give his advantage away. Instead, his eyes were once again drawn to his Dream-Boy.

Actually, it would be pretty easy to reach their box from where he stood. There were wooden beams right under it, sticking out into the arena, and if Percy jumped high enough, he should be able to reach their lowest point. Vaulting up the beams and then walking to the balcony would be child’s play and then he would finally be able to draw Telemachus into a real hug. Could feel his warmth and smell his distinct scent and whisper in his ear how goddamn much he had missed-

“You’re really useless today!”, snapped Elpenor in his ear, pulling him back by his tunic and out of the way of another strike. “Stop being an idiot and help us end this. You can see your lover boy soon enough after that!”

The demigod ducked his head, cheeks colored in embarrassment as he mumbled an apology and got back to the fighting. By now, the ground was littered with prone bodies, and the few conscious, but eliminated contestants were huddled together by the entrance to stay out of the way with their various injuries.

A quick scan through the arena finally drew his undivided attention back to the fights. Percy saw that there were only seven people left standing. Besides the three of them, there was one man swinging two axes (who was locked in combat with Perimedes) and the three rats. The sight of them got his blood boiling in seconds and with a quick snap of his head, he sent Elpenor to engage the sleezy tall bastard. His friend followed the command immediately, drawing the lanky rat away from his friends. That did not go unnoticed by Ghost and Hideous, who jeered with deep laughs when they turned to face Percy. The demigod scanned their surroundings with cold precision as he listened half-heartedly to their taunts.     

“You? Want to take us?”, snorted Ghost with an arrogant smirk, “What a joke! We’ve seen you train these last few weeks, boy. Go back home and suck on your mother's teats before we break your pretty little face.”

“Don’t know Xanthos. I for my part would love to see him beneath me, wriggling and squirming. His bloody ass could be a good starter before the main course.”, cackled Hideous and his beady eyes darted up to the balcony.

The world slowed down as Percy fletched his teeth. With a lazy swirl, his steel sword switched hands without any real thought on his part. A low and dangerous chuckle, that was more growl than laugh, escape the demigod.

Oh, he would enjoy this fight.

Too bad it wouldn’t end in slaughter.

For now.

But this would not be quick. This wouldn’t be show either. At least not the one the spectators most likely expected.

This would be a warning, an example of what happened to those standing in his way. Those rats had not only threatened his prince (again) but also took to insulting his Mom?

Now was the time to pay them back. Graciously.

He peeled off the costume of the clumsy novice like a caterpillar's cocoon. Only, instead of a butterfly, Percy was reborn as a predator. Shark or wolf, he didn’t care. But he was the apex in this arena.

His back straightened, his muscles relaxed, and his gait became fluent and graceful. The demigod stalked forward. His eyes drifted from one foe to the other, evaluating their stances and posture, noting Hideous leaning heavily on his left leg as the right one was adorned by a beautiful cut down the calf, leaving a bloody trail behind. Sniffing out the weakness, Percy immediately took advantage of it, feinting an attack against Ghost, making the man back off, before twirling around on one foot and kicking against the injured leg of Hideous. The heavy man roared in pain and stumbled, as the awful cracking sound of his broken femur echoed sharply through the arena. 

Ups. Maybe Percy underestimated his strength a bit, but he felt nothing except dark amusement when the rat kneeled in the dirty sand. Rendering his left leg completely useless now.

The son of Poseidon could have broken his other leg instead, taking him out of the competition due to his loss of mobility, but that would’ve been too easy (and painless). Hideous could still forfeit, but the hateful glint in his eye showed the demigod that he had no intention of doing so.

Good.

The longer he continued to move the broken bone, the less likely it was that it would heal correctly. Giving the man a lifelong limb was a good start. The young man’s grin was sharp enough to cut stone as he twisted around the long sword that Ghost aimed for his head (definitely a lethal strike, if he hadn’t evaded it) and deflected the flimsy excuse of a strike from Hideous. The men surrounded him now from both sides, but that was deliberate on Percy’s part. He didn’t only want to win.

He wanted to dominate, to humiliate.

That was why the son of Poseidon stilled his sword for a few moments, only relying on his reflexes and spatial awareness to avoid the attack coming from both sides. He twisted and turned, danced around his opponents, neither exhausted nor out of breath, but the movements of the two men grew more sluggish. Ghost was the first to realize the futility of their attacks and stopped, just when Hideous lost his balance fully, stumbling forward. He fell with a cut-off scream directly into Percy’s space and the demigod had a split second to decide whether the man would fall onto the tip of his sword (most likely dying while it looked like an accident) or his fist. With a great sigh of restraint, Percy chose the fist, ramming it into the balls of his foe and twisted sharply for good measure.

There would be no reproduction for this man. Ever.

While the burly rat went down with an embarrassing high scream, movement in his periphery caught his attention.

The incoming strike of Ghost was intercepted by Perimedes. Percy didn’t even twitch, having felt the approach of his friend as well as the attack of the blue-eyed man. Their blood pumped warm and hot and really freaking loudly.

“Thanks.”, the son of Poseidon said flatly when he straightened and cracked his neck a little. With an innocent hum he said: “Why don’t you go and help Elpenor. I got this one.”     

“Do you?”, came the sharp reply with a side glance to the crying and vomiting man by his feet, leg and nuts hopefully useless forever.

It wasn’t a question whether or not Percy could beat the last bastard, it was more an inquire if he could do so without killing him. The demigod hummed nonchalant and sighed: “Yeah. No killing or excessive violence, I promise.”

He sounded petulant even in his own ears as he stepped forward to take over the fight. Perimedes drew back instantly, clapping his back admonishing: “And no maiming.”

“My…you ask too much.”, now Percy was actually whining when he deflected the next strike easily, eyes not even on his opponent. The rat growled like small dog, stepping back a bit in preparation for his next attack. After another stern glance from Perimedes, the younger man finally gave in and said: “I’ll try.”

When he turned back to Ghost, the man had somehow gotten his hands on a second weapon. Besides his long sword, the man now wielded a wicked looking morning star on a long chain, making him an even greater pain in the ass, seeing as he could now attack long and short ranged. And from the smug way he scoffed at Percy, the man knew it too. Twirling his sword once more in challenge, the son of Poseidon glanced around and found himself the advantage he needed.

The fight began with Ghost swinging the morning star, showing exactly how much power his muscles packed, but, in his arrogance, the man forgot where exactly they were standing. Luring the rat further toward the walls of the arena was easy, especially after Percy made sure to dust off his acting skills and making sure he looked slightly overwhelmed. In truth, the son of Poseidon couldn’t even grasp his luck, when his back met the sandstone and Ghost was once more circling the weapon around his head.

This time, when the morning star came down onto the demigod, burying itself deep into the wall, the young man jumped high, drawing his knees in to be higher than the weapon and using the wall as a springboard. With a nimble kick against the chain of his weapon, Ghost was pulled forward, out of balance and in the direct path of Percy’s knee. The crunch of a broken nose was music in his ears, as the son of Poseidon landed on top of the older man. With his feet, he captured the legs of the last rat, pushing them down and widely spread, while one arm was caught under the bodyweight of them both and the other was pressed into the sand by his knee. Percy’s own hand was holding his weapon millimeters from Ghost’s throat, a triumphant and contemptuous smirk plastered on the demigod’s face.

Through his broken and bloody nose, the man wheezed and choked. With eyes full of tears, he tried to spit at the young man, but a small pull on his powers, and the liquid remained trapped inside the man’s mouth.

“By the gods…who are you?”, Ghost coughed, a tiny hint of fear sliding into his ice-blue-eyes.

Percy really, honest to all the gods, needed to bite his tongue very hard to not let slip what was on his mind. But no one besides him would get the ‘I am your father’ reference and no matter how much he wanted to blurt that sentence, being called crazy was just not worth it. But it was hard. So very hard.

The amusing twirl of his lips must look even more deranged than his smirk had, because the bastard tried to jerk away, giving the demigod even more space and leverage to work with. Percy leaned in, until his head was beside Ghost’s. Nose nearly touching the sand.  

“I can be lots of things.”, he purred, letting a hint of the dark desire to just kill this man and be done with it seep into his tone, “For now, I am just the person you pissed off by disrespecting the royal family. But if you don’t watch yourself, I will become jury, judge and executioner for all the disgusting things you and your little band of bastards think about in the safety of your home. I know your little plan with the suitors. I know all the vile ideas you fantasize about. Do not presume you’re safe just because you survive this day. Be grateful for every second in your useless little life after this, because the moment I feel that you misuse my gracious gift, I will be there to take it back. No man or stone or weapon can stop me, for I am your darkest moment. Remember me, Xanthos.”

With one last shove into the thighs and bicep of the man, Percy came to his feet gracefully, shaking his limbs and taking stock of his (very minor) injuries. Not one of the fighters had landed a clean hit, which was an amazing ego boost.

A short look around showed that his friends were also done with their opponent. He was knocked out a few feet away, and after one last sweep of the perimeter to make sure no one was getting back on their feet, the son of Poseidon positioned himself with his friend in front of the balcony, looking up to await the Queen’s judgement.

The crowd was going wild around them, screaming themselves hoarse with questions and praise and sheer adrenalin from witnessing such an intense fight. But not one of the standing warriors deigned them with a look and when the Queen stood, her presence silenced the whole arena.

Percy waited with bated breath, his eyes flickering to Telemachus again, but the prince was still only looking at his book. What an earth was he reading?

A little spark of disappointment flitted though the demigod upon realizing that his friend hadn’t seen any of the feats he had showed in the arena, and the petty part in him was already planning a chance to show him a few tricks firsthand, but the calm voice of Penelope ripped him away from that daydream.

“I congratulate those last three standing. You have impressed me with your skill and wit.”, the Queen said gracefully. A hint of amusement flickered over her face when she addressed them again: “It is not often that we see such a good example of teamwork and camaraderie. The palace guard will be all the better for your presence in it, but first, there are a few questions I would like to have answered.”

The crowd began to mumble, showing that this was not a regular occurrence. Perimedes and Elpenor drew closer to Percy’s back and the silent support made his hectic beating heart slow down a bit. But his cautious feeling was proven right, when the steely blue eyes of the Queen found his own sea-green ones with precision. The demigod drew himself up and set his jaw.

If only some flimsy questions were standing between him and Telemachus, he would say anything to get him there.

“You are not from this shore, are you? I heard you just recently came to Ithaca.” It was more a statement than a real question, and Percy tilted his head in agreement, not sure what the Queen expected as an answer. Her curling lips said she was either displeased or amused, when she took a step forward, now standing directly above them by the railing of the balcony. As she looked down, her presence became even more queenly and with her well-practiced (and deserved) authority she asked: “Then tell me, stranger, why would you want to join the palace guard and its sacred duty to protect me and my son? You cannot know us, you have not lived under our rule for long, so how could we believe you to be loyal to us?”

This was it. This was the moment.

Percy’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he stepped forward, expression open and honest, eyes drifting back to Telemachus.

His Dream-Boy…still not paying attention.

He would need to make him look up. He longed to finally meet his friend’s gaze after all this time. He needed to. Desperately. Immediately.

His mouth was dry, but his answer carried nonetheless, strong and sure, but with the undertone of teasing.

“I have made promises to my Prince. It is time for me to keep them.”

The son of Poseidon saw the exact moment his words and voice reached Telemachus. His Dream-Boy’s head shot up like he had been slapped, gaze wide and searching, full of tentative hope. 

When caramel met sea-green, the whole world vanished, and Percy choked on his breath: “I’m sorry I’m so late.”     

Chapter Text

TELMACHUS could not, for the life of him, understand what he was doing here. It somehow felt like a punishment, following his mother through the rising morning heat down to the arena, accompanied by nearly half the royal guard as protection.

Of course he knew about the contests (which were just fancy ways of recruiting new faces to the palace’s protection as the suitors drove all the old ones off one by one), but that semi-regular occurrence had never warranted his attendance before. Usually, his mother made decided by herself, which competitor was promising and headstrong enough to join the other soldiers in their service of protecting the palace. But for whatever reason, she had decided that he was to join her today.

Telemachus seldom found interest in things like competitions nowadays (or anything, really), so being asked (forced) to leave his room for something so thoroughly tedious did feel like a punishment. But the Queen should have no reason to be displeased with him. He followed the instructions of his teachers, read all the books they assigned and gave every report back on time. He attended meetings without complaining, was polite to ambassadors and friendly to his peers. Even the suitors couldn’t have said anything bad about him or his behavior, seeing as Telemachus avoided them (and any voluntary social encounter) like the plague.

All in all, he was the perfectly adequate son and prince, doing his duties and following all the protocols to a T. Nothing more, nothing less.

Admittedly, he had missed one or two meals with his mother recently (in favor of locking himself in his room and staring at all the sketches of the face that haunted his every thought and moment), but it could hardly be the solution to force him out into this gruesome heat. She could’ve just asked him to spend more time together and he would’ve complied.

Not that Telemachus was inclined to spend his free time with anything else than lying on his bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling and thinking about (longing for) the one person who would have gotten him out of his melancholy in seconds. The one person out of his reach (maybe forever).

Everything felt like such a chore right now. Eating, sleeping, doing his duties. All of it were just some checkpoints in his day until he could finally crawl back into bed and watch the seconds, minutes, hours fly by.

Hoping, dreaming, longing, waiting.

For there was nothing else for him to do.

And his mother should have understood the devastation of being powerless in the face of something as unrelenting as time the best. What quiet torture it was to live, day after day, in a trance that could only be broken by one person, but you had no idea when (and if) that person would come. All else phased into the background, until your mind and body could do nothing else but go through the motion until something pulled you out of that misery for a few precious minutes.

For Telemachus, it was his sketches and pages of written recounts from his dreams. The prince had nearly filled a whole book with all the things he had seen and heard, only realizing he had somehow (unconsciously) picked up a totally different language altogether, that most likely was not even used yet. Symbols and sentences filled his parchment, perfectly understandable to Telemachus, but so wholly different from Greek, that it made for one blissed week of distraction trying to formulate rules and Grammer to this language. He found that it became more difficult to write and speak it the more time passed. Soon, he would lose his grip on it completely.

Maybe he could relearn it one day with a partner to speak with.

But not even the enticing call of new knowledge was enough to pull the prince fully away from his vegetative state. Everything around him was dull, tasteless, muted, like the world mourned with him.

Mourned the absence of one Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon, savior of Olympus, demigod of the great prophecy, time traveler.

But above all: his best friend and confidante. His source of beautiful stories and epic adventures. The reason for his laughs and the one to make him think, really think about the world and its people, about problems and hardships and morale. His calm storm and fiery protector.

The boy he would give anything to see again.

But it wasn’t in his hands. And while Percy had promised to come back, even the gods had said that they wouldn’t help him in this endeavor.

But giving up hope felt like the biggest betrayal, and he wouldn’t do that even in a million years.

Telemachus needed to trust Percy, trust his Sea-Boy, even if it meant waiting sixteen (nearly seventeen) years or longer, like his Mom did for his father. Even if it meant waiting until his death, the prince would do it.

But that didn’t mean that time didn’t take a toll on him.

It was impossible that his mother, the Queen, and the cleverest person in the entire kingdom, hadn’t noticed his state of mind.

What an understanding they would have had for each other’s situation, could Telemachus only explain his plight to her. But missing a boy he only knew from dreams and visions sounded insane, and he didn’t want to burden her with thinking that about her son. She was burdened enough as it was. So, he suffered in silence, crying in secret over the pictures he had drawn of his friend.

The only reminder he had of Percy’s appearance.

Even after weeks of trying, it was simply impossible to get the exact color of his eyes, or the way the unruly black hair fell into his face right. But Telemachus had enough time to redo his sketches a hundred times if he wished to. And it helped somewhat, to work on something related to his Sea-Boy. It made the whole experience real, kept the prince grounded and was irrefutable proof for his brain that this friendship had actually happened. That Percy existed (even if it was in another time) and that he wasn’t the creation of his imagination in search of another hero to rave about.

His most precious shark tooth necklace was helpful for that as well.

Anyway, it must be hard for his mother, to see him withdraw little by little without knowing the reason. Without seeing the hole in his heart (shaped like a very special son of Poseidon) that sucks in all the joy and passion, piece by piece, until nothing remained but loneliness and longing.

Telemachus wasn’t stupid, he heard the whispers and rumors about him: How he always slipped into these episodes of melancholy and depression after his annual dreams of Percy (which was understandable! He just saw his dearest friend battle monsters, myths and titans in a Quest even the gods were wary of. It didn’t matter that his Sea-Boy was mostly unhurt and slid through hurdles like they were skipping stones. The principle was that Percy was struggling without him.)

How he switched between frantic research and listless wandering (directly after each dream, there was so much more information to read up on or new knowledge to process, Telemachus found himself unable to focus on anything else but making sure he had some form of recollection of the events and how they tied back to his time) and how it always ended with him isolated in his room, drawing people and places that not yet existed.

He should have seen the intervention coming from miles away (his mother hadn’t been subtle), but until today, he had actually doubted her resolve to haul him out of his room (and mind), kicking and screaming. Metaphorically. Telemachus was still a prince, a man of age now, and much too old for such undignified behavior. But all his sweet talking and politely refusing was pointless with his Mom. Even outright complaining didn’t accomplish anything, so he was forced to make himself presentable for their citizens.  That didn’t stop him from pouting though, as he was led through the grounds and to the arena.   

He knew the layout and structure of the building, having most of his training sessions since he turned sixteen here, instead of the training grounds behind the barracks, but this was the first time Telemachus saw just how many people could fill the space.

Most of Ithaca must’ve been cramped into the stands, roaring and clapping and screaming as they made their way up to the royal balcony. When his mother took the stairs first, the prince considered for a second to just slip away. She wouldn’t have time to search for him after stepping into the spotlight, and whatever admonishing speech he would have to hear afterwards, it couldn’t be more exhausting than being put through this farce. But one sharp look from Macar, Captain of the royal guard, was enough to dissuade him.

With a great sigh, Telemachus heaved himself under the sun sail, his eyes courteously scanning the crowd once, before he made for his seat on the left side of his mother and sat down with all the importance of a royal he could come up with under all the numbness. He didn’t really care if it fooled anyone into thinking he wanted to be here. What was one more rumor?

The son of Penelope also didn’t look down into the arena. He had no interest in anyone that joined the guard anymore, knowing they would leave in four months or less anyway. That was the whole reason why these contests became so frequent in the first place. And he wasn’t that interested in seeing man beating each other up, when none of them did so with any finesse or grace.

The fighting in the contest was always so dull, easy moves that were forced to work through brute strength, no creativity or tactics noteworthy (or needed) and after everything Telemachus had witnessed what battle could look like, if fought by the right person (the one, right person), all else lost its shine and simply looked like child’s play. A brutal one, granted, but spilled blood did not mean it was an impressive fight.

Luckily for him, the prince had been able to sneak a little notebook under his chiton before his mother had called him away, meaning he had at least some entertainment while the brutes punched it out amongst themselves.

He felt the disapproving gaze of his mother for a second, before she was expected to address the crowd and competitors. There was no need to listen, the speech never changed. The only indication of the fight beginning was the renewed vigor in which the people screamed. Telemachus ignored it all in favor of gently skimming the pages, where he had noted down all the little details about his Sea-Boy he had noticed during the dreams. It was in the strange language of the future, not for anyone’s eyes but his own, seeing as it was mostly lyrical waxing about the exact color of his eyes and skin or the way his hair grew out over the years, becoming long enough to be tied back at the end. He had written or sketched all the little scars and marks on his friend’s skin, insistent on remembering them all as a tribute to the hardships the demigod had went through.

Just when Telemachus had started a new drawing (one more of the hands that swung swords like they were simple extensions of his arms, gripping tightly and showing their hidden strength through the muscles and tendons visibly straining), he heard Captain Macar’s impressed whistle. That drew his attention, for it didn’t happen often that the rough warrior acknowledged someone’s skills, but his curiosity wasn’t great enough to abandon the beautiful picture of Percy’s hands.

His simply listened, as the soldier mumbled to his mother: “That one is decent. Quick and efficient takedowns without wasting movement. And his footwork is great.”

The Queen hummed in agreement, before adding: “You see the way he works with those other two? They’re already a unit.” Telemachus deliberated looking up to see who they were talking about, but then his mother sighed disappointedly and said: “But he’s sloppy. Unfocused. His friend already pulled him out of danger twice.” And that made the prince lose all interest at once. He got back to his drawing and ignored the Captain’s talking about how he could shape that contestant up with the right drills.

Time moved slowly for Telemachus and the background noise of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ was not as entertaining as he had hoped. But when the cracking sound of the first broken bone echoed across the arena, the prince knew it was almost over. Because that kind of violence was only inspired when the cannon fodder was taken care of and the actual fighters remained. The rambunctious crowd screamed even louder as a reaction to something, just when Telemachus started sketching Riptide’s ring onto the left hand.

“That was brutal.”, commented Macar.

His Mom changed her position to get a better look and mused: “Must be some personal history. He wasn’t this violent with anyone else.”

The Captain huffed: “Emotional. Not a good quality for a guard.”

“But he is young and may grow out of it yet. Give me his registration, please.”

A flutter of parchment followed by the surprised hum of his mother. Then, the crowd exploded even more, drowning out all other sounds and Telemachus winced upon the volume.

Why was everyone so hyped up by violence?

At least that meant if was finally over, because his mother rose gracefully to address the still standing men as the victors.

The prince added the finishing touches to his drawing just as his Mom offered the usual platitudes and a place among the guard. He perked up when she changed her speech to ask one of the competitors: “You are not from this shore, are you? I heard you just recently came to Ithaca… Then tell me, stranger, why would you want to join the palace guard and its sacred duty to protect me and my son? You cannot know us, you have not lived under our rule for long, so how could we believe you to be loyal to us?”

A stranger competing for their guard? That was indeed interesting.

Just as Telemachus closed his book to finally give his attention to the fighters, a voice answered his mother, deep and calm as the ocean, but playful as the waves and so achingly, heart wrenching familiar, that it was like a dagger to the heart.

It couldn’t be.

Then the words bloomed their meaning in his mind like a delicate flower.

“I have made promises to my Prince. It is time for me to keep them.”

No.

NO.

It couldn’t be…

Telemachus looked up from his lap. Eyes searching, heart racing, soul yearning, hoping, praying.

Sea-green orbs, glittering like the most precious gemstones, met his own eyes.

And the world stopped.

The person down there in the arena grew to be the center of his universe in seconds, chasing everything from his mind, making all else meaningless.

The recognition was instant, like a puzzle piece finally clicking back into its rightful place, like a connecting string snapping taunt between them. And suddenly the world was bright again, shining, and so full of color, smell and noise that it felt like a slap in the face. Telemachus felt like he could finally breathe, like his body was awakening from a bone deep slumber to come back to life after years of being nothing more than a dull shell of a human.

Because down there, in all his roguish charm and with that beautiful, devastatingly crooked smirk, full of confidence and cheek, like he had jumped straight from his most recent dreams, stood Percy Jackson.

He was breathtaking.

The black hair gleaming in a blue hue under the shining sun, falling him into his handsome face, highlighting the otherworldly eyes, the perfectly straight nose and his flawlessly tanned skin. The scar under his eye had thinned a bit, but was very much still visible, giving him the look of someone brave, daring, but also showcasing his reckless nature aptly. He had grown quite a bit, maybe reaching about 6 feet, with a body sculptured by the gods. Clean cut muscles traveled over his strong arms and filled the dirty tunic he wore in a mouthwatering way, teasing the plains of his chest and abdomen with every breeze that made the off-white material flutter.

Hungrily, the prince drank up the sight of his Sea-Boy, noticing all the small details, the little things that had changed. His hair was cut a bit shorter; his jaw had sharpened and there was a glittering earring dangling from his lobe that Telemachus had never seen before. It was perfect. 

The son of Poseidon didn’t need a crown or other jewelry to state his importance. The way he carried himself, sword lazily by his side, back straight, chin up, showed how comfortable he was in his skin, how confident he was in his skills and his place in the world. Utterly unmoved by the attention of hundreds of gazes, a Queen among them, solely focused on him. 

And the way he looked at Telemachus…

Gods, how could a human show this much expression just through his eyes? The prince felt his knees grow week instantly when he caught the mix of insecurity, happiness, hope and longing, that was intertwined with something darker…The fire burning deep in the sea-green made his chest flutter and the warmth in his own bones increase tenfold, nearly unbearable in its intensity.

Percy was here. He was here. 

Just when his hands met the hard stone railing, Telemachus noticed that he had stepped unconsciously closer, barely hearing the next words the demigod spoke: “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

Like a flood, everything broke over the prince, his brain catching up with everything happening around him, while his heart still sung with the magnitude of the moment, of his friend finally being in his reach. It was a dizzying dichotomy.

A single tear escaped his eyes.

Telemachus felt the piercing and questioning gaze from his mother, noticed how Macar stepped closer (as if to hold him back,) and how the crowd was conversing in hushed voices, throwing calculating or inquiring glances his way. From a sole outside point of view, he knew that there had just been a brutal fighting contest and that his actions of stepping forward (him actually doing something, besides the expected friendly waving) was very out of the ordinary, but he couldn’t care.

He only cared for one thing. One person.

Percy.

Down there in the arena.

But his Sea-Boy wasn’t alone.           

They made a pretty intimidating picture, dirtied with sand and specs of blood, two fine soldiers dressed in armor befitting of the mighty army of Ithaca, following behind a young man without any name or title, but with scars and skills speaking of a hard life and unimaginable adventures, falling into the role of a leader as easy as breathing. And the soldiers let him do so without protest, because they all knew each other so very well, despite the years apart.

Percy looked like the leader he had been forced to be in the second Titan war. Strong and capable, but right now, his posture was also tinged with something else, something softer. And the way his eyes had not once strayed from Telemachus’ own, gave him the giddy feeling of the softness being solely his. A thing the mighty son of Poseidon only made available to the prince, his friend.

Even after all this time.

They must’ve silently stared at each other for too long, because his mother stepped beside him, a cool hand on his forearm. A warning? A question? A reprimand?

Telemachus didn’t care. He listened with half an ear as the Queen allowed all three of them to join the guard after a training and evaluation period under their sword master and that they were to report to the palace gates the next morning by sunrise. She then thanked everyone for their attendance and dismissed the citizens with a wave of her hand.

But all that was negligible for the prince. His sole focus was still Percy, who had made a step forward as well, hand half raised as if to call to him, but then one of his friends (one of the soldiers he had situated in Ithaca years ago after that first dream) pulled him away gently, sending Telemachus an imploring glance before jerking his head to the exit, where the fighter’s lounge was probably turning into an infirmary at the moment.

The prince understood, already stepping back after one last yearning look at Percy, who gritted his teeth but nodded to whatever the soldier whispered. His eyes didn’t leave Telemachus until the gates closed between them, cutting their connection.

Like a spell was lifted, Telemachus could finally move again, and he instantly whirled around, ready to take off to the lounge (to his Sea-Boy), when his mother stepped into his path.

“What’s going on? Do you know that boy?”, the Queen asked sternly, crossing her arms as she scrutinized her son with a look that usually made Telemachus want to spill all of his secrets. It was the look only a mother was capable of giving. Under normal circumstances he would have at least tried to give an answer, as evasive and vague as it normally was. But right now, his brain was mushy, unable to form words that weren’t desperate calls for his friend, or jumbled explanations that would make no sense either. He didn’t know what to tell her, didn’t know what he could or wanted her to know about Percy. What the demigod wanted her to know, how he wanted to play this.

Of course, Telemachus had made plans over plans on how to get his friend into the palace and into a position of importance to stay by his side. All depending on different scenarios on how Percy would make it to Ithaca, who was with him and what expectations and wishes the demigod himself had. But none of them included his Sea-Boy taking the initiative himself. And in all the ways he imagined introducing his friend to his Mom, doing so on a balcony after a fighting contest, and without even the chance to speak to Percy first, to see him, was not something Telemachus had anticipated.

It was also not something he wanted. And with the state his mental functions were in right now, it was all but impossible to come up with something that could only resemble being reasonable right now. The prince didn’t want to waste time trying to come up with an excuse. All he wanted was to get down there and finally, finally, meet his Sea-Boy face-to-face.

So, with all the desperation, yearning and overwhelm his heart produced, ready to burst out of the seams of himself, Telemachus looked into his mother’s blue eyes and whispered one word: “Please.”

He didn’t even know what he pleaded for, but his mother, amazing woman that she was, seemed to recognize something in her son’s face, for she sighed deeply, and moved to the side to let him through. “We’ll talk later. Macer, go with him. Be discreet, let no one-“  

Telemachus didn’t even hear the end of her order, because he was already halfway down the stairs. Only minutes away from meeting the boy of his dreams.

Chapter Text

The tunnels under the arena were pure chaos.

Groaning and whimpering man of all ages filled the space, being tended to by different medics and healers, while commiserating over their loss (whether they were talking about the fights or their dignity was of no consequences to TELEMACHUS, but by the way some of them talked, it was obvious they took their humiliation worse than the small wounds they had).

The prince’s head swivelled around like he was an owl, eyes sharp and scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glance of dark hair, beautiful eyes or that devastating troublemaker-smile. On his prowl through the defeated competitors, he ignored the looks he garnered (some way more nefarious than others, but the intimidating presence of Captain Macar in his back stopped everyone from approaching), and listened attentively to the little snippets of conversations he could catch.

A few men were grumbling about something or the other being unfair or screwed (of course, their failure couldn’t possibly be their own fault), some whispers about his presence here, but a few losers spewed quiet threats and insults worse than the rest and it was those that got the prince’s attention. Because they were mostly addressed at a ‘barefaced-child-bastard’ and from the little Telemachus had seen, he thought that his Sea-Boy was the only truly young competitor this time.

“Cocky.”

“Arrogant brat.”

“Pretentious bastard.”

“We will get him back Xanthos, I promise. He stands no chance against all of us.”

“He will squirm and squeal once we’re through with him.”

The last one made the prince turn around, mouth drawn tight in displeasure, ready to insert himself in that conversation and make sure everyone knew just whose ire they would’ve to face if they even dared to look wrongly at his Sea-Boy (Telemachus wasn’t stupid, he knew he might not be that intimidating, but in the unlikely case that those people truly manage to hurt his friend, they would most likely face the wrath of a god – or more than one- and he would truly ravel in their deaths then). But before he could say something he might regret once his brain was booted up again, a gentle touch to his shoulder got the young man’s attention first.

For as second, he wondered why Macar allowed someone to approach him here, but then he recognizes the older man with the blond hair and stern eyes. It was Hyginus, the insistent medic that hadn’t been perturbed by his barbed words or borderline insulting behaviour the last time he was sent to examine the prince (a few weeks ago, when his mind had become even darker than before). Now, the man was looking at him with something akin to teasing fondness, eyes sparkling slightly when he leaned closer and whispered into Telemachus’ ear: “He said he’ll be waiting by the beach. To many unwanted eyes here.” 

The prince blinked, perplexed, before his brain kicked back into gear a bit and his eyes became wide. “You know…”, he breathed in disbelief and weak accusation, but he was interrupted by a private smile the medic sent his way. “Aye. Little troublemaker saved my rear more than once.”, Hyginus lamented exaggeratedly and then added seriously, “He’s been fighting really hard to see you again. Don’t let him wait any longer, your Royal Highness. He’s turned out a good man.”

“I know.”, Telemachus replied instantly as he was already making his way back out of the arena. No one attempted to stop him this time, and as he hasted his steps, the best and fastest way down to the beach (their beach) mapped out in his mind. 

He ignored the citizen still lingering around the place (most likely hoping to meet up with one of the fighters or get the chance to introduce their daughters to promising suitors -being skilled in combat always drew the ambitious fathers of lower families close-) and moved through them fluently, not even registering some of them jumping out of his way. He was once more followed by murmurs about how unusual he acted and that he hadn’t been seen this quick on his feet or purposeful in years.

Jokes on them, because the purpose for most of his actions had just returned and was waiting for him not too far away.

His feet carried Telemachus through the gardens and back out of a side entrance, away from the palace and down the cobbled path he hadn’t wandered since the time where he’ given Percy his present. A twinge in his stomach reminded the prince that he hadn’t seen the pearl on the necklace around his friend’s neck beside the beads, but there was for sure some kind of explanation for it… His Sea-Boy’s expression had been to openly happy for him to be cross with Telemachus.

Hopefully.

Unconsciously, the prince gripped for his own keepsake. The shark tooth Percy had collected and carved himself hung with a comforting weigh around his neck. He hadn’t taken it off once since the day his friend had given it to him, and touching the smooth material always calmed him, reminded him of the way their hugs felt in the throes of emotions.

He was only minutes away from (hopefully) receiving such comfort again.

The way down to the beach was empty and shadowed by the trees lining it, blocking out the midday sun for the most part. Ever step felt heavier and lighter at the same time, and even without the exercise running down, Telemachus was pretty sure his heart would be beating fast enough to jump out of his chest. When the trees finally thinned, clearing the path to the beach, the prince noticed two figures leaning relaxed against one of the trees. After just a few seconds, he recognized them as the two soldiers who had fought alongside Percy. Perimedes and Elpenor (if he remembered correctly) had also been part of his father's crew, and he had facilitated their entry into the city guard upon their return to Ithaca.

They tensed upon hearing his arrival, but when they also recognized the prince, their postures relaxed instantly. The slightly younger one grinned when he called: “He’s just through here, your Royal Highness. We made sure the beach was unoccupied.”

Telemachus felt his heart leap and his pace increased for the last few meters, until a sharp grip on his biceps stopped the young man, using his momentum to turn him around. Captain Macar looked conflicted and tense, one hand on the pommel of his sword.

“I cannot let you walk into some unknown situation, my Prince. Please tell me what is going on so that I may ensure your safety. Who are these people and who are you meeting?”, the guard asked in a demanding voice that raised Telemachus hackles instantly. The impatient humming in his heart roared loudly because he was stopped a second time from finally, FINALLY seeing Percy again and the last thread of patient in him snapped.

With a quick movement he twisted his arm free, and with a scowl that felt unfamiliar on his face, he addressed Macar. His voice came out clipped and was vibrating with unspoken emotional tumult: “I respect you a great deal, Captain, but have no right to demand any answers from me. You will stay here with these two and wait. Make sure I am not interrupted. Trying to stop me will result in consequences you do not want. I assure you, I am the safest person in all of Ithaca once I step onto this beach.”

He did not wait for the older man to react and instead pushed past him and the other two. Heart racing, mind scrambled and soul screaming, Telemachus stepped out of the trees and onto the golden beach.

The beauty of the place did not even register in his mind this time, because all of his senses immediately zeroed in on the person standing by the edge of the water. Waiting. 

Every effort Telemachus had made at painting his friend was destroyed when the blurry picture in his mind was compared to the handsome reality. Percy was like the coming of a new dawn. In front of the backdrop of his father’s domain, he turned around, sun shining in his back, highlighting all the perfect angles, making him appear bigger than the whole sky. The simple tunic could have easily been made from the most expensive silk and it wouldn’t have changed anything for Telemachus. The disheveled, jet-black hair was moving in the breeze, among it the thick grey streak he had gotten from holding up the sky for days (a feat no mortal had ever accomplished before). His tan skin was now, more than ever, painted by different scars, most of them almost unnoticeable. The prominent one across his cheek made him look dangerous despite the gob smack expression on his attention-drawing face.

Everything he had once found cute about his Sea-Boy had changed to handsome, as the boy grew from child to man, filling his build and eyes with the fruits of his hard labor and experiences.

Telemachus felt like he was once more caught in a dream.

He would be too hurt if all of this turned out to be an illusion.

But Percy was as real as the sand under his feet. And it was proven when the demigod opened his mouth to speak.      

“Dream-Boy.” A whisp, full of disbelief and hope and longing.

His smile was a weapon all on itself. Beautiful and earth shattering, as it radiated warmth and adoration in equal measures. Gone was the fearless warrior, the unshakable leader. The demigod had softened into something intimate, something gentle and caring and nervous, and more human than ever before.

It was as if the armor and power protecting his core had come apart, splitting only for the person he felt safe enough around to not hide any hidden part or sharp edge of himself. And that person was Telemachus.

Still, after all this time apart, Percy Jackson saw him as a safe space, as one of the only places he could be himself.

It showed in the little things; How his shoulders sagged, how his grin faltered for a second and how those unbelievable expressive eyes burned like molted lava in their intensity, sending a warm shiver down the prince’s back.

Telemachus was running before he even thought about moving. Closer and closer to his Sea-Boy, the distance between them shrinking even further when Percy got over his own shock of this moment finally (finally!) happening and started sprinting as well.

They collided like two mighty (but gentle) waves right there on the sand. Turning and twisting softly around each other, limbs locking together like they had done it a thousand times before.

Now Telemachus had his answer… Percy was taller than him, cradling him into his chest like something precious, one hand sliding meekly into his hair, dislodging the laurel wreath while the other caught him steadily around the waist when the prince’s legs gave out. Telemachus sagged into his friend, swinging his own arms around the other’s torso, pulling them flushed together with no intention of ever letting go.

Warmth and comfort were the only feelings in Telemachus’ heart. He felt Percy’s breath moving under his ear, heard the stuttering rhythm of the young man’s heart and the soft exhale that rustled his brown hair momentarily. Hundreds of butterflies lifted his belly, making the prince think he was truly floating for a moment, until he realized it was actually his friend taking all of his weight, steadying them both without hesitation or complaint. Instead, the demigod buried his face into Telemachus’ hair, breathing deeply and sending another tingling sensation through the prince, starting at the base of his neck and creeping down to his toes in a deliciously slow crawl.

His own breath hitched and the scent under the cooling sweat became apparent when he next got air into his lungs. It was difficult to describe the smell, being so uniquely Percy, but Telemachus got a hint of salty water and something sour, like perfectly ripe apples.

It was of no consequence, for the prince was sure no matter what his friend smelled like, it would be appealing to him simply because he could actually experience it now.

Percy was here. In Ithaca. On their beach. In his arms.

His Sea-Boy had kept his promise.

Come back to me. - Always.

“You’re here.”, Telemachus sobbed weakly, not lifting his head from its place on the other’s chest, instead pulling him closer still, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”, came the answer from that lovely deep voice, rumbling through both their bodies, making the prince shudder. After taking another lungful of Percy’s smell, Telemachus finally found enough strength to draw back just enough to look into his eyes.

Oh, how had he missed these captivating sea-green orbs and the way they glittered under the sun. The warmth radiating from his friend was equally impossible to ignore, flushing the prince’s cheeks in something far too pleasant to be embarrassment. His eyes drunk in the sight of Percy’s face and eyes greedily, taking note of every little change that had occurred over the years, starting by the new length of his hair, the way his brows had become even more prominent, and ending at the little nick on his chin and the ways his eyes were still bright, but a lot less stable. The color was swirling and changing all the time now, rushing from a pretty turquoise to a dark blue and back in patterns the prince could have lost himself in for hours. They were so obviously divine that Telemachus questioned whether his friend’s heritage was a secret any longer.

When he finally got his mouth back under control, he said softly: “You idiot. I would have waited until the world’s end if necessary.”

“You didn’t doubt me?”, Percy asked full of wonder and anxiousness. Telemachus smiled and shook his head gently: “Not one second.”

“I am still sorry for not being here sooner.”, reiterated the demigod. His hold tightened around the prince’s waist when his face became a bit strained for a second: “I tried everything, but the gods weren’t any help. I did them a really big favor and asked them for a way back but they-“

“I know.”, interrupted Telemachus, his heart racing as his own nerves flared brightly.

He hadn’t planned to reveal all he had seen so soon, but to dull his friend’s unnecessary self-hatred and guilt, it would be worth getting it all out now. He did not plan for any lies to stand between them anyway. He hoped his Sea-Boy agreed.

The son of Poseidon stopped instantly, his brows furrowing: “You…know?”

The prince swallowed sharply, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping before leaning in and whispering into Percy’s ear: “Once every year since you left, I’ve dreamed about you. It… wasn’t like our usual dreams, though. You did not see me for the most part. But I was there, Percy. Always. Right by your side… When you took and held the sky, when you wandered the Labyrinth and fought for your Camp, and even when you defended Olympus and faced the Titan of Time. I was there. I saw it. All of it, Sea-Boy. I know. And I am so sorry you had to go through any of it.”

Telemachus tried not to be discouraged from the grip around his waist slackening or the audible gasp his friend made. He made sure to keep his own hands tightly woven into Percy’s tunic and his gaze steady as he met the searching eyes of the demigod. The way the son of Poseidon looked so lost for a moment was painfully familiar and reminded the prince of all the times he had come to him for reassurance or simply someone to listen. Even back then Telemachus had sworn to himself to not let Percy face whatever the world threw at him alone, to always be there for him and not leaving no matter how hard it got.

He wanted to be there for the demigod.

Through all the monsters and problems and misunderstandings. Fighting for their friendship and just keep talking, despite hurt feelings or uncovered lies. He had tried it once before when he found out that his only real friend was on the same voyage his father was lost on.

It took a few days to work through all the conflicting feelings of anger, frustration and hurt, but in the end, he decided to stick to Percy’s side, to trust his judgment and ask only what the other was comfortable to answer. He would be patient.

For his Sea-Boy, he could be anything.

And right now, it looked like he needed to be the one to guide their reunion.

“Waiting for you was hard.”, Telemachus admitted quietly, “But it was worth every second. Because you are here now. You came…home.” The last word was more question than statement, pointing back to the way the Fates had phrased it in his last dream, when the son of Poseidon had asked for a way back.

Whatever his voice or face showed, it was enough to get Percy back to himself a bit. His eyes found Telemachus and while he still looked insecure and overwhelmed, the grip on his waits tightened again and the hand in his hair wandered down to his neck, caressing the skin in an absentminded motion. And then Percy smiled, a bit hesitant and so unbearable soft it made Telemachus inside turn into mush.

“Yeah”, the demigod breathed, “Home. Thank you for waiting.”

“Thank you for keeping your promise.”

Unanimously, they pulled each other’s back into an actual hug. Telemachus’ head resting in the juncture between Percy’s shoulder and neck, nose pressed against warm skin, soaking up the demigod’s physical presence as if he could vanish any second and he needed to get everything burned into his mind to not forget one single detail. His Sea-Boy’s hand wandered over his neck and shoulders in small and gentle strokes, mapping out every inch, fingertips tingling and making shivers roll all over the prince. He became bolder as well, caressing Percy’s back, feeling the hard muscles move and the ridges of his shoulder blades stretch under the skin.

Their point of contact became less urgent, more reverent and the heat was a constant presence in Telemachus’ stomach by now, tingling butterflied included.

Even though none of them made a move to separate, the prince knew they couldn’t stay here forever, no matter how much he wished for it. Taking all the things that needed to be done and channeling them into resolve, Telemachus mumbled into Percy’s skin: “We should talk.”

“Yeah.”, his friend agreed.

No one moved.

“We could talk here?”, suggested the demigod after a few minutes with a quiet chuckle. Telemachus grinned a bit but shook his head: “It’s too open. Your friends are waiting, as is my guard.”

Percy grumbled unsatisfied, before finally pulling back. His eyes were darker than before and he pushed away a stray strand of Telemachus’ hair reverently, gazing at it for a long heartbeat. Then the demigod focused back on their problem. “The meadow?”, he proposed and after a short time deliberating, Telemachus nodded. “That could work. I’ll go with Macar and leave the back gate open. You need to sneak through the gardens, are you up for it? Do you remember the way?”

Now that devastating smirk was finally back on his friend’s face (it’s rightful place anyway, because no one else could look this handsome while also screaming ‘trouble’). Percy gave him a cheeky wink and purred confidently: “I could find the way in my sleep. Did so already, in fact.”

Telemachus laughed loudly, freely, for the first time in ages. After a weak punch against the other’s shoulder, he quipped back happily: “Who’s the know-it-all now?”

Chapter Text

PERCY was the first to reach their meadow.

Even if it had been years since he last sneaked through the palace and out of the back, nothing had changed for the demigod (except that he was bigger now and needed to crouch lower to evade the patrolling guards). After entering through the gate Telemachus had left open for him, Percy found the way easily, ducking behind familiar statues and scurrying under low hanging bushes, playing the perfect game of hide and seek without being caught.

So, when he slid through the last gate (the one that never locked properly), the euphoria of finally seeing (and hugging) his friend again was supplemented by the adrenalin of sneaking around undetected (maybe he should have done this from the start, but then he wouldn’ have gotten the chance to beat up the rats…).

The meadow was just as beautiful as in his memories. Lush green grass, surrounded by dense bushes and tall palm trees that casted a beautiful pattern of shadows across the clearing, was complemented by colorful flowers, the gentle sound of distant waves, and a light breeze of cool air. It smelled clean and a few birds chirped happily in the trees despite it being rather late in the day.

The sun would go down in a few hours, and Percy felt a satisfying tug in his muscles, evidence of an adequate workout, as he sat down on the ground. The whole atmosphere screamed of comfort and calm (or maybe that was just his own association, since the demigod always pictured Dream-Boy as unmistakable part of the meadow and he was the personification of comfort...) With nothing else to do but wait for his friend, Percy closed his eyes and felt for the familiar warmth of his powers, flowing sluggishly through his chest and gut. His senses expanded immediately when he connected with that part of himself, making him awfully aware of the little water droplets inside the grass, as well as every living being around him. Tiny nicks for insects, a smaller vibration from the birds and some hare sneaking around and a noticeable humming from further down the path, where a single human scrambled their way up to him.

A smile was already on Percy’s face when he opened his eyes to watch Telemachus breaching the untouched nature of the meadow. His cheeks showed a pretty blush from the exertion of racing up the small hill and those caramel eyes sparkled when they fell onto the son of Poseidon.

After catching his breath, the prince of Ithaca returned his grin with a gentle turn of his own lips, before sitting down next to Percy without hesitation. Their knees were touching and when the brunette leaned back on his hands, his arm was also grazing the son of Poseidon’s biceps. The casual touch made him feel really warm, and it took a moment for the demigod to understand the words that were spoken to him.

“Sorry for taking so long. I needed to get rid of Macar and avoid my Mom. We have a few hours until my disappearance is noticed. Three, if I had to guess.”, Telemachus said.

Percy grimaced involuntarily and his brain decided to forgo any filter when he grumbled: “That’s not enough time.” His friend smiled softly and bumped their shoulders together: “It never is…but we will see each other much more often now, won’t we?”

There was some uncertainty in his velvet voice and the demigod immediately wanted to sooth the prince. He confirmed: “Yes. That’s why I became part of the guard.” It wasn’t by far his most impressive victory, but somehow winning a competition he decided to enter, instead of being thrown against foes he hadn’t chosen, made him prouder than beating Hyperion or Kronos. Weird.

But Telemachus somehow appeared to share that impression, because there was something like pride in his caramel gaze. Then, his eyes became hooded, and a teasing smirk graces the prince’s handsome features as he asked (playfully innocent): “Really? It wasn’t just to get my attention?”

Percy could not suppress a snort: “If that had been the plan, it was an epic failure. You didn’t even look.” There was some wounded pride in the demigod’s words that was only partly playful. He had wanted to impress his friend in the contest… so him not even looking once did sting a bit. But Telemachus had smooth over all of that with the way he had hugged him back at the beach. No one had ever greeted him this enthusiastically in all his life. Even his Mom mostly stuck to calm embraces and quiet words.

Either way, Telemachus picked up on his more hidden feeling (again), because he caught Percy’s gaze instantly and said with all the serious outrage in the world: “I would have if I knew you were fighting! You are a hurricane on the battlefield for sure.”

As flattering as the words were meant, they did not register as a compliment at first.

The son of Poseidon felt his mind slip back to the battle of Manhattan. On how he had destroyed the bridge and killed multiple demigods, how blood and dust became his second skin as he slaughtered his way through monsters and mortals. He saw himself beating Hyperion with Kym’s help, hurting a lot of trees and Nymphs in the process. But what ran through his brain in a continuous loop were the things he heard the other Campers whisper about him behind his back after everything was over and done with.

Scary.

Vengeful.

Merciless.

Inhuman.

Monstrous. 

At once, all the confidence he had in his sword skills turned bitter in the face of how terrifying he obviously was for others when he let it all go.

When he became as unrestraint as the sea, a true son of Poseidon.

He remembered the way the faces of people he considered friends had become guarded and careful when talking to him. How Conor had taken a step back unconsciously after Percy was caught up in a small prank of the Hermes cabin. The other kids may have appreciated him fighting on their side, but only because they were afraid of what it would be like to face him.

He was probably more monster than hero at this point.

Would he need to keep himself more in check? Ancient times made him even stronger so-

“Maybe it’s better you didn’t see it after all.”, Percy said somberly and evaded Telemachus’ eyes in favor of plucking a few blades of grass. But the retreat back into the safety of his own mind (and judgement) was not unnoticed. 

“Don’t do that, Percy.”, the prince chided gently and took the demigod’s calloused hands into his own (fair and soft. Untouched by war and hardship, Telemachus hands were those of an artist, a musician, someone kind). Once he got the sea-green eyes back on him, he continued: “Don’t draw back. Not from me. I’ve seen you fight and…I’ve seen you kill as well. I do not think any less of you. The opposite really! You were a force to be reckoned with. I’ve never seen anything more breathtaking!”

The words were hard to accept despite the obvious honesty of their speaker. It was easier to deflect than address the praise (even though it did make his belly tingle pleasantly), so Percy said: “Maybe that’s a good moment to ask…what exactly, did you ‘see’?”

The question had not left his head since his friend had admitted dreaming about his adventures.

And hadn’t that been a mind-blowing discovery? That maybe (maybe) Percy wouldn’t have to hide all of his past for the rest of his life? That there might be one person who knew, without him spilling the tea? What were the chances that the one being knowing about him time traveling - and some of what he did in the future - was none other than the closest friend he ever had? His Dream-Boy? Yeah, that was too good to be true.

It was simply impossible for the prince to know everything about his Quests and the war against Kronos, if he was still looking at him like someone worthy of praise and gentleness. Percy had done so many horrendous things. He had said goodbye to the morale of a hero by the time he had to face his own kind (demigods) in the battle of the Labyrinth. He had been ruthless and even cruel at times, exactly the thing Telemachus had said didn’t need to go hand in hand. But here the son of Poseidon was, having thrown that ethic out of the window as soon as one of his own was threatened.

Maybe his Dream-Boy had simply seen glimpses. Snapshots of important moments to get the story somewhat coherently together… Maybe he had only been there whenever Percy had felt him (though even those times were nearly countless, now that he thought about it). Maybe there was still hope that he’d be able to shield the prince from his darkest side after all.

His musings were interrupted by Telemachus sighing: “I don’t think I have the time to recount all I saw, it is a lot.” Percy’s heart sank. The more his friend had seen, the higher the possibility of him being distraught (disgusted) by what he had found.

Before the spiral could go even further down, his hand was squeezed, calling the demigod back to the present.

“If you really want to know, I kept notes and drawings from my dreams but…can we maybe pretend I know everything? You don’t have to keep any secrets from me, and I really don’t want there to be lies between us. I trust you and I promise I won’t leave, no matter what others might have said about your actions and choices.”, Telemachus reassured with the quiet steadiness of someone wholeheartedly believing his words. It felt like a soft blanket of comfort being thrown over the son of Poseidon.

But even now, Dream-Boy wasn’t done: “You are my best friend, Percy. I swear to listen and not judge you. I would like you to be able to talk to me about whatever you want freely. If I have a question, I’ll ask and you can still decide whether to answer or not.”

The pull to those deep caramel eyes was magnetic and the son of Poseidon was helplessly drawn to their silken call. Their gazes locked together like a bolt sliding into place. Not being able to move even the smallest muscle, Percy was forced to meet the firm (devastatingly beautiful) eyes, as Telemachus’ next words burned into his heart like a brand: “You don’t have to carry the burden of your past, the future, alone. I think I was shown parts of your hardships for a reason, and I’d like to hope that it was because I can be the person you can truly and unapologetically be yourself with. You came back for me. And I will do anything in my power to make it worth it.”

“How can you – Why would you trust me if you saw what I did?”, the son of Poseidon choked put.

His own shortcomings were countless and still weighed heavily on his soul. No way someone would willingly shoulder some of them simply for him. He never even dared to burden his Mom with all of the shitty things he had done. If Telemachus broke under his deeds, it would kill Percy more effective than any blade ever could.

But his friend wasn’t scared. He was so very sure when he stated: “Because it was you who did it.”

That didn’t make it any easier for the demigod. He felt the wet heat of tears stinging in his eyes and a scabbed dagger slowly turned inside his heart. But even though everything in him screamed to turn away, to run, before he could be left by one of only two people who really meant something to him (and had the ability to leave), the thrall of the caramel eyes was too strong. And his soul was too used to being around Telemachus, because Percy didn’t even flinch when the other man softly touched his cheek, catching a tear.

Still, the demigod could not stop the scathing words in his head from forming for real: “That’s exactly why you should hate me! I was your friend and did horrible things. Even to you-”

“Because you had to!”, the prince said, still calm, and his utter refusal to just accept Percy’s guilt infuriated the demigod. Heated hate (mostly for himself) bubbled to the surface as he shouted: “No! Even before that I…I killed, and I was ruthless and- and I lied to you!”

Silence settled over the meadow. And for the first time ever, the son of Poseidon felt like the warm sun and the peace of the place were crushing him. He did not belong amongst such beauty. Least of all the one sitting right in front of him.

Telemachus’ face was carefully hidden by his hair, but what he could see of the prince’s expression was calm, thoughtful.

Finally, after endless minutes, his friend (would he be able to call him that for much longer?) asked, serene and serious: “Did you lie about your name?”

“No?”, the answer came instantly, and Percy was very confused. The unexpected question had ripped him out of the spiral of his mind very effectively.

“Did you lie about being my friend?”

“No!” The response was even quicker that time and Percy felt slightly ill that his friend even had to ask.

“Did you lie about coming back to me?”

“No.” He was here, that much was obvious.

“Did you lie about who your father is?”

“No.” The demigod slowly grew antsy and frustrated with Telemachus’ questioning. Who cared about that, when he had done something much more grievous?

“Did you-“

Percy exploded: “I lied about traveling with your father! I didn’t tell you I was traveling with Odysseus, King of Ithaca, the whole time while we met in my dreams! I knew who you were, and I knew who he was, and I said nothing! Even though I was aware of how much you missed him. I knew you longed to know him, and I did nothing. You could have communicated with Odysseus through me all this time. You could have gotten some part of your father back, but -“

“Did you lie about other things being at play that prevented you from telling me the truth?”, interrupted Telemachus, his palm still gently on the other man’s cheek, but his fingers were digging tightly into Percy’s nape, grounding him and keeping their connection despite the boiling emotions in both of them.

The demigod leaned into the touch unconsciously and his frustration ebbed away when he confessed: “No? I guess. The Fates did tell me not to mess up their tapestry any more… but - but I could have spoken up about it a hundred times before that! So that’s more an excuse than a valid reason.”

It hurt. Confessing to his own misdoings was like pulling his teeth and cracking open his ribs to let Telemachus look at all the ugly and vulnerable parts of him. But the demigod knew he needed to get this off his chest.

He’d fucked up, and whether or not Telemachus pushed him away over that was not in his hands.

But the prince surprised him again with how utterly calm he was (why was Percy still surprised? His friend never had been one for raised voices and quick tempers. That was more his domain). 

“So why didn’t you?”, Telemachus asked, not judging, but merely curious, like they were talking about an unusual move at chess and not about Percy lying for many months. 

“What? I-“

The demigod couldn’t find an answer fast enough. Or maybe his confusion was evident, because his Dream-Boy tilted his head, their gazes still interlocked and reiterated: “Why didn’t you tell me about traveling with my father and that I could’ve spoken with him through you?”

“How are you so fucking calm?!” The words tumbled out of Percy’s mouth without any input from his brain. He was thrown into a loop of bewilderment upon Telemachus’ whole demeanor. He just didn’t get it.

Where was the raging anger, the bone-deep hurt, the eyes full of condemning?

Instead of all the expected reactions, there was only a sad smile on the prince’s face and the caramel eyes reflected the evening sun softly. Percy’s hand was squeezed again.

“Because I swore to listen and not judge before knowing all the facts. I didn’t expect to be tested this early, but if that is what it takes for you to believe me, so be it.”, Telemachus explained gently, but there was at least some strain in his voice when he pleaded: “So please, answer the question: Why didn’t you?”

Chapter Text

There was nowhere left to turn for PERCY. This was the moment to reveal the full scope of his selfishness. If his Dream-Boy truly wanted to have all the ugly parts of him, he should get the honesty he deserved.

“Because…I wasn’t sure the first few dreams. Only after I asked your name, I knew the connection for certain and then-”, his voice cracked and made the demigod start again, “We were already friends, at least for me, and I never had a friend like you before. Someone who listened to me and quipped back and laughed and gave such incredible advice. I loved dreaming about you! having someone to talk to outside of my crazy life. Someone…just for me.”

The damn was broken and the words just kept flowing like a tidal wave: “I was selfish. I thought if I told you, all you would want from me would be retellings or stories about him. To deliver or receive messages. I was afraid I’d only be a pipeline to your father and that all the fun we had, all the calm I found with you, would be gone in favor of getting to know him. Which would have been totally valid. L-Like I said, it was selfish of me to deprive you of that. I…I just didn’t want to give my friend up, so I… simply didn’t say anything.”

Percy was forced to take a deep breath from the sheer lack of air and in doing so, he could finally rip his eyes away from Telemachus and down to his own lap. The son of Poseidon hadn’t even noticed how he started to tremble in short bursts. He would’ve gladly shut up, but there was still more to say, so he continued with a lowered head and hoarse voice: “It helped my consciousness that you never asked for any names specifically, or maybe that was just something else I told myself to ease the rightful guilt. And when you actually mentioned him, we were already on our way to the Underworld and I thought I could stall for a bit more time…Then the Fates told me to not mess up anything besides the journey and I became afraid that if I told you, their scorn and anger might be directed to you. I was safe because of my ties to the future, but I could not risk you getting the blame if I slipped up, so even if I had been ready to finally come clean, it…was just easier to keep lying.”

Now that everything was out in the open, Percy finally felt like he could breathe again, even if his heart was still stinging and a cold feeling kept creeping into his bones despite the warmth of the sun.

Telemachus didn’t force him to look up when he finally found something to respond with. And once again, it wasn’t what Percy expected: “But you never outright lied, did you? You omitted the truth.”

“Same difference, really.”, the demigod laughed, desperate and frustrated.

He felt hollow now, empty. Waiting for the judging hammer to fall. But this time it wasn’t Zeus dealing out some divine punishment. It was the Prince of Ithaca. And whatever he decided would happen. Percy wasn’t going to argue.

But perhaps he didn’t need to, because Telemachus shuffled even closer until their sides fully pressed together. Then, there was the weight of a head on the demigod’s shoulder and soft brown hair tickled his nose.

“For me it isn’t.”, Telemachus stated, lifting their intertwined hands as he started playing with Riptide’s ring. He gave Percy a moment to process, before he asked candidly (but not judging, more like…curious): “Would you do it again?”

And if that wasn’t the one-million-dollar question.

Percy thought back to those early days of dreaming with his friend. Their banter and jokes, the way they could relax and be quiet together, never oppressive, but more understanding, a deep connection the demigod couldn’t explain. Even after all the mythical things he had seen, their friendship still had something magical.

So, would he be able to sacrifice these days of comfort and calmness to give his Dream-Boy the connection to his father he always wanted?

“I-I wish I could say no for certain but…Maybe? Our friendship means so much to me. I should be able to cope with being second place, I think.”, the son of Poseidon finally answered in a whisper. He was being sincere, even if the dagger in his heart twisted again. If that was a real wound, he would have bled out long ago.

Telemachus hummed thoughtfully, splaying his hand against Percy’s palm, comparing their sizes carefully. The hands of the prince were thinner, more delicate, with elegant bones and long fingers, perfect for any instrument, be it for music or art, and the skin was unblemished and fair. In comparison, the demigod had darker skin, marred by little nicks and cuts, rough from handling his sword and coarse around the ball of the hands. His fingers were thicker, had a strong grip and still slip through Telemachus’ like water, settling against the warm flesh of his friend like they had always belonged there, sending a tingle right through his arms and down to his toes. A pleasing shudder rippled through the demigod’s back.      

“To be honest…I think I couldn’t.”, the prince spoke after a while. The sun had started its way down, tinging the world orange and pink. Percy came back to reality slowly.  

“What?”

“I thought about it long and hard and…You were my first real friend, Percy. I don’t know what I would have done to keep our friendship as undisturbed as it was.”, Telemachus confessed, matching the serene atmosphere with his soft voice, “If I had been in your situation, I might have acted even worse.” Dream-Boy squeezed their intertwined hands and turned his head, presumably to look into Percy’s eyes, but he still avoided the other’s gaze. The prince continued by saying: “So, thank you for being honest with me. I forgive you.”

Silence came over the meadow, stunned and waiting.

“This shouldn’t be this easy.” Percy voiced the first thought in his mind.

Whatever whirlwind of emotion had dominated his actions, words and brain until now was dispelled scarily fast, leaving behind nothing but empty space. The son of Poseidon felt drained and tired from all the talking and facing past regrets. But there was no more energy left in him to hold onto the guilt concerning his friend, when Telemachus himself dismissed it like this.

“Everything with you is easy for me.”, noted the prince with what was definitely a smile in his tone, making Percy sag a bit into their half-hug. The remark that followed was equal parts amused and serious: “And you have more than enough time to tell me about my father now anyway. I bet you have lots of stories to share until he comes home.”

The last crumb of resistance of being forgiven this quickly reared its head and made Percy say: “I promised you to make sure he reached Ithaca.” One more thing he had failed.

But Telemachus obviously had a different opinion, because he hummed: “You can still keep that promise. He will make it, right?”

“Yeah.”

The outcome of the Odyssey had not changed (and never would). Odysseus made it home in the end.

“Then that is all I need for now.”

Percy still couldn’t believe his luck. “You should be way angrier. Or frustrated. Or disgusted.”, the demigod remarked.

“We’ve already established that I forgave you lying to me. What else is there for me to be deterred by? I am still your friend. And I will stay until you send me away yourself. You are here. You came back. That is all that matters to me.”, Telemachus said with such conviction it made Percy’s heart jump painfully high. Dagger still lodged in it, but less painful.

“I can’t believe you mean that…after everything I did. If you actually saw-“

The prince did not give him the time to once more sink into self-hatred. He interrupted the son of Poseidon easily: “I did. Maybe not all of it, but enough. Nothing you did in that war disgusted me. You impressed me, amazed me.”

If the demigod had been brave enough to look down, he would have for sure seen the pretty pink blush on his friend’s cheeks, but there was still something in him that kept his gaze locked onto his own lap, where their hands were clasped around each other.

Telemachus wasn’t done: “I know you, Percy Jackson.” - So steady, so sure - “I have been by your side even if you couldn’t feel me. And I am still here. Please let me-“

“I could.”, whispered the demigod and swallowed harshly, “I think… I felt you. Sometimes. I saw you too. And…a lot of things would make sense if you’d truly been there - In the future, I mean.”

All the times he’d felt the warmth of someone’s touch without there being anyone, or the glimpses of caramel eyes and brown hair from the corner of his eyes came back to Percy. He remembered feeling strengthened during his days of holding the sky, the small, whispered encouragement and the obvious moments Telemachus had to have been nearby.

Most prominently were of course his dive into the Styx, where his Dream-Boy had pulled him out of the burning waters. His mortal anchor. The son of Poseidon recalled his friend’s face and words vividly. How he had been commanded to come back and how his promise had given him the strength to persevere.

And then there was the prophecy itself.   

“Protected by the soul asleep, with timeless help, a soul he’ll reap.”, Percy quoted, “That meant you, didn’t it?”

He finally turned his head back up to look at his friend’s side profile. Telemachus’ head still rested on his shoulder when the young man answered: “Yes, I think so too.”

No surprise about the strange wording.

Only one more proof of Dream-Boy actually having seen the future. And if that was actually, really true, he most likely had also been present for the rest of the war. Had been present during his stand-off with Kronos. More even…

“You really were there then?”, the demigod questioned with a whisper. He felt a mix of many emotions, mostly wonder and something that felt like pride. He clarified: “On Olympus, during the last fight…It wasn’t just my imagination?”

The prince of Ithaca tilted his head to meet the sea-green eyes of the son of Poseidon. They stared for a long time, trying to read each other. Before Telemachus confirmed: “No. I was there. I pushed the sword into Luke’s weak spot as you held him down with your powers.”

He couldn't have put it more clearly. This removed any doubt. The prince had truly dreamed about the future.

And more than that: He had even changed it. He had helped win the war and killed the mortal shell of the Titan of Time. Telemachus was the true hero of Olympus. And no one except him and Percy knew about it.

But his Dream-Boy didn’t even spare that fact an ounce of attention. He was more focused and something else and stole all of the air inside the demigod’s lung with it.

Serious and honest, Telemachus caramel eyes underlined it undeniable when he said: “You see Percy, I killed too. And not only Kronos. There was a boy on the bridge that aimed for your back. I killed him with his own dagger. I could never judge you for something you did to protect others.”

The simple way he phrased those words was devastating and finally stole all the wind under Percy’s sails, making the roaring monster of guilt and doubt and despair retreat into the dark hole it had crawled out from. The son of Poseidon felt all the lingering tension finally leave his bones for good.

The only thing left was warmth and contentment. And the grounding presence by his side. Unmoving and steady. There to stay.

As attentive as the prince was, his mind was still too caught up in his own train of thoughts to notice the massive shift in the mood. “To save or slay Olympus foes, a wish, a choice to end his woes. There was never a way for you to come out of that prophecy without killing someone.”, Telemachus said, still lingering on the wording of the prophecy. He added: “I do not condemn your actions. And that last line…

There were way too many things the son of Poseidon wanted to say. There was so much to address, to process. All the trauma both of them went through, parts of it even together, but they had time. There was no need to force all of those heavy things and difficult conversations right this second.

Maybe focusing on taking one step after the other would be enough for now. 

It was on Percy to shed a bit of light into the meaning of prophecy’s wording this time. In hindsight, it was ridiculous on how long it had taken him to figure this out. “I wished for a way to return to you, and I chose to take the chance when I finally found it.”, the demigod explained with a small smile.

Something relaxed in Telemachus’ expression upon hearing his slightly amused tone. The heaviness drew back a bit, making room for the comfortable, familiar atmosphere between them. A beautiful smile (that had a suspiciously teasing edge) formed on the prince’s handsome face as he turned around a bit, leaning his chin suggestively on Percy’s shoulder. There wasn’t much space between them now, only inches, actually, and the demigod felt Telemachus’ breath tickle his neck when the prince drawled, clearly joking: “And does it end your woes? To be here?”

“It really does.”, Percy responded instantly and deadly honest to boot. No need to hide how much he had missed his friend, and how precious the chance to see him again, live in the same time and space as him, meant to the demigod.

Telemachus twitched back, surprise blooming on his face, followed by a deep red blush. Some of his twinkling freckles were swallowed by the intense colour, but Percy found it a very charming expression. Something keenly satisfied hummed low inside his chest, vibrating through his bones. The feeling was as pleasant as the view, and Percy vowed to make his Dream-Boy blush more often, if this was the reaction he had to his fluster.

Furthermore, it was rare to see Telemachus speechless like that, swallowing hard and averting his eyes shyly. For a second, the son of Poseidon deliberated apologizing, he had not meant for his friend to become uncomfortable, but the prince got himself back together quickly, a quiet challenge in his caramel eyes.

Instead of continuing their teasing, the young heir decided to address something else: “How did you do it anyway? I mean, the Titan of Time pushed you here the first time and pulled you back again, but I never knew there was a way for mortals to travel through time at all. Especially without godly help.” The topic change was not subtle at all, but seeing the blank curiosity on his friend’s face made Percy want to indulge him for now (he still saved the picture of a blushing prince deep in his long-term memory).

The demigod grinned widely and leaned forward to bop Telemachus’ nose playfully with his own, mingling their breaths again and making the warmth in his chest (something totally unrelated to his powers) burn brighter. “I didn’t do anything. You did.”, he said simply, knowing how little that actually helped clarifying the matter.

It was still worth seeing the confusion on the face in front of him. There was a cute little crease by his mouth, whenever the prince thought very hard about something. “What?”

Percy gave in really quickly and had the mercy to say: “You gave me a way back.” Not that it was much more informative.

Telemachus obviously agreed when he drew back a bit and asked with an eyeroll: “I did?”  

Now actually wanting to explain his little journey back in time, the son of Poseidon said: “The pearl you gave me. It was magical. A travel pearl from the sea. My divine stepmother gifted me some on my very first adventure. If you step on it, it will take you where you need to be. Yours was the same and…turns out I need to be here. In ancient Greece.” Telemachus pulling away awakened something primal in Percy, wanting to chase the other, and he did so impulsively by leaning even further into him, steadying his body with a hand on the ground, invading the prince’s space and breathing: “With you.”

The blush upon freckled cheeks deepened, satisfying whatever had made Percy want to chase the other in the first place. But the demigod wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do so again.

Telemachus was obviously sick of getting flustered, so he escaped by falling onto his back, breaking whatever spell had caught them in each other’s orbit. The clean air filling the space made Percy come back to himself. Mortified by his brashness and courage to do something so…scandalous, the son of Poseidon turned away himself, feeling the heat creep up his own neck.

Thank the gods that his Dream-Boy did not make their whole … thing more awkward, but instead got back to the topic at hand. “So that’s why you don’t wear it anymore…”, he contemplated with a hint of sadness in the velvet voice.

Percy could understand that feeling very well. He had been devastated once he realized what he had to do to come back (and give up. No way there was another pearl like this in the world).

“I’m sorry I had to destroy your gift.”, he apologized with a painful grimace, but Telemachus shook his head nearly instantly.

“No, that’s okay.”, the prince said and then added with a deep breath: “It did exactly what it was supposed to do. Remind you of me. I will just have to find something else to give you now.”

That sentiment increased the constant tingling in Percy’s gut to something that made him unable to surpress the fond (and gooey) smirk fighting its way onto his face.

“You’ve got more than enough time now. I have nowhere else to be.”, the son of Poseidon promised, and both boys exchanged a hopeful smile full of unspoken feelings and thoughts. All of them positive and excited for what was coming next.

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS snuck back into his bedroom undetected under the light of the rising moon. He knew that come morning, his grace period of being undisturbed and unquestioned would be over. He would be expected to break his fast with his mother for sure, and with the way she had eyed him after the contest, it would be accompanied by an intense conversation.

Hopefully she would send away her handmaidens for it. That would make it a lot easier to speak truthfully to her. Because, as anxious as he was by the prospect of her learning of Percy, the prince didn’t want to lie to her too much.

His Sea-Boy had been far too understanding when he confessed his wishes, giving him free range about everything he would want to disclose.

“I trust you Telemachus, one hundred percent. Whatever you think she needs to know, tell her.”, had been the words of the demigod, and the reassuring squeeze of their intertwined hands may have underlined that statement, but also led to another wave of heated fluster filling his cheeks.

Telemachus was mortified by how easily the other man had change the trajectory of his feelings and thoughts, simply by leaning closer or seeking a connecting touch. It wasn’t the first time Percy had done so, but over the years, their bodies and minds weren’t the only thing changed.

The prince was not stupid. He knew what a crush looked like, but it was something fully different to pine after a memory, and seeing the absolutely, devastatingly handsome demigod in the flesh (and having permission to touch said flesh unrestricted! Even if he wasn’t bold enough yet to use that permission yet…). Being trusted with all his secrets and what to disclose to his mother didn’t help in calming down his erratically beating heart at all. But it also filled him with pride and the warm certainty of their relationship being as strong as ever.

Knowing that some of the hardest conversations were behind them for now (and that they were still going strong despite all the complicated things between them) gave Telemachus the necessary confidence-boost to face the Queen of Ithaca that next morning with his head held high.

Even though he had not yet decided how much to tell his mother, stepping into her chambers didn’t feel like the execution he had expected. The table in the drawing room burst with enough food to feed a small army, especially since it was only the two of them partaking for now, but the prince knew that every leftover would go back to the kitchens and quarters to be consumed by their servants. Maybe that was why his mother always ordered this much food. The suitors that still resided in the palace could eat like an army every day and when the Queen wasn’t attentive enough, there sometimes wasn’t enough reserves left to feed the staff.

Another lucky thing for Telemachus was the absence of all the handmaidens, when he stepped past the guard and through the door. His mother’s chambers were some of the best protected in the whole palace, with thick doors and few windows that had no balcony and were too high for any mortal to climb. All her doors had different locks and bolts, making sneaking in impossible (except if someone destroyed the whole door, but the ruckus would alert everyone in the palace to what was going on).

“Please lock the doors behind you.”, the soft voice of his mother asked after the prince was inside. Telemachus complied immediately, sliding ever lock and bolt into place, making sure that no sound would echo into the hall and giving them all the privacy a busy building like the palace could provide.    

The Queen of Ithaca sat primly at her spot left from the head of the table (the place usually reserved for the head of the family, in their case the king, but it stayed empty in his absence), already sipping at a cup with some juice (she did not like alcohol during the early hours of the day). Her blue eyes were sharp and calculating, following his every move as Telemachus made his way over to her. He met her gaze calmly and leaned down to give her the usual chaste kiss on the cheek in greeting before finding his place on the opposite side of the table.

His mother hummed and gestured for him to serve himself some of the bread and cheese in front of them. For a few minutes, the ate in silent company, but the tension rose steadily, and Telemachus knew that the interrogation was about to start. The prince prepared himself mentally but was still caught by surprise when the Queen remarked something wholly unexpected: “I heard you came back late yesterday.”

“You knew I was out?”, Telemachus asked, caught off guard instantly and he thought about who could’ve snitched. No one should’ve seen him leave his room, but maybe there had been a maid in the gardens when he sneaked through there? A tight feeling coiled through his stomach. Had he been followed? Had their conversation been overheard by someone? Surely Percy would have noticed something with his superior senses, right?

His mother did not notice his inner tumult, but she did snort in a completely un-queenly way and sent him a teasing grin that relaxed him a bit. She wasn’t really angry then. 

“Please, dear, do not insult me. I know everything that’s going on in my palace. And you weren’t subtle.”, Penelope stated matter-of-factly but her amused eyes then became uncannily intense as she asked with faked nonchalance: “Where did you meet your…friend?”

That answer soothed Telemachus’ worries perfectly. Whoever had seen him leave hadn’t follow him. What he and Percy had spoken about was still entirely theirs. But the rest of his mother’s words…he obviously needed to work on his poker face and inconspicuousness. The prince took an intentionally slow bite of his bread to stall for time.

Did he want his mother to know about their meeting place up the mountain? Until now, he was pretty sure only him (and Percy) knew the exact way to their meadow, as it could only be reached by leaving the trail halfway up. It sat wrong with him somehow, telling anyone about their oasis of freedom and comfort.

That was why he finally answered with: “I would rather not tell.”

His mother pursed her lips, but indulged his wish with narrowed eyes, changing the topic of the conversation flawlessly.

“I see.”, the Queen took a calm sip from her juice before saying, only slightly reprimanding: “You know how dangerous it can be to go somewhere without the guard. The suitors are always looking for a way to gain the upper hand. I will not lecture you on something you already know, so just make sure to not be caught unaware. By anyone.”

It was a warning for him to be more careful, but no outright ban on sneaking out of the palace. In her own way, it was even approval of him taking his own autonomy serious.

Telemachus leaned back in his chair, finally feeling a bit more grounded in their exchange, having gauged his mother’s mood enough to know that she was actually more curious than worried about him meeting some unknown young man. Her trust in him was touching and helped the prince find his footing.

With a proud little smile, he could not surpress, Telemachus addressed her concern: “I can assure you mother, I am nowhere safer than in his company.”

“Is that so?”, the Queen asked skeptically, her sharp eyes scanning Telemachus for any sign of deceit. But when Penelope came up empty, now sure her son was speaking what he perceived as the truth, she hummed pensively: “I must admit, seeing him fight was impressive. He is quite accomplished for his age, but that does not mean he didn’t make mistakes.” The admonishment was soft, but even then, the prince felt himself bristle in Percy’s defense immediately. His mother couldn’t know, but the man they were talking about was not only a demigod son of Poseidon (one of the three most powerful gods), but also the mortal to had beaten Kronos, Titan of Time, in a swordfight, as well as destroyed Kampe, jailor of Tartarus, single-handedly.

No way any man or beast could actually harm him, if Percy decided to fight with his whole strength. 

Telemachus snorted derisive and said with no small amount of pride: “He held back. In a true confrontation, no one in all of Ithaca would stand a chance.”

His mother did not look very impressed, but the prince forgave her the disbelief. She hadn’t seen his Sea-Boy in the thick of a war, making monsters and Titans quiver in fear. Penelope then raised her eyebrow and inquired calmly: “Interesting…how can you be so sure?”

Ah…that was difficult to answer without going into the whole demigod-war-against-a-titan-in-the-future thing. Parts of that he could (and wanted to) tell her, but maybe going into the thick of Percy’s crazy life without some sort of smooth transition was a bit…unwise.

“I think that is an answer for later.”, he evaded with an uncertain chuckle, reaching for the grapes. The Queen watched him for a moment, before giving in again (it became kind of unsettling, her being so ready to shelf some questions and going with the flow he set, instead of demanding the answers she deserved).

“Very well. Let’s start at the beginning then.”, his mother gave him a kind and gentle smile, that was still curious and then asked: “Who is this boy and how do you know him?”

Telemachus should have expected that question, and he had, but now that he looked into his mother’s pretty face, saying that he dreamed about a boy for years that now mysteriously appeared in Ithaca sounded…bonkers. And delusional. And in no part like a healthy way to meet a new friend.

“Ah…okay, I trapped myself there.”, the prince admitted with a grimace. He rubbed his neck and decided for a different approach: “Can we go back to the other question? Why I am sure he is the strongest warrior in Ithaca?”

The Queen raised an eyebrow in obvious amusement and took a sip from her juice: “If you want.” She was really indulgent this morning (which was most likely her strategy to make him comfortable enough to spill everything she wanted to know, even if she had to wait for it.)

Well, no time like the present to test how much her goodwill could withstand the craziness that was Percy Jackson and his life.

“Well Percy is…blessed by the gods? Wait no, that isn’t right.”, Telemachus abandoned the notion to stay vague halfway through the sentence. He took a deep breath before starting again: “I want to be honest with you. Please keep what we talk about between us and don’t freak out, okay?”

That disclaimer was necessary on all accounts.

Penelope’s gaze stayed sharp and focused on her son. Her amusement turned to seriousness as she said: “I can certainly try. Who is this Percy, Telemachus?”

Oh boy, here we go.

There was no easy was to lead into this, so the prince decided to take the direct route to the core of all things Percy.

“His father is a god. A powerful one. Really powerful. We met about four years ago through some divine intervention. I never left Ithaca and he was never here, but we could… communicate to a certain degree. We talked, a lot, and became friends. He was traveling with…”, that was the first time Telemachus choked during his rushed explanation of facts. He did not want to give too many details about their time together (that was something that should only belong to them), but his mother needed a rough idea about how their dynamic came to be. And telling her where Percy had been during all of that was important. Not only because he needed someone to talk to about that, but also because his mother deserved to know. She had been waiting for 16 years to get reliable news about her husband.

So, the prince pushed through all his reservations and rushed to say: “He was traveling with father, with Odysseus. After saving him from a Cyclops, Percy joined him for a part of his journey home, before the gods called him away to help them with…something.”, another deep breath was taken before Telemachus ventured on, not giving his Mom the chance to intervene before he got everything out.

“I am sorry to be this vague, but it is not wise to draw the wrath of the gods, and I don’t know how much to tell you! Believe me when I say that Percy has done things no mortal, no other hero, has ever achieved. I know about some of them, and I truly trust him with my life! I asked him to come back to me once he was finished with his duties to the gods and, now he is here…in Ithaca. The promises he talked about during the contest? That was one of them. I guess he gave father another one, to look after us or something, but we didn’t have a chance to talk about everything that happened yet…”

After getting all of that out, Telemachus needed a few seconds to get back his bearings. Anxiously, he watched his mother on the other side of the table, searching for some form of reaction on her blank face. The Queen had leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes lowered to her plate, brows furrowed and lips pinched. Her brown hair was intrinsically braided into some updo that was held by many golden clamps and bands that twinkle in the few sun-rays that penetrated the inside of the chambers. She looked ethereal (she always did) in her thoughtfulness.

Telemachus had always known his mother was the cleverest woman alive, her wit far greater than any of the scholars and men that crawled around the palace like they owned it. No matter who slinked around them, it was always the Queen pulling the strings. She was the mistress of the palace and the regent of Ithaca. She had fought and won many battles of barbed words and veiled threat and through them all, Penelope of Sparta had never lost her smile or effortless grace.

Seeing her this unguarded and lost in her brilliant mind showed how serious she took his words. But that did not reassure the prince in the slightest, quite the opposite really. He needed to hear her assessment.   

“Please say something.”, Telemachus asked uneasily.

When his mother raised her blue eyes to meet his brown ones, she tried to keep her face neutral, but the prince had seen her so often and in so diverse company that he could read her better than anyone else. The Queen was skeptical and guarded, but she had not made a verdict about his friend.

“This Percy…is a demigod, someone powerful. He traveled with my Odysseus before the gods called him away, and during all of this he communicated with you for years?”, she recapped incredulous, and Telemachus winced upon hearing the last part. When he nodded, Penelope grimaced. “Why didn’t you tell me?”, she asked, hurt shining through her voice like a beacon and the prince felt like the worst person alive, having disappointed his mother.

In this moment, Telemachus finally, completely understood how Percy had felt yesterday. Both of them having omitted something important from the people they cared about. And while he had truly forgiven his friend, having empathy for his situation and feelings, the prince wasn’t sure he would be afforded the same grace by his mother. But still, he wanted her to understand that it hadn’t been some failure on her part, but something he had simply wanted to keep close to his heart, untouched by others.

So, he took another deep breath and tried to explain his motivation as honestly as he could: “Because…it would have sounded crazy back then. You wouldn’t have believed me anyway and Percy…he is my best friend, mother. The only one who didn’t talk to me like I was a prince. He is brash and cheeky and unapologetically himself. He is not shy to speak his mind, to call me out, but he is also kind and considerate. He struggles with morale and what actions to take. He listens to advice and has asked me so many times for my opinion. He isn’t arrogant like the heroes in the stories; he knows his flaws and tries his best despite them anyway. He is loyal and fierce and brave. And he is my friend. My best friend. And he is finally here, really here. I could not risk you sending him away because you don’t trust him…”

A myriad of expressions flitted over his mother’s face, transforming her eyes from cold, to fond, to exasperated, to considering, before finally settling on concern like a curtain finally shutting close. The Queen got to her feet and moved around the table in one swift motion, kneeling down by Telemachus’ side, her head lower than his. The prince watched with wide and confused eyes as Penelope lifted her hands to cradle his face in them, like he was still a young boy in need of comfort from his Mom after a nightmare. It was such a soft gesture, full of love and care that the young man instantly relaxed into it, closing his eyes shortly to soak up the warmth.

But his peace shattered with his mother’s next word.   

“Was he the reason for you shutting everything out these last few years?”, there was something painfully hard in her voice, like she was already planning the downfall of whoever hurt him, and the next words did nothing to sooth his fears: “I cannot allow someone to be close to you that makes you this miserable!”

A jolt went through Telemachus, and he drew back immediately, eyes wide in shock and brain scrambling to find some way to react to this truly, horribly wrong conclusion. His Mom could not mean that!

“NO! I was miserable because he wasn’t close to me.”, the prince exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing through the chamber before he got his vocal cords back under control, continuing hastily, but at a lower volume: “Our communication became…scarce through circumstances outside of our control! I only saw him once a year on my birthday and every time…Mother, I know I was awfully absent and withdrawn, but that is not Percy’s fault! I missed him so much. The world felt so dark without him and I – I didn’t know how to deal with the darkness. I am still not sure what to do, but he makes my life better. Please do not try to force a separation. It won’t work anyway! We will always find a way to see each other now that we are finally in the same place. I cannot lose him again! I would much rather have your blessing in this than go behind your back.”

Telemachus had no idea why he was vomiting so many words and rants this morning, but maybe all the buried thoughts and feelings he had to keep in while waiting for his Sea-Boy to return were finally breaking free after years of being shunned away. He could be glad it happened while in the company of his mother. He didn’t even want to imagine what horrible embarrassing things he could have said if it was Percy on his knees before him.

The mental image brought heat to his cheeks, and an excited flutter nestled deep inside his stomach at the same time. He forced himself not to think about the handsome man looking up to him with those intense sea-green eyes, kneeling between his legs and smirking that infuriating smirk that made his bones weak and his heart stutter.

This was not the time for such thoughts.

Luckily, his mother interrupted his spiral down a very…unfitting rabbit hole when she sighed: “I…need to think about this.”

Telemachus rose from his chair to get down to the ground beside her, taking him to eye-level with his mom. She looked a little lost and the prince followed his instincts to draw her into a hug. The familiar warmth of her body relaxed the prince, and he also felt his mom burying her head into his shoulder. Both of them were a bit overwhelmed, clinging to each other, not knowing where to take the conversation now.

But this wasn’t anything new. It had always been the two of them at the end of the day. Mother and son against the people invading their home. Them holding down the fort until the King, the father and husband of the house returned to drive away all those presumptuous enough to think they had a chance to claim his legacy.

And while Telemachus also knew his mother was not yet fully comfortable with Percy or the idea of him staying close, she did not outright declare him unwanted or an enemy. It was tentative balance he was willing to accept for now. His Sea-Boy would charm his mother all by himself giving enough time.

He was wonderful like that.

Finally, Penelope got some of her carefully crafted calm back as she questioned quietly, as if afraid a noise to loud could break the moment: “You said he traveled your father…Does he – Does he know if Odysseus is still alive?” His mother was trembling slightly in his arms, muscles tense and jaw set, as if to prepare for the worst possible outcome. How relieved Telemachus was to be able to sooth her fears. 

“Yes, he is alive.”, he answered quickly, heavy with intent. And then, to bring the point home, he even dared to explain: “Percy has met…a lot of very…influential deities. He knows some things that haven’t happened yet and he said, he promised, that father would make it home. He will come home. We will see him again, mother.”

“How sure is he?”, the Queen asked, still doubtful, but there was something like hope in her steely eyes when she leaned back to meet his gaze. It was a feeling the prince knew very well. He smiled confidently: “As sure as the sea is blue.”

“And you trust his words?”

“I trust his words, his actions, his heart. I would lay my life in his hands without question if he asked me to.”, Telemachus vowed, full of sincerity. It was the truth, after all. He had seen Percy through highs and lows, knew his anger, fear and hurt as well as his own. Had seen his Sea-Boy rage and ravage and kill, but was also heartachingly familiar in the way the demigod hugged him, how all their sparrings were tinted with care and controlled strength, how every accidental touch was gentle and an apology never far from his friend’s lips.

Whatever feelings cursed through his chest must’ve somehow showed on his face, because his Mom caressed his cheek with an indulgent and understanding smile, that somehow looked longing and melancholic.   

“Oh Telemachus…I know this devotion very well.”, she breathed to her son, “I always hoped for you to find something like your father and I had, but loving a demigod is dangerous.”

Time stopped for the seconds it took the prince’s brain to reboot. His heart stopped and his mind was to occupied with the first part of what his mother said to even acknowledge the rest. “L-Love? W-Who is talking about that!? He is my best friend!”, Telemachus stuttered, face heating up and even without the amused grin of his mother, he knew that the red in his cheeks must’ve betrayed him.

“And Odysseus was mine before we married.”, the Queen stated.

“That is different!”

But was it really? Telemachus could not allow his brain to go down this track. He wasn’t ready to face whatever feeling the demigod conjured in his belly. They had just met for the first time in real life! No matter how close their relationship already felt, surely making jumps this wide was complete rubbish.

But his mother did not allow him to avoid this topic completely. Gone was the indulgent Queen, now his Mom was like a hungry wolf, having smelled his evasion like a bloody steak. She knew she had struck gold, and her teasing smile did nothing to hide her smugness.

“Is it? I saw the way you jumped from hearing his voice alone after the contest. I am your mother. I know my son, and the way your eyes lit up like the sun was finally warming you again after seeing him was not subtle at all, dear one.”, Penelope cooed, mushing his cheeks between her hands like he was a toddler, making him draw back in embarrassment.

“I-I-“ Telemachus didn’t know how to react to her words, too mortified and embarrassed by being so easily seen through. Luckily, the Queen graciously stopped her teasing in favour of pulling him back into a gentle, but short embrace.

When they detangled again, she looked at him softly and pushed a strand of hair out if his eyes with kind understanding: “It is okay to not have a name for it now, but you care for each other deeply. I see it in the way you speak about him.”

Her eyes were serious when his Mom touched their foreheads together in an intimate gesture and she said: “You gave me lots of things to think about, but despite all those…complications, I am just relived to have my bright and happy son back. If it takes a legendary hero for that…well, I guess you could have chosen someone worse to be your forever.”

Her honesty made Telemachus feel slightly guilty for ever drawing back from her in the first place and he kissed her cheek once more in a silent apology. After that, he bashfully shook his head and laughed weakly: “Mother, you are absolutely wrong here! I may have some…tendencies, but Percy doesn’t see me that way in the slightest. I promise that such things are very far from his mind. Especially with me!”

And while it hurt to say it this bluntly, the prince was very sure it was the truth. The faster he accepted that his silly crush was most likely not mutual, the better for his poor heart. (Something deep down in him whispered that even then he would never get over the handsome hero completely, but maybe he could move on to someone more on his level. The small affections that were between them right now had to be enough to sustain his longing heart.)

But his mother obviously had a different perspective. She snorted undignified and shook his shoulders as he reprimanded: “Do not insult my intelligence, Telemachus. I saw the looks that boy sent up to us even without you being aware of them. He nearly got decapitated trying to get your attention!”

A shing of pointless fear jolted through his spine, but it calmed just as quickly, knowing the situation was over. And there was no way Percy had ever truly been in danger. Even distracted, the demigod could have swept the floor with everyone in that arena.

(Telemachus hated himself for not seeing the spectacle firsthand! Now he always had to rely on other’s accounts when thinking about his Sea-Boy fighting to get his attention. The romantic corner of his heart swooned helplessly.)

The prince shook himself out of his daydreams and uttered with all the confidence he could: “But you can’t know for sure! He may have been just happy to see me again.”

The disbelief was clear in his mother’s eyes, but with a world-weary sigh she replied: “I guess. But I would not give up hope. You need to show your intentions clearly. Men are so awfully thick when it comes to subtle gestures. Your father was such a hardhead, he needed it spelled out that I wanted to marry him before he actually acted on his feelings. Your Percy does not seem any brighter.”

That insult should have triggered him to defend his friend, but he saw her point and grimaced in agreement: “He for sure never noticed or minded me getting close before.”

That made the Queen raise her eyebrow again. With a weird mix of curiosity, seriousness and teasing she asked: “How close are we talking? Do we need to change our conversation topic to something different, son? I know we talked about what to do with girls but-“

“NO!”, Telemachus spluttered, scooting back to wildly shake his head, cheeks burning, “I am thoroughly educated in those things, mother. Thank you! And we never got that close.” He felt slightly breathless, and his head was spinning with pictures and sounds that came and went within seconds. He never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him as desperately as right now.

But the Queen was not reassured. She tilted her head thoughtfully (he missed the amused coil of her lips completely) before musing: “Are you sure? Getting intimate with a boy requires a bit more preparation than usual. Shall I send oils up to your room? I do not want you to get hurt during-“

“MOTHER! I am fine! We are fine! I know everything necessary if it ever goes that far. Which it has not! There hasn’t even been a kiss yet.”, Telemachus screeched, hands waving widely and face ready to explode from all the blood crowding his cheeks. He ignored the little sting of disappointment in his heart, but the Mom-shark in front of him had sniffed blood and noticed his little sulk instantly.

Her grin turned smug and amused as she suggested: “Ah…If you want there to be one, I think it is on you to take the initiative. It is lost hope for you to wait on him, if Percy is truly as oblivious as he appears. And knowing he traveled with your father for a time does indicate him not having the best role model for recognizing romantic interests.” She looked highly satisfied with herself, and while Telemachus was still vibrating with humiliation, he could not fight the fond smile as he saw his mother this carefree for the first time in a long while. She looked happy and thoroughly amused by his plight.

“I- thank you for the advice, but I like the way things are for now. He has just arrived, and we just found each other again. There is no need- I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”, the prince finally got out and he meant every word. Whatever (IF there) was something further to be explored between them than friendship, they still had a lot of time to do so. (All the time, Telemachus secretly hoped).

Penelope smiled brightly and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. She said: “That is good. I am sure you’re going to figure it out in time. Let’s see how he settles into his new duties of being a guard. Once he finishes the basic training, I’ll make sure to have Macar assign him to your person as often as possible without raising suspicion.”

Warm love bloomed in Telemachus’ heart upon his mother’s care. “Thank you, Mom.”, he answered sweetly and with a soft smile, that was mirrored by the woman in front of him.

“I like it when you call me that.”, she confessed and caressed his cheek again (the heat slightly reduced by now) With a serious tilt in her voice, his mom promised: “I will do everything for you Telemachus. Know that your worries and feelings are safe with me, child.” 

When they both came to their feet, his Mom pulled him into another long hug and whispered into his ear: “I am so proud of the person you grow to be. And your father would be too, I just know it.”   

Chapter Text

PERCY was way more energetic than the early time should have warranted. But through his haze of happiness and optimism, it was easy to ignore the annoyed grumbling from Perimedes and Elpenor, as the three of them found their way to the palace gates at the crack of dawn.

After his draining and heartfelt reunion with the prince (learning shocking new things and getting a big boulder of guilt off his chest), Percy was ready to start their first day as official guards of the royal family on a high note. There were no more difficult conversations in his immediate future (except all the teasing his friends couldn’t contain after he returned to the inn) and the only thing expected of him now would be to protect someone.

For that, the son of Poseidon was more than prepared. Nothing would touch Ithaca’s Royals when he was around.

He was actually thrilled to begin training under a real instructor again (even if his pessimistic side snarked that there was little left to teach him with a sword) and to have an official reason to be on the palace grounds (and near his Dream-Boy).

While Perimedes and Elpenor were no morning persons, both of them were equally excited as him. They had proclaimed it about five times yesterday evening, when they had celebrated the outcome of the contest together with Zeno, Telesophorus and Hyginus.

The healer had come a little later – he had to stitch up all the other competitors - and despite him giving Percy a slap on the back of his head for making him deal with the rats’ (oh so unfortunate) permanent injuries, the man was smiling proudly. The demigod couldn’t surpress his grim and smug smirk as the medic had listed the damage he had dealt out and after another reprove, Percy had shared the reason for his excessive force.

No one had anything left to say in their defense after that.

After a few cups of wine for the others (Percy had decided to stay with water – it was way more helpful for his drained energy anyway), the men had finally begun grilling him properly about his meeting and talk with the prince. He had stayed as vague as the others let him get away with, but the stupidly happy grin was hadn’t vanished from his face during it all and soon the questions stopped, simply because the son of Poseidon couldn’t stop gushing about Telemachus.

It was well earned, despite what the old geezers said: The prince was a handsome man (even Thalia would have said so and she was known for having no interest in men in any capacity). Together with his amazing personality, everyone would’ve only been able to rave about his Royal Highness if they truly knew him.

And now Percy had a legitimate reason to be near Dream-Boy. What could be better?

-

The three of them were already expected by the captain of the royal guard, a gruff man named Macar. It was the same one that had accompanied Telemachus on his trip to the beach, so he knew at least something about Percy’s connecting with the prince. The captain, however, didn't let on that something was amiss, except for a quick, sharp look at Percy before greeting them curtly and leading them briskly onto the palace grounds. On the way to the barracks, Macar briefly explained what the next few weeks would look like for the three new recruits.

It was a pretty standard routine. They would have weapon and fight training four times a week, together with all guards that had worked there for under a year, and during the rest of their days they would be shadowing the more experienced guards during their rounds. At mealtimes, some of them would be stationed to keep an eye out on the dining area and the suitors, while others had a break. It would rotate through all the first years when and where they had stationary watch.

Every other day, either their afternoon or evening would be free, otherwise their presence was expected on the palace grounds, doing their assignments, training on their own or spending it with their colleagues in the barracks. It was expected of them to learn the rules of the palace in the first week, including all the guest rights and privileges. They hadn’t yet earned permission to make calls about intervening or punishing violations, which was why they would only shadow the guards that had that privilege at first.  

“You may take willing lovers outside of your working hours, but do not take them into the barracks or fuck them in plain sight. All servants are off limits except they proposition you first. If anyone comes to me with complaints about being harassed, your ass will be kicked out faster than you can blink. Your word means nothing as off now on that matter. Keep it in your pants if they don’t scream yes, am I clear?”, Macar grunted demanding. All of them agreed simultaneously with a clear: “Yes, sir.” But the black eyes of the captain lingered on Percy suspiciously. The demigod felt himself bristle and raised a challenging eyebrow.

He could imagine why he was singled out like this.

The reunion with Telemachus could have looked quite intimate from afar (which it was, but not for the reason anyone but them could understand). It was comforting to know that Macar was this protective of the royal family. One person less to watch like a hawk in this tank full of asshole males (aka the suitors). Even if the insinuation about Percy taking lovers every other day rankled the demigod.

The barracks were in the far back, between the arena and the outer palace wall (which was actually pretty great for sneaking out. The sandstone wall might’ve been pretty high for a normal person, but Percy had greater strength and could for sure climb it well enough if there wasn’t another gate nearby). The buildings were made from rough bricks with sagging roofs. There were three of them, all looking identical except for the numbers out front, marking the serving years of the inhabitants. A small bathing house was beside them, furthest away from the barrack with the big 1 painted beside the door. A few guards were lingering about, sending the three newcomer curious glances.

Macar led them into their new home, a big room full of cheap hay beds lining the wall with one small chest by each of them. There was no privacy, no locks and no space. Percy was relieved that Telesophorus had insisted he keep his room in the inn because no way the demigod would bring anything valuable here. The place reeked of sweat and animosity. The captain pointed to three beds at the far end in one of the corners, saying their new armor would be in the chests and if anything didn’t fit, they should take it into the city themselves and let it be changed. The crown would cover the costs up to two gold coins, everything above that would have to be paid by them personally. After telling them that their first training session was in an hour in the arena, Macar left with little fanfare.

“Well.”, Percy said once they were alone in the barrack, “I never thought I’d want my hammock on the ship back, but this is pretty bad.”

Elpenor grunted as he opened one of the chests to inspect their equipment: “What are you talking about? You got Polites’ old spot. That was the best sleeping place on the whole ship, except the captain’s cabin.”

“Yeah, don’t be a snob, Percy.”, Perimedes agreed, but the way he looked after kicking the hay, making a big cloud of dust, spoke volumes.

“At least we’re all together again.”, Elpenor tried to be positive as he pulled a banged-up chest plate out of the chest. The demigod began to inspect his own sleeping place as he quipped: “It’s like the good old times.”

Perimedes snorted: “Then let’s hope there isn’t some big monster or sorceress waiting in the arena. I’ve had enough divine encounters to last a lifetime.”

“What? To snobby to be a pig again?”, Percy grinned and then threw himself on his bed with as much fake hurt as he could, “And I guess I’ll just vanish for another three years then. To spare you all divine encounters. Please tell Dad it is all your fault.”

“Hey!”, the soldier spluttered with a chalk white face, making the son of Poseidon cackle until a big lump of something was unceremoniously dropped onto his torso, making him cough and wheeze from the dust.

“Low blow buddy! No one wants to meet your father. Now get up and help me clean the armor. If we have to wear this rubbish, let’s make sure it’s at least clean.”, ordered Elpenor, but with a fond grin.

No matter how bad his surroundings, as long as Percy had his friends, he could push through anything.

-

Maybe the demigod had spoken to early. Or some deity of pettiness had it out for him. Because the second Percy stepped into the arena for their first sword lesson, he recognized the instructor instantly.

“Shit.”, the son of Poseidon cursed lowly, as his gaze swept over the pudgy figure of the blond man with an Eye-Patch.

Of course he would have to meet this idiot again. He remembered their meeting on his first day here vividly, and how it had ended with the other’s utter humiliation. Now, the asshat from the inn, that had accused Chares (the serving boy) of stealing, was right back in front of him.   

Unfortunately, from now on, Wannabe-Cyclops had a legit opportunity to make his life really uncomfortable. And no amount of spit-flicking could help the son of Poseidon this time. He would just have to stick it out.

The demigod noticed the questioning gazes of his friends, but before he had time to explain this very unfortunate reunion, Eye-Patch had already spotted them. His one remaining eye gleamed maliciously as it landed on Percy (he still found it weird that the guy had no other wounds or scars besides the missing eye – if it was even truly missing). Blondy barked for them to come over and join the four other men already gathered.

Yeah, this wouldn’t be a walk in the park.    

The demigod kept his eyes on the trainer, but scanned his new colleagues quickly to get a first read on their attitude and abilities. All of them were at least half a decade older than him. The two darker skinned men looked like twins, or at least brothers, and from the way they lazily gripped their sword and stared into the distance, both were more or less uninterested in learning how to fight. That could either mean they already knew how to stab someone or they simple didn’t care and were here for some other reason. Percy decided to keep an eye on them.  

The other two man were older, one stood uncomfortable straight, and the son of Poseidon clocked him as a stickler for rules instantly. The last man was tall and lean, with long and luscious hair, a sleezy, confident smirk on his face. The way he spun his sword was showy, but useless in a real fight.

All in all, Percy wasn’t very impressed with the first-year recruits, but judging by who their instructor was, maybe he shouldn’t have expected any better.

It hadn’t taken much to get the idiot on his ass in the inn.

“Welcome to your first training you maggots.”, Eye-Patch growled like an angry chihuahua and that gave Percy very weird flashbacks to his meeting with Echidna and her chimera. He pulled himself out of it to hear the rest of their trainer’s introduction. Not it was a very impressive speech.

“I am Silas Auretia and from this day forward, I will be your god. You will do exactly what I say and when I say it. No questions, no complains. Every backtalk will double your workout. I don’t care if you miss meals or sleep, you will do your reps until I am satisfied, or you will break down trying. Your blood, sweat and vomit belong to me, and I will see one of it every single day.”

What exactly were they supposed to do with that nonsense? Beside the standard ‘Do what I tell you’ everything else was just hot air to make Eye-Patch (or Silas) feel important. How did this idiot become their sword instructor? Did he even know how to hold the weapon? And they were supposed to treat him like a god?

Yeah… good thing Percy was never one to worship the gods anyway.

The antipathy must’ve been written in his face, because as soon as Silas beady eye fell onto the demigod, he screeched: “You! Pasi. Stop making that face. I will get twelve rounds for your disrespect.”

So that’s how this would go.

As long as he stuck to punishments like this, the son of Poseidon would let it go for now. Maybe with all the extra workouts he was going to get ordered to do, the training might have the potential to be at least somewhat tiring for the demigod.

But one thing needed to be cleared up right away.

As nonchalant as possible, the young man made his way over to Silas. But as relaxed as his posture was, as blazingly intense were his eyes when he focused them on the man. “The name is Perseus. Perseus Jackson.”, Percy purred with a steely voice, channeling the way his father had called him before he destroyed the slaver’s ships. He leaned closer to Eye-Patch and whispered only to him: “It’s somewhat of a family name. You shouldn’t forget it.” Then he passed the man and began his rounds through the arena, ignoring the hateful gaze on his back.

This would either be a funny pastime or the most annoying part of being a guard.

-

In the end, it was both.

Provoking Silas with little quips, witty comments or (most of the time) simply his proficiency with a sword was actually pretty amusing to watch. The trainer turned such a curious shade of red and purple when he was challenged by the younger man in something that was supposed to be his expertise.

Not that Percy did it very often, just here and there when the other recruits were far enough away to not overhear them. It wasn’t his goal to completely humiliate the other man (even though his fighting skills were atrocious. Seriously, how could anyone learn from someone this unbalanced?!), but more to have a little fun while being bored out of his mind during the actual instructions. Silas himself did not appreciate Percy’s humor, making him run laps, hold planks or do sit-up in numbers that would have killed a lesser man. Those punishments, the demigod bore with a smile, knowing he earned them.

What really annoyed him were the extra tasks and exercises he had to complete without actually doing anything to provoke them. He did pull-ups for breathing to loud, jumping jacks for snorting about a joke from Elpenor (the soldier apologized for that later, unnecessarily) and jogging with added weight around his legs for being too fast with an exercise. Those punishments grated on his nerves like crazy, making him scowl and glower.

Not because they were difficult to complete, but because of the time they took. Slowing himself down to match the pace of the other guards was a serious hassle, making the demigod nearly jump out of his mind from boredom. Even when training with his weak hand, Percy was never as clumsy or tardy as the arrogant leek with the long hair (his name was Timon).

Being slowed down like this was getting on his nerves, added by the time he had to spent on the useless punishments and the actual training he did afterward to at least get the edge off of his bursting and cooped up energy, it wasn’t rare for the son of Poseidon to miss the evening meal (consisting of some sluggish grey mash that didn’t taste as terrible as it looked).

Being hungry made Percy moody, grumpy and snappish, resulting in even more redundant and silly exercises. And while Silas didn’t always stay late to watch him fulfill the punishment, Percy was too proud to not complete them with infuriatingly calm and little to no sweat. (And he sometimes felt someone sneaking around the arena watching him doing them. Whether Silas had sent someone to spy on him and report any negligence or it was someone else was hard to say simply from the blood-signature.)

The actual guard duty during his other hours wasn’t that exciting or stimulating either. He was assigned to what was probably the single oldest guard in all of Ithaca (and didn't that reek of meddling from Silas's greasy hands?). The guy, Geron, was at least seventy, with a receding hairline halfway up his scalp and a dirty grey beard that was one big lump of clumped hair. He was mumbling all the time, slurring words and besides being slow like a snail, he was taking naps on the job.

All. The. Damn. Time.

It was truly a wonder he hadn’t been fired or sent to some senior residence. There was no freaking way this guard could even stop a toddler from stealing cookies, let alone strong suitors in their prime.

Still, it was really hard for Percy to honestly dislike the guy, because he was sweet and patient and he was doing the job longer than anyone, having served Odysseus all his life.

His age and physical constitution might have been the reason Geron was only assigned the most deserted hallways or desolate gardens to guard, but for the first few day, Percy didn’t mind shadowing him. The old man was a surprisingly chatty fellow (if he wasn’t sleeping), telling him stories about Odysseus and how he had wooed Penelope. He had been there when the palace was built, knowing a few very well-hidden corners and chambers almost everyone else had forgotten about. Admittedly, Geron used them mostly for some quick naps, but they were also great for hiding and eavesdropping.

Another advantage of shadowing Geron was that the old guard didn’t care if Percy stayed with him or walked the corridors near them alone. He was also knowledgeable about all the rules of the guard, teaching them to the demigod at far greater speed and detail than any pamphlet could have, making him well prepared for Silas next attempt to catch him off-guard.

After one week of seeing nothing but the arena and the hallways of the dungeon and lower levels, Geron was finally assigned a whole week of trotting through the brighter gardens behind the palace, giving both him and Percy a much-needed boost of sunlight. And the possibility for the demigod to keep an eye out for Telemachus.

The prince was pretty elusive, as far as the gossip Percy had caught here and there went. But the son of Poseidon had the faint hope that his presence in some of the busier parts of the palace could draw his friend out of his chambers. Because as things were right now, there was little chance for Percy to sneak around unseen, and thanks to the irksome punishments, the first actual free day he had was more than a week away (they had two of those per month in addition to the supposed free afternoon or evenings sometimes).

His hopes were answered by the second shift they had in one of the flower gardens at the end of the week. As soon as Geron took his position by one of the gates (Percy bored by his side) the faint sound of someone playing the lyre reached his ears. The enticing sound was calling to the demigod, luring him deeper into the greenery, but he needed to wait for ten painful minutes until the soft snoring of Geron told him his instructor was deep asleep.

After a careful look around and sending his senses out to pick up on any moving liquid, (only noting one other being with blood in the vicinity) Percy dared to sneak away and follow the small path further into the garden.

With a hammering heart and fluttering hope, the son of Poseidon followed the melody of the lyre, stepping under some low hanging branches of a tree and into a small clearing with two big stone benches.

And there, under the light of the sun, as if the gods had placed him there just for him, was Telemachus in all his princely glory, playing the lyre like he was born to do so in the most beautiful way Percy had ever seen.  It felt like they were back in his dreams, no one existing but the two of them.

The prince was waiting for him, caramel eyes bright and instantly focused on his approach, smile wide and unguarded, showing his charmingly imperfect teeth that hadn’t changed in the years, but fitted far better than Percy had ever anticipated into the handsome face, giving Telemachus a hint of something human to set him apart from all the artful sculptures of nymphs around him. He wore a differently styled chiton today, slung only over one shoulder, baring the fair skin of his other enticingly to be kissed by the golden sun.

In addition to the shark tooth dangling around his neck, there was also a snug golden band slung around his throat, highlighting his collarbones and the dip of his Adam’s apple. His chocolate hair was freely falling down, its natural waves as soft as ever.

Percy felt the comfortable warmth of seeing Telemachus, bathing in his attention, sweeping through his whole body, making his limbs lighter and a pleasant heavy tingle in his gut swirl. He ignored the heat creeping up his spine and neck, knowing his cheeks would darken anyway upon seeing (and thinking about) his beautiful friend. Instead, the son of Poseidon grinned roguishly, his mouth once again faster than his brain could filter.

“And here I thought I had killed all the sirens near Ithaca.”, he drawled with a challenging and teasing tilt of his head, “Be warned that I am not afraid to swim with predators like you.”

Telemachus gave a snorted laugh, as he stopped playing his lyre and stood up fluently. His voice was drenched in mirth when he retorted: “It would be me playing with the shark though, wouldn’t it? Maybe now’s a good time to mention I am not the strongest swimmer.”

Percy hummed when he reached his friend, drawing him into a gentle hug. The prince sagged into the embrace as if he had only waited for permission. His own hands resting softly in the small of the demigod’s back. They stood there for a few seconds, before the son of Poseidon drew back ruefully.

He smiled upon Telemachus’ disgruntled face and said: “Something I intend to change someday soon. We can’t risk you drowning when visiting my family.”

The caramel eyes widened in shock: “You would take me with you to meet your godly family?”

“Of course.”, Percy stated easily, “But I’ll need to go to Atlantis by myself first. I’ve got no clue how they’re gonna treat me. Kym seems fine, but the others…eh, they will come around eventually.” Percy gestured for the prince to continue his play and with a grateful and fond smile, Telemachus sat back down on the bench. When the demigod didn’t follow, he raised a questioning eyebrow and patted the free space beside him.

Once more ruefully tousling his dark hair, the son of Poseidon shook his head and tipped a finger against the cheap breastplate he wore. “Still on duty. Can’t have his Highness distract me from keeping an eye out for vicious intruders.”, Percy joked.

Telemachus glanced through the silent garden demonstratively before drily replying: “Oh yes. What great crime someone unsavory could do in this oh so precious garden.”

“You would be surprised. Stealing valuable things is quite a common offense.”, he had no clue where all of this was coming from, but the pretty pink blush in the prince’s cheeks was worth every effort as Percy could not rip his eyes away from the other man. But his friend didn’t shy away from the banter (a wholly different kind of banter than the one they had engaged in years ago, but no less enjoyable) and instead quipped: “Well then do not let me stop you from doing your duty, guard. Do keep an eye out for spies and trespassers while you’re at it. I heard the palace has eyes and ears everywhere.”

The last part was said with unusual seriousness and the demigod was immediately on guard, reaching for the warmth in his chest and sending his senses out. But besides them, Geron (about thirty meters away) and a few rodents and rabbits, nothing alive but the plants were in this garden. A quick look up did reveal quite a few windows and balconies overlooking the grounds though and Percy stood straighter instantly. 

“I guess you shouldn’t be seen with me then?”, he asked a bit bitter, already about to step back, but a warm hand on his wrist made the demigod stop. Telemachus caramel eyes were blazing when he claimed: “I do not care one iota for the opinions of others. My mother already knows you are a valued friend, and everyone else can just piss off if they have a problem. I just meant not to cause you any trouble with the rest of the guards, being seen talking to me during your shift. I heard that Silas has it out for you already?”

Percy snorted and relaxed a bit. “Don’t worry about it. I met that idiot on my first day here and stopped him from accusing someone of stealing. He was drunk and humiliated himself by trying to fight me. Now he finally has an official outlet for his grudge, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

While the demigod didn’t sit down, he still stepped a bit closer to the bench and fake whispered: “Just between us, the extra exercise is quiet welcome. His lessons are stupid, and he is painfully incompetent.”

Telemachus didn’t look completely convinced, but gave in with a quiet: “If you say so.”

After the prince began to play a small melody on his lyre again, filling the space with beautiful sounds and notes, the son of Poseidon checked once more that Geron was still sleeping, before shifting his weight and asking with fake indifference: “You talked to your mother then?”

The prince clocked his jittering nerves instantly and sent Percy a reassuring smile. “I did.”, Telemachus said fondly, before briefly recounting the gist of their conversation (with some obviously left out parts, but the demigod did not ask after them. Of course there would be secrets between mother and son he wasn’t privy to). In the end, they might not have to sneak around to meet as much as the demigod had feared. The Queen sounded a lot less strict in real life than she had in the few mentions in the history books. But then again, his own Mom hadn’t been the most authoritative either, and if they had some kind of soul connection…

Anyway, Geron was steering just then, cutting his talk with Telemachus painfully short.

They arranged to meet in the meadow on Percy’s free day in any case, should the son of Poseidon be delegated to the dark corridors and dungeons again for his next shifts. With a heavy heart, he moved back toward his instructor, but a soft tug on his arm had the demigod spin around again.

Telemachus was startlingly close suddenly, stretching up onto his tip toes to press a very soft kiss on Percy’s cheek, making his whole world smell like honey and parchment for a minute. His brain said goodbye instantly, only catching the teasing words when the prince was already out of reach again. 

“Keep up the good work, guard.”

Dazed by the lingering feeling of those soft lips, Percy didn’t even realize he had answered: “Anything for you, my prince.”    

Chapter Text

While PERCY honestly didn’t mind the extra workouts he got, it soon became quite ridiculous and the source of great amusement among all the other first years guards. Silas grudge against him was something everyone was gossiping about, and Elpenor even told them there was some kind of betting pool on how many punishments he could collect per training and when his body would give up on him from all the push-ups and jogging he had to do.

The demigod wouldn’t have cared, if all of his mounting responsibilities and those stupid tasks from Silas weren’t eating up all his free time. There was literally little time to even pee, between standing guard in the shade of some balcony, his instructor snoring the day away in a hallway or Silas barking at him to do even more laps.

Adding to that were the increased number of shifts that required nothing but standing still for an endless amount of time, and while Geron took to napping in some of his hidden nooks, Percy and his ADHD were going stir crazy from having nothing real to do. He wasn’t allowed to wander the halls on his own yet more than a few feet away from Geron, not to mention actually guarding anything beside the dust bunnies or wilted flowers. Only two other times they were positioned somewhere more central, but both times, it wasn’t in a place where Telemachus could have visited him inconspicuously.

Percy hadn’t seen his prince (as in, spoken with him more than two words or exchanging small smiles) in more than a week, and it made him fidgety and grumpy beyond compare. It was always pining from the distance, seeing him down the hall like straight from Olympus itself, with beautiful clothes and carefully styled hair, nose often buried in scriptures or books, his forehead creased adorably in thoughts.

During all the time he waited around staring holes into the air, Percy had become quite the poet about Telemachus’ looks. No man had ever held his interest this consistently as the prince did, but after finding the fifth synonym for pretty, his brain often gave up, wandering to all the other, useful things he could’ve done beside standing around, waiting for Geron to wake up and change their position.

It was a miserable combination of boring shifts, needless exercise that did nothing but eat up time without even exhausting or satisfying Percy’s need for exercise, constantly being late too meals and missing the friend he had taken this job for in the first place. But all of that, the demigod would have dealt with… if Silas would just finally see reason and would stop piling tasks upon tasks on him in the hope he would break.

Doing all the punishments at a speed that was reasonable for humans was by far the most tedious and annoying thing Percy ever had to do in all his life (including math homework!).

Until he simply decided: Fuck this.   

The demigod was too hungry, too restless, too bored and too longing for long walks and engaging talks with Telemachus to deal with playing the normal boy anymore.

Who cared if someone figured out that he was more than a simple mortal? As long as he didn’t play with water or liquid in plain sight, it would be impossible to figure out where exactly his divine blood had come from.

So, Percy gave up all pretending and started training like he did back at Camp Half-Blood.

He still fulfilled the stupid punishments, but it didn’t take him the whole day anymore. He ignored all barbed questions and open jaws from his comrades (as well as the smug smile of his friends) and simply pushed through every exercise as fast and efficiently as he could. That gave him more time to eat in peace, less time in Silas presence (giving the asshole less opportunities to punish him) and a few free hours per day again.

The son of Poseidon ignored the steaming sword instructor and his utterly stupid fighting lessons, and instead spent the time working his stamina and core-strength, as well as the coordination of his left hand. Silas tried to keep him in line, but after being beaten in a spar for the fifth time in less than a minute, he had no ground to stand on to force the demigod to stay for the instructions.

The pile-up of cardio and strength training the hateful man gave Percy instead was more entertaining and faster done anyway.

There was most likely a lot of gossip running wild about him, but Percy didn’t care.

The Queen knew he was a demigod, and everyone one else could either ask outright how he managed all the physical work without collapsing (and be sassed with a useless answer) or make theories up themselves. Perimedes and Elpenor kept their ears open for anything damning or bad, and shared some of the funnier tales being spun about him. But except for him apparently having Cyclops-Blood (not really inaccurate) or being the descendant of a monster, all the gossip was easily ignored. The most common explanation his year-mates came up with was that he was blessed by the gods, and the only question remaining was which deity had taken an interest in him (more than one, to his great pain). It was another rumour that touched the truth, but not enough to be concerning.

The young man’s newfound fame circulated to the other guards in different years sometime after that, and through their own little gossip circle, the servants hear about him as well. But Percy really couldn’t care less, for he spent all his new free time with the only person who truly mattered.

-

Telemachus was the actual expert in sneaking in and out of the palace and he showed Percy all of the best ways during their afternoons together. It was never more than an hour or two, not enough time for deep conversations or existential crises, but enough to catch up and exchange small stories or anecdotes.

It was mostly Percy climbing up the olive tree and talking to Telemachus on his balcony, but sometimes the prince found him after his training and lead them into different rooms inside the palace. The demigod learned the placement of the library, the kitchen, the storage and the royal family wing, as well as two secret passages to cut through a few hallways.

Time flew by, and his first free day was getting tantalizingly close, when Geron was suddenly assigned better posts. Maybe Telemachus had done something, or it was simple luck, but Percy wasn’t complaining. He was constantly outside now, either training beside the rest of his class (Timon had actually tried to get the same deal as Percy had: Doing his own things and just taking the punishment, but he had given up after one day of constant jogging) or patrolling the palace grounds and garden.

He crossed paths with the prince that way suspiciously often, but thanks to Geron’s presence, there was no opportunity for them to talk during his shifts. But the secret smiles and winks still made his days a little brighter (and his heartbeat a little faster).

It was on the afternoon before Percy had his free day, that he came across the first situation that needed a guard to step in. One suitor (of which the demigod had seen surprisingly little) was harassing on of the servants, a younger girl with golden hair and bright blue eyes (something very unusual in Ithaca, which was why the demigod noticed it in the first place). She had been carrying a stack of papers and some inkwells when the man (at least twenty years older than her) had stepped out of nowhere to slap the girl on the butt, making her yelp and drop her load on the ground.

Percy was surprised at how fast Geron could still move in his age. The demigod himself was beside the girl in seconds, halfway in front of her and a fierce scowl on his face, but Geron pushed his shoulder to help the girl, while he turned toward the suitor and led him away a few steps.

“Are you alright?”, the son of Poseidon asked as he crouched down to get a few of the scrolls that had rolled further away. The girl looked at him with wide and spooked eyes, before she hastily lowered her head. She clawed for the papers and let out a small whimper upon seeing one of the spilled inkwells. Her breath became hectic, and Percy grimaced in sympathy. He saw another spilled inkwell in his periphery that hadn’t been noticed yet, and with a small movement of his fingers and a little tug from his gut, the ink drew itself out of the stone and bag into its container.

He offered it to the girl with a small smile: “It’s only one that’s spilled. If someone gives you trouble, just say I was responsible. I can take the heat.” Because no way the suitor would stand in for his mistake. The girl (maybe two years younger than him) gazed at him like he was some strange creature as she whispered: “Thank you.”

They both got back to their feet and in the exact moment that Percy saw the shackles around her wrists and ankles, the loud voice of the suitor scoffed in the background: “Calm down old man! She’s just a slave anyway!”

The rest of the alteration only reached Percy through a thick layer of wool. He saw the girl bow and vanish around a corner and the suitor huff but also make his way back to wherever he came from. Geron led him through the rest of the patrol like nothing had happened at all.

But for Percy, his world had shifted a bit.

It was one thing to read about slavery or hear about it in school, but something wholly different to see it for himself in real life. And this hadn’t even been a really bad situation. Still, his head wouldn’t let the demigod rest, going through feelings and possible actions until he went to sleep. (A really restless sleep).  

The daze that dampened the world around Percy only lifted as he finally made his way back to their meadow just after sunrise. It was finally his free day, and he needed to talk to Telemachus. The prince would help him make sense of the tightness in his chest. He always did.

The son of Poseidon was the first to reach their spot, but he was too agitated to do anything but pace through the grass, waiting impatiently for his friend.  

As soon as the prince stepped into the meadow, the carefree and excited smile on his fair face dimmed. He picked up on the demigod’s mood immediately and made his way over with haste, carefully touching the tanned shoulder and making him stop his fifth round of fast walking.

“What’s going on, Percy?”, Telemachus asked worriedly, studying his friend’s face with quiet focus to get a hint on what was wrong. The son of Poseidon breathed heavily through his nose before relaxing a bit into the warmth of the prince’s presence.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to fall back into that kind of rambling that only Telemachus appeared to draw out of him, but Percy simply couldn’t (and didn’t want to) stop the words from flowing free. His brain was not needed to filter anything. Not with the prince. Not in their meadow. Not about this.

About anything, really.

Withing fifteen minutes, the demigod had recounted the events of the past day. How he hadn’t noticed the girl was not simply a servant until it was pointed out, and how his stomach had turned and twisted ever since.

Telemachus (as he always did) listened silently, but with soft attention, squeezing Percy’s shoulder in support and quiet acceptance. Somewhere down the line, his desire to pace dimmed, and both young men sat down into the grass, close together, knees rubbing against each other and hands touching. The demigod fiddled with a small golden wire that was snuggly fitted around Telemachus’ wrist while speaking, a totally unconscious action, but the prince made no move to stop the contact. Quite the opposite, he looked kind of pleased (not that Percy noticed, he was too caught up in his head).  

He ended his rant with a derisive snarl that spoke perfectly about the anger and helplessness that had plagued him for hours: “Keeping people as slaves is wrong! And so disgusting. I can’t believe I forgot that it is still practiced here.”

The prince hummed, calm and collected. Not judging, but attentive and as he said: “It is. And common too. You won’t find a household except the poorest not having at least one.” It was stated as a matter of fact, no infliction to show his own stance on the matter, but before Percy could bristle upon the indifference, his friend was already explaining:  “I’ve never thought about it too hard; I grew up with them, but after seeing your world…after seeing your time…it is hard going back to the mindset of not caring.”

That soothed the snarling beast in Percy’s chest instantly, turning it into a purring kitten. A big bolder dropped from his heart, knowing Telemachus’ was no longer blind to the injustice and disgusting practice of slavery.

He still had the need to voice: “It’s such bullshit. All people should have basic human rights and the chance to live their life without being someone’s property! I could tolerate it if slaves were all criminals and their punishment would be temporary, but being born as some second rank human and never getting out? I would love to break all chains and free them, I would do it without a second though if I believed it would change something.”

Telemachus perked up, clocking the real problem at once. The prince hummed: “But it won’t, will it? Your history books from school said that slavery will continue to be practiced for a long time. So starting some revolution is bound to amount to nothing.”

“Because time is a fucking loop.”, growled Percy, both of them knowing the truth of that statement. Whatever the son of Poseidon could do to abolish slavery or try to improve their lives would only have either short term success of fail completely. It was a hard pill to swallow, and impossible to accept at first, but the more the demigod thought about, the more hopeless he found the whole thing to be.

Going against social norms did not scare him, but it had the potential to kill all his chances of a peaceful life by Telemachus’ side. The first part wouldn’t bother him (peace wasn’t something he was used to anyway), but losing his friendship with the prince was not something Percy would compromise on. Even if it meant having to live in a world where slaves were a thing.

Did that make him a bad human? Probably. His Mom would be ashamed of him-

Telemachus broke through his dark thoughts by musing: “Yes…I don’t like keeping slaves either, but the more we can occupy in the palace, the better. Because here they are treated decently, more as servants than slaves. There are no corporal punishments as far as I know, and they will be cared for if they ever fall ill.”

“The bare fucking minimum.”, Percy rumbled annoyed and petulant, earning a little side eye from the prince, but Dream-Boy didn’t comment on his tone. Instead, Telemachus tried to find something good about the whole thing by saying: “But better than a lot of slaves in the city. I get your frustration, I really do, but Percy, you cannot save the world all the time. And you don’t need to either. Why don’t you focus on the little things you can do? I bet the girl you helped yesterday will not forget your kindness. That is one person that is a little bit happier thanks to you.”

As positive as his words were, a small part of Percy thought he sensed a small bit of apprehension in Telemachus’ posture and voice, but it was too little to warrant immediate addressing. The demigod still saved discovery in his head, vowing to look deeper into this, should it come up again.

For now, he sighed unsatisfied and spoke: “I guess I’ll just have to…do what I can when I see it. I will not stand by if someone is being mistreated, though. Slave or not.”

His sea-green eyes flash in silent challenge to disregard his words, but the prince didn’t even try to say anything against his choice, instead his smile turned fond and he took Percy’s fidgeting hand in his own without hesitation.

The warm pressure calmed the rest of the demigod’s raised hackles (making the kitten in his chest purr even harder) as Telemachus’ caramel gaze gleamed beautifully in the evening sun, looking like molted gold, burning and precious.

The prince leaned a bit closer as if confessing a secret and then proceeded to say with the uttermost sincerity: “It’s what I appreciate about you so much, you know? Your heart is very kind.”

Percy spluttered, heart racing and face heating up. He felt each point where their skin touched tingle, and couldn’t stand the intensity of the other man’s eyes any longer. Suddenly shy and not at all prepared for that change of topic, the demigod only mumbled: “I think that’s just your influence over me. You are the kind one out of the two of us.”

Telemachus grin was fond and self-deprecatingly when he confessed gravely: “I wouldn’t be so sure. I can be plenty selfish.” The hand that held Percy’s own tightened its grip, pulling the demigod a bit closer, showing a silent kind of possessiveness that made his heart race. A smug and confident grin graced Percy’s face: “Haven’t seen it yet.”

“Then keep your eyes open, Sea-Boy. I bet you will find my darkest corner soon enough.”, retorted the prince, only half playful, and there was no way for Percy to let that stand unaddressed. He would not have his friend doubt his commitment to their relationship over something silly like this.

“And I will stay regardless. Like you did for me.”, the son of Poseidon vowed with all the severity he had in his heart. Their foreheads touched softly, black and brown hair mingling, as Percy leaned closer, eyes trapping their caramel counterpart to make sure his next word were heard and accepted: “You’re not getting rid of me, Telemachus. But feel free to try. I’ll only learn more about you.”

His voice was challenging and arrogant. Percy knew he would win no matter what.

“Idiot.”, was Telemachus way of gentle surrender.

-  

Life resumed to the normal rhythm. Training four times a week, shifts of guarding and patrolling (mostly still with Geron, but once every week he was put together with one other first-year-guard to keep an eye of some desolate corridor alone) and then, in between mealtimes and the odd bathing hour granted to them (not that Percy overly cared for those, if he wanted to be clean, he snuck down to the beach with a bar of soap and used his powers to do it right), the demigod used his few free hours to have little meet-ups with Telemachus.

In most cases, they simply enjoyed spending time in each other’s orbit, the prince either playing his lyre, writing something or drawing, while Percy did a few light exercises and talked about his day. They shared stories and gossip regularly, Telemachus often venting about all the long meetings and negotiations he had to attend and how his mother shut down suitors left and right. It was the kind of simple togetherness they had shared during the dreams years ago, coming back like they were never apart in the first place.

Of course, especially during the late hours of the day, conversation topics tended to venture into more serious areas. Mostly it was Telemachus that started asking a few questions about one thing or the other that he had been confused about during his time dreaming about Percy’s Quest in the future. Things spiraled from there, covering the most basic things like school or the political system, but also dipping into his life as a demigod: facts about Camp Half-Blood and the things he had done that the prince hadn’t witnessed himself. And although all those conversations were accompanied by the sting of homesickness and longing for his Mom, Percy never discouraged his friend from asking. Talking about the things he missed was surprisingly helpful, even if it hurt. 

Telemachus never made him feel like he should be ashamed of his feelings, accepting the flood of emotions as calmly as he did everything else. Holding Percy while he whispered about his Mom’s pancakes or pulling him into tight hugs if they ever stumbled into talking about people and friends he had lost during the war. Percy even felt confident enough to confess about some encounters and fights he had been terrified about, most notably his battle and defeat of Kampe.

The prince told his own perspective, for he had witnessed him killing the monster with its own poison. But instead of being disgusted by the brutal (some might even say cruel) and lengthy takedown, Telemachus eyes only showed reverence and pride as he gushed about Percy’s prowess and cleverness, complimenting his quick thinking, making the demigod blush to the roots of his hair. Still, the son of Poseidon cradled the warm feeling close to his heart for next two days, thinking back to their conversations whenever Silas was particularly annoying.  

His friends teased him endlessly that one time late at night when he had been too tired to make his way back to the barracks and fell asleep in their meadow. Telemachus had stayed as well, curled into Percy’s side and sleeping so very deeply that the demigod found it impossible (both figuratively and literally) to wake him when the sun crept back up again. Ignoring his own fluttering feelings, he had carried his friends back to the palace walls before finally shaking him awake, so that the other man could sleepily climb back into his chambers.

Percy had made it just in time for their morning training, much to the disappointment of Silas (he had hoped to give him even more extra work). But the trainer found another way to get back at the demigod for all the disrespect and attitude. Because not even three days later, he had come into the arena with the biggest and smuggest leer on his face, that any of them had ever seen.

He postured himself before the first-years, hand behind his back and chest proudly puffed out. His one beady eye rested on Percy with quiet and malicious satisfaction. The demigod tensed instinctively, even if he didn’t let it show. Perimedes and Elpenor stepped up to both his sides naturally, guarding his back even if there was no distinct danger.

Everyone waited painfully quiet for Silas to say whatever it was that had him so haughtily amused. He finally opened his mouth after making sure everyone’s attention was firmly on him.

“Listen up maggots” (the name still made Percy roll his eyes) “I’ve got new orders from higher up. The city watch is understaffed after losing a few of their members to… higher ambitions. As unfitting as they may be.” Silas sent a painfully obvious sneer toward the Perimedes and Elpenor. Percy tightened his jaw, ready to defend his friends and finally put that asshat in his place, but the trainer continued too quickly for that: “Anyway, the Captain asked for a few of us to help them out for a while until new blood comes in. You will have to aid them during your off-hours or in-between shifts. Unpaid, of course.”

More work and no reward? Sounded like exploitation at best and the beginning of slavery at worst. Both things the demigod was not very happy about. Judging by the murmuring around him, he wasn't the only one.

Silas raised his voice to be heard over the ruckus of the other guards: “But they don’t need all of us, so I took the liberty to suggest one of you for the job myself.” That made everyone shut up instantly, and Percy let out a wary breath. He knew exactly what was to come and he wasn’t disappointed as the trainer’s sleazy smile turned back to him specifically.

“I’ve volunteered Jackson to take over all the slots, seeing as he always brags about his great stamina. Let’s put it to the test.”

That was utter bullshit. It was Silas’ own hubris that took offence because of Percy’s physicality and the (granted, slightly unfair) advantage his heritage had given him in that department. Not once had the demigod boasted about something he could do or had achieved (not even to himself or when prompted by Telemachus. Everything others might be impressed by had been done out of necessity and with a big dose of luck. That was not something he wanted to be proud of). But apparently not saying anything and simply following the instructions of his punishments wasn’t enough for a man like Silas, who needed to feel superior all the time.

If he had just decided to increase the difficulty of the exercises, Percy would’ve been more than happy to follow, but cutting into his already limited free time? Yeah, that made the young man a bit more than unhappy. Especially once he heard the gleeful explanation of his duties.  

“You will serve your normal time guarding the palace grounds for four hours each afternoon, but in the morning and evening you are expected to report to the city watch’s office by the docks to take your assignments. Every exercise and training you miss through this, you’ll need to make up during the week.”, Eye-Patch was just about vibrating out of his skin from devious joy. He flipped through his blond hair and stepped so close to Percy, that their noses nearly touched. The son of Poseidon didn’t even twitch. He met the confronting gaze confidently, deciding to take this on as just another hurdle to overcome.

The amusement on Silas’ face turned into a disturbed and hateful sneer. With a fishy breath that was entirely unpleasant, the older man hissed: “I guess that means no more strolls or secret rendezvous. Tell whatever slut you’re meeting to search for a new cock to entertain her.”

Yeah, that was too far.

His gut tightened and the heat spread out to latch onto the pumping blood of the mortal in front of him like a leech. Silas froze when his blood turned icy cold and with a cold glint in his eye, Percy squeezed tight for another second before letting go again.

He couldn’t risk the man dying right in front of him.

The stubborn demigod didn’t suppress the annoyed twitch of his mouth and his lowered eyebrows, showing his displeasure clearly. The trainer couldn’t know how far from the truth that instigation was, but alone the thought of someone calling his Dream-Boy anything other than impressive, made the dark and violent side deep in his brain coil, ready to strike.

It would be easy to make this man beg for mercy. Percy would not even have to lift his finger. If he could beat Kronos until the mighty Titan was only able to spew hateful words, this mortal would succumb to his wrath like an insect to a heavy boot.

All it needed was one little push of the heat in his chest, on twitch of his finger or a swift strike with his sword.

But the demigod had decided long ago to be different than his father.

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

Ruthless does not mean cruel.

And it would be cruel to stomp on someone so low already. (He had already lost more of his composure than he’d wanted). Silas was a miserable man with nothing positive in his life. The only joy he found was in the distress of others. He thrived upon putting others done and while that was despicable and disgusting, it was also something inherently human. 

Percy would not meet human failure with divine punishment. He was no god.

Silas should be grateful for that.

Even if his next words made clear that he was not very appreciative: “I will run you into the ground Jackson, until you eat your arrogant attitude and infuriating smirk. Time to show you just how little you matter. You are nothing more than the dirt under my shoes, and now you will spend your entire free time serving the rags of Ithaca. Back in the alleys and among your kind, where you belong!”

Percy accepted the challenge with a small tilt of his head. He would not let this man take time away from his meetings with Telemachus, nor would break under the strain of his duties. He’d persevere, he’d thrive.

Taking over guarding the streets of Ithaca may even have some benefits. Because the demigod hadn’t forgotten about the slave girl from the other day, nor Telemachus’ words about how much worse it was in the city.

Maybe this was the excuse he needed to change some things.

It was worth abstaining from crushing Silas’s silly little life for a bit longer. But the man would reap what he was sowing, because like his father, the son of Poseidon did not forget a slight against those he loved.  

Chapter Text

TELMEACHUS had never thought of himself as a very obsessive person. And he would still stand by that assessment with the one, little, particular exception being everything concerning Percy Jackson. But even that wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, at least in the prince’s eyes.

Did he like knowing where the other man was if they weren’t together? Sure, but that was just something normal considering they had been apart for a long time.

Was he awaiting every little one of their meetings with fervor? Yes, the separation had made his heart long for the easy camaraderie between them, so looking forward to seeing Percy was nothing reprehensible.

Did he establish his own little spy system of servants and guards to keep him posted about the demigod’s movements? Maybe, but that was only what a concerned friend of a newly arrived time-traveler would do. He did it to be able to help if there ever was trouble the other couldn’t handle on his own (that the possibility of a son of Poseidon needing help from dear old him for anything was very low, did not factor into that decision. Better safe than sorry, and all that.)

Was he staging their encounters during Percy’s shift to get a wink and blinding smile at least once a day? Of course. But in his defense, he really had things to do during the day that required him moving through the palace. What routes he took to attend to his duties should concern no one but him.

Besides, Telemachus was pretty sure that his Sea-Boy hadn’t caught onto any of that. And he also hadn’t mentioned any of the times the prince was sure he had been seen watching the demigod train in the arena.

Having a healthy interest in his friend’s day-to-day activities (and NO obsession!) was a very good reason for knowing the other’s schedule right down to the mealtimes. And what if he was fascinated by watching his friend spar with the other guards (dominating every fight) and completing his workout in record time? It was only an outlet for all the leftover admiration Telemachus still had after seeing the son of Poseidon fight a war…

Who cared that the prince blushed like a maiden whenever he hid behind a row of seats to watch Percy do sit-ups in nothing more than a tunic that covered his lean hips and thighs? Seeing a man’s bare torso was nothing unusual after all. And it was certainly the demigod’s fault for being such an exquisite specimen of a man that Telemachus was even tempted to sink into daydreams about him.

So yeah, no obsession at all. All his feelings were very natural for a concerned and dear friend to have (oh, who was he kidding? Telemachus was down very, very bad for the son of Poseidon, but still too shy to do anything about it).

Which was why it was also absolutely reasonable for the prince to boil with hate and frustration when he heard that Percy was forced to take extra shifts with the city watch during the week, cutting into their own time together. Just because Silas (that useless trainer) had a bruised ego.

He had half a mind to march to Macar and make the captain change the order, or schedule to keep Percy’s afternoons free for their meetings, but when the demigod told him about the whole business, he also made clear that he wanted to deal with it himself.

Telemachus’ petulant feelings dimmed (even if they didn’t vanish completely) upon hearing that his Sea-Boy saw the extra shifts as an opportunity to connect better with the citizens and slaves and expand his circle of influence to help them. Percy’s kind heart and the determined glint in his captivating sea-green eyes settled the prince’s discontent a little, warming his heart into the gooey mess it often became around the other man.

The demigod promised to still make time for Telemachus whenever he could, and together they worked out the necessary space in both their schedules. The prince did notice that Percy was planning to sleep very little, but when he voiced his concern, the son of Poseidon just smiled brightly and proclaimed that he did not need as much sleep as a normal human (Telemachus was skeptical whether he should believe this, but decided to let it be for now. He would collect evidence just in case the situation proved to be unmanageable to get Macar to intervene anyway). 

Independently of Percy, he decided to extend his own duties a little further into the city, so that he would have enough reasons to visit Ithaca and see with his own eyes what tasks his friend was ordered to do there. Luckily, his little spy system (powered by charming words and flattery) extended to the families of the servants as well and through his lessons with other younger citizens in his youth he had enough reliable ears to catch any meaningful gossip once Percy started his work there.

If his mother noticed that his growing interest in the everyday happenings in the city correlated with the extended shifts of his friend, she didn’t voice it, but her eyes were ever sharp and her smile became much more teasing the further Telemachus went to guarantee him getting enough time (which was never enough at all) with Percy.

-

That was how he learned very quickly just how lovely and kind his dear Sea-Boy really was. And it exceeded even his (already very high) expectations. Because it took Percy only three days of mornings and evenings spent in the city for there to be already rumors about his generosity.

As Telemachus had suspected, the demigod was sent on patrols mainly in the very poor areas and districts, where the people may have been free of slavery, but there was no chance for a regulated income. Mostly because the male family members were either too crippled, too old or simply too stupid to take a well earning job. Sometimes the families had too many children to feed all of them, or the women were widowed but not desired by other men for whatever reasons.

It was something that could be found in lots of places, often resulting in the poor people either turning to begging or some (very desperate) parents selling their children into slavery themselves. Ithaca had tried to ban this practice, but after Odysseus and all the other men had been called to war, it had been difficult to enforce it with the few soldiers and guards left behind.

Telemachus knew about the problem on paper, but not having direct contact with any of the unfortunate souls, he was ashamed to say their conditions had slipped his mind until Percy shone the spotlight of the prince’s attention directly on it. Because his Sea-Boy had decided to help them himself, and gossip about the demigod’s deeds spread like wildfire through the districts and palace equally.

It started small, with someone saying that the new patrol in the lower areas had very loose pockets, buying way too much food for himself during his breaks and then giving the rest away to the street urchins.

Telemachus wasn’t stupid, and after sending a servant to buy something specifically from the lower market, it was confirmed that there was already a little crowd of small and poor children following his Sea-Boy around the city during his watch.

It spiraled quickly from there. Percy (or Perseus, as he wanted to be called by anyone that wasn’t a close friend) soon gave up all pretense and simply bought the food for the poorer people straight from the market, distributing it himself during his breaks or giving it to some children he trusted to do so fairly in his stead. Telemachus didn’t ask where all the money for that endeavor was coming from (it couldn’t only be the measly stipulation that being a guard brought in), but he listened to all the stories about the people his friend had to share when they came together either very late in the evenings, or in-between his afternoon training and the next shift.

Two weeks passed, and while the citizens slowly grew to love the new and kind man guarding them, Telemachus saw the toll the increased workload took on his Sea-Boy. Percy was always tired nowadays, yawning and less expressive in everything he did. It wasn’t unusual for the son of Poseidon to fall asleep during their get-togethers. Not that the prince minded per se. It gave him the perfect opportunity to study his friend in detail without looking like a creep. His best drawings and sketches were made on such days, with Percy resting beneath a tree or spread across the floor in his bedchamber. In closed rooms, the demigod always slept deeper, spread like an eagle, mouth open and even drooling a little, which Telemachus found more than endearing. But by far the best naps were those where the demigod was brave (or tired) enough to lay his head either on Telemachus’ shoulder or in his lap.

Whenever the son of Poseidon initiated such contact, the prince took it as permission to touch the other freely in return, caressing his cheek or neck, stroking through the unruly black strands of dark hair or tracing the scars on his bare arms and shoulders. Percy didn’t protest once, often sighing in content or smiling before drifting off.

His skin was soft even over the scars and he was always warm. Telemachus wondered how a person could look this ethereal, but maybe it was the divine heritage that made Percy look like a living dream, all roguish charm and well-worn confidence. The mask of the fearless hero only cracked around the prince, revealing hard edges and soft planes all over, making the demigod feel more real than myth.  

Like puzzle pieces, they both fit together seamlessly, and Telemachus was truly honored that the battle-hardened war leader felt comfortable enough around him to sleep this unguarded. It was one of the prince’s favorite expressions: to see his Sea-Boy’s face relax completely, all tense lines vanishing and leaving the man looking younger and more carefree. And while he really enjoyed this other kind of close connection, Telemachus still vowed to find a way to lighten his friend’s load.  

The perfect idea came to him when Percy offhandedly mentioned that he was thinking about teaching some of the orphans how to swim. “Maybe they can join a crew for a bit of pocket change? Help with fishing or something. I can’t sustain all of them forever without swarming the market with foreign money or priceless deep-sea trinkets.”, the demigod mused, for once awake, but his head was still lying in Telemachus’ lap, eyes closed.

He was basking in the sun (or was the sun basking in his presence?), either way, the prince smiled and drew a quick sun with his finger onto Percy’s shoulder when his brain caught up with the words and formulated a plan in seconds: “You could teach them how to dive too. Isn’t there a colony of seashells and clams not too far out? Maybe they could dive for pearls themselves. If they sell them to the right people, they could get a hefty sum for it.”

Percy sat up so fast, he nearly collided with Telemachus, but his bright and cheery smile made every protest die on the prince’s lips instantly.

“You are a genius, Dream-Boy!”, Percy exclaimed, suddenly all restless energy and boundless drive correlated into a very well built body that jumped up, towering over the perplexed man. Pulling Telemachus up like he weighed nothing (making his stomach swoop violently upon the effortlessly show of strength, because the prince was by no means small or light), the demigod crushed him into a hug, gushing about something that was drowned out by Telemachus’ brain whooping and purring in warmth.

-

The idea of teaching the kids in Ithaca something useful, rather than just providing them with food and clothes, awoke something in Percy. Telemachus had seldom seen his Sea-Boy this engaged. Or rather, heard about how engaged he was, because somehow his mother had decided his improved mood meant that his princely duties could also increase in intensity. And while the Queen’s orders to look over the trading reports and the logs of the harbor master led Telemachus to wander through the city personally (giving him an excuse to check on his friend periodically) it was also tedious work.

But at least one of them enjoyed the time outside of the palace, because Percy was unstoppable.

He rushed through the poorer district like an uncontainable storm, charming children, grandparents, men and women alike with his easy smile and helpful attitude. He stopped minor disagreements and petty crimes in the same breath that he helped an older gentleman carry a crate of fish or helped a lady find her grandchildren. His fairness in dealing with criminals became the talk of the city after he had taken the time to speak with every single one he caught, determining whether they had acted out of desperation or maliciousness, and either letting them go (with a few coins to buy food instead of stealing) or hauling them to the holding cells to be dealt with by the captain.

Soon, there was no one in all of Ithaca that hadn’t heard about Perseus, blessing of the gods.

Telemachus thought it oddly fitting and hoped that no deity took offence, but upon making sure all the gossip was mostly positive (a few merchants grumbling about thieves going free, but Percy always got them either their goods back or reimbursed them by helping with something or paying outright, so they were mostly complaining to save their face) there was very little for the gods to be mad about.

-   

By chance, during one of his many visits to the office by the docks, Telemachus stumbled upon an encyclopedia of sea treasures, completely with an exact way on how to appraise pearls and sea glass to reliably determine their worth. When the prince showed it to Percy, the son of Poseidon immediately jumped down into the sea, looking for a possible diving spot that would produce a sustainable number of pearls for a long time. It took two late evenings in the ocean, during which the prince thought about better ways to export jewelry more efficiently and on how to increase the demand to make the fruits of their endeavor even sweeter, but when Percy came back up under the shining moon, he was grinning, having found a very promising spot that was neither too far out nor too deep for humans to reach.

As both young men snuck back inside the palace grounds, Telemachus listened with amusement to Percy telling him about the deal he had struck with two sharks that hunted around the island, making them guard the pearl reef in exchange for belly rubs and a few times playing fetch. Percy was more than happy with that arrangement and glowed under the praise the prince bestowed on him.

Maybe this would truly change the tide for a lot of people in his kingdom.

Now the only thing left to do was to actually teach the children how to swim and dive, and show the mothers or elderly relatives how to make basic pearl chains to sell (and to keep the newfound treasure a secret as long as possible to give the orphans and poorer people the chance to make something out of it). Telemachus suggested Percy conduct his first lessons by the lake, a short hike away from the city, because the water there was still and not moved by the tides, making it a better starting option than the temperamental sea.

Ignoring the offended huff, the prince even agreed to join him on one such outing, if the other was not on shift. He would not been seen distracting a guard, and so they compromised on Telemachus joining a lesson on Percy’s free day. They were originally going to spend it at the meadow together, but after being exposed to the sea-green baby seal eyes, the prince gave in with an eye roll. Telemachus was not happy to share his time with the demigod, but the lure of maybe seeing his friend topless made him only grumble a little to maintain appearances.

The next actually free day was a week later. Percy had already begun the swimming instructions in the lake and was confident that the seven children, who had been brave or bored enough to agree to learn, were ready for the shallow waters of the ocean. He easily agreed to Telemachus’ request to not use their beach, saying they would just go to the one east of the harbor. The prince mentioned that he would join them after his morning meeting with the harbor master to finish up the last of the logs.

The day dawned bright and early, under blinding sunshine. With a fluttering stomach and sweaty hands, Telemachus tried to keep his nervousness at bay, but the thought of seeing the son of Poseidon fully in his element was exhilarating, and his concentration was the worst it had ever been. At least until the prince was finally freed from the stuffy office at the harbor.

Commanding his personal guard (two middle aged men that were as rigid as steel and not nearly as loyal as his mother believed – which was why the prince always carried two daggers with him no matter what-) to go back to the palace already, Telemachus turned toward the beach. He ignored the protest of the soldiers and gave them his very best don’t-mess-with-me expression (trying to channel his inner Percy) when they attempted to stop him. Of course they tried to follow him, but the prince was good at slipping away and had no problem doing so now as well.

He knew it was risky with all the suitors about, but most of them were still in the palace and as soon as he reached the beach, Percy would be there.

And Telemachus could be nowhere safer than by the side of his demigod.   

Chapter Text

TELMACHUS may not have the backing of the goddess of wisdom like his father, but he’d like to think he was still smarter than most.

So, he had prepared and thought about this outing multiple times, opting to use different techniques to keep his real identity as hidden as possible. Obviously, someone would recognize him eventually, but hopefully it was only after Percy could make sure everyone was comfortable with the prince’s presence (thanks to the easygoing nature of his Sea-Boy).

Telemachus didn’t want to impose on the diving lessons, but he knew that having the prince among them was bound to change the behavior of the citizens in some way. Maybe not the children, but their parents would act differently for sure.

Not that Telemachus particularly cared, but he did want to be liked somewhat by his subjects. His Sea-Boy was already loved, so if he left a bad impression, the people might have reasons to point out all his shortcomings to the demigod… and while the prince was sure his friend was not prone to listen to gossip, it was still a possibility that made his stomach turn queasily.

Good impression it was.

Which was why Telemachus freed his hair from his usual laurel wreath and took off most of his golden jewelry except his shark tooth necklace and a bracelet from his mother. All of it was hidden in the traditional blue wrap he normally wore over his chiton, leaving his outfit unadorned and giving him an improvised bag to carry. He knew that his face was still very recognizable, but maybe looking so plain would confuse the people long enough.

The beach wasn’t hard to find, being only a little further than the harbor, and the shrieking and laughing of children was a very good indicator of where to go. The shore was rocky, with only a few feet of dirty sand leading up to the lush green grass, where five adults were sitting in the shade of a tree. Four women, all of them having shawls over their head, and one older man with gray hair and a walking stick. They were watching the mayhem happening right at the edge of the dark blue ocean. Telemachus stayed behind them for a second to observe the scene before him with a smile.

Seven children, ranging from what looked like 6 or 7 to a few teenagers around maybe 14, were standing in the gentle waves of the sea, splashing water or pushing each other around with mirth. No one was swimming yet, but it looked like they already had lots of fun just messing around.

For a second, Telemachus didn’t spot Percy among the chaos, but then something big and loud broke through the surface behind the children, drenching them all with a massive wave of flailing arms and a glorious laugh that the prince would always recognize anywhere.

The son of Poseidon came up from the deeper waters like some legendary myth of old, water cascading over his bare shoulders and chest, defining the planes and endless expanses of tanned skin better than any painting the prince had ever seen. It was nearly unfair how good the other man looked, with his lean muscles, toned stomach and all those little scars that gave him something dangerous behind his wicked good looks. The black hair was wet for once, but still very wild, with its grey streak catching the light, standing proudly among the darker strands. Sea-green eyes were crinkled by the wide smile that tugged at Percy’s pink lips.

Telemachus mouth became dry instantly, and a wave of heat ran through his chest and belly, making the prince shiver pleasantly.

No one in the whole world could look at the perfect picture in front of him and not find the demigod to be the most attractive man in all of Greece.

It was devastating to see him with such little clothes and not be allowed to touch him. Telemachus quietly bemoaned the chance to trace over the heated skin, the soft scars or the hard muscles stretching in Percy’s stomach.  Despite his rapidly beating heart and the unmistakable desire that pulsated through him, the prince was certain that even if they had been in the togetherness of their meadow, alone and undisturbed, he would never dare to ask for such intimacy from his friend.

He would lose his mind if it were granted in the casualness that Percy so often displayed to his friends, as if unknowing what his actions would do to the poor prince. 

The thought made him anxious and giddy, but without knowing for absolute certain that his crush had a chance to be reciprocated, Telemachus would just have to admire Percy from afar. He wouldn’t risk their friendship for anything.

Even if it was made so impossibly harder when his Sea-Boy took two of the smaller children under his arms before throwing them further into the sea, all the while calling encouragement and evading splashing attacks from the other kids. It was a beautiful scene, seeing the hardened demigod melt into the softness of the caring young man Telemachus knew Percy to be. Here, playing with children in the waters of his father’s domain, with no danger or duty interrupting his enjoyment, the son of Poseidon looked so incredible happy that Telemachus felt all air escaping his lungs until his head spun.

But (by whatever power his friend possessed) Percy sensed his presence quickly, turning around instantly (even if it meant ignoring one of the children calling for his attention). Their gazes met, one adoring and the other full of pure joy. White teeth flashed as Percy raised his hand to wave high and wide (honestly, it was such a dopey and obnoxious gesture that Telemachus could not suppress a laugh) as he called: “Finally! Get down here Dream-Boy. What are you waiting for?”

They had agreed for Percy to not use his real name until someone recognized him themselves, but being called Dream-Boy this loud and proud made the prince’s face burn more than he had thought (both pleasant and abashed, but overall simply happy to have earned such a description at all). Flushed to the roots of his hair, Telemachus waved shyly back, cautious not to stare too much at the demigod’s bare chest and the little trail of dark haired under his navel (especially not that!!).

As the prince made his way down to the water, he heard one of the teenagers (a boy with dirty blond hair with and an expression like he had smelled something foul) ask: “Who’s that Perseus?”

“My best friend.”, the son of Poseidon answered easily, as he waded through the shallow waters to get closer to the beach, “We couldn’t see each other much this week, so I asked him to join us.”

It was a statement, no question, and the decisive way he said it made a warm tingle bloom in Telemachus’ chest.

It also pleased him to hear that his friend had found their time to not be enough as well, even though they had spent a few hours together in the meadow just the other day, eating blueberries and talking about different kinds of pie that were popular right now.

When Telemachus reached the edge of the dry sand, he put his bag down, opening his mouth for his own greeting, before warm, wet arms were already wrapping around his middle in something that was both embrace and carry equally. Percy chuckled into his ear, breath touching the prince’s neck as the remaining water drops from the demigod’s body soaked into the fabric of his clothes, making them soaked and clammy. Telemachus grimaced but only protested mildly when he felt himself being lifted.

“Hello to you too, you brute.”, the prince chirped and clapped onto Percy’s back, his fingers lingering for a moment on his broad shoulders, “You know I can walk by myself, right?”

The son of Poseidon whirled him around like a puppet, as he made for the blue water and said: “Yeah, but you were slow. I’ve been waiting for ages. I already got a training rope down to the bottom AND explained the right breathing technique.”

“Very impressive.”, Telemachus hummed. He began to wiggle when Percy’s feet touched the sea, and his friend immediately lowered him down. The water was cold, a stark contrast to the warm skin of the other man against his shoulder and cheek, and the prince shivered. He noticed the many stares of the children and adults in his back like crawling ants. Telemachus focused solely on Percy and muttered: “So maybe start the lesson already? I would rather not get completely wet right away. Show the kids how to dive and I’ll join you after, okay?”

In truth, Telemachus was a little embarrassed to admit that he wasn't the strongest swimmer. Especially in front of the children, who had been training steadily for a few weeks (and were quite good according to Percy). He didn't want to embarrass himself by needing the demigod’s help more than them.

Percy read his face for a few seconds like an open book, his eyes kind and understanding. With a fond smile, the son of Poseidon stroked a hand soothingly down Telemachus’ back before agreeing: “Very well. Take your time.”

He turned around and whistled for the kids to follow him further into the open water, explaining on the way how he had fastened a rope both at the bottom of the ocean and around a floating piece of wood to give them a guideline for the first few tries. Telemachus watched from afar (feet in the water and face in the sun), how his friend gently made sure that all the kids were comfortable and had the right mindset to attempt a dive that was more than snorkeling.

The prince ignored the obvious whispers in his back when (after maybe half an hour of simply observing the sun break onto the wet skin of Percy) he moved back to his bag and sat down beside it. His thoughts wandered, catching on different irrelevant things, but his attention was always drawn back to the demigod after a few minutes. Glad to have taken his sketchbook with him, Telemachus pulled out a charcoal stick and began a new drawing.

Maybe it was shameless to draw his friend half naked, but the prince just couldn’t let go of the glorious sight and wanted an excuse (for his own sanity) to…study Percy. As to not appear like even more of a creep, he took great care to add details to the waves surrounding the demigod’s waist and the endless expanse of ocean behind him, but everyone looking at the sketch would’ve seen where exactly most of his attention was drawn.

With hot ears and a flutter in his chest, Telemachus did not even notice the time passing. He saw all the children diving for different lengths and Percy looking over them, giving praise or correction whenever one came back up for air. Most of them simply smiled in thanks before trying again, but one of them was getting steadily closer to the demigod, trying to be inconspicuous about it.

It was the obnoxious blond teenager that the prince had already taken note of. Telemachus’ eye twitched in resentment, as the boy threw himself at Percy, clutching his biceps and pressing his side against his friend’s arm. It didn’t matter for the acid burning through the prince that the teenager wore a heavy chiton made of wool that prevented their chests from touching. It was easy to hear when the blond kid wailed: “Can you please carry me back to land Perseus? The currents are so strong here!”

It soothed Telemachus to hear the boy speak Percy’s whole name again, meaning that the son of Poseidon didn’t find them close enough to offer his well-loved nickname. It was a distinction the prince fully approved of. As far as he knew, only the old crew of his father and himself were allowed to address him by it. And as far as the green beast in his chest was concerned, the old sailors were not in the same way privy to Percy (in name or anything else) as Telemachus was. The thought made him smile.  

The addressed demigod looked confused and a bit annoyed as he extracted his arm from the grip of the boy. Telemachus felt vindictively satisfied as his friend stated: “What are you talking about? There are no currents here, and I know you are strong enough to make it back on your own.” The rebuff lost some of the sting for the teenager as a few other children asked for a break as well and Percy indulged them.

As they swam toward the beach (the boy grumbly going on his own), Telemachus got to his feet.

Yeah, he was done keeping away to save his pride.

As the children hampered back to their parents, leaving only the older ones behind, the prince pushed his shoulders back a bit and made for his Sea-Boy. The ocean greeted him with a gentle wave, swishing around his feet and calf. The teenagers backed off instinctively, letting Telemachus walk through them undisturbed, but with badly veiled curiosity.

Percy was waiting a bit further, water sloshing around his waist, arms relaxed by his side and a crooked smile on his face that made Telemachus look away with pink cheeks. Suddenly there was a lurch behind his feet, making the prince stumble over nothing (at least as far as he felt) and he already braced himself for the most embarrassing belly flop into the ocean, when he was caught by strong arms.

His momentum carried Telemachus right into the naked chest of his friend, nose touching defined pectorals and his lips catching a hint of tanned chest, breath fawning over wet skin, causing goosebumps to rise.

Percy tasted like salt and sunshine and warmth. Even though it was only for a fraction of a second, the prince was already addicted, and not even the cold water around his own chest could really cool him down.

Instead of voicing the many things swirling through him right now, Telemachus very consciously chose to address the very teasing grin on the demigod’s face. After he found his footing again and scooted back a bit, the prince hit his Percy’s chest and proclaimed: “You did that on purpose!” There had been nothing but the water making him trip, and only one of them could control the liquid like that.

“Maybe.”, came the unrepentant reply, accompanied by a cheeky wink, before Percy smoothly pulled both of them into even deeper water, making them float. He swiftly moved around Telemachus to steady him with a hand around the waist and added: “You were too far away.”

The prince was blushing even harder now, both because of the words and the familiar touch that kept them together amongst the waves. He admittedly panicked a bit as he blurted the first thing that came to his mind when they moved further out into the sea: “I’m not a very proficient swimmer.”

Percy snorted fondly and tightened his grip a bit, as if to reassure Telemachus that he got him. “Don’t worry Dream-Boy.”, his Sea-Boy said softly and with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ll make you look good and teach you properly once everyone’s gone.”

And what else could he do but smile and say: “Thank you.”

Miraculously, Telemachus managed to remain unrecognized for another glorious hour. Afterward, however, he noticed the startled looks and frantic whispering of the adults. With a sigh, he pointed this out to Percy, but the demigod was undeterred by the gossiping and judging people. When the children returned to continue practicing, he stayed by the prince's side, giving instructions and talking to his friend in between dives, introducing him to the children and indulging some minor details about their friendship. The younger kids quickly became accustomed to him, asking curious questions about the palace and what it was like to be a prince, which Telemachus tried to answer to the best of his abilities. The day ended with him and Percy being the last ones on the beach and him finally getting the real experience of seeing the demigod as a devoted teacher.

Although he hoped the lessons the demigod had with the children involved less touching and whispered corrections very close to their ears…

-

Their business idea (fondly called pearl imperium by his Sea-Boy) shot through the roof over the next weeks. At first, the merchants and jeweler were skeptical and cautious to buy sea treasures from young children or somehow disgraced women, but luckily Telemachus knew just the way to increase the demand for such accessories. A few carefully placed hints around the suitors on how his mother adored pearly decorations and jewelry made those stupid pigs scramble down into the city, with loud voices and heavy pockets.

While Percy made sure the children found the right place to dive, Telemachus wrote a little manual on how to identify the quality and estimated price of pearls and let his friend take it to the older people of the poorest district. As they became familiar with the commencing and learned how to bargain right, the women focused on honing their skills to stitch the smaller pearls (that were not big enough to be sold by themselves) into pretty necklaces and beautiful hairnets. Those were either sold to be traded elsewhere or (after the superior quality of the pearls became common knowledge) bought directly from the wealthy citizens who heard of the Queen’s love for the style. 

After explaining his plan to his mother, Penelope indulged them, taking the pearl jewelry many suitors offered with great praise. She still never wore any of it, because doing so would mean she accepted the courtship of the man who had gifted the present. And as much as she wanted to help her people, she would not give the suitors an inch when it came to actual hope. But her accepting the gifts was more than she had ever done before, so the idiotic men ran back to the market regularly.

Money flowed into the deepest parts of Ithaca, giving even some slaves the opportunity to buy their freedom after helping with the selling or polishing and earning a little wealth. Contrary to his initial fears, Percy somehow managed to get the participants to organize themselves fairly and justly. There were little misunderstandings or arguments, wages were paid according to the time spent helping. Maybe everyone was just happy to finally have an income again, but Telemachus still asked his mother to send a few more patrols down to the docks to make sure no overeager merchant hassled the poor people.

Indeed, a few others tried their luck in finding the diving grounds, but Percy’s shark friends were very good at keeping those away. The animals (5 now, wherever the additional ones had come from) looked quite menacing, even though all of them were right sweethearts when the prince met them on one outing.

Seeing as there was less hunger and even less petty crimes, the situation had relaxed for most of Ithaca, giving his Sea-Boy a bit more free time as well. He still had all the shifts, but now the demigod could sneak off during some of them again, meeting Telemachus either in a palace garden or letting the prince find him at the beach, oftentimes underwater doing gods knew what. 

Well, Telemachus found out what his friend did during his little me-time rather soon. Because one evening Percy came to him with a bashful face and shy smile. He presented the prince with two beautiful earrings, one of them a stud with a magnificent grey pearl and the other an assortment of dangling and glittering little gemstones that would gleam beautifully in the sun.

And the prince knew, he KNEW, that Percy had no clue what the gesture meant (gifting gifts was different in the future after all – as was dating, as far as Telemachus was aware). What him accepting it would mean, but that didn’t stop the butterflies from destroying his insides in their happy dance. There was not even a second of hesitation before he took the earrings, cradling them to his chest like the demigod could change his mind.

Of course he didn’t. That infuriating man simply laughed.

Telemachus was speechless already, but when Percy turned his head to show a matching grey pearl stud in one of his own ears (right over the trident from his father), the prince fell even deeper for this ridiculously perfect being. His mention of not even having piercings was met with a laugh and a smug smile as the son of Poseidon pulled a small needle from his tunic.

The sting was not pleasant, but the feeling of having something else of his Sea-Boy adorning his body made the pain worth it for Telemachus. Whenever he walked past something shiny the next few days, he could not help but stop and look at the grey pearl. The other earring was way too fancy for everyday wear, but he positioned it really prominently on the dresser in his room, so that it caught the morning sun perfectly and brightened his days from the very second the prince opened his eyes.      

Maybe his Sea-Boy had not meant it that way, but Telemachus would take full advantage of how it would look to the outside if he wore such precious gifts.

The gossip after his first day in court with the earrings was like the humming nest of bees. Everyone had an opinion (scandalous and otherwise). There were questions and rumors instantly, ranging from him having taken a lover (sadly inaccurate) to the gods blessing him for some mysterious deed he had done, because the pearl was so flawless and unique in color, it could not have been found by a mortal hand.

Through all of the mayhem, Telemachus held his head high, hair proudly pulled back, downright presenting his ears for all to see.

Some guards and even a few acquaintances were brave enough to ask him directly where the jewelry came from, but the prince gave them only secretive smiles and blushing cheeks. The fire of speculation didn’t burn out after a few days like it always had before. But maybe that was caused by Percy’s need to help the citizens even more by buying some of their products himself, only to give them to Telemachus in the end anyway.

A necklace, ankle chain and multiple hair decorations made from pearls joined the earrings eventually and the prince took great care to present them at least once to all the eyes always watching him. He kept quiet about their origin, but his mother for sure knew something with how often she smirked and winked at him.     

He only heard the new nickname he earned after his Sea-Boy mentioned it incidentally. The merchants in the market had whispered praise for the ‘Prince of Pearls’ for taking care of their economy and export by highlighting the beauty of their local products and making sure the market wasn’t swamped with too many of them at the same time (how they had learned of his involvement in the matter was a mystery). The children and women started calling him that as well because of how often he wore the pieces (and secretly because Percy had told them it had been his idea to start the business in the first place).   

For the first time, Telemachus didn’t really mind the title of prince too much. Because, if it was said together with the pearls, it always created the perfect opportunity to think about Percy and how much his life had already changed since his friend had finally come to Ithaca. Back to him. Home.  

Chapter Text

PERCY knew it was high time to visit Atlantis and his father’s palace when the first big storm hit Ithaca in late autumn. It was a mighty downpour that made the sea swell and swallowed a few docks at the harbor. It also drenched the crop fields until they nearly lost all the harvest, but luckily the demigod had a shift in the city at that time and could discreetly prevent some of the hail from destroying everything.

Whether this was his father’s doing or not, it certainly kicked Percy’s ass to finally visit him.

It also reminded him that he had other things to take care off, like making amends to Kym for watching over him all those months ago. To do so, he asked for help from some of the women of the lower districts (who had quickly taken a liking to him for whatever reason) to help him prepare her favourite meal as an offering. The son of Poseidon wasn’t sure if the goddess of violent storms resided in Atlantis (and knowing his father, the god would not let him leave for a while, especially if it was only to look for her). So, offering the meal seemed like the best course of action for now. He fully expected to see his half-sister sometime soon in the future anyway, but the gesture should appease her for now.

It was not easy to find the right ingredients for meat tart with pine needles, especially since no one was sure what exactly that dish contained. No one had ever heard of a dish like that and it took Irene three tries to make something even resembling an actual meal. Percy thought to himself that Kym better appreciated the effort enough to not stop him from reaching his father’s kingdom.

After a lot of bargaining, the son of Poseidon wrangled two full free days from captain Macar. The leader of the guards had agreed under the stipulation that he would take over the nights watch of the royal chambers for a week straight, which wasn’t the worst possible outcome. It would give him an opportunity to spend a few more hours with Telemachus, which was always a plus. Even though it would be a hassle to stay awake that much, he was sure that a few cold baths would vitalize him enough to endure it.

The prince was reluctant to let him leave, citing that maybe if his father was mad, it might be better not to go to him. Percy smiled because of the flimsy reason and promised his friend to make up for his absence in whatever way he wanted. Telemachus had simply shaken his head after that, cheeks pink and eyes lowered, before he wished him luck and left hastily.

Equipped with the favourite dish of his half-sister, Percy walked down to the beach, where the water was unruly and cold from the storm. He sat the plate down gently onto a wave and prayed quietly: “Kymopoleia, great goddess of violent storms, please hear my prayer and accept my offering as a thank you for watching over me.”

A storming wind came up to ruffle his unruly hair and raise his chiton, the cold wind biting his thighs playfully. The dinnerplate was swallowed by dark blue (nearly black) waves as it drifted into the ocean. The air was drenched with the smell of algae and salt as the deep voice of the goddess drifted roughly into his ear, like it had during the battle of Manhattan as well: “I’ll take this and refrain from drowning Ithaca for now, but don’t think I am appeased already, brother dear.”

He felt the divine presence press shortly against his back in something that maybe was supposed to be a hug. The tide rose to expose the poisonous eyes of Kymopoleia as she grinned with her mouth full of sharp teeth: “You owe me a nice, long afternoon of destroying ships under the might of your currents and my storms. I expect you to deliver chaos and mayhem with me. Make sure to come out in two weeks’ time. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to collect you…and I don’t do land walks without destruction.”

The threat was crystal clear and while it should have enraged the demigod to have his new home become a target, he knew that Kym was most likely just lonely and in need of some family that wasn’t disapproving of her nature and presence. Keeping her reputation in mind, it was easy for Percy to answer: “Noted. Thank you for being patient.”

The dark voice cackled like a dying dolphin: “Oh, silly child. This is not me being patient. This is me waiting excitedly for the faces of mother and my idiot brother once they see you in Atlantis.”

How she could know about his plan to visit the city, Percy wasn’t sure, but when he didn’t say anything contrary, the goddess continued gleefully: “Be sure to make a scene when you tire of their constant disrespect. I’ve given up correcting them, but something tells me you might have more…persuasion. I’ll be watching, Perseus.”

The oppressing air of not-yet-fallen rain lifted, as the smell of algae grew more distant. His half-sister retreated as quickly as she had appeared, leaving him alone to ponder her words.

Sadly, even knowing that his father’s wife and son might not (or for sure not) like his presence (or existence) didn’t change the demigod’s resolution to see the god of the sea. Poseidon had invited him, and Percy was not cowardly enough to stay away because of some difficult relatives.

Besides, he knew that the deities would grow to like him eventually. There was no point in delaying the first steps toward it (no matter how hard they might be).

-

His father hadn’t lied when he said how easy it would be to find the ancient (or not so ancient right now) city under the sea. As soon as his head broke through the surface in a dive, somewhere far in the distance, the faint sound of seashells was calling to him. It could easily be ignored and blended into the background of ocean sounds, but it never left completely. Like a lighthouse of sounds telling him exactly where to go.

On the way he made a short detour to the pearl farm and the five sharks that protected it. Judy (the pretty lemon shark girl) and her friend Thais the swordfish were the leaders of the little group and greeted him with great enthusiasm. After a few back scratches and some round of fetch, he told them where he was headed, and they promptly sent him away with a few fond headbutts.

“You’re being expected, little prince! The king has watched for a long time, don’t make him wait.”, Judy chittered excited, “Tell me what Atlantis looks like when you return! I haven’t been there.”

Percy promised her to do just that, before he finally braced the endless expanses of the ocean. Depp blue water, coral reefs, school of fish and even one or the other sea creature crossed his path, but nothing dangerous enough to warrant a stop. The demigod swam for what felt like hours, before the darkness of the sea lifted a bit and the call of the seashells became louder. The currents scooped him up to carry him along faster and the water somehow felt thicker, more saturated with magic and divine energy. The son of Poseidon felt his body strength and the tiredness always clinging to the back of his mind nowadays recede.

It was like taking a nectar drenched bath. Refreshing and healing.  

Atlantis may not have been his home, but Percy had visited it at least a few times during and after the second Titanomachy, so he was surprised how it little the city had changed (or would change).  

It was still one of the most beautiful places the demigod had ever seen. Only the meadow and beach in Ithaca (and his Mom’s apartment) came close to the feeling of warmth and comfort he felt when gazing upon the houses of abalone and the cobbled streets. Atlantis was colourful and happy, with thousands of sea plants or bioluminescent corals and rocks lighting up everything as if the sun was shining. The most prominent colours were of course green and blue, but beside the buildings there was a rainbow of other colours all matching the business of the city.

Percy entered through a gate further away from the palace, wishing to stroll (or swim) through the streets a bit in peace before his father could snatch him away to wherever the god wanted to spend their time. Merpeople and other humanoids with features from different sea creatures bustled around, talking in high clicks or low whistled that the demigod could understand through whatever magic genetics Poseidon had given him. He felt the looks of some dolphin-like guards on his back, as well as the passing glances most of the adults around him tried to mask as sweeping their eyes through the area. But no one approached him yet (actually, most stepped out of his way before he even glanced in their direction). Somehow it felt like he was being avoided and steered at the same time and the demigod wondered for a second if the citizens wanted him to get to the palace as fast as possible.

But when Percy paid attention to where he was subtlety ushered, it became clear that the people did quite the opposite. Yes, they were making a clear path for him on purpose, but it wasn’t headed for the palace, but instead led him through nearly every street around in a zig-zag pattern. It appeared like everyone in Atlantis had decided he either needed to see entire the city, or the entire city needed to see him.

Either way, the demigod wasn’t really concerned.

He loved watching all the different people, their houses and some of the openly practiced trades and shops. When he reached the second market somewhere east of the palace, the space between the different merchants was packed really tightly with different merfolk.

It wasn’t possible to avoid bumping into someone, but upon receiving two very horrified apologizes already, including bows and babbling about debts, the son of Poseidon decided to ease all of them by laughing loudly and grinning: “No, I should say sorry! I’m not that great at moving underwater. Please excuse my clumsiness.”

Percy ignored the wondrous and wide-eyed stares before wishing the lady a good day and moving on. It was as if that interaction had triggered an avalanche, because where the citizens had backed off before, they now closed in. Fingers touching his back and arms reverently, a few tails gracing his shins, some soft shoulder bumps or curious tugs on his clothes soon became a constant occurrence. At first, the sudden increase in foreign touch made the demigod edgy and tense, but he didn’t want to break some social norm he had no clue about by sending them away, so he bore it stoically.

The people of Atlantis didn’t feel like a danger, their presence a warm humming in the back of his head and although there were a few hundred of them bustling in his vicinity, Percy was still able to discern all of them. Whether it was due to the water around them or the blood flowing through their veins was unclear, but it gave the demigod the feeling of being in control, even though he was now practically swamped by strangers.      

One very insistent tug in his chiton drew the demigod’s gaze down to a little Merchild with wide eyes, that clutched some kind of stuffed animal close to their chest. A gender was impossible to discern with the jellyfish features on the child, but their pink eyes shone with unshed tears. Their hand was fearfully fisted into his clothes, and Percy immediately crouched to their level.

“Are you alright?”, he asked in a voice that Telemachus would most likely use. The child shook their head slowly, big crocodile tears escaping the pink eyes. Following his instincts, Percy scooped them up in his arms instantly. Stroking their jelly-like, lilac hair and cooing: “Oh no, did you lose your parents?”

The child shook their head again, still crying, and the demigod panicked a bit until a calm voice behind him spoke: “They’re an orphan from the Taxa district. Food is scarce down there, so it’s most likely hunger making them cry.” An older woman with the head of a clown fish came into his sight, head bowed, and arms extended as to take the child: “I’m sorry you were bothered with this. I can take it.”  

It.

“No thank you.”, the son of Poseidon said firmly, hiking the child further up on his hip before turning around and walking away. The crowd parted for him once more, until he reached a vendor selling algae chips. Percy took a coin from his little stash and threw it to the crab-man behind the grill. The crab looked startled for a second, before bowing low and handing Percy a cone full of freshly made algae chips.

After getting the child to eat a few bites, they were ready to speak, whispering their name was Mali and that they were very thankful for the food. Percy narrowed his eyes upon seeing the child trying to safe some of the chips.

“How many more of you are there?”, he inquired gently as he led Mali away from the bustling market.

It was five children that had been denied entrance into the orphanage at the city’s edge. After buying more food and a few toys, the son of Poseidon furiously made his way to collect the children. He noticed all of them having some resemblance to poisonous or dangerous species and the picture of intolerance it painted upon the orphanage was not favourable. Mali themself quietly confessed to producing acid on their skin that made it hard for others to touch them.

(Both ignored the fact that Percy had carried them all this time and not felt any negative effect.)

The matron of the orphanage bowed deep and in fear when the demigod appeared on her doorstep, thunderous expression on his face and the five children in tow. For the first time, Percy did nothing to dismiss the gesture of submission.

Through his work in Ithaca, he was quite used to speaking sternly and without leaving wiggle room, so he ordered the woman in no uncertain terms that she was to accept the children into the home and to care for them like all the others. To give her a little incentive to follow his words, he gave her the pouch with coins he had brought just to be safe. He knew that all of Atlantis had somehow recognized him as a son of Poseidon, so he used his position in the royal family (as illegitimate as it was) to make sure that the matron knew the children stood under his protection, and that he would come back periodically to check on them. He instructed Mila on how to send an Iris Message should they need him and vowed to address the issue should he find his father in a good mood.

His own had been spoiled by the realization that all cities had similar problems after all. Not matter if they had a divine or mortal ruler.

Struck down by reality, the demigod finally made for the big palace in the middle of the city. He had no eyes for the grand beauty of the building, mind clouded by the thoughts of the children, but he did note on how the guards open the door for him immediately.

It wasn’t hard to find the throne room (seeing as he’d already been there once) and his father within it. The grand hall was empty, except for the god of the sea sitting on his throne, black hair spilling like ink into the water behind him. His beard was full and short, the eyes glowed without sclera and pupil in the same sea-green as the corals on the walls. His lower half was formed like a proper merman-tail with blue scales, that also ran up his arms and down his sides. The god looked big on his throne, a spikey crown out of black glass sitting over his brows and forehead. Those old eyes found Percy the second he stepped a foot into the throne room and within heartbeats he was right in front of the demigod.           

“Percy! My son!”, boomed Poseidon’s voice with unrestrained joy. The god of the sea shrunk down to a normal human height and lost the tail to pull his so into a crushing hug. There was no escape from the warmth exploding in Percy’s chest. He breathed deeply and found comfort in the steady smell of salted caramel that floated around him like a protective coat.

Poseidon let him go, but his big hands remained on the young man’s shoulders. Fondness and care shone like a beacon from those endless eyes as the god gushed excitingly: “What a joyous day indeed! Have you seen the city? I shall take you immediately to show you around. This is your home as well, it will be good for the people to see and get to know you.”

“They already have.” Interrupted a drawling voice behind Percy. (Before the demigod could wonder how his father couldn’t know about his stroll through the city, seeing as even the people apparently knew about him.) Poseidon sighed as they both turned around toward the speaker.

In the doorway stood the tall and burly figure of Triton, heir of Atlantis. Green chest on full display and the black hair bound back into a knot, the merman with two fishtails looked as casual as a god and prince could possibly look. There wasn’t much grandeur about his outfit or jewellery, but he had a blue trident slung over his back and an impressive scowl on his face, that screamed of disgust and disapproval. He swam closer to him and Poseidon, before sneering: “They saw him run around like some headless seahorse from the streets. Dirty and undignified. The rumours reached the palace even before you revealed yourself a clumsy fool who can’t even swim. What a disgrace!”

His father behind Percy tensed, and the water around them cooled down considerably. The demigod could only roll his eyes because of the antics, not regretting his action in the least. To spare them all a shouting match between King and prince, Percy decided to step up himself.

He had the uneasy feeling of intruding into some family drama he had not volunteered to be part of. The invitation from his Dad had made it sound like the royal family was at least okay with his visit, but the hateful sneer on Triton's face told another story.

Percy could’ve dealt with a bit of antagonistic sibling ribbing, but the unbridled emotion on his half-brother face made him feel more like an enemy by the second.

But only because being so wholly unwanted made him feel uncomfortable, it didn’t mean the demigod was any less petty or ready to speak his mind.

“Hello to you too, Triton. What a nice and dignified welcome from the heir of Atlantis.”, Percy jabbed in response to his own dignity being questioned and he enjoyed the purple that coloured the heir’s cheeks. (Interesting…so divine descendants from Poseidon did blush violet). Before the merman could blow up like a pufferfish in indignant rage, the younger man moved forward and out under the protective aura of his father.

He wanted to feel the other god clearly and get a better read on the situation.   

“I guess you know about me, but I’ll still introduce myself. It is only polite when meeting someone for the first time.”, he said with a telling glance up and down the young god as if to say ‘And unlike you, I am polite”

The handsome face of his half-brother morphed even further into rage and told the demigod everything he needed to know. The heir hadn’t known about his visit (which: fair, he hadn’t announced himself, but this was more than that) or the invitation of their father. And now he was confronted with the living proof of his father’s (not yet) infidelity in his own home, a half-brother that saw him in a state of unguardedness and unpreparedness. It must be pretty overwhelming. Percy would be furious as well if someone like him invaded his home. 

The smell of lemon and salt drifted through Percy’s nose, overpowering and on the verge of singing his senses.

The sympathy he felt for Triton in that moment made him voice his next words softly and with a regretful half-smile: “My name is Percy Jackson, I’m your half-brother and will be out of your hair real soon. No need to get your tails in a twist. I see I am unwanted.” Despite all his efforts, a hint of bitterness still crept through his voice and before he could see whatever expression Triton's spasming face settled into, the demigod turned to his father with a sharp glare.

The god of the sea sank back with a sheepish expression that looked really unfitting on his regal face, but Percy couldn’t care about that right now (even though he got the feeling he knew where he got his seal-eyes from now…)

“I am welcome to join you?”, the mortal son of Poseidon repeated harshly before inquiring: “Dad, did you even ask your family if they would be okay with this? I won’t be some unwanted relative that doesn’t get a hint. This is their home. We can meet out in the sea if you’d still want to…but I won’t invade the safe space of someone else.”

The god of the sea bristled upon his words and began: “This is your home as-“

“No.”, Percy interrupted sharply, wanting to be heard loud and clear, “Just you being my father doesn’t make Atlantis my home. A home is more than hereditary claims. I had hoped…” A coldness settled into his bones again, making Percy stumble over his words. A tired and resigned feeling weighed the demigod down, as he looked around the glowing coral stones and high walls of the palace. The warmth and energy he had gotten from the water in the city before now felt like ash and destroyed hope.

Maybe the demigod had been more excited about finally being allowed to be in Atlantis and part of his father’s life without some stupid vow preventing that than he had realized. And maybe he had avoided the invitation in fear of exactly this situation now.

Rejection was never easy to swallow.

And the hard gaze of Triton, his expression cold and hard, arms crossed defensively, made sure than nothing but rejection and dismissal awaited him here.

Ignoring the pulsing hurt in his heart, the demigod shook his head and muttered: “No matter. I’m sorry for the intrusion.” He evaded Poseidon’s hand as he moved toward the exit. Triton moved aside cautiously, still scowling, but not lashing out.

Percy just reached the threshold when a voice from the other side of the room made him stop in his tracks.

Chapter Text

“Well, what is this ruckus so close to tea-time supposed to be?” A beautiful goddess stepped from a door near the throne. The circlet of polished red crab claws and the expensive jewellery adorning her marked her unmistakable as the Queen of Atlantis (even if Percy hadn’t already known what Amphitrite, his father’s wife, looked like, he was clever enough to recognize the royal emblem). Her gaze swept over them all, before settling on Percy. Dark eyes narrowed upon spotting him and the demigod tensed.

The gaze of the goddess held nothing of the warmth she had shown (would show) in the future.

Percy really wanted to leave, but her divine presence and the smell of clams kept him rooted to the spot. 

“We have an unwanted guest, mother.”, Triton announced haughtily as he swam over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. The obvious care and love between mother and son drove the knife even deeper into Percy’s heart.

He missed his Mom more than ever.

“He is not unwan-“, Poseidon began to roar, but a sharp hand gesture of the Queen stopped him instantly. Amphitrite floated over gracefully, her face cold and impassive as she circled the young demigod. The water radiating around her was icily and Percy resigned to another round of hostility.

Maybe after she said her piece, he would finally be free to go?

“Oh, I see. You must be Perseus then.”, the Queen regarded him with barely hidden contempt. The derisive curl of her mouth looked exactly like Triton’s when she said with false cheeriness: “It’s so nice to meet my husband’s… other child. You must look so much like your mother.”

The mention of Sally was a low blow in his best moments, but right now, when his hopes of maybe gaining a bit of family back were already dashed, it was the last straw for Percy.

If he was treated like dirt even when he was already on his way out, they didn’t deserve any of the grace he could muster to be cordial, divine blood be damned. They wanted verbal war? Well, Percy was trained in all kinds of combat (and this kind especially, thanks to Telemachus and his rants about boot-licking politicians and how to make them eat their own words. His Dream-Boy was an amazing wordsmith).

Pushing down the cold disappointment and hurt, the demigod curled his lips into the smirk Gabe had always found so infuriating and answered Amphitrite: “I do, actually. Thank you for the compliment. She’s beautiful.“

The goddess pursed her lips in distaste, but it was her son that snorted a reply: „He looks exactly like father on his worst days. Are we sure there even is a mother? Maybe he formed him from sea slag and dead corals.”

That’s enough!

“At least he wanted me enough to go to such lengths then! Can’t imagine why he’d need another son after meeting the perfect one he already has.”, Percy spat in a tone that made the insult more than clear. He felt his lips pulling back in a snarl, but with a very deep breath he got his blood back down to a slow simmer, preventing the explosion in his chest just waiting to happen. The frustration was still there, but so was his logic. If he wanted his father’s family to change, he needed to speak more than petty insults. He needed to be the bigger person… So he tried to be just that. (Even though if his success was moderate at best.)

“It’s not about what your made of, but what you make of it.”, Percy scolded the young god (for sure quoting someone else he couldn’t remember, that sounded way too smart for the demigod), “I was raised by a brave and kind woman, the best mother anyone could ever ask for, amazing enough to tempt a god to break a binding vow, and she raised me to be the very best I could ever be.”

After those facts were dropped in defense of his Mom, the demigod focused on the other thing he wanted to say to his half-brother, catching his scathing gaze confidently before stating: “I do not care about your insults or jabs, Triton, for they only show how very childish you still are on the inside. Your blood may be divine, but your actions are as foul and petty as the smallest rock in the deepest trench. If you, as a centuries old god, need to try and make me, a 16-year-old half-blood, look bad to boost your self-esteem, feel free to do so. It does nothing but expose the jealous and insecure-“

“Watch your tongue, mortal!” Triton's voice was dark and menacing, vibrating through the water like a physical blow, trying to push Percy on his knees. “Kneel and beg for forgiveness before not even father’s tolerance of your presence can save you.” But the demigod stayed steady, standing.

He had persevered against the weight of the sky for a week. No desperate power display from a minor god could ever match the pressure of the burden.

Even when said deity had transformed into a monstrous version of themself, suddenly dressed in full battle armour and with grotesquely stretched limbs. With sharp teeth, the god of waves bore down on Percy, but the demigod only looked up with a lazy blink, ignoring both the shocked gasp of Amphitrite and the boiling anger of salty caramel behind him. There also was a tinge of algae drifting through the water.

The demigod spoke calm and full of confidence, drawing himself up against his half-brother when he said: “I do not fear you, Triton, God of Waves and the calm Sea.” Addressing the god by his full title guaranteed his undivided attention. So Percy was sure he heard every word of his following declaration: “I’ve fought Monsters and Titans a hundred times scarier than you. I killed Kampe when I was fourteen. I crossed blades with the crooked one and won. Stick to what you’re good at, because you could never dream of taming my storm should I chose to unleash it.”

The challenge echoed through the throne room.

Percy felt for the warmth of his power, sending his consciousness out to feel the movement of water around him. The tension was palpable in every small current. And although there were three much more powerful beings with design over the ocean around, the sea felt as amendable as ever to the demigod. There was no struggle for dominance yet, but Percy prepared for the worst and drew a few smaller streams closer around his middle.

He would need all the help he could get should this turn into a full out fight.

A new presence joined them as the scent of algae became overpowering upon the mention of storms. Kymopoleia didn’t bother with making herself a body. Her consciousness drifted with the water and laid itself over Percy’s shoulder in a very weird hug, as her voice crooned in his ear: “Good work little pearl. Oh his face…what a delight.”

She was right. Triton fletched his teeth, face purple and pinched as the might of his divine aura was barely restrained. He looked ready to burst, but the intimidating presence of their father suppressed all notion of that instantly. The god of the sea was furious, but Amphitrite had stepped up beside him and held him back with a hand on the arm. She looked serious and calculating, but Percy didn’t have the time to analyse her more.

In one smooth motion, Triton drew the trident from his back and levelled it at the throat of his half-blood brother.

Riptide was in his hands equally quick, but his sword stayed lowered. Percy knew that the god wouldn’t spill any blood in front of his parents (especially when their father was already on the verge of exploding himself), so he didn’t move, but the demigod still met the burning gaze of green eyes head on.

Even though he was sure of his safety (for now), the instinctual panic of being at the end of a sharp object made Percy seek out any advantage he had unconsciously.

The first feeling of the golden blood running through the Triton’s veins nearly made his knees buckle.

Ichor was the most sacred and powerful liquid in the whole world. Percy had already thought the small taste he had gotten while defeating Kronos was mind-blowing, but the Titan had been weakened in his mortal shell, so grabbing onto it then had felt comparatively easy.

Percy remembered the high he had felt that day perfectly. Sensing and controlling ichor was the headiest experience the son of Poseidon ever had in all his life. Powerful and mighty and invincible.

He had felt like a god in that moment.

Ichor in ancient times was different beast though. A hundred times more potent, brimming with divinity and power, a force of unimaginable magnitude. It burned Percy in the most satisfying way and filled all his senses until nothing was left but the thrum of the flowing blood. He knew that if he wanted to control that, he would have to fight for it. The blood of the gods would not bow to anyone without being beaten into submission. Because gods bowed to no one but themselves.

That knowledge didn’t mean it would be impossible. Hard, painful and maybe life changing, but if necessary…

Percy felt the call vibrating deep inside his bones. Inside his being.

Inside his essence.   

The ichor taunted him to try. Dared him to, actually. He just needed to make that first step and pull-

Triton’s voice, unknowing of the tumult in him, called the demigod back to reality. His sneer was wide and ugly when he demanded: “Time to put your sword where your mouth is, human. We will resolve this issue once and for all.”

Percy’s answering smirk was sharp like his blade. He had retreated from the taunting lure of the ichor and focused on feeling the ocean when he said: “Very well. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The heir of Atlantis turned around sharply and swam through a door next to the main one. It most likely lead to the training grounds Percy had passed on one of his earlier (later?) visits.

The realization that he would fight a god in a few minutes was less jarring than anticipated, mostly because the end wouldn’t be death.

Poseidon would never let them kill each other.

But the king had been suspiciously quiet, not getting between the fight of his sons or choosing sides. He truly stayed impartial. Like he had vowed to do. A quick glance his way still showed the demigod how utterly angry about the situation his father was. Sharp black edges had formed on his arms and shoulders, and he shook barely noticeable.

Amphitrite was calmer, but equally silent. Her dark eyes were no longer clouded by heavy disgust. Instead, there was only a spark of dislike left, surrounded by calculated thoughtfulness. Percy knew that this was his chance (maybe the only one he would get should Triton win their spar) to address her own prejudice.

He breathed in deeply, noting all the mixed scents of the gods before catching her eyes and saying: “I know you are hurt by the actions of your future husband. Especially because you will feel this pain twice, knowing it is to come and there is nothing for you to do and change it. Nothing can excuse his treason. But I did not have a choice in my conception, and my mother is a truly wonderful woman. Please, refrain from insulting her again. Your grievances deserve to be heard, but it is not I you should address them to.”

The Queen looked taken aback by his words and true pain flittered through her eyes. Poseidon beside her made a choked noise of betrayal, but the demigod just gave him a telling look.

He projected his thoughts in something akin to a prayer, hoping his father would catch them.

Dad, you will cheat on her and conceive a child you love…I hope…Be a good and caring husband until then at least. She deserves it.

Without giving both rulers a chance to reply something, Percy was already on his way to follow Triton.

He had a god to defeat and a brother to humble. And then he would leave Atlantis behind.

He’d meant it when he said that intruding into someone’s home was not how to build connections.

And Percy had someone waiting in Ithaca, who would be perfectly content to be his family. He didn’t need the godly side to acknowledge him beyond what use he might have for them…

Even thought it really, really hurt.

Being pushed aside like trash was never easy to bear.

-

The training space was a giant round chamber without a ceiling. The walls were made from blue stone with glowing anemones on it and the ground was made from soft sand. Different weapon stands lined the edge of the room and held swords, spears, bows, axes and tridents of all kinds and sizes. Not that they would be needed for this encounter.

Triton had returned to his more human appearance, but he was still at least 10 feet tall, with both if his tails being as wide as Percy’s torso. The demigod would need to watch out for them as well as the trident. The young mortal didn’t have the obvious advantage of changing his shape in any way, but he did have years of experience fighting all kinds of foes. Granted, a god might have more years of training, but they seldom had a reason to actually fight for their lives.

Still, Percy couldn’t rely on the hope of Triton being rusty and full of hubris. He needed to go all in. Even if it meant bracing the raging storm of divinity that pulsed through the god’s golden blood.

The younger son of Poseidon really felt like a child as his brother towered over him. But being a child hadn’t stopped him before, and it wouldn’t now.

“Drawing first blood will end this. And then you disappear from Atlantis and never show your face here again.”, sneered the heir as he twirled his trident.

The movement alone gave Percy an impression on how the god would move with his weapon, as did the way his right tail twitched to the outside every few seconds. It indicated that Triton would start with a wide arc from the left, attacking his supposedly weaker side. Riptide changed hands unnoticed by the other.

“That will happen anyway.”, the demigod answered, and he thought that he had suppressed the longing and regret in his voice quite well. Triton grimaced and an unknown emotion flitted across his face, before he set it back to its normal scowl.

Time slowed with each breath of the mortal, the sea thrumming with power and anticipation. The tension rose in a crescendo and each heartbeat made Percy more aware of the blood flowing through his own body. He waited patiently. Without the element of surprise, it was always better to let the other move first.

Triton didn’t disappoint. With lightning speed, he swung his trident around and attacked with a wide arc from the left. The points of the weapon jammed into Riptide as Percy raised his sword defensively. The demigod used the brief pause to spin himself along the inside of the hostile weapon. He knew that even with leverage, it would be impossible for him to wrestle the trident from Triton this way, but with a little luck, his grip would at least loosen. As the demigod felt the pressure increase, he drew Riptide back during his spin. Now, inside the god’s defense, the green arm on the same height as his face and the armored chest right in front of him, Percy knew that he needed to end this fast. No way his endurance could outlast a god, despite his boasting from before.

While the armor protected most of his brother, there was one weak spot every single breastplate had. And thanks to Telemachus, Percy was now, more than ever, aware of it. Using the momentum of his turn, the demigod let go of his sword to catch it perfectly with the right hand, using his momentum as his greatest advantage. Not even a second had passed before the celestial bronze weapon slashed down, striking the juncture between arm and chest where the armor gave way for better movement.

The world held its breath as Riptide tasted the glorious golden ichor of the gods for the first time, making a cut in Triton’s unprotected armpit easily. It was a shallow injury, that wasn’t registered by the god at first. With a mighty punch to the gut, he threw Percy away to get back into striking distance for his trident.

Pain shot through Percy’s torso, and he heard the crack of a bone, but the demigod didn’t go down, as Triton most likely had expected. A tick in the god’s eyebrow proved that thought right, but he did not have the time or breath to be smug about it. Because being punched by a deity hurt.

It felt like being hit by a car, pain lacing through Percy’s chest, making his movements rocky and his heart stutter. The world blacked out for a second and he ducked instinctively to avoid being skewered. Luckily, the water around them immediately began to heal the younger son of Poseidon. Percy tried to keep his movements and breathe light, as he evaded two strikes from the trident, learning the pattern and time it took his brother to redirect the weapon after every miss.

He lost all sense of time.

The only thing that mattered was if his reflexes were quick enough to avoid becoming minced meat. It grated on Percy’s nerves that he had technically already won the spar, but his thick headed (and skinned) brother was too stupid to notice. And now he needed to be on the defensive until the water healed his chest and gave him back the strength to stage another attack.

Let one thing be clear: No matter what anyone said, defense was far more exhausting than ending the fight in a few good offensive strikes.

Triton looked remarkable smug for the fact that he had already lost. But if they were ignoring the small trickle of blood…If the god needed something indisputable, Percy would give it to him.

The demigod skidded past the next attack and moved forward with a boost of speed from the water around him. The tug behind his navel propelled the demigod past the defensive swing of the trident, right in the personal space of his brother (again). Noting the wide, shocked eyes that flickered in something akin to fear, it was easy to push the god back with his shoulder. Percy’s foot shot out, catching the fin of one of Triton’s tails, stepping on it and making the god stumble.

Just as the heir’s back met the sand of the arena, the demigod was already on the move again. Riptide twirled through the water beautifully as Percy used all of his weight to sit down on Triton’s chest, tails pinned beneath his feet and the increased water pressure Percy commanded with his powers. The sword grazed the god’s cheek before resting right between his shocked green eyes.

For a moment, nothing moved. Percy breathed hard, winded and exhilarated.

A drop of golden ichor ran down Triton’s cheek, ripping both of them out if their stare down.

The demigod grinned. Smug and pretentious as he said: “Well, seems like I put my sword where your mouth is. Satisfied now, brother mine?”

Percy didn’t point out how the fight had been already over after the first move. Either Triton hadn’t noticed his wound (which didn’t change anything, seeing as the demigod had won without it anyway) or he chose to ignore it to spare his pride (which was understandable for a century old being that most likely hadn’t lost to anyone in a very long time).

Many different emotions plainly played across the young god’s face, from shame and hate to consideration and even something excited. Percy decided to once more extent his hand in a gesture of goodwill.

He had won their fight fair and square. No need to rub it in even further and destroy any chance they had at becoming civil with each other.

“I guess I got lucky. You underestimated me.”, he mused, fully aware that this was only half the truth. Who knew who would win in an actual confrontation to death? Triton could smite him with his essence alone, but if Percy got a hold on his blood before then and wrangled it in submission…maybe it was possible to kill a deity after all, except to wait for them to fade like Pan had.

No use in thinking about something like that. The demigod had no reason to actually consider fighting a god to death, no matter how much some of them angered him. He had paid his due to the mythical world.

Living his life as peaceful as possible, right beside Telemachus and hopefully Odysseus someday was all Percy cared about now. Having a good relationship with his father was nice, but all connection with the godly world beyond that would just be a bonus (as long as they didn’t ask anything of him. Percy was done with questing).

Triton hadn’t moved (or pushed him off), so the demigod came to his feet with a great sigh. Touching the place where he had been punched to look if his ribs were still broken, he stepped back and sheathed Riptide back into a ring. The god of waves said nothing (which was a good sign?) and simply vanished in a burst of bubbles, leaving Percy behind with his father and Amphitrite, who both had watched the spar silently.

Knowing his half-brother was most likely licking his wounds (and his pride), it was obvious that his time in Atlantis was over. As much as the thought of his failed visit hurt, at least Percy now had a whole free day to spent with his Dream-Boy. Maybe Telemachus could shift a few of his responsibilities and they could explore the island a little more?

But firstly, Percy needed to speak to the two rulers of Atlantis, who had watched all of it go down from the edge of the training ground. (There were a few fish by some of the windows as well, whispering in disbelief or scurrying away to take their gossip elsewhere, but Percy ignored them). 

“Well…that was fun.”, he commented lamely before nodding his head to Amphitrite: “I apologize for intruding in your home and bringing you pain. I’ll take my leave soon.” The Queen didn’t answer, her face equally unmoved as Poseidon’s.

When the demigod turned to face his father, their eyes locked together in an unspoken whirlpool of emotion. It was strange to see his own eyes and their colour reflect that much at once, but it also created a link between father and son Percy didn’t know he had craved. The god of the sea looked hesitant and hurt, but also impressed and proud.

Well, at least he didn’t hate Percy for winning against his heir.

“It was nice to see the city.”, the demigod blurted when the silence became too oppressive, “I guess I won’t be back, but there’s an orphanage in the Taxa district that refused to take care of kids with poisonous traits. I spoke with the matron and paid her to take them in, but it might be good to check it every once in a while. The children are really sweet. If it’s funds that are missing, I could try to finance it with the money I earn on land. Just let me know, okay?”

The pupilless eyes of the god turned soft, longing, and Percy felt a lump in his throat.

He had hoped so much that this could work out…

“Anyway.”, he pushed on, against his burning eyes and racing heart, “We’ll see each other in the trench sometime? I know it’s hard to rule a kingdom, but maybe…if you’ve got time, you could send me a sign or something?”

His hand raised unconsciously to the trident earring his dad had given him. Poseidon looked as torn as his son, but he nodded painfully slow. They both knew that this was the best outcome. The god came forward and pulled Percy once more in a bone crushing hug, that was still surprisingly gentle. Hand racked through his hair in a calming gesture meant to sooth a child, but Percy welcomed it none the less.

His father was a god, so whatever gentle gestures he was ready to give freely, the demigod would take. Especially as he had no other source for parental affections (Percy tried very hard not to think about kind brown eyes and a bright smile on an aged face that looked so much like Telemachus).

Poseidon leaned in closer and breathed into his ear: “I’m sorry for how my family treated you.”

“It’s their home.”, answered Percy while swallowing around the lump in his throat and the knife in his heart, “It’s their right.”

The hug tightened. The god sounded dead serious when he said: “Regardless. You will always have a place by my side if you need it. Damn the fools who don’t see your shining soul as the treasure and gift it is. I will fight the world if you’d ask it of me.”

“I would never ask you to fight with your family for me. But…Thanks, Dad.”

Poseidon laughed quietly before pulling back and caressing his cheek. The demigod leaned into it and heard his father gently state: “That’s what makes you better than all of us, little pearl. I’ll be damned if I lose you to something small as pride.”

Sadly, the time to part came sooner than Percy hoped. But he felt the judging eyes of Amphitrite still on him and wanted to escape the scrutinizing gaze as quickly as possible.

All he wished for right now were the open arms of his Dream-Boy and the prince’s beautiful voice in his ear, telling him he was enough again.

Even if his divine family didn’t think so, perhaps it could be enough if Telemachus cared for him like that. The demigod scarcely needed more than him anyway. He was the biggest reason for coming back after all.

After stepping fully out of his father’s embrace, Percy tried himself on a shaky smile. “Goodbye-“

“You will stay for dinner.”, cut the clean voice of Amphitrite through his farewell. Both men (god and son) turned around, blinking at the same time with the exact same expression of confusion and hope. The Queen kept her face carefully blank, but her dark gaze ranked over Percy once more, this time visible more appraising than before. Upon receiving nothing but blank stares, the goddess rolled her eyes demonstratively.

With a dismissive gesture and a disgusted twitch of her lip, the Queen said decisively: “Clean yourself and change out of those ridiculous clothes. They’re hardly better than rags.” And then she vanished, exactly like her son had, in a burst of bubbles.

Chapter Text

Dining with the royal family of Atlantis after beating the heir in a spar was…tense. And awkward. And surprisingly funny.

Triton didn’t comment on PERCY’s presence beside a barely perceivable nod as he sat down to the right of Poseidon at the long table. Percy himself was one seat down and Amphitrite had taken her place on the other side of the king.

She scrutinized his new outfit, courtesy of his Dad, consisting of a pearly white chiton with a teal sash and a big golden belt. A brooch held it all together, engraved with the royal signet. It had been laid out in a bedroom inside the family wing of the palace, which had suspicious similarities with the cave in the trench Percy and Poseidon had created during their first outing. Nearly the exact same layout and decoration, only a bit more detailed and made from more expensive and colourful materials. The god hadn’t said anything as he showed the chambers to his son, but the proud gleam in his eyes was enough to tell the demigod that this space had been designed with him in mind. (Some time ago, if the soft and stale water was any indication)

That Percy got to use them for a short time now was a miracle, considering his first impressions with the Queen and his half-brother. But no one mentioned it at first during the dinner, so the young mortal decided to keep quiet as well.  

A small cluster of fish served them different dishes that Percy had never seen before, but he tried it all without batting an eyelash. No way would he be so disrespectful as to spurn an Atlantean meal after he was so courteously invited (or commanded) to stay.

The silence stretched unnatural, and Percy had difficulties containing his fidgeting after the second course due to the lack of other stimulation beside the food, when finally, Amphitrite started a conversation with Poseidon about some trade agreement with a near settlement of rays. It was boring regency talk that had nothing to do with the demigod, but he still listened intently. Maybe the fact that it was about sea creatures, territories and hunting ground made it more interesting than all the things Telemachus had to deal with as a prince, because Percy found himself musing about problems and details that were presented as if he had any valuable input to give. Not that he opened his mouth once during dinner, but it was a big step to be even allowed to be present during such talks. As inconsequential as they were in the grand scheme of things.

After the dessert was eaten and Triton excused himself first, Percy though his time was over and he would need to go back to Ithaca in the darkness of the early night, but Amphitrite stopped him once more. She sent Poseidon away with some curt words, rolling her eyes when the god of the sea pouted about not getting to see his son off.

“You will see him tomorrow. Go now, husband. I have things that need to be said.”, the Queen ordered, and Percy’s heart leapt and sank at the same time.

He was to stay in Atlantis? But what could the goddess want to talk to him about? Or was that code for something? Would she turn him into the sea slug Triton saw him as?

Poseidon furrowed his brows, his aura darkening and his eyes glowing threateningly as he growled: “I won’t let you get away with more insult to my son. I was ready to let him leave for your sake. Now that you invited him into our home, I’ll have no tolerance for sharp words or cruel disrespect. Remember your place in this palace, wife. For I am king, and he is mine. Should he tell me you behaved despicably, my wrath will not be pleasant.”

Percy didn’t know what to do (or feel) after that declaration.

Amphitrite didn’t look intimidated, but she sighed and said: “Very well. I will not drive your precious pearl off. Now let me say my part in peace, so that we can move forward amicably.”

With one last look at his son, Poseidon searched for hesitation or some other sign for him to stay, but Percy wasn’t afraid. The demigod didn’t feel malice or hate from the Queen, and he was kind of curious what she would have to say. He smiled and his father left with another great huff.

Alone in the dining room with the Queen, another jarring silence ensued, before Amphitrite finished her inspection of his person. “I know what you did during the spar.”, she began cryptically. Before Percy could ask her to specify, she already continued: “You could have proclaimed your victory after the first strike. We all felt the ichor spill into the ocean. It was the perfect opportunity to humiliate my son for his insults to your person and your mother. It’s what all the demigod children of my husband before you would have done.”

It was a statement, so he answered in the same manner with a careless shrug: “I’m not them.”

“Yes.”, she agreed, thoughtful, “I begin to see that.”

The Queen of Atlantis rose gracefully from the table and threw her shawl over her shoulder. She haughtily declared: “I will tolerate you for now. See it as gratitude for not announcing my son’s loss like the miracle it was. Know that it will not happen again regardless. Triton has learned not to underestimate you. He was holding back.”

Percy hummed with crossed arms, thinking about the tempting call of the golden blood that sung somewhere deep in his heart. The demigod decided to be the bigger person once more. “Maybe.”, he finally answered before changing the subject to say: “Thank you for letting me stay. It will not be for long. Or all that often.”

“Good.”

-

Waking up the next morning underwater was disorienting at first. Percy needed a minute to realize he wasn’t in space, abducted by aliens, but instead in Atlantis and simply drifting through the ocean. He had chosen to simply sleep in his underwear, so he donned the same clothes as yesterday and began his hunt for food. From the little time he had spent in the palace before his second trip back in time, the demigod knew a rough outlay and together with his nose, it led him to the kitchens pretty easily.

The chef and his workers were appalled to see him in their domain, but after a few apologies and embarrassed laughs, Percy got a small plate of algae-bread without much fuss. It was endearing to see the little fish hasting around the space to collect something ‘appropriate for a prince’, before the young man had stopped them and insisted on eating what was at hand. His offer to clean his plate was blatantly refused and he was sent in no uncertain terms out of the kitchen.

On his way to find either his father or something to do, the son of Poseidon passed by the training grounds again, getting a good look at his step-brother training meticulously with his trident. The god was nearly too fast to catch with the naked eye and Percy asked himself if he had really matched this speed in their spar or if the heir of Atlantis actually had held back. The fact that he was still able to follow most of the moves spoke for the first one, but logic screamed that there was no possible way for a mortal to match a god in anything.

Regardless of that, the display was honestly mesmerizing to see. How effortlessly the weapon cut through the water and how effectively deadly the strike oh the three tongs were gave Percy the feeling of having dodged death maybe closer than he had known yesterday. The trident was an amazing weapon, and Percy weeped because he had no clue on how to wield one.

Was he some kind of disappointment for Poseidon? Because he didn’t know his way around his father’s signature weapon?   

Before his thoughts could spiral deeper into that hole, the smell of salted caramel and a looming shadow behind him alerted the demigod to his father’s presence.

“Good morning, son.”, the god greeted awkwardly, and Percy snickered upon Poseidon’s obvious stiffness. He had donned a more human shell, with long black hair and a subtle crown made from white corals. His beard was short and cleanly cut and his eyes had pupils for a change, which shifted in a clear show of unease. Probably because the god wasn’t used to having someone else in his palace beside his immortal family and servants. The demigod grinned and said in his best New Yorker accent: “What’s up?”

For a moment, the king of Atlantis reeled a bit, but he got his calmness back quickly and proposed: “Would you want to see more of the palace and city, meet the people as my son?”

Percy shook his head and asked: “Could we just spent some time together?” He had strolled through the city enough yesterday. And now that he was allowed to stay, the young man wanted to spend the time with his busy father. To not offend the god completely, he relented somewhat by saying: “I’d love to see Atlantis from somewhere higher up though.”

It wasn’t hard to convince Poseidon of that plan and soon, they were seated on some lounges on the roof of the palace (where a war council would be held, centuries later). The water was pleasantly warm and playfully nudged the demigod’s hair (whether it was his father’s doing or simply the currents was unclear). At first, the conversation was haltingly, both of them not knowing where they stood after the events yesterday, but then Poseidon asked the one question that would always get the demigod to talk, no matter what.

“Did you finally meet your boy?”, the deity asked, only moderately interested, “What was his name again?”

And Percy could neither fight the goofy smile on his face, nor the burst of swooning that came out of his mouth next.  

It took a good while until the amused snort from Poseidon interrupted the young man’s rambling about his friend’s virtues, skills and effortless presence. Percy lost himself completely in retelling nearly each of their little meetings, broaching the topic of pearl diving and his guard duty in the process, while always circling back to Telemachus eventually. Only when he saw the fond but exhausted grin on his father’s face did he stop, ears hot and face as red as fire for sure.

But contrary to his expectations, the god neither commented on his ranting about such trivial topics nor mocked his obvious feelings for the other man, however repressed they were. Ancient Greece was known for tolerating all kinds of relationships (as long as they were behind closed doors and a legitimate heir was conceived – a thought that twisted Percy’s insides more painful than even the stab wound he had gotten in defense of Odysseus had done. Imagining his Dream-Boy staying in front of an altar, some unknown, beautiful women by his side and smiling like the sun – like he had always looked at Percy before – was an arrow straight to the heart…. But he would never do anything to stand in the way of Telemachus’ happiness. Even if it meant stomping out this silly little crush of his).

Anyway, it was something totally different for it to be unaddressed by his own father and, as little as the demigod had thought about labeling his own sexuality (because let’s be honest, except from his prince, there had never been anyone else waking this kind of feelings in him), it was relieving to not be met with disgust or disdain.

He already had the support of his Mom (Sally Jackson had always been more in tune with his emotions than he himself and she for sure knew about his feelings as well), but his father was the only parental presence he had (for now) and his non-reaction was the second-best thing after outright acceptance he could get.

Poseidon focus wasn’t on any of that though. The god’s brows were furrowed as he mused over his words carefully, and Percy perked up seriously, as his father finally said: “I don’t like the thought of you being treated like a lowly guard or some errant boy by the humans. You’re far more than that. You are the son of a god, a prince in your own right. Far more powerful than any of those trying to command you. It is disrespectful and wrong.”

“I’m not though.”, Percy replied easily and with a careless shrug, “I am illegitimate at best and a fraud at worst. They’re mortals we are talking about here. They wouldn’t believe the truth even if I told them. You gods are untouchable in their eyes. The few demigods that existed were always hailed since their birth and had destinies larger than life. No one has heard of me before, so they would most likely try to kill me for blasphemy. Gods are mighty and powerful, and everyone wants to avoid your wrath by spreading lies. They fear you.”

“As they should.”, Poseidon stated proudly, his smile turning sharp and his teeth becoming pointed. A flicker of scales and spikes rippled through his body. The demigod shook his head fondly but turned pensive once more when he mumbled: “I don’t want to be feared though. I want a place to call home, with friends who tease me and joke, who listen when I am distraught. Where I can rest and be treated as an equal.”

He looked up to the surface and bathed in the few streaks of sunlight that glittered in the waves. It was quiet and peaceful so far down. Absentminded, Percy mumbled to his father: “I don’t need all the attention that comes with being a recognized demigod. The few genuine connections I have now are far more valuable. And I like to work with the people. Even if it is exhausting sometimes.”

He met the curious gaze of the god, which was still tinged with dissatisfaction and petulant distaste for the humans. But it was no malicious anger that screamed of incoming danger, so Percy felt comfortable to simply smile it away.

He chucked: “Besides that…not all of them treat me like some servant! That is a scarce minority. And Telemachus never made me feel less for not having worldly relations of note. He is kind and thoughtful. I am very fortunate to have him as a…friend. We are so close, talk so much, and he is always my equal, as I am his. He would never treat me any lesser…the opposite actually. Being with him makes me feel…powerful, and mighty and…proud of who I am. Because he likes me that way. Without title or splendor. With him I can be…simply me.”

“But can you truly?”, Poseidon cut in with a severe look. The god had leaned toward him, capturing his son’ eyes and drawing him in as he voiced his doubts: “Just because this boy knows about your parentage doesn’t mean he understands it. One could even argue that he knows less than others, because he has never had contact with our world beyond your stories and recounted adventures.”

Percy breathed deeply to not interrupt his father, because the deity wasn’t finished, but he burned with the need to defend his friend. The expression on Poseidon’s face was pitying, and it rankled the demigod, but he knew the other needed to speak his doubts at least once. As unfounded as they were.

As much as he wanted to squash them like a bug.

“Tell me, son, is there anyone in this…time, that actually knows you at all? Who has all the puzzle pieces to put together who you truly are? Why not stay with those who have at least most of the parts? Who know the world of gods you were born into? Why not stay with me in Atlantis? There is no part of you that needs hiding here.”, Poseidon gently proposed. The demigod already shook his head, prompting the god to amend: “I know there are things you cannot tell me, but at least I am aware of your origin, of where you are from.”    

“Telemachus knows.”, Percy countered immediately. And upon his father’s surprised face, he added: “More than anyone else, actually.”

The deity glowered: “How could he? Did you tell-“ Before the dark voice of the god could reach its full volume, the young man cut in with his answer (that was both smug and self-conscious): “I didn’t need to. I never told him anything about it. He saw.” The last word was breathed in reverence and fascination. Percy was still unsure how the fully mortal prince had managed to have prophetic dreams like this, but he was very grateful for whatever (whoever granted the dreams – visions?). Accurate ones, including the ability to reach through both space and time to help him in the most crucial moments of his Quests. 

“The dreams that connected us…they weren’t as one sided as I thought. He had them too. In the time I was… away, he was the one dreaming of me. And what I had to do, what I lived through.”, the demigod mused to himself. When he looked back to his father, Poseidon had settled down again, listing intently.

Percy swallowed hard, but was still confident when he said: “So Dad, I know why you’d want me to be by your side, but do not talk down on him like you just did. Because Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca, son of King Odysseus and Queen Penelope, knows my soul in its entirety. The good, the bad. The struggles and failures. The origins of my scars and strengths. He knows them. He knows me. In a way no one else has ever had a chance to before. Not even Mom.”

The god of the sea was silent for a while after that declaration.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the city and stroking his slowly growing black beard. As Poseidon changes his form back to something more ambiguous, with monstrous claws and scaled legs, he hummed quietly, as speaking to himself: “Dreams are pesky little things, you know? Gods don’t have them, so I never quite understood your mortals…fascination and obsession with them. Seeing things that aren’t real and often absolute madness? What’s the point of them? But maybe…your affinity for that special kind of them is connected to my own former dominion over prophecies. You already have way more power over a lot of my domains than even my godly children had at your age. Your control, creativity and sheer strength with them is impressive… Some might even say terrifying. It was no mistake that you won your duel against Triton.”

It was the first time that someone had outright claimed his victory as such, and even though it was just a stray thought, it warmed Percy to be recognized. He was proud of that fight. But Poseidon didn’t pause in his little speech: “You may have inherited some of my older connections as well. They could be responsible for your special dreams with this boy.”

“But the dreams aren’t prophetic for me. Where is the connection?”, the demigod asked confused, trying to remember if he knew anything about his father’s prophecies from before the domain was given to another god.

Poseidon snorted a bit petulant and grumbled: “I wouldn’t know. It is no longer mine to command. Your best bet would be to ask Morpheus or Apollo about them. Or the Fates even, for they know many things others don’t.”

As if just remembering something, the god turned to him with a snap of his neck, eyes pupilless once more. Their sea-green gaze burned into the demigod, as his father asked reproachfully: “By the way…I got quite the angry message from my dear brother some years ago. Something about you taking a cruise on the Styx? And Hermes distracting him from your presence? What was that about, son?”

Percy blinked for a second, confused, before he laughed bashfully and flipped a hand through his hair. With a rueful smile and wide eyes he slowly confessed: “Yeah…we had to take a little detour there when I was traveling with Ody. It was pointless in the end. But I’m surprised you didn’t know?”

His inquiry was met with an exasperated sigh. The god leaned back into his chair and explained gruffly: “Well, I felt you leave. But seeing as you also appeared out of nowhere randomly one day, I simply assumed it was another one of your quirks. I could tell you were alive and that was all that mattered to me then. I tried really hard to not hover.”

Percy snorted and ignored the side eye from his father. Both of them knew how utterly the god had failed with that. The stalking that had happened back then was not forgotten by the demigod. But before he could make a quip about that, Poseidon was already moving on hastily: “Hades also mentioned you had a run in with the Fates? Or were in their cave? Did they not give you some answers about those dreams?”

For a second, the young man expected to smell the presence of the named deity, but then he remembered that his father had once said that Atlantis was protected by his presence, so that no other immortal could enter or listen in without his expressive permission. A bit like the underworld in that way.

With a thoughtful hum, the demigod answered: “Not really? Just some cryptic shit that made no sense. Most of it I don’t even remember. It’s been years. But maybe something about intertwined yarns? And mine having an ugly color?” That had been pretty rude of the ladies looking back, but Percy was actually glad his younger self had been definitely less sensitive about divine insult than he was now. Maybe it had something to do with him having the power to do something about petty gods and their attitude now… A thought worth considering at least. But before his mind could drift even further in the direction of the possibilities to deal with annoying godly relatives, the cause for his relation to that family tree spoke again.

“Intertwined?”, Poseidon asked sharply, focus completely on his son, “What exactly did they say Percy?”

“As if I can remember! Something about them being interwoven? Or clinging at each other? I think these were their words. And the colors mixing…bleeding together? I guess? I know they weren’t that happy about it.”, the demigod quickly recounted, rummaging around in his brain for more details, but coming up empty. He felt the intensity of his father’s attention in the vibration of the water and it left him feeling on edge as well. Somehow, the god found the rambling of the Fates more interesting than Percy had, but maybe it was because Poseidon could actually understand some of it?

The furrow between his eyebrows spoke of deep contemplation at least, until the god finally said: “Hm…that might be your answer then. The sisters don’t intertwine yarns very often. Especially mortal ones. And for sure never long enough for their colors to mesh and bleed into each other. How peculiar…Maybe the connection between you and that boy is more than it seems.”

“Is it really that special for yarns to be woven together?”, Percy asked incredulous. He would have thought that it happened every other day, with all the stories of passion and infidelity and love, also including that heroes normally seemed to have someone fated by their side, be it spouse or friend. At least that was how the stories always portrayed ancient Greece… That Poseidon pointed it out to be somewhat special made his stomach clench.

Percy swallowed in relief as his father shook his head: “Oh no. They intertwine some all the time, primarily between lovers or family or people belonging together, but not to this extent. Mixing colors is unheard of, as far as I know.”

The stone in the demigod’s gut was back, but this time accompanied by burning warmth and something that felt suspiciously like pride. As if the fact that he had someone bound to him by fate was a thing worth celebrating. And maybe it was…but only if-

Percy tried to keep his voice calm, but it still turned out squeaky as he asked: “You think that other yarn is Telemachus? That we are like…soulmates or something?”

What a crazy thought…but…

Somehow it felt right.

The prince had been his literal and metaphorical Dream-Boy for years. Through his whole crazy adolescence, now that Percy thought about it. He had been there for all of Percy’s worst moments and memories (even if the demigod had not known most of the time).

An anchor to keep him grounded and get him out of his spiraling mind. Someone to accept him and his decision without judgment.

Telemachus had been his rock through so much tumult. But he was also the wind in his back, giving him the drive and will to move forward. The goal of seeing him again had made Percy face titans and monsters and humans equally, made him demand something unheard of from the gods.

It had been his Dream-Boy that became his mortal focus when he jumped into the Styx, the only reason he was not consumed by the curse or the river. And ever since Percy had landed back in Ithaca, the prince had been the drive behind nearly all of his actions. Still was, actually, because to get time with him, the demigod worked himself to the bone, ignoring all the indignity and urge to fight back against people like Silas… not wanting to cause his friend (?) more trouble.

In turn, Percy had earned the most incredible person by his side.

Maybe there was some truth about both their colors bleeding together after all.

Poseidon didn’t know about his son’s inner monologue. The god simply continued with their conversation by stating: “Something like that. There is no definition of what together means. It could simply refer to a very deep friendship. There is no guarantee for love of the romantic kind…” He hesitated for a second, eying up his son before slowly asking: “Do you want it to mean something more?”

The question caught Percy off guard. His face heated up instantly and he felt the blood rush to his head as he scrambled to find an answer that wouldn’t expose his helpless crush instantly. What he came up with was: “I- don’t know?” Which was for sure fooling no one. Not even himself.

It was the worst lie he ever told.

But instead of teasing the demigod, Poseidon accepted the answer with a serene head tilt. He stroked his beard with the air (or water) as an age-old deity (which he was). With a voice, both deep and grave, the god reassured him: “That’s okay. You will find out eventually. But your intertwined yarns, fates, could be the reason for the dreams you share. Those connections sometimes happen between immortals as well, for a while, and they are nearly always accompanied by the ability to share selected thoughts. Mortals’ brains would melt if they had that, they’re simply not wired to take mental strain of this kind. Maybe dreams are your way of coping with being connected to another’s soul. That’s all the explanation I can think of… Perhaps it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. You are here now, your yarn is spun. Just leave it like that for a while.”

The water was calming and warm around Percy and he took a cautious and deep breath to settle his fluttering heart.

“That’s my intention anyway. I’ve had more than enough encounters with destiny and prophecies for a lifetime! I could really use a break.”, he said with a slight smile, “That’s why I came back actually.”

“A pretty long break then.”, commented Poseidon.

“Yeah, I know. Most likely for the rest of my life”, the demigod agreed, feeling melancholic but not actually sad. He had already thought about all of the consequences of coming back together with his Mom months ago. And now that he was here, Percy would still make the same decision. As much as he missed the people of his future.

His father had thoughts along the same lines and asked carefully: “You really left your mother to be with that boy?”

Finding an answer turned out to be easier than voicing it. After two tries, Percy finally found the courage to say: “Mom and I talked…a lot. She knew I wasn’t happy, that my heart was longing for something else. Something I would never get in the future. She knew I would leave her eventually. It was just a question about the how and when. Staying…would have destroyed me.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued: “I think we were ready when I jumped the second time. Of course it hurts... I miss her like crazy, but I don’t regret the choice. And I still have a way of communication. Even if it is one way. She will know what’s happened to me. I’m writing letters and will pay Hermes really well for keeping them safe until they can be delivered. It should work. I haven’t sent one yet, but I will soon.”

Contrary to Percy’s belief, his father didn’t object to any of his words. The god simply absorbed them with a silent respect for his decision. Which was actually a lot more than the demigod had hoped for. He bloomed with affection and love when Poseidon’s only reaction was to say: “When I see my nephew next, I’ll make sure to impress on him the importance of that task then.”

The young man beamed: “Thank you Dad.”   

Chapter Text

PERCY was surprised at how quickly he grew used to the new routine that established itself without his conscious effort.

After the tense time spent in Atlantis (except the roof-talk with his father), it was even more unreal that he found himself addressed by a small envoy of dolphins, not even three weeks later, with the Queen’s demand for him to return for another family dinner.

Percy had been diving alone for a change, looking over the pearl grounds and making sure the small creatures were still happy and healthy despite being raided once a week. Most of them chirped happily upon his inspection, but a few older ones asked for a small break from producing pearls. He scooped those up and put them under a great boulder not too far (but definitely out of sight) so that they had their peace for a while. It had been the first time in … two weeks (?) that the demigod had been truly alone with his thoughts.

Not to be misunderstood, Percy loved being busy, no question, but the duties just kept piling up and no matter how little he slept or how much he worked, the demigod never saw the mountain of work decrease. So, as happy as he was about being invited back to his father’s city, it was also just another thing for him to add to his busy schedule. Just more people who expected things from him, be it his protection, attention, time or support. And Percy, bless the heart his mother raised, was unable to deny them.

The summon to Atlantis were equally celebrated as dreaded.

It turned out to be quite alright in the end.

He got a few free days out of Macar (in exchange for taking over even more shifts during the night – Adiós sleep) and spent most of them in the underwater kingdom to appease his godly family. On most of his visits, Percy would sit through a tense dinner with Triton, Amphitrite and Poseidon, before wandering off to explore the city or talk to the people. Sometimes he would watch his half-brother train with a trident, trying to copy his moves later in secrecy of his room.

On the second visit, he was caught in that improvised training by Amphitrite, and while the Queen didn’t say anything, Percy had been ready to burst with embarrassment. Especially when Triton called him rather rudely down to the training grounds the next morning, throwing him a trident made from rough steel and ordered him to get ready.

Unsurprisingly, the heir wiped the floor with him during their first spar. The god was smug beyond comprehension, throwing out insults and mocking quips that the demigod valiantly ignored, even though his ego gasped in offense. It was comeuppance for the last fight where Triton had lost, no doubt, but after taking five more beatings and bearing them without complaining once, the deity disgruntledly started to instruct Percy for real.

That made his visits far more enjoyable, but also extra exhausting, so that his ‘break’ from being a guard never turned out to be very restful.   

Percy’s shifts in the city had not been terminated either, even after the city watch had been bolstered by new recruits. Silas still drew malicious happiness from running him ragged in useless stamina and endurance training and now that their supervised patrols were over, Percy found himself more often than not assigned the really bad time slots right over dinner or deep into the night.

It was more than draining, especially because he was expected to work in the city as soon as the sun was up.

His time was devoured by helping the citizens with all kinds of odd requests (both in Ithaca and Atlantis, when he was there), training useless skills he already possessed, guarding and watching dozens of drunk and rabid men vie for the Queen’s attention, harassing servants or leering after Telemachus (which was especially infuriating and set Percy’s teeth on constant edge).

Stopping the suitors was easy. Most of the time, a sharp look or an obviously positioned hand on his sword was enough, but it still meant Percy had to be attentive all the time and that consumed a lot of his concentration. 

His faithful Dream-Boy was the only thing that kept him sane most days. Percy felt really bad, because most times he saw the other man, it was in his few hours of off-time he got. They met in their meadow, and the demigod would then fall into an exhausted sleep within minutes. Head in Telemachus’ lap or against his shoulder, when he wasn’t sprawled out in the lush (but slowly turning brittle and cold) grass. The prince never woke until his royal person was needed elsewhere, and he was always very gracious about the wasted time, but Percy felt horrible.

It had been ages since they had last spoken with each other. Really spoken. Not just quick greetings or small things with no substance. And the son of Poseidon yearned to have those conversations back. The teasing and joking between them was sorely missed by the demigod and yeah, even the moments he became embarrassingly flustered because Telemachus said something that his deprived brain always interpreted as something flirty.

Not that the prince truly meant his words as such. 

But no matter how many quick naps Percy snuck into his rigid day (mostly filled with the smell of honey and parchment and the warmth of a hand on his chest that made his rest so much more peaceful), it was not enough to sustain him indefinitely.

Being a demigod allowed him more endurance than normal people, but after weeks, months, of never having time to truly relax and recharge, Percy was walking on his last reserves.

And everyone knew it.

Elpenor and Perimedes tried to take over some of his shifts, but they were caught one too many times and assigned to completely different parts of the palace after that. Telemachus tried to insist on cutting their meetings short, but the demigod rather harshly refused that notion and clung to the prince’s waist when he tried to leave the meadow prematurely. No way in Hades would Percy give up the only thing he truly looked forward to nowadays.

It wasn’t surprising for anyone but Percy that he messed up rather soon, after he had lost consciousness one night during a shift in the same corridor that he had been tasked to protect minutes earlier. Luckily, he was found by Geron, and he could convince the older man that he had just taken a nap (like his supervisor was often prone to). He had gotten out of trouble by a hair’s breadth and stumbled to the barracks to change into some clean clothes for the useless training Percy wasn’t allowed to miss. The tiredness took its toll and Percy didn’t notice how he had forgotten to put his armor back on, until a gleeful Silas pointed it out in the arena later.

The otherwise small oversight was the death sentence for the demigod’s carefully crafted life on the edge of exhaustion. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back of his patience and indulgence of Silas’ insecure attempts to make himself feel better.

“That’s it, Jackson!”, the eye-patched man mockingly screeched into the brisk morning air. Way too loud and way too early.

The other soldiers of his year had stopped their sparring with spears to watch the whole thing go down, and Elpenor was already on the move to cover Percy’s back as support.

The trainer nearly jumped in joy when he proclaimed: “Not wearing armor is a great affront against the principle of the palace guard. Such a blatant disrespect for our sacred rules cannot be punished by simply doing some push-ups!” Silas turned around and pointed to one of the twins as he ordered: “You! Bring me the whip. Ten strikes should be enough for this first-time offense.”

Percy was slow to catch up on the meaning of the words.

His brain was still mushy from too little sleep and the hustle of even getting here on time. Burned out to the bones and simultaneously trying to pay attention to someone speak was not a great combination, paired with the need to ignore the constant low hum of multiple bloodstreams around him, it gave the demigod a pounding headache. Blinking twice, he felt his little watcher on the stands leave hastily (still not knowing who would be so persistent in spying on him for many months, but too wary to particularly care).

Focused on the things happening outside of his vision, Percy was too late to realize (or process) what idiotic punishment Silas was choosing this time.

Except it wasn’t an idiotic one. It was cruel and dehumanizing. It was intended to be corporal. But until the young demigod had recognized this himself, his faithful friends were already protesting.

Loudly and vicious, Elpenor spat: “Absolutely not! Whipping is no punishment enacted on the guards! It’s against all the rules and morale of the king! He forbade something like this from happening ages ago.”

“And where is the king to enforce his rule?! He is dead and I am in charge here! Hold your tongue or he will receive fifteen. And you are too!”, Silas roared hatefully.

Sickly green clouds blocked out the sun suddenly, tinging the world in dark, foreboding shadows of an incoming storm. The change happened gradually enough to be proclaimed naturally, but Percy smelled and felt the presence of some divine watchers. He couldn’t focus on identifying them though, as his head finally got pulled out of the cotton sheen that had dampened his senses until now.

Silas had not only threatened his friends but also insulted the king. His king. The father figure of his youth.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing.”, mumbled Perimedes, his gaze switching cautiously between the sky and Percy.

“Yeah. You should start praying. Although I don’t think the gods will know mercy in your case.”, added Elpenor with a smug little smile.

“Shut up! All of you!”, yelled Eye-Patch, “Twenty strikes it is!”

Percy wasn’t worried.

As if he would let a human mar his skin like this, right beside the battle scars speaking of his survival and victory in the second titan war. The marks of his trials as a demigod. Yeah…Silas was delusional.

Time to finally put him in his place. This has gone far too long already.

It was during that thought that the soldier sent to retrieve the whips returned and handed it to the trainer with quivering hands, throwing an apologetic look in Percy’s direction. Still contemplating on how to deal with this situation once and for all, the demigod ignored the other guard.      

The displeasure was evident in the light drizzle that now swept through the arena (whether from Percy or whoever of his family was watching was irrelevant). The warm power in his chest purred, viciously pleased to be finally set free. The gaze out of the sea-green eyes (glowing in the darkening scenery) was calculating and calm, even as his opponent stepped up.

“Take of your tunic and kneel, boy, and I might show mercy.”, the cruel glint in the one visible eye showed the lie in the words even more clearly than the ugly smile stretching the thin lips of the older man. Silas grew agitated when Percy didn’t react to his words, simply staying still and staring.

His mind was too slow, because every solution the demigod came up with ended with at least one death and a few days (or months) in the cells. Percy couldn’t risk upsetting Telemachus with being gone for so long, even though his blood was calling for vengeance and revenge for all the time-stealing exercises he had to do at this man’s command.

But being an ass and wasting his time wasn’t enough to earn a death sentence, was it?

Maybe beating the trainer to a pulp would work. Could Percy somehow frame that as an accident? Maybe the others would cover for him?

Silas’ rage reached its peak, and he reeled the whip back with surprising speed: “I will make you listen you insolent brat!”

The crack of the weapon coincided with the booming thunder of the sky and Percy reacted instinctively. His hand shot out to catch the leather effortlessly out of the air, only leaving a little mark on his palm from the power of Silas’ strike. It stung for a second, before the rain washed the wound away.

The demigod’s expression was dark. He hadn’t thought that the man would actually try to harm him. But now that he had, all peaceful solutions were off the table.

“I have had enough.”, grumbled Percy, pulling the whip towards him, and with it Eye-Patch, who still held the other end in his fist. The blond man stumbled gracelessly into the demigod’s range. Quick as a snake, Percy struck and the trainer was lifted into the air by the hem of his chiton.

Silas was no small man by any means and upon Percy’s blatant show of brute strength, the hateful fire in the one eye dimmed significantly. But that still wasn’t enough to appease the angered godling.

“It is time to remind you whose rules you disobeyed just now.”, Percy grinned ferally, before shifting his gaze to his friends. Both soldiers stood at attention immediately, backs straight and spears erected. With a dangerous purr, the demigod asked: “Perimedes. Elpenor. You traveled with our beloved king for a while. Tell me how he would’ve dealt with someone like him. Ignoring his commands. Acting to harm another without just cause.”

Elpenor instantly opened his mouth to say: “He would-“

But a harsh bark interrupted the soldier: “What is going on here!?”

The voice belonged to no other than Macar, Captain of the royal guard and the big bad boss of them all. He was the gruff and weathered man that had accompanied Telemachus down to the beach for their first meeting in person and the one who assigned them to this troupe. But except for that meeting, Marcar had never interfered with any of their training (or punishments) before, so seeing him here, in full regalia, was more than unusual.

Percy only turned his head, tilting it slightly, consideringly, before letting go of Silas’ shirt. The man plummeted into the sand and scrambled to stand. He instantly bowed to the captain and blubbered: “This soldier disrespected the crown and refused to follow my commands. I was just about to discipline him, Captain Macar!”

“What a farce.”, the demigod quietly spat, crossing his arms defensively and getting ready to defend himself, when he got unexpected support from his comrades. It was surprisingly Timon (the arrogant fellow had mellowed out over the course of the months and was actually a decent companion now) that spoke up first: “He is lying, sir. Trainer Silas had it out for Perseus since the very first day.”

“Yeah, because he gets shown up by the lad all the time.”, grunted one of the twins (who Percy could never separate to his great shame, but they were just too eerily similar) as his brother nodded: “He’s a better fighter than all of us and does his own training most of the time. Trainer Silas hates that and gives him the most unfair punishments. He wanted to whip him just now for forgetting his uniform after a nightshift.”

“That’s-“, spluttered Eye-Patch, gaping as he tried to process the treason of his so-called star students. By now, all of them had stepped to Percy’s side, far away from the blond trainer. Not one of them came to his support and the demigod was honestly surprised to get this much backing.

It wasn’t that he had been rude or something, but except for a few jokes or some hidden pointers for their fighting style, he hadn’t interacted with any of them. His work hours were all over the place, making it impossible to attend the gatherings inside the barracks or the rare outing into the city to drink and play cards in Ithaca’s bars. Elpenor and Perimedes had sometimes talked about them, but stopped when they noticed Percy’s longing gaze.

Maybe his friends had done more lobby work for him than the demigod had known. He couldn’t fathom another reason for all of them backing him now.   

Macar was more than unimpressed by it all, eyebrows raised as he huffed a deep breath. His dark and stern eyes shifted from Silas to Percy, but the demigod didn’t react under the scrutiny. Not even when he was asked (skeptical and with obvious disbelief): “You can take on a trained and experienced guard?”

“I can take on more than that.” Like a Titan King trapped in a mortal shell, the jailer of Tartarus, or even certain gods if he was by the ocean. But the mortals didn’t need to know that. They would be long dead when those monsters became a problem for the world.

Macar’s eye twitched and it was gratifying that they both ignored Silas chittered excuses.

“I want to see it.”, the captain eventually said, “You’ll fight him in a controlled environment to let me see where your actual skills are at.”

“Fine with me.”, Percy agreed instantly, not in the least hesitant to finally fight the scumbag fair and square. But still, there were a few things to clear up: “Are there any rules or handicaps?”

Macar expression pinched in confusion: “Rules?”

A spark of feral amusement flittered through the demigod when he thought about his training spars back at Camp Half-Blood. He smirked crookedly before humming (fairly innocently, if you asked him): “Yeah, like, no killing or maiming is a given, but how deep can cuts be without points being deducted? Is there a limit to bruises? And will the victor be called by you or is it a thing where one of us needs to forfeit, and if so, does knocking out count? I’m no fan of torture either, but sometimes that’s like the only way to make someone give up so…is that a requirement for being a trained guard? Because man, if we’re expected to torture people, I think I’d like to reconsider-“

“Percy, shut up.”, Perimedes interrupted with a great, exasperated groan. The atmosphere shifted to something a bit more relaxed and the rain stopped as his friend gave him a light slap on the back of his head and said: “There is no sanctioned torture here, get your mind out of the gutter, you’re drifting.”

“Oh? Ah, yeah, sorry. So, rules?”, Percy sheepishly tugged at the black strands falling into his face and smiled gullible.

Macar (as well as everyone else who hadn’t spent a year on a crazy voyage with him) looked at the demigod like he had lost his mind. The captain blinked a few times before cautiously inquiring: “Have you…been trained like this before?”

Percy tilting his head, humming consideringly: “In a way…”

“I see.”, the captain drawled. And even without his sensing of liquids, it was more than obvious that the older soldier swallowed hard upon hearing his answer. The demigod let the information sink in for a moment, before adding: “And I have learned that specifying the parameters of a spar is really important beforehand.”

“That is sensible.”, Macar relented, “No injuries that take more than a day to heal, I will call the victor, and you will fight with fake weapons at first, I think that might be…safer.” He didn’t specify for whom, but the quick glance the captain threw Silas was more telling than words could have ever been. Percy grinned and took the wooden sword Elpenor gave him without looking.

“Cool, cool. And what hand should I use?”, the demigod hummed, switching the dull blade from one side to the other, testing its balance and feel. The wood was coarse and in bad shape, but the weight was surprisingly accurate and the length similar to his own blades. (Not that something silly like an inconvenient weapon would stop him from annihilating Silas.)

Macar looked like he was already done with this whole chaos as he sighed: “Hand?”

“Yeah, I fought with my right hand a lot more but began training the left in preparation for the contest.”, explained Percy, smile widening when he saw the shoulders of the captain sag visibly. He rubbed his temples and looked shortly up to the sky, before groaning: “Left first.”

Well, this was gonna be fun.

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS was burning with restless tension, as he stayed hidden behind a stone bench as his Sea-Boy faced his tormentor.

It had been months, months, since the demigod had felt true peace. And it infuriated the prince beyond comprehension, the fact that his person didn’t find the calm and happiness in Ithaca that he deserved so much.

Telemachus knew how much the war against Kronos, against other demigods, had drained the son of Poseidon. And instead of resting and bathing in his hard-won peace, this impossible, perfect man of his heart had searched months for a way back to him.

The least Telemachus could have done was provide a calm kingdom for his Sea-Boy, and what met him here? Task after task, all equally mundane and unimportant, not worthy of his time or attention.

And Percy simply smiled all the hardships and pressure away as if they weren’t there. Never voicing complaints, even though everyone and their dog could see that the demigod was running himself ragged. He was working on the last of his fumes and still not slowing down. Because ‘others needed him’ or ‘someone had to do this’ (as Percy had said), what a joke!

It was even more frustrating that he had all but forbidden Telemachus from interfering, citing how he had it under control, or how it could paint a target on the prince’s back if he stood up for a lowly guard. As if Telemachus cared about something silly like that when his person was in pain! And as if Percy could ever be lowly in anything.

Not to be misunderstood, Telemachus loved their secret meetings no matter what they did. And he had absolutely nothing against being used as a pillow or bedtime storyteller. Especially if it meant having unrestricted access to his muse, being allowed to stare at the absolute beauty that was his Sea-Boy’s sleeping face for as long as his heart desired.

But the jealousy burned hot in the prince’s veins whenever the demigod was ripped away by his duties to either aid people in need (which he couldn’t hate for real, seeing as Percy was so invested in helping his subjects to stable his family’s reign) or serve useless guarding shifts that were never near the places someone of Percy’s caliber was really needed.

The worst days were when the demigod visited the underwater kingdom of Atlantis. Not because Telemachus begrudged him the bonding time with his godly family (he was glad his friend had gotten some sort of parental figure back!), but because the insecurity and doubt always grew higher, the longer the demigod was away.

What if Atlantis lured him from Telemachus’ side permanently? With its beautiful scenery, diverse people and the fact Percy was a prince there…and that his Sea-Boy was for sure being treated a thousand times better… It was a nagging doubt that only dispersed when the young man was firmly back with him in their meadow (preferable in his arms, snuggling closer in his sleep and drooling adorably when the demigod was really under).

The situation was unsatisfying and annoyingly persistent.

Telemachus needed it to change. And quickly. It had been months of this schedule. They were nearing the new year already!

His patience grew thin. Telemachus longed to have more of his friend. More time, more attention, more touch, more anything.

It was no longer sufficient to glance at Percy during his training, as enticing as his naked torso gleamed under the sun. But even up in the stands of the arena, Telemachus felt too far away to really appreciate his friend’s hard fought for physique.

So, Silas Auretia actually did Telemachus a favor when he threatened to whip Percy that particular morning. Not that the prince (or whatever deity was stalking his friend right now) would’ve let that happen, even if the demigod himself hadn’t raised objections (which he did). Sprinting out of the arena to find Macar and make him end that ridiculous farce of training was pretty easy, seeing as the captain was always slinking around him nowadays (most likely on command of his mother, which made him roll his eyes. She hadn’t been this noisy before he half-confessed his crush).

Now, the prince was just waiting to see his Sea-Boy in an actual fight for the first time. (Training didn’t count, dreams didn’t as well and the one chance he had gotten to watch the demigod during the contest, Telemachus had thrown away himself unknowingly).

It didn’t matter that the confrontation between the guard and trainer would be short and humiliating for the sword instructor. Seeing Percy dominate other (weaker) men was always like a thrilling shot right in Telemachus’ spine, making his face heat up and his belly twist in arousal.

That feral grin of his Sea-Boy was just deadly to all reasonable thoughts. Especially if it was followed by a showing of his amazing powers (be it controlling water, blood or plain old sword plays, Percy excelled at them all).

Telemachus was pretty sure that the demigod had clocked his spying ages ago, but he either didn’t care (which would be concerning or flattering, depending on whether Percy knew it was Telemachus spying) or decided the stalker was no threat (which would be rude, but also true). At least the practice allowed the prince to find the perfect spot quickly to watch the fight go down.

His Sea-Boy didn’t disappoint. (Of course).

His movement was nearly too fast for the naked eye to see.

Percy didn’t hold back any longer, equally tired of being restrained by the narrow minds of humans as the prince was for him. In seconds, he had kicked the lame swing of Silas away, making his weapon fly through the air and embedding itself in one of the wooden manikins (straight through the head) while leveling the wooden sword in his hand at the older man’s throat in a lazy swish.

The smile that graced the demigod’s features was that of a lazy predator, wide and showing all his teeth. Without breaking eye contact with Silas, Percy held out his hand and caught the next training sword one of his friends threw him unprompted. It was passed to Silas while his Sea-Boy drew back and drawled: “Again.”

Macar didn’t have time to call the victor the next five spars either.

Because all encounters were over just as quickly, ending with Silas eating either sand or wood or even Percy’s fist one time. (It was by far the greatest thing Telemachus had ever seen. And judging by the lightness of his friend’s movement, the son of Poseidon was enjoying himself as well.)

When the captain of the guard finally intercepted the humiliation of his sword instructor, it was only to direct Percy to attack himself the next time. At once, the posture of the demigod changed and Telemachus perked up, instantly mirroring the wariness of his Sea-Boy.

It was uncanny how in touch with Percy’s every twitch the prince was. (And a thing of great pride for Telemachus as well).

He knew that the tick in the tanned cheek spoke for concentration, that the lifted corner of his mouth meant anticipation, that his glowing eyes screamed of hidden glee and the tightened fist around his sword was an indicator for Percy taking this more seriously.

Not that he needed to be concerned. Telemachus jaw crashed down when Macar, captain of the royal guard, most feared swordsman after all the warriors had left for war, and one of the only reasons for the suitors even attempting to remain civil, was brutally beaten in seven moves. Sword clanging on the ground, knee hitting the sand, the captain looked directly into the blade of Percy Jackson. 

The son of Poseidon didn’t look as smug as he could have. He respectfully stepped back and helped the captain up to his feet, before going to collect Macar’s sword himself.

“You underestimated me.”, the demigod proclaimed loudly when he handed the weapon back.

Telemachus clocked the lie instantly, but he realized just as quickly why his friend had said it.

Oh, how he loved seeing his clever Sea-Boy in action.

The prince swallowed harshly as his face heated up. Percy was clever enough to know that for the captain to lose against anyone would be considered a substantial weakness, enabling all kinds of nefarious plans and ploys both of ambitious guards and the suitors. So him saying it was some kind of luck to win should dissuade the more careful men from rebelling too quickly.

But Telemachus knew that it was only a question of time. Macar had still lost, and his position was in jeopardy because of it.

He needed to tell his mother about this, needed to make her aware of the danger lurking in the shadows, now fed by a perceived mistake of their greatest opposition.

Little did they know that nothing they could throw at the prince and the Queen would ever touch them as long as his Sea-Boy was around. If Percy protected them, Telemachus feared nothing but the gods themselves. And even then, it would depend on who exactly their enemy would be.

But no one besides Telemachus, his mother and Percy’s friend was aware of the legend living in their midst.

Macar wasn’t stupid, he also knew what the younger man had done and accepted the escape with a solemn nod: “It won’t happen again.” The captain proceeded to put away his sword slowly, before rounding on Silas, still sitting in the sand and nursing a bruise on his arm, the one visible eye hatefully stinted.

“You have disappointed me.”, Macar said, “I think it is time to return to the roots of your service within the royal guard on join your brothers back in their duty of guarding the grounds.”

Silas sneered: “You need someone to train the babes!”

“And I have him.”, was the captain’s reply as he pointed to Percy a few steps away, “Perseus has more than proven his capability.” Turning toward the demigod, he added: “I free you from all obligations outside of the palace. If needed, I will find someone else to take your place. From now on, you are to train the first- and second-year recruits to take their appointment test. Choose the time slots you think are adequate. You will get Silas’ rooms in the barrack of the commanding generals to plan your lessons. I will speak with the Queen about other compensations.”

“With all due respect sir, I don’t need other accommodations.”, Percy intercepted calmly as he glanced to the two soldiers guarding his back, “I’ll stay with my friends. But I would take the position of sword instructor, if it’s still open.”

“Very well. We will see about changing your schedule to reflect your new duties.”, Macar grumbled before heading out of the arena with a sharp: “Guards dismissed!”

Telemachus would have loved nothing more than to sprint down into the arena and fall into the strong embrace of his demigod to congratulate him and celebrate together. Training other soldiers was far less time-consuming than all the useless exercises and punishments that had eaten up Percy’s time until now. Not only would his new position give him way more freedom and respect, but it also allowed him to do something he enjoyed.

And, as an absolutely selfish boon for the prince, it gave them more excuses to be seen together. All in all, a favorable outcome. Especially since, as sword instructor, it was Percy's responsibility to not only train the guard, but also Telemachus, if the prince wished it.

And he absolutely did.

So yeah, Telemachus wanted to be down there by his friend’s side desperately, but it wasn’t that easy. For one, all the other soldiers had already surrounded his Sea-Boy, slapping his back good naturally and expressing their happiness about his new appointment, and for the other, Telemachus still needed to keep the bigger picture in mind. This shift in power dynamics amongst the guard was sure to make some kind of waves with the residents of the palace, and the suitors were not to be underestimated. As such, his mother the Queen should be informed as quickly as possible.

With a heavy heart, the prince decided to do his duty first, even though his heart longed for something else. He would just tell his Mom a short version for now and then go look for his Sea-Boy after. Maybe, if he was lucky, the young man would be alone and available to sneak away. They could spend the afternoon in their meadow and plan for the coming weeks…

-

Sadly, that plan turned out to be impossible, because as soon as Telemachus had stepped into the east wing on his way to his mother, he was accosted by no less than three scholars and emissaries, all of them demanding his attention instantly. Some wanted his opinion on some written scripture, others wanted a little feast to be thrown in their honor (although none said it like this outright) and the prince was caught up in the politics of the palace long enough for the midday meal to commence. After that he was expected to sit in on a meeting of the jewelers to discuss the new pearl trade that was sure to catch the mainland’s attention soon.

The tedious work stretched over the whole day, and every time Telemachus tried to sneak away, he was caught by a servant who asked politely to escort him to his next duty or lesson. When he was wholly fed up with it all, the sun had already set.

It was unwise to seek out his mother this late in the day. Seeing him entering her Queen’s chambers could only draw the wrong kind of attention, leading the suitors to believe that she could still be bothered at this time of day.

So, the prince waited for the next morning and their breakfast together to speak about Percy’s new position and the implications (and chances) of it. His mother, being the well-connected Queen that she was, had already heard the gist of it, but when Telemachus started to give his own report on the events that previous day, she listened quietly and attentively.

When he ended (a little breathless and flushed from describing Percy’s fighting prowess), Penelope simply spread a bit more jam on her bread before humming: “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart, but you shouldn’t have worried. Macar came straight to me yesterday to tell me himself of his supposed disgrace.”

Telemachus tilted his head, surprised by the uncaring way in which his mother spoke. She didn’t sound worried at all about the exposed weakness of her captain of the guard. But maybe she had already heard the whispered rumors about it from her handmaidens and decided they weren’t that bad. Perhaps he should implore his own contacts into gathering a bit more gossip. There were for sure some interesting things among it, most likely about Percy, and if the prince never grew tired of hearing about one thing, it was for sure his son of Poseidon.

But his mother had different plans for the rest of their dinner than revel in daydreams.

“I’ve already had a delightful conversation with your little crush the other day.”, she purred with a sly little smirk on her lips, before taking a big bite of her meal. She chewed deliberately slowly, reveling in the gaping disbelief on Telemachus’ face.

“What?! Why? You never wanted to before.”, the prince stuttered, and his heart picked up its speed significantly. His mother had spoken with Percy? Face to face? Oh gods…

“I never said that. You were just very careful in keeping us apart, dear one.”, his mother said with an eyeroll before looking imploringly at her son, making his face turn even redder. Telemachus hadn’t known that she would notice his subtle efforts.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want them to meet at all, but the fear of them not getting long wasn’t unfounded. The Queen was a firm and fair leader, but her sense of decorum and pride just clashed with Percy’s more free-spirited nature and his penchant for not respecting people (or beings) higher than him that hadn’t earned it. Both of them were important to Telemachus, and the thought of them not liking each other was torturous enough to try and postpone their first conversation as long as possible.

That he wouldn’t be part of it such conversation at all had never even crossed his mind before. And the knowledge now left him reeling a bit, as his mother continued, completely unbothered by the news she had just dropped. 

“He is the new fighting instructor of my guard through the rules of combat. Of course, I needed to meet him and make sure he is no danger or threat.”, Penelope said plainly, not beating around the bush. Her blue eyes showed nothing of her thoughts and Telemachus felt the sweat roll slowly down his temple. Was the calm a good or a bad sign?

She freed the prince from his misery by finally saying: “I am sure you will be glad to hear that he is neither.”

A harsh breath left his lips, as Telemachus sagged back into his chair and crossed his arms petulant. He didn’t know how to deal with the confusing mix of relief and insult those words triggered.

He finally settled on pointing out: “I could’ve told you that directly.” The bratty tone in his voice didn’t went unnoticed by the prince or his mother and the Queen raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed with his attitude. Telemachus winced and mumbled an apology, before shyly asking the real reason for his inner tumult: “What…did you talk about?”

Did he impress you like he did me?

Did you like him?

The cheshire grin on Penelope’s face mirrored a cat that got a canary as she sipped queenly on her apple juice. “Look at you being interested all of a sudden.”, she drawled teasingly, lifting her hand to stroke across his cheek lovingly, “Why do you care this much? Are you afraid I would embarrass you in front of him?”

“No! Of course not”, Telemachus jerked back, face still burning and voice creaking in a way it hadn’t done in ages. Growing up was a pain. Especially besides a demigod who appeared to never have any problems with his changing body or the uncomfortable stage of his voice deepening. Telemachus had seen Percy during those stages in his dreams, but his Sea-Boy was annoyingly perfect even in the awkward time between boy and man.

And what a stage that had been for Percy…

But Telemachus couldn’t lose himself in thoughts of son of Poseidon (later…in the safety of his room and his bed)… Not when his mother still hadn’t shared what their conversation had been about.

With demurely (shyly) lowered eyes, the prince asked quietly: “…but did you?”

The Queen hummed: “Did I do what?” She was absolutely playing with him. Her twitching lips were a dead giveaway.

“Embarrass me. Please, Mom, don’t torture me like this!”, Telemachus whined and sagged even deeper into his chair, shoulders pulled up defensively. His sour face finally moved the Queen to give up on her scheme to torture him. She chuckled a bit before reaching over the table to take his hand. She caressed his knuckles lovingly.

“Oh my sweet boy. Don’t worry.”, Penelope purred soothingly. Her eyes twinkled in joy when she added mischievously: “He is as smitten with you as any man could ever be. We just spoke about his new responsibilities and the advantage the position comes with. I only remarked on you, and he was already smiling so fondly that I thought for a second I was looking into your father’s face. You are very lucky, Telemachus.” The last part was spoken with so much love (either for him or his father), that it warmed the prince’s chest and made the anxiety draw back a bit.

He felt a bit gooey when he answered: “I know.”

Percy was indeed quite the catch. Even without all the mythical properties of his blood or the fact he was from another time, the young man was a prime example of kindness and strength and devotion.

Telemachus wasn’t delusional. He knew that he was falling (had already fallen) hard and fast. And unafraid. Having Percy Jackson care about you like that would make anyone feel this way.

Which was why the prince was so conscious of all the other attention the demigod received. Because Telemachus’ eyes weren’t the only ones following the demigod hungrily. 

“But you need to be careful.”, pulled the Queen him back into the conversation. Her face was grave and serious when she cautioned: “The suitors know about him now. You have been seen together one too many times without an escort. And the way you treat each other is not very subtle. Your…friendship, is no longer a secret. Especially with his new position.”

“I know.”, Telemachus said once more, this time without the carefree smile. He had known that their relationship would be discovered eventually. In all honesty, he was surprised it had stayed hidden this long, but maybe they were just really good at staying undetected. At least there was no more reason for not approaching the other man openly now. It would make meeting up much easier. 

Penelope had watched him closely, calculating, before she sipped her juice once more and mused: “Good. You do not seem overly worried about your or his safety, so I see no reason to deprive you of your happiness any more. You may meet with him whenever you like. No more sneaking necessary. It was a pitiful attempt anyway.”

Her gaze softened a bit and when blue met caramel, there was a teasing edge in the Queens expression. She sighed: “But he is a fully fletched guard now, an instructor even, so do make sure not to distract him too much during his shifts, dear. Your gazes can be dangerous.”

Telemachus choked a bit on his drink as he was called out on their secret rendezvous this plainly. With burning ears burned he quietly contemplated that this had to be one of the worst breakfasts he ever had with his Mom. She was just not letting up on her teasing (and she was good at it too!). The prince thought that his ears would fall off for sure if they were this hot for any longer.

But the Queen didn’t show any mercy as she smugly grinned in approval: “It does not take much to draw a man’s eyes away from his duty, I expect you to not become a hindrance for Perseus. He is particular weak to your charm.” She raised her glass in a proud toast and Telemachus relaxed a little.

However their conversation had gone, it was sure that Penelope was not against Percy being part of Telemachus life. The way she spoke and needled him about it was even more telling, making obvious that she also wasn’t opposed to them becoming something…different.

The prince knew his mother had keen senses and good eyes when it came to people and their hidden agendas and emotions. She wouldn’t have survived in court this long otherwise. So hearing her say something like this boosted his self-esteem greatly. Especially as it matched his own observations.

As oblivious as Percy was, his bodily reactions were never subtle (or lying). And the demigod was definitely attracted to Telemachus on some level. (His hand lingered as well when they touched, and there had been times when Percy choked on his breath when the prince leaned closer).

Which was gratifying beyond compare.

It was quite easy for Telemachus to smugly reply: “I know, thank you.”

Penelope hummed in agreement, watching her son preen silently for a while, before she sat her cup down. While crossing her legs, Telemachus noted that his mother’s face changed to something more evaluating. She was leaving the motherly concern behind and became the politician she had been raised to be.

It was easy for the prince to catch her mannerism after years of practice, so he wasn’t surprised when his mother asked coyly: “And do you plan to do something about that? Others have already noticed his many impressive deeds and I hear he is very loved in the city. Both of you are, actually.”

“That’s just Percy. It is so very easy to lo-like him.”, Telemachus admitted fondly. Not daring to look into his mother’s eyes again, he prayed to the gods that she would not investigate his slip of tongue.

Whoever was listening took pity on the prince and made his mother instead focus on something else.

“Hm…I already told you how it took me spelling out my intentions clearly for your father to stop dancing around. I can see you are not yet ready to be that direct, but maybe a little…gesture, to set the right expectations for those watching might not be amiss. I fear your paramour may not be able to discern genuine friendliness from unwanted advances, and we wouldn’t want him to get tangled in some courtship he does not want, would we?”, the Queen idly wondered while watching her nails. She appeared disinterested, but Telemachus knew his mother. Her advice was not said without reason. Either she knew of some concrete plan to trap his Sea-Boy, or there were at least rumors about it.

Both things made the prince grit his teeth in anger. “No, we would not.”, Telemachus growled possessively, his hand gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. “I guess it is simply my duty as a good…friend, to prevent misunderstandings of that kind by declaring myself.”, he added with forced detachment that fooled no one.

The Queen’s proud little smirk was hidden behind a hand. “What a wise decision, my son.”, she purred, “But do try to not embarrass the poor boy, I feel like he really has no clue about how such things are done here.”

She couldn’t be more correct if she knew the truth about Percy’s origin. As far as Telemachus knew, courting in the future looked completely different. Eventually, Telemachus might’ve tried that route, in a few months maybe, when he felt the waters were safer for his advances, but maybe he should just stick with what he knew and explain it to Percy later on.

It would be a first step, giving them some time to figure out their emotions before starting to court for real. (Or only Percy’s. Telemachus was more than ready to face the burning feeling in his heart and groin, but his demigod was a little slow sometimes.)

As to what he should do for a gesture…well, this wasn’t the first time he had thought about something like this. So the prince simply said: “Don’t worry, Mom. I already have just the right thing in mind.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows again: “Oh? Do tell me when the time comes. I would very much like to see that first step play out.”

Telemachus grinned: “I will. Thank you for your advice!”  

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS realized that his mother had been right in her worry not even two days later.

Percy had been hounded by other guards and trainees nearly all day yesterday, answering questions and figuring out what schedules for training worked best with their shifts and other obligations. (His Sea-Boy was considerate like that).

That was why it took ages for the demigod to slip away and meet up with a pouting prince in their meadow in the early evening. Luckily, Percy had brought some snacks and leftover bread from breakfast, so they could stay hidden in their little corner of the world for the rest of the day. His Sea-Boy was smiling for the first time in weeks. And Telemachus felt his knees grow weak upon that glorious sight.

How could anyone be this alluring simply by showing their blinding white teeth in that devastatingly crooked way? It was unfair, really, to expect anyone to think straight when faced with a happy Percy Jackson.   

They finally caught up with each other, and the prince got the official version of events that led to his Sea-Boy being promoted to swords trainer. The threat of whipping was left out (and Telemachus couldn’t figure out if it was for Silas’ sake or his own…), but the son of Poseidon was obviously very satisfied (and proud) of his accomplishments and Telemachus did his best to validate his friend’s feelings. The hug he gave him in congratulations was warm and firm, lingering long after the appropriate amount of time had passed, but none of them made a move to pull away.

They stood in their meadow, entangled with each other, for at least ten minutes. Just basking in their shared warmth. Telemachus savored the feeling of a strong and defined chest supporting his own as he burrowed his head perfectly in the conjuncture of Percy’s shoulder and neck.

It felt so damn good to be held like this. Being fully surrounded by the feeling and smell of his amazing person was curing all the depressive thoughts and grumpiness Telemachus had stored away for weeks.

He mourned quietly when the demigod pulled back eventually.

They sat down on the cold ground, remarking about bringing blankets next time, and started to plan and organize the demigod’s new tasks efficiently. Percy, kind and selfless as he was, wanted to expand his teachings beyond the guard and include some hours where he would go down to the city to watch the training grounds and offer advice to those who asked. Telemachus adored his dedication to the people enough to swallow down the painful sting of jealousy. But only after he got his own personal lessons in exchange, three times a week for at least two hours each time, as well as at least a free afternoon or evening every day for the demigod to have some time for himself. The son of Poseidon rolled his eyes over the last one, but agreed with a blinding smile when Telemachus proposed to spend that part of the day together as well.

“You could finally teach me real English.”, the prince mused, “We could have a secret language that way.”

Percy smiled softly: “Sounds amazing!”

After figuring out the logistics, Telemachus overcame his shyness and asked his Sea-Boy to be the model for one of his newest drawings. He spun some tale about wanting to improve his skills in sketching faces, particularly eyes, and his friend agreed easily, not knowing that the prince had more than enough chances to practice those last few months when Percy would fall asleep by his side.

Triumphant on the inside, Telemachus directed the demigod to lie down on his back, hands behind his head, while he himself sat down very close, knees gracing Percy’s ribs. The muscles in the demigod’s arms were deliciously stretched and moved slightly with each of his breaths. With fake coyness, the prince asked: “Would it be okay if I drew on your chest? I need to be closer to your eyes.”

“Yeah, no problem.”, came the answer with a suspiciously scratchy voice and burning sea-green eyes. The son of Poseidon made sure not to twitch when Telemachus gently placed his sketchbook right between Percy’s pectorals, caressing them absentmindedly with the end of his pen. The prince felt some sort of primal satisfaction as he noticed the shiver that spread through the muscled body beneath him.

While he drew the first outlines, Telemachus made sure to stroke either his wrists or his fingers regularly along the other man’s torso. Over his ribs or down his sides, scratching lightly across the seams of his tunic on his lower belly. The vicious joy he got from every little twitch under his ministrations made the prince forget his original objective very quickly. He found joy in mapping out the his Sea-Boy’s most ticklish and sensitive spots, trying not to think about the use he might draw out of it one day (hopefully).

Percy stayed remarkedly still for about half an hour, before a caress very close to his hips made him jump up hastily. The demigod avoided Telemachus’ eyes with a very red face before he came up with a flimsy excuse and dashed away, back to the barracks.

The prince was more than satisfied with that outcome and didn’t chase after his friend, even if his belly was nearly exploding from heat and want. (And he was sure the hardness he’d felt earlier hadn’t been the demigod’s belt...)

-

His decision to finally do something to cement his place at Percy’s side (or Percy’s at his?) was proven right the next day. And every day after that for about a week.

Because whenever Telemachus had a free minute in his own schedule of meetings and lessons in language and diplomacy, he sprinted away to the arena on the palace grounds, eager to see his Sea-Boy teach his first lessons. Of course, he knew that Percy would excel at them. The demigod had learned his skills under many different masters, the harshest of which was probably war itself, but he also had a knack for dealing with people. His expertise and kind patience made him a truly outstanding teacher in everything he touched.

Was that a demigod-thing? Simply being good at everything?

Though Telemachus wasn’t the only one to recognize that.

It started small, with a few of the stable boys peaking their heads into the arena, eager to see the new sword instructor for themselves. They lingered for a few minutes, before sneaking away. The prince saw it all from his perch higher up in the stands. On the next day, they were back, accompanied by a few giggling servants who all lounged on the lower seats of the arena, staying for the duration of the whole hour of drills.

It didn’t help the bitter sting in Telemachus’ heart that Percy was wearing far too loose clothing during his instructions, which always slipped over his shoulder, revealing a lot of tanned skin and even the blink of a nipple once or twice. It hadn’t been an issue when it had only been the prince and the other guards present (and watching). Mostly because all the others had been far older than them or were close friends of his Sea-boy, but now, with the additional audience, it felt like his friend was being taken advantage of.

It was obvious that most of the people weren’t there to learn something about sword fighting, but to ogle at his demigod like he was a delicious piece of meat (which he was, no question, but at least Telemachus had liked the man for his personality first! … It didn’t even help that the prince was the only one being allowed close enough to touch Percy outside of the arena... although that knowledge stroked his ego immensely.)

Far worse than the noisy palace people, who at least had the decency to stay away after the ending of a training lesson, getting their eye candy and leaving Percy otherwise alone, were the citizens of the city.

As frowned upon as it was for women to be seen out and about for something else than their duty to the household, it did not stop most of the younger girls from sneaking around the training grounds whenever Percy had a shift there. Telemachus witnessed it twice himself, before he ordered a trusted little servant (his name was Markos, an eager son from one of his mother ladies-in-waiting) to keep a permanent eye on the demigod and to stop any and all approaches that weren’t about receiving help with the sword. He even gave the boy a few missives that ordered the young trainer to return to the palace as an alibi for Markos’ interfering. He needed to use them regularly.

Percy for sure caught onto the scheme of the prince, but did nothing except smile fondly whenever the ‘urgent business’ turned out to be a bored and grumpy Telemachus. The demigod simply pulled him along down to the beach to either spend time on the sandy ground or in the shallow waters together.

But even that was only a temporary fix at best.

The green eyed monster in Telemachus’ chest wouldn’t shut up until something changed.  

Women, as his mother had taught him early, could be more vicious than monsters and beasts in their pursuit of something they wanted. And most of the women frequenting the arena obviously wanted Percy.

Whether it was as a lover or even a potential husband, all of it raised Telemachus hackles in burning jealousy previously unknown to the prince. He was halfway done with finding an excuse for his Sea-Boy to give up on his endeavor in the city altogether, before he finally remembered the talk with his mother and her advice.  

It would no longer be enough to simply make a declaration for the people of the palace, when most of his (pathetic) competition was down in Ithaca’s city.

The thought of such a bold move in front of the citizens left Telemachus’ heart beating frantically, but the idea of Percy really being trapped into some kind of romantic or (gods above) sexual arrangement he didn’t want (hopefully) by thirsting women was enough to get the prince’s priorities straight.

Telemachus would not let his Sea-Boy go without a fight. Or at least not without trying his luck and making a move. Especially as he remembered all those little moments where he was sure the demigod reciprocated his advances unconsciously. As far as the prince knew, Percy didn’t spend his time with anyone else in the quantity he did with him, and even his soldier-friends were never touching the demigod like Telemachus was allowed to.

After another few days of growing frustration, the prince was finally ready to implement his plans. He collected everything he needed from his room and the kitchens, mind racing and palms sweaty.

Today would be the day. His day.

He was about to meet Percy down by the palace doors to go into the city together for the demigod’s new (chosen) duties, where he would finally show his intentions.

Since his promotion, his Sea-Boy was less concerned with them being seen together. Not that Telemachus had ever cared before that, but not having to beg his friend to walk the gardens together was quite a boon regardless. Especially since Percy had shyly requested more than once if Telemachus would mind playing his lyre for him there. The prince had never sprinted to his room to retrieve the instrument faster.

But now, they were set to meet at the doors, which were already in sight, when Telemachus was pulled back roughly by the scruff of his chiton.

He twisted instantly out of the grip keeping him back, having learned a few tricks from watching some of the wrestling matches of the guard and Percy’s offhanded comments. But while the prince managed to rip his clothes free, he was not fast enough to evade the hand closing around his bicep. The grip was tight and stinging and the unfamiliar sensation made Telemachus gasp unwillingly.

His eyes focused on his assailant, while his mind was reeling, searching for the guard he was sure must be around somewhere. He hadn’t walked fast enough to lose them. But the soldier that had been tasked to accompany him today was nowhere to be seen, leaving him alone and unprepared to face the threat of a slightly drunken suitor.

Because Telemachus knew the man that pressed closer to him than appropriate, the smell of sour wine in his breath and eyes slightly unfocused (but not enough to be taken advantage of).

Dark skin and dark hair that was twisted into long braids with shorn sides like that could only belong to one particular specimen of those disgusting men vying for his mother.

Antinous.

He was a relatively new face amongst the suitors, having only arrived two years prior. He was the son of Eupeithes, a noble that was both rich and well regarded in Ithaca for his great contribution toward the war’s food stock when Odysseus had first set sails.

The man’s family hailed from the mainland of Greece, and Antinous himself was known for his cruel demeanor and disregard of those he saw as weaker than himself. Ever since he had set the first foot inside the palace, he had drawn attention to himself with his cocky and arrogant attitude, that was sadly backed by bulging muscles and (as Telemachus now knew thanks to seeing a real master) mediocre skills with a weapon. He was loud and proud and challenging. Within a few weeks, he had already gained respect and admiration among the suitors, gathering a crowd of supporters and becoming some kind of leader to them. He was the reason for most of Macar’s headaches ever since.

Telemachus himself had been lucky enough not to draw his attention personally. Until now.

The larger man tried to maneuver him out of the direct sight of the open doors further down the hall, but the prince shifted his center of gravity (like he had seen Percy do so many times) to avoid being pushed around by the other’s strength. When Antinous realized that only his upper body moved, the suitor fletched his teeth and tightened his grip painfully. Telemachus winced as his heart sped up in fear.

What were the chances of his Sea-Boy seeing his plight?

“Boy.”, Antinous sneered, “How nice of you to show your pretty face. I was just on my way to your mother. Join me.”

It wasn’t a request, and the way the older man tried to domineer him through sheer physicality was indeed quite intimidating. Or rather, it would have been even more, had Telemachus not seen battle and death by his demigod’s side. Lived through a divine war with his friend and beat the scariest of Titans. He had walked amongst gods and monsters already.

This one was just wearing a different face.

Recalling that knowledge was the only thing keeping Telemachus from fully panicking.

He knew why Antinous wanted to drag him along to his mother. The Queen had hauled herself up in the royal wing, asking not to be disturbed for the day to deal with some urgent mail. No one was granted entry in the wing anyway, but with this explicit order, the guards around the halls had been switched to some very loyal soldiers that had served Penelope and Odysseus for years. No one would be sneaking past them, so the suitors’ only chance of seeing the Queen today was a personal invitation from a royal.

Which Telemachus was by default.

Perhaps the vile man had expected the prince to be a shivering and weak little boy, easy to push around…

And in a way, he was right. Despite all the things Telemachus had seen (or dreamed about), being face to face with someone older, stronger and crueler, was a whole different experience than seeing it as a silent spectator.

This was a real threat, made to him. Alone in a corridor. With no weapon or escape in sight.

The pain in his arm didn’t help at all.

The feeling of helplessness was as annoying as it was frightening, but the knowledge that Percy was probably near enough to intervene, should things go really wrong, made Telemachus brave enough to spat: “I think not. I am expected elsewhere. Leave me be.”

“Are you now?”, leered the dark man with glittering eyes. Antinous leaned down, so that his mouth was hovering right beside Telemachus’ ear, teeth grazing skin in some form of vile caress, nibbling on the lobe. Disgust and shame traveled up the prince’s spine as the man pressed closer, growling both threatening and smooth: “Bet I am far better company…Maybe we should-“

Antinous didn’t get a chance to finish that suggestion.

A blur of brown leather, black hair and blazing sea-green eyes was suddenly between them, pushing the man away with a precisely aimed punch. The pommel of a sword was buried in the side of the suitor, hitting the kidney and extracting a pained grunt as the man was forced to let go of Telemachus and step back.

The prince felt a warm and gentle hand press against his sternum, pushing him softly behind the broad back of his savior, which was (of course) none other than the furious son of Poseidon that had stolen his heart.

Telemachus breathed in relief, shoulders sagging as he felt the mighty presence of the demigod. Heat traveled through his body as the adrenalin and panic crashed over the prince.

The air seemed to vibrate with restrained power, pressing down onto Telemachus like a heavy, protective blanket. For Antinous, it must’ve been far less pleasant, because the man actually flinched back a bit when the burning gaze of someone divine settled on him.

“Are you alright my Prince?”, Percy growled, his eyes not leaving the perceived threat, but the warm hand on his chest was moving in slow and soothing circles subconsciously. Telemachus felt a pleasant warmth spread in his body, caused both by the movement and the possessive address from his Sea-Boy. His blood calmed. He felt heat creep up into his cheeks as he stuttered: “Yes, than-“

“Bastard! Who do you think you are?”, spat Antinous in this moment, drawing himself back up to his full height, trying to intimidate them once more. Sadly for the suitor, Percy himself had grown quite a lot, meeting the other man at eye level, not even twitching as he was snarled at like an animal.

Up until now, the prince had never truly thought about their height difference beyond some stray ideas about how nice his head fit against the other’s shoulder or how easy it would be for Percy to manhandle him (most of those daydreams happened in the safety of his bedroom). But in the face of a much older person, who had tried to intimidate Telemachus through his physical superiority, it was satisfyingly vindictive to see his Sea-Boy do the very same thing back. And with much more success as well.  

Telemachus may not have been able to see his Sea-Boy’s expression, but the darkness in his voice was unmistakable proof of his displeasure. The prince would’ve bet everything he owned that those lovely eyes were blazing right now, as they often did when the demigod was enraged. The swirling, changing color would be physical evidence of his power to control mighty storms just like his father. If he so wished.

“To you? An enemy.”, Percy stated unshakably, before hissing a vicious warning: “I would suggest keeping your filthy hands to yourself and off my Prince if you want to keep them.”

Antinous laugh was mocking and rough: “A threat? How fun. Pity you don’t have the right to threaten anyone under xenia, guard. I could have you executed for that.” Menacingly, the dark man took a step closer, grinning viciously at Telemachus over Percy’s shoulder, a threat and challenge clear in his gaze. The demigod instantly shifted, blocking the path even further before pushing himself into the suitor’s space.

“I would like to see you try.”, the son of Poseidon snorted, not even pretending to be fearful.

He was right to be confident, of course. As if Telemachus would let anyone threaten his Sea-Boy with execution. He was the prince of this palace. If it came to it, his words would outweigh them all. And he would let Antinous hang, diplomacy be damned, before anyone touched Percy Jackson. (Not to mention the godly wrath the imbecile would have to face for even suggesting such a thing. Telemachus deliberated what would be more satisfying: Lord Poseidon ripping him apart with vicious sharks or Lady Kymopoleia drowning him for ages.)

But Antinous wasn’t ready yet to admit defeat this easily, drawing a small dagger from his belt.

“Arrogant brat!”, the suitor snarled as he lunged forward.

From his position behind Percy, it looked almost playfully easy as the demigod caught the blade with his bracer. Percy then brought his arm up with a swift jerk. Antinous, completely surprised by his opponent's quick reflexes, subconsciously loosened his grip enough for the dagger to fall from his hand. The momentum of the parry sent the blade careening upward, cutting across the suitor’s face with vengeance, only missing the eye by a hair’s breadth.

The blade fell to the ground with a loud clang.

Antinous cried in pain and staggered back, but the son of Poseidon wasn’t yet done. As the first droplets of blood fell to the ground, the demigod pulled the older man closer by his chiton, head beside his ears, mirroring the exact same pose Antinous had forced upon Telemachus.

His brilliant Sea-Boy whispered poisonously: “Maybe I won’t get to take your hands now, but your eye is a fair first price for daring to touch my Prince.” The then pushed the bleeding man back before calling, loud enough for his voice to echo through the halls and into the nearest chambers: “Oh no, whatever happened to you, sir? Did you slip in your drunken stupor? My, look at your eye!” There was too much smugness in the demigod’s voice to be the slightest bit convincing, but Telemachus gave him points for creativity.

From the corner of his eye, he saw some other guards step out of a room and the prince decided to help out by stating: “There are some very sharp stones in the wall. Better make your way to the infirmary now, Antinous. Ask for Hyginus, he will take care of this.”

Telemachus sounded cold even to his own ears, but he couldn’t care less. His hands searched for Percy’s, pulling his Sea-Boy away from the scene and in the direction of the exit. The demigod followed instantly, his gaze still hefted upon the suitor, until they were finally under the shining sun and out of reach.

While the situation had unsettled him, Telemachus wanted to leave this whole thing behind quickly.

He had something better to do with his day.

Namely, to satisfy the possessive burn in his heart. He couldn’t contain the proud smile upon Percy’s defense of him. This fierce side of the demigod got his blood pumping mercilessly.

Telemachus’ gesture could not wait any longer.

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS’ mouth was dry and parched from all the nerves fluttering in his chest.

The arena near the city center was as full as it always was, since Percy had started offering his services as an instructor. Men of all ages, from children to seniors, were milling about the place, striking straw targets or sparring with wooden weapons against one another. It was chaotic and cluttered, with little space to maneuver or move at all. It wasn’t helped by all the spectators around the place, taking up the very few benches and filling the air with muttered conversations and high giggles.

However his Sea-Boy managed to focus on this many people at once was a miracle in Telemachus’ eyes. Something he had thought impossible for everyone else, but somehow, Percy’s brain just seemed to click, to strive, with so many stimuli around him.

He only let go of the prince’s hand when they truly stepped onto the sandy ground, sending him an apologetic, crooked smile before being pulled away by some children vying for his attention. Telemachus was used to this by now, finding his way easily through the crowd, the people skirting back for their prince. He still heard whispering and hastily hushed conversations around him, but it was by far less than the first time he had accompanied the demigod. By now, most citizens knew they were seen together more often than not.

Whatever other rumors they spread about them were of no concern for Telemachus. Even the most scandalous ones wouldn’t even come close to the truth (that they were friends for years, connected through magical dreams and destiny). Seeing as his mother wasn’t opposed to them being seen out and about (knowing fully well how much gossip it would spread), the prince figured he had no reason to stop following his heart’s desire.

Especially since he was about to throw even more wood into the already burning fire that was Ithaca’s rumor mill.

He couldn’t wait for all of them to truly see how deep his connection with Percy ran. And that no one had a chance to challenge him for his place by the demigod’s side.

For a second, the prince contemplated if he was about to do something immoral. His Sea-Boy hadn’t grown up with their customs or views. It was very likely that he wouldn’t understand what the prince was about to do. Would he be angry once he found out?

Would Percy, rightfully, see it as an invasion of his personal autonomy? Telemachus would shape a picture of him in the eyes of everyone, without Percy having any say in it or even knowing it was about to happen. He was practically forcing himself upon his friend. And no good intention could ever make it the right thing to do. It was selfish, born out of his own insecurity.

Telemachus remembered his mother’s words about oblivious man and his father needing to be forced onto the right path by his future Queen. It turned out great for them.

The prince decided to just do it. Even if only for his own peace of mind.

If Percy was truly against the insinuation once he found out, the prince would rather take the broken heart and anger over the crippling uncertainty he was forced to live with now. He wanted to be like his mother here; Brave enough to woe the person of his heart himself, instead of waiting for something that might never come. (And not because his Sea-Boy might feel different, but more so because he would just be too slow to grasp it in time). However unconventional (or immoral) it may be.

Telemachus ignored the whispering thoughts of duty and legacy, the murmur about how he was the sole heir and had a responsibility to his kingdom. His heart didn’t care at all. Once he had his Sea-Boy, they could (and would) tackle all those problems together. They were powerful and resourceful enough to take on anything the old advisors would throw at them. And with Percy’s background, maybe, if Telemachus could be charming (deserving) enough when he met his Underwater-Family, they might even have a few divine supporters in their corner. As much as Lord Poseidon obviously loved his son, someone standing in the way of their love would not be something the god could allow (if Percy truly wanted Telemachus as much as the prince wanted the demigod).

But first things first: Telemachus needed to make those many simpering people fluttering their lashes at Percy back the fuck off. Soon.

Because right now, as the prince was leaning against a lone column by the side of the arena, he already saw how his demigod was surrounded by admirers. Again. Caught between girls that couldn’t be older than twelve, young women with demure veils and even some postering young man, Percy looked lost and overwhelmed with all the attention that had nothing to do with the sword in his hand.

Telemachus saw the tick in his jaw and the way he swept a hand through his hair twice in half a minute as the call for help it most likely was. The demigod may have smiled politely and answered their inquiries, but the way he twisted out of oh-so-innocent touches and practically sprinted away to help someone with their stance was more than clear.

The prince deliberated making his move right now, but the crowd was still very dense and teeming. Additionally, his Sea-Boy was now actually helping quite a lot of young fighters. According to the honest grin on his face, he enjoyed the task very much (even if it was always intertwined with other conversations and intentions).

So, Telemachus waited for another hour, gaze sweeping around and cataloging the faces of those that approached the demigod more than once to be close to him. It didn’t appear like Percy noticed, and there was no true interest in his expression directed at any of them, which calmed the prince’s boiling gut a bit.

Even when one young woman pressed herself really close against his arm, his Sea-Boy only raised an eyebrow. Not once his eyes dipped lower than the chin of the women, focused on her words and not her figure. But when she began to push herself up on her tiptoes, rubbing her bust all over Percy’s tan skin, every bit of the prince’s carefully curated patience snapped.

Before he could make the conscious decision to finally strike, his body was already moving on his own accord.

The atmosphere in the arena changed with Telemachus’ growing intent. The people around him felt the air shift and made room instantly, clearing a path for him, their eyes curious and hungry for drama.

Well, they would get fed very soon.

Percy, as always, was so in tune with his surroundings (or maybe just in tune with Telemachus) that his head snapped up immediately, and the sea-green eyes found him in the sea of people in the exact second that the prince called out: “Percy!”

The demigod straightened and brushed the girl on his arm away like she was just dust clinging to his clothes. Telemachus smiled victoriously and smug as she gasped in affront, but his gaze was fixed onto the figure of his Sea-Boy, turning to him instantly.

Their eyes interlocked and the world blurred.

The sun highlighted his broad shoulders under the form fitting leather armor. Percy’s stance, full of silent power and grace, ready to move at the drop of a hat (another idiom Telemachus had picked up in his dreams) was like a beacon in the dark, drawing the prince in like a moth to a flame. The scars peaking around his clothes gave the demigod the rugged look of some mysterious hero of old (which he was…kinda) and the sword, casually held by his side, underlined the troublemaker-smile that was so often seen on his face. Just like now.

Gods, how could anyone be this attractive?

Black hair, dark like the night, unruly and untamed as the person it belonged to, only parted by the one grey strand, was tousled and fell into Percy’s sharp face. His features were chiseled by an master carver of all arts and Telemachus could never hope to replicate his looks upon something as unworthy as paper.

He would never get the colors of him right anyway. Especially the piercing sea-green of his otherworldly eyes, gleaming and glittering like gemstones under the sun. How anyone could overlook his clear immortal heritage was the pinnacle of stupidity of humans. But Telemachus wasn’t complaining. The less others noticed, the more was there for him to worship (if Percy would let him).

Time moved slowly, as the prince’s hand finally found the thing in his chiton he had brought for exactly this purpose. This moment. His hand tightened carefully.

It was time.

The world seemed to hold its breath (or maybe it was just Telemachus) as all his focus narrowed down to the round object fitting perfectly in his palm. Then it happened very fast.

In one blink, he saw Percy’s questioning gaze and the next time the prince opened his eyes, they were on the apple sailing through the air.

It was a picture-perfect apple. One side was still green, sour and crisp like a refreshing morning, and the other side had an alluring red tinge, savory sweet and soft with sugary juice.

Telemachus didn’t know how Percy liked his fruit best, having seen him inhaling all kinds of food without regard for taste, so he wanted to cater to every possible whim of the demigod. The apple needed to be flawless.

And it was, a perfectly round fruit with a small brown stem, no impurities or wormholes in its firm skin. Telemachus had picked it himself from the hidden orchard behind the palace, which his mother had so painstakingly cultivated for years.

She had told him that only the royal family and the captain of the guard knew of the garden and all its hidden pathways. Odysseus had built the palace so that the orchard laid right between their bedchamber and Telemachus’ own rooms, connecting them through a hidden door in case of an emergency. It was only one of the many secrets the king had hidden inside his home. And while Telemachus already discovered some of them on his own, he knew there were many more he had yet to find.

Maybe, once his father was back and the palace was no longer overrun by stupid suitors, he and Percy could spend a few days truly investigating the architecture.

Assuming the demigod would not reject him before then.

For a second, Telemachus’ heart plummeted right through the floor when he remembered his bad aim and minuscular athletic abilities. He couldn’t even remember throwing the apple…what if it never even reached its (his) intended? Nothing would be more embarrassing than the fruit landing on the ground between them. The prince already felt faint just thinking about it.

But whatever deity was watching had mercy with him, making his aim and strength good enough to carry the apple perfectly over to the demigod. He felt the hundreds of eyes following the path of the fruit, as it was plugged from the air effortlessly by a big hand.

All the air rushed back into Telemachus’ lungs and his heart soared instantly, knowing what it meant for his Sea-Boy to catch the apple instantly (even though the demigod might not have the same knowledge).

It was as if Olympus itself was singing in elation and joy. Telemachus mind was still blank, just bathing in the self-satisfaction and smugness of a job well done.

Heat traveled through his body with tickling fingers as Telemachus watched transfixed how Percy lifted the apple, head cocked to the side in consideration. His glittering gaze flittered to the prince, before it swept over the watching crowd.

The demigod wasn’t stupid. He caught onto the tense silence and impatiently waiting people for sure, even though he was missing some important context clues. (Like the meaning of giving apples as presents to someone, especially after the whole debacle with Paris…)

Telemachus could practically see the thoughts drifting behind the pretty eyes, but whatever conclusion the demigod came to was hidden from everyone, even the prince.

It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Whatever Percy might do now; he had still caught the apple. Fast, and without hesitation. That was enough to make the gesture land. After the old (for Percy, even older, maybe even unknown) tradition, they were kind of (definitely) promised to each other.

Telemachus wanted to scream in joy.

Of course it was tentative at best, seeing as they were, for one, both male and, for the other, no patriarch of either of their household was present, but the intention was what counted in this case. Telemachus had boldly claimed, and his Sea-Boy had accepted (even unknowingly). That should be enough for everyone else to back off and give them time to figure things out at their own pace.

Maybe the jealously burning monster in the prince’s chest would finally retreat now.

Relief. Pure, devastating relief crashed into the prince’s mind and his lips turned into a shy little smile. Which froze on his face instantly as the demigod finally reacted to the (for him surely very strange) situation.

And in no way Telemachus could have ever anticipated.

Percy Jackson, ever the tease, slowly lifted the caught apple, his eyes not straying from Telemachus anymore, catching the caramel gaze of the prince and not letting him escape. The intense burn of sea-green fire was the perfect honey trap, as the demigod fluently set his lips again the taunt skin of the apple, perfectly placed between red and green. The demigod’s lips quirked into a sly, secretive smirk before he opened that bold mouth of his.

The crack of his bite echoed either through the whole arena or only in Telemachus’ head. But it vibrated through his bones either way, sending a delicious shiver down his spine.

The prince’s throat was constricted, and he felt a boiling heat slowly travel from his heart and soul down into his belly and groin. Telemachus couldn’t rip his eyes away, as his Sea-Boy ate the sweet flesh of the fruit like the temptation he was.

Especially when a small trail of juice dripped down the stubbly skin of his chin in a sinful, sticky path.

Telemachus wanted to follow the drops of sugary seduction with his tongue, taste the warm skin of the demigod, leave dark marks on his exposed throat and collar bones in a claim much more permanent than a thrown fruit.

Percy’s eyes glittered in amusement, as if he knew exactly what scandalous thoughts plagued the prince’s mind. The smirk on his lips as he chewed was no longer mischievous, but smug.

His Sea-Boy was devious enough to tease him (torture him) like that.

But Telemachus could play this kind of game as well. And he felt competitive enough to forget all rules of courtship and decorum.

The rest of the world didn’t exist in that moment.

He crossed the small gap between them in a few quick steps. The son of Poseidon awaited Telemachus calmly, blinking curiously. No one spoke when the prince gripped Percy’s wrist between his long, thin fingers. The fingers of a musician.

Pulling the hand that held the apple down to his own mouth was easy, seeing as the demigod didn’t resist the guiding at all. Their eyes stayed interlocked the entire time. Thousands of thoughts and feelings switching between them, but Telemachus was too distracted, too drunk from the high of having his plan working this well (too well), to distinguish any of them.  

Without blinking, the prince of Ithaca leaned in and took his own bite of the fruit, tasting the sweeter flesh of the red side, his mouth touching the edge of where Percy’s lips had been moments before. Only after he had drawn back and swallowed, Telemachus allowed himself to analyze the black holes that were Percy’s eyes. The irises were blown, nearly extinguishing all the turquoise color. There was a very visible blush right under them, the red matching the apple quite well.

His Sea-Boy locked exactly as ruffled as Telemachus felt. His heart was fluttering (nearly flying away) with how close they stood together now.

The smell of salt and sour apples was nearly overpowering.

But the voice of his mother in the back of his head advised him to stay calm. Telemachus had already earned very much through this interaction (even besides the very vivid daydreams he could now conjure of the demigod, his mouth and dripping juice), but there were still many more steps to go before he could taste the sweet victory of having who he wanted from the demigod’s lips himself.

For now, the prince needed to pull a bit of the tension, the weight, out of the situation. They were still very much in a public setting. And from how shallow his Sea-Boy breathed right now, he was nearly at the limit of how much obvious flirting his brain could take without combusting. A pity.

Telemachus had a few more tricks up his sleeve, but for now, he would show mercy to his Dearest.

“I never said you could have all of it.”, the prince pointed out with a steady (if deeper than usual) voice, eyes flickering from the apple to Percy in a joking reprimand.

He could practically see how the brain of his Sea-Boy needed a second to reboot. It was dangerously endearing and flattering. Telemachus needed to keep in his fond smile and the small chuckle that wanted to escape him. His mother had been right. Men were adorably easy to throw off track.

He wondered how much more he could push before the tight restraints around his Dearest snapped. Would his grip turn bruising? His lips hungry or his hands raving? How far could the son of a god lose himself in desire? Would Telemachus be devoured or worshiped?... Did that even make a difference for him?

There was so much left to learn…

But in the end, Percy found his words again. Even if they were stilted and dark like the abyss of the sea.

“I apologize.”, the demigod rasped, head bowed, but the burning flame of sea-green didn’t waver. Telemachus enjoyed the delicious tension between them. He preened when Percy purred the claiming little phrase: “My Prince.”

Telemachus knew that his Dearest saw his reaction and hurried to distract the other man by saying: “Nah, it’s okay. I like sharing with you.” The intent of the last sentence was made clear with a cool look at the people all around them, making them both more aware of the spectators.  

But I’m not sharing you.

From the corner of his eyes, the prince saw the women from before shuffle back and vanish in the crowd. His silent satisfaction was interrupted when Percy drew his attention again.

“I am honored then.”, the demigod grinned cheekily, the tension between them melting into something more innocent. Banter was always their default state of conversation. That made it easy for Telemachus to answer haughtily: “You are indeed. Don’t forget it in all the gracious work you do here.”

Oh, the prince was on fire right now. His words might sound kind and appreciative at first, but they also carried a hint of warning and apprehension, making it clear to everyone that Percy was only here because Telemachus hadn’t said anything against it yet. And Percy’s response made it so much better.

“I won’t.”

Sweet was the victory, as the citizens were forced to realize just how much his Sea-Boy valued Telemachus opinion and their time together. The prince would come first for the sword trainer. (Maybe not always yet, but most of the time. They had a long future ahead to work on the always though…) And that was the only thing he had wanted to make clear.

Telemachus truly loved that the demigod found so much joy in helping those who had little else. His friendly and approachable disposition was just perfect to become a hero of simple people. And as long as the citizens felt they had someone fighting for their rights and wants inside the palace, they had no reason to raise the voices themselves. And as long as it was Percy, there was at least no sleezy old politician exploiting them.

But that didn’t mean that his Sea-Boy belonged to the people. He didn’t even belong to Telemachus. But their bond was far greater regardless. It would triumph against nearly anything.

Now that his point was made, Telemachus had little reason to be disapproving of his Sea-Boy’s time spent down here.

Smiling like the cat that got the cream (which he had!), the prince said primly: “Very good. I need to leave for now, but I’ll look forward to our own lesson later.” Telemachus let go of the wrist still in his soft grip, but his finger lingered in the air for a second, before they settled gently in the hollow point of Percy’s throat, where once his pearl rested.

The gift that had brought the demigod back to him in the first place. And as much as he disliked the naked skin there now, Telemachus couldn’t be really sad. A little pearl, as perfect as it had been, was a small price to pay to have his Dearest back.

Back by his side.

Especially when the prince was allowed to touch him so easily. His naughty finger slowly dipped lower, painting a quivering line down to Percy’s collarbones. Goosebumps rose under the tanned skin and the prince leaned in a bit, until his mouth was as close to the demigod’s ear as possible without him standing on his tiptoes. Then Telemachus whispered as alluringly as possible: “Don’t be late.”

Percy swallowed. Hard. Telemachus felt it against his finger. The son of Poseidon sounded hoarse and darker than ever when he promised: “I wouldn’t dare.”

The prince didn’t need to see his Dearest’ face to know that he meant it. Fully satisfied with how the afternoon had turned out, Telemachus couldn’t suppress the smug purr as he voiced, deadly serious: “No. You wouldn’t”

Drawing back after, he turned around for one last, long look. With an enticing sway of his hips, the prince of Ithaca left behind the arena and the hundreds of gaping and scandalized people, as well as his fully flustered Sea-Boy.

Telemachus had never felt more invincible.

Chapter Text

PERCY had never felt more confused.

And aroused.

Like a train had run him over while dumping piping-hot lava all over his body. It was a rush of endorphins that refused to die down even after the cause for all of it was long gone.

It was such a strange feeling that the demigod couldn’t concentrate for the rest of his time in Ithaca’s city. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who felt strange today, because soon after Telemachus had left the arena, most of the watching people vanished as well, murmuring behind hidden hands and sending calculating glances his way.

Percy wasn’t stupid.

Of course he knew that, whatever his Dream-Boy had tried to achieve with his bold and sensual display, was the reason for the difference in people’s treatment of him. Where before there had been many thoughtless and casual touches (which always made him flinch if he didn’t see them coming in time), Percy was now given space in spades. Everyone seemed conscious of his movements, backing off before he came to close (if it wasn’t to actively try and help with a grip or stance).

The change was very welcome, if only because Percy was now able to turn his whole attention to the tasks at hand, not needing to keep his awareness sharp to notice any approaching people (or threats).

But he simply could not pinpoint which nuance of the prince’s actions he had missed that caused such drastic adjustment of everyone around. Was sharing food such a novelty here? Did it insinuate something the demigod had no idea about?

(Somewhere very deep in his mind, a dusty drawer rattled in the dark with some lecture from Annabeth years ago about fruits in ancient Greece, but Percy lost the feeling pretty quickly when he thought back to Telemachus little act.)

Well, obviously it had been a somewhat…lewd display of closeness between him and the prince. Percy had been stunned for a second after he had caught the apple, too distracted by the sudden hunger in Telemachus’ expression to register that his body had reacted all on its own. The prince’s dark look and confident grin had sent a pleasant shiver down the demigod’s spine instantly.

Telemachus’ gesture of care, in making sure Percy had enough to eat during his busy day, was a very sweet sentiment of the prince, but there was obviously more behind it.

(Not even considering everything that came after…)

In hindsight, Percy blushed horribly while thinking back to just how close he had been to give into his instincts and pulling the other man even further into his space. The sudden urge to feel that breathtaking body of his prince against his own had been nearly overpowering, just as the wish to close that smart mouth with his own. The son of Poseidon had been shocked by his own lecherous thoughts.

He had never wanted to kiss anyone before.

Especially not like this. (Would the sweetness of the apple be even more enticing if it came from the plush lips of his Dream-Boy?... Most definitely).

Percy knew just how irresistible and forward Telemachus could be. Flirting and teasing was in his blood, given and taught by the Queen as a means of control. And it worked. Really well, actually. Especially for Percy.

The demigod wasn’t even sure if Telemachus was aware of all the times he slipped back into the habit, fluttering his eyes enticingly or smirking that cute little grin that drove Percy crazy. He tried his best not to take it too seriously, not wanting to make his friend uncomfortable by pointing it out.

It wasn’t as if the demigod was bothered by it at all. The flirting and touching was kind of nice, and never overpowered the connection of genuine care and friendship they shared. It was more of an added bonus (that fed into Percy’s delusional daydreams more often than not, to his mediocre shame. But hey, who would judge him? Telemachus was a beautiful man!)

Keeping the whole of their complex and deep relationship in mind, the demigod hadn’t been too surprised by his friend’s dramatics. Sharing food was not unusual for them, even if eating from the same fruit was a first. But the apple had been delicious and big enough for both of them to get a piece, so Percy saw no problem in letting the other man have a bite.

He had gotten the most hypnotizing view as a reward, when Telemachus’ pretty pink lips spread sensual and arousing around the red skin, hooded eyes never leaving the demigod.

But that was just Percy’s hormonal brain talking. He was sure that the prince had meant nothing by it. And either way, none of that should’ve been a reason for people to suddenly give him space and stop their approaches with random questions and stories. 

When he tried to ask Elpenor and Perimedes later on the way back to the palace, even his friends were dodgy about the subject, not looking him straight in the eye and walking a few feet further away than normally. Percy shut that behavior down very quickly when he pulled Elpenor in a headlock and demanded answers. Perimedes laughed heartily, before he came to help the other soldier in fighting him off. The son of Poseidon let them win easily, and soon they were smiling and joking like always, pushing against shoulders and clapping backs like silly schoolboys.

Shortly before they split up (Elpenor was ordered to keep an eye on the suitors and Perimedes had to guard one of the many gardens) the older of the two stopped Percy from walking away to the personal lesson he had promised Telemachus.

“Maybe you should speak to his Royal Highness. If you don’t know-“, Perimedes interrupted himself with a rueful smile, “Speak with him, alright? It’s nothing bad per se, but you two should be on the same page for this.”

It only confused Percy more, and he was deep in his thoughts when he found his way down to their little beach.

When the prince had first needled those private lessons out of the demigod (not that Percy needed much convincing. Personal time with Telemachus was all the incentive he needed for literally anything nowadays) they had debated on where to meet for them. The arena would be an obvious place, but it was seldom truly empty, and they would always need to be guarded with what they’d talk about in case someone came by. It would cause tension that had no place in the time they spent together. Percy had suggested their meadow, but the prince had rightly pointed out that the ground was too hard to fall on. And he had wanted to keep the little space a sanctuary for both of them. A place of peace and relaxation, of whispered confessions and quite conversations.

Percy agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly.

So, the beach it was. Granted, people could also stumble upon them there, but it was far less likely. And the space was big enough to avoid being overheard. Besides, being so close to the ocean helped Percy control his powers, and his senses were getting pretty good at picking up other people’s blood flows from afar. It wasn’t a failsafe option, but the best they had for now. (Percy had thought for a second to teach his friend underwater, but it would be pretty exhausting in the long run to keep an air bubble big enough for the both of them.)

Telemachus was already on the beach, waiting for him. (How he had managed to shake his personal guard again was a mystery the demigod vowed to find out eventually – it was a dangerous habit with the suitors around, especially after the disaster that morning…Percy was still boiling with rage about that meeting).

The prince hadn’t changed his clothes, which was a slight hindrance for their training, seeing as he was dressed in formal garb, completely with the ceremonial blue himation and golden jewelry on nearly every visible piece of skin. He was required to wear clothes like this for the more formal council sessions and Percy, in the silence of his mind, was kind of obsessed with the expensive way it made his Dream-Boy look.

Sometimes it was easy for the demigod to forget that Telemachus was an actual, real prince. But not when he was dressed like this.

It conjured the vision of him biting into the apple again, eyelids lowered alluringly, and Percy swallowed hard, scolding himself to get his mind out of the gutter.

Telemachus greeted him with a happy smile, totally unbothered by whatever happened earlier. He was already starting to chat about the totally exciting (boring) meeting he had today, while the son of Poseidon still tried to find his footing again. It helped that his friend was so cheery himself. If he didn’t made a big deal out of it, maybe Percy could ignore it as well? At least for a while?

His heart was still beating faster than normal though...

But there was another, more pressing matter anyway. Percy decided to focus on that first. Giving himself a bit more time to come to a decision concerning the other thing occupying his mind.

“You look great…but Tel, that is no outfit to fight in.”, he said fondly and with a little smile once the prince took a deep breath in his rant. Telemachus didn’t look offended and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck when he said: “I know. But I was too impatient to change. Help me get the jewelry off? We can start then.”

Without waiting for an answer (most likely knowing that Percy would follow his request anyway), his Dream-Boy turned around and fumbled with the buckle of the golden belt keeping the himation in place. The demigod stepped closer once it fell into the sand with a dull thud. The sound took Percy’s gut one floor down as well, making his belly swoop like a rollercoaster as the fabric slipped from the prince’s shoulders.  

Telemachus directed him to the clasp of the jewelry around his neck and biceps with quiet words and a long look. Even without using his powers, the blood of the son of Poseidon heated up a bit, as he came so tantalizingly close to the others fair skin once more. Still, there was no hesitation as Percy’s fingers landed on the soft skin of his friend.  

The jewelry was mostly golden chains, twisting around Telemachus’ limps or locking certain charms in place. Some were lower than others, but all of them spoke of great care and craftsmanship in their creation. The delicate and pretty accessory highlighted the swoop of lean muscles perfectly, drawing attention to just the right places.

Percy swallowed. Hard. His blood going places it didn’t belong.  

Undressing Telemachus from his princely finery was an experience that Percy wanted to remember forever. Touching his skin, caressing the freckles softly while slowly pulling the jewelry away was reverent and adoring work. It delighted the demigod unimaginably. He thrived on how much care and patience it took to make sure nothing ripped or broke. And from the way goosebumps and shivers wrecked the prince regularly, he also enjoyed the intimate closeness. Percy couldn’t stop himself from lingering against certain pressure points, feeling the fluttering pulse of his friend through the veins under his fingertips like a trapped bird. Percy’s hands were burning from the silky feel of skin and gold. The heat travelled through the demigod’s whole body, nesting behind his ribs, navel and high on his cheeks.  

The intoxicating smell of honey and parchment filled his nose and all his senses, making him feel giddy and drunk.     

They both stayed silent through it all, bathing in the shy touches and bashful little looks. Somehow, this felt far more intimate than even the shared apple.

Maybe because no one besides them was there right now and everything they did (and felt) only belonged to them. Kept safe in their hearts and minds like a sacred treasure. Percy liked that thought very much.  

Once Telemachus was free, only dressed in his silky chiton and slightly breathless, Percy stepped back carefully, trying not to break the spell of silent companionship that had fallen over them. “Thank you.”, the prince whispered hoarsely, and the caramel was like molted gold in his eyes.

“Anytime.” Percy meant nothing more than that.

After that, it took a few minutes for the son of Poseidon to get back into the mindset of training lessons. He had gotten a lot of practice on how to direct certain activities efficiently for many people at once, but Percy didn’t want for this to be like all the other lessons. Telemachus deserved more.

He deserved everything.

So, the demigod took it upon himself to demonstrate everything thoroughly and detailed, beginning at the best stretches and warm-up exercises. The prince was not as flexible as Percy, but he had a great core strength for a mortal and his coordination was nothing to scoff at either. With a few determined and firm hand movements, he guided his Dream-Boy through the exercises, forcing his fingers to not linger like they had before. It was much more difficult than expected. Especially when Telemachus looked at him with big, trusting eyes.

As a royal heir, the prince had obviously been taught all the basics, and in a battle, he could obviously hold his own for a while, but his movements were still stiff and too learned. He needed a bit more experience to get the attacks and parries into his natural movement.

In comparison to both Percy’s training of the guard and the citizens of Ithaca, sparing against Telemachus was like a breath of fresh air. No questioning his method or experience, no doubting his expertise or instructions. Sometimes, the princes asked a clarifying question, but that was all he did on that matter. The rest of the time, he was focused and willing to follow Percy’s example down to the T. And he was good doing it.

There was no rush in their fighting, no desperate need for one to prove himself.

Telemachus and Percy found a rhythm in seconds, meeting the other exactly where they needed it, moving fluently with each other without much talking. It felt like a natural development, falling into steps together, attacks and parries a play of swords that felt more like dancing.  

It became obvious pretty fast that Telemachus was more a strategical fighter than an instinctual one like Percy, so the demigod adjusted himself to demand more of the prince in that regard. It was scary how easy they tuned into the others demands. The demigod quietly mused to himself that the sword may not be the best weapon for the prince, but decided to gather more experience before voicing something like this.

In front of his inner eye, Percy saw Telemachus fighting with some kind of spear. A longer ranged weapon to keep foes at bay while the demigod disposed of their enemies with his sword in close combar. But such a vision was hopefully never to come true.  

As the sun sunk slowly down, announcing the evening, both men stopped their training amicably.

Now that his body and mind had time to reset, Percy found himself thinking once more about the situation back in the city. The avoidance of the people and his friends still bothered him deeply. He didn’t want to be feared or something like that.

After one look at the slightly sweaty prince sitting beside him, the son of Poseidon decided that it was only right to ask his friend directly. Telemachus must’ve had a reason (or explanation) for the events and what they meant. And there had never been big lies between them before. Percy knew there wouldn’t be now either.

The demigod took a deep breath before asking: “I know something important happened back in the arena. When you threw me the apple, I mean. Everyone treated me differently after that, and even Elpenor and Perimedes were weird for a second. I’ve never heard them splutter this much!” He saw how the prince lowered his head a bit, playing with the soft sand by his feet. The other was avoiding Percy’s gaze for the first time in forever. It made a hard knot form in the demigod’s gut and his voice sounded hollow in his ears when he demanded: “What did you do, Telemachus?”

“Made sure everyone knew just how close we are.”, muttered the prince defensively, “I know you were uncomfortable with some of their attention but too kind to reject their… advances. That shouldn’t be a problem now.”

“So that stunt with the apple did…what exactly? Show them I am very close friends with the prince?” Percy didn’t understand how that could trigger such strong reactions. Had their friendship been in question without the son of Poseidon knowing? He was not in tune with all the rumors going around (and didn’t care for them, if he was being honest), but if Telemachus found a reminder was in order…had he done something to make the impression that he wasn’t invested in their relationship?

The huffed answer of his friend pulled him out of those thoughts: “Something like that.”

The dismissive way in which Telemachus spoke made Percy a bit suspicious. He recounted the words of his Dream-Boy and found some of the emphasizing off from his usual melodic drawl. The prince wasn’t normally this cynical. It took a few seconds, but the son of Poseidon finally thought he had identified the real issue here.

But to be sure, he needed a bit of provocation.

Getting his speedy heart in check was nearly as hard as getting the following words out of his mouth. But it was necessary if Percy wanted to get a clearer picture: “What if I had wanted some of their…advances?”

It was a lie, of course.

The demigod had not even looked at anyone in that way since he landed on the shores of Ithaca (or even before that…years before that. Since he first saw caramel eyes gleaming in the sun). Percy had no need (or want) for fleeting affections or hookups. He was happy with the friendships and closeness he had established until now with the people he really cared about. And there were always other ways to satisfy more…primal needs.

His brain had enough fantasies to last a lifetime.

However, the way Telemachus head snapped up, eyes wide, jaw dropped, an expression of utter betrayal, hurt and sadness on his face, was enough to tell Percy that he had hit a sore spot with that question. “Did you?!”, the prince asked loudly and with a breaking voice, eyes swimming in a silent plea.

Maybe the demigod had even hit the bullseye of the prince’s issues. It was very enlightening.

The flutter in his chest glowed under the perceived jealousy of his friend. Percy couldn’t fight the small, teasing grin on his lips when he instantly confessed: “No.”

Telemachus immediately relaxed and the relief was obvious in his pretty face.

Very enlightening indeed.

But whatever this new development meant, it didn’t change the crux of the issue for the son of Poseidon.

Percy pressed his lips together tightly, before finally commenting: “But it would’ve been nice to know the plan beforehand. I don’t like being some pawn. I’ve had enough of that back in my time with that blasted prophecy.”

“You aren’t a pawn to me!”, the prince objected at once, visibly scandalized. But the quick answer wasn’t helpful for Percy’s temper, which finally boiled over in a harsh rant.

“Then don’t treat me like one! Seriously Telemachus. I would do anything you ask for in a heartbeat. I don’t need to know all the details or reasons or consequences! If you think something needs to be done, then I trust your judgment implicitly! Can’t you try to give me the same in return? Trust me to have your back without the need to plan and plot around me? We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

The son of Poseidon knew that his eyes were most likely glowing, but to his great relief, Telemachus didn’t flinch back from his gaze. The caramel eyes were dark and tight with something akin to regret. That sentiment was mirrored in the whispered words of the prince: “We are. Of course we are…I know you’d do a lot for me.”

“Anything.”, Percy heatedly corrected, not at all caring on how else that could be understood. All interpretations would be true anyway.

Telemachus visibly wilted and his hand was hesitantly raised in a silent plea for contact. His Dream-Boy seemed to know that the demigod wasn’t in the mood to be soothing, but still touched his arm in a small, excusing caress. A spark fizzled between them and Percy’s troubled mind settled a bit. He felt the tide of his anger and frustration ebb away like the ocean to their feet.

The demigod hadn’t even noticed the water rising with his anger.

Telemachus had. The way his eyes roamed over the waves gave him away. But to Percy’s great relief, the prince didn’t look scared at all. His eyes spoke of a completely different emotion. 

 “I’m sorry, Percy. Truly.”, came the grave apology of his Dream-Boy. A perfectly sincere one, with open eyes and regret written in every part of his face. It placated the demigod greatly. And the added sentences calmed him even further. “I was selfish….and scared you would reject the idea of me…standing up for you.”

“Why should I?”, the son of Poseidon breathed, done with feeling angry or confused. He just wanted the conversation to get back to the safe feeling Telemachus always awoke in him. He no longer cared for whatever strange thing had happened in the arena today.

Still, to make that clear, he added: “To be honest, some of the girls were actually pretty persistent. Keeping them off my back is a good outcome in my books.”

Telemachus answering smile was weak and insecure. The prince was still plagued by something, and Percy waited for him to finally speak of it. He hadn’t expected his friend to say: “Because my gesture was…drastic.”

“Drastic…how?”

That perfectly normal question somehow made the face of his prince bloom into a myriad of different expressions, all connected by a flushing blush that even climbed down his throat and up his ears. The demigod blinked perplexed, trying to find the reason for the mortification on Telemachus’ face, but his friend stopped his musing by burring his face in his hands and wheezing: “I can’t- I don’t- Please, Percy, I promise it wasn’t anything bad, but…I can’t tell you right now!”

What a strange sight it was, to see his Dream-Boy fiery red, obviously flustered, stuttering like a child and with a pitiful pleading face. Percy had the instant reaction to backpaddle with whatever he had said, not wanting to torture the prince with whatever…this was. He looked really uncomfortable.

But a little corner in the back of his head was getting a bit of a suspicion, and the demigod needed to be sure. So he cautiously asked: “Did it imply anything that isn’t true?”

“No.”

Percy nodded slowly, resolved to remember this whole thing for later contemplation. (Maybe he should ask his father about it on his next visit…) But for now, he let it go for the sake of Telemachus by saying: “Then we’re fine.” Which was completely true.  

There was nothing said after that for a while. Both young men simply sat at the beach, watching the sunset and letting the silence settle the last of their churning emotions. Percy felt himself fall back into the resting and comfortable state he always had around his Dream-Boy. There were still things unsaid between them (and assumptions the demigod was unsure about – hopeful, maybe, but unsure), but it was more like a buzzing in the background than a scream in their faces.

The resolve of the last remaining tension came naturally when Telemachus started to explain his reasons for the gesture in the arena a bit more. 

“I just…”, the prince began quietly, “hate how you were treated by my people until now. Like some novelty they’re entitled to. Like your expertise and time is something trivial and easily given.” Telemachus captured Percy attentions instantly with how hesitant he sounded. “You are so much more than any of them can ever comprehend. It makes me…angry to see them disrespect you like this. Not following boundaries and proprietaries. Ambushing you and demanding things like they have any right to them. You are a Hero, for Hades’ sake! You fought and won unimaginable battles and now you are here, defending them, teaching them without asking for anything in return. That should be enough! They have no right to demand more.”

His Dream-Boy had talked himself into a rage, and Percy was touched by the concern his friend had for him. It warmed his heart with fondness, to see Telemachus this invested in his well-being and comfort. It was unusual for anyone to speak about their concern so plainly, and it was even rarer for someone to be this angry for his sake.

But the son of Poseidon couldn’t let the prince stew in wrong feelings like this.

“I offered it, Telemachus. And I am no hero here. Not to them. They don’t know.”, Percy stated calmly, not really sad about it.

It didn’t help in soothing his friend.

“But you are to me! I know.”, Telemachus insisted forcefully, “And I refuse to let you be treated like this anymore. What kind of prince, what kind of friend am I if I don’t use my influence and power to make your life as uncomplicated, as peaceful, as possible. Enforcing your boundaries should be the bare minimum!”

He took a deep breath and, before Percy could intervene, continued to vent his frustration: “It’s infuriating to see you being treated like some….toy, they can use and throw away if it isn’t needed. None of them know- I just couldn’t stand by any longer and do nothing.”

Telemachus huffed, before he sagged back, eyes softening when they found Percy’s astonished gaze.

The demigod hadn’t expected such an outburst.

“I am sorry for not asking – for not telling you what I had planned.”, the prince apologized once more, “But I don’t regret doing it.”

It was easy as breathing for the demigod to say: “I forgive you.” The blooming smile on his Dream-Boy’s beautiful face was reward enough. Percy lifted his fingers to brush aside a stray strand of brown, soft hair.

The sun warmed his skin and heart as he quietly stated: “But Tel… you don’t need to protect me-“

“I know that!”, the prince burst out, interrupting him with vengeance, catching his wrist once more in a much tighter grip this time, “I know you are strong and capable and have faced far worse situations with your head held high, won battles and wars and even beating time… But just because you can deal with these things doesn’t mean you should have to! You’re not alone here, Percy. It’s not about me needing to protect you, but about me wanting to! You’ve always been my greatest strength. And I care so damn much for you that I want to be in your corner as well. As minimal as my contributions most likely are.”

The demigod stopped resisting his impulses and pulled his Dream-Boy into a tight hug. He didn’t care for the sweat or heavy breathing against his chest, when Percy burrowed his face in the neck of the prince. He breathed the scent of honey, parchment and home while muttering against the warm skin, lips grazing a fluttering pulse: “You are more powerful than you think.” A shudder rippled through his friend, and he both heard and felt the other’s breath hitch traitorously.

The little flame in Percy’s belly danced in happiness. He intentionally sighed against the throat near his lips, tracing a vein with his mouth while he said: “And, Telemachus?”

“Yes?”, came the breathy and weak reply. The demigod grinned softly.

“Thank you.”, he quietly mumbled, “I’ve never had anyone trying to protect me like this.”

Telemachus relaxed in his hold, curving his own arms around the son of Poseidon, squeezing him back tightly. “I know. And that wasn’t fair. You deserve so much more…”

“I’m glad to have you now.”, Percy admitted shyly, ignoring all the feelings fighting for dominance in his heart, especially when he heard his Dream-Boy’s answer, whispered in his black hair: “You do, Percy. You do.”

Chapter Text

The year ended for PERCY on a suspiciously positive note.

It was unimaginable that it had already been over twelve months since he stepped back in time. They had missed both their birthdays in the chaos of meeting again and figuring things out, but the demigod promised Telemachus to get him an even better present for the next one as an apology. His prince had intertwined their hands with a fond smile and asked for a simply swim in the ocean by his side.

“I want to meet your little shark friends.”, his Dream-Boy had shrugged, and Percy felt his heart burst in warmth and coziness.

Missing his birthday still had one big downside.

Percy had not yet read the letter his mother had left him for it.

And he also hadn’t been brave enough to pray to Hermes to send his own.

The letters (seven in number) were safely hidden in Telesophorus’ tavern, where the old soldier still insisted on him having a room, even if the demigod hadn’t slept in there in ages. Percy was very grateful for his friend’s stubbornness, seeing as the room was also where the few books about history and basic technology were stashed, that had been taken with him to the past.

For quite some time, the demigod had deliberated handing the text over to the prince. He knew that his friend was far more academically inclined than he would ever be, and reading a book from the future would for sure be something Telemachus enjoyed. He was also smart and clever enough to know not to use any of the knowledge he would gain too obviously. But they had yet to start on their English lessons and since it wasn’t a pressing matter, Percy soon forgot about that train of thoughts.

He had far more burning things on his mind.

His mother’s letter, for example.

After remembering that little piece of his first home he still possessed, Percy decided to finally tackle the task of starting regular (if one-sided) correspondence. So, he went down into the tavern, sat and chatted with Telesophorus for a while, knowing he had a few hours to kill anyway and then went up to his room. After collecting both his own written letters and the first one from his Mom, together with quite a few golden Drachmas, the demigod trotted his way back to the palace.

Percy found that having enough free time now to actually follow the sleeping schedule Telemachus set up for him made him more energetic during his waking hours (surprise surprise) and in turn also gave the demigod more motivation and drive to finish all his tasks quickly to see his Dream-Boy and have real quality time together. Gone were the days when the demigod would fall asleep as soon as he felt Telemachus by his side.

They could finally get back to the effortless way of spending hours in each other’s company, simply talking or doing mundane things like reading or painting or playing the lyre (for Telemachus) and carving or fetching (for Percy- he might not be a good shot with the bow, but he did have a crafty hand for making arrows that were perfectly balanced most of the time).

Sometimes, they would talk about the daily happenings in the palace, exchanging crucial information about the suitors, their movements and newest schemes, or gossiped about some rumors Telemachus trusty sources (who Percy still hadn’t sniffed out) had brought. Most of the scandals in ancient Greece turned out to be some affairs, illicit babies or scandalous flirting, as well as some merchant overpricing their goods or someone trying to steal. It wasn’t that different from what Percy had heard during his shifts back in the poorer parts of Ithaca, but with Telemachus witty commentary or scathing humor (especially when it was about those old politicians that refused to bow to new ideas) it was actually far more interesting.

On some rare days, the son of Poseidon could even convince his friend to play some music for him or recite his newest favorite poem. Not that Percy had any real talent for the arts, but he loved seeing Telemachus bloom under the praise and attention he could bestow on him then.

It was a very nice, soothing rhythm they had found themselves in.

Percy still visited Atlantis, getting beaten up by Triton during trident training (although it was deliberate now, as to not insult his dear half-brother’s ego again) and having delightfully deranged conversations with Kym over tea and ripped ships.

Now that the days turned warmer again, the meadow that became Percy and Telemachus’ regular meeting place gained back its radiating beauty that had slept during winter.

His prince was already waiting for the demigod, head buried once more in a big and heavy book, which could kill a man easily, should it fall on their head.

A few birds chirped in the trees (Percy felt their warm blood pumping through their little bodies) and a cracking branch announced his presence. Telemachus head snapped up, his brown hair tousled carelessly. A smile bloomed on his face immediately, lighting up his expression and those expressive caramel eyes. The prince wore a simple tunic today, no finery or jewelry to be seen and it made him look soft and private in a way that the son of Poseidon cherished deeply.

It was a side not many got to see of his friend nowadays. Telemachus always needed to be poised and prim inside the palace, seeing as their…guests were around all the time, so the moments where his Dream-Boy could lose the burden of being the prince were few and far between (most of them with Percy in the secrecy of their connection).

“Hey, Perce.”, Telemachus greeted eagerly, waving him closer when his clever gaze caught onto the chest the other man carried: “What’s that?”

“Letters.”, Percy answered as he sat down in front of the prince, “I promised my Mom to try and send some. And she wrote me a whole lot of them to take back here and read every year on my birthday.” The heavy feeling of homesickness was obvious in the way his breath hitched.

The prince understood instantly, his mouth turned down in sympathy and he put the book away to take the demigod’s free hand softly into his own: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine.”, Percy said with a small smile, “We both knew what it meant. I don’t regret anything. But I somehow missed reading her first one last year. I thought we could do it together now?” Percy felt uncharacteristically shy when he avoided Telemachus’ searching gaze to pull out the heavy envelope with the big 17 in its front.

The prince answered gently: “Of course…Whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”      

Silence settled over them, as the son of Poseidon stared at the letter in his hand for a very long time. He made no move to open it, too caught up in the cursive handwriting of his mother. Even the way she wrote the numbers was so painfully familiar that it took him back to the time she had taught him to count instantly. It had been on the carpet of their very small living room in a dingy apartment at that time. Gabe hadn’t been around then.

Sally Jackson had always been a good mother in all the things that mattered, and while Percy might be grown up now, he still missed her very much. She was his Mom. His biggest supporter, the one person that had been with Percy since the very start in whatever capacity she could.  

But now she would never get to see the path he walked with her teachings and her heart beating in his chest.

It was painful, but in a way that didn’t smother the demigod anymore. It was sharp and strong, but also warm, because no matter what, her love prevailed everything.

Telemachus left him to stew in his emotions, watching attentively, but not interrupting until the demigod took a deep breath and reciprocated his caramel gaze. Percy had felt through all his feelings and was ready to hear his mother’s love for him through her letter, but his hand shook badly, making it hard to tear open the paper.

“Do you want me to do it?”, the prince offered tenderly.

Percy didn’t know how much tension had accumulated in his shoulders until he let it go with a relieved breath. He was never more aware of how amazingly perceptive his friend was when he croaked a hoarse: “Yeah.”

Telemachus hummed, before gently prying the letter out of his cramped fingers, straightening the paper reverently. After another look to make sure Percy hadn't changed his mind, the prince asked quietly: “Do you want me to read it to you too?”

Yes. Percy would want that very much.

The son of Poseidon felt his heart swell with unnamed emotions and his throat closed against choking tears. It was so unbearably hard for the young man to shake his head mourningly. “It’s in English. I’m not sure you can.”, Percy bitterly confessed. Telemachus wasn’t hurt by that, only understanding.

His kind expression was the most beautiful sight on earth at that moment. The prince was calm, a rock in the storm as he said: “Okay. Then I’m just gonna open it.”

The long fingers still hesitated, until Percy gave his final permission: “Please.”

The gleaming white paper looked strange in the fair hands of his Dream-Boy. Too clean, too modern. Like an entity that didn’t belong. It wasn’t the thick parchment Telemachus normally handled, but of course he still opened the letter with perfectly practices ease, no unnecessary crinkle or rip in the paper.

Percy watched as the prince unfolded the two pages. He wasn’t perturbed when the caramel gaze hushed curiously over the letter (he would’ve done the same). But then the glittering eyes widened in shock and Telemachus ripped his head up so fast his neck cracked. 

“What is it?”, the demigod asked, instantly on alert, ready to spring up and…do something?

His friend was slightly flushed and breathless when he hastily explained: “I didn’t look! But there’s something writing in Greek at the end…” True to his word, Telemachus didn’t try to read anything that his mother had written on the pages and kept his eyes up and focused. Percy felt his own curiosity tickled. His hands were no longer trembling when he gently took the letter.

Seeing the familiar handwriting in full was another little (big) prick in his heart. But before the demigod immersed himself in the words of his Mom, his eyes skimmed to the actual Greek on the bottom of the second page. Astonished, Percy blinked twice.

After his brain rebooted, he couldn’t suppress the surprised chuckle as he lifted his head to look Telemachus in the eye.

“She wrote something for you too.”, Percy whispered with a fond smile, his heart full of love for his mother. He hadn’t expected his Mom to have something to say to his prince, but should probably not be that surprised. Sally Jackson had always been very protective. And still, she had let her only son go back to the past, out of her reach, for a boy she didn’t know.

Yeah…her seeking contact wasn’t that unusual after all.

“That’s why it’s in Greek…she must’ve used a translator or something.”, the demigod explained. The butterflies in his belly were going like crazy, and he desperately wanted to know what she would’ve to say to Telemachus, but refrained from reading it.

Maybe it was personal.

“Do you want to read it?”

The prince shook his hand, eyes still wide: “No. You read your part first. I can wait.”

Percy considered the letter for a moment, before whispering: “I could read it aloud.” The surprise on Telemachus’ face grew as he cooked his head, before saying with gentle intent: “If you want to share…”

Staying silent for a few minutes, the demigod tried to figure out his feelings on the matter, before coming to a decision. “Not particularly.”, Percy concluded, but before the prince could blink and order him to read it alone, he already added: “Not with anyone that isn’t you. But I think…I’d like for you to know her.”

Telemachus looked deeply moved. His smile was a delicate thing, as the prince shimmied closer to Percy, laying his head on the demigod’s shoulder and breathing against his neck. “I’d like that too.”, came the quite and warm confession, sending shivers down Percy’s back, “I saw her in some of my dreams, but this is different.”

The goosebumps that rose across his neck went ignored, as the demigod finally focused his eyes on the first page.

The letter was written in ocean blue ink and his voice creaked like an old staircase as he began to read.

My dearest Percy,

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! 17…what an age. I’m sure a lot has happened to you already.
It’s strange to write this letter, knowing that I won’t be there to celebrate with you physically.

But I am still in your heart! And I love you very much.

This letter will be the first one of many, so I’ll try to space out all I have to say to you, so it won’t get boring. Firstly: I hope with all my heart that you have arrived in Ithaca whole and healthy. That you were able to see your friend again and that you have found a place to be happy. I’m sure it is somewhere by Telemachus’ side.

Have you met the Queen yet? I am terribly curious about her, as you can imagine. Please write about her sometime once you’ve met. Is she like me? Did you feel something when seeing her? I wish for her so much to see your beautiful soul like I do.

I guess I’ll have to wait for a letter to know for certain.

Anyway, you’re nearly an adult now! At least in the modern world. Please tell me you’re still responsible and careful! I know I gave you the talk already, but I also wrote another letter about it for you to read if you ever have questions! It’s titled “Just in case”. I’m serious, Percy, USE IT.

I’m not worried about some descendants of yours running around in my time, but if they are, make sure to write it to an earlier date so I can meet them!

Sadly I cannot give you a present, but I’m sure Telemachus already took over that duty and made the day wonderful for you.

Enclosed, you’ll find a few lines I’ve written for him as well and translated it with google. Please tell him not to mind my grammar too much!

Now we’ve come to my favorite part. I looked though all my old notebooks in preparation for these letters and decided to include a little story about your childhood in every one of them. Just something to remember me by. I know you also have photos, but as you know, I am a writer by heart. So here it goes:

I remember the day you got your first skateboard really well. It was an older model, if you recall, with a red bottom and some scripture I cannot remember. We found it in a second-hand store, and you fell in love with it instantly. It was your birthday back then too, your seventh, and the skateboard was your present. You hated having to use knee pads, but I was so scared you’d break something without them! You were always too reckless for your own good.
I took you to the skate park five times before I simply could not watch you fall anymore. There was this older boy, Derek, and he promised to look out for you and bring you home every evening. I had my doubts at first, but he was very reliable. I may have followed you both the first two times, but besides giving you way too many sweets, there was nothing for me to worry about.
You came home every time with the biggest smile on your face. Sometimes with bruises or a bloody knee (don’t think I didn’t know you took off the pads as soon as I was away!), but your smile was the most infectious thing I’ve ever seen
You became really good to! Derek showed me a video of you doing some crazy stunt once and I remember thinking to myself that you would someday compete in the Olympics with your skateboard, if it ever became a discipline.

I know you most likely won’t have a chance to skate again, but I wanted you to know that you had a passion before the mythical world swallowed what little remained of your childhood.

You’re my son, Percy, and I KNOW that you’re most likely drowning yourself in doing everything to protect the people you care about, and you should! Ancient Greece is a dangerous place. But please don’t forget to live your life with joy and happiness and do something silly every once in a while (remember our conversation about tattoos though!). 

Try new things, eat new food or just take the time to do nothing. There is no prophecy for you to follow now, no war to be fought and no world to save but your own.

I love you, Percy. With all my heart and my soul. You are the greatest thing that I ever had a part in, and I wish you nothing but peace and happiness and love. Remember you are perfect as you are, and loved across all the times in this universe.

You deserve all the best in the world. Please take care of yourself and listen to that clever boy of yours.

Until next year,

Mom.        

The sting in Percy’s eyes and the trails of salty tears down his cheeks were undeniable, as well as the way his voice shook and broke upon certain parts. Most notably the one about him being the greatest thing that happened to her and all the advice of letting go and living his life. The grief of her not being here was crashing over Percy like a tidal wave. It was painful and horrible, to be feeling this deep longing for his mother, her hugs and her words and her cookies.

But it was also cleansing. Missing her was unavoidable, but doing so in the safety of Telemachus’ arms, with her words close to his heart helped in easing the guilt of leaving her in the first place.

She wasn’t disappointed or angry or hurt. She still loved him.

And it was so very relieving to read it again.

Percy knew he would cherish the letters until his dying day, vowing to keep them safe and preserved forever.

Telemachus had been listening quietly the whole time, just slinging his arms around the demigod to draw him into a warm hug once he was finished. Even now, he gave Percy the space to just be, to cry unhindered and let go of the tight knot in his chest.

It began to rain.

A small drizzle of light raindrops came down on them both, drenching their clothes and wetting the ground. But the rain also brought fresh air, clean of the spring heat and pollen, making the world anew. The water cascading down wasn’t cold and with no wind, it felt to Percy like being hugged from all around him. He smiled weakly when salty caramel tinged the air, revealing his father’s presence for a second, before the god retreated back to his kingdom.

It had been more of a short check-in, to see that Percy was alright despite the mournful use of his powers.

Telemachus patiently waited for the demigod to calm down, having pulled the chest with the letters under the arch of his body to protect them, even though the rain never even came close to touching it. The care of his friend was just another nook in the tally of things to love about the prince of Ithaca.

Percy had lost count of them ages ago.

Once it became clear that the wave of emotion had ebbed away, Telemachus loosened his hold a bit to brush away the last stray tears. His smile was full of sympathy, but also questions. Percy smirked a bit and gave his friend the sign to go ahead and ask.

“Your mother sounds wonderful…Why is she so interested in mine?”

The demigod really appreciated his friend for not beating around the bush or trying to soothe him with empty platitudes. They had talked about their mothers often enough by now to know how much they both loved them. This wasn’t about reiterating how amazing, loving and kind Sally Jackson was. Because that was a known fact already.

Still, Telemachus question opened another box of complicated time-and-soul-and-mythical related stuff that Percy was far too stupid to truly grasp. But he didn’t shy away from trying to explain it anyway. Telemachus was never going to judge him for not being eloquent or all-knowing. So, the son of Poseidon told his friend about his mother’s speculation about her being the reborn soul of Penelope of Ithaca. He spoke about the Lethe, the river in the underworld that made souls that wanted to be reborn forget about their past lives.

Despite it not being his story to tell, Percy also decided to explain to the prince how sometimes the river didn’t fully work, like it had with Nico and Bianca, who were both dipped in it and still remembered a few things.

It wasn’t a very long talk, because there was not a lot of evidence or theories to go through, but Telemachus still looked overwhelmed when Percy finished.

“Wait, just let me get this straight.”, he said slowly, caramel eye glittering grey for a second, “My Mom and your Mom maybe have the same soul? She’ll chose rebirth after her death someday? What about my Dad? And does that make us like…brothers?”

Percy shuddered visibly. His heart plummeted with the thought, causing him to exclaim loudly and instantly: “No!” After seeing a flicker of hurt pass over his Dream-Boy’s face, Percy pulled the prince close and touched their foreheads together. “Souls have nothing to do with biology. They’re different women from different times. There isn’t any kind of blood relation between us. But that doesn’t make you any less my family.”

The other man relaxed and closed his piercing eyes for a second, to listen to Percy expand his little rant further: “We don’t need to share blood to belong together. I’ll be by your side regardless. For however long you want me as a-“

“Forever then.”, Telemachus interrupted with a teasing, but honest smile. Leaning forward, the prince skimmed his lips over Percy’s cheek, before pulling back and reaching for the part of the letter that was written in Greek. There was no other acknowledgement of the little smooch from the prince, but Percy’s brain had a technical meltdown frying his nerves. Face flushing crimson, the demigod’s breath caught in his throat, while his heart and belly tried to compete in a gymnastics competition.

The contact was way too short to feel anything but soft warmth, but Percy swore the imprint of the soft lips lingered on his skin like a brand, making him raise his hand unconsciously to touch the spot.

It hadn’t even been a real kiss, and the possibilities of it being a very vivid daydream were still high.

The son of Poseidon took too long to process the flirty response, because Telemachus was already skimming the content of his own message, before stating: “I’ll read it out loud as well. It’s only fair.” He looked totally unaffected by his actions and Percy decided that he was simply too sensitive for the prince’s advances. He needed to grow a thicker skin around the sensual man, before his heart was irreparably lost in the process. (His brain whispered that it may be too late for that, but the demigod ignored that thought bravely).

Telemachus’ melodic voice was as breathtaking as always, when he read the words like they were the greatest story ever told. Somehow, he managed to hit the exact tone and emphasis his Mom always had, making Percy feel like he was truly listening to her, despite the voice speaking being far deeper (and far more sensual).

Dear Telemachus,

I’m hoping this little letter finds you well. Percy has probably already told you about me and, as far I know my son, most likely exaggerated my values far beyond compare. Regardless, I’d like to introduce myself properly to you.

My name is Sally and I’m the mother of the impossible, selfless, brave demigod that became your friend years ago. And now he is back by your side again.

What must you think of me as a mother? I helped my only child find a way through time and let him leave beyond my reach, knowing I won’t ever see him again.

Believe me, letting my son go was the hardest and most painful thing I might ever have had to do. I would’ve gone with him in a heartbeat, to the end of the world and right down into Tartarus, just to spare him the hurt of missing me like I do him.

But it wasn’t meant to be. The Fates are unpredictable like that. My life is here. And Percy’s is where he left his heart when he was twelve.  

It soothes me to know that he’s going to a place where someone as kind as you are will be waiting for him.

Percy has spoken about you a lot, Telemachus. So much in fact, that it feels like I’ve met you myself. I want to express my deep admiration for you and your mother. The things you had to go through are beyond cruel and I pray that your waiting and suffering may end soon.

With my son by your side, I hope you have at least some sort of peace and safety. Percy would die for the people he loves. He will protect you both like he always did me. I just know it. And I fear for him because of it.

He is loyal and kind and clever, but I guess you know that already.

As a mother, I feel it’s my duty to point out how lucky you are to have him. But as someone who reads about you a lot and who saw how much my boy bloomed while talking about you, I can also confidently say that he is lucky to have you as well.

I know I have no right to demand anything from you (you don’t even know me), but please, for the love we share for my son: Look out for him for me.

He is reckless and daring and stubborn. He works himself to the bone and does not back down, even when the world is against him. He needs someone to ground him, to call him back and give him a reason to take care of himself. Someone who holds him responsible and shows him that living means more than fighting and surviving. Because it does. For both of you.

My Baby has been fighting for too long already. I hate myself for not protecting him.

I know your own perils might not be over by the time you read my letter, and maybe I’m breaking the rules by writing this, but I promise you that the hardships won’t last forever. And after that, I pray you find happiness in being a family again.

Know that you have my blessing to follow your heart. I can guess where it leads you, even if my son is too much like his father to see it.

Don’t give up.

With deepest respect and great love,

Sally Jackson.

Chapter Text

PERCY didn’t know what to say.

Somehow, hearing his mother’s word to Telemachus made him way more emotional than even reading his own message. The way she wrote it…personal and gentle and caring, to a person she never met herself, but liked simply because Percy did so, was the greatest proof of her love he could ever wish for. Her acceptance of his friend (so far as to give him her blessing and kindness) was lighting a bright fire of deep devotion and love in his heart.

Gods, Sally Jackson was the most amazing women that ever lived.

But still, her words were kind of cryptic at some points, and the demigod furrowed his brow while asking his prince: “Do you know what she meant with that last sentence? How am I like my father?”

Telemachus looked confused for a moment, as if the question had ripped him from deep thoughts and for a second, Percy felt bad. But the teasing little smirk on the handsome face beside him wiped those feelings away very quickly. Especially when his answer was teasingly vague: “Depends on who we’re talking about.”

“What?”

His prince gave an easy laugh before shaking his head, fond mirth on his face. He carefully folded the letter from Sally Jackson before saying: “Nothing, forget it. It was a figure of speech most likely.”

At first, Percy wanted to protest, but he still felt a little weak from the whirlwind of emotions crashing through him and decided that whatever his mother had wanted to tell Telemachus could (and maybe should) stay between the both of them for the moment. (Because apparently his Dream-Boy had understood something Percy hadn’t). Prying seemed like an unnecessary effort right now.

The demigod probably wasn’t supposed to read any of it anyway. So, he let it go with a quiet huff, taking the letter back and putting it on the bottom of the pile in the chest. The envelope on top read a big black 18.

Just a few more months before he could open another message from his Mom. On his real birthday this time.

Telemachus fell back onto the grassy ground with a deep sigh. He crossed his arms behind his head, demonstratively stretching his lithe body like a wildcat, twisting his back before settling down. Percy’s eyes followed the ripple of pliable muscles in his arms and shoulders hungrily, before he ripped his brain away from all thoughts concerning his friend’s beautiful body. He tried very hard not to picture the pretty pattern the freckles painted on Telemachus’ torso and back, and how much the demigod wanted to follow them with way more than just his eyes.

Ever since the sensual display back in the arena, the son of Poseidon had a hard time containing his obvious physical attraction to the prince.

Telemachus didn’t even need to do anything for it.  It was enough for the wind to play with his soft brown hair, highlighting the beautiful face it framed or for him to move once more like a melody come to life, full of grace and elegance, and Percy’s attention was captured like a flighty moth by light. Always drawn to his Dream-Boy, no matter where they were or what he was doing.

The demigod was confident he could pick out the prince’s blood flow among thousands of people effortlessly, with how much time he spent in his presence. It was a fine little trick to track Telemachus down during his shifts, and a secret he had yet to disclose to his friend.

He didn’t want Telemachus to think him creepy or unhinged (even though he most likely was).

Not knowing whether the prince caught his staring or was just that good at guessing his thought, but his smooth voice ripped Percy back into the present.

“Your Mom knows you pretty well to describe you this perfectly.”, the prince mused easily, a cheeky grin on his lips as he began to list: “Impossible, selfless, brave, loyal, kind, cl-“

“She’s exaggerating!”, Percy interrupted, his face flushing bright red in embarrassment. “That’s what mothers are supposed to say.”, he added with a grumpy pout that only made his friend laugh out loud.

Even across centuries of time, his mother and Telemachus seemed to easily join forces to tease him. Not that Percy was complaining.

The prince’s laugh was a very pretty sound, and the demigod found himself relaxing instantly upon hearing his friend’s happiness. It was easy being the butt of a joke if it made the prince joyful like this. And he secretly loved the teasing for exactly that reason.

Like he did right now, when Telemachus wheezed: “Funny that she mentioned you doing the same thing when talking about her.”

Percy, grinning ruefully and fond at the same time, shrugged helplessly in a universal gesture of ‘What can you do?’. There was never any doubt about Sally Jackson being his mother. They were too similar in too many things.

His Dream-Boy lifted a hand from behind his head to catch the cord of Percy’s necklace, pulling the demigod down beside him easily. The cocky guidance brought both young men face to face on the ground of the meadow. Only inches apart, Percy felt his breath hitch when Telemachus eyes became serious, liquid caramel burning under the sun.

“Maybe you’re both telling the truth.”, the prince whispered, his breath ghosting over the tip of Percy’s nose. His friend’s gaze was roaming over the son of Poseidon as he quietly proposed: “Did it ever occur to you that you actually are all those things?”

No, it hadn’t.

Compliments like this wasn’t something Percy was used to. And it was true what he’d said; His mother was prone to rave about him, his virtues and accomplishments. So much so, that the demigod found it hard to believe them true. Especially because she was the only one pointing out those alleged strengths. Everyone else (like the other Campers) were more focused on the things he didn’t have.

Namely a brain, patience, respect, and mercy (a pretty recent addition to all the things he lacked).

So it was easy for him to counter his friend’s suggestion by saying: “Or maybe we’re both liars.” At least about each other.

It was a try to be humorous, but the joke obviously didn’t land. Telemachus scrunched up his nose adorably and tugged on the necklace still in his hold in a sharp reprimand.

“No.”, the prince stated confidently and calm, “You’re a lot of things, Percy Jackson, but the one thing you never were, and never will be, is a liar. Not to me. You said it yourself.”

There was no hesitation in those words. Percy’s limbs became gooey on the ground, melting under the hot scrutiny and conviction of his closest friend. Closest person. Telemachus sounded so Gods damn sure, like even the thought of the demigod being anything else than honest was ridiculous.

His expression of complete and utter trust stole the demigod’s breath and heart even more. (If that was even possible).

It was hopeless to fight against the gravity of their connection.

Percy knew that he was close to falling completely. Irrevocably. And he wasn’t afraid of it at all.

“I remember.”, he hoarsely confessed, already thinking about their first real, person-to-person conversation and all the secrets that had come to light then. The conversation where Telemachus had forgiven him for not always telling the whole truth.

“Good.” Telemachus looked pretty in his smugness, even when he tugged once more on Percy’s necklace while teasing: “But I would’ve repeated it gladly. Your head is as hard as a stone sometimes.”

“That I got from both of my parents.”, the demigod quipped back. He couldn’t interpret the rueful smile on his Dream-Boy’s face when he mumbled: “Yeah, I know.”

-

“So, you said something about writing back to your mother…”, Telemachus began a few minutes later, still lazing under the afternoon sun, his eyes closed and posture relaxed as he lay on the ground, “Do you have a plan on how exactly to make sure your letters stand the test of time and land in the right place?”

Telemachus opened one of his caramel eyes curiously, a teasing grin on his face to soften the jibe in his voice.

“Believe it or not, I have.”, Percy replied with a roll of his eyes as he kicked the other man softly in the side, causing him to snort in obvious skepticism. Instead of reacting to the poorly concealed ribbing, the demigod demonstratively mused: “If there only were a godly cousin of mine who’s immortal and responsible for carrying messages all the time…oh wait, there is!” 

Telemachus look was perfectly flabbergasted.

“That’s your plan? Ask the god of travelers to store your letters for centuries before delivering them? Why should he agree?”, asked the prince. His expression was not very encouraging as he carefully added: “I’m sorry to burst your bubble Percy, but not every deity is weak to your baby-seal eyes. And most of them don’t do anything for mortals just because they say ‘pretty please’. They’re Gods!”

It would’ve been easy to grow angry at his friend’s incredulity, but Percy understood where Telemachus was coming from. It was true that in most (if not all) stories the Gods were more hurdles than helpers, and their selfishness was equally as famous as their ability to fall in and out of love quickly.

The demigod couldn’t even say that it would get better with time, but what he had to give them credit for was that, despite all the problems the Gods had given him, some had been as helpful as they had been a hindrance.

Without Hermes, they wouldn't have been able to cross the Sea of ​​Monsters, and without Artemis, Atlas wouldn't have fallen under the weight of the sky again. One could argue that the Gods were only helpful when they had something to gain themselves, but that wasn’t the case all the time.

Hermes specifically had helped Percy more than once in both times. And everything related to Odysseus had come without any demands beyond a few bragging rights. Additionally, the son of Poseidon didn’t gamble on the God’s goodwill alone this time.

“Because he’s helped me before? Besides, I’ll pay him.”, Percy shrugged, unconcerned. Even if his cousin wanted more than money for his service, there was little he could ask for that would be a real challenge. Not after everything the son of Poseidon had already accomplished. Finding some lost object or dispose of unwanted complications was child’s play for him now.

But Telemachus wasn’t as optimistic. His comely face scrunched in discontent, and he looked worried when he pushed himself up to sit closer to Percy. 

“One-time help is no guarantee.”, the prince objected, “What if he asks for something grander? Like…I don’t know, knowledge about the future? You said yourself that most of the Gods know about your origin.”

A valid fear, if it weren’t for a very fortunate interference from three crazy ladies.

Percy smiled reassuringly: “The Fates have forbidden them from asking.”

Telemachus scoffed loudly, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in an expression the demigod always interpreted as his ‘You’re pretty but stupid’ (or ‘You’re pretty stupid’…it was a matter of interpretation). “He’s the God of Tricksters and Thieves! Dearest, you cannot truly believe he won’t find a way to get it out of you!” Disbelief and nervousness were equally present in the prince’s voice. But Percy’s brain took a moment to catch up, thrown off track by being called ‘Dearest’.

That’s a first.

The nickname was spoken with a mix of fondness and exasperation that perfectly reflected Telemachus’ whole demeanor right now.

Maybe it had just slipped out unconsciously.

Percy was more perplexed by the softness of the name than the fact that his Dream-Boy was once more kind of flirting with him. If the demigod ever thought about being addressed by a…significant other, it had always been with a name like Babe or Hunk (yeah, like Hercules in the Disney version of the myth) or something along those lines, playing onto his physical attributes and proficiency with the sword. ‘Dearest’ was…delicate in a way, intimate and gentle.

And it also made a wave of heat crash over Percy instantly. He could not imagine being addressed like this from anyone else, but hearing the endearment spoken by Telemachus just felt…right. He loved that his friend saw him as more than just muscles and strength.

It mirrored their relationship of tenderness and vulnerability perfectly.

Yeah…safe to say Percy liked being called Dearest.

But the son of Poseidon also felt that the time for banter came to an end, and that he would need some serious arguments for his friend to relax. It left him with little other choice than to remark somberly: “There is scarcely good for him in my future.” In the silence that followed, both their thoughts drifted to Luke, son of Hermes and host of Kronos, calamity of Olympus.

Percy had played with the thought of trying to change his destiny, but the words of the three sisters always came back to haunt him. Luckily, he could also use them to strengthen his argument now: “Besides, even if I slip: Time’s a loop. It’ll work out.”

There was no logical counter to that, and Telemachus knew it as well. The prince pouted a bit, eyes adorably stinted as he grouched: “I’m not convinced.” It was more farce than true contest, serving to save his face and not lose the argument. Percy was more than alright with letting it rest. He had no need to best his Dream-Boy in a battle of wits (not that he could, if Telemachus truly wanted to convince him of something, he undoubtedly had the means to do so).

“Well, then let me change your mind.”, the demigod easily deflected, bumping his shoulder against the prince’s, “Did you know that you’re descended from him?”

That brought him another eye roll, but also a better-tempered Telemachus that sighed: “Yes, Percy. I know my family tree very well. I’m also related to some sea deities through my Mom. Not your branch, but still.”

“See? How fun! It’ll be a little reunion then!”

“Oh boy…”

-

Percy had limited on knowledge on how to contact the gods without painting a giant target on his back for being disrespectful. But one of those very few instances had been with the God of Travelers himself, so he thought that doing the exact same thing as he had back then was a good enough bet.

He didn’t let himself be discouraged from Telemachus’ skeptical hovering, as the demigod lit a little campfire on the edge of the beach they had wandered down to. (Fire was always better with enough water near to extinguish it, so what better place than the beach by the ocean? Besides, he didn’t want anyone to know of their meadow, so praying there was out of the question anyway). Just for this occasion, the son of Poseidon had bought a few strawberries from the market (which were so damn expensive!), knowing the God liked the sweetness of the fruit.

When he threw the food in the fire and clapped his hands together in a short prayer, he immediately felt the pressure of a few divine eyes on his back. (The salty caramel and algae were more than familiar by now, but his family didn’t appear to interrupt him. He had told them about his idea already, so there was no need for his Dad to get all protective and possessive or for Kym to let out some kind of freaky storm).

“Hermes, Messenger of the gods, please accept my offering. I have some-“

The wind tilted instantly, carrying the scent of wild strawberries, blueberries and the distant cackle of Hermes’ hyena-like laugh. Percy felt Telemachus stiffen and without even looking, the demigod knew that his prayer had been answered. He wasn’t surprised when a distinctly amused voice came from right behind him, breathing in his ear playfully, and a weighted body draped himself over his shoulder.

He had felt the lazy pump of godly ichor the moment the god appeared.

“Why, hello Darling! What a nice surprise to see your lovely face again on my oh so tedious day!” cooed the flighty God with a trilling laugh. He pushed Percy by the shoulders and twirled him around like a dancer until they were face to face.

The god hadn’t changed his youthful appearance of ancient times. Still lithe, with long, muscular limbs and dressed in a chiton that covered far less than Percy would’ve liked, Hermes was the epitome of mischief. His burning bronze eyes were hidden behind his winged pith helmet, and he was zooming around like a child on too much caffeine.

The son of Poseidon didn’t remember Hermes being particular touchy, but maybe after Percy had given him a hug last time, the God had decided to take that as permission for regular physical closeness. At least he had no problem grabbing the young man by his neck, hands roaming over his face and shoulders in touches so light Percy barely felt them.

The demigod wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but for now it was tolerable.

Hermes grin was nothing short of dangerous as he praised purringly: “My, my, how grown up you are! Look at this jaw.” His words were accompanied by a quick caress and a dreamy sigh that weirded Percy out more than his following sentence: “Sharp enough to kill a man! And your eyes! Geez, your old man has put a lot of effort into you, hasn’t he? You’re a weapon, little cousin, or a snack.” The God of Thieves came even closer, face inches away from the demigod. But just as Percy was about to push him away, Hermes retreated.

The God was watching the son of Poseidon with a particular type of hunger that had him on edge instantly. In the corner of his eye, he saw Telemachus stepped closer, his shoulders pulled back and a fierce scowl on his handsome face. The prince did not look amused, and his hands twitched as if he wanted to pull the demigod behind him.

Not knowing what was really going on, but sensing that whatever Hermes had implied ruffled Telemachus feathers and made him uncomfortable, Percy decided to not feed into the God’s ego by reacting. He had no interest in playing games here, so he deadpanned, with the most bored expression ever on his face: “I’d rather be a person.”

That extracted a bright laugh from Hermes. He flew a bit higher in the sky, holding his belly and wheezing for a few seconds, which Percy used to step a bit closer to Telemachus. He felt the tension in his prince’s shoulders and tried to bump them comfortingly, before Hermes spoke again.

“Ah, pity...”, he lamented with a teasing grin, “But my dear uncle would never let me try anyway…not that I have any intentions!”

The God called that last part toward the ocean behind him. The tide had risen and the water was almost black, even near the shore. An ominous number of dark clouds had gathered just above the younger God. The ocean was churning threateningly, and the smell of salty caramel was tinged with something nameless. It receded a bit after Hermes’ declaration, but not enough to vanish completely.

They were still being watched closely.

The pupilless, bronze eyes then fell onto Telemachus, standing tall and proud by Percy’s side. Mouth pressed tightly together and a sneer on his face that the demigod had never seen before. The prince looked composed, but angry and calculating. His sharp eyes not leaving Hermes, even as he dipped his head in a reluctant show of respect. Whatever was going through his Dream-Boy’s head, it wasn’t pleasant, and fully direct to the God in front of them.

Luckily, Hermes found the whole thing amusing, because he leaned back in the air, fully relaxed and tutted with a teasing smile and twirling his Caduceus: “Oh, do keep your fangs in check, little wolf. No one’s gonna thieve away your precious pearl. It’s all fun and games here, isn’t it, Darling?” The last part was directed as Percy.

The demigod raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I can hardly stop laughing.”, he drawled.

“Tough crowd.”, the God sighed dramatically, before grinning toward the prince, practically purring: “Won’t you introduce me to your…companion, dear cousin?”

“As if you don’t already know who he is.” Yeah, Percy’s tolerance for Hermes’ shenanigans was slowly reaching its limit. Especially if it included his Dream-Boy.

But the divine being ignored the scathing intonation. Instead, the God (in all his dramatic glory) threw a hand theatrically over his chest, clutching his heart in fake offense and morphing his expression in one of exaggerated hurt. It was such an over-the-top display that Percy could not suppress a snort, even as Telemachus sharply elbowed him in the ribs.

It tickled.

The prince took a small step forward, before he bowed and said perfectly politely: “Lord Hermes, great God of Travels, Messages and Patron of Thieves. Please excuse Percy’s insolence. He means no offense. We’re still working on manners” The massive side-eye he threw at the demigod was met with a pouty huff and crossed arms. Percy would be offended if his friend wasn’t speaking the truth. So, he stayed quiet and sulking as the prince silkily introduced himself: “I am Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca, son of Odysseus and Penelope. We are sorry for bothering you during your great duties. We know your time is scarce and-“

“My, my, aren’t you silver tongued? I’m flattered to see my blood is still prevailing in your line.”, Hermes interrupted with a cackle, all traces of fake hurt gone in a second. The God zoomed lower to the ground again, moving his head like a snake to get a better look at Percy’s Dream-Boy, before proudly stating: “Of course I know who you are, Telemachus. I’ll always know my own descendants. You look just like your father, do you know?”

The son of Poseidon wanted to punch him in the face for that one. Why would he bring the king up to Telemachus like this?

But his prince had more grace than Percy could ever dream off, because while his jaw twitched in suppressed anger, his voice was cool and distant when he answered: “I never had the chance to meet him.”

“It’s a shame, truly, what dear Odysseus must go through.” Hermes lamented as he slowly circled the mortals. His body was the picture of nonchalance, but the intensity in his burning bronze eyes betrayed him, as his gaze settled calculatingly on Percy.

Daring him to speak, to babble, to reveal something. It was not a bad trap, but Percy didn’t need Telemachus clutching his hand to know that he better stay silent. So he did.

The Trickster God waited another breath to see if he would slip (which he didn’t) before giving up and twirling his Caduceus, finally getting to the bottom of his visit by inquiring with a sly smirk: “So, why did you two little lovebirds pray to me? It can’t be about stealing hearts, I’d say you both experts on that already, hahaha.”

Percy and Telemachus exchanged a stolen glance, eyes talking without any word leaving their mouths. There was so much unsaid between them at that moment, but the son of Poseidon felt more than anything how his friend tensed.

We ignore this?

We ignore this.

It wasn’t avoidance, Percy tried to tell himself. It was just not the right time or mood or company to address anything like that. He didn’t feel ready. So, instead of trying for some lame pun or distraction, the demigod just steamrolled over the comment by saying: “I’ve got some letters I’d like to send. To my mother.”

Hermes accepted that with a twinkle in his eye as he mused: “Ahhh…a tricky commission. I’m afraid even my godly powers cannot reach your mother where she is now. No letter could be delivered satisfactory and I’m not in the habit of accepting impossible tasks like this.”

“But you could keep my messages safe until they can be delivered. I’ll even write the time, date and exact place on them. Then it won’t be a problem, right?”, Percy insisted, heart beating faster upon being unable to read the God’s expression. It might be somewhere between annoyed and exasperated. Not a good combination.

Telemachus noticed it as well and pulled the demigod back a bit.

“What Percy means to say is”, he interjected with a simpering tone, sending Percy another side-eye, mouthing the word ‘manners’ before continuing: “that for a mighty, immortal being like you, putting aside a few letters for later delivery, no matter how much time passes, might be possible. It would make you by far the most reliable Messenger in all of history, fulfilling contracts this far in advance. And of course, we would offer payment to compensate your impressive work, Lord Hermes.”

“Your mother did raise you to be quite the charmer.”, Hermes mused, but his stormy expression had cleared a bit. Humming a thoughtful tune, the God floated back in front of Percy, tipping his nose with the end of his Caduceus before fake-whispering with a constitutionality wink: “I see the appeal, Darling. You should hurry up and get on with it before those pesky mortal customs get in the way.”

The son of Poseidon clenched his teeth and ignored the twitch in his eye.

Luckily, Hermes backed off before he really got a fist in his face. The God of Messages groaned theatrically: “Hah…it’ll take so much effort. How arduous.” Hope bloomed in Percy chest, pushing his annoyance away. He couldn’t fight the grin when his immortal cousin gave in by asking: “How many letters are we talking?”

Eager was too weak of a word to describe the demigod’s answer: “Two every year? Until my death.”

“One. I won’t take more.”, Hermes bargained back sharply, “And I demand a sacrifice of the finest fruits every time, including the promised payment.”

Percy was already opening his mouth to protest, when he got another elbow in his gut, courtesy of Telemachus. Betrayed he stared at the prince when he said to the god: “That sounds perfectly reasonable. Thank you for being so accommodating, Lord Hermes.” His smile was sweet and thankful, but the eyes of his friend could’ve cut steel as he silently asked the demigod to trust him.

Percy did. Of course he did, but that didn’t make his frustrations better.

Especially when the God of Travelers cackled, deeply amused by their dynamic: “Hahahaha, I really like you, Telemachus.” And with a swish of his hand, the deity forced his cousin into an uncomfortable side-hug while proclaiming: “Do you see this, Percy? This is how to treat Gods!”

“You wish.”, the son of Poseidon scoffed as he twisted from under the Hermes’ arm.

“Oh Darling, I guess you’ll need a little more training to get that feral bite out of you” the God retorted, winking demonstratively toward Telemachus: “You’ll take care of it, won’t you, my dear?”

“I will try my best, Lord Hermes.”, the prince smiled bemusedly, ignoring the offended splutter beside him.

After another obnoxious laugh, the God took off further into the sky, tittering: “Wonderful! Oh, that was a fun little meeting. But my duties do not rest just because I do. Goodbye my precious little friends, I’ll see you around.”

But before the God could vanish completely, Percy was struck by another thought, making him call out: “Hermes, wait!” Only when his godly relative turned his attention fully toward the son of Poseidon did he say what was on his mind: “Our…mutual friend. Could you please look for him? I know he’s trapped in a horrible place. He doesn’t deserve to stay there longer than necessary. If there is any way for me to help-“

“Is there?”, Hermes interrupted, eyes gleaming with curiosity and intrigue, “You should know this better than me, little cousin.”

Percy swallowed hard, knowing he needed to tread careful now: “I don’t.”

The God obviously didn’t believe him, but instead of pressing, he simply hummed: “Interesting…I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS had never felt time pass this quickly before.

The fresh air of rain and spring gave space to the steadily climbing temperature of summer faster than the prince could comprehend. His days were a perfect mixture of duty and pleasure, his lessons no longer dragging, but more focused on actual skills he would need when it was his time to lead the kingdom (like negotiating, geography and even warfare). Granted, it was all mostly theoretical, but his brain still absorbed every piece of information like a sponge, filling his thoughts with thousands of facts and things to look out for. The many meetings between politicians, nobles and merchants became far more interesting with every passing month and his mother always pulled him aside after them for at least an hour to talk through her actions and decisions and why they were made in the first place.

Additionally, Telemachus grew more and more confident in his abilities with the sword. It was clear after two months of personal training with Percy that he would never be the strongest or best fighter, especially without seeing real battle (and his Dearest refused to take him monster-hunting for fun, even though the demigod did it regularly with his godly family). But the prince was satisfied with being skilled enough to hold his own against most of the soldiers and guards (and suitors, if push came to shove).

Not that he showed that to anyone but Percy. Being underestimated could be the difference between life and death eventually.

Besides all of his duties, it was (of course) the infuriating son of Poseidon who filled the ‘pleasure’ part of his days. Not the kind of pleasure most people would assume when they heard that two grown men snuck away to some secret place all the time, giggling and whispering. (Even if Telemachus dreams were quite vivid substitutes for those naughty thoughts), but it actually meant more of the silent kind of pleasure. Deep conversations, juicy gossip sessions or quiet companionship, interrupted by a few hikes and swimming lessons.

Telemachus felt closer to Percy than ever, knowing his friend like the back of his hand, feeling his presence whenever they were close, not needing to look to read his expressions, and always sensing when the other needed a silent escape.

Percy was overall happy with his position as a trainer, even when the newest batch of recruits included a boisterous Kleon, who had mellowed out quite a bit (after his older brother had returned years ago).

The demigod hadn’t been impressed by the other man’s improved attitude.

It had taken Telemachus running interference on his peer’s behalf before his Sea-Boy finally backed down during their spars and forgave Kleon his bratty actions from the past (which he only knew about through dreams and conversations, but it was enough to earn the demigod’s ire when it came to the prince…it was a heady feeling).

Kleon, against all logic, developed a hero worship for the son of Poseidon minutes into their first meeting. Maybe because he had seen and heard about his brother’s own loyalty toward Percy or simply because he wanted to be as self-assured and confident as the young demigod presented himself.

Whatever it was, Telemachus was sure that Kleon would rather throw himself in front of Percy than the royals, if it ever came to an attack (not that he minded too much. Telemachus would do the same, even for totally different reasons and with likely less success). His Sea-Boy was simply amused by his new shadow (that was still pretty green behind the ears and had no spatial awareness whatsoever) if not a bit annoyed about his constant need to gain the demigod’s attention.

Because Percy was very busy most of the time with a quite a different task: Making the suitors cursed his name and existence whenever his shift was located in, or near, the big throne room and dining hall.

Which was a lot of the time nowadays. Since Macar had noticed his Sea-Boy’s tendencies to be a thorn in everyone’s side who decided to mess with the prince, the queen, or any servant, the captain found devious joy in sending the demigod right into the fray of the most obnoxious and cruel suitors.

And Percy took to the new job like a hungry shark to fresh blood. He found vicious joy in antagonizing the suitors, pushing all boundaries of decorum and propriety, and forcing them to be halfway decent people as long as he was around.

Pushing, jeering, or (gods forbid) touching of anyone unwilling was punished by the son of Poseidon with subtlety broken bones or thinly veiled threats that no one ever heard when the suitors complained to the Queen. Penelope refused to reprimand anyone without proof, and whenever a few men came together to accuse Percy of some heinous crime, there was always a myriad of people providing alibis, back-ups or different kinds of support. (Telemachus was sure they would even help him get away with murder one of these days).

The whole palace rallied behind the son of Poseidon, led by an awfully proud prince, who rewarded his Dearest in secret by playing his favorite melodies on the lyre and even writing some poems about his heroic actions that were echoed down into the city.

It was safe to say that the tides had turned massively in Ithaca, ever since Percy Jackson had set food on its shore. And Telemachus loved every single change his Sea-Boy had brought.

The only thing missing, to make life perfect, was his father by their side. But Telemachus hadn’t lost hope yet. With Percy still being calm and confident about it, it was nearly guaranteed that the king would someday return.

For now, there was little else to do but take the days one at a time, letting summer pass by.

-

The city was bustling with locals and families, all eager to go to the market by the harbor.

The prince could certainly understand the excitement. It was summer, and thus probably the most popular time for new merchants and ships to dock at their shore. So close to the summer solstice, the demand for luxury, clothes and knick-knacks to give away as presents or offerings to the gods was particular high.

The harbor had been cleaned and prepared for months to host the biggest market in all of Ithaca, catering to both the citizens and nobles, as well as the richer merchants residing here.

It was always a great spectacle, full of color and magic, especially for the children. Beside trade of all kinds, there was also a big space for entertainment and, as entertainment for the adults, lust-work as well (something that his mother tolerated, as long as it wasn’t in broad daylight or in front of the young ones. And if the women and men were treated with the minimum of respect. But maybe she was just glad for the suitors to find another outlet for their frustration of not getting any closer to the throne than the poor servants.)

Seeing as there were so many foreigners and strangers populating the inns and taverns for weeks, Telemachus was only allowed in the city with a big escort of at least three guards. He also always needed to be dressed to the nines, including a small crown, to show everyone exactly who he was and to avoid unfortunate encounters or political mishaps. Normally, the prince found all the work of getting ready way too arduous to entertain it more than once (and even that was only to show his face to the rest of the citizens and be a good example for friendly relations).

But now, with Percy vibrating in pure excitement by his side, Telemachus could indulge all the splendor and extra time it took to get ready for his Sea-Boy’s sake.

His mother had known exactly what she’d done when she rearranged the guard’s duty to make the demigod the person responsible for his safety for the whole week the market took place. The queen knew of her son’s reluctance to stroll through the city by himself, but by making it an event to share with his Dearest, Penelope had managed to tempt him into doing it more often.

Not that the prince disliked the spectacle in the harbor! But it had always been lonely and isolating, walking through the streets, separated from the people by rigid soldiers, who didn’t let him walk close to anything remotely dangerous (which in their eyes was everything). So, most years before, it had been more of a chore than a pleasure and Telemachus had always felt like an exotic animal, being led around for the people to gawk and point at.

It was different with Percy.

Not only was the demigod far more invested in all the hustle and bustle, he also had no reservation to make contact with literally every person crossing their path. They were accompanied by Elpenor and Kleon, who both walked two respectful steps behind their prince and trainer, exchanging telling glances whenever Percy pulled Telemachus to another part of the harbor.

No one else would ever dare touch him so casually (and strictly speaking, it wasn’t exactly appropriate for a guard to talk to a prince like they were equals), but Telemachus didn’t care and most of the Ithacans were used to their strange dynamic by now, accepting it with lazy blinks and hidden whispers. As long as no one tried to take the same liberty with the prince, all was well. And everyone knew it.

Percy was special.

Not only in the way he had certain privileges with the royals, like walking by the prince’s side or getting away with only wearing half the armor of the normal guard (he blatantly refused to wear a helmet for anyone), but also in his treatment of the citizens, and their treatment of him in return.

Ever since their little group had left the palace walls behind, they had been accosted by all kinds of people. And not only by the typical gawkers and gossips. To Telemachus' great surprise, it was actually the demigod most people wanted to see. And Percy, being kind as he was, took the time to exchange a few words with everyone.

He caught children in quick hugs, clapped the backs of teenagers and helped a few older women in carrying their purchases for a while.

The always changing crowd around them made Elpenor and Kleon stand on edge, but Telemachus was as calm as ever.

Percy was with him.

No one who’d really want to harm him would come any closer than two feet anyway. His Sea-Boy was quicker than all of them.

Their unusual group drew the eyes of a lot of people, the foreign merchants and visiting crews whispering to each other, trying to get a read on the situation. Thanks to the unmistakable jewelry the prince was forced to wear, everyone knew exactly who he was, but the smiling and chatting (and handsome) man by his side was unknown to most. Telemachus tried his hardest to remain dignified and polite when he spoke with some of the business owners, but as soon as Percy was around, he lost his graceful detachment and couldn’t contain his fond smiles. Whether the people noticed his changed demeanor or were just charmed by the overly excited young demigod was anyone’s guess, but most of them became far more open whenever his Sea-Boy was around.

Percy was like an exhilarated child, grinning like a manic, head swiveling around like he was an owl, eyes wide and full of wonder, mouth open in permanent astonishment whenever they reached a new part of the market or he saw something glittering being sold.

They were just reaching one end of the long rows of little stalls, when a commotion not far away caught their attention. The son of Poseidon instantly lost some of his carefree attitude, eyes going sharp and contemplating as he stepped closer to the prince.

“Want to check it out?”, Telemachus asked, eyeing the crowd that was huddled around something near the docks. Someone was screaming and cursing out of their sight and a few men bustled through, whips in hand.

The prince knew that his friend could not resist the temptation of knowing what was going on (and to help if he could, especially before someone was corporeally punished). His Sea-boy was particular sensitive about that.

“Yeah.”, the demigod said absentminded. But before they stepped closer, Percy ticked his head sharply, calling the other two guards closer, building a ring around Telemachus. The prince appreciated the gesture of protection and followed behind his friend without protest.

When they reached the gathered people, the son of Poseidon mumbled to Elpenor (quietly, as if he didn’t want Telemachus to hear): “You’ll get him out of here if things turn bad. Don’t wait for me and don’t stop until you’re inside the palace.” The order was brisk, and the guard nodded gravely: “Got it.”

The prince wanted to roll his eyes, but the fluttering warmth in his chest was too pleasant for such a reaction.

As it turned out, the whip wasn’t intended for some unfortunate slave or dockworker. Telemachus couldn’t see very well, but as they pushed through the citizens (most of them making space as soon as they noticed who was among them) the sight before them became more clear.

Percy was still shielding him from the front, but beneath the demigod’s muscular arms, the prince could see how many different animals were being led from one of the newly docked ships. The cursing came from a man already on the cobbled stone path leading to the market. He was big and burly, with a great black beard and bald head, covered in markings and tattoos, that gave him a dangerous look. At his side, on a rope, he led what was probably the largest and most beautiful horse the prince had ever seen.

Its coat was black as the night, with a white blaze on its forehead and piercing eyes that darted around wildly. The horse neighed and pulled at its halter, before kicking back forcefully, nearly hitting another worker in the head with its hoof. Its ferocity was unmistakable, and even with all his strength, it was difficult for the man to keep the animal in check. It twisted and turned and tried to get free, all the while it whined in distress and bucked manically.

The bald man was sweating and cursing, screaming for his companions to give him the whip.

He was given the jagged weapon immediately and the horse panicked upon the sight even more.

Just as the man took his first swing, Percy was moving. Fearlessly, the demigod stepped right into the path of the whip, giving Telemachus a heart attack and making him whimper, jerking forward as if to help, but his friend was unperturbed. He caught the cracking weapon with one hand, pushing the man aside with his shoulder and taking the rope from him all in one fluent move.

“Fuck off man! You’re making it worse!”, Percy sneered condescendingly, leaving the other man spluttering in confusion and shock (and probably anger).

Long before the horse’s owner got his bearings back, the demigod was already fully focused on the frightened animal, shushing it gently. He tugged softly on the rope, to get the big black head down to his height, meeting the piercing gaze of the stallion calmly. The horse slowly stilled, stopping its bucking to watch the young man in front of it wearily. The air seemed to freeze as black eyes met sea-green. Some kind of silent understanding passed between man and stallion, as Percy mumbled something to quiet to be heard, but the horse settled, its tail flickering a few times before it neighed again.

It was a truly magical sight, to see his Sea-Boy sooth this mighty beast with a few words and a gentle hand on its blaze, as if his touch alone was a promise of safety and reassurance.

Telemachus could understand the horse very well. He felt exactly the same in proximity of the demigod.   

But not everyone was as enchanted by his friend’s ability to tame a wild horse like it was nothing as the prince. Namely, the owner of said horse.

The man was huffing and puffing like a boiling pot, face red in outrage as he stumped back into the demigod’s space, getting his face uncomfortably close to the younger man. But Percy, stubborn, amazing Percy, didn’t even twitch, meeting the beady eyes steady and unrelenting, giving the horse a bit more rope to dance back, as its owner’s fury exploded in a spray of spittle and dark threats: “What do you think you’re doing, boy?! Hands off my horse!”

The son Poseidon stayed calm as he ignored the droplets heading for his face (missing of course, as if any liquid could touch him without his consent). His voice carried strongly as he stated: “You were hurting him. Have been for a while actually.” That last part had a sharp edge, sea-green blazing in contained fury and accusation.

Telemachus felt himself grow a bit anxious as the merchant grimaced angrily, palming the whip in his hands, contemplating. Stepping into the ring of people that had become silent to watch the altercation, the prince ignored Elpenor’s hand trying to block his path.

There was nothing that could stop him from helping his friend.

In that moment, the beginning of a true threat formed on the bald man’s lips: “You little-“

“How much?”, interrupted Percy, voice bored but eyes sharp, his body still in front of the horse, as if to protect it. The question stumped the owner enough to ask flatly: “What?”

The insufferable demigod really rolled his eyes (and Telemachus could’ve throttled him for his nonchalance about the danger he was in. The man still had a whip in his hands!) and deadpanned: “How much do you want for him? You’re here to sell, aren’t you?”

The implication of the merchant being stupid (and slow) was bordering on an insult and while the prince would normally enjoy his Sea-Boy’s sass, the situation right now was tense enough to make him want to shut the demigod up. Before he got himself into something even the prince couldn’t pull him out off. (Preferably with his lips in some dark corner or hidden street – but those were ideas for another time).

Endangering political alliances was no small offense.

But luckily, the merchant was more stupid than proud, because he reared back and laughed loudly, hands coming to cup his belly in incredulous and cruel amusement. His black beard stretched over a derogatory smile when the man sneered: “As if someone like you could afford him! He’s a warhorse, bred for battle and blood, from one of the finest lineages in all of Greece! Now bugger off you fucker, before I’ll have you whipped for your insolence!”

Enough was enough.

Telemachus prowled forward like a lion circling its prey. He felt his guards moving behind him, closing rank and backing him up in the obvious gesture of power. With a head held high, shoulders rolling back, the fond and soft man vanished into the skin of the confident and mighty prince he was.

His voice was full of dignity and grace as he said: “You will do no such thing.”

It was no question, no order or command. Just a statement of irrefutable facts.

Telemachus was the heir of Ithaca. He had no need to ask or beg. His words were law in this place and instance.

The air shifted as the citizens recognized the changed demeanor, all bowing their heads in reference to their future ruler, stepping back even further to give him space.

Percy’s eyes snapped to their caramel counterpart instantly, glittering with awe and a hidden hunger that made Telemachus’ toes curl pleasantly. Of course his Sea-Boy noticed the change in him as well, and if the intensity in his expression was anything to go by, the son of Poseidon had absolutely no objection to him taking the reins.

But Telemachus couldn’t be distracted by the heated gaze of his Dearest right now, or the shiver his low voice sent down his spine as the demigod purred deeply: “My Prince.”

Possessive and reverent, the dark voice touched parts of the prince he had never felt before, and Telemachus wished for nothing more than to ravage this devastating farce of a mortal down to the bone (for let’s be honest: Percy was more god to him than human by now). But sadly, that desire had to stay a wish for now. They weren’t there yet.

And there was still something else to deal with. 

That ‘else’ was the quivering horse owner, whose eyes had widened significantly as he spotted the prince and his retinue. He bowed shakingly, instantly subdued by the presence of the royal and stuttered: “Y-Your Majesty.”

It was a bore to always be met with the same misconception by those who tried to win his good grace by showing manners. Telemachus sighed demonstratively as he corrected haughtily: “It’s your Royal Highness.” ‘Your Majesty’ was the right address for the current ruler, his mother in this case (because the king was absent). Telemachus as the heir was afforded the other title. Not that many common people knew the difference. And in all honesty, Telemachus hardly cared for what he was called, but right now it was another tool for him to use to put this man back in his place.

Because he had dared to threaten his Dearest publicly, he deserved the humiliation of being call out for his lack of knowledge in public as well. 

Telemachus felt compelled to slant his eyes over to Percy for a second, making sure his Sea-Boy was not physically harmed (what an absurd thought, as if something as silly as a whip could hurt him). And only after making sure nothing had happened for real, the prince turned his focus completely upon the thoroughly intimidated man. 

He bowed his bald head deeply, eyes lowered as he muttered: “O-Of course, my apologies.”

Telemachus let the silence settle for a few precious seconds, using the time to walk closer to Percy and the (now once more) calm horse. The stallion eyed him critically but made no objection to his presence when the prince gently lifted his hand for the animal to get a read on his scent. After inspecting the horse demonstratively for a few moments, Telemachus turned back to the tattooed merchant.

“I think my friend asked for the price of your steed.”, he commented coolly, raising an eyebrow when the man turned an even whiter shade of pale.

“F-Friend?”

“Must you repeat all I say?”, Telemachus drawled scathingly. And although he hated being spoken to like this himself, the prince did find it oddly satisfying in this case. Maybe he could understand the power trip some of the suitors got when their actions went unchecked for too long, a tiny bit now. Knowing you were in the higher position of power was kind of thrilling. Especially when the reward was such a burning gaze from his Sea-Boy.

Still, being condescending wasn’t something that felt inherently right for the prince. He would take care not to use this mask too often, unless he wanted it to get stuck (an advice his mother had given him about pretending).

Telemachus wanted this unfortunate business with the horse owner to end already, which was why he said, slightly more open, but still with a smirk: “I'm sure we can agree on a price… Unless you think I can't afford this stallion either?”

The man shook his head faster than he had ever moved up to this point. His voice was steady this time, as he answered with another low bow: “Never, your Royal Highness.”

A small, but genuine smile broke through the harsh facade of the untouchable prince, when Telemachus decided he’d had enough fun. Much kinder he asked the man, gesturing for him to stand up and start the negotiation in earnest: “Good, so how much is it?”

But before the merchant could answer, the deep voice of his Sea-Boy sounded from behind Telemachus, quiet and cautious. “My Prince…”, Percy said hesitantly and a quick look over his shoulder was enough for the prince to know that the demigod was a bit uncomfortable with him stepping in to solve the issue. Until now, it had been Percy’s role to extend his kindness to protect, or shield, or calm or literally do anything for Telemachus.

Time to turn the tides. This once, it would be the prince doing something for his Dearest. He wouldn’t allow objections. Not even from the son of Poseidon himself.

“You want him free, don’t you?”, Telemachus asked rhetorically, ignoring the whispers breaking out among the crowd watching. They were free to speculate what his indulgence for the other man meant in the grand scheme of things. The prince didn’t care for their opinion about his affections.

Watching him pensively, Percy’s hand unconsciously continued to stroke the stallion by his side. Only after Telemachus raised an eyebrow questioningly, the demigod admitted: “Yes, but-“

“Then I will hear nothing else. Let me handle this. It’ll be your early birthday present.” Without waiting for a reaction from his Sea-Boy, the prince turned back to the owner.

The oh-so-tough man looked a minute away from a heart attack, gaze shifting between Percy and the prince, hands ringing anxiously. Telemachus ended his hesitation by declaring: “I grow impatient, good man, please state your price.”

And that was that.

-

The purchase went over smoothly after that. Telemachus heckled for the price a bit but finally made a satisfactory offer for both of them after a few minutes. Not having the money on hand, the prince gave the merchant a slip of paper with the royal sigil and the amount owed to him written on it, directing him to cash it in at royal treasury by the harbormaster’s office. The man thanked him and allowed the stallion, now calm as a foal, to be led away by Percy.  

Seeing as the horse was attracting even more attention, Telemachus angled their group to the outskirts of the market, walking along the city streets at the edge of the city.

Percy was quiet for a long while, until Elpenor and Kleon stopped hovering around them and fell back once more, giving them the illusion of privacy. Then, the son of Poseidon bumped their shoulders together softly, still leading his horse by his other side. The contacts sent a spark of warmth through Telemachus, and he preened when his Sea-Boy mumbled an utterly soft: “Thank you.”

It was so rare for the prince to be the one to do something significant for the other, and while he wanted to bath in the proud glow of providing something for Percy, he also didn’t want his Dearest to feel indebted or anything. Because this wasn’t the case here at all. For in truth, it was Telemachus who owed the demigod something (everything).

So, he decided to be humbled about it by shrugging: “It was nothing. I didn’t like how he treated that horse either.”

Percy smiled a bit, likely having seen through his friend instantly, but he allowed Telemachus to hide behind his shallow reasons and changed the topic by murmuring: “His name is Talion.”

For a second, Telemachus was stunned by the conviction in the demigod’s voice and blinked twice before it clicked. With awe and a little jealousy, he asked: “You can understand him?”

“Perks of being the son of Poseidon.”, Percy grinned, clapping a hand softly against Talion’s neck. The stallion snorted and blew the unruly black strands of the demigod in even greater disarray, exposing the handsome grey streak.

Telemachus had no control over his mouth when he breathed: “You’re amazing…”

Upon seeing the glittering and teasing edge in Percy’s sea-green eyes, the prince quickly got his bearings and plunged on, desperate to divert his Sea-Boy’s attention: “And he is beautiful. Magnificent and strong. A fitting mount for you.”

That was the right (or wrong) thing to say, because the demigod grew serious all of a sudden, gaze focused on Talion as he answered solemnly: “I won’t keep him.”

“What?”

Telemachus was confused, but he refrained from feeling any particular way without hearing his friend out. Like he’d always done before.

Percy gave him a grateful little nudge before explaining: “Talion has known nothing besides captivity and battle. He deserves to spend the rest of his life like he wants. And he wants to be free. I’ll let him go once we’re beyond the city gates.” There was no doubt or hesitation in his voice, just conviction to do the right thing.

Telemachus wanted to hug him so bad, but just as he lifted his arm to do so, the demigod flinched, as if he just remembered something and added hastily: “I hope that’s okay with you. I can pay you back if-”

“Shut up Percy.”, the prince stopped him immediately, shaking his head softly and settling for stroking the grey strand of hair falling into the other’s eyes, “Talion was your present; you can do whatever you like with him.” Sending a fond smile toward the son of Poseidon was as easy as breathing, as was taking his free hand between his own. Telemachus caught the divine eyes and gave into the instinct to draw the calloused hand up to his lips, to give it a very gentle kiss, stunning both himself and the demigod in the process.

Ignoring the searing heat in his cheeks, Telemachus didn’t let Percy go as he observed: “Letting him free is just another proof of how deeply kind you are, Dearest. I could never begrudge you for it.”

Letting go of the hand when his embarrassment became too much, Telemachus resumed walking before the other man could get his bearings, leaving him behind to catch up once his mental facilities were back to work. Telemachus was pleased with how long it took Percy to appear by his side again, a faint pink blush on his cheeks and a bright grin on his face.

The prince felt like he could fly with all the happiness inside him.

According to his Sea-Boy’s plan, Telemachus amended their course to lead them to the city gates further inland, all the while musing loudly: “Tell Talion to stick to the western side of the Island. There are the least hunting parties and wolves, and enough greenery to sustain him. There will be a space for him in the royal stables, should he change his mind and-.”

This time it was Percy interrupting the prince by grabbing his arm and turning him around gently. He had let go of the rope holding the horse to softly cup Telemachus cheeks with his big hands, covering the whole sides of his face easily. Warmth choked the prince, as the demigod and his devilish eyes leaned in, serious and intense.

There was no up and down, the world spinning, when his Sea-Boy came close enough for their breath to share air and his nose to pick up the scent of apples and salt.

For a second, just a second, Telemachus was sure he was finally going to get the kiss he had been dreaming about for weeks (years really). He could practically feel the soft and insistent pressure of the demigod’s mouth already, his knees growing weak while thinking about the hot and wet tongue that would sneak between his lips, demanding and claiming.

Percy wasn’t known for holding back, and his intensely skilled mouth would draw the sweetest noise out of him, ruining the prince for everyone else…making him addicted to the taste of divine temptation that was the son of Poseidon. It would be magnificent. Magical. The best thing that ever happened to Telemachus.

But sadly, it was just a thrilling fantasy for now.

Because Percy, gallant, respectful Percy, was satisfied with pulling their foreheads together in a gesture that was so much more intimate than the prince would’ve thought. It felt like a promise, a bond unbroken, a thing just for the two of them. A closeness shared without the lure of bodily pleasure.

It was warm and soft and just so right, that Telemachus couldn’t even think about objecting.

This close, it was easy to hear the whispered words of his Dearest, devastatingly soft and full of devotion. They sent another thrill through his bones. “Thank you, Telemachus. You’re the amazing one here, do you know that? Where would I be without you?”

A small, guilty part of him couldn’t help but bitterly think of his selfishness. Because without him, Percy would be…

back with your Mom. In the future.

But as true as that was, Telemachus couldn’t speak the words that twisted his heart. He instead ventured, unsure: “Home?” It hurt even to think about Percy not feeling at home here in Ithaca, but despite the prince’s best effort, it was still a very probable possibility.

His Sea-Boy laughed like he had made a great joke, smile honest and sweet when he drew small circles across Telemachus’ cheekbones with his thumbs, making goosebumps rise in his neck. 

“No silly. That’s where I am right now.”, Percy said easily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His warmth and honesty were like a bubble, surrounding them both in a universe belonging just to them.

Telemachus couldn’t even remember his own name.

His breath was fully stolen when his impossible demigod answered his own question: “Without you, I wouldn’t be me.”

The prince choked on air, head spinning, brain churning and gut dancing in all the feeling he had for this man. The only thing he could press past his numb lips was the fondest of expressions. 

“Idiot.”

A breathless laugh and a cheeky reply: “Yours.”    

Everything was losing its meaning beside the magnetic sea-green eye gazing into the deepest part of his soul.

“Yes. Mine.”

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS was pretty sure he had never been more exasperated.

Weeks after the market season had ended and Percy had celebrated his 18^th Birthday quietly with his friends (Telemachus had gotten the whole afternoon and early evening with the demigod, until he had gone down into the city to meet his friends at their inn), life had returned to the usual hustle of late autumn. The crops were reaped and the harvest brought in, filling the warehouses and kitchens. Fruits were dried and wheat milled, all in preparation for the coming winter. Telemachus had been given more responsibility by his mother to help with the organization and he was thriving with every new adversary he overcame without her help.

But this- This the prince could not deal with by himself. Blinking again, he wished for this whole situation to be a joke, but the gods had no mercy with him.

Telemachus stared at the new suitor (a younger man with markings all over his arms and neck, hair shorn and eyes glinting blue), who had come in this afternoon, swaggering in false confidence, demanding to see the queen. Naturally, he was turned down by the guards and directed to wait until Penelope deemed him worthy of her time (which she would never do… but no need to tell the suitors that). But then the man (Agapetos, as he introduced himself) had proclaimed that his gift for her could not wait.

Hence why Telemachus had been called.

Hence why it was now his responsibility to deal with this fool.

“Please say it one more time, Agapetos. You got my mother what exactly?”, the prince asked slowly, hoping (begging) that the man would change his answer to something more reasonable. He felt the eyes of all the suitors and servants lingering around the throne room, watching the entertainment. He would be gawking as well, if it weren’t him having to face this madness.

Bitter disappointment was all that waited for him, when the man stated: “I have brought the Queen of Ithaca 300 of our most well-fed cows! To prove to her that with marrying me, she will have no problem to provide for our people for all the years to come.” Agapetos was obviously proud of this, not seeing the problem that haunted Telemachus’ mind ever since he had first heard of this ridiculous present.

“Let me get this straight: You brought 300, fully grown cows to an Island that has little remaining fields and is fully busy preparing for winter?”, Telemachus was really holding back his irritation until the stupid suitor was nodding like a busybody. Then he struck hard and fast like a shark: “Where do you think we can accommodate so many animals? Our own sheds are bursting already. And what about fodder? Did you bring enough to get them through the cold season, or will you rely on our own stores to have enough leftovers for them? And if you intended to have them slaughtered as soon as they were here to boost our food supplies, did you bring enough workers and farmers to do so? My people are busy with our own animals and harvest. We don’t have the capacity to do anything else right now. Have you even brought salt and vinegar to preserve the meat? What shall we do with the bones and cadaver we cannot preserve?”

His voice had risen during his rant and Telemachus noticed, among the shifting audience, how a particularly handsome guard was moving closer to where he stood on the steps to the throne. It was a pretty familiar routine by now. The prince didn’t need to know all the reasons for his Dearest to draw closer during open petitions like this.

Sometimes it happened because a merchant was particular angry about a raised tax, or because a suitor who was sick of being ignored by the queen came too close. In those cases, it was obviously for protection, and Telemachus preened upon the silent sign that his Sea-Boy was looking out for him without even being asked. But then there were some citizens pleading for better work or better pay or justice for some petty crime, and Percy still left his post to take up the space in the prince’s shadow. Whatever the demigod saw in those encounters that made him worry, his sharp sea-green eyes always caught onto the tiniest movement and took precaution by positioning himself close enough to intervene.

The silent support and closeness helped Telemachus more than he could ever articulate. It was more than the feeling of someone having his back and upholding his words against whoever may doubt him… It was proof of someone truly believing in him and his abilities to make decisions for a whole kingdom. It was appreciative in a silent and unobtrusive kind of way that the prince greatly enjoyed. Especially when it was caused by his most favorite man in all of Ithaca.

So, the prince felt his chest expand and his shoulders rise when the silent presence of the son of Poseidon settled behind him like a cloak of confidence. Simultaneously, Telemachus felt his ire and frustration recede a bit. Both were useless in this situation. The only thing that mattered now was how to deal with the hundreds of extra animals on their not-so-big island.

Telemachus took a deep breath and ignored the stuttered explanation of Agapetos on what exactly his thoughts had been. The prince massaged his temples and said: “Let’s not discuss the astuteness of your gift. My mother may or may not give you a proportional answer. But for now: Where are the animals and who is watching them?”

-

No one, was the short answer.

The longer one would include a whole report on how the suitor had ordered his men to unload the cows and lead them to one of an unoccupied pastures right outside the city (which was unoccupied for a reason, seeing as it was too close to the woods, and this time of the year, the wolves loved to roam around there during the night to look for easy prey). After that, the cows, which turned out to actually be oxen, had been left unattended.  

The prince had to listen to the story with a straight face, when all he wanted to do was to scream at the stupidity of Agapetos. Knowing that it wouldn’t help at all, Telemachus decided to deal with this with as much dignity and grace as possible. He turned around and ordered a servant to tell the stable hand to get his horse ready and to collect a few guards to go with him to see the oxen for himself.

-

Against all of Telemachus tries to reassure his mother that he had the problem in hand, the Queen decided to accompany them to the pasture.

“This might be a little big for you, dear.”, she had said very quietly to him as they were waiting for the horses to be saddled. The prince tried very hard not to feel offended, but the sting of rejection and distrust was burning deep in his heart.

Of course, Percy noticed it immediately. The demigod, as one of the guards set to go with them, drew closer in the chaos of getting everyone ready and reached for Telemachus’ hand. His actions were hidden by the light blue cloak of the prince, but when their fingers tangled for a second and Percy squeezed, the tension seeped from his shoulders just a bit.

There were no words spoken, but the gesture alone told Telemachus all he needed in that moment. His Sea-Boy was with him, always. And he disagreed with the Queens assessment.

The way through the city was quick and silent. At least for Telemachus. He, his mother and Agapetos were the only ones on horses, while the guards and a few skilled farmers (for assessing the animals and their health) were tagging along on foot. Only the suitor was talking, boasting really, about how glad he was that his gracious gift had drawn the attention of the oh-so-illusive Queen. Penelope ignored him valiantly until they left the gates behind them and were on the far narrower path toward the farmlands.

Telemachus didn’t need to look around to feel Percy steadily holding pace with the horses, walking to the side of the prince’s brown steed. The sea-green eyes were sharp and attentive, roaming around and looking for anything out of the ordinary. All the while, his big hand was steadily inching closer toward the young man’s leg, streaking across his naked calf regularly.

It was very hard for Telemachus to suppress the shivers that the contact sent up his spine and he felt the heat starting to curl in his belly and chest, climbing higher with every second. He must’ve been flushed by the time his infuriating Sea-Boy curled his hand completely around his ankle, connecting them together. It was a soft and grounding feeling, but also drove Telemachus mad with all the things he so desperately wanted to do and say once they were alone again.

He knew that Percy was not doing this on purpose. He didn’t want to tease and torment and awake all those unseeming desires, but his presence, his heat, his gaze alone was enough to leave the prince in shambles every time.

A quick look down and the responding smile (all crooked and handsome) was no help at all.

Finally, after maybe half an hour of walking, their little procession reached the outskirts of the pastures. The woods were dark in the background, swallowing all the light of the sun in their deep green shade. Even while straining his eyes, Telemachus was unable to see anything past the first few feet.

An ominous feeling settled over his heart, before he even caught a glimpse of whatever was hiding in the shadows. His attention was soon drawn away by the herd of oxen inside the flimsy wooden construction of the pasture. (He added the need to reinforce them to the list in his mind.)

Telemachus was stumped by just how many animals were populating the frozen and barely green ground. The oxen were big, meaty, with enormous horns and wide faces. Right now, they were grazing peacefully, spread all over the place but still crowded together because there was such a high number of them. 

For a moment, no one spoke, all of them too shocked by the sheer amount of animals brought to their island without their consent. The prince saw the pinch in his mother’s eyebrows and the way her mouth curled distastefully, while the farmers were already whispering in badly hidden panic. 

Percy, the menace that he was, let out a low whistle.

“That’s a lot of mouths to feed.”, he said quietly enough for only the farmers and Telemachus to hear. One of his guard-friends gave the demigod an unnoticeable slap on the back to shut him up (not that it had any chance of truly working). Lucky for all of them, the prince felt his own dark amusement steering and he answered without thinking: “Or a lot of lives to take. Not speaking about all the work after that.”

It earned him another smile from his friend and a hidden chuckle from the farmers, before their helpless joking was interrupted by Agapetos.

“You see, your Majesty?”, the suitor bragged haughtily, “Only the best for the Queen of Ithaca! You don’t have to worry about anyone going hungry during the winter.”

“There was no worry for it even before you turned up.”, his mother answered, curter than she normally treated the suitors, “But now I have to worry about what to do with your gift, unless we let all those animals die in vain during the colder months.”

Agapetos gaped, helplessly stuttering: “I-I assure you-“ Whatever needles apology the man wanted to come up with was violently interrupted.

Several things happened in quick succession.

For one, suddenly there was a hand on Telemachus thigh, pressing into his flesh with heat and insistency, holding him in place. Of course the hand was connected to a well-muscled arm that belonged to no other than the son of Poseidon by his side. But the touch was no gentle caress of thoughtless teasing this time. Before the prince even had the chance to be startled and even more flustered, he caught onto the tension in his Dearest posture. He instantly became alerted himself, head shooting up, looking for the danger Percy had already spotted.

There wasn’t even time to call a warning.

A howl tore through the chilly air. High and piercing, right from the woods. It was echoed by at least a dozen other calls, answering the first one immediately, spread through the trees, causing a canopy of eerie wailing that startled everyone.

But it wasn’t the humans the wolves were after, and their reaction was by far the tamest.

Telemachus saw in slow motion how the first ox snapped its head around, eyes wide and frightened. In a heartbeat, all the other animals were following, taking only a second to register the threat. After that, it was like an avalanche rolling.

There was no time, no breath, not a thing any of them could do, as the herd started to move. Slowly at first, but gaining speed scarily fast, the animals were running away from the woods, past the stunned people standing by the side and right toward the beautiful city of Ithaca in the distance.

Only a slope separated the herd from the sandstone walls, which might’ve been built to withstand heavy attacks, but no one knew what power 300 scared oxen might pack. Even if they wouldn’t make it through the stone, they would destabilize it for sure, not to mention the tragedy should the wall collapse into the city itself. And that was not even accounting the worst fact of all:

The gates were wide open. And in the direct path of the herd.

Telemachus thoughts were racing as he relied on the only source capable of miracles that he knew.

“Percy!” 

His Sea-Boy was moving instantly. Twisting past the stunned and horrified humans, the demigod started running as soon as he hit the first free space. “On it!”, he called over his shoulder, “Stop the wolves, I’ll take the cows!”

Without giving anyone time to process the madness of one man trying to stop a herd of 300 oxen, Telemachus was already strategizing and shouting order: “You heard him! Guards, get in position. There are at least 12 wolves coming from the western side. We need to prevent them from getting closer and spooking the herd again.” His eyes were fixed on the trees as he ordered the farmers to head for the pasture to their left and stay inside. Then he remembered the useless suitor still among them.

“Agapetos.”, he addressed the man sharply, “Ride for the city wall and call for backup. We may need support from the archers should a wolf get through us.” Upon not receiving an immanent response in form of him moving, Telemachus barked: “Now!”

For a second, everyone was frozen, too shaken from the sudden events and the prince felt a heavy stone drop in his gut, when all the heads swiveled around to the Queen instead of following his word.

It was to be expected, natural even, but it still felt horrible for Telemachus, as he knew his plan had the best chance of working. It showed the young man just how untrustworthy his words and command were to the common people, despite his station as the prince. In the face of a real crisis, all the flowery words and empty reassurances came to light.

Even the guards were doubting him.

The only one who had acted, the only one heeding his words and orders immediately, even the unspoken ones, was (as so often) Percy Jackson. And while that was certainly a good thing, it also wasn’t enough to dose the flame of insecurity and humiliation that burned through Telemachus as everyone waited for the assessment of the Queen, wasting precious seconds.     

Penelope watched her son with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met. The prince gritted his teeth. Whatever his mother saw made her slightly tilt her head. She hummed thoughtfully before commanding, tone steady: “Do what he says.”

Only after getting her permission did the guard and farmers move. Agapetos needed an extra invitation once more, before he finally spurred his horse after the herd and back to the city. Telemachus turned his own mount to move behind the (very weak) line of defense the guards built, when he was addressed by the Queen.

“Where do you want me, son?”, Penelope asked, still not showing any of her thoughts on her face. The fact that she was asking at all, really giving him the reigns, was like a cool hand on the burning hurt of his pride.

The prince decided to push it all down to deal with later, before he answered: “Preferably back in the palace.” Without giving his Mom any time to process the grave remark, Telemachus was already speaking again: “For now, we will keep behind the guards. It’s not safe to ride for the city when the oxen still aren’t under control, and we need to stay close to the guard to adapt our strategy if necessary. Don’t get too close if it comes to a fight, our horses aren’t battle trained and will most likely run should they face a wolf. I want you riding toward the harbor, should one of them come through.”

“Very well.”, the Queen conceded and then followed him into position before asking: “But how do you plan to stop the herd?” There was earnest curiosity in her words this time and Telemachus didn’t need to think long to find an answer. “Percy will.”, he stated simply.

Penelope hummed again: “That is a lot of confidence in just one man.” It was hard for the prince to decide if she sounded disapproving or just skeptical, but it raised his hackles either way. After making sure the guard was in position and there was no sign of the wolves yet, Telemachus turned around, gaze searching for his Sea-Boy.

To his mother he said, confidently and steady: “He’s more than just a man. Just watch.” And Telemachus prayed to all the gods not to be wrong this time.

-

Telemachus was forced to admit that it didn’t look good for his Sea-Boy.

Even though the son of Poseidon was faster (and stronger) than any mortal and had trained with gods and legends, even he was unable to catch up to a herd of panicked, racing oxen by foot.

The animals had run down the flimsy wooden fence that enclosed the pasture within seconds, not even slowing down as they ripped it apart with their bodies. There was nothing standing in their way now that could’ve made them change directions, and they were still headed for the open gates of Ithaca. With the pace the oxen were going at, it was only a matter of minutes before they would trample through the streets of the city.

Telemachus’ heart sped a mile a minute, eyes transfixed on the moving blob that was Percy, as he was running along the still standing part of the fence. He only heard with one ear how the guards behind him were starting to bark orders, as the wolves emerged from the woods. While the pack animals were great hunters, they were also rather shy and avoided human contact whenever possible. It wasn’t yet cold enough for there to be no prey in the woods, so the wolves wouldn’t be desperate enough to chase after the herd of cows for too long, especially if armed people were in their way.

The far more precarious situation played out on the other side, further away with each breath the prince took. For a second, a heartbeat, doubt started to creep into Telemachus’ mind.

Had he been right to just send Percy? Could anyone even stop the tragedy unfurling before his eyes?

But of course, his impossible Sea-Boy would never dare to disappoint him. Because just as the prince had allowed that thought to bloom, the earth under the hooves of his horse began to tremble.

At first, it was barely there, nearly unnoticeable, but getting stronger with each mighty step the demigod took toward the fleeing oxen. It was as if the earth was breathing with Percy’s pace, shaking with his figure and following an unspoken command. Telemachus horse tripped around, uncomfortable and nervous, but the prince kept a tight grip on its reigns and shushed the mount gently.

He felt his heart flutter when the tremors grew and the sound of shifting rocks rose in tune with the trampling of the herd, which miraculously began to slow down. The animals appeared to be wary upon the change of the ground as well, no longer running at full speed, but still too fast for any reasonable person to catch up.

But Percy was never reasonable. That was part of his charm. 

And he was less alone than Telemachus had thought. Because in that moment, a high and loud neigh split the air over the wide fields.

The unexpected sound made the prince and Queen turn simultaneously toward the source, and Telemachus could’ve cried in silent relief. On the other side of the pasture, right over a little hill, a silhouette was lifted against the last remaining rays of sunshine. Tall, dark and handsome, the horse looked like it was sent from its God himself.

The prince recognized the stately gait and wild mane instantly.

Talion.

The stallion Percy had freed had come back to help his liberator. And not a moment too soon. The horse neighed again, before it rushed down the slope of the hill, hooves like a mighty heart, beating in tandem with the shaking earth. Talion headed straight for the demigod, who whooped loudly upon seeing his horse, but didn’t slow down in his own run. They came together flawlessly, just as Percy was reaching the end of the wooden fence. In one smooth moved (that looked way too practiced and way too hot) the son of Poseidon used the leverage of a tree stump to get onto the fence, finding his balance instantly, before using the small wood as if it was just another road. The stallion caught up to the man just as his reckless Sea-Boy was stepping on the last few inches available. Percy didn’t even look back when he pushed himself up and jumped into the air, away from the fence.

It was a glorious picture.

For a second the demigod was suspended right there in the sky, sun highlighting his figure like some kind of divine spotlight. His hair was moving in the wind, grey streak tousled between black (or was it dark blue?) handsomely.

Percy’s hair had grown a lot through the years, touching his cheekbones in unruly curls that he only allowed Telemachus to cut every once in a while. The prince loved those days fiercely. The feeling of soft strands running like water through his fingers was something he deeply treasured and craved every time he saw the other man. Right now, they were the perfect length to playfully swirl over the gleaming eyes of the demigod, which were focused right on the herd of oxen far ahead.

His eyes were darker than usual, more blue than green, but Telemachus only had a second to appreciate the change before his gaze was drawn to the rest of his Dearest.

Percy’s body was one coiled mass of honed muscles and power. Arms and legs were rippling, and the plain armor did nothing to hide just how breathtakingly handsome the young man was. He was the type to cause artists despair in trying to recreate his beauty. (Telemachus should know, he was one of those artists). And the most exasperating thing about it all was that the demigod had no idea just how alluring he was in his roguish persona.

This jump was just another example of the recklessness his Sea-Boy so often displayed. And to Telemachus great concern, it worked most of the time. Like right now.

Because Percy’s floating ended as quickly as it had begun and when gravity reclaimed the son of Poseidon, it was perfectly timed for him to land on Talion’s back, as the stallion galloped under him at exactly the right moment.

Telemachus felt the air leave his lungs in something between a sign and a moan. How was a simple prince like him expected to resist such temptation? Percy was too oblivious to ever guess the feeling Telemachus harbored for him, but he had already been really forward in throwing that apple so many months ago. Could he risk taking another step already?

None of that mattered urgently, so the prince shoved every useless thought back into his brain. He didn’t want to miss one second of the miracle his Sea-Boy caused.

On Talion’s back, the demigod looked perfectly content. Telemachus hadn’t seen Percy ride before (or had he? He remembered drawing a picture of his friend on the back of a mighty Pegasus once), and now he cursed his past self for not thinking about it sooner.

Because his Sea-Boy was a natural (of course, his father literally made horses out of seafoam!), but he looked also really good doing it. The fact that there was no saddle or halter did not impede him at all, and the stallion reacted to whatever non-verbal commands the demigod gave beautifully. They moved fluently, as one, like a wave crashing upon the shore, powerful and rapid. There was no awkward time where both animal and rider needed to get accustomed to one another. They made a very good team right off the bat.

The merchant that had sold the horse hadn’t lied in his rant. Talion was for sure a descendant from one of the finest lines in Greece. Because the stallion was not only beautiful and strong, he was also fast. Really fast. If the prince hadn’t been prepared to be amazed from the get-go, his jaw would’ve been on the ground.

Percy and his mount were nothing more than a black streak across the field, racing faster than the oxen, catching up not even four seconds later. It was harder to see what exactly happened, but the dark contour was easy to follow, as his Sea-Boy stormed past the herd, raising an arm high as Talion carried him to the front. A sharp whistle split the air, and it became obvious that the frightened animals were orientating themselves after their leader. Which had just changed to the demigod and his incredible stallion. The oxen were matching the pace Percy set beautifully and Telemachus watched, astounded and proud, as his Dearest changed their course minimally with every step.

The city walls had drawn closer, but by now, the panic and disorder of the herd had lessened. The ground was still shaking a bit, but when the demigod leading the charge of animals turned to the side sharply, the avalanche of hooves and fur followed. The herd was led around, a sharp turn before they could even come close to crashing into the sandstone, and back toward the open fields past the pastures.

Telemachus could not suppress the relieved giggle as he watched his Sea-Boy slow down gradually, leaving the oxen to trot behind him at some point, before coming to a standstill on one of the fields.

Percy rode around the herd for a minute, making sure every animal was accounted for and calm enough to not break out again.

Just when the prince was about to call out to him, he registered the commotion behind him.

The wolves had come out of the woods by now but were waiting just by the edge. There were about ten of them, all dark eyes, assessing and watching. They indeed made no move to attack. Ad when one of the guards banged his sword against his shield, the wolves turned around and vanished back into the darkness. 

Telemachus let out a deep breath that took the tension in his shoulders with it. They’d done it.

Chapter Text

To celebrate TELEMACHUS’ first-time taking charge and successfully preventing a tragedy (and to reluctantly welcome the new batch of suitors that had arrived beside Agapetos) the Queen had decided for a banquet to be held that evening.

She ordered the best food and wine for the occasion and invited many influential nobles from the city to partake in the festivities. It gave his mother a buffer from the suitors and a good excuse to leave any unwanted conversation. It was a trick she always used, and Telemachus applauded her in his head for always having an exit strategy.

Another point of the nobles being there was that they had to listen to the many recounts of today’s events with polite smiles and spoken congratulations. The few farmers and guards that had been present wouldn’t shut up about it, and everyone listened to the story at least twice, making sure it stayed in their heads.

The Queen herself held back with her praise of her son in public. She was cunning enough to know that her words wouldn’t be taken seriously by the predominantly male guests and that her gushing would be counted as the blabber of a proud (and misguided) mother. Not to be taken seriously.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t bursting with pride at the seams. And she had no problem showing just how much in the private of their quarters just before the banquet.

Penelope had drawn Telemachus into a tight hug then, whispering in his ear that she could not have handled that better and how impressed she was with his quick thinking. The prince was blooming under the praise and honest compliments, smiling like the sun and bursting with joy, especially when his Mom whispered just how proud his father would’ve been, could he be here. It was the highest form of recognition for the young prince.

The Queen was also very impressed with the part Percy played in the resolution of the situation. The secret smile she sent her son when mentioning how good of a team they made and the subsequent blush that spread over Telemachus’ cheeks stayed between them in the secrecy of their home. Still, Penelope showed her approval by laying a hand demonstratively on the demigod’s shoulder as she introduced him in front of the entire court as an excellent guard and skilled protector of the realm.

The soft smile she sent Percy’s way before letting him go was a private thing. Hidden behind her flowing hair and full of affection. Only Telemachus could see how it relaxed his Dearest, to get this kind of reaction from the Queen (or maybe the demigod was just glad to have the confirmation that the mother of his friend liked him? – The prince could only speculate). But that was the extent of public interactions between them. After that, Penelope drew back and let the (carefully constructed) evening play out. 

She let others do the talking about her son’s accomplishments and simply stayed composed in the background. Luckily, there was no shortage of other people that had been present to report about the prince’s actions and commands. The farmers had been invited as well and, because they rarely got such an honor, were more than willing to butter up Telemachus’ whole persona and the danger of the situation. Whether their words were believed or not was inconsequential, seeing as most politicians and rich people only believed their own sources amongst the guard (all of which were known by the royal family or Macar in secret. The nobles were just idiots, who thought themselves cleverer than the Queen).

The rumors and stories that traveled through the servant’s grapevine of gossip was predominantly influenced by the guards, all of which were standing firmly behind their trainer and prince, making for some flourished recollections of the events.

Percy himself also had a place of honor at the banquet. It was the first time he received such attention publicly and in the circle of nobles. His fame had otherwise been mostly among the common people and working class before.

The prince knew how uncomfortable his Sea-Boy was with the elevated attention he got (even more than Telemachus himself) and it showed in the way the demigod tried to avoid lasting conversations. He wasn’t subtle about it at all. His dislike for the lavishing lifestyle of most of the people present was written on his face, clear for all to see. Furthermore, his curt and honest way of talking made him a target for veiled insults and condescension all around.

For all his other skills, Percy was no conversationalist. 

Not that the son of Poseidon cared. He was more interested in the food and staying close to Telemachus at all times, even though he wasn’t there in any official capacity. Their closeness allowed the prince to lead most of the conversations, drawing the attention and question to himself to spare his Dearest the grueling task of being polite to sleezy old man and cackling women.

It was a dance of words and assessment he was used to, even though it became far more pointed the longer the night went on. All the old douchebags who had voiced their doubt of his abilities to lead a kingdom someday (even if it had been in ‘secret’ – Telemachus had more sources than ever before, thanks to the influence of his friendship with Percy), were forced to acknowledge and accept his success this time and it was viciously satisfying to see them grovel.

The prince’s little joy did not remain unnoticed for long and soon his ever-present shadow of a demigod saw through his scheme.

After that, Percy became more vocal in conversations, but only to sing the praise of Telemachus’ wit and quick-thinking. He attributed all of his own actions to the great leading of the prince, sending smiles and chuckles around like lethal weapons that hit the tittering ladies of the court right in their hearts, and made the men puff up in vain pride.

It was a fascinating effect. Despite Percy being cool and dismissive most of the time, nearly everyone that talked to him had somehow shown their goal to impress the demigod. Be it with witty banter or classic jokes (most of which only led to a slight smile), deep cut dresses (which never tempted his Dearest even once to lower his eyes) or anecdotes about feats long since forgotten (which went mostly unaddressed). Telemachus needed to suppress his mirth whenever his Sea-Boy just raised an eyebrow after somebody tried to boast about a successful hunt last week, or something equally flimsy.

The son of Poseidon faced gods and monsters regularly, had fought a war and survived a voyage, centuries in the past… As if he was interested in some minor achievement of some lord, when he dined with the royal family of Atlantis bi-weekly, trained with a Sea-God, and could level whole fleets with little effort.

Not that any of the humans knew that. Percy’s unimpressed response to the boasting only made his honest praise of Telemachus’ actions ring even more important.

-

The evening progressed slowly, but productively. Over the course of four conversations, Telemachus had gotten three nobles to voice their reluctant praise and agreement to listen to his proposal for a new rotation of the crops on their land in the coming days and he had secured an invitation to a politician’s very private, very exclusive wine tasting, that would guarantee him a foot in the door with the more elusive parts of high society.

Telemachus was very proud of himself and couldn’t stop smiling, when he was pulled aside by Percy not long after that. He chuckled upon seeing his Sea-Boy’s impatient expression and followed him willingly behind a few columns leading deeper into the palace and out of the direct light of the torches.

What he was not prepared for was to be pressed into the marble as soon as they were out of sight, back against the cold stone, faced with the tall figure of his demigod. The son of Poseidon was blocking the sight of them with his body, broad shoulders making it impossible for anyone to see just who exactly he was cozying up to in the dark.

It was such an ambiguous position that the prince felt his heart speed up and the heat flush to his face instantly. But his Sea-Boy was not noticing his reaction, because the sea-green eyes were busy watching the surroundings for a moment, before focusing fully on the man in front of him. His hands moved to the prince’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm hug.

Telemachus smelled a bit of wine on his breath, as Percy said into his ear: “I thought a lot about what to give you for your success today. But seeing you charm all those people and wrapping them around your finger just made me forget until now.”

The prince’s heart melted, and he was just about to swoon right into the strong chest of his Dearest. Gods, could he be more perfect? Or attentive? Or vexing?

But Telemachus needed to make one thing clear regardless of his fluttering belly: “Percy, I don’t need you to gift me anything.” And despite meaning every word, there still was a lot left unsaid between the prince’s breaths.

All I could ever want is right here already. Only a kiss would-

No. Telemachus stopped that thought immediately. He would not be greedy. The hug, the closeness, the warmth of the demigod’s body seeping deep into his bones, was more than enough.

He would be satisfied with the freely given affection, even if it wasn’t in the form he dreamed about so often. It was rare for Percy to initiate contact like this anyway, so the prince refused to spoil it by imagining how much better it could be, if his oblivious Sea-Boy would just read the signs he left around like glowing lanterns in a dark room.

“I know.”, Percy smiled, sharp and crooked, dangerous and teasing. A look that made Telemachus’ knees weak and his mouth dry. Gods, how was he to survive this?

A meek little gasp tore out of his throat, as the son of Poseidon pulled him closer still, hands clasping behind his waist in an insistent grip. If his Dearest wanted, he would be able to lift Telemachus easily this way, carrying him away from the bustling hum of the festivities in the background. They could make for his chambers and-

“But that’s not gonna stop me.”

Telemachus really needed to get a grip and focus on the conversation. But it was really hard, with the tanned skin of Percy’s throat bobbing right in front of him with every swallow. The prince wanted to put his own mouth there desperately.

In his great despair to get his mind back into reality, Telemachus breathlessly said: “Okay then. What have you got for me?”

Hopefully something that would need the demigod to back away a bit. His smell of fresh apple and salty water clouded the prince’s senses far too much for there to be any rational thoughts.  

Percy’s expression became uncertain for a second, before the fire in his mesmerizing eyes burned brighter and he mused seriously: “Not something you probably want. Or need. But I’m going to be selfish for a minute and give it to you anyway. Consider it a reward for myself if you want.”

Telemachus was confused: “What do you-“

Soft lips were pressed to his cheeks in a touch so gentle it could’ve been an illusion. But the warmth spreading across Telemachus face and the tickling feeling of black hair against his temple were more than enough proof of this moment being real. A soft gasp escaped the prince in a breathy exhale as his brain short circuited.

Percy Jackson lingered for a moment, letting the caress seep deeply into Telemachus’ skin, branded for all eternity. His heart was spinning and running and jumping and stumbling and all the messed-up things that his belly mirrored as well.

There was just so much going on inside him that the prince was sure he would pass out if it weren’t for the chaste kiss anchoring him in the present.

It was glorious and tender and so utterly sweet that Telemachus felt like he could cry.

Happiness was too weak of a word to describe the utter joy and euphoria he felt in that moment.

The only thing breaking through the haze was his Dearest drawing back and whispering (his lips still fondling Telemachus’ cheek in a devastatingly addictive way): “You were amazing out there today, Dream-Boy. Congratulations.”

And the prince felt like he was melting right through the floor.

-

It took a while for Telemachus to get all of his facilities back under control and find the strength to draw away from the intimacy and warmth that was Percy Jackson. But he knew (in the deeply buried, logical part of his brain) that they needed to get back to the banquet. There were still people to talk to, as much as the prince just wanted to spend the rest of the night with his Sea-Boy.

When they finally got back, it was like they never left, and Telemachus was drawn back into conversations nearly immediately. 

The only people who gave the prince and his demigod a wide berth were the old suitors. At least as long as they were together. After the feast and maybe two hours of mingling (the night was getting late and soon, the festivities would end with the Queen leaving), Percy was called away by his guard-friends, invited to share a quick drink with just them, away from all the stuffiness of propriety.

It was extremely flattering that the son of Poseidon’s gaze flittered over to Telemachus instantly, looking quietly for whether the prince needed his presence (or simply wanted it) before even considering if he wanted to go himself. It warmed Telemachus deep into his bones and with a gentle smile and a soft push, he sent his Dearest away to at least enjoy a few minutes of the evening dedicated to them both. The blinding grin and soft squeeze of his hand the prince got in return was more than enough to keep him in high spirits, even as Percy snuck away.  

It didn’t take long for his mood to be dampened though. Because, as if they had just been lying in wait for him to be alone, the scavengers descended on him the minute his Sea-Boy was out of sight.

Telemachus had been prepared; he expected them to try something this evening ever since his mother announced the banket. It was the first opportunity in months for the suitors to get closer to the Queen. Of course they would jump on it like hungry dogs on a bone.

But only the most calculating and cunning would know that the best way to get to Penelope would be through Telemachus. His mother was a master of diverting attempts at conversation or shutting down unnecessary talk with the excuse of more important matters waiting. But nothing could ever be more important to her than her son. A vice that most of the suitors knew by now. Much to Telemachus’ dismay.

The prince didn’t even have the luck for it to be a stupid specimen of them that caught him first. No, it had to be the worst of them. One not easily evaded or shaken off.

Antinous was way too smart for that. And ruthless enough to keep Telemachus obedient through the sheer threat of violence. Which only worked now because their biggest adversary wasn’t there. With Percy present by his side, no one would’ve dared to touch the prince. 

It was flattering and infuriating that the best protection Telemachus had was the presence of his Sea-Boy, instead of his own abilities or merits. But as Percy so aptly put it once during their training: It was best for the enemy to underestimate his skills than to know how to prepare for them. Because as small and helpless as the prince might feel, he wasn’t. Not anymore. Not since starting to train for real with a battle hardened and excellent mentor. He was only missing the real-life application and bravery his Dearest possessed in spades.

So, although his mind was battling with frustration, fear and anger equally, Telemachus kept his face blank and unaffected, when the dark suitor crowded against him on the edge of the room. Though he did not make the mistake of touching him publicly again.

If it were just the suitors present, Antinous might’ve acted differently, but the servants and nobles around them were a weak spot and only one whispered word into Percy’s ears would make the demigod follow up with his threat of taking the man’s hands. By now, Antinous was clever enough to know that the new trainer was a man of his word.

So, the older suitor relied on his bigger physical appearance (again) to transmit an aura of dominance.

“Why, hello my dear prince.”, Antinous drawled, pushing the red cloak he wore to the side to reveal the little knife hidden in his belt (weapons weren’t allowed at this kind of social gathering, but Telemachus wasn’t stupid enough to think that everyone would follow the rules. Hence, he had a sneaky little blade hidden in his arm guard as well).

The scar across the suitor’s eye was still raised and red, even after nearly a year. Whatever medicine he had been given by Hyginus, it wasn’t enough to completely heal the cut. (Telemachus was more than sure that the healer had known what he did back then. Even without Percy’s commands, his friends knew exactly how to read a situation).

“I see you unoccupied right now”, the man continued, “Shall we follow up on our little arrangement then?”

The way he spoke and the emphasis he put on that word made it sound far different from what it truly was. Telemachus noticed the scandalized gasped of some women near them and cursed in his head.

Antinous wanted his standing to stagger by insinuating that there was something untoward happening between them.

A prince that was having a relationship with one of the suitors? Even with the fact that Telemachus would rather kill himself than let any part of that man closer than five feet wouldn’t be enough to stop the rumors. He shuddered just thinking about it, and bile rose in his throat as he imagined those dark hands parting-

Yeah, hell no.

“Your delusions are getting stronger again. I hear that it’s normal for a head wound to impede one’s sense of reality.”, Telemachus said icily, crossing his arms and not even fighting the sneer that spread over his face, “Your pathetic attempts at getting any part of the royal family to give you attention are getting worse by the minute. Do try to keep your disgusting leering at something you will never have at bay. It’s unbecoming of your station.”

Antinous drew even closer, still not touching the prince, but his dark gaze felt nothing less than violating as it roamed over Telemachus’ finely dressed figure. Anger, hate and desire were written clearly on the man’s face as he thundered: “Big words for someone so small. But remember, little prince, there will be moments when you need to back them up. No man is forever guarded. And when the time comes, I’ll make sure you will beg for me to-“

A movement behind the suitor caught Telemachus’ attention. Just a blink of black hair and a fierce scowl and the prince felt the tension leave him, the threats not even sinking into his brain as he interrupted, outwardly bored: “This conversation is over.”

“Why you-“ Before Antinous could make the last, damning step, he was stopped by the deep growl of the predator lurking behind him.

“You heard my Prince.”

Percy was beside him at once, face clouded with anger, lips twitching in a snarl and eyes gleaming like a dark promise. Antinous backed off, but the look he threw at the prince was a warning and a vow at once and Telemachus knew that this wasn’t over.

The thought already made him shudder.

Chapter Text

PERCY was slowly but surely getting used to the uncountable number of parties that were constantly thrown in ancient times.

Whether it was because of the Solstices, the harvest being finally brought in, the changing of the seasons, the celebration of some god for giving their perceived blessing for something, nobles proudly presenting new purchases or throwing their wealth around in a show of having it in the first place. There were parties for new additions to families (be it marriage or birth), reduction of families (death or marriage), good trade agreements, wine tastings, building a new shrine or temple, and all other kinds of stuff Percy chose to ignore in favor of keeping his sanity.

The demigod would’ve gladly sat out most of those occasions (not to mention that he was really not important enough to be invited in the first place – his secret of being a spawn of a god was still very well kept between him, his Dream-Boy, his friends and the Queen), but seeing as he was close friends with his Royal Highness, Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca (and his most favored guard on top of that- surprise, surprise), the son of Poseidon simply had no choice but to be present for most of them anyway. Even if it was just as extra protection for the royal heir.

Not that he minded that too much. Spending time with his friend (even if it was only in the form of exchanged glances and exasperated gossip sessions after the events), was always the highlight of his day. But it did become tedious after a while, no matter how many scandals the nobles had brewing under their roofs. And thanks to the demigod standing mostly on the sidelines with the guards and servants, he had a totally different access to conversations and information than Telemachus.

Despite him never wanting it, Percy soon became the hotspot for intermingling gossip all across Ithaca’s high society.

He was known not only by the servants through his services and time in the city, but also familiar with most guards or freelancing warriors through Telesophorus’ inn and the training he gave in the arena. The rich and mighty knew mostly of him, having heard about his closeness to Telemachus and his steadily climbing popularity (or fighting prowess). It was a big and chaotic network of who knew who and how well regarded that person was in their circle. And however he’d managed it, Percy was on top of a lot of people’s lists of well-liked acquaintances.

Which was a wild thing to think about. Because, yeah, he might be easy going and friendly on the surface, but he had never been popular to this degree in his own time, being more used to usher commands or save Camp from yet another annoying danger.

His new role as some kind of society-favorite was like a brick to the head.

Despite not being a big fan of gatherings and parties most of the time (because it required a lot of standing still and not being noticed for him, which was torture with his ADHD), there were a few occasions of festivity and joy Percy did look forward to.

By far his favorite was the long-awaited birthday celebration of his Dream-Boy’s birthday, a few months into the new year.

It had been a headache to figure out who was older between the two of them, but Telemachus calculated that in the end, he was younger by a few months. His birthday may be earlier in the year, but thanks to the time travel, Percy was bodily older, as he had arrived at 16 (nearly 17 in his own timeline) shortly after the prince’s own sixteenth birthday.

It was unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but a nice thing to know regardless.  

Telemachus’ 18^th birthday dawned bright and early with the most beautiful sunrise Apollo had painted in a while.

Percy had been given the night shift, which wasn’t ideal, seeing as he didn’t want to catch up on sleep on the day itself, to spend as much time as he could with the prince. He was also scheduled to be one of the guards this evening during the big celebration. The demigod hadn’t told Telemachus about the fact that he would stay up for more than 24 hours for him, not wanting his Dream-Boy to worry uselessly. His endurance would carry him through without big problems (had in fact gotten him through much worse conditions during the Battle for Olympus) and he could simply sleep long and heavy afterward, because his next day was free from any duty.

On the positive side, being up early enough to sneak into his friend’s chambers unseen and waking him to enjoy the amazing view together, first thing in the morning, was quite the boon. Even if it had taken at least ten minutes for the son of Poseidon to gently get Telemachus to open his eyes. The prince was one of the heaviest sleepers Percy had ever seen. And his rumpled and adorable pouty look when being woken was a gift all on itself. The demigod didn’t even try to hide his fond grin when he gave Telemachus the breakfast he had collected from the kitchens and pulled him onto the balcony.

Listening to his friend’s plans for the day, which were mostly still duties and rubbing elbows with some people, Percy waited patiently before revealing his gift to the prince with a nervous twitch of his hands.

On his last visit to his father’s kingdom, the son of Poseidon had asked the god if he would be allowed to bring Telemachus around for a few hours to show him the beauty of the underwater kingdom. His Dad had been reluctant to grant a human access to the mythical world of Atlantis, but offered the compromise of them visiting the hidden gardens deep down in the trenches, where Percy’s little cave was as well. Poseidon even promised to make them the most radiant gardens in the seas for a few weeks just for them.

Percy had agreed.

It fit his other plan of instructing a few of his fishy friends to do a little parade for his Dream-Boy well enough. (Not that he told Telemachus about that surprise – he only asked the other man if he wanted to go swim with him for real this time. The prince agreed with a bright and excited grin).

They planned the outing for next weekend, before Telemachus reluctantly had to get dressed and start his day. Percy vanished over the rails of the balcony before the first piece of clothing could hit the floor, but the sound alone brought a bit of heat to the demigod’s cheeks, and he forced his thoughts away fast.     

The day was slow, and Percy had little opportunity to see his prince, but the few glances or soft touches they could exchange while meeting in the halls were worth missing a few hours of sleep. When the sun was setting, he was called into one of the council rooms with all the other guards that would be stationed at the party.

Macar instructed them heavily on how to spot hidden weapons, watch out for nervous guests and keep an eye on the food plates near the royal family. He himself would of course be by their side the whole evening, but to keep everyone’s minds sharp, the guards would rotate through the room periodically. No one knew the whole safety plan beside the captain, to prevent bribing, and Percy wholeheartedly agreed, even when he dreaded to be sent around like some headless chicken.

Not that it would stop him (in case of a real emergency) from crossing any room in a heartbeat. As long as any would-be-attacker had blood, the son of Poseidon would be faster. And to protect Telemachus and his Mom was the highest priority. On that, he and Macar agreed.

The guests arrived in waves, the first ones two hours early, meaning that their shifts had to start at the same time. No noble or politician was to be left unsupervised and when Percy heard the groaning of his fellow soldiers upon having their break cut short, he volunteered to watch the early birds until the real thing began.

The celebration took place in the throne room and the dining hall, which were back-to-back and only separated by a few big arches. The veils that normally hung between them were removed to allow better flow between the rooms and to reduce any hiding spot for possible nefarious actions.    

When everyone had arrived and it was finally time for the Queen and Prince to make their entrance, Percy stood by the wall on the other side of the room, keeping an eye on the food. His gaze was drawn upward when he felt the warmth of a pumping heart so very familiar to him drawing closer. His head snapped to the door instantly and the demigod lost every thought when he saw his Prince enter the throne room.

He looked divine.

Glorious and beautiful in a way that constricted Percy’s heart and made his throat dry up instantly. A vision of grace that no god or goddess the son of Poseidon had ever met could even try to compare to. Telemachus was timeless. Draped in flowing fabric of blue and white that transcended every physical order.

A piece of art from the hands of a master.

Untouchable and pure in a way that stole the breath of everyone present. And when the prince of all the fairytales ever told caught the gaze of the demigod and gave him a radiant smile, the world was suddenly right again.

No worries or angst or problems dared to stay in the presence of such a shining beacon of hope and happiness, and the only wish that remained was for Percy to be allowed to stand beside his Dream-Boy.

Not as a guard (although he would die happily, if he spent all his life defending Telemachus) but as an equal. A partner. The person closest to his heart, in whatever capacity the prince would allow.

Oh, how his poor soul longed for this.

But it was not to be. Not now. Not yet. Maybe never.

But maybe still meant hope.

Percy just needed to be patient. And bold. And daring to voice the reason for the warmth settled deep in his chest whenever the other man was close. A reason he still hadn’t confessed to anyone, not even his own reflection. It was still too vulnerable. There was no way he could come out with this. Not right now. This day wasn’t about him and his desires.

It was about celebrating his Dream Boy. His Prince. His favorite person.

The son of Poseidon was not known for his devotion to the gods. But for Telemachus, he would gladly learn how to worship, how to kneel. And he would be thankful for it.

All of those thoughts and feelings crashed through Percy like a tidal wave, sweeping him away into the depths of his mind, until he managed to surface again, minutes later.

Telemachus had already moved on, being surrounded by people of all ages and genders, greeting them with a polite smile and accepting well-wishes graciously. Percy stayed on his post. He knew that there would be an opportunity to slip away with his Dream-Boy later on, where he could tell him how stunning and beautiful he looked.

The soft, brown hair was fastened behind a golden laurel wreath from which a few small chains were woven into the dark strands, crested with gemstones. His shark tooth still dangled in the hallow of the prince’s throat, but it was overlayed by even more gold and jewelry, that ran over his shoulder and down his arms in bands and bracelets. The chiton was formfitting, nestling perfectly into Telemachus’ slim waist, highlighting his lean figure and giving regular glimpses of tantalizing skin. The freckles of his friend gleamed under the torches, painting intricate paths across his cheeks and bare shoulders, begging to be fondled and caressed, but Percy restrained. (He did so very often).

His eyes did not leave the other man once as he made his way through the room, but the senses of the demigod were honed all around, not missing a single thing. Thanks to his perception and all the pulsing liquids around, it was easy to map out the room and all the movement in it without actually having to look. This way, the son of Poseidon clocked the servant sneaking a bottle of wine away and the young woman licking the cream from some older man’s finger sensually behind a column, but his main focus was on Telemachus at all times.

Where else could it be? 

Percy stayed in the background as the appetizers were exchanged for real food, and he only briefly got the chance to let his hand roam down Telemachus’ back when they passed each other closely in the crowd, noticing the shiver he caused with a satisfied smile. The smoldering looks out of caramel eyes he received in return were equally thrilling. It was the only kind of contact the demigod got, because his Dream-Boy was being swarmed by so many people all the time.

It didn’t stop him from homing in on the prince, despite a few people trying to speak with him. Percy rebuffed them all politely, but firmly with his excuse to be at work and not able to socialize. He was mostly left alone after that, but their eyes stayed glued to his figure regardless for so long it made the demigod itchy.

But it didn’t matter, for his eyes were only settled on his Dream-Boy.      

To his immense joy, Telemachus was looking for him equally often. Eyes roaming over the crowd searchingly, until they spotted the demigod somewhere on the sidelines. Always close by, always in reach, always watching. He had long since ignored Macar’s orders to change spots regularly, simply moving along the edge of the room to keep as close to the prince as possible.  

It was another kind of rush to actually see the bone deep affection filtering across the prince’s regal face, and the way his smile never ceased to soften when their eyes met across the rooms. It didn't matter who was standing in his Dream-Boy’s vicinity or trying to talk to him, because Telemachus’ focus was always drawn back to Percy regardless, even if it was only for a heartbeat.

It was like a humming string connected them, beating like a living thing, drawing their eyes and attention no matter how many people were between them.

Percy was thankful for his height of over six feet, because even if some of the women had atrociously high hairdos, he was still able to always keep Telemachus in his immediate sight at all times. No matter how restricted his view otherwise was.   

For this occasion, even the son of Poseidon couldn’t get out of wearing his full armor, including a gaudy helmet that hindered his periphery sight annoyingly. But it was helpful in providing an opportunity to hide his eyes in the shadows (like Hermes always did) when he saw just how many people clamored for his friend’s attention.

And how freely Telemachus was giving it.

A nauseating feeling rushed through Percy’s gut, making him want to step up and pull the prince into his embrace, be part of his world, stand by his side proudly, as his Dream-Boy charmed politicians and single daughters of nobles like his life depended on it.

Even the clearly visible shark tooth (a claim now, even if the demigod never intended that with his gift when he gave it… but the dark possessiveness in his heart refused to see the necklace as anything else) was not enough of a statement to satisfy the demigod’s inner beast. It was growling and growing more restless in his chest with ever new face stepping up (and way too close) to his Dream-Boy.

Percy didn't know how much torture he was in for still, until the musicians started to play a lively tune and pairs of dancers flooded the space between the many tables. The Queen had hired the best artists for this occasion, announcing the opening dance two hours into the event and ushering her son onto the floor to take her for a spin.

It was a graceful way for Penelope to avoid the suitors frothing from their mouths, awaiting their turn with thinly disguised greed. The Queen ignored the watching men valiantly, as she danced with Telemachus, and then Macar, and then some politicians that were way to old and frail to try anything, before she excused herself again on account of being tired, avoiding any other dance easily.

The prince was not so lucky.

With horror and fascination, the demigod was forced to remain quiet and still, as the first lady approached Telemachus with coy smiles and fluttering lashes.

Of course, the prince would have to dance at such an event. Percy was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. This was expected for sure, and a good opportunity to butter up to the people, which was the only thing Telemachus liked these occasions for.

Percy hated it.

Even though his friend was amazing at it, twirling and twisting with grace and finesse, evading other dancers easily and looking so breathtakingly beautiful while doing it, the stupid goose in his arms destroyed the picture thoroughly.

Every single one after her was not better. Not at all.

And there were a lot of people lining up to get even a small piece of his Prince just for themselves.

As If anyone of them could have more of Telemachus than Percy already did.

The time, the attention, the friendship his Dream-Boy gifted him with every single day was beyond compare and reach for any of those tittering girls, fighting for even a glance in their direction, as cool and disinterested as it may be. They were huffing and puffing and pushing their chests out, failing spectacularly to gain even a glimmer of interest from the prince of Ithaca, embarrassing themselves by simply trying.

Still, it was torture to remain still and attentive by the sidelines of this grand celebration, no matter the eye candy moving in front of him and the coy glances from caramel eyes that were thrown in his direction every other minute.

His prince was teasing again.

Percy felt a tight feeling in his gut as his eyes followed Telemachus through one dance after the other. It was very hard for him to stay away, and there was a bitterness right on his tongue, tinting everything around the son of Poseidon. He knew that his knuckles were white from the pressure of his crossed arms, but the slight pain kept him rooted into the present.

The music changed to something slower.

Percy’s eyes were glued to the swaying hips of the prince. That was, until a grunting male voice pulled him out of his daydreams. His senses sharpened instantly, and the son of Poseidon moved even further into the shadows, listening attentively, while his eyes were still on the dance floor.

“Kallias is pushing his daughter really hard onto the prince.”, a man with salt and pepper hair was just mouthing to his companion, “I heard he made her take lyre lessons just to impress him, because he heard it is the favored instrument of his Royal Highness. My wife said her hands were bleeding for weeks. Poor girl.”

“As if you wouldn’t do the same if you had a daughter!”, the other man replied with a chuckle. He wore big glasses and had a green band woven into his long blond hair. He was a bit younger and his voice a bit higher when he said: “The Prince is the most sought-after man in the whole kingdom, and now that he’s eighteen, the chances of the Queen finally managing his engagement are higher than ever.”

The words pulled something in Percy together painfully, but he ignored his own mind in favor of listening to salt-and-pepper’s answer: “I don’t understand why she’s waiting at all. The old king was already married by that age!”

Which was fair. Odysseus had married Penelope when he was seventeen, but it was unrealistic to expect finding true love that early…Not that this was a regular occurrence in ancient times. Arranged marriages were very common, even if the thought nearly made the demigod hurl.

He could never imagine spending his life with someone he didn’t choose.

Somewhere deep down, he hoped that Penelope was waiting to give her son the same chance of happiness that she had been given.

The younger man hummed: “I heard she wants to wait for her husband’s return. That it should be him that decides such things.” 

“What a waste of time! He’s long dead. And all the girls will be croons before that woman finally chooses someone. Look at how she’s treating her own suitors.”, huffed the old geezer and Percy gritted his teeth to refrain from jumping into the conversation.

He would learn much more by simply listening for now, no matter how hard it was. (His Mom would’ve pulled their ears for talking about women that way! And the men were in for a rude awakening when Odysseus returned.)

“The fastest way to the crown would be through the prince for sure.”, agreed Glasses, while taking a sip from his deep red wine. He lamented: “Pity I don’t have daughters.” That made the Geezer laugh snidely. His grin was sleazy and conspiratorial when he leaned closer to whisper (still loud enough for Percy to hear it): “As far as I heard, your son might stand a better chance anyway.”

Time slowed.

The implication hit Percy like a punch to the face. Heat traveled through his body while his mind was frozen from shock and disbelief.

Was his Dream-Boy just outed to him by some second rate dirtbags? Or were they just spouting nonsense and being nasty for the fun of it? What in Hades’ name-

Not that the demigod had any problem with any sexuality (and he knew that the whole thing was treated differently in ancient times anyway) but the casual way those men judged his Prince and his (maybe) preferences made the son of Poseidon want to shove their heads in the sea and call for Thais and Judy to get a snack.

It was horrendous and unforgivable, whether it was true (oh, what would it mean if it was true?!) or not (which would be…harsh, but Percy would live. As long as Telemachus was happy, he could be too…he hoped). 

“Ha, don’t jest! As if the Queen would allow such a dalliance.”, the younger one snorted, but his companion was already shaking his head: “Oh, but it’s true. Haven’t you heard about the prince and his guard? The people whisper about their romance like it is some kind of great tragedy. He threw that pleb an apple in front of everyone in the arena. That’s as good a declaration as it’s going to get. That boy is bent.”

Percy’s breath stopped as he remembered the sketchy way both his friends and Telemachus had acted after that incident. Was this what had made his Dream-Boy blush and stutter? Was everyone thinking it had been something more than a show of friendship?

Had it been? 

How was Percy supposed to react if it was?

Did he want it to be? (Yes, the little – loud - voice in his head whispered, but the demigod wasn’t ready to admit that quite yet…) Beside the warmth coursing through his veins, all other thoughts were blown away as his brain tried to catch up while the conversation continued.

The blond man was still skeptical: “Without any head of house present, it’s an empty gesture born from zealous teens that want to try their shot with anything that has legs. Whatever might’ve happened between them is nothing more than a fling at best. A way to let off some steam and get a bit of practice. You must know what that’s like, Philon.” That last sentence was accompanied by a side eye that made the older man splutter. His face turned red as Philon pushed his shaggy hair back.

“Hold your tongue! You promised to never speak of that again.”, the man hissed, while looking around suspiciously, not noticing Percy right behind them.

But the demigod didn’t care for whatever exploits the man had in his youth (or with whom). He was more focused on not chocking on his own spit when the next words were: “Well, I sure hope it is the prince that comes on top. How shall he satisfy any wife of his otherwise?”

Two pictures came to Percy’s mind instantly.

One of Telemachus, face flushed and hair tousled, looking down with glassy, caramel eyes, his shoulders bare and chest heaving as he moved his hips in a sensual rhythm that could only mean one thing. There was a confident smirk on his beautiful face as he groaned and –

The second picture was of Telemachus and a woman, twisted beneath the white sheets of the bed the demigod himself had already laid in to sleep. This one doused every flame that had licked at Percy’s groin instantly in icy water. All arousal vanished and he felt both incredibly hot and nauseous when he thought about his friend and the hands of some woman on his back, scratching, groping, moan-.

The son of Poseidon felt lost and icky, not really knowing how to deal with the mashup of desire and disgust coursing through him.

Luckily, Glasses distracted him with his next words thoroughly. 

“Have you seen that guard of his? Nah, dear Telemachus will be the pillow biter, no doubt there. I bet he’s a screamer.”, the blond man rebuked with a dismissive wave of his hand, but there was a curious and hungry glint in his eye that turned Percy’s vision red.

He could envision that scene perfectly, but it was only more kindling for the flame of his slipping restraint.

The rage burning in him was reminiscent of the feeling he had for those rats back in his early days in Ithaca. When he was training to fight for his place in the guard. Sadly, he hadn’t such an easy excuse to break the bones of these men like he had back then, but the son of Poseidon would get creative, if they didn’t shut their traps soon.

(Maybe not even that could save them).

Which wasn’t the case, as the older man commented: “No one has heard anything from his chambers. Either you’re wrong, or his guard knows how to shut him up good. I know what I’d do in his place.” They shared a smarmy smile that made Percy want to bury his fist in their mouths. He would even keep the teeth to give to their grieving families, as broken and shattered as they would be.

The heat in his chest was boiling, begging to burst free and drown those pathetic humans that dared speak this way about his Dream-Boy.

It would be easy. No one would know how to save them if their blood cooked their bodies, and no one would be able to trace it back to him. The only one that knew about the whole range of his powers was Telemachus, and Percy doubted that the prince would be too upset with him in this case…

“Let’s just hope he’ll get it up for a girl at all. The crown needs good, strong heirs.”, were his murderous thoughts interrupted by the Geezer, Philon.

“If all plans fail, he’ll still have his lover to help matters along.”, his friend mused.

The older man laughed and clapped him on the back good-naturally: “Are you stupid? Once the Prince is wed, there will be no lovers of any kind, or do you truly believe the son of Odysseus knows how to be unfaithful? With the example of his parents, there will be no bastards running around the palace, that I promise you!”

Percy refused to examine all the feeling that the conversation rose inside of him except the anger and rage. Those he knew how to deal with, those he knew how to bundle up and push down.

But everything else was too fragile, too dirty…he would (could) not touch those in this situation. Not even when his heart cracked a bit as he heard: “As long as there are children, I don’t care which womb their spawned out of. The Queen better get her son in line, before the rumors run off all the good girls. No matter how much she’s hoping for true love to come along for him, there will be children. It must. There is no use in Kings otherwise.”

Percy couldn’t stand to be near them anymore. He spun around and marched through the door down the hall and out of the throne room. He knew he should stay to protect Telemachus, but his head was spinning, and his breath was ragged. He knew that Perimedes, Kleon and Elpenor were still inside. That should be enough for the few minutes he needed to catch himself and the hurricane of emotions inside his gut.

For some unexplainable reason, the demigod wanted his Mom.

He wanted Sally Jackson to pull him into a hug, tell him everything would be alright, and hide the tears that burned in his eyes from the world. He wasn’t even sure if it was anger or sadness or something completely different he felt… only that it was too much to contain.

(Rain started to fall all over Ithaca.)

Maybe the man’s words enrage the son of Poseidon so much, because he knew they were true.

Whatever fantasy his brain had cooked up with his heart as an accomplice when he wasn’t looking, there was no way for it to come into being. All those fleeting thoughts and wishes were just that. Fleeting. Delusions born from the closeness between them, which never meant (could never mean) more.

Telemachus might be his person, but Percy would never be his in the same way. Not in any way that transcended the darkness of his own heart.

Oh, Percy had been Telemachus’ since the moment he found the other boy crying in the gardens. (The storm he had called that day through his dream was more than enough proof…) Maybe even way before that. Maybe even since the first time he saw his Dream-Boy’s kindness in the face of childish cruelty.

But no one could ever know how deep the demigod’s devotion truly ran. Not even Telemachus. Because if he did, the infuriatingly gentle soul of the prince would not allow them to remain friends. He would do anything not to hurt Percy even more than his (necessary) rejection would. And the only way to not bury the knife any deeper would be for them to stay away from each other, so that Telemachus might fall into the illusion that the demigod would get over him eventually.

(What an impossible thought. Percy already spent years of his life fighting his way back to his Dream-Boy. Why would such a silly thing as space change his heart, when even time and impossible odds couldn’t?)

No, it was better to tell him nothing.

Because Telemachus was a Prince. The heir to the throne of Ithaca. He had duties and expectations.

And some of them…Percy could never fulfill. No matter much as he wanted and longed to do. And a family, a child, was impossible for the both of them.

They were both men.

Love couldn’t change that.

Nothing could. Not even the Fates and their bleeding yarns.

Maybe it was never meant to be after all.

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS enjoyed good music, food and wine as much as the next cultured person. Especially when it catered to his specific taste.

His birthday celebrations were always a highlight for him for that reason, but this one had promised to be even more special.

Because for the first time, he could show it all to Percy as well. At least in some way. Of course, his Sea-Boy was busy guarding and watching, but if the way those sea-green orbs did not stray from him all evening was any indication, the demigod had all of that well in hand, while still showering the prince with his delicious attention across the hall. 

The gaze burning in his back all night was a comfort and a thrill. Knowing Percy was watching made him both more conscious and confident of every action. He felt himself puff up in conversation with weathered politicians and smarmy nobles, knowing his demigod had his back even from afar. The silent support carried him through encounters both pleasant and unpleasant, until the music started.

Dancing with his Mom was fun, and Telemachus smiled freely while twisting her over the floor. After that, even the other ladies might’ve been decent dancing partners, but the only true joy the prince found was in the hungry looks Percy sent him all throughout the songs. It was a mighty boost for his self-esteem, to feel the eyes of the most dangerous predator in the room home in on him. And not leaving once.

At least until the demigod vanished into thin air.   

It was like the warmth was sucked from the room when he left. Telemachus was caught in a conversation with the last woman he had been forced to lead over the dance floor, and who proved very resistant to be shaken off, but when he noticed his Dearest absence, he couldn’t care for subtlety anymore. The prince briskly cut her off and excused himself as he weaved through the crowd and avoided being caught in other useless talks.

His eyed flittered around until he caught the gaze of a guard near the exit, which he recognized after a few seconds as Kleon. Seeing him dressed properly in armor and helmet had thrown Telemachus off for a second, but when his peer ticked his head in the direction of the doors, it became obvious that Kleon knew exactly who he was looking for. And where that person had gone.

Giving the young man a thankful little smile, the prince sneaked out of the throne room and into the darkened corridors of the palace. He saw in his periphery how Kleon closed the door after him.

-

He found Percy in one of the hidden gardens rather close to the back of the dining hall. Strands of yellow light were thrown onto the grass from the torches on the wall, but most of the space was shrouded in darkness. It was hard to see between the bushes and statues, and anyone that looked out of the windows of the hall would have had difficulties seeing anything except silhouettes.

The little bubble of privacy was still close enough to hear the faint humming of the music and the laughter of the people. Isolated, but not too far should something happen.

His Sea-Boy was standing in a clearing, unmoving and staring at the moon. The scant light illuminated his broad shoulders and the rippled dents of his armor, making his figure imposing and a bit untouchable. The demigod didn’t turn around when Telemachus came closer, even though he must’ve heard his approach minutes ago. The prince felt a heavy stone sink into his gut in concern. Something was off here.

“Percy?”, Telemachus asked carefully, stepping around his Sea-Boy to look into his face properly. The man had taken of his helmet. It lay forgotten somewhere in the bushes to their right. The hand of the prince caressed the demigod’s forearm and elbow in a silent plea for contact and reassurance. Telemachus had no clue what was going on, but he felt the tension like something physical emanating from his friend.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the son of Poseidon lowered his head, eyes swirling and glowing faintly in the darkness as he fixed his gaze onto the prince. Telemachus searched those sea-green depths for a hint of what was bothering the other man, but only found himself caught in the hypnotic swirl of colors.

It was Percy that broke the silence. His voice was rough and full of emotions Telemachus couldn’t name: “You want a family someday, right?” 

The question came out of nowhere and stumped the concerned prince more than he wanted to admit. His heart sped up as he fumbled for an answer, while his brain tried to figure out where the demigod was coming from.

“Yes?”, he replied uncertainly, “I mean…once father returns, I’m going to get mine back… and I want that?” He felt like all his clever words abandoned him in the face of his Sea-Boy’s intense focus. Swallowing against the lump in his throat and the dooming feeling of something going horribly wrong, Telemachus asked: “Percy, what is going on? Do you miss your Mom?”

It was the only explanation he could come up with. Maybe seeing him with the Queen had ripped open some kind of homesickness in the demigod?

But his question went ignored as the son of Poseidon did not let go of his chosen topic: “That’s not what I meant. After that, you’d want a family of your own eventually, wouldn’t you? A wife, children, maybe a dog? As the heir, it’s expected of you to continue the line, isn’t it?”

Those were too many questions and too many implications at once for Telemachus to grasp them all. His mind (already mushy from the intense attention of the man he lo-liked) was not equipped to handle such scrutiny. The wine in his system didn’t help. And like all humans did, his brain decided to focus on the last question first (which would turn out to be one of the most annoying mistakes he ever made): “Yeah, but – no, wait, what?”

But before the prince finally got a coherent reply together, he already felt like something had cracked irreparably.

Percy’s shoulders sagged, as if he was once more carrying the weight of the sky, his head was lowered to the ground and the breath he took was unnecessarily large. Telemachus felt off-balanced and wrong footed, but the deep pain that itched itself into his Sea-Boy’s face was too vast to ignore.

Not knowing what else to do, the prince lifted his hands to grasp the cheeks of the demigod, pulling him down for their eyes to meet. He hoped his gaze would say all the things his mouth was too cowardly to voice.

“What is this about, Percy? I guess… I would love to have children someday, but that doesn’t necessarily mean…” A wife, he wanted to say, but he could’ve just as well shouted from the roofs of the palace that he was as gay as it got. And admitting that would only lead to him admitting the reason for him to be gay in the first place, which was nothing else than the infuriatingly perfect son of Poseidon in front of him. (Was he even gay? If it was just Percy that had captured his heart and interest? Didn’t that make him Percy-sexual at best?)

Regardless, the fact remained that children didn't necessarily had to have two different kinds of parents. Adoption was always a solid option. And with Percy's connections to the gods, even the possibility of a blessing or some divine intervention on their behalf wasn't so far-fetched. Maybe Lady Hestia would bless them one day-

But saying all that would inevitably reveal how much Telemachus had already thought about these things. And this was neither the right moment nor the time for such discussions. Especially after the many glasses of wine the prince had already consumed (no matter how sober the obvious pain in the sea-green eyes made him feel).

His thoughts were getting away from him again, and Telemachus fought to get his mind back on track. Looking into the agonized face of his Dearest made another possible explanation pop up, and the prince felt his voice go soft when he said: “You don’t have to worry, you know? No matter what happens, you won’t be alone! Just because your Mom isn’t here does not mean you’re by yourself. I will be your family.”

And while his Sea-Boy relaxed a bit, the sadness did not leave his gaze fully when he rasped: “Yeah… you are.”

Why did Telemachus thought that Percy sounded resigned? And longing? What had he done wrong for his Dearest to be so passive all of a sudden?

But when the son of Poseidon leaned down for their foreheads to touch in a gentle embrace, the prince wasn’t sure he hadn’t just imagined all of the heaviness only moments ago…Because when the demigod pulled away, his typical crooked smile was back on his face (even if it was slightly dimmed).

Limp as Telemachus was in his Dearest’s hands, it was easy for Percy to step away and spin him softly around with the flick of his arm. The prince blinked in surprise and when he faced the demigod again, the other man joked: “Say, I never knew that you could dance like that!”

Telemachus rolled his eyes at the obvious taunt until Percy clarified: “No, seriously. You’re really good. I was pretty envious of all the people who got to experience your talent firsthand.”

“Well, that is easily solved.”, Telemachus answered with a sly smirk. His heart sped up, but that didn’t stop him from pulling the man closer by their joined fingers. Percy’s free hand landed on his waist instinctively as Telemachus caressed the conjecture between neck and shoulder of the son of Poseidon. The goosebumps he felt on the other’s skin were really satisfying, when he gestured for his Sea-Boy to listen to the faint music.

“What are you doing?”, Percy whispered, eyes wide in surprise.

Telemachus grinned as he began to expertly move his feet, pulling his Sea-Boy along with him to the gentle rhythm of a lyre: “Dancing. Just follow my lead.”

He chuckled when the demigod stumbled the first few steps like a newborn foal. All the grace he possessed while fighting monsters or doing other impossible feats was suddenly lost at the simple act of dancing, and he relied heavily on the prince to show him the ropes. Telemachus felt his confidence and joy bloom (despite whatever had been on his Sea-Boy’s mind before, that had made him so sad) as he teased: “Come on, Sea-Boy. Trust me.”

“I do.” The son of Poseidon said instantly, and his hand tightened in the dip of Telemachus’ waist. The prince smiled even wider.

-

Dancing with Percy Jackson was unlike anything else Telemachus had ever done.

At the beginning, it was bumpy and slow. The demigod didn’t know the steps and had no ear for the music and its hidden rhythms, relying too much on his eyes to show him where to go, instead of listening to his body. He was awkward and shy, emotions Telemachus had never seen on the confident man before. But as elated as he was to discover new sides on his Sea-Boy, seeing him so out of his element was nowhere near as funny as he had imagined.

The prince tried to show him the motions slowly, exaggerating every movement of his shoulder and hips to give Percy a feeling on where to direct his attention the most. He felt hot under the scrutinizing gaze, but Telemachus persevered until he finally felt the strong body of his Dearest begin to follow him better.

Percy watched, and learned, and accepted the challenge like it was a life and death situation. And while Telemachus was busy hiding just how endearing he found the whole thing, the demigod was getting better with every second.

It was just unfair on how easily the other man could adapt to different circumstances and requirements. Even if it was something as silly and inconsequential as dancing.

Their bodies grew closer the more in sync they became, and Telemachus felt his pulse go faster with every breath. He stumbled when the demigod surprised him with a little turn, bumping into the chest of his Sea-Boy and seeing the pretentious little grin on the most handsome face.

His roughish look was unfairly distracting, especially when there was a slight stubble on the otherwise chiseled chin that Percy would shave in the morning again.

Telemachus had never seen him being ungroomed (if one didn’t count the chaos that Percy’s black hair could sometimes be), so seeing even so much as a shadow of beard on his face was an experience the prince wanted to burn into his brain and paint at the next best chance.

(He thought about whether the little hairs would tickle or itch, whether he’d like it or not if that cheek would scratch along his neck, his chest, his thighs-)

Soon enough, it was Percy that took the lead, twisting Telemachus and spinning them around like he had never struggled with the steps to begin with. The prince was delighted and let himself be swept away by the movements and music.

It felt magical. Standing in the arms of the man that stole his heart, the moonshine lighting up the garden in an otherworldly glow and spinning to the soft music of an instrument Telemachus couldn’t even name if he had all his senses still together. The air hummed and the torches flared a bit brighter as the sky was suddenly filled with hundreds of little fireflies. Percy huffed and rolled his eyes at something, but his smile was tender as the scent of roses and strawberries wafted from somewhere over the both of them.

Telemachus wanted this moment to never end.

But sadly, life had different plans.

As Percy lifted his head from where it had rested against the prince’s hair, the demigod murmured: “We need to get back… You’ll be missed shortly. There was something about a second meal?”    

Telemachus sighed dramatically as he slowly pulled back as well. “Yeah, my mother wanted to have another break between all the dancing in case a suitor got her on the wrong foot. There will be fruit and wine served in a few minutes. I’m supposed to be there for the toast.”

And with that, their little moment was over as suddenly as it had begun. Percy shooed him back into the hall before him (so that they weren’t seen too close together) and with a nearly inhumanly effort the prince complied. His face was flushed and warm and the grin didn’t want to go down as he stole one last look at the son of Poseidon in front of the magical garden.

He snuck back into the crowd and appeared by the throne just as the Queen was calling for the second meal to be brought in. His Mom gave him a look, showing Telemachus that she knew exactly where he had been (and most likely with whom), but he only met her gaze with an innocent smile. He even ignored Macar snickering by his mother’s side.

Everyone migrated to the dining hall, and the prince took his customary seat at the head table just when he saw another guard take position behind him and his Mom. The prince turned slightly in his seat to get a better look.

It was Percy (of course) and he winked conspiratorially when Telemachus caught his gaze. He reciprocated the smile, before facing his guest and listening to the words of Phocas (the man who had invited him to the wine tasting months ago and was responsible for supplying this party as well).   

The speech that followed was just another one praising Telemachus growth and claiming he was just so much like his father, wishing him well for the next year and ending with a joke about him earning even more favor with the ladies as he was maturing with every year (which was tasteless, especially since he had made pretty clear how much he was not interested in anyone).

It appeared as if his stunt with the apple wasn’t nearly dramatic enough for all those stupid people to just back off. Not only from his Sea-Boy (who was far less accosted these days), but from making immoral and useless offers for his hand as well. As long as his father wasn’t home, his mother had made clear that there wouldn’t be any engagements on his behalf, that weren’t brought forward by Telemachus himself. And even after King Odysseus took his rightful place again, the prince hoped desperately for his father to be kind enough to grant him a marriage of love (like he and his Mom had). Even if it meant no secure lineage.

It wasn’t as if Telemachus hadn’t already written a proposal for his father to grant him this wish. He had listed all the accomplishments of both himself and Percy (not that the King would need much of those, as he had seen most of the ones Telemachus could name for himself) and all the profits the kingdom would get with a demigod as its consort. And the whole divine ancestry was only the last point on a long parchment full of praise and achievements. (Not that he would ever show his Sea-Boy what he had been working on. The demigod wasn’t good with compliments on a good day and a whole novel about his virtue, bravery and fierceness would for sure make the other man explode with embarrassment).

Telemachus ignored the droning, still ongoing, speech and only lifted his full wine glass when it was time for the toast. Everyone in the hall followed as the prince set his lips on the cup and-

A strong, warm hand gripped his elbow from behind, engulfing the limb completely and stopping all motions from the prince.

He knew the husky voice in his ear instantly, even if he hadn’t smelled the faint traced of apple and stormy rain and known the touch of his Dearest like the back of his hand.

“Pretend to drink, but don’t let the wine touch your tongue.”, was the whispered order.

Percy sounded dark and serious (and angry) as he added, even more quietly: “Someone’s trying to poison you, my Prince.”     

Chapter Text

PERCY gladly welcomed the distraction from his cracked heart when it came.

As unpleasant and dangerous as it turned out to be, anything was better than focusing on the tear in his soul that was still bleeding, even after he had tried to fix it with superglue and duct tape.

The demigod had known from the very start that there was nothing for him to gain, beside the affirmation that there was no hope for them, when he spoke to his prince in the gardens.

Telemachus wanted children. A family of his own.

Of course he did.

He would be an amazing Dad.

But that also meant that whatever domestic future the Fates had spun for his Dream-Boy, Percy wouldn’t be able to take the part in it he so desperately wanted.

Which was hard to think about, even harder to hear and nearly impossible to accept.

It was a good thing Percy had practice with overcoming the impossible. And while the wound wouldn’t stop bleeding for a long time (maybe forever), the son of Poseidon decided not to let it stop him from savoring the time he still had left with his Dream-Boy.

The end would come soon enough, why waste time feeling sorry for himself now?

As long as Telemachus was happy, Percy would cope. He would take the place he was given and do anything to keep the prince and his family safe. (Deep down the demigod knew that he would love any child of Telemachus as his own regardless of blood. Their mother on the other hand…well, who knew? If it came down to it, Percy would do whatever made his Dream-Boy the happiest. Even if that meant to give his live for the women sharing the bed and heart he wanted for himself.)

No matter how much the gods tried to mess with him.

He wasn’t stupid. The presence of both Aphrodite and Hermes had been nearly overwhelming in the gardens. The cackling laugh of his cousin was still ringing in his ears.

He also knew for certain that there hadn’t been any fireflies in that garden before today, not to mention the perfect angle the moon shone down, and how the music had changed to fit their dancing.

Maybe the godly twins were bored as well, deciding to mess with their cousin on Hermes’ behest.

And Aphrodite was always drawn to drama and heartbreak…Percy refused to give her more than one today.  

It had been damnation and salvation in one, dancing with the prince.

On the one hand, it had felt right, perfect even, like the planets aligned for the first time ever, making the world make sense for once, as he held the gently swaying body of the man he’d traversed time for in his hands, smelling his lingering scent of honey and parchment. I was lighting up his very soul. But on the other hand, the knowledge that there wouldn’t bloom anything further from it, that their closeness was fleeting, and everything only platonic for the prince, was like a knife to the heart.

Telemachus had enjoyed their little moment (it had been clear in the sparkling caramel eyes and the soft smile that stretched his freckles in the most enticing way) and Percy was too invested in the other’s happiness to dwell on his own crushed spirit.

If there was one thing the evening had shown the son of Poseidon, it was that despite his useless feelings and the pain that would come from them for himself, nothing between him and the prince had to change.

He just knew how to take the many touches and lingering glances now, the witty quips and obviously flirty innuendos now: Strictly platonic. As they were surely meant.

Telemachus loved games of wit and charisma, and who better to train his skills on, than the person that would never leave or begrudge him for it? Because Percy would stay.

Always.

Even if he wanted to die from the coquettish looks he got regularly…no matter what they did or didn’t try to convey.

Not that this was an easy conclusion to draw, especially when the prince beamed up at the demigod like he was his favorite person in the whole world.

And maybe it was true for the moment (they were best friends after all, connected through time and fate and all the other things they had overcome together), but Percy shouldn’t let it get to his head.

Hence, why the distraction was welcome anyway, even as it threw another kindling into the rage that had simmered under all the other emotions for the whole evening already. Percy knew it would boil over sooner than later.

The sea didn’t like to be restraint, and his temper had been on a leash all night, while his feelings had been whipped around in a whirlpool. It was only a question of time, for when he could no longer control the deeply seated heat in his bones, desperate to let go and drown-

Well, wasn’t that the crux of his problems?

Even despite him feeling so goddamn much, there was no one to direct it at. No enemy to slay, no foe to defeat. And he couldn’t even jump into the sea to raise a storm somewhere far away from all the people that didn’t deserve his anger, because the evening wasn’t over and Telemachus still needed him.

But now, Percy was given a focus. Now, he had gotten a goal he could fixate on, like a shark smelling blood.

The demigod would find whatever pesky mortal had tried to once again harm his…friend. (Because that was what Telemachus needed to be to him from here on out. No more his Dream-Boy or anything else that could accompany that possessive article).  

Because someone was trying to poison his prince.

(Damn it! Apparently, Percy couldn’t let go of that mindset as easily as he’d hoped…He’d need to work on that).

The son of Poseidon remembered the feeling of poison clearly, having felt it on multiple occasions during his life. Most prominently in his battle against Kampe, where he had used her own against the monster to get the upper hand and sent her back to Tartarus.

Poison (in comparison to water) was thicker, kind of sluggish and moving far less than other watery liquids. Its high viscosity made it feel heavier, and Percy had problems getting his powers to grip it properly most of the time.

Poison was like a snail, slimey and slippery, evading his hold unless he concentrated fully on commanding it.

Acid was even more difficult to handle. That one burned whenever Percy touched it with his powers (which didn’t mean he couldn’t control it! He could, it was just a pain in the ass to do so).

All of them felt like foreign entities in his domain either way. So different from water or wine or even blood, that it was easy to make them out as soon as they were in his vicinity. Water and Blood didn’t even register in his mind anymore. He was surrounded by it all the time, and feeling it became like a buzzing in the background: Always there but easily ignored unless he needed it for something specific.

But poison? Yeah, that was like a blaring air horn as soon as it came closer. Whispering in dark voices and emitting a stronger aura of death and decay the more potent it was. (Kampe’s had been nearly suffocating in its intensity. In comparison to that, whatever he’d picked up on now was still deadly, but far less torturous).

The deadly liquid was hidden quite well and due to the hectic movements of servants filling hundreds of cups with the pure wine and only one itty-bitty inky poison among them, it was very hard for Percy to pinpoint the exact target until everything settled. Then, it was more than obvious whose life was at risk (and not only because the demigod had honed all his senses onto Telemachus since the moment he had stepped back into the fray of the celebration).

Percy reacted instantly.

Knowing that it would only backfire for himself if he attracted too much attention, the son of Poseidon intervened as discreetly as he could, leaning over the back of the prince’s chair to whisper in his ear while simultaneously stopping the cup before it could touch those pillowy pink lips he so often admired.

Even though he felt no liquid touching Telemachus’ mouth, Percy carefully directed the poison to settle at the bottom of the glass, far away from any part of his prince.

The warmth in his chest expanded and obeyed instantly. His warning was low enough to not be overheard by anyone, and from the outside it must’ve looked like he had some urgent news for the prince.

The son of Poseidon roamed his eyes around the hall, looking for clues or guiltily spiking blood pressure, but it was hard to see if anyone was paying them special attention, as all eyes were already on them from the toast.

Anger and frustration coursed through Percy’s veins.

He felt the thin thread of his patience strain dangerously.

But of course, his Dream-Boy reacted perfectly to the dire situation by keeping his cool.  

Telemachus sat his cup down with measured movements (not having drunken anything, Percy made sure of that with his powers) and nodded demonstratively before wiping his mouth with a napkin and saying, loudly enough to be heard by a few people: “Thank you for notifying me. I’ll take care of it immediately. Please lead the way, guard.” His voice was disinterested and even a tad annoyed for everyone around, but the demigod felt the nerves of the prince, and his shifting eyes were a dead giveaway for everyone knowing the young man that something was wrong.

Gritting his teeth to stop himself from doing anything rash, Percy straightened and led Telemachus away from the meal. He hovered behind the prince (closer than appropriate, but the demigod didn’t care. There had been an attempt on his Dream-Boy’s life! He couldn’t care less about gossip or his broken heart at the moment) and kept his eyes and mind open to catch anyone getting nervous or twitchy, but nothing was to be seen.

Telemachus was shaking slightly, and Percy tried his best to shield the other man from the hundreds of eyes following them, using his height and built to his advantage, while resting one of his hands in the small of the prince’s back as soon as they were out of sight. He nodded to Elpenor, who was guarding one of the exits and made a gesture the other man understood instantly.

No one was to leave the celebration for the time being. (Until he caught the perpetrator and made sure there was no more danger for his prince or the Queen).

Elpenor nodded gravely and closed the door behind them. The corridor was empty, but Percy still felt around with his sense to make sure there wasn’t a person in some hidden alcove, before he pulled Telemachus into a small room full of dusty scrolls not too far away.

“Are you alright?”, the demigod asked immediately, hands raised as if to touch the prince (even though Percy knew the poison hadn’t come close) but refraining in the last moment.

Was he allowed to take such liberties still after today?

Telemachus shook his head briefly, but it appeared to be a gesture of clearing his mind more than anything else.

“Yeah, I’m fine. What happened there, Percy?”, the prince asked.

“I felt some kind of poison or toxin in your cup. Something deadly. It was heavy and stank to Olympus.”

“Shit.”, Telemachus cursed, hand in front of his mouth and eyes wide in fear. The demigod didn’t hesitate to draw the other man into a calming and protective hug then, running his hands up and down the prince’s back (He didn’t care, he didn’t care if it was appropriate! Percy had never been one for rules anyway). “You didn’t consume anything.”, he reassured his Dream-Boy, “I’d never let that happen.”

“I know.”, was the instant reply.

After a few seconds, the prince got his breathing under control again and extracted himself from the hug gently. His caramel eyes were burning with silent resolve and Percy straightened up.

He knew when Telemachus’ incredible brain was working and wisely stayed silent.

“Were any other people targeted? Was my mother?”, was the first question.

“No. I felt no other poison.” The son of Poseidon answered. He knew that this was more scouting and collecting information than the need to know all the details. He had seen Telemachus work through riddles and mountains of laws in the same manner and knew when his input wasn’t of any help.

Telemachus quietly muttered: “That doesn’t mean she couldn’t be the original target. Maybe something went wrong, and her glass was given to me. And even if it wasn’t a mistake, we need to find out who did it. But without any sort of lead…there are enough people who’d want to get rid of either of us.”

Percy felt the need to relieve some stress by saying: “I think I can find them. I know the feel of the poison now and from how strong it was, there will be lingering traces somewhere. I’ll find the lead and hunt them down.” The prospect was oddly enticing. The simmering heat inside his chest had not calmed down and his fingers twitched in the need to do something.

But still, he saw in his Dream-Boy’s eyes just how little he liked the idea. Whether it was because he didn’t want Percy to stray from his side and protect him, or from worrying about him facing whoever was responsible alone, the demigod couldn’t tell. But he could at least assuage one of the problems.

“Kleon and Perimedes can take my place here and protect you. I trust them with my life. I’ll take Elpenor and we’re gonna get to the bottom of this.” Whatever it was that the prince saw in his face or heard in his voice, it convinced him to let go of the worry and look at it from the most logical perspective. Telemachus’ shoulders sagged as he gripped Percy’s forearms tightly in his hands, sending sparks down his nerves.      

The golden laurel wreath gleamed in the dim light and the golden jewelry draped over his body tinkled as the prince leaned closer. His face was serious as he ordered (for the first time ever, all else had always been requests from a friend): “Do it. Find the person responsible, find out who’s behind this and why. But be discreet.”

The hard edge in Telemachus’ voice sent a heated shiver down Percy’s spine as the son of Poseidon promised, equally grave: “I will.”

He then added with a hint of pleading: “Stay with your mother and don’t touch any food or drink while I’m away.” The prince smiled a bit and nodded, getting up on his tiptoes to let their foreheads touch for a minute. They both knew that they needed to get going, but basked in the shared silence for a moment longer.

As they stepped back toward the festivities, Telemachus walked ahead to send Elpenor out to him. When the prince reached the doors, he turned around. His face was drawn tight and there was something heavy in his caramel eyes when he said: “Percy.”

“Yes?”

Telemachus took a deep breath. “I can’t have someone running around that is a danger to me and Mom like this. And I cannot accuse someone without proof. No one came to harm from the poison, so finding it won’t be enough. I’ll need a public confession, and if that isn’t in the cards…” The sentence was never finished with words, but the pain in his Dream-Boys face was all the information Percy needed.

Both of them knew what had to happen. And while Telemachus felt horrible for having to suggest it, Percy only felt resolved.

“Don’t worry, Tel. I’ll take care of it. There won’t be any danger to you both when the night is over.” The son of Poseidon meant every word.

Whoever the culprit was, he would be dead before the sun rose. There was no other acceptable outcome.

It was the most logical choice as well. Without a trial, there would be no conviction and without proof, there wouldn’t be a trial. The only way to fight schemes in the darkness was by walking the same shadows. Percy had never needed to do something like this before, having faced all his enemies in the light of day, but the royal game was different.

He would play for Telemachus.  

The prince was wreaked with guilty relief that was mirrored in his posture and voice when he said: “Thank you…I hate to have to ask something like this-“

“I know, but you don’t have to ask for anything.”, Percy interrupted gently, yearning to ease the burden on his Dream-Boy, “This will be me protecting you. I have no problem being ruthless for the people I care about.”

Poseidon would be proud. Percy didn’t care. (He didn’t do it for the god.)

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”, Telemachus whispered the fateful words, but the silence behind the sentence rang even louder.

There would be no addition this time.

“Exactly.”, Percy agreed. But because he still needed his prince to know, he added: “But this time…if it’s required to eradicate the threat to you completely, I’ll even be cruel.”

Eradicate- a word Telemachus had taught him.

His influence was too vast and too deep to ever be separated from who Percy was as a person, a man.

A silent kind of support and care wafted between them.  

The prince whispered his goodbye faintly: “Don’t be reckless and remember your promise: Come back to me!”

“Always, Dream-Boy.”

Telemachus swallowed: “Good luck.”

Chapter Text

PERCY didn’t waste a lot of time filling Elpenor in, when the other man joined him in the hallway.

In a few clipped words he outlined the situation and their task to find the person who tried to poison the prince’s wine. To Elpenor’s credit, the older man accepted the new mission with a serious nod and followed the demigod easily as he made for the kitchens.

The rage that had settled deeply in Percy’s gut ever since he had heard the two men speak at the party, was spreading slowly, making his hands twitch and his senses sharpen. Their words were still echoing in his head, as was the confirmation his Dream-Boy had unwillingly given, making everything inside the demigod clench and twist. 

Percy was no stranger to overwhelming emotions. His father was Poseidon, the God of the Sea, the Earthshaker. It would’ve been surprising if his demigod child had gotten none of his temper… but normally, the young man prided himself in keeping it under lock and key, his control a tight leash the demigod only allowed to loosen whenever he was out with his half-sister, commanding storms and wreaking havoc. Now, that precious control was slipping through his hands like a wet fish, and since all the important people he’d want to protect from seeing him lose it were far enough away, Percy saw no reason to try and subdue it any longer.

He had a hunt to finish. An enemy to find and…dispose of.

But he wasn’t hunting alone. 

The son of Poseidon debated for a second on how much he wanted to tell his friend about his powers and the way he planned to find the assassin but decided that it would be easier if Elpenor fully trusted him. Stopping in the middle of the corridor, Percy turned to face the other soldier; his hands were cold and sweaty from the nerves and tension of the evening. 

“What’s wrong?”, Elpenor asked. He tilted his head in confusion when the younger couldn’t find the right words instantly. The silence stretched uncomfortably, but the usually fidgety man remained watchful and quiet. Elpenor had grown up as well, mellowing out of the rumbustious young man the demigod had met firstly on Odysseus’ ship.

His open expression finally gave the son of Poseidon the final push to press out: “They tried to kill Telemachus. That’s- That’s pretty serious to me.” His voice was oddly hollow and stilted, but Elpenor didn’t comment on that when he answered: “I know. Attempted murder of a royal is a grave crime. And I like that boy as well. But that’s not why we stopped, is it?”

Damn Percy and his lacking poker face. Telemachus would’ve been so much better at this. The prince never missed the words to express himself and make it sound illustrious. Well, the demigod might not have his vocabulary and natural charm, but he was talking to a friend, not some politician.

Just get it over with.

“No… I guess I wanted to tell you- What I mean is-“, the words were fumbled and disorderly, so Percy took a deep, calming breath before choking out: “He’s my – He’s Ody’s son.”

“He is.”

Percy wasn’t sure which statement his friend was confirming, because even though he didn’t finish the first sentence, it was still a complete one. Telemachus was his…

Everything, would be the most fitting addition, but it wasn’t needed to make the sentiment clear. And maybe that was what Elpenor was referring to: That it didn’t matter why Telemachus was important to him personally, just that he was.  

The unspoken acceptance made it easier to get the rest out in an equally stuttered manner: “I can’t- I don’t think I can hold back this time. There is so much…anger in me.” Which was the crux to a lot of his problems right now.

The boiling heat of his divine blood was so much harder to ignore the more riled up he was. And someone staging an attempt to end his Dream-Boy’s life did way more than rile him up.

With that in mind, Percy could finally speak a bit more freely, his serious eyes trained on Elpenor and his reaction when he said: “Whoever is responsible will die tonight. And I don’t think it will be pretty.”

“Understood.”, the soldier wasn’t fazed, “I figured that’d be the case. We’re defending our King’s son and wife. The sentence for an assassination attempt is always death.” Which made sense, but wasn’t was Percy was worried about in the first place.

“No, you don’t understand.”, he tried to amend with a shake of his head, “I haven’t been honest with you all. You know of some of what I can do, but that…it isn’t all. And the other stuff can be…frightening, I guess.” It was hard to admit it, but it was the truth. Even Kronos, Titan of Time, had called him unnatural and a monster.

What would humans label him, if they knew the whole scope of his powers?

Telemachus knows. – A faint voice whispered in his head. – And he hasn’t left you.

Yet. Countered the cynical part of him, but the debate was interrupted as Elpenor stepped forward, putting a warm hand on the demigod’s shoulder. His eyes were so full of kindness and trust that it was hard for Percy to meet his gaze as he started: “Kid, come one, you know I-“

Percy couldn’t stand to let him finish. He burst out the worst of his fears without holding back: “I don’t want you to think any lesser of me if my control slips and I’ll do something you hate.”

“I won’t.”, was the immediate reply that pushed the demigod to silently gape at his friend. Heart clenching and eyes getting misty.

Elpenor looked serious, gaze unwavering, hand warm in its consistency. There was nothing but conviction in his voice when he declared: “Percy, you have saved my life so many times already. I’ve seen your father and his rage. I saw his power… and his ruthlessness kill hundreds of my friends. I can’t lie and say it didn’t scare me, but while you might be his son, you are not him! You defended us against gods and monsters when you were twelve... Whatever you need to do to protect your Prince will be different than his senseless violence. You can’t scare me. I know your heart to well for that.”

The son of Poseidon wanted to say something, anything, over the hectic beating of his heart and the blood rushing through his ears, but the stinging in his eyes and the boulder in his throat prevented any sound from leaving him.

“I am with you.”, Elpenor said seriously, both hands now heavy on Percy’s shoulders. His eyes were gentle and full of affection (and unwavering trust the demigod didn’t know how to cope with).

The man couldn’t mean that.

He didn’t know about his control over poison and blood, about how he sometimes felt the urge to use the heat in his bones, even if it wasn’t necessary… about all the storms he and Kym had sicked on slave trader ships. If Elpenor knew all of that, surely he wouldn’t-

But his friend interrupted his internal spiral skillfully when he vowed with every bit of sincerity he could portray with only his voice: “I am with you, Percy Jackson. Beyond reason and logic, beyond fear and anger, even beyond justice, if that’s what it takes.”

Maybe Percy wasn’t the only one with loyalty as his fatal flaw. Because what Elpenor suggested…was exactly what he himself would do, if the roles were reversed.

The demigod still needed to make sure they weren’t just empty words, said to placate him.

“It might.”, he whispered painfully (knowing that he was only one more incident away from not giving any fucks anymore).

“Okay.”, accepted the soldier, the survivor, his friend, “I’ll watch your back, so we don’t get caught.”

And what else could Percy say to that except: “Thank you Elpenor.”

-

This was how Percy revealed a little bit about how he could feel different liquids (he left blood out of it for now and focused instead on wine and poison) and how he planned to get a read on the servants and cooks in the kitchen to scan them for any incriminating evidence.

The other guard didn’t bat an eyelash upon hearing this new information and Percy asked himself what exactly his friends saw in him nowadays, that made them trust him so implicitly. He had changed since their voyage (had grown up, fought a war, beat a Titan, yada yada) and thanks to his job in the palace, they sparely had time to get together as before.

Still, whenever he saw them, all Percy got was warmth and friendship and trust.

Sometimes he questioned if he earned such loyalty from them. But right now, he was thankful for it. 

“I need you to draw the attention away from me. Let them think we’re looking for some ingredient that one of the nobles is allergic to or something. I’ll try to be quick.”, he instructed Elpenor and the blond man nodded, his dark eyes focused.

The kitchens were pure chaos. A mass of servants rushed around, while about thirty cooks were either cutting fruit or stirring some pots and pans. Some looked over as the soldiers entered and one girthy man waddled over instantly, spoon raised as if to shoo them away. Percy let his friend take the brute of the man’s hectic tirade and instead felt for the warmth in his chest.

The heat tingled down to his arms and up his neck, as the demigod let go a bit and scanned the vast room for any and all liquid available. Most were water-based, either soup or juices or plain old water, but there was also a lot of oil and vinegar around, as well as some syrups. None of them felt heavy or dark and Percy’s agitation grew. He needed to find that asshole.

The demigod opened his eyes to search for anything suspicious his powers might’ve missed.

And good thing he did.

Because he caught a hastily retreating figure at the back of the kitchen, just as they swooped through a small exit. Following his instincts, Percy moved through the crowd after them, sending his senses even further in the direction of whoever had just left. The string of his consciousness tore through the air and latched onto the blood and sweat of the fleeing human.

A whisp of the dark stench he had been looking for teased his mind for a heartbeat and immediately, Percy was running. He ignored the indignant screeches of the cooks behind him, as he made through the kitchen with three big steps, nearly ripping the door out of its hinges as he took after the retreating servant.

The guy had no chance to get further than one hallway before the high-strung son of Poseidon caught up to him with feral intensity. Without further ado, Percy grabbed the back of his billowy tunic and hauled him into the next best chamber that was empty, which turned out to be the entrance to the wine cellar.

He wasn’t gentle as he crowded the man (pudgy, small and with watery green eyes) inside, his senses ringing with how nauseating the smell of poison was right now.

Elpenor was right behind them, closing the door and taking position in front of it, hand on his sword and eyes sharp. The caught man squeaked something incomprehensible as he was pushed up against the stone wall to the right. Percy tried to recall if he had seen that flat face before and remembered the servant that had snuck away a bottle of wine right at the start of the celebration. One more look and he was sure to have the same person before him right now.

The man seemed to understand his situation instantly (which made him smarter than he appeared und thus more dangerous) and he didn’t even try to talk his way out. The moment he moved his arm up as if to strike, Percy was ready, batting the limb away like a nasty fly, not even pretending to reign in his strength.

The bones in the man’s hand gave a satisfying crunch when whatever object he’d held flew through the air. Even before the bottle shattered against the wall, the son of Poseidon knew that it was another little vial of poison. The liquid drenched the stone, hissing softly and spreading its stench in the small room.

Well, there went the evidence. Not that he needed it to get the answers he was after.  

Percy gritted his teeth against the assault of his nose and caught the man by the wrist, pushing him deeper into the stone, as another bone in the hand snapped under his grip. The assassin was forced to get up on his toes to not rip his shoulder out of his socket, cursing and screaming in pain, but the demigod felt no sympathy. (Quite the opposite, actually).

“Talk and your death will be quick.”, the son of Poseidon growled, not hearing the weird echo in his voice nor noticing the green shine his eyes emitted, “Who’s trying to kill the Prince?”

The man laughed wetly and tried to spit in Percy’s face, but a twitch of his finger and the spittle was flying right back into the throat of the caught little rat, making him splutter and cough. The demigod tightened his grip even further and pressed his sword (the steel had somehow jumped into his hand) right under the man’s chin. A thin trickle of blood ran down, and Percy basked in the flickering fear in the man’s eyes.

He knew how outmatched he was. Good.

But there was still some defiance left as the pitiful excuse for a human seethed: “You’ll get nothing from me.”

Percy didn’t have the patience to play mind games.

He was sick of trying to hide the part that just wanted to destroy all those that threatened his love, without thinking of the consequences. Maybe this was the moment Elpenor’s earlier declaration of support was to be tested. Maybe this was the time to be his father’s son.

“Oh, I think we will.”, the son of Poseidon purred menacingly as the pommel of his sword cracked against the exposed collarbone of the man. The bone gave in like a toothpick, shattering into many pieces that tore the skin and made blood wet the stone wall. A scream followed instantly, but was drowned out by Percy demanding once again: “Speak.”

“No.”, panted the man, but there was spit on his chin and tears in his eyes. The pupils were big and full of terror as he sobbed and nearly puked. The demigod forced that down into his stomach again, making the man gag and shake in fear. But apparently not enough to get him talking.

Frustrated and trying to get the queasy feeling in his gut to leave, Percy growled: “You’ve got about 190 bones left for me to try and convince you. Do you wanna chose the next one?”

“Son of a bitch!”

Well, this one wasn’t very bright after all.

Threatening his Dream-Boy and insulting his Mom? The demigod didn’t even feel bad when his knee collided with the man’s torso this time.

Two snaps, two screams. Hopefully the ribs hadn’t punctured his lung yet. But there was no blood gushing into his chest that Percy could feel, so it was fine.

He knew his smile was dangerous as he leaned in closer, his grip like iron shackles around the man that had dared to touch his prince (metaphorically, he wouldn’t have any limbs left it he had truly tried to touch him). But even the pained screams lost their lure very soon. The demigod was tired of playing with the sheep when the real predator was still running free. So, he decided to try it with a bit of logical reasoning after all.

“Let’s try this again.”, he said, “You don’t have to suffer for whatever asshat hired you. That poison is too potent to be brewed by anyone other than a professional, and those are expensive. I know you don’t have the means to afford something like that, so tell me who’s behind this and I will end this pain.”

No reason to tell the man that it would also be his life that was ending. One rat in the cellar could lead to infections and infestation very fast, and the son of Poseidon couldn’t risk the integrity of the palace staff like this. Seeing as the man hadn’t begged for his life once or pleading for mercy on behalf of his family either meant he had none, or they weren’t important to him.

“L-Lord P-Philon.”, sobbed the man quietly, finally giving into the pain that must radiate through his entire body by now.

Percy smiled grimly, mind churning: “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll make sure you have enough money to pay Charon his due.”

“W-Wai-“

But the demigod didn’t have the patience to wait for anything.

One quick slash of his sword, and the man was dead from a throat cut cleanly, blood seeping into the ground and sticking to Percy’s skin like a mark. He didn’t care. His thoughts were already rotating back to the man that had discussed Telemachus’ love life like it was a soap opera back at the celebration.

“Looks like the Geezer won’t get much older after all.”, the demigod muttered as he stepped back from the corpse and turned to Elpenor. “Let’s give this guy to the sea. After that, we have an appointment in the upper district.”

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS was on edge for the entire rest of the evening.

He felt haunted and watched all the time, but not in the warm and caring way Percy’s eyes always made him feel. Of course, he appreciated Kleon and Perimedes sticking close, but their looming presence was unmistakable and a bit oppressive, so when his mother finally called it a night, the prince was glad to say goodbye to the guests and leave all this unpleasant business behind.

He had tried to sus out who of the attending people might have the reasons and means to try an assassination attempt like this, but most of them were too skilled of an actor to let anything slip, when the prince didn’t break down and die after the second meal, like they must’ve expected. And now that the festivities were over, he could only hope that Percy had more luck finding out what was going on here.   

During the farewells, he plastered on his practiced smile, thanking all of them individually for attending, but refraining from shaking any hands. Only when one man from a minor noble house stepped up before him, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back and his grin strained, did Telemachus feel wariness creep up his spine.

Lord Philon was only a quiet voice during all the council meetings, but the prince knew he supported the more drastically inclined families behind everyone’s backs. The way he eyed Telemachus was sharp and judging as he said: “What an exciting evening, your Royal Highness. Thank you for the invitation. But I must say it missed a bit of the…grandeur such an occasion requires. Let’s hope there will be another time to remedy that.”

If Telemachus hadn’t known about the attempt on his life, the sentences might’ve been registered as just a sharp barb, but now, it was as much a confession as he had gotten all evening. If the man felt confident enough to make allusions like this, he must be pretty confident in his ability to get away with it.

And maybe he would.

If Percy didn’t find any distinctive lead, Telemachus wouldn’t send the demigod out for something as silly as a veiled remark (like some kind of mercenary). Even if Philon truly was out for his life, his Dearest would stop any attempt that would come in the future just as easy as the last. There was no way the demigod would let Telemachus get out of his sight if the perpetrator wasn’t found. And there were very few things the young man had to fear as long as Percy was close.

But the prince would remember this. And he would keep an eye out for Philon and any plot in the future.

For now, he simply smiled like nothing was wrong, thanked the man for his attendance and then moved on to the next one.

When he was finally in his chambers again, the prince had trouble getting all of the jewelry off by himself, so while he was attended to by some quiet servant girls, the guard on duty, Perimedes, ordered a bath to be drawn on his behalf. The soldier waited until everyone else had left the room (leaving the prince in just his chiton and shark tooth necklace) before stepping closer one last time.

The older man said quietly: “I would bet my life he’s gonna come to you first, after everything’s done. Make sure he washes away whatever happens tonight. There’s no good in letting it stick and dry on one’s skin and mind.”

And now it made sense why he had been so adamant about the bath. Telemachus didn’t know what information Perimedes was privy too, but it was apparently enough for him to worry about how the aftermath might affect Percy. (Whether Perimedes had heard about the attempt in the first place or just guessed that something was going down, Telemachus had no idea.) The prince nodded gravely and fought against the guilt in his chest.

He had given the order for the demigod to take care of this business.

It would be his responsibility to be prepared for whatever mental state his Dearest would come back in.

Telemachus had never wanted to know how all the women and children felt, when they send their husbands and fathers to war and unknown danger… but as he was waiting for Percy to return, the uncertainty spread heavily in his bones, making him fidget and rummage around the room in a bid to find something (anything) else to focus his mind on.

After what felt like an hour, the prince decided that it would be no use to stay uncomfortable in his chair. He could wait in his bed just as well, seeing as it faced both the door and balcony (the only ways his Sea-Boy could enter).

Falling asleep hadn’t been the plan, but when Telemachus jerked awake, the torches were burned low, leaving the room in a dim, cozy light that made it hard to see for a second. Luckily, the prince didn’t have to look very far to spot what had awakened him.

Because right in front of the balcony moved a shadow he recognized instantly.

When Percy stepped into the low light, Telemachus was already up, moving sluggishly from sleep, but still making his way over instantly.

The demigod’s entire face was hard, the glint in his eyes so cold that he looked like a stranger for a second. His rigid posture and tight shoulders screamed that he wasn’t to be approached (maybe that he was dangerous even), but that didn’t stop Telemachus. He knew his Sea-Boy.

Percy had never rejected his care, and, as distant as he appeared at this moment, there was no way he would start now. Not when the demigod had made his way up Telemachus’ balcony and into his room by himself in the middle of the night, obviously just returning from whatever had occurred under Lady Artemis’ light.

Percy wanted to be comforted. He just didn’t know how to ask for it yet.

Good for him that the prince never needed to be asked.

With great care, Telemachus telegraphed his movements when he reached the other man, gently touching his big hands, before his fingers wandered up the arms, over the shoulders and finally finding their resting place on the demigod’s cheeks, steering his attention to the prince (Telemachus didn’t minding having to lean up a bit to do so).

When sea-green met caramel the air changed, and Percy exhaled a deep, tight breath.

“Are you alright?”, Telemachus asked quietly, not wanting to alert whoever was guarding the royal wing today to their conversation. This was for them. Only them. Intimate and warm.

The son of Poseidon got a bit more life back into his eyes as he leaned into the contact and breathed a rough: “Yeah.”

The rasp in his voice was concerning, but he sounded more dehydrated than hurt and just as the prince was about to get some water for him, Percy’s hand fell gently on his elbow, pulling Telemachus back and into a hug that felt like it was more for the demigod’s comfort than Telemachus’.

Not that the prince was complaining. Not about something that felt this amazing. Especially when the dark voice of his Dearest was this close to his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“I took care of it.”, Percy said gravely, “There won’t be another incident like this. You’re safe.”

“I always am with you.”, Telemachus replied easily, not a flicker of doubt in his heart as to the truth of his words.

He wanted to ask about what happened. Desperately so. The prince wanted to know who wanted his death, who poisoned his wine and if that person might be after his mother next. He wanted to ask if there was evidence, or a confession and who’s death he would need to cover up when morning came. Because there was blood on the clothes in front of his nose… and with how certain the demigod sounded about him being safe, there was no other conclusion to draw for the prince.

Someone had lost their life tonight after all.

But no matter how hot the fire of curiosity and the need to plan the next steps burned, there was something much more pressing for him to do. His Sea-Boy needed him. Needed his friend, not the prince he swore to protect. So, Telemachus forced all of the irrelevant thoughts deep down before he gently slipped out of the hug.

“Come on, Sea-Boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Telemachus interlaced their fingers as he pulled his Dearest toward the bed and sat him down on the edge. Percy followed willingly and the boneless heap he fell into, as soon as he touched the mattress, showed even more how exhausted he was. (That, and the fact that the demigod didn’t protest being on the bed with dirty clothes – an endearing boundary he always insisted on before).

Still, Percy wouldn’t be Percy if he didn’t try to deter the prince from making a fuss by saying: “You don’t have to-“ But one sharp glance and his Dearest knew it was better to shut up now. Undisturbed by useless rebuttals, Telemachus carried the water bassinet and a few clean towels over, setting them down on the bedside table before grabbing a little stool to sit opposite the demigod.

There was no way both of them had the mind for a bath right now.

The quiet was comfortable, light and while the prince could focus on his new task, Percy was free to let his mind go. He was safe now. And the way the tension seeped from his form with every breath was proof enough that he knew it too.

Telemachus tried not to feel too accomplished by that, as he pushed the first towel into the water. With a slow and careful drag, the prince started with his Sea-Boy’s hands, cleaning them from the dark red remains of what must’ve been someone else’s blood. Because the demigod was unharmed, and every little nick he might’ve gotten tonight would be healed by the water regardless. Still, Telemachus took his time cleaning the blood away, eyes sharp and searching for even the hint of a wound.

There was nothing for him to find.

As he continued up the other man’s arms (switching the towel once it became too red), Percy stayed silent, his breath even. For a moment, Telemachus deliberated finally asking all the questions that were still locked away from his mind, but decided it didn’t matter right now anyway. His Dearest was safe, he was safe, his mother was safe. Whatever other things might’ve occurred in the night would still be there to be taken care of tomorrow. No need to distress the exhausted and struggling son of Poseidon any further.

Once the task of cleaning the visible skin of his Sea-Boy’s neck was done, and Telemachus had taken enough time to adore the shifting sea-green eyes, that were slightly glowing in the dark, the prince took a deep breath. This next step would be torture for him, but he couldn’t let Percy stay in that uncomfortable armor a moment longer.

Slightly uncertain, Telemachus raised his fingers and gestured to the breastplate and shoulder pats.

“May I?”, he asked breathlessly.

The demigod’s face was unreadable as he eyed up the prince. Then, with a voice that was rumbly and dark his Sea-Boy said: “Yeah.”

Undressing Percy was like getting to peak into Elysium. It felt intimate and trusting, as Telemachus unbuckled the straps on his arms and hip before pulling the breastplate away to reveal a dirty white shirt underneath, only held together at the top. The prince’s hands shook a bit as they wandered up to the clasps on the demigod’s shoulders and it took a minute to open them as well.

What the falling fabric revealed was an endless expanse of bronze skin, rippled with muscles and painted with smattering scars, both small and big, that dried up Telemachus’ throat instantly.

He decisively ignored the heat burning in his bones and the blood that was rushing to the most inappropriate places right then. Percy’s chest was a canvas of his life… his battles and hardships (all won). The most prominent one was right on his side, a long, wickedly curved thing that was the relic of him defending Odysseus during the mutiny. Telemachus couldn’t resist grazing his fingers over it softly, but as soon as he gave into that desire, his limbs gained a will of their own.

The wet towel traveled reverential over the skin, followed by curious fingers in soft caresses that dipped into the tan skin to feel every ridge and muscle. The few remains of dried blood came away easily, tinting the white fabric, but the prince didn’t care as his eyes hungrily devoured every detail of his Dearest’ physics.

Of course, Telemachus had seen the demigod without a shirt before. He liked to train with less clothes to impede his movements, and he accompanied him often enough to his regulars swimming sessions.

But that was always a worship the prince practiced from afar, never venturing close enough to get lost in the handsomeness (the sheer attractivness) of his Sea-Boy (who was he kidding? He was always a bit mushy brained in Percy’s vicinity, but having him half-naked was something else).

Now, Telemachus was allowed not only to look, but touch, and that nearly erased the reason to be granted this gift in the first place.

While the trials of the night were still very much present somewhere in the back of his head, Telemachus refused to let this moment go to waste. He absorbed the silky feeling and rough edges of Percy’s skin, while simultaneously trying not to hover too obviously over the ridges of his abs (which were very much defined and gleamed deliciously in the dim lighting of the room…he wanted to taste their shape on his tongue so very badly-).

It didn’t help that the heated gaze of the demigod didn’t move an inch away from his face, sending a thrilling chill down Telemachus’ spine, while he let himself be cleaned by the unworthy hands of the prince.

Telemachus would worship him more than any god, if Percy would just allow him to do so. But that question would need to wait for a better moment. Right now, it would need to be enough to have permission to give into at least some of his desires.

His Dearest’ chest was moving with even breaths, as the prince reverently fondled his impressive pecs, hesitating only for a heartbeat before gently moving over the darker nipples, noticing the shiver that action send over Percy (a thing to remember). Soon, there was no more dried blood that could be used as an excuse and Telemachus disappointedly leaned away.

Without asking for permission, the prince slid down from the stool and onto his knees to reach for the leg guards that shielded the demigod’s calves. He was nestled comfortably between Percy’s thighs and the warm skin near his cheeks smelled musky and salty. Mouthwatering.

Telemachus couldn’t suppress the urge to lean forward and look up into that handsome face, meeting sea-green eyes trained on him. The red in Percy’s cheeks made him smile teasingly, knowing very well what his position might suggest in other circumstances. Not above using his deprived brain to his advantage, Telemachus leaned his head against the strong, inner thigh, while his hands worked on the small buckles of the armor. He let his eyes linger demonstratively on the space under Percy’s bellybutton, where a small trail of dark hair led tantalizingly lower.

The prince smirked victoriously upon seeing a subtle movement there.

He refused to let the heat in his face stop him now, and when the shin guards came away, Telemachus turned his face slowly into the thick muscle beside him, nosing along the few hairs, breathing deeply. His tongue dipped out despite his best intention to keep it under wrap, and he finally got a first, very brief taste of his Percy.

It was salty and heavy and all the more perfect because it was real.

Telemachus though he imagined hearing a deep and breathless groan, but just as his head snapped up to drink the sound in, his demigod had finally given up pretending to be unaffected and thrown himself back onto the mattress to escape the burning caramel eyes of the prince.  

Satisfied and sated (proud to have distracted his Sea-Boy from his dark thoughts), Telemachus decided he had played enough for today. There would always be another chance to tease the other man later for his reaction. With one last, longing look at Percy’s crotch (definitely bigger than him), Telemachus came to his feet to tidy up the towels and bassinet.

He left the son of Poseidon alone long enough to get himself back together and when he returned, the prince was proud to see his Dearest lounging comfortably under the sheets of his bed. Telemachus wasn’t really in the mood to fight for the other man to stay the night. After most torches were extinguished, the prince slid under the blanket as well, face turned toward Percy.

The atmosphere had changed drastically. Sweet and gentle and relaxed, cleaned and with clearer thoughts, both men were ready to end the day in the embrace of darkness and in closeness to the most important person for each other.

Telemachus bemoaned that he couldn’t let it end like this though. His dreams would haunt him with all the unanswered questions, and he knew that Percy needed to share his own plights to find peace in his sleep.

Just when he brough up the courage to speak, he was beaten to it by the son of Poseidon. The demigod raised his hand slowly, giving Telemachus the chance to back away (as if he ever would!) before gently cupping the cheek not pressed into the pillow. The rough thumb caressing the prince’s skin, mapping out the visible freckles, was grounding for both of them.

“You’re safe.”, Percy said again, as if to convince himself.

Telemachus smiled: “I am…Tell me what happened?” The question could be easily refuted, but the pained twitch of Percy’s brow told the prince that he wouldn’t do that. His heart rocked unsteadily in his chest, as he waited with bated breath to hear what had happened that night to those trying to kill him.

It started with a low grumble, so quiet it was hard to hear for a second.

“It was Philon, the degenerate pig. I heard him gossip at the celebration about- Well it doesn’t matter. He ordered one of his servants to dress up like one of our own and infuse your glass with the poison he bought from a merchant weeks ago.”, the dark voice of the demigod explained haltingly, “The servant was a child predator that had been pardoned on his order when he caught him trying to rape his sister...He owed his life to Philon for that. The old Fucker wanted your death because you voted against a bill he proposed, I think. I didn’t care to hear his reasons when he started spewing bullshit about-“, Percys ramble was interrupted by his own frustrated growl. Telemachus gently stroked over the tense jaw of his Dearest, feeling the stubble there and encouraging him silently to continue, while moving closer under the sheets.

Their legs intertwined gingerly.

The son of Poseidon needed a few seconds to get himself under control, breathing harshly through his nose before he continued with a disgusted grimace: “We got the assassin first. He was trying to escape the palace and once we got him, we needed a bit of…force, to make him tell us his master.”

“What did you do?”, the prince asked, morbidly curious, feeling the heat crawl up his neck again upon seeing the vicious and dark swirl in those dreamy sea-green eyes. Percy only hesitated briefly, before confessing: “Broke a few bones. After smashing his hand and ribs, he told us his master was Philon. I slit his throat after that.”

So the blood that had dirtied his Sea-Boy had been that servant’s. Telemachus was glad he had cleaned it all away. Nothing so filthy should touch his man.  

The insecure tilt in the demigod’s voice told the prince that he was cautious about how his friend would react. To show Percy how incredible little he cared about the violence, Telemachus nuzzled deeper into the warm hand on his cheek and hummed contently.

“Good.”, he whispered, “Do I need to send someone to take care of his body in the morning?”  

Percy, blinking confused for a second, relaxed slightly before muttering: “No need. We gave him to the sea before going to Philon. But there might be a bit of blood left by the entrance to the wine cellar in the west wing.”

“I’ll take care of it then.”, Telemachus decided, “What about the other asshole?”

“We found him at home. Luckily, he is an egoistic piece of shit, who wants a whole wing of his mansion for himself. There was no one around to save him, even if he would’ve gotten the chance to scream before it was over.”, the son of Poseidon explained with a voice that sounded oddly detached, but the burning hate in his eyes told more than any words could.

“I wanted to kill him right then, but Elpenor said it would be better to know his motives. The swine was so damn sure we wouldn’t be able to do anything to him that he actually bragged about his plan and knowledge. Elpenor wrote most of it down for you. I just wanted to bash his head in.”

And wasn’t that a somehow very funny picture? Philon sitting up in his pompous bed, monologuing, while Elpenor wrote it down like a reporter and Percy standing in the back cracking his knuckles. But it was unusual for his kind Sea-Boy to be this prone to violence, so the prince found himself asking: “Why?”

“What he spouted about - What he said… Tel, it was vile. I couldn’t- I was just so fucking angry.”

“What did you do about that?”, Telemachus asked breathlessly and with a dry throat, the room becoming warmer and warmer.

A sharp breath was inhaled, before the son of Poseidon proclaimed, his voice and face unreadable: “Boiled his blood until it coocked him from the inside.”

The screams must’ve been horrible.

And cathartic, if Percy’s serene expression was any indication.

For a second, Telemachus doubted his own sanity, because even though the whole picture painted was one of torture and cruelty, the prince didn’t find it as repulsive as he should have.

Sure, he would never order such actions or accept them as rightful punishment for anything, but he didn’t condemn his Sea-Boy for using the method to rid them of a schemer and would-be murderer.

Maybe because it was Percy that had done it. Maybe because (while his Dearest was human in all the ways that mattered) there was still something otherworldly in him. He was a demigod. His blood was drenched with the ichor of the divine. And the gods were not known for their mercy or leniency. They didn’t care for human morality and law. Why should one of their children be expected to adapt to that fully, even though their world was split into both?

Or maybe that was just Telemachus justifying how his horrible, endless crush tinted his vision of Percy as a whole.

Not that the prince cared. His Dearest was dangerous, so what?

He always had been. But Percy wasn’t prone to bouts of cruelty, nor did he have a tendency to find joy in such acts. Even now, the curl in his shoulders showed clearly that the other man was somewhat ashamed of his own actions, of losing composure and revealing his darker side like this.

It was very telling how he didn’t lie about it though.  

As if Telemachus wouldn’t love that part of him just as much as everything else. Perhaps even a bit…more. Especially when his dark gaze was full of hunger, locking in on the prince like a predator, planning on how to best make his move.

It was thrilling, like playing with fire and knowing it wouldn’t burn you too harshly, no matter how far you pushed.

And what were a few minor burns anyway? Telemachus liked a bit of pain every now and then. 

But there was no way for him to make that clear to Percy without revealing way too much about himself. So, the prince resigned himself to simply pull the demigod close and into a hug. He didn’t comment on the confession, just hummed: “Good work. There will be no evidence then, will there? We can just let Hyginus declare it a heart attack.”

“Aren’t you disgusted?”, Percy asked weakly, his head resting on Telemachus’ chest and listening to his heart. The mortal man gave into his yearning and gently stroked through the black strands while he said, voice steady and full of adoration: “There is very little you could ever do to make me feel something like that in regard to you. I saw you command blood before. I’ve always known you to be powerful and dangerous. You are half a god. But that never scared me, nor will it ever drive me away. We killed a Titan together, Dearest. Boiling the blood of someone who wants my death? Yeah, I am not really concerned about that.”

Time stretched and sleep crept closer in the quiet of the room. But there was one thing the prince still needed to know, before he could give into the temptation of Lord Morpheus: “They didn’t hurt you, did they? You’ve come back to me unharmed?”

Percy voice was hazy with sleep as he mumbled: “Yes. I’ll always come back to you.”

Telemachus snorted a bit, a heartfelt smile playing with his lips as he sighed: “Not the point…” The weight on him grew a bit, as the demigod finally sank into the realm of dreams. He was out like a light in seconds.

The prince pressed his lips gently to the crown of the black hair, right above the grey streak highlighting his adventures and breathing in the calming scent of salt and apples.

“Sleep well, Dearest. I’ll keep you safe.”

Chapter Text

PERCY was in Telesophorus’ inn when the news reached his ears.

It had been a sunny day, where the heat was nearly unbearable, and only those that couldn’t spend their time inside were seen out and about. Percy had taken one look at his sweating recruits (after only one light jog around the arena) and dismissed them to seek refuge in the shadows or cooling in the gentle waves of the sea. He would’ve joined them, but as soon as he had stepped a foot past the training grounds, he had been snatched by the ear and was pulled down into the city by a cursing Hyginus.

The medic had grumbled something about the old crew not nearly spending enough time together and how the youngsters should start to think more about their concerned elders instead of fooling around (something that sounded suspiciously like a rant Zeno had given the demigod as well mere weeks ago, when he had gone to the other man to get one -or two- of his tunics fixed).

The son of Poseidon hadn’t argued and followed Hyginus good naturedly, even though his back hurt from crouching by the time they reached their destination. There wasn’t even time to voice any complaint before Hyginus was already prodding and piercing at a few bruises that were showing on the young man’s arms and thighs. Percy only escaped the scrutiny by pointing out how Perimedes had fallen on his head during their most recent riding lesson (something else the demigod had taken over) and sending their mother-hen medic his way to relieve some stress. Telesophorus had set down a mug of ale in front of him while chuckling upon the spectacle.

The inn was nearly empty and their group (consisting of all the surviving members of Odysseus’ crew) was by far the largest (and rowdiest – good thing Telesophorus owned the place and couldn’t throw them out). While Zeno was gruffly lamenting about his slowly receding hairline and some impossible to satisfy women in his dressmaking shop, Elpenor tried to throw some nuts into the old soldier’s cup undetected. Percy joined in and soon it became a competition of who could land the most inside, before their friend noticed. (Elpenor won and Percy got another swat on the head for his troubles from an enraged Zeno, but he got back at his friend by shooting a little bit of wine up his nose when Elpenor took another sip – the indignation on his face was well worth having to smooch up to Zeno for ruining his drink and story-).

It was the same kind of companionship that had consisted during the years Percy had already spent back in Ithaca. It wasn’t a regular occurrence for all of them to be together, but a few met in the inn at least once a month to catch up and make sure everyone was alright. Those evenings always ended in someone being wasted and a few stupid ideas (mostly courtesy of Percy or Elpenor, their older friends being silent judges – and lookouts- in the background, but sometimes Telesophorus surprised them all with his sadistic little pranks). Playing cards and chatting about the latest gossip in such good company was something the son of Poseidon greatly enjoyed, even though most days he could not escape the teasing of his (not too secret) crush on a certain prince.

Perimedes was always happy to share his sightings of the two of them together, exaggerating their closeness and even daring to sometimes make kissy faces behind Telemachus’ back (and openly in the company of their friends). It was all in good fun though, and Percy knew that everyone was aware of the fact that it would never be anything else than that: Fun.

Temporary fun.

(How that thought hurt)

And while it was more than obvious how helplessly deep the demigod had already fallen, everyone was kind enough to not burst his bubble. On the contrary, they even support him. It was Hyginus that recommended him a really good place to buy massage oils and showed him a few quick tricks on how to ease the tension in the upper back (not that Percy would ever be bold enough to suggest doing something like this to his Dream-Boy) and Telesophorus introduced him to an old smith that was particularly handy with small weapons that could be easily hidden. Zeno tried to be nonchalant about all the elaborately decorated and finely crafted clothes he threw at the demigod in the name of trying-some-things-that-didn’t-work-out, while Elpenor and Perimedes covered some of his shifts without batting an eye (and without being asked) so that he could sneak away to meet Telemachus.

It was so heartwarming and kind (even if it wouldn’t help anything in the end) that Percy made sure to leave some of the prettiest pearls that his divers brough back in places for his friends to find. They shouldn’t need for anything after all they had been through.

To say that the son of Poseidon adored his friend and their shared evening would be the understatement of the century.

With all the laughter and, frankly ridiculous, good wine, the errand boy trying to gain their attention was forced to climb on top of their table to be heard.

It was only after Hyginus had shut up about the newest way to prevent heat stroke, that the sounds from outside the inn were perceivable.

Thunder roamed and rain crashed against the windows, as the boy (little Chares, Percy’s brain supplied: The kid he had saved and who since then followed him around all the time), soaked to the bone and shivering from the cold, caught his breath, one hand on his chest. His face was puffy and he looked like he had sprinted a marathon. Whatever he was here to say must’ve been urgent.

To get his head out of the soft fuzz the wine had caused, the son of Poseidon dumped the bottle of water from the table over his head, instantly gaining enough clarity to register Chares’ words and subtlety dry the boy to prevent him from getting sick.

“There has been an incident in the palace! Captain Macar is badly hurt, and the Prince has asked you to come back to the palace as quickly as possible. They need-“      

But Percy didn’t hear anything else. He was already up and moving, snatching his sword and cloak before bracing the storm like it was just a light drizzle (which to him, it was). With a humping heart, the demigod let out a shrill whistled that pierced the howling air. While he swatted away the cascades of rain, a faint rhythm of nearing hooves announced Talion’s arrival.

The steed was just as free spirited as its rider, and Percy had taken to let him roam the island as much as he wanted. No matter how far away, the stallion always heard his calls anyway and not even the walls of the city could keep Talion out (or in) if he really wanted to bypass them. The son of Poseidon reckoned his father had something to do with the unexplainable quirks of the horse, but he wasn’t complaining. Talion was awesome.

His friend (who could never replace Blackjack, but one could miss a friend and still gain another) was speeding down the street, throwing his majestic head back while calling ahead: “What is important enough to go out in this downpour? The weather is nasty! I want my stable.”

“We’re going to the palace.”, Percy replied as he jumped on Talion’s back in full gallop, “Telemachus needs me. Be fast and you’ll have the warmth of your stable in no time.”

“Got it. Hold on.”

-

The guards at the palace gate were wise enough to open up instantly when they saw Percy riding toward them. It was well known by now that the deep black horse (that was faster than any other) belonged to him and that he had special privileges (whether it was due to his position as trainer or because of his closeness to the Prince didn’t matter to the son of Poseidon).

Percy was inside the med-bay of the royal wing within minutes, having concluded that Telemachus was most likely there to overwatch the physicians taking care of Macar. With Hyginus down in the city on his free day, the duty of head medic fell onto a guy called Theodorus, who was kind of slow in everything he did.

He wasn’t present when the hectic demigod came through to door. Instead, Percy was greeted by Macar laying in a bed, his right leg propped up and bandaged heavily, eyes unfocused. The Queen was sitting primly on a stool by his side and her two personal guards stood behind her, hands at their swords when Percy stormed inside. But he didn’t care about the silly threat, his eyes were scanning the area for his prince, finding Telemachus standing by one of the windows overlooking the soaking palace grounds.

A breath of relief left Percy when he saw that his Dream-Boy was unharmed. Remembering his manners, he greeted the Queen with a bow and muttered words, before striding over to Telemachus, who had turned around upon his entrance, caramel eyes hard and bothered.

The atmosphere was tense, as Queen Penelope ordered her guard to leave, refuting any protest with a sharp glare that send the men packing immediately. Only when they were alone, the prince stepped forward to draw Percy into a tight hug. The scent of honey and parchment went straight to Percy’s head as the soft strands of beautiful brown hair tickled his nose. Telemachus was trembling slightly, making the demigod’s senses sharpen instantly.

“You’re okay?”, Percy asked him quietly and out of earshot of Penelope (just to be sure).

The prince sniffed a bit and laughed wetly: “Yeah…what a shit show.”

The son of Poseidon tightened his grip around his Dream-Boy: “What happened?”

“There has been an…accident.”, interrupted Queen Penelope their little moment with her clear voice. Her posture had slackened slightly and the worrying frown in her brows was quite prominent.

Telemachus turned to look at her, settling under Percy’s arm and into his side as he explained to his friend with a derisive snort: “It was an attack. But there is no clear evidence, so mother can’t name it as such. Someone pushed Macar down two flights of stairs and a statue fell accidentally right on his leg, shattering all bones in his thigh and half of his hip. Theodorus isn’t sure if he’ll even be able to walk again!”

“Let’s wait for Hyginus assessment before giving up all hope, sweetheart.”, chastised the Queen, but her blue eyes were tired and there was a twitch in her mouth that spoke of deep worry. Percy had never seen her pick at her nails either. Penelope of Ithaca was startled and unsure. Visibly so. 

Most likely knowing the answer, the son of Poseidon still found himself asking: “Who would’ve done something like this?”

“We don’t-“

“A suitor.”, Telemachus snapped over his mother, cutting of her try to be diplomatic, caramel eyes burning with fury, “My money is on Antinous!”

The Queen sighed deeply, before stripping herself of the mask of a dignified monarch by admitting: “It’s a possibility. They’re growing restless. And Macar has become more outspoken and restrictive of their actions as of late. With him out for the count, the position of Captain of the guard could be filled by someone more…sympathetic toward their situation.”

“It isn’t even a bad plan.”, growled Telemachus, tense as a spring, “With all the rotating and changing guards all the time, it is hard to filter who’s in our corner and who’s in the bags of those assholes! We can barely keep up with their names, and most of the ones we can trust are either not skilled enough or too old to manage the entire defense structure of Ithaca.”

“Which is why we asked you to come here, Perseus.”, Queen Penelope said, gaining back a bit of her strength as she scrutinized the young man by her son’s side. Percy instantly shifted to appear taller under her calculating gaze.

Telemachus said nothing when his mother stood up to come a bit closer, but his presence was nonetheless reassuring.  

“My son trusts you implicitly.”, the woman said with no real infliction in her voice. She was testing him somehow, and the son of Poseidon wanted to ace this test (regardless of the fact that he had no clue what he was tested on…at least it wasn’t math). The nervous drumming of Telemachus fingertips in the small of his back showed him that this was important.

Percy forced himself to stay calm and serene, while the Queen slowly circled him. She continued: “You have shown your skill for leadership and guidance during your time as a trainer and your proficiency with a blade is known through all of Ithaca. The people adore you, they follow you and believe you will protect them. I have seen your compassion and backbone, seen how you treat others and while your background should make me wary to fully support you, your divine heritage has not once been an issue or danger in the years you’ve been by Telemachus’ side. Given the lack of alternative options, you seem to be our best choice and chance to continue to keep the suitors in check.”

Her gaze was expectant, and Percy floundered for a moment, not knowing what she was getting at. How could his achievements matter in a situation like this?

His Dream-Boy understood the lacking reaction as the confusion that it was instantly. He sighed (a bit too exasperated, but the fond smile was enough to make Percy overlook that ridiculous response) before stating drily: “We want you to take the position and become Captain of the Guard, Sea-Boy.”

He blinked and gaped like a whale. The only (totally intelligent and eloquent) reaction he showed to that statement was a brilliant: “What? B-But I am-“

“Only the most qualified man in both body and mind, with unwavering loyalty to our family and the skills to back up any punishment and rule necessary.”, Telemachus deadpanned with a voice that was dripping in sarcastic truth. The demigod’s jaw snapped shut and he felt the blush creep up in his cheeks.

He was lost for words.

Upon seeing the satisfied (and confident) smirk in the prince’s face for shutting him up for good, Percy wanted nothing more than to transform that stupidly attractive look on his Dream-Boy into one of breathless pleasure. Let him know how it felt to be overwhelmed with emotions, not able to articulate anything except moa-

Nope, not going there. Get a grip!

But there were a lot of options on how he could achieve-

“We’d have to keep it quiet for now.”, Queen Penelope interrupted his daydreams with her scheming (luckily before a noticeable problem could’ve…risen), “The suggestion to make you the new Captain must come from inside the council itself, or these senile old men won’t except it without contest.”

The political aspects went over Percy’s head (as always), but he wasn’t quick enough to censor his mouth, because he stupidly blurted: “Aren’t you the Queen?”

Telemachus facepalmed (probably because he had explained all of the intrinsic details to him more than once already, but the son of Poseidon always conveniently forgot to listen to those rants and used the time way more productively by staring at his Prince’s lips – don’t judge him, they were gorgeous!), but Penelope only gifted him a small smile as she indulgingly explained (speaking teasingly slowly for him to catch everything): “Yes, I am. But only Queen Regent. Without my husband, the council has the power to question my decisions and demand evidence or proof for any suggestion before deciding on something major. Like appointing a new Captain of the Guard.”

As Percy nodded and processed the information, his Dream-Boy was quick to give him the implications before his brain started steaming: “They could ask you to perform really hard tasks in order to determine if you capable of fulfilling the role. Which you would ace of course, but those things can take weeks, if not months, and until your case is decided, no one can bring another candidate forward.”

Queen Penelope nodded gravely as she looked out of the window: “Worst case, there will be no Captain of the guard for quite some time, giving the suitors and anyone else that wants to cause us harm a lot more freedom and far less surveillance, or a sympathizer of them gains the title, which would be even more dangerous.”

“Wouldn’t the new candidate be required to perform the same tasks as me? If I couldn’t do it, then how-“, Percy began to ask, but the woman was already shaking her head. With a sigh she explained: “No. For every new prospect, there will be query of who doubts the nomination. The more doubt, the harder the tasks.”

“So we need them to think it is their idea to name you Captain. There will be less opposition that way.”, concluded Telemachus.

Percy’s brain was mush at this point, and he dazedly asked: “And how do we do that?”

The Queen saw how overwhelmed the demigod was and patted his arm benevolently: “Don’t worry, dear. Telemachus and I already have a plan. You only need to learn your new expectations and duties and act surprised when you are called before the chamber to declare your loyalty. If all goes well, it will take a week for the plan to take roots…after Hyginus confirms Macar’s…condition.”

The mood turned even graver as all eyes settled on the old soldier. His glassy eyes had lost a bit of their sheen and Percy felt his blood flowing steadier. Macar grunted when he tried to sit up and the demigod was by his side without being asked, helping the man into a comfortable position and handing him a glass of water.

After Macar had taken a sip and his pinched brows had relaxed a bit, he turned slowly to the young man by his side. With a pained smile (and obvious difficulties accepting his fate) he said: “I’ll-I’ll still help you, kid. All the bureaucracy is a pain to get used to, and I can’t stand the thought of sitting around and doing nothing. Let me deal with the paperwork, just kick the asses of those Fuckers if they step out of line. We both know you can do it better than me anyway.”

Queen Penelope refilled the glass of water of her hurt confidante without being asked. The closeness between them was evidence of the trust between them, built by years and years of facing the challenges of a kingless kingdom together. Macar’s…accident effected the Queen much more than simply losing the head of her guard. To Percy she said: “We will also tighten measures against misconduct. You’ll have far more leverage then.”

Still not quite sure that he got all the important bits, the demigod only said: “Sounds good?”

Telemachus stepped up behind him and draped himself over the shoulder of the son of Poseidon (needing to step on his toes to do that). His breath ghosted over Percy’s ear and his smell of honey, parchment and home was as addictive as the first time the demigod had smelled it.

“Don’t worry, Percy. We got this.”, the prince reassured him, squeezing his biceps and raking a hand calmingly through his hair. Both of them ignored the glances of the adults as they witnessed their closeness firsthand. Telemachus gifted him with a chaste kiss on the cheek that burned through the demigod’s veins like lava and made him close his eyes instinctively as the other man whispered: “And…thank you, for agreeing.”

What else was there for Percy to say besides: “Always.”

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS looked up into the face of his father, made from stone and marble, as the new statue saw its first sunrise from inside the palace’s main garden.

The artist had worked on it for two years, consulting paintings and written statements to get the countenance of the King just right, instead of speaking with the people who actually knew Odysseus personally.

Percy had snorted when he first saw the statue, so maybe the depiction was not really that accurate to his father (unsurprising, who did such shitty research and expected good results? But it was everything Telemachus had at this time so…)

It was still an impressive image that presented itself to everyone walking past. The King stood tall, one hand on the pommel of his sword as his cloak swished around him in an invisible breeze. The stoic but handsome face was poised toward the sky, showing a serene expression behind the cleanly cut beard. Looking up at the unknown man that was his father made Telemachus feel small and insignificant.

Odysseus was larger than life. He always had been.

The stories about his cunning and cleverness, the praise of his victories and ploys, the recognition of him as a fair and just King were like a heavy hand pressing down on the prince at all times. And Telemachus knew that he would never rise to meet the man’s reputation and achievements.

He was forever destined to be just the little prince waiting for his Daddy to come home, while said home was being ravaged and haunted by suitors trying to woo his Mom.

And how he was doing nothing about it.

(Couldn’t…the little voice in his head that sounded like his Dearest tried to whisper reassuringly, but the dark waves of self-doubt and anxiety were too big and swallowed the sentiment before it could settle in his heart).

The sting of knowing just how much of a disappointment Telemachus must be for the famous Odysseus of Ithaca was burrowing deeper into his soul with every second that he spent staring up at his statue.

Usually, the prince was fine with his place in life. Thoughts about his father (and what he would think about his son’s inaction) were few and far between. Percy was a great help in distracting him, and being around the demigod soothed any lingering self-hatred most of the time. But right now, his Sea-Boy wasn’t by his side.

He was finally being promoted to Captain of the guard (officially). The council had taken its sweet time, but after a week of debating, the outcome was clear. The son of Poseidon would take the spot and lighten the load on the shoulders of the royal family by enforcing the new rules dutifully. And Telemachus was happy for him.

He truly was.

But that didn’t mean that the steadily climbing rank of his Dearest wasn’t like a spotlight on his own stagnation. It was hard to feel adequate when faced with the stories about how great of a man his father was (both from the politicians, his mother and…even Percy at times – even though the demigod was by far the kindest about it in his tales-), but at least Telemachus didn’t really know Odysseus. (As much as that thought hurt the small child still living in his soul that hoped for his Dad to finally come home and make them the family he had dreamed of since he could walk…)

In the secret of his bedroom, the young man could at least still pretend that all the things spoken about the King were exaggerations of the truth. That Telemachus wasn’t severely lacking in all things compared to Odysseus.

But he had seen for himself just how magnificent Percy Jackson was.

Telemachus was aware of the feats and successes of his Dearest more than anyone (he had been present for the greatest of them after all, helped him even to defeat the Titan of Time) and while standing beside him felt like all of his dreams had come true, the other lingering, little voice in his head whispering he wasn’t good enough was hard to shut up completely.

Not that he ever told his Sea-Boy about it. Percy would’ve called him out instantly and force him to listen to a rant about his own virtues and value (which might be nice to hear from the demigod’s lips, but even that feeling wouldn’t last long enough to take root and destroy all those years of being told he was too little…of everything). If there was one thing Telemachus excelled at, it was pretending to be fine. Which wasn’t always a lie! But sometimes - like now - the weight of all the expectations pressed down just a little heavier.

He found it a hard thing to speak about.

The prince had come here, to the new statue of his father, to get a small reprieve from all the gazes trained upon him. While he might never be able to speak to his real father about all his problems truthfully (too great would be the fear to be called a disappointment, even though it was true), at least the stone version of him would listen (and not be able to judge him besides keeping his silence).

After making sure he was truly alone, Telemachus sighed heavily. “You know”, he began to speak to the replica of Odysseus of Ithaca, “Sometimes I feel like I am just living in the shadow you left behind. I’m stuck with the stories about you and your greatness, but I’ve got no clue who you really are…or if you’re still alive. I fear you’ll be ashamed if you ever get to meet me...” The heaviness in his heart was dark and bleak. Voicing his insecurities like this was not as helpful as the prince had hoped, but he still couldn’t stop the next words from tumbling out.  

“It’s just….so damn hard to do you justice. All these adventures, all these hurdles you overcame, the foes you slew…I can only ever wish to be able to meet any of these challenges one day.”, Telemachus’ hand ghosted over the stone sword in his father’s hands. His thoughts automatically drifting toward another sword and its wielder that he admired most: “I’m dreaming of all these monster, that he always needs to fight… and boy, I wish I could, so I could help to ease his plight.”

Speaking about Percy was always easier than talking about himself. The demigod was always as steady as a rock, never wavering except if he wanted to, no matter how bad the odds were stacked against him, no matter what problems loomed on the horizon. His Dearest always lived in the moment, preparing for what was immediately in front of him, succeeding and then moving on with a smile on his lips that made the prince’s knees as weak as those of a doe.

Sometimes, Telemachus wanted to be able to do that too; to let go of all the fears of the future and just concentrate on the now. But his heritage and everyone always looking for a hint of his father in him was sticking to the prince like a mark he could never overcome.

(Did he want to overcome it in the first place? Or did he only want to finally reach the bar set for him since birth?)

Telemachus fiddled with the shark tooth that reminded him of easier times, of shared laughter between two kids that didn’t know how cruel and demanding the world could be.

“I was with him when he beat Cyclops and Sirens, as he faced Titans and Hydras and overcame the Minotaur, even Cerberus.”, he whispered to the statue of his father, “I know through him that Life and Fate are scary, but they made him legendary…even if no one here knows besides me.”

After inhaling a deep sigh, the prince could not ban all the bitterness from his voice as he spoke: “They still sense it somehow. Everyone that meets him just knows that he is powerful. Important. Someone to be feared or revered. And he doesn’t even want all that attention…Why can’t I have the same charisma?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he already regretted them.

“I don’t want a hard life”, Telemachus confessed, “But maybe if I had to face some of his or your challenges, maybe I could be known for myself, and not as the addition to someone else’s story.”

The wind ruffling his hair was the only answer he got. The chill of the morning was dwindling and the silence around him loomed like a quiet observer.

Telemachus looked up into the stony face of Odysseus, knowing that his father wasn’t here to help him, but maybe his words would reach him anyway, as the prince pleaded to the world: “Somebody…anybody tell me, come and give me a sign! If I were just a bit braver, a bit more daring, fighting these monsters inside my home…would I find you in me then? Would I be finally worthy of being called your son? Or Percy’s companion?”

Telemachus waited with bated breath, but beside the ruffling of some bird’s wings behind him, there was no answer. Dejected, the prince sat down on the base of the statute, hands buried in his hair.

An owl was hooting somewhere nearby.

With a dry laugh full of sarcasm, Telemachus focused his mind on something else. He still had the urge to talk, to tell his father about his life, so he started with the thing that was taking up most of his mind all the time anyway.

“Percy’s says it’s all bullshit…I told him about wanting to be part of a prophecy before knowing what it actually meant. And he’s right, you know? I was so blinded by the call for glory and honor and all the things that come with fame, that I forgot what those things can cost.”

Thinking about the broken bonds of his Sea-Boy, about how he had to leave all those he held dear twice, how he was nearly crushed under the weight of the sky and killed by his enemies, the prince was reminded again what odds were stacked against those with heavy fates. How Percy had to be ruthless to survive, lose all the innocence of a peaceful childhood Telemachus himself resented so much (before actually seeing the price of being a legend).

And still…the young prince couldn’t stop yearning deep down in his heart for some of the same recognition his Dearest got. Even if it was only in his head and past now.  

But then Telemachus remembered a conversation they had not too long after Percy had shown up on Ithaca’s shores for real. After the prince had first voiced this desire.

Looking further into the garden, taking a deep breath, Telemachus recounted for his father: “He asked me how much I wanted to risk to be on the list of those heroes I worship…but I am a coward. I’m too afraid to risk anything. I’m no strong fighter, no great strategist or some genius mastermind…Do you know what he said to that?”

Of course there was no answer, but Telemachus imagined his father raising an eyebrow skeptically. With a small, but genuine smile, the prince repeated the words that had raised his heart and spirit on that bleak day: “He said that the world is full of people wanting to be extraordinary in some way. But that most are too stupid to see that they already are. That all the famous heroes were never born to be great, but forced to rise to that standard by the skin of their teeth. That they never searched for a fairy tale or adventure, but that they were thrown into it. Most of the time against their wishes. He said that history only tells the stories of the victors, not about the ones losing their lives while trying to achieve something others can claim as meaningful.”

Telemachus knew what his Sea-Boy had wanted to achieve with that speech.

It was very rare for the demigod to make up a whole rant like this (though he did, if it meant calming the prince down and ease his anxiety) and its impact was all the greater for it. But what moved Telemachus even more than the diminution of the ancient heroes and their adventures was the thing Percy had grumbled next.

Which he also relayed to the stone-version of his father with a reverent whisper: “He told me that he never wanted anything more than someone to be there for him, to see him…someone to turn to in the quiet nights when the only danger comes out of nightmares and grief. That those moments, after the battle is done, are the ones where true heroism comes up…How I didn’t need to slay monsters or best foes… that being there for him made me more of a hero than any pompous asshat from the history books. That I am special enough for him just by being me.”

The warmth in his heart was far more soothing and healing than any reassurance his real father could’ve given at this moment.

Telemachus knew that without Percy, his insecurities and doubts might’ve swallowed him whole a long time ago. Maybe in another life, he would be eaten alive by all the comparisons and expectations placed on his shoulders. Maybe that would’ve made him reckless and naive, believing he could challenge the world just because he was Odysseus’ son and his father was known for overcoming obstacles and scrutiny.

But while the dream of facing monsters was no longer prevalent or a necessity for him to feel accomplished in some way, there was still a part of him reaching for the validation that he was more than a pretty face with mediocre wit. His plans for great victories and mighty battles were mellowed, but the ambitious fire burning in his soul was not doused completely.

And maybe that was for the better.

His Dearest was striving towards something as well, and meeting his determination could only lead them both the become something more.

The prince so dearly wanted them to grow from all the things still coming their way together. Because his father wasn’t home yet. And there were still battles to be fought. Be it in the council chambers for Telemachus, or the halls of the palace for Percy. 

“There are 108 strangers in our halls.”, the prince informed his father gravely, “Trying to win the heart of my Mom but she is still standing tall, still stalling them with her ploy to weave your shroud. Keeping them away from her for the most part…I’m glad she can escape their leering, even though their interest swerves to me regularly now. They tell me I am nothing, that I won’t be able to stop them if they ever decide to cross the final line…They’re getting impatient, dangerous too.”

That last part was whispered with a heavy shiver. Telemachus thought back to the dark and hungry gaze of Antinous, that was always glued to his back as soon as he was in sight nowadays. It was harrowing and made him feel very, very wrong. The ick settled into his skin for hours, until the prince either took a long (very hot) bath, or he could flee into the strong arms of his demigod, erasing all invisible traces of the suitors.

He could never tell anyone about the depraved and despiteful things the men mumbled to him in the late hours of the night. It was disgraceful. And if his Dearest ever caught even a whiff of it, there was no telling what the godling would do. No matter Telemachus’ personal feelings, he couldn’t risk a political scandal of covering up hundreds of murders.

 “I would fight them if I was half as strong as you…or Percy. But the xenia is standing in our way, binding our hands. Breaking it could insult and anger the gods. And as mighty as my Sea-Boy is, and as much favor he has earned with a few of them, there is no way he could stop any of the gods from truly taking revenge. I can’t risk it.” The burden of being powerless to change his situation crushed the young man’s spirits as he pleaded to himself: “I wish there was somebody to help me, to lend me the strength and wisdom to stop them.”

The prince longingly tried to catch the stony eyes of Odysseus’ statue, but they were empty and cold. Hopefully that was just the interpretation of the artist instead of the true depiction of his father. Telemachus found himself asking: “Can I do whatever it takes to keep my Mom save without relying on Percy all the time? I bet you could…”

There was no answer.

Of course not. This was a statue. There was no one here to hear his pleading monologue.

Telemachus ignored the hooting of the owl as he turned away, preparing to start another tedious day of duties.

-

While Telemachus was spared from any council meetings that morning, there was still an endless queue of people from the city that wanted something or the other from the young prince.

Dealing with them kept him busy until the midday meal, which he hastily ate in a small conference room, far from the dining hall, where the suitors had taken up residence once more. Today they were even rowdier and unrestraint than normal, and more than one weeping servant girl had to be guided away by the guards after receiving a backhand for not being fast enough with the vine. Hearing about the incidents darkened Telemachus’ mood even more and he decided to see for himself what was different with them today.

The commotion inside the hall was to be heard from many halls away and the deep voices sounded vicious and prickly. As he neared the dining area, still hidden behind a few curtains, the prince caught a few snippets of the conversations.

“Where is he, huh?”, spat one suitor loudly in the room, his big belly wobbling as he lounged on a chair that was far too small for his gait. His incitement was answered with similar calls of: “Where is the man that finally gets to mount the queen?” or “Where is our future king? We’ve been long enough without one!” But Telemachus couldn’t suppress the derisive sneer upon hearing the last one: “Yeah, why the fuck are we’re still waiting! It’s been twenty years!”

“Imbecilic.”, the prince muttered as he turned around to leave the men to their own arguing. There was nothing for him to soothe with platitude and politics here. They were too riled up from all the wine and food. “It’s been 18 years since my father left Ithaca.”, Telemachus corrected the suitors, “But I guess counting is for the weak. They’ve certainly damaged their tiny little peabrains even more with all the head banging and senseless pissing contests to prove their manliness. Animals…all of-”

CRASH

A ceramic bowl exploded into hundreds of tiny pieces just a hair’s breadth away from Telemachus’ face, as it was smashed into the wall by unimaginable force. One of the shards cut his jaw with a piercing sting, but before the pain could even register and the prince could do anything more than blink in a daze, there was already a call cracking through the thick air like a whip.

“Boy!”

Telemachus’ head was snapping around before he could truly think about it. His heartbeat was racing, like a bird trapped in a cage, while the cold feeling of panic and fear scorched through his limbs, making them slow and heavy. With wide eyes, he zoomed in on the suitor that had thrown the bole and addressed him so disrespectfully. It was Antinous.

Of course it was Antinous.

The bulgy man with his sleezy and dangerous smile was lounging on a bench not too far away, legs spread lewdly, his dark eyes glittering in poorly hidden amusement and viciousness.

A zing of understanding raced through the prince, as he reeled with the tremors of his body, which unconsciously had already realized why the suitor looked this self-satisfactory.

Antinous knew that Percy wasn’t around this time.

Telemachus was unguarded. Just as the vile man had promised him so long ago.

A bucket of icy fear crashed over his head and the thrumming of blood in his ears grew, as Antinous slowly came to his feet. Unhurriedly, he made his way over to the frozen prince. The grin on his face stretched the scar over his eye hideously, making him look even more deranged.

A shiver went down Telemachus spine, and he tried desperately to climb out of the hole of terror he had fallen into unwillingly. When he stepped back instinctively, Antinous grinned even wider.

“Tell me, little prince”, he drawled when he came into reach, one hand raising casually as if to touch Telemachus’ shoulder, “when’s your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband? Or when will you, for that matter? I heard you spread your legs for every low-life nowadays. When’s our turn?”   

The prince didn’t even hear the cheering and whistles from the other 107 suitors around them. His eyes were focused on the hand coming steadily closer toward his face, looming like a dark promise.

But there was a small flicker, a spark of something in his chest, that was slowly growing to life.

A small sting in his arm drew Telemachus finally back into himself, when he remembered the three hidden weapons upon his person that could be easily drawn and plunged into whoever dared to touch him. Protection courtesy of Percy.

His Dearest was looking out for him even if he wasn’t around. And he had made sure that the prince knew how to use the daggers. And his fists, and his body.

Telemachus was no scared teenager anymore. He was a man.

It was time to claw his way just a bit closer to the unreachable height of Odysseus’ legacy.

He would not bow down to people like Antinous anymore.

Feeling his face twitch into a fierce scowl and his stance change toward a lower point of mass, the prince punched the hand reaching for him away with a nasty sounding slap. “Don’t you dare call my mother a tramp!”, he shouted, enraged by the daring and disgusting accusation. Looking directly into the dark eyes of the supposed predator, he raised his bleeding chin in a challenge.

Antinous' face contorted to show an even crueler version of his smirk. He raised an eyebrow mockingly and leaned forward, obviously unafraid. “I just did.”, he purred, “Whatcha gonna do about it, champ?”   

For a second, the world seemed to move in slow motion as thoughts raced through Telemachus’ head in high speed. His anxiety melted away, his anger sharpened into focus, as the decision settled over his heart like a protective cloak. A minty breath ghosted around his nose.

This was the moment.

This was what it was coming to all along.

No Percy to step in, no rescue in sight. It was up to Telemachus to finally show his own worth, his own strength. Even if it was against an opponent far superior in so many ways.

I guess this is my sign…Time to fight this monster.

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS was certain of his eventual defeat, even before the first punch was thrown.

He wasn’t even trying to delude himself into thinking he had a chance for more than a tie. Antinous was too strong, too trained, too ruthless.

But this wasn’t about winning. Not for the prince. This was about standing up to the demons haunting his home, taunting him and leering after his mother. This was him rising from the shadows of the boy, and into the light of the man he wanted to be. It was a moment that always meant to happen.

Maybe in another life, where his father never left for war and no suitor darkened their doorstep, this could’ve been something simple like a hunt or some tournament without real stakes. A way for Telemachus to sharpen his teeth safely, while he found his staggering way into adulthood.

But in this life, he didn’t have that grace.

It wasn’t necessarily death the prince feared (Antinous wouldn’t dare to kill him this publicly with so many witnessed) but sometime…there were worse fates than death. Especially as the loser in a fight with men like Antinous.

One look into the thirsting eyes of the suitor facing him was all Telemachus needed, to know that he would rather die than accept the consequences of being defeated. There was hunger and desire written into every expression on that ugly face, and the way Antinous leered over his body felt like acid.

Telemachus wouldn’t let the disgusting shit be the first one to touch him like this. Never!

That privilege was reserved for one person, and one person only.

Which was why he needed to be able to persevere for as long as possible against Antinous, hoping to knock the other down enough for him to forget any other nefarious plan of his.

The other suitors had heaved themselves up from their former arrangement to circle the competitors, laughing and mocking the prince, while cheering for their own leader.

“Fight, little wolf, fight!”, someone in Telemachus’ back laughed, throwing a subtle hint at him for being lesser than his grandfather, who had been called ‘The Wolf’ himself. It was just another way for them to hold him down, but the prince refused to let such silly insult touch his mind anymore.

He was over their idiotic posturing.

Antinous fed off the dangerous and rowdy atmosphere around them as he slowly began to circle his opponent. “Let’s see how you take this.”, the man taunted, and he slipped out of the fur cloak he wore over his tunic. As he threw the cloth away, his grin turned predatory. With two steps he was in Telemachus space, throwing a very slow punch at his face that even a toddler could’ve dodged.

With gritted teeth the prince did just that, ignoring the provocative whistles around him and Antinous mockingly clapping as if he was impressed. “Wanna entertain me little wolf?”, then suitor leered as he faked a weak kick, that Telemachus evaded equally easy, “Well, I guess even a pillow princess like you might show he’s the man sometimes.”

Anger began boiling inside Telemachus, but he refrained from lashing out. It wouldn’t do him good to be too hot-headed here. And no matter what counter he could’ve come up with, it wasn’t worth lowering himself to the level of the pig in front of him.

Antinous was lazily drawing his circles around him, like some poor imitation of a shark circling its prey, but Telemachus had seen real predators one too many times to let himself be frozen by that any longer. He kept his posture and center of gravity low, feet moving lightly to keep the other man in his eyesight as he ranted what was supposed to be an intimidating speech.

“You’ve made your worst mistake here…and it might be your last one to, little prince. You’ll have run out of bones to break, when you and I are through.”, the threat was real, that much Telemachus could tell. He had never broken a bone before, only splintered, but that itself had been so unimaginable painful that he wanted to avoid an outcome similar to that by all costs.

He was so caught up in his head that he only realized how close Antinous had drawn too late, the other man’s head inches away, eyes glittering and hungry. A big hand landed on the conjecture of Telemachus’ neck and shoulder, pressing in with scorching heat. “I know your Daddy wasn’t here to teach you, so let me remedy that. The world is a cruel place, and you won’t get any presents just because you’re a good boy.” He said those last words so lewdly that it ripped Telemachus right back into his frozen body.

He twisted out of the grip once more and slapped the dirty hand away from him. This time he used all the strength he had and from the twitch in Antinous' cheek it must’ve hurt at least a little. The suitor drew back again, but his face had changed. The amusement was still there, but darker and more intense than before.

The fight began for real.

And Telemachus was stuck on the defensive from strike one.

“Let them underestimate you for as long as possible! Don’t go into the offense until you have an idea about their weaknesses.” That had been Percy’s advice during one of their spars ages ago.

“You never do that.”, Telemachus had answered. His Dearest smirking crookedly and charming when he cheekily said: “We’re two different kinds of fighters, Tel. I work better with instincts, you with a plan. Use the strengths you have instead of forcing yourself to imitate someone else. That won’t work anyway.”

Come up with a plan, stay on the defense. Got it.

But that advice was so much harder to follow in real life than the prince could’ve ever guessed.

He fell into constant motion, and his head was too full of different thoughts to fully register all that was happening around him. The screaming of the crowd and the continuing quips of Antinous were no help in that matter. But Telemachus followed the teachings of his Sea-Boy, staying light on his feet and never turning his back to the other man, as he weaved around the punches thrown at his face and torso. Once, he was forced to deflect a strike and it rattled painfully enough through his arm that the prince decided to not engage Antinous in any contests of strength anytime soon.

When the first hit inevitably landed, it was against his shoulder and with the power of a fricking horse. It punched all of the air out of Telemachus, and he lost his balance for a second, allowing Antinous to come close enough to land a second strike against his cheek, before the prince finally got back into his rhythm.

Pain bloomed across his face, and his shoulder hurt with every movement. It was dizzying and distracting and from all the overwhelming emotions (only amplified by the constant screams of “Fight!” and “Strike” or “Get him!”) Telemachus felt his eyes water in frustration.

He knew he was screwed. He was getting slower (without ever even trying to get a hit in) and Antinous saw it as well, because his face was one of gleeful victory.

But while Telemachus body was busy evading attacks, his mind had been on the run since the very first second.

Weak points. I need weak points.

But there was so little to work with. Antinous was a man in the prime of his life and whatever old wound he might’ve had beside the slash across his eye, the prince moved too much and too fast to get a good look at him.

The next punch that got past his defense was sailing right toward his throat. Telemachus saw it coming in the exact same second that Antinous (blood probably boiling from the fight and Adrenalin) snarled: “You should’ve chosen flight, little wolf. Just because you had to try and be a man, you might just as well die, little wolf, die!”

This was the end. The prince saw the fist and knew he wasn’t fast enough to get out of its way. If he got lucky, it might hit his Adams apple and choke him to death before he was forced to live through whatever torture Antinous had in mind.

His thoughts went to Percy…To how devastated his Dearest would be. How much his rage would destroy.

Would Ithaca drown in the grief of the demigod? Would they truly never get the happy end looming so damn close?

Telemachus didn’t want to believe it. He refused to let it end like this.

A small gust of wind ruffled his hair.

The silent glide of wings right over his head.

His rage cooled into sharp focus.

His mind was getting clearer.

Time slowed.

A smell of mint and cool spring mornings settled all around him, invading his senses.

And then, a smooth female voice right by his ear, rich and powerful and amused: “Need some help?”

The world tinged into a grey and blue sheen.

-

Just because Telemachus had seen a few deities and gods throughout his dreams while he had been at Percy’s side, and had spoken (rather indirectly and involuntarily on his part) with two or three of them (Lord Apollo was by far the most conversational out of him, Lady Styx and Lady Hestia, thought the prince felt most comfortable with the last goddess), that didn’t mean he was prepared to face another, very real one, and definitely not during a dream this time.

The danger of maybe being killed by a punch to the throat evaporated as Telemachus’ brain tried to catch up to the things happening around him.

The world had somehow grown to be a lot more vibrant (and blueish grey), while the edges of his vision were darker, steering his attention to the beautiful woman beside him, that grew out of the white, glowing shape of an owl.

But even without her sacred animal, Lady Athena would’ve been distinctive enough to identify.

She was far taller them him, towering and imposing in her slender grace, armor gleaming silver and a playful smirk on her beautiful face. Her fair skin was flawless, and under the elegant helmet, her chestnut-colored hair was braided into many strands, two of which escaped their confines and framed her face beautifully, but still practical. She looked like a vision of some mighty warrior in the best of ways. Every little piece of her clothes was perfectly reinforced, making her look feminine and utterly protected. The sleek plume of her headgear reached down to her waist, flowing over the mighty shield strapped to her back. A long spear rested loosely in her hands as she proudly postured before the stunned prince.

The goddess was battle-ready. Her pupilless eyes were shining in the same blue and grey tint as everything around.

“What’s…going on here, my Lady?”, the prince whispered in confusion, not knowing if he should fall to his knees or remain standing. He had not mentally prepared himself to meet a deity today (and without the resident magnet for godly attention as well. Had Lady Athena missed her intended target by a few rooms? Has she been looking for Percy?)

To his great shock, the goddess of wisdom appeared to not care for his decorum, because she plainly asked: “Is your plan to stand around and let him win?” Telemachus decided to ignore the blaring questions in favor of defending his honor. Bristling with indignity and defense he exclaimed: “Of course not!”

His heated answer appeared to please the goddess, because she grinned, a hint of dark amusement in her voice as she casually said: “Then I suggest you fight back.”

With her spear, Lady Athena pointed toward where Antinous was still coming for him, the man’s movement like he was stuck in quicksand, arm raised, and face contorted into an ugly grimace.

Telemachus felt himself shiver as he admitted shamefully: “I don’t know how.” It was the truth.

While he may have been able to hold his own through defense and evading, there had never been a moment for him to truly attack, and he also hadn’t managed to find a pattern or weakness to exploit. Telemachus felt useless and weak. Even after all the training he had done, the reality of a fight overwhelmed him too much to put any of it to good use.

But Lady Athena wasn’t disparaging and her eyes lit up for a second.

“Uppercut him, now!”  

His body moved instantly to follow the command. The prince turned gracefully to the side, evading the slowly coming punch before bringing up his own fist in a glorious arc that hit the suitor right in the angular under his jaw, crunching against bone and throwing Antinous back in an equally slow movement. Telemachus eyes widened in stunned shock. His heart stuttered.

Excitement rushed through his blood.

“How-How did I do that?!” He had never been able to keep up with the attacks of the other man before! And now he could truly hit him back?! “Is time now moving slow?”, Telemachus wondered breathlessly the first thing coming to mind.

Lady Athena laughed like a bell as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was cool and Telemachus’ head cleared up even more, as if the pain from his chin and shoulder was receding back, making space for all the concentration the prince could muster.

“No.”, the goddess answered. She turned to be in front of him and leaned down with a kind smile on her otherworldly face. One of her long fingers was gently placed on his forehead when she said: “I just made your thoughts quick!”

A white sheen washed over Telemachus, making him feel stronger than ever before. His muscles loosened and every movement felt lighter (had she just healed his wounds?!). The prince could practically feel the bright grin stretching his face as he looked up toward his favorite goddess, adoration and reverence sparkling around him.

Lady Athena was awesome.

“Whoa!”, Telemachus laughed as he clenched his fist experimentally, surprised by how natural it felt, “That is so sick!”

The goddess leaned her head consideringly to the side upon hearing that (for her) strange expression, but the cool grey in her eyes softened a bit (not that Telemachus really noticed).

“Alright then.”, Lady Athena mused challengingly, “Let’s try this again.”

She turned around and gave the view free for the prince to see how Antinous face had changed to something shocked, as he slowly brought a hand up to grasp his jaw. The goddess sneered as she carefully circled around the older man, face hard and mouth tight. She was apparently invisible to anyone but the prince, because none of the spectators even glanced her way in their silent screaming.

Telemachus just stared as the divine being stated: “I’ve no respect for bullies or those who impose their will on others. In all my years, I've seen plenty enough to truly understand this kind of filth.”

Her piercing gaze settled back on the prince, and he instantly straightened up, losing the giddiness of being graced by Lady Athena's presence, to listen to her counsel. With a wide arc of her thin hand, the goddess pointed to different parts of Antinous. A white light circled the suitor’s scarred eye, a hidden bandage on his upper left arm and a red streak on his trousers.

His weak points. Telemachus understood instantly and his eyes widened. Lady Athena said nothing, but the sharp smile on her face was indication enough that she knew that the young man had caught her meaning. And she seemed quite satisfied with him.

Crossing her arms and rising to her very impressive height, the goddess of wisdom, master of war spoke to Telemachus of Ithaca with an echoing voice: “Let's teach this dog a lesson in front of all his kind!” Then she was in front of him again within the blink of an eye, crouching down to be face to face with the young prince. Her head was enormous, but Telemachus wasn’t scared. He felt her cool touch on his chest, directly over his beating heart. Lady Athena's eyes changed to be more human, still glowing, but now with a pupil and iris as she stated seriously and with deep affection: “One young wolf has a larger heart than all these men combined. Use the skills taught to you by the sea spawn and keep a cool head. I’ll help you win this fight.”

Telemachus had never felt more confident as he raised his fists. Finally feeling ready to strike back.

-

The humiliating one-sided encounter changed instantly when the world tilted back into its original speed.

The prince was prepared now, focused, quick in mind and body.

He didn’t give Antinous the time to adapt and pressed forward, rounding the man, distracting him with a faked kick before socking him in the face (and the hurt eye) with his strongest punch. While the suitor was reeling, Telemachus shook out his hurting hand before being forced to evade a counterattack.

Lady Athena appeared by his side (translucid like a ghost only for his eyes) and said: “Take advantage now and strike, little wolf!” So, the prince caught the wrist of his opponent, pulling the arm down and ramming his elbow into the bandage there, hitting the old wound nearly hidden from view.

Antinous howled. The crowd screamed in rage.

It was more balanced after that. Telemachus got in a few more hits, but took some as well, all the while the goddess at his side encouraged: “Get up! Don’t go down without a fight.”

But her voice got slowly lost in all the chaos going on, and the prince felt his stamina waver. He was nearly out of steam, the Adrenalin no longer boosting his reflexes and actions.

In the end, even quick thoughts were useless, when his body was simply too slow and untrained to keep up with them.

It was only a matter of time before Antinous greater strength and physical capability would gain him the victory. Telemachus was only glad to have gotten even a few retributive hits in. For his Mom.

The prince’s face and torso were pulsing in pain, his knuckles were bloody and as he felt the minty blessing of the goddess leave him, the prince staggered against his will. “Uh, maybe I pushed you a bit too far.”, was the last thing Telemachus heard before his view became spotted. His head swiveled around to re-orientate himself, but he was too out of it to register where his feet had taken him in his stumble.

Namely, directly into the path of Antinous’ fist coming for his temple.

This was it. The fight was lost.

He only prayed that Percy didn’t ever have to see or hear about what would happen next.

Chapter Text

PERCY was pissed.

Well, more like, he was getting pissed.

The day had actually started out pretty good after Kleon had brought him the message from the council, where he was asked to join them in their morning meeting. He had waited for that summon since his talk with the royals a week prior. Since then, the demigod had split his time between his duties, spending at least two hours a day with Telemachus (if the prince wasn’t busy) and studying nightly in the sick bay in preparation for his new role with Macar.

Luckily, Hyginus was pretty chill with him lounging around there, sometimes even using Percy’s strength to press some salve into bandages or lift a heavy ceramic jug. The medic was trusted enough by everyone to keep a secret, so he was one of the two other people knowing what was going to happen (and promptly told it to Perimedes, who told it Elpenor, who snuck out to inform Telesophorus and Zeno, the gossip!... So much as to Hyginus being a good secret keeper!).

The second (official) person knowing what Macar was training Percy for, was a handmaiden of the Queen, who had taken it upon herself to care for the Captain after his tragic accident.

Syra was a saint of a women, patient and kind and empathic, but still strong and stubborn enough to deal with a grumpy soldier that was just coming to terms with needing help for the first time. Her short statue had more curves than was usual for a handmaiden, but her hazel eyes, blazing with a quiet kind of fire, made more than up for any misgivings the gossips of the court might have. Even without being explicitly told what was going on, Syra was clever enough to get the gist after just two of Percy’s visits, taking him under her wing as well and sharing small secrets about the ongoings behind the closed doors of the palace.

But most of her attention went to Macar, and while the man was grumbling and huffing under her gentle care, he never protested too much and the blush he had on his cheeks whenever she was close was obvious enough even for Percy to know that there were feelings blooming between them.

Sometimes he felt like a third wheel when they were in the sick bay together and he secretly made a bet with Hyginus on when the two would start to properly court. (The demigod was sure he would win with his five months, but the medic said it would take at least a year – why he was so pessimistic was anyone’s guess).

Anyway, all of his friends were in on the position change after two days, taking duties of his back left and right to give him more time to prepare. (Or make him a new, appropriate wardrobe to represent his new position and power – but that was on Zeno, the old sap).

Percy had pretty great friends.

Not that the extra time would’ve been needed. After the speech Penelope had given him about possible challenges and tasks he might have to fulfill before the council (like recounting all 176 primary rules of the palace, including guest-rights…which he had learned for three nights in a row and nearly lost his mind over it), the son of Poseidon had prepared for the worst. (Math. Math was the worst! Or like, writing an essay/report. That duty had resided with Macar in their training).

It was a laughingstock in the end.

However the Queen and prince had managed it, the idea for him to take the position had indeed come from one of the wrinkly old men and the only thing Percy had to do was stand in their middle and let himself be prodded and inspected from all sides without moving a muscle.

Only the curious hands wandering to close toward his junk and ass were harshly redirected by the heat in his veins, but he kept still for everything else. The use of his powers stayed undetected, and the old geezers most likely thought it was simply a cramping of their hands, as their blood was stopped for a second in warning.

No one touched his private parts besides him and - Nope, only him. (For now.)

It was more boring and tedious than anything else, and time crawled as slow as a slug, until the paperwork was signed and Percy ceremonially swore his oath to protect the palace and royals above anything else.

But even that ridiculous waste of time wasn’t the reason for his steadily declining mood into downright dangerous territory.

No, that honor belonged to the absolute asshats trying to stand between him and the dining hall, where his senses pickup up on a lot of heavily pumping blood, surrounding the sweet flow of the One Percy would always be able to make out in a crowd. Telemachus was surrounded by suitors right now. And they were pretty agitated over something.

That wasn’t a combination the demigod felt comfortable leaving alone.

Whatever was going on had to be big, because there could be no other reason for the dirtbags to place this pitiful excuse of an interception in his way.

Percy patience was running out.

“Move before I make you.”, he growled, “This is the only warning you’ll get.”

The warning was more of a courtesy than anything else (and a flimsy excuse in case someone wanted to report him for assault later on). The demigod didn’t even pretend to reach for his weapon as the four clowns exchanged mocking glances and made their move.

It was a pathetic attempt at an interference.

Those boys had to be new. No one from the old stock would’ve dared challenging him like this. They’d all learned their lesson already.

Percy would enjoy being the one to introduce them to the new rules of the palace personally.

Gesturing for Kleon and Perimedes to stay back (who had come to collect him after the meeting), the son of Poseidon met the men in two steps.

He couldn’t fight the feral grin as he knocked one of them out with the first strike of his fist, while evading a punch aimed for his groin (Dirty guys! He might need it eventually!). The fucker earned himself a kick to the gut that made him vomit instantly, and the third guy was taken out for the count with a twist of Percy’s elbow against his solar plexus.

The last suitor had taken a frightened step back, but the demigod was upon him before he could flee, grappling him to the ground with a little too much force, twisting his arm until the shoulder was nearly dislocated. Leaning forward, Percy hissed: “You guys are new here, right? So let me tell you the updated rules. You are visitors. Not honored, not invited, not wanted. No guests. Now, tell me what’s going on here before I get even more impatient.”

The man was panting and ugly crying from the pain, but he blubbered: “A-Antinous is g-g-going to t-teach the prince a l-lesson and-“

But Percy had heard enough. He was on his feet and moving with unnatural speed while ordering harshly: “Take care if these shits, Kleon.” Trusting the man to follow his commands without messing up.

The son of Poseidon didn’t hear the answer of the guard, nor the steps of his friend trying to catch up to him as he stormed down the corridor and entered the dining hall three heartbeats later. Scanning the scene with two quick glances, Percy insides shriveled down in dread.  

There was a fighting ring in the middle of the room. Tables were shoved to the side to make space for the suitors to crowd together and cheer on the two opponents between them. Food and drinks littered the floor, making the place look like a pigsty.

But that wasn’t what made the demigod’s breath catch in his throat.

Percy was tall enough to look over the heads of the men, catching most of what was happening without needing to make any effort.

Inside the fighting pit stood Antinous, tall and swaggering with unwavering confidence, grin bright and smug as he fed off the energy of his followers. He edged the crowd with sudden movements and waving fists before turning around to his opponent. And that was where Percy’s dread came from. Because on the other side of the ring, surrounded by howling and leering man twice or thrice his age, stood the Prince of Ithaca.

Telemachus’ face was drawn tight, teeth clenches, fists by his side as his body had fallen into the defense position that Percy had taught him. The light caught onto his serious caramel eyes, over-lighting the freckles so that the young man looked paler than normal. While there was no obvious fear in his expression, the demigod knew his Dream-Boy good enough to catch the slight tremor in his arms and the way he accommodated his shaking knees by slightly changing his stance. A thin trail of blood ran down the beautiful throat, and he held his shoulder in a weird angle.

It was obvious that the fight was in full swing already, because no one was surprised when Antinous charged, fist fast and smirk unfearingly bloodthirsty.   

Percy saw red.

But the demigod knew he’d be too slow to stop the punch from landing without revealing himself and his powers in some drastic move. (Like boiling that Fucker from within in front of all his friends.)

And Percy was about to do it. He really was.

He would give everything to protect his Dream-Boy. He was already reaching, calling for the heat in his gut to expand and tuck, but a draft of air from the window stopped him dead in his tracks.

Cold spring mornings and the smell of mint whirled around his head before shooting toward the fighters, settling like a visible cloak over the prince’s shoulders. Percy caught how his Dream-Boy’s eyes turned completely grey for a heartbeat and the world seemed to exhale.

The demigod knew that smell. He knew that crisp cleanness.

Athena had come for the son of her mentee. And by the sharp sting across his skin, the son of Poseidon would bet she was furious. His movement haltered, stunned, when Telemachus countered the incoming attack with a move so smooth that Percy’s jaw dropped to the ground.

That uppercut was beautifully executed. And it hit Antinous completely out of the blue, making the suitor stumble back and curse in shock. The crack that resounded through the room could even mean a clipped jaw.

(Telemachus, while elegant and quick, couldn’t pack a punch hard enough to break bone – and he hopefully never had to).

Percy had never seen the prince react that fast, or with that much precision. It must be Athena’s support that got his Dream-Boy the clear head to think his moves through even under pressure. (A thing he had struggled with previously.) The demigod felt himself relax a bit, drawing his anger back into the tightly locked dungeon of his mind.

The tides of the brawl seemed to turn due to the divine intervention, and the son of Poseidon would not take the chance to shine from his Dream-Boy by interfering now.

Antinous didn’t know what was coming for him. Athena’s kids were vicious in combat.

Creeping slowly forward to be at least in reach should things escalate, Percy was awed (and honestly pretty turned on) from watching Telemachus work his magic. The way he moved those delicious arms and elegant hips was mesmerizing. The prince looked like a dancer, as he evaded punch after punch, enraging Antinous while giving him little quips and strikes the other man couldn’t block in time.

(To aim for his weak points was brilliant, and nothing Percy had personally ever bother with, but maybe he should overthink that habit…)

Much too soon, the difference in stamina and experience between the fighters became another deciding factor. Antinous caught his rhythm and started giving as good as he got, hitting the prince in the side and managing to punch against his already sore shoulder. Percy stepped closer, counting the transgression against his Dream-Boy, but still hesitating to step in. Grey flashes were still tinting the caramel eyes, showing Athena’s influence, and Percy didn’t want to anger the goddess by taking over a fight her champion might win.

It was the hardest thing the demigod ever had to do.

Forget carrying the sky. That burden was easier to endure than watching his prince get hurt by a dirtbag like Antinous. Percy tried to tell himself that the bruises weren’t grave, that Telemachus would heal in days, that he didn’t look desperate or overwhelmed yet.

It was harder than chaining the power in his chest, to ignore the sweet call of heated blood and the vengeance snarling in his head.

But that changed when the smell of mint and spring flickered in and out of existence, leaving his Dream-Boy disoriented and facing the wrath of a hurt Antinous alone for a second. The suitor caught the change instantly, rounding up with a new kind of malicious grin.

The glint of cold steel between his fingers was all it took. The fucker was armed!

Something tilted the world to the side as the heat exploded inside the demigod, bursting the locked door down.

Yeah…there went the last string of his restraint. Snapping right in the middle and with it every chance for Antinous to get out of this without blood being spilled.

The filth has had one too many chances already, one too many warnings spoken, and ignored them all. This was the end of the rope.

Percy was done.

The heat in his chest expanded, finally being let go after weeks (months) of being leashed. The world tinged into something sharper, as the demigod pressed forward, divine blood and an endless ocean on his beck and call right at the shores of Ithaca.

He didn’t even hear the ominous rumbling of a storm descending over the kingdom.

The crowd parted for him. Whether it was their blood being yanked away by the heat in his veins or because they somehow felt the warning in the air and moved on their own didn’t matter to the hurricane inside the son of Poseidon. He was on the move either way.

Nothing could stop him now.

Just when the demigod breached the space of the fighters, his marching heart stopped for a second as Telemachus stumbled from exhaustion. The grey gleam in his eyes dimmed and the smell of mint and spring receded, showing that whatever Athena had done to boost the prince was ending completely.

He was out of time. And from the despairing look in those caramel pools, Telemachus knew it as well. His Dream-Boy prepared for the fallout of losing to the worst if the suitors with shining eyes that had yet to see the demigod.

But Percy was not gonna let his Dream-Boy fall.

His fighting had been beautiful, breathtaking. Sharp and clear in execution, thoughtful and calculated. Telemachus had been the prime example of a strategic warrior, swift and strong. Only his lack of experience and stamina caused his loss like this.

Percy wouldn’t let humiliation overshadow his skill and prowess. The prince would be remembered on this day like the strong heir that he was.

Time to take the spotlight from him and give those vultures something else to focus on. The son of Poseidon had some ideas on what that would be.

The fist coming right for his prince’s temple was exactly the excuse that he needed. Not caring about disguising his unnatural reflexes, the son of Poseidon flitted the small and sharp blade out of its hiding place by his belt (a sword would’ve been overkill, and there wasn’t enough space to draw it without endangering Telemachus, so a dagger would have to do) and moved to intercept the strike of the suitor.

Quick and strong, with no mercy or hesitation in his movements, the son of Poseidon brought down the dagger right into the hand of the fucker daring to challenge, to hurt, his Telemachus.

Antinous’ hidden weapon clattered to the ground.

Blood flowed freely, red and hot and delicious.

It was flying through the air and Percy senses followed it hungrily, relishing in every drop he drew.

He didn’t need to twist the dagger inside the flesh to get the satisfying scream of agony he so desperately wanted, but the demigod did it anyway, as he turned the (now opened) hand around, palm up, and forcing Antinous’ body to kneel at his feet to follow the movement. Resisting it would mean ripping his skewered hand from the weapon, and even Antinous wasn’t stupid enough to try that. 

The man was pale and heaving, eyes wide in surprise and pain (and delicious fear), that made Percy smile ferally. His eyes were locked unto the man at his feet, but his unoccupied arm sneaked behind him to steady Telemachus around the waist as the prince wobbled dangerously. He didn’t dare to look at his Dream-Boy, too caught up in the thrum of blood and the little voice screaming for vengeance inside his head. He didn’t want the prince to see him this close to losing it.

The hall was silent except for the pained whines and hisses and the slowly falling blood of Antinous.

Every suitor had shut up, backing off, shuffling away from the brutal display of mutilation. But it wasn’t enough for Percy. This cunt had hit his Prince. Dared to raise his hands against the one he had been warned away from multiple times.

Percy needed more. 

“Don’t kill the dog, spawn of the Sea.”, whispered the divine voice of Athena right by his ear, showing that the goddess was still watching. Her essence had just been overshadowed by the iron tang of blood and the salty smell of rage. Percy would’ve loved to ignore her, but the sharpness in her voice made him pause. “His life is not yours to take.”

Right. Because when could the gods just make it easy for him?

Frustrated beyond belief, the demigod decided that ‘life’ was a matter of interpretation. There were other ways to make sure his message was heard this time. But to do that properly, Percy needed his prince out of here.

Eyes hard and cold, still trained on the panting man impaled on his dagger, the son of Poseidon’s deadly soft voice cut through the silence.

“Perimedes.”, he called his friend, feeling him by his side instantly, „Take his Royal Highness up to his room, would you? And call Hyginus to take a look at him immediately.”

Percy didn’t have the control to get out anything else.

Perimedes understood regardless: “Yes. I’ll send Elpenor and Kleon to you after he’s done with his task.”

“Do it.”

He couldn’t look back to see his Dream-Boy leave, but he followed the feeling of his blood until it was out of reach, knowing there wasn’t any great injury on his Lo-friend.

The dining hall was a graveyard. No one stepped closer. No one dared to leave or make a noise for as long as Antinous was still kneeling with a dagger pummeled through his hand. Now that all distractions were dealt with, Percy could fully focus back on the garbage littering the floor of the palace.

“I warned you, didn’t I?”, the demigod whispered softly, deadly. “I told you you’d lose a hand if you dared to touch my prince again.” Antinous was kneeling, using his free hand to support himself by placing it on the floor to take his weight. When he raised his head, the pain had morphed into defiance, and the agony was replaced by burning hate.

Oh how Percy would love to break him down.

“You’re dead, guard!”, the suitor spat through his bleeding lip (good one, Telemachus), “Hurting someone under xenia is a death sentence! Not even the King himself could save you now.” Even despite the pain he must be feeling, the arrogant maggot was brave enough to smile triumphantly.

The demigod couldn’t resist the smug smirk pulling at his lips as he ripped the dagger out of the flesh, delighting in the scream it caused. He was upon the other man before he could react, crushing the second hand under his heel as he used the bloody weapon to lift the older man’s chin, caressing his throat with the sharp edge.

“You think that’ll save your life?”, Percy asked curiously.

The dark gaze might’ve burned with hate, but the flicker of fear couldn’t be hidden. Antinous was afraid.

How…delightful.

“No.”, the son of Poseidon purred, “I don’t think so either.”

He let the silence fall heavy for a few more moments, before addressing the room at large: “But your information is a bit outdated, Antinous.”, the demigod’s eyes weren’t leaving the kneeling man, pinned down by the foot on his hand, wanting to see every expression as he heard the revelation Percy had in store for him.

“As of today.”, he announced, “You are no longer guests of the royal family of Ithaca. You are visitors. Temporary visitors who can expect the courtesy of being treated as such, if they return the grace by being amenable caller upon her Majesty, the Queen. You will find accommodation and food inside the palace for as long as you stay, but you are expected to follow the rules like any other part of the household. That means no violence, no insults, no assault and no roaming free wherever you want. This is the decree of the council. In exchange for your cooperation, you will find no harm in these halls and will be treated with the respect your lineage deserves.”

“That still means you have broken the rule!”, spat Antinous, no longer able to mask the pain lacing through his veins (his blood pulsed so very tempting, that the son of Poseidon could not resist scorching the liquid a bit, increasing the pain the other man felt). Percy delighted in pressing the dagger deeper into the throat in front of him, marking Antinous like a pig for slaughter, even while the other man said: “You’ve no right to lay hands on me. I will see you hang for harming-“

“Oh…Antinous, you fool.”, the demigod tutted disapprovingly, moving his heel slightly to make the other man wince. The bones crushed under his heal felt like dust, and Antinous screamed again.

“I wasn’t finished.”

As Percy lifted his head, he was sure his eyes must be glowing dangerously in the low light of the torches. With vicious satisfaction he proclaimed: “Should anyone of you disregard this new order or show any misconduct as of decree number 78, it falls unto the Captain of the Guard to decide an appropriate punishment for the misstep, should the Queen and Prince be unavailable. You can take any complains to them in the aftermath to receive contributions if necessary.”

“Seeing as Captain Macar’s unfortunate accident prevents him from doing his duties, his replacement was decided upon this morning as well.” The demigod turned his head back to Antinous, showing his teeth in a sharp smile that bordered on a snarl as he put the final nail in the coffin: “Your plan backfired, Antinous. There won’t be any sympathizers left in the guard after today.”

He felt uncertain whispers break out amongst the suitors as he stepped back from the bleeding man after delivering one last, long strike of the dagger down his torso (not deep enough to kill, but vicious enough to burn – which might’ve been Percy’s doing as well...).

There was rain pressing against the windows and a booming thunder made everyone twitch. The demigod saw from the corner of his eye how Elpenor appeared among the crowd. In his hand was a parchment with a big red seal right at the bottom. Their gazes met for a second and Percy nodded.

Elpenor’s voice rang through the room, clear and proud: “Dear visitors, dear servants, dear guards, I am proud to present to you the 18^th Captain of the Royal guard of Ithaca. Captain Perseus Jackson!”

Percy stood tall and met every gaze with a hard glare as he cleaned his dagger on the seam of his tunic. More than half the suitors looked away within seconds of meeting his eyes. The servants, pressed against the wall, looked elated and hastily retreated to spread the news.

Antinous was cursing and shaking on the ground, but the son of Poseidon wasn’t done with him.

“Let’s see…”, he mused, “I counted four strikes you landed against his Royal Highness inside his own halls. I think four months of banishment should to the trick for the start. I’ll see if he has something to add to that.” Whispering with thinly veiled hatred, the demigod hissed: “Be glad your father is able to bribe your way back here at all. You are nothing without him. And be grateful that I am simply leveling the playing field between you and Macar. You both can be crippled together now.”

He turned away from the man to finally get started on the real work he had to do. The restless energy inside him still demanded actions to be taken and he knew just the way to tire himself out enough.

From somewhere, another guard had finally shown his face, and with disdain for the coward Percy ordered sharply: “You! Collect every guard not on duty right now and gather them in the arena. Anyone not being there when I come down will have to face me in single combat for five minutes.”

He ignored the shivering fool and cast a glance at Elpenor, who stoically stood by his side, looking as unfazed as a statue. Percy felt his face soften a bit for his friend as he spat: “Make sure this visitor leaves the palace at once. I don’t want to see his face till the start of autumn. If he wants medical attention, he must find it elsewhere in the city or die.”

“Yes, sir!”

Antinous was being dragged to his feet and pushed toward the door, but the Fucker couldn’t let the chance go to get in a last word. He opened his ugly mug to spew some more hateful phrases, but Percy had heard enough. Not caring for who saw him, he flicked his hand to send every drop of spittle back into the throat of the suitor, making him choke and hackle on it.

“Beware of the Sea, Antinous. For no one knows what dangers dwell in the deep dark realm of Poseidon.”, Percy promised the man darkly, feeling how the air filled with the smell of salty caramel as his father’s attention was drawn to him. The god had heard his words, and if the even stronger rain was any indication, he had decided to treat the warning as the curse it was meant as.  

Ignoring the shocked muttering around him, the son of Poseidon addressed the room with one last advice: “The tides have turned, dear suitors. I won’t tolerate even one single toe out of line from any of you. Prepare yourself.”

Chapter Text

Meeting Lady Athena changed TELEMACHUS’ life as radically as meeting Percy had.

Not in the same way, and definitely not with the same meaning, but it was another step Telemachus gladly took toward finally becoming a person he felt comfortable presenting to his father, once Odysseus returned. Not that he voiced this to anyone but his mirror.

After he had gotten the chance to speak with the goddess in the privacy of his room, that night became a turning point for the prince in a much more positive direction than he had hoped. Lady Athena wasn’t only cold and calculated like the stories portrayed her. She was empathetic and rueful in a way no other divine being had ever let themselves be seen by humans (or at least be recorded like that).

Telemachus wasn’t stupid. He had heard the stories from his mother about how Odysseus had once been favored by the goddess of wisdom, on how they had worked together. He knew exactly what friend she was lamenting about during their conversation, but the way she skirted around naming him made it clear to the prince that this was not something she wished to discuss with him at that time. And who was he to corner a goddess?

So, Telemachus listened to her with an open heart, trying not to judge or dissect her words beyond their surface meaning. (A thing he had become good at during his friendship with Percy). When Lady Athena spoke about his father, it was with a lot of unspoken feelings, mostly regret over how they had parted (and wasn’t Telemachus just dying to ask what exactly had happened? But he stayed quiet for the sake of their conversation).

For a second, the prince didn’t know if he should feel like a replacement, just useful to ease the goddess’s own remorse, but when her humanly eyes had looked at him, Telemachus felt a kinship he just couldn’t explain.

She seemed so genuine in her wish to help him, to take a second chance and learn from whatever mistakes she thought she’d made during the first... Why shouldn’t he take her hand in friendship, when both of them were hoping for it so much?

Telemachus remembered the feeling he had when he was fighting with her by his side. Of the exhilaration and pride making his heart soar, the doubt vanishing when he landed that first hit. So, he told her exactly that. How strong he had felt with her, how great her help had been and how much he wanted to be her friend.

Upon seeing the immortal eyes widen in shock, he knew that she hadn’t thought it would be this easy. And maybe it wasn’t. But Telemachus had so very little true friends, and he wished so hard for someone to confide in without his heart bursting at the seams all the time. (And maybe he wanted someone to confide in about Percy that wasn’t his Mom).

“Maybe we can learn together how to fall and get up again? I know we’ll be fine!”, the prince had said in his optimism, smiling up at her with all the excitement in his chest. And Lady Athena had softened, telling him to drop the title, as her friends had no use for that.

Telemachus beamed for the rest of the week. And even more after Percy came to him to make sure he was okay and to tell him that Antinous was gone for the next few months. It was such a perfect outcome after the horrendous start of his day, that he couldn’t even feel self-conscious, as he awarded his Dearest with a chaste kiss on the cheek in thanks for saving him (again).

-

The atmosphere inside the palace made a sharp turn after the leading (and cruelest) suitor was kicked out in such a public manner. Percy took the reins with a forceful grip, yanking the guard in line without caring for any personal feelings or possible agreements in the background. He cut those hidden stems of bribery and sympathizer out like weed, root and all, by simple not giving a fuck for social conventions.

Telemachus was awed by how relentless his Dearest was in his plan to hold every man accountable and make sure that everyone knew the consequences of deceiving the royal family. He was a hard Captain, unrelenting in his principles, but fair and predictable in his punishments (which were never corporal!).

Every soldier, no matter the age or the time already served, was called back to basic training twice a week, making sure they all were up to the demigod’s standards in defensive and offensive techniques. He scouted them for troublesome attitudes or resentment against the crown during that time, making sure to dismiss the later to duties outside the palace walls, and by humbling the first in one-on-one fights.

Those who were clever enough to hide their true alliance were still clocked by the son of Poseidon somehow, and then paired up for their patrols with people that could be trusted implicitly (but weren’t obvious in their loyalty like Elpenor and Perimedes). Mostly the men from Percy’s own year or the ones he had trained before became the middlemen between the sneakier guards and the new Captain.

Percy was a right blood hound for hidden whispers and talks in the dark, using his good standing with the household to get information from the servants hushing around the palace. He himself showed his presence often, prowling around the halls with sharp eyes and the unspoken aura of a leader (a predator).

It was actually a much more seamless transition than Telemachus and his mother had hoped. The spectacle the demigod had made in the dining hall helped him earn the respect (and fear) of most, placing him into the new position comfortably and naturally.

Even the suitors bowed to the new tides. Slowly, but steadily.

It only took three incidents where they showed misconduct and tried to test how serious all that talk was, before the rest fell in line. But even without Percy present for all of them, the guards showed steely resolve.

It had been a good call from his Sea-Boy to place his strongest and most loyal friends inside the dining hall for patrol duty the first two weeks, just to make sure everything was reported back to him correctly and timely, giving the new Captain the opportunity and space to sentence the perpetrator to appropriate punishments. Two of the suitors had been given the choice to either take over the serving duties for the girls they tried to assault for three days or leave the palace for a month. They could try to invoke the right to fight against the punishments by facing Percy himself in combat.

Needless to say, after the first suitor was thrashed viciously for trying to get out of taking accountability, no one dared to choose the last option anymore.

Percy wore the new title like a badge of honor, like armor strong enough to keep him standing even on the most exhausting days. Telemachus tried to catch him before his Dearest got too lost in the duty and forgot to take care of himself, but it didn’t work all the time.

(Luckily, Lord Poseidon was adamant about seeing his son at least once a week in Atlantis, so those breaks weren’t up for debate).

Because things weren’t just changing for the suitors.

Ever since becoming friends, Athena had been a regular and constant presence by Telemachus’ side. Be it in meetings or during his studying, the goddess showed up. Sometimes inconspicuous in the form of an owl on the windowsill and sometimes she appeared in all her divine glory in front of him, ordering the young prince to don his armor and get to the training arena.

Athena was a relentless taskmaster.

Telemachus had thought that training with Percy was torture and exhaustion, disguised as hot muscles and sweaty skin, but learning from the goddess of warfare was another matter altogether. (And she hadn’t even the decency to give him something pretty to look at, while shooing him around with her spear and shield). But the prince would never complain, because he finally found a fighting style that fit him.

Instead of just keeping up, Athena coached him to thrive.

Soon, he was ordering his first, personally tailored weapon from the best smith in Ithaca. A double-sided spear that allowed him to keep foes at distance, while still being able to defend all of his sides. It had been Athenas idea to try something like this, after watching Telemachus for a few days. The goddess remarked that his form was good and that the sea-spawn might know a few things after all. (It was no secret that Athena and Lord Poseidon were at odds with each other after the whole patron of Athene thing, so Telemachus let those small quips against his Dearest slight without making a fuss).

Percy himself was equally tight-lipped about the goddess as she was about him. After Telemachus had asked him if he could sense the divine presence one afternoon, the demigod had only shrugged and said he’d keep out of her way to not earn her ire (as he was so prone to draw from godly beings), but that he was happy for his prince to have found a trainer better fitting than him.

The son of Poseidon didn’t seem to be too put out about their spars being cancelled for the time being, using the new free capacity to strengthen his influence over the guard and keeping a tight leash on the suitors.

One thing both men refused to compromise on however, was their time together.

After not having the excuse of training anymore, Telemachus was quick to find another reason to have meetups frequently.

Ever since Percy had shown him his secret stash of things from the future (including a hoodie the prince had promptly stolen because it smelled divine, just  like his Sea-Boy), the history book in English had been on his mind.

Learning new languages had always been a fascination for the prince. He loved literature and poetry and broadening his horizon with new ways to express oneself brought him joy like little else. So it was easy to find the motivation for tackling a language not yet spoken, and it was even easier to convince his Sea-Boy to try and teach him (even though he wasn’t very good with it himself) because one pouty look and the demigod folded like a wet blanket.

Speaking English came to him quicker then writing, mostly because Percy himself needed a bit of a reminder to get back into the groove of his mother tongue and they walked the stoney path of grammar together. Both of them had some sense for the way certain vowels sounded, just because they had both listened to them more than once before (Percy from speaking and Telemachus from listening through his dreams).

When it came to the letters and writing system, it was stop-and-go for the prince, because his Sea-Boy was no help there whatsoever and everything he remembered immediately after the dreams had become fuzzy and vague with time. (Telemachus looked back at his notebooks from his yearning phase and couldn’t read half of it now – which was probably for the best…he had been a mooning mess back then.)

They practiced even outside of their meadow, just little remarks here and there to make sure no one understood them, and after insulting a suitor while he was in earshot and not getting any side-eye, it was proven to be their new certified secret language.

Both boys were very happy with that.

-

Sadly, the newfound peace couldn’t last forever.

Now that Antinous was gone for the moment and the suitors had tucked in their tails, the more diplomatically inclined issues came back to the forefront of Telemachus’ mind. Such as the letter that had arrived two days prior and was now laying heads up on a small table between his mother and him like an ominous threat.

The Queen had pursed her lips and sipped on a small goblet of water, while she waited for her son to read the words once more before beginning the discussion. Telemachus leaned back as he mused: “It’s been a long time since we heard anything from Kerkyra…They’re the ones who didn’t respect your reign after Father didn’t come home after the war, right?”

“Yes.”, the Queen agreed, “They were reluctant even before that, when it was assured that he was alive. Since the last of his crew returned, they haven’t answered any of our letters. Their king refers to the old customs and traditions a lot. He’s the prime example of a patriarchy.”

Telemachus hummed thoughtfully before reading the letter again: “Strange then, that they invite us for their princess’ birthday tournament.” Penelope smiled as if she had bitten into a lemon: “You, son. They invite you.”

“Well, I’ll have to write a polite decline then. I can pen it tomorrow-“

“No, Telemachus.”, the Queen interrupted softly. Her blue eyes were sharp when she said: “We might need their good grace in the future. And this is the first time they have reached out in years. We can’t let this opportunity pass.”

The prince had a feeling he knew where this was headed, but he still asked: “What does that mean?”

“I want you to go and attend that tournament. Charm King Kleitos, flirt a bit with Princess Irene and make them hope for a possible alliance. That should entice them enough for future trade negotiations, even if they’re with a Queen Regent.”

Bile was slowly creeping up Telemachus’ throat as the order of his mother sank through to the bottom of his belly, heavy as stone. He felt himself pale as he stuttered: “You- You don’t truly consider a- a marriage though, right?”

“Don’t be daft, dear.”, Penelope chided instantly, shaking her head, “As if I would burden you with a girl. I’ll wait for your father to make any decisions like that, but I am sure together we can make him see reason for a much more fortunate match... blessed by the gods, so to say.” She smiled at him gently and pushed a strand of brown hair out of his face, before cupping his jaw between her fingers.

“But remember what I taught you, Telemachus.”, his mother reminded him seriously, “We need to use all the weapons in our arsenal to stay afloat in a world made for men larger than us. Our looks and the desire we draw is just another advantage to wield.”

The prince nodded, recounting all the small little things his mother had shown him when he was younger, about the right way to weave his words to sound flirtatious and warm, when he never truly meant it. When he was to smile and when to laugh, when to compliment and when to simper to get all the pig-headed old politicians and nobles to eat out of his hand without realizing they were stepping right into the net he’d spun.

Be like a black widow. Ensnare them tightly before devouring your meal. His Mom had said.

Penelope stroked his cheek as she whispered conspiratorial: “I won’t let you enter a marriage without love or your consent. Especially when your heart is already given. No alliance or soothed ego is worth such pain for my son.”

“What if father disagrees?”, the prince asked back equally quiet, voicing the fear nagging at his chest since the first time he realized that it was Percy, or no one else.

Never anyone else.

His mother scoffed: “He shall try. And then I’ll remind him with my weapons what a marriage full of love can do for you.” She winked slyly at Telemachus and made a pretty unambiguous gesture with her lips, that had the young man gape in horror, before turning burning red under her knowing gaze.

“Urgh, Mom, too much information!”, Telemachus shrieked and tried to hide behind his hands when Penelope only laughed: “Is it? You know, I could give you some hints on how to-“

“NO!”

-

In the end, the prince agreed to go to Kerkyra as an envoy of Ithaca to strengthen their relationship for future endeavors. It wasn’t as if he truly had a choice. He would only disappoint his mother if he showed any reluctance to go, and Telemachus felt like she didn’t need the reminder.

But that also didn’t mean he was wholly comfortable with the task set to him. Specifically, the part where he was supposed to charm and flirt with a foreign princess he had never met before. He knew how to do it in theory of course (and he had practiced more than enough with his Dearest) but using such techniques on someone unfamiliar was still daunting.

At least his mother had agreed to his request for Percy to accompany him. Telemachus had been certain that he would not be permitted to take the newly appointed Captain of the guard with him, but since no significant incidents had occurred with the suitors since his appointment, the queen believed she was safe enough with the new batch of recruits the demigod had shaped.

“Antinous is gone for now and without him there is no clear leader. Whatever they may try will be small enough for the rest of the guard to deal with.”, Penelope had said, “So grab your man as moral support, but make sure to not be too obvious around your hosts. We don’t need a silly scandal to dominate your visit!”

That was the only restriction the prince got and after telling his Dearest about their new adventure, Percy had asked to take care of their escort and to secure a crew for the royal ship that was bound to bring them to Kerkyra. The demigod struggled with leaving his friends behind, but he knew that Elpenor and Perimedes were the most qualified to take over (and the most loyal), but it felt wrong to leave Ithaca without them, as the son of Poseidon confessed to him one evening.

“I’d like to take Hyginus, Telesophorus and Zeno though.”, Percy had added, “I know they’re a bit older, but I trust them, and they know about my abilities. It will be easier to use my powers at night when they’re keeping watch. It’ll make the whole journey much faster.” Telemachus didn’t have much experience with traveling at sea, so he trusted the son of Poseidon to choose the best vessel and crew for them. He was busier researching everything the royal library had on Kerkyra and their royal family, reaching back many generations. Athena pointed him to some of the more interesting reads while revealing that there was no strong godly heritage in that kingdom, which surprised both of them.

There wasn’t much known about King Kleitos. He was no great warrior, no genius tactician or renowned scholar. The only thing Telemachus found out was that he liked having a big household and wasn’t shy to present his mistresses, leaving him with many bastards but only one legitimate daughter, which he was treating like the apple of his eye. From a report by some merchant a few years back, the princess was mild mannered but rumored to not be as pure as her father claimed her to be.

Gossip like this (while useful) disgusted Telemachus a bit, knowing that there was no way something like this would be written about a male heir. He pitied the princess a bit and felt sympathy for her situation. He knew just how piercing the evaluating looks of ambitious politicians or snobby nobles could be.

Maybe they could bond over those experiences, even if he had no interest to keep any kind of relationship beyond vain acquaintances with her anyway.

Telemachus still felt a bit bad about not telling Percy about the other task his mother had set for him. It felt awkward and wrong to speak about it, like he was asking permission (which he wished he could do, but that would make it all even more weird for the demigod). The prince resolved to just do his duty when his Dearest wasn’t in sight, so that whatever was brewing between them would be untouched by something so irrelevant.

(A female voice cackled in the distance.)         

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS hadn’t known how much he longed to leave Ithaca at least once in his life until he was aboard the ship set to bring him to Kerkyra.

The farewell had been big; the whole harbor had been crowded with nobles and guards and much more smallfolk than the prince would’ve ever imagined. Granted, he was sure that at least half of the city wasn’t there for him, but to say goodbye to Percy.

The young demigod had become their protector in the years he had been here, deeply integrated into the life and stories of the people, always approachable, always a helping hand, and never arrogant to those that were kind to him. Especially the children swarmed around the man as soon as he stepped outside of the palace, jumping at his side and demanding attention or acknowledgement.

Percy was never as patient with anything as he was with the children. And Telemachus loved the soft smile that grazed his Dearest lips whenever he saw one of the pipsqueaks.

He wasn’t jealous of the ones the son of Poseidon carried on his hip casually, or the ones that got to twist a few tokens for good luck into the black strands of his hair. No. Not at all.

The crew was small (smaller than his mother had wanted, but Percy could be very convincing if he tried) and he only had four guards with him. But seeing as this was a diplomatic visit, bringing more would be bad manners. (And one of his soldiers was Percy Jackson, there wouldn’t come any harm to him with his Sea-Boy nearby anyway).

Once they were finally on open sea, it was as if some invisible burden had fallen from all of their shoulders. The men of the crew that only knew Percy were careful around Telemachus at first, trying to find their footing around a prince. Most of them had never been around a noble, not to mention royalty and it showed in their insecurity and overly polite attitude. Only Percy’s friends were somewhat less formal, greeting him quietly before hustling off to do their duties. Telemachus quickly grew tired of being tip-toed around, but he knew no way on how to ease them all up.

Cue the chaotic demigod that knew no boundaries whatsoever.

The prince was still thinking about how get the men to relax, as he saw something come flying toward him out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, Telemachus tried to catch it, only to realize that the thing hurling for his head was a very alive, very twitching eel, that was slimey and wet and moved very unnaturally.

Telemachus would deny it until his dying day: he did not squeak like a stabbed pig (no matter what Percy might say!) before falling back and letting go of the animal. The eel stayed in the air for a second, flicking its tail and smacking the shock young man in the face, before falling over the railing and back into the sea, leaving behind a deadly silent ship and a gob smacked (and slimey-faced prince).

Percy’s howling laugh ripped everyone out of their stupor.

The demigod was leaning against the mast, hands over his stomach and keeling over in mirth.  “You-“, he gasped for breath, “- You should’ve seen your face, Tel-“

“Oh, you’re on Jackson!”, Telemachus hissed in indignant outrage as he clambered to his feet and raced over to the still cackling son of Poseidon, “Just wait ‘til I get you!”

Anticipating the escape of his friend, the prince quickly jumped over a crate on the way and cut off the lame attempt of Percy to make around the mast. Telemachus hand quickly caught the demigod’s belt and his feet hocked behind the other’s ankle to bring both of them down onto the deck.

His Dearest was still laughing as Telemachus rubbed his wet cheek over the other’s face, making him splutter upon tasting the salt and slick of the eel. Using his Sea-Boy’s distraction, the prince continued to dry his hand and face on the white chiton underneath him (hoping it stained!) before jumping back to escape any further revenge.

But that only started the most unordered game of cat and mouse Telemachus had ever played.

They were cackling and giggling like little school children that finally got away from their stern teacher’s gaze and were about to do something incredible stupid and funny. It felt freeing, to be this silly without any judgment beside the amused sailors, most of which were already familiar with Percy’s particular brand of mischief, or had too much respect for him to reprimand them anyway.

Safe to say that the mood after that was looser and friendly than Telemachus could’ve ever hoped.

Well, his Dearest was known to make the world brighter through his presence alone.

But they weren’t just joking and playing around. Telemachus (as a prince) wasn’t allowed to really participate in the daily chores, but that didn’t mean he had nothing to do. By staying close to the captain at the helm, (the Captain was a friend of Zeno’s, as the son of Poseidon had told him before, equally old but far less gruff and more pliant to let the younger generation take charge) he had the most perfect view of the happenings on board and the men working tirelessly to keep the vessel moving.

Most prominent among them was, of course, his Sea-Boy. He was also the reason the prince loved his ban on helping out, because it gave Telemachus the fantastic excuse of just watching Percy Jackson all day long.

Seeing the demigod do manual labor, be it grappling with ropes, moving barrels or climbing the mast, did something for the prince.

Muscles under tanned skin were moving deliciously, the black hair wild in the breeze of the sea, a gleaming smile of perfect white teeth filled his vision all the time, and Telemachus couldn’t think of a better view to enjoy. He didn’t even care whether someone saw him swooning or not, because during his observations, the prince noticed a few other sailors look at his Dearest as well, both hunger and admiration in their eyes.

It was vindictive to know that none of them would ever be as close to the demigod as he was though. None of them would be allowed to touch the other man like Telemachus had been.   

Seeing the son of Poseidon on a ship was a picture painted by the gods, and Telemachus thanked them all for allowing him to see it this up close, for knowing the exact way those arms moved when they were drawing him into a hug, for knowing the silky feeling of the tanned skin under his fingertips, for getting to taste the salty, addicting essence of Percy in those very few, stolen moments he treasured more than any gold.

Telemachus was still thinking about that night after the assassination attempt regularly. About the way it had felt to be on his knees for the other man, so close to the price he wanted to claim for ages. The way his intestines had felt like molted lava, about the pleasure the picture had brought him even weeks after that tenuous first step at intimacy.

Percy Jackson was a drug, and the prince of Ithaca had free reign to use him now, all day, as long as they were on the ship. He vowed not to let any part go to waste here, drinking in the beauty of his sweetest sin without losing any control.

But it was torture to not be able to devour the son of Poseidon like his deprived mind pictured so very often on the loneliest evenings. Touching himself was good and all, but Telemachus just couldn’t imagine how divine it would feel if it were the hands of his Dearest coursing over his chest, parting his legs, stretching-

Not. Right. Now!

Safe to say that the prince of Ithaca enjoyed the journey over the ocean very much, even if Percy was complaining more than once about how much faster they’d be if he were allowed to guide them with his powers. Telemachus was only half-heartedly agreeing with that at best.

-

Kerkyra was a kingdom connected to the mainland, but separated through a mountain range spanning from one seaside to the other, caging it between stone and ocean. There were paths leading further inland, through tunnels and mines, but they were scarcely used after a King many decades ago had hollowed out the mountains too much in his search for precious gemstones. Now the mines were empty and brittle, and crossing through them was more dangerous than just sailing around the mountains. (There were also rumors about man-eating monsters hunting the empty mines.)

That was why it wasn’t surprising that the harbor was overrun with trading ships, making maneuvering hard and the captain sweat while he tried to get their vessel safely anchored. (Telemachus was sure Percy helped a bit with his powers, if the conspiratorial wink was anything to go by).

They were greeted by a small envoy of the king, consisting of at least six guards and two very important-looking nobles, whose noses were so high in the sky, the prince had trouble seeing their eyes. But he stayed polite and cool during their short conversation anyway. Percy was seamlessly sliding into his place right behind Telemachus, closer than the other guards (Kleon was with them, as well as twins the prince had sometimes seen training with his Sea-Boy), but his new position as Captain made their closeness less obvious.

The nobles ignored them and only focused on Telemachus, which he found slightly irritating, but chose not to mention when he was ushered inside a (absolutely unnecessary) carriage. Before he could set a foot in there though, the prince was stopped by a warm hand on his back. Percy slid around him, taking a look around the inside and probing at a few parts of the wall, before drawing back and allowing Telemachus with a (totally exaggerated) bow to get on with it. Not allowed to role his eyes upon his demigod’s antics, the prince was forced to show him just how ridiculous this whole thing was by bumping into his Dearest as he climbed up the two steps.

It backfired spectacularly, because that only earned Telemachus a sneaky hand caressing his sides and hips behind the veil of Percy’s cape (an addition he had gotten for his new title), making the prince shudder and his heart stutter.

Hopefully no one had noticed that interaction…

The palace of Kerkyra was grand and big, built just after the kingdom was found and because of that somewhat older than Ithaca’s own royal residence. Telemachus complimented the architecture enough to not ruffle any feathers, but he was far from impressed by the strict lines and missing decorative pieces.

They were led to the throne room by the same nobles, who were simpering about their king and the grand celebration he had planned for his daughter, Princess Irene.

“He was delighted to hear you were attending, your Royal Highness!”, one of them blubbered, “No one thought that your mother would allow you to participate in the competition, so he had to open it for the public as well, but now that you are really here, King Kleitos will make sure you didn’t make the journey in vain.”

And if that didn’t snap Telemachus’ head around.

“Participating in what now?”, the prince asked sharply, and he felt Percy shift behind his back, ready to do…whatever was required. Before any of the questions running around in his brain could be answered though, the doors to the throne room were thrown open, and his entrance was announced by a caller.

His head was turning over, slightly panicking about whatever it was the noble had insinuated. A bad feeling was growing in his gut with every step the prince took forward.

Forcing his face back into the unaffected mask was harder than Telemachus had thought, and he was so very glad to feel the grounding movement of his Dearest right by his side, as he made his way toward the King waiting at the other side of the hall.

As King Kleitos came into view, the foreboding atmosphere became sickeningly thick and not even the calming smell of salt and mint mixing under Telemachus nose was enough to keep his breath even.

Something was going on here. Something bad. And Telemachus felt like the trap was already sprung shut, steely and unbreakable. At least if the victorious smile upon King Kleitos’ face was to be believed. 

“Welcome, fair Prince of Ithaca!”, he boomed across the room, which was filled with servants and nobles and some politicians as well. There were too many of them for a simple greeting ceremony. Telemachus felt the hair in his neck rise and he instantly slowed his steps, bumping slightly into Percy.  

The King was a plumb man with a mighty mustache and small eyes. Dark hair covered nearly every visible skin, and his lips were grotesquely big in comparison. As he stood from his throne, the hall became even more quiet, hearing his next words: “I am very pleased to welcome you into my halls at last! I hope the sea treated you well.”

The way he phrased that was sitting wrong with him, but the prince was raised with manners and decorum, so he swallowed the bile and answered calmly: “Me and my kingdom thank you for the invitation. And the Sea is always kind to us.” Telemachus couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding sideways to Percy upon saying the last part, catching a flickering smirk on the handsome face, which made the effort more than worth it.

The king raised his hand to hide a fake chuckle before fawning with his hand to call their envoy closer.

Telemachus reluctantly followed, until he was standing at the beginning of the few steps leading up to the throne. Kleitos was even shorter than expected, but before the prince could analyze more about the king and the strange atmosphere in the hall, a young woman was called forward.

Her face was obviously supposed to be hidden by a modesty veil, but whoever had dressed her had done a lousy job at it. The fabric she wore was sheer in the most unpleasant places, showing way more of her figure than Telemachus ever wanted to see, highlighting the curves of her breast and behind that war far too soft and profound for the prince’s taste. Her dark hair was woven into intricate braids that held the (useless) veil, which was parted just enough to show painted lips and a button-down nose. Behind the fabric, her face was average at best, her eyes as small as her father’s and her cheeks pinched together as if all her natural fat had been sucked empty.

Telemachus didn’t even have to try to remain perfectly neutral upon the princess’ entrance, which was most likely supposed to be dramatic. His eyes traveled back to the king, still on edge for not knowing the game at play here, but he would wait for further information to make a move.

“May I introduce my daughter to you? Princess Irene of Kerkyra. The greatest beauty in the south of Greece!”, King Kleitos proclaimed solemnly, watching closely how the prince in front of him might react. In that split second, Telemachus decided to ignore his mother’s task of charming the royals. It felt wrong on all levels and he was still on edge from whatever the noble had meant before. He couldn’t fake affection right now without making a fool out of him.

So, he decided to just ‘go with the flow’ as Percy might’ve said. “Delighted to meet you.”, were the politest words he could come up with, as the princess simpered down the stairs toward him, jiggling her hips like she was a belly dancer. It drew the attention of quite a lot of men in the room and Telemachus wanted desperately to turn around and see if Percy was equally focused on the waist and thighs of the princess as the guard nearly salivating behind the king.

It left more than a queasy feeling in Telemachus’ gut that he didn’t know his Sea-Boy’s reaction.

Did he find her attractive?

Why had Telemachus never thought about talking with the demigod about his type before? Would it make this better or worse if the princess fit that unknown mold? And why was that woman making him so unsettled right now? She wasn’t the first woman trying to entice him (or the handsome demigod).

The whole situation just felt wrong.

Percy shifted behind him.  

Irene’s giggle was high and aggravating when she said: “Oh not as much as my pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about the son of the great Odysseus! But no tale did your stately presence justice. You are far more striking than I could’ve hoped!”

That was more than just exaggerated, and Telemachus was too astonished to find a suitable answer when her dark eyes flicked to the figure behind him. The princess stopped for a second, gaze going wide with wonder as she took in the prime example of a man at the prince’s side.

Curse Percy and his greater height. And his roguish charm. And his devastating grin.

Which hopeful wasn’t to be seen right now.

Was there any way to turn around unnoticed and check?

But the princess was faster than Telemachus as she stepped even closer, raising her head and pushing her chest out as she purred: “And who is that handsome face? Is Ithaca full of beautiful men then?”

“This is Perseus. The Captain of my royal guard.”, the prince answered clipped, demonstratively ignoring the primly raised hand of Irene. It was a clear invitation (and expectation) that Telemachus normally would answer, just to be polite, but this whole thing just irked him, and he decided that a few slights could be excused for exhaustion.

But he was apparently the only one thinking so.

“A pleasure to meet you, Princess Irene.”, came the dark voice of the demigod. His demigod. And then Percy did something wholly unexpected, something so out of character that Telemachus found himself gaping in shock for a second.

Because Percy Jackson, notorious for not caring about social convention, manner or proper court conduct, leaned forward, taking the princess’ hand in his own (strong and tanned and-) and gave it a kiss.

A kiss. With his mouth.

That sinful mouth that whispered in the darkness of Telemachus room of closeness and trust and all those beautiful things that made his heart burst every time. The mouth that had caressed his cheek and hand in an equally soft and gentle manner as it now rested against the rough skin of the princess’ hand.

It was like a punch to the gut.

Percy had never, ever before reacted like this to a girl. A woman. He wasn’t the type for honeyed words and polite chit-chat and least of all, the person to give such a gesture just because it was expected.

Telemachus couldn’t see his Sea-Boy’s face, but from the winning smile on Irene’s, he could imagine the look she was receiving. The look no one else but him had received before.

What was going on here?

The world must’ve exploded and been put back together wrong in the time it had taken them to reach the palace.

Telemachus heart was beating fast and hard, hammering against his chest, cracking his ribs for sure, if the pain lacing through his body was to be believed. It didn’t even help when the demigod finally drew back from the girl still ogling him. Because she was just getting started, now that she had her fangs in the other man.

(But how could that be?! Percy had never shown interest in a woman. Telemachus would know, wouldn’t he? -Maybe he just kept his dalliances out of your sight? Who knows what he does in the city? Maybe it is common knowledge that he likes to dip his toes into different ponds and you’re just too stupid to see-

NO! That couldn’t be it. That wasn’t his Percy! Not his Dearest. There must be some other kind of explanation! Telemachus only had to-)      

“My, the air is getting thin here, isn’t it.”, interrupted Irene his spiraling, as she started fanning herself fresh air. Her smile was winning and arrogant as she was still talking to his guard: “And will you enter the competition as well, Perseus? I must say I wouldn’t mind someone like you fighting for my hand!”

What?!

Telemachus snapped out of his panic and back into the presence. He narrowed his eyes. Slowly, the gears clicked into place, but not before King Kleitos stopped his daughter with a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah Irene my dear, don’t say something like that in front of the prince.”, he tutted loudly, drawing the drifting attention of the hall back to them, “He has the best chances by far and doesn’t need more opponents. Especially of his own household.”

This was going too far. The prince needed to be sure that his hunch was correct, and he needed to know it fast.

Without caring for any socially acceptable phrasing, Telemachus asked sharply: “Excuse my directness, but what are you talking about, King Kleitos? Your letter only included an invitation to-“

“The tournament for the princess’ hand in marriage, of course!” The words of the King echoed like a thunder through the throne room, freezing all of the Ithacans in place. Telemachus head was ringing as he struggled to find words, but his host pressed on with a mean and victorious croon: “My, Prince Telemachus, I never thought you would be this impatient! It was only supposed to start a week from now, but if you are so eager…”

“I am no-“ But his choked-up response was interrupted again by the monarch, as he turned around theatrically, calling out to his court and guards with fake cheer in his voice: “You all heard his Royal Highness! He wishes to fight for my Irene’s hand on the morrow. Prepare the arena and call all the competitors. We’re beginning at dawn!”

Telemachus was vibrating with sheer desperation. His head was numb like he had gotten a big bash over the head. There was not even a moment to find his footing again.

“Wait a second”, he tried desperately to make himself heard, “I never intended-“

King Kleitos was no longer hiding his glee as he let his trap fall shut with the finality of a death sentence: “Oh, but that is why you’re here, isn’t it? I remember clearly stating in my letter” The scheming and nasty man pulled out a parchment from somewhere behind his back and began reading words out loud that Telemachus had never before read in his life (especially not in the bland invitation he had looked over with his mother): “Whoever shall wish to compete for my daughter’s hand will appear officially before me and my court until the dawn before her birthday. That is to be the acceptance of both sides of the binding contract enclosed below. This letter has been sent to all invited guests. Everyone knows the stipulations.” Kind Kleitos explained with a fond headshake that fooled no one. He gestured to the room at large and made the prince turn around slowly.

Everyone in the room was nodding. Even those that looked like ambassadors of other kingdoms and nations. Some even pulled out their own invitations, referencing the word spoken by the king.

Telemachus wanted to puke.

The room spun.

The world was tilting dangerously and the edges of his visions became dark, as panic and fear overwhelmed the prince. But then there was a cool hand in his neck, a hint of mint in his nose, and Athena’s ethereal voice in his ear.

“Breathe, child. We will get through this. Breathe.”

Telemachus had no idea where Percy was. He wanted the strong arms of the demigod catching him, hiding him from the world and taking him away to somewhere that made sense.   

But the horror wasn’t over yet.

The wicked king wasn’t done with his show, but his next words were numb and far away: “Really, I can’t say how happy I am for your appearance. Just between you and me, every other participant is a joke compared to the noble Prince of Ithaca. What an embarrassment it would be for you to lose against one of them…” Those black beetle eyes were nothing but malicious and greedy, delighted in seeing the prince so unbalanced that he wasn’t even able to find any words.  

“Our guests are tired! Bring them to their quarters, so that the prince can prepare himself for tomorrow. Don’t let anyone interrupt his precious sleep.” Even through all the noise in his head, Telemachus heard the threat loud and clear.

They were to be prisoners in this palace.

He was a prisoner. A hostage in some way, led not to slaughter, but to marriage.

The prince wasn’t sure what was worse, but he could do nothing as he and his four guards were surrounded by Kerkyra soldiers and led through many corridors and tunnels, towards quarters that felt like death rows.

And he had no idea what to do.

Chapter Text

PERCY had never before seen a shit show going down the drain this fast.

Don’t get him wrong, he’d had his fair share of crappy and unlucky situations himself. Problems that seemed unsolvable and enemies that appeared invincible, but somehow it always worked out. But that didn’t mean that the moments it all went to hell were getting any easier to cope with.

Of course, the demigod had felt the tension clouding the whole throne room like some cheap perfume from the moment they’d stepped a foot in there. He had clocked the shifting guards and hidden weapons, had noticed the grave whisper and evaluating stares, but nothing had screamed disaster or danger enough to justify him throwing Telemachus over his shoulder and leaving.

His prince had felt some of those things (those silent warnings) himself, if his tense shoulders and stiff neck were anything to go by (and the fact that he was nearly glued to Percy’s chest with his back as often as possible). But despite all the red flags, the son of Poseidon had been too daft to realize the plot until it was already jumping straight into their faces, fangs bared and teeth ready for the kill.

He had thought it was just the normal tension of two kingdoms meeting each other after years of no communication. How stupid of him.

The way his Prince was refusing to show the proper conduct toward the foreign princess should’ve been the first blaring sign that this was something more, and Percy’s awkward attempt to catch Telemachus’ oversight by providing the correct reaction himself (even though he hated having to touch the girl with anything but a fire poker) had only made everything worse.

Because her hungry and greedy eyes might’ve been drawn away from his Dream-Boy, but the demigod didn’t feel any better being her focus. The creepy feeling the beady eyes of both royals sent down his spine was proven right as quickly as a striking snake.

The words marriage and Telemachus we're like axe swings into his head and heart, making Percy lose his sense of self for a hot minute, while he grappled with the implications of such a thing.

The sheer loss it meant for him was equal to the pain of Kampe’s poison. Harsh and burning, melting the skin of his bones and leaving his soul bare for any attack.

Only that he could do nothing about it this time, as it spread through his body.

The time he took to get his head screwed back on was their downfall.

It took way too long for him to react, because the next thing the demigod knew, was that they were being led to the quarters they wouldn't be able to leave until the next morning, when the blasted competition was supposed to start.

The competition his Dream Boy had been tricked into participating. Where the grand prize was a forced marriage to the giggly and girly princess, which tried way too much to be desirable to actually manage it.

How had things turned out like this within minutes of them being here?!

Percy was caught way too off guard by the happenings. Maybe the peaceful time in Ithaca had made him lazy and compliant, less on the lookout for danger or plots thrown by the Fates to make his life more interesting. The son of Poseidon should’ve known that there would be a few more steps to make him stumble.

He was the god’s favorite plaything after all, and this whole scheme screamed like something a certain goddess of love might’ve cooked up in her drama-crazy brain. The only thing missing was the scent of roses that cloyed his nose for days.

But either way, while Percy someday might get a chance to confront Aphrodite or the Fates again, it didn’t help dealing with the situation at hand.

For the near future, the most important thing was to get Telemachus out of this blasted competition!

So, when the guards were about to shoo them into different rooms, Percy turned and got right into the face of the one he identified as their leader. Quietly and full of a dark promise, his patience long since gone, he growled: “I’ll stay with his Royal Highness for now. Back off and go back to your duty. I’ll find my room by myself later.”

The protest on one of the man’s tongues died instantly when the demigod lifted his lip in a warning snarl. They opened the wooden door beside them, leading into a big bedchamber and closed it behind them, but not before Percy ordered Kleon and the twins to ‘lay down’, which was their signal to not undress and be prepared to leave on short notice.

He would not be caught unprepared again. And if his prince wanted to sneak away and leave, Percy would make sure it was going to happen. He would not look back.

The soldier shouted through the door that the guest wing would lock down for the night, most likely giving them the hint that fleeing would be impossible.

As if a wooden door would truly be able to stop him.

Percy had a keen desire to flood the entire castle and create a cheap copy of Atlantis for his father. That would settle the matter and give him enough of an excuse to whisk Telemachus away to a well-earned vacation.

But he knew that his Dream-Boy would not resort to violence this early. Not when his brain had time to come up with a better plan.

After the soldier behind the door left, he and Telemachus were alone inside the room, which would’ve been a nice accommodation, if it weren’t for the circumstances. Percy walked up and down the walls to make sure there were no spy holes, and the tingle in his chest spread to make sure there were no other blood signatures around, before he turned to his prince.

Telemachus had sat down on the big bed, hands on his knees and head bowed low, breathing flatly. He looked wrecked and the demigod quickly strode toward him, kneeling down and catching the fidgeting hands in his own.

“He lied, right?”, Percy asked lowly, trying to catch the caramel eyes but failing, “There was nothing about you marrying the princess in the letter you and your mother received.” He was pretty sure about that, but his instincts had been wrong once before today and he’d rather not risk any misunderstanding here.

“Hah, no.”, the prince replied bitterly and then surprisingly pulled his hands back to hug himself.     

The son of Poseidon blinked, a bit stunned upon Telemachus drawing away from him (rejecting his touch for the first time ever) but swallowed down the hurt bleeding through his heart. Maybe his Dream-Boy just felt closed in enough with the whole situation and needed a bit of space to process. Without making a huge deal out of it, Percy stood back up and leaned against the wall further away by the door.

He could not decipher the expression flittering across the prince’s face, but instead of asking something that might be perceived as too noisy, the son of Poseidon decided it would be better to solve the more urgent problem at hand.

They would have all the time to address the weird tension between them later. (Hopefully…)

“So, what do you want to do? I have the men on standby. We could leave right now and screw all this scheming bullshit.”, Percy suggested with a hard edge in his voice, knowing that there was no way Telemachus would run away like this (even if he wished for it.) So, the demigod wasn’t that disappointed when the prince shook his head.

“I can’t do that. It would destroy any hope for a future relations and trade between our kingdoms.”, his Dream-Boy sighed.

“And forcing you into a marriage won’t?”

Telemachus head snapped up as he snarked: “Not helping, Percy!”

Percy breathed deeply and tried to get his temper, that was slowly creeping up his chest, under control. Arguing and antagonizing was the last thing he wanted. “So, what’s the plan?”, he asked instead and then added hesitantly, “You- You don’t really plan to marry her, right?”

The prince was silent for an awfully long second and the quiet felt suffocating, like drowning, before his Dream-Boy finally said: “No. Of course not. But I cannot slight King Kleitos by contradicting him after he announced my attendance to his whole court. He was clever by doing that. And he left me no time to react back then, so if I ‘change my mind’ now, it’ll make me look weak and flighty…Ithaca cannot get that reputation through me.”

The son of Poseidon bit his tongue, to refrain from saying that he couldn’t care less about Ithaca’s reputation at the moment. If it forced Telemachus into an uncomfortable position, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. If it forced him into a loveless marriage, it deserved to be destroyed (or Kerkyra at least did…maybe he could ask Kym for a favor. A giant hurricane should be enough to get that blasted competition suspended, right?) But he knew his Dream-Boy wouldn’t respect such an opinion, so Percy instead hummed: “So how are we getting out of this?”

A few more minutes passed in silent contemplation, both men lost in their own heads, before Telemachus reluctantly proposed: “I guess I will just have to lose at some point. Maybe against someone halfway decent. Or I’ll fake a broken bone and resign that way.”

Percy wasn’t convinced and his voice dripped with skepticism: “You think that’ll work?”

It gained him another sharp glare and a hissed response: “I don’t know. But it’s the best idea that I have right now. Maybe I could come up with something better if my head wasn’t this distracted!”

Ouch.

Message received.   

The sting in his heart was burning deep, even as Percy tried to appear nonchalant. The demigod made for the door, bile in his throat and mind far away (buried beneath a mountain of restless pain and striking doubt) as he said curtly: “Got it… I’ll try to scout the layout of the castle a bit. Leave you in peace. I think my room is directly across from yours. If you change your mind, come find me.”

“No, Percy wait-“

But the demigod felt his eyes mist, and he wouldn’t stay to let his Dream-Boy see just how much that whole conversation had hurt him. It wasn’t fair to burden the prince with his useless feelings when he was already stressed out by his other problems.

And the son of Poseidon knew that the only reason he was this sensitive was because he loved-

because he cared so very deeply about Telemachus.

The door fell shut with a dull thud that echoed through the early night. Percy didn’t stay in the corridor for long, marching to the left where they had come from, intending to find the end of the guest wing and get a feeling for their security. (And maybe to escape Telemachus, because he could feel the prince moving toward the door right about now).

Having a conversation while the emotions were this high and volatile wasn’t a good idea at all, so he scurried away quickly. Telemachus needed peace and quiet to think, and a panicking demigod certainly wasn’t that.

Despite not being used to sneaking around and hiding, Percy had become pretty good at it during his nightly patrol (and other activities that needed no further thinking about). He found the door that was supposedly locking the guest wing, but when he gently tried, the lock turned instantly. The demigod paused, listening for movement, but he only sensed one guard on the other side, slumped against the wall and not moving.

“Is he sleeping?”, the son of Poseidon breathed incredulously, deciding to push his luck and find out for sure. (He would win a fight either way.)

The door opened without a sound and after sticking his head through, Percy truly saw the guard on duty actually napping against the wall, making it easy to slide right by him and deeper into the palace.

-

Walking and trying not to get caught really cleared his head a bit and made the pulsing lead in his belly shut up for the time being. Percy just followed his nose, trusting the warmth in his chest to twinge whenever something with liquid was approaching.

The corridors became grander, more opulent the further he went and soon, the demigod found himself crouching behind a potted plant, as he waited for whoever was approaching to pass by him (like so many clueless guards had before). But this time, it was opposite of a slightly ajar door, with soft light spilling out into the darkness. The decorations all around screamed with money and power and the barely perceivable voices behind the door sounded vaguely familiar.

So, Percy waited behind the plant until the guard had passed, before crouching closer to the door and trying to eavesdrop whatever was said in the latest hours of the night.

(Maybe it was something useful. Blackmail might not sit right with Telemachus, but the son of Poseidon would do anything to get his prince out of this predicament. Even without his knowledge, if necessary). 

The voices became louder, and Percy tensed, as his brain finally clicked and recognized the arrogant drawl.

It had doomed Telemachus mere hours ago, after all. No way he would forget the grating tone of King Kleitos for many more years to come.

But the monarch wasn’t alone in his study (probably study, a bedchamber would be better guarded). Another male voice was talking with him, meek and whispery like a ghost. Probably some kind of advisor. They all were simpering fools with no own opinion.   

Percy leaned in to catch their conversation.

“He could just forfeit the first match, your Majesty.”, remarked the quieter man softly, earning him a mocking grunt. 

The demigod knew immediately what they were talking about and felt the repressed anger rear its head in his chest.

King Kleitos was speaking: “Well if he loses it will cost him everything. No one will take somebody seriously that lost to the clowns we hired to pose as his competitors. He might leave unmarried, but with that blow to his reputation, no one in Ithaca will bat an eye when Antinous disposes of him. A useless heir is worse than no heir at all.”

The red sheen over his eyes was back as the world became sharper with every heartbeat. Every small breeze was like a hurricane in Percy’s ears, his breath turned to harsh pants and the blood pumping through the bodies behind the door was an enticing call. There was water in the plant pot he had hid behind and a wine jar somewhere inside the study. All of it would be so very easy to call upon. So very easy to command to slice up the traitor that was working with the worst of the suitors behind Ithaca’s back.

And they wanted to chain his prince. They wanted Telemachus to either marry or be dead, while forcing humiliation upon him either way. The whole competition was a farce, set to trap the only heir to a kingless kingdom.

Telemachus’ plan would fail. There was no way he could admit defeat against unworthy opponents, and a broken bone might just postpone the whole ordeal and give those Fuckers more time to tighten the noose.

King Kleitos was cunning, and his plan was good. It relied on Telemachus’ honor and his will not to be a disappointment. Things that motivated his Dream-Boy greatly. They had read the prince perfectly and set up the perimeter just right to not give him any wiggle room.

There was no way for him to get out. Except murder and death…no tactics his prince was likely to employ just to save himself…

But apparently, that wasn’t all, because the King (who had risen to the top of Percy’s shitlist instantly) snickered: “And after Antinous marries the Queen, he promised to take Irene as his second wife. She just has to wait for that whore Penelope to die then, which we surely can help with, and I’ll still get Ithaca for myself eventually. A husband is easy to kill when he is drunk on lust. This thing cannot go wrong for me, Ampelios!”

Percy didn’t hear the other men’s agreement over the storm inside his head. Thoughts and plans were fighting to be heard, some hopeless, some cruel and some so very dark he didn’t dare to look at them.

Minutes passed by that way, until a little something caught the demigod’s attention and ripped him away from the spiral of anger, rage and fear.

Fear of losing his Dream-Boy.

The advisor, Ampelios, muttered: “The announcer will get the list with the competitor as soon as the sun rises. He will collect it from the front office and bring it directly to the arena. I just added his Royal Highness on top. There won’t be any surprises, my King, I assure you.”

No surprises, huh?

If Telemachus couldn’t break free from convection and conduct and expectations, if he couldn’t risk his or Ithaca’s reputation by breaking an agreement he hadn’t made from the inside, if his hands were bound by schemes and plans… he just needed someone else to do it for him.

The competition was a scam, designed to force the prince’s win by throwing the most disgraceful opponents at him, and giving him no choice but to beat them.

But what if there was someone stronger than the prince? Someone he could lose to without risking his status as a good fighter, a good heir? Because no one else would be able to defeat them either?

Someone that would marry the princess and fulfill that sham contract?

Someone to carry the burden of a loveless marriage in Telemachus’ stead? 

Well, Percy thought with grim determination, it can’t be worse than holding the sky.  

Chapter Text

When TELEMACHUS woke up, he felt like he had been hit by a train.

His eyes were crusty and his head pounding, reminding him of how little sleep he had actually gotten and how quickly he had lost the fight against the tears after that final slam of his door.

When his Dearest had left.

The prince knew it was his own fault, really. He had been snappy and short with the demigod, his mouth quick to form words his heart hadn’t really meant. But the whole situation was a just nightmare all around and the pressure Telemachus felt to make it right sat heavily on his shoulders. The expectations were crushing him, caught between duty, morale and his own wishes.

He had been given a task by his mother that was impossible to fulfill now, as it would end in his marriage to a girl he hadn’t spoken more than two sentences with.

The looming shame he would bring upon himself for purposefully losing the fake contest set up for her hand wasn’t helping, nor was the nagging feeling in his chest that he could’ve prevented this whole situation if he had just been more witty or eloquent.

Not that it mattered now.

But what was weighing even more heavily on the prince was the situation with Percy.

First the strange way his Sea-Boy had greeted the princess, then his loaded question whether Telemachus truly planned to marry her (which had sounded more than a bit judging and tense) and finally his withdrawal after being snapped at for taking up that much goddamn space inside his head with his stupid smile and weird actions.

Percy had never before left him like this. Just…gone without a second thought, leaving Telemachus alone with his doubt and fears and hurt.

It had to be the most painful rejection anyone had ever gotten.

At first, the prince had thought it was only for a short time, to give them both the quiet to calm down, but when Percy wasn’t in front of his door, nor in his own room, Telemachus had felt more despair than ever before.

The demigod never came back that night. And it left the prince reeling helplessly. Alone.

Not even Athena showed her face, and Telemachus silently judged the goddess for vanishing when he needed her the most. Her wisdom would’ve been appreciated to get out of this whole bloody chaos. But there was no clear mint scent or cold hand on his shoulder. She had simply ghosted him after telling him they would get through this in the throne room.  

Well, where were they now? It was just him, and he’d have to enter a competition for a princess’s hand in marriage he didn’t want and lose it, to not be trapped with her for all his life.

Yeah, godly support would’ve been very nice right about now…

-

When breakfast was brought to his chambers by a fluttering servant, Telemachus felt like a corpse, going through the motions of getting dressed and choking down a bit of food before he was told that there would be some guide picking him up within the hour.

Sometime after that, his own royal guard entered his room, but the only person he wanted to see desperately was still missing. Kleon just said that the demigod had ordered them to stick close to the prince and that he was ‘taking care of something’. Telemachus gritted his teeth in frustration, but refused to mumble all the things in his head without the target they would rightly be thrown at.

Seeing as he hadn’t brought any armor along on their trip (not thinking he would need it!), the King graciously provided one for him, which was both too big and too heavy to be practical at all. It looked like some ceremonious piece that was only worn to impress guests or show the wealth of the kingdom to the people. Fully dressed in gold and gemstones, Telemachus didn’t register a lot on the way to the arena, where the competition was to take place. He asked Kleon again where Percy was, but only received a shrug and a grimace in response.

The hole in his heart grew and the anxiety settled deeply into his bones, as the prince was forced through the tunnels by even more guards and given a sword that gleamed under the shining sun. (It was very heavy and unbalanced, a bad work to impress others with its bling – just like the armor – just like Telemachus himself).

Inside the pit, there were about ten other men, all equipped with the shabbiest weapons and armor the prince had ever seen. They looked comically poor and unfit in comparison to his over-the-top shiny golden outfit, and the bile was rising inside Telemachus’ throat as he desperately searched for a face beside him that showed even a sliver of confidence.

It was in vain.

None of those men was a fighter, by Hades, the prince doubted that some of them had ever even held a weapon before today. Only two looked like soldiers at all, stances tight and feet spread, but they were old and wary, most likely just here because of some payment that scheming rat of a king might’ve offered.

“Just between you and me, every other participant is a joke compared to the noble Prince of Ithaca. What an embarrassment it would be for you to lose against one of them…” That had been King Kleitos’ words and Telemachus cursed himself for not taking them seriously earlier.

This was really, really bad.

He could not risk his reputation, Ithaca’s reputation, by losing to someone so obviously unfit to wield a weapon (or rule a kingdom). He could not let himself be beaten by men like this. He could still fake a broken bone, but what would that do beside trap him on Kerkyra even longer? Because the agreement had been made (allegedly) and he was bound by his (fake) word.

Why hadn’t Telemachus seen this the night before? Why had his head been clouded by worries other than this?!

He should’ve taken Percy up on his offer to run. They could’ve been back on their way to Ithaca already. Maybe with one more bad relation to another kingdom, but at least as free men. Unmarried men.

But that ship had sailed and now the prince was forced to face the truth of his situation.

He would have to marry Princess Irene. To be her husband, her lord. By her side until death claimed them. The father of her children, her lover.

He would be expected to have sex with her. Maybe more than once. To sire an heir.

Forced to give her his most precious first, which he had kept close to his heart for one man, and one man only all his life, to be claimed someday when they both wanted it. And now he would never be able to do that.

Telemachus would lose it all. Would lose him, before he even had him in the first place.

And Percy wasn’t even here to see it. To witness the breaking of what might have been. The end of the greatest story that had just begun.

Because the demigod had gone to do…something else. Something more important than supporting Telemachus through this horrendous nightmare.

His heart shattered and the world twirled into color and sound. The pain was all-consuming, reaching deep into his body, his bones, his soul.

And Telemachus was burning, as all his dreams, all his hopes, all his life broke apart before his very eyes.

Like a mirror shattering into thousand pieces.

-

The prince didn’t hear the introduction spoken toward the stands, where hundreds, maybe thousands, of people were sitting. He didn’t see the King and Princess come up to their lodge and wave toward their subjects, he didn’t even notice how all the competitors were lined up before them, like sheep for slaughter.

The only thing ringing through the fog of devastation and hopelessness was his own short introduction by the announcer, that sounded like some play being written about him, rather than him as a real person. “Our first and by far most anticipated competitor has come from far away Ithaca to woo the princess and compete for her hand in marriage, to unite our two kingdoms in harmony and prosperity! Please welcome Prince Telemachus of Ithaca, son of the great King Odysseus, may he rest in peace, and the fierce Queen Penelope, who is looking for a new husband right about now as well. Ithaca might be blessed with two royal weddings this season!”

Absolutely everything about that statement was so wrong and disgusting that Telemachus wanted to strangle whoever had written that horse shit, but he was still too deeply trapped inside his own body, not able to move more than his head, while every limb felt like lead and his head was pounding in desperation. The hopeless situation pressed down on him like a sword, dangling over his neck (and freedom) and just waiting to strike.

The prince had run out of wisdom and cunning, had lost it since the evening before, when the door had closed behind Percy, taking with it all the calm and collection Telemachus could only hold onto when his demigod was around. But he hadn’t been.

And he wasn’t now.

The announcer went through the other ten men beside him, only stating names and occasionally an occupation or famous ancestor, but kept it short and simply otherwise. And Telemachus was thankful for that. Maybe moving and fighting would finally wake his brain up and give him the adrenaline boost he needed to get out of this horrid nightmare.

Just when the last competitor was introduced, the announcer stopped for a second. Whispers broke out through the ranks, but were interrupted when the man cleared his throat and stated: “Excuse me, but there seems to have been one last surprise addition for our line-up today. Please welcome…Perseus Jackson? Captain of Ithaca’s Royal Guard – what?” 

But Telemachus didn’t hear the snide voice of the king screeching something at the caller, because the wool in his head burned down instantly, and he snapped his head around back to the entrance of the arena, heart beating so fast it nearly jumped out of his chest.

And there he was.

In all his grim glory, dressed in his (very fitting) armor, decorated with the medals and claps of a Captain, no helmet, but his expression was shield enough. Because it was dark and moody, brooding like a storm just coming together, before the downpour began.

Percy looked dangerous and ready to start a war, his eyes were darker than usual, clouded in blue. There was no joy, no cockiness in his face, as if he prepared for the worst.

As if he was actually here to fight.

He was beautiful. Breathtakingly handsome, unbelievably attractive in his confidence and skill.

But his presence was devastating on so many levels.

And even before his brain understood what Percy’s attendance meant, Telemachus’ heart was breaking in two (again). Because the demigod didn’t meet his eyes once, didn’t even turn his head an inch in the prince’s direction, as he lined himself up at the faraway end of the competitors.

The prince was confused, hurt and deep down…

Angry.

This had to be some kind of plot. There had to be a reason, a trick, for the son of Poseidon to be here.

Some explanation for the icy aura surrounding him, and his refusal to meet Telemachus’ gaze.

Yes, this had to be a ploy to get him out…maybe his Sea-Boy had found some kind of ally? Some kind of help outside of their envoy? And that’s why he had been away all night? Why he didn’t tell Telemachus about it?

This had to be the reason. Because anything else-

Because if not-

Percy couldn’t-

He wouldn’t- wouldn’t be here to really compete? Right?

But the prince couldn’t fight the dread and hallow feeling, the cackling voices in his head, dragging up the picture of Percy kissing Irene’s hand so very gently. Had his eyes been soft back then? Had he smiled at her?

Telemachus couldn’t remember.

Why couldn’t he remember?!

The first pairing was called to fight. It was a knock-out kind of competition. Lose one fight and you’re out. Which would have been ideal for the prince, if it weren’t for his abysmal opponents.

Well, most of them now at least.

The remaining fighters were herded back toward the wall of the arena, spread evenly to not give them the chance to talk and cheat between fights (what a farce, this whole thing was one big fake anyway). Additionally, they took care to separate him and Percy, by placing them exactly opposite of each other. Because of that, Telemachus was forced to see him in his periphery all the time, while the demigod still stubbornly looked away, lips tightly pressed together and arms crossed.

He evaded the prince on purpose. Obviously not planning to inaugurate Telemachus into whatever plan he had.

It was this blatant avoidance that kept the original fog of hopelessness away and exchanged it for the shimmering edge of fury about being ignored by the one who was supposed to have his back. Always.

When Telemachus was first called forward, he couldn’t even really look at his opponent. Even though there were fighting with swords, the prince’s skills were so out of league for the other man that it took no longer than two minutes to bash him into the grimy sand and make him admit defeat. But even the short burst of action and fighting did nothing to calm the slowly simmering soup of hurt and anger.

Telemachus’ gaze was icy and sharp when he threw it toward Percy after his victory. He caught just the edge of the sea-green eyes before they were turned away, but the unhappy scowl on the other’s face only sliced up the prince’s heart further.

His Sea-Boy was mad about something. Mad and high-strung and angry.

Percy eviscerated his opponent in seconds because of that.

He still looked glorious while doing it, moving fluently like a wave, pressing in like the tide and dominating like a stallion, but there was a harshness to his attacks, a curtness in his expression and a rawness in his eyes that told a story of repressed emotions and hidden frustration.

Telemachus didn’t know what to do with that knowledge though. It didn’t help him dissect Percy’s actions or plan at all.

Either way, the swift victory was no singular occurrence.    

It set the precedent for all the other fights to follow. No one stood a chance against either of the men from Ithaca. But with every strike, every victory, every refused eye contact, the cold feeling in Telemachus’ belly grew. His patience thinned and his faith for both of them to get out of this because of some plan the demigod had made decreased.

The chance for them to survive this without damaging and changing their relationship for forever appeared to shrink as well. Because Telemachus had never before been this frustrated, this angry with his demigod. Not meeting his eyes, not trying to explain himself somehow…not being there for him last night…leaving him alone after a tense argument…

Yeah, Percy had fucked up massively.

(Or maybe Telemachus had, by not considering his friend’s own opinions and feelings. Maybe he should stop being delusional now and accept that maybe, eventually, probably Percy had no plan to resolve the situation.)

Maybe the son of Poseidon was here for something different.

Maybe he wasn’t here for Telemachus at all.

It would explain his avoidance. It would explain the weird tension between them yesterday. It would explain the out of character actions of the demigod in the throne room.

Maybe this competition wasn’t as fake to him as it was to Telemachus.  

This train of thought… only allow one conclusion.

One heartbreaking, devastating, earth shattering conclusion.

Telemachus stopped breathing as he disarmed his second (or third) opponent without actually trying. His brain was stuck on the realization that changed everything.

It would explain his Dear- his friend’s actions and why he was so agitated by the whole marriage scheme. Agitated enough to leave Telemachus last night and find an option for himself to compete in the contest.

Percy must be interested in Princess Irene. Interested, in a romantic sense. In a…love sense, maybe.

.

The pain lacing through Telemachus heart was unimaginable.

.

Hadn’t he read about all the heroes and demigods falling madly in love with someone on the very first sight?

Wasn’t that how the whole Trojan war had even started? With a beautiful woman?

Really, it shouldn’t be that surprising that it hit Percy eventually. He was the epitome of a hero. The worthiest demigod ever to be granted an eternal love story. A love story that would be told hundreds of years in the future as one full of happiness and loyalty. Anything else was just impossible for his Sea-Boy.

But Telemachus had hoped he’d have more time. Hoped that he would get the chance to be open about his feelings and gain a chance to woe his Percy before the Fates ripped him away to his deserved happy ever after with the woman of his dreams.

Apparently, it was too late now.

-

An while the realization killed Telemachus a hundred different ways, made him die a thousand deaths in seconds, ripped his heart out and doused his soul in all the rivers of the underworld, it also fed the fury and bottomless despair that filled his lungs with flames, and made his whole body strum with agony.

Why had he agreed to take this stupid mission? Him and Percy could’ve stayed in Ithaca, happy and blissful and unaware of that stupid princess that was about to destroy everything.

(For Telemachus at least…)

He might’ve had a few more years before Percy found her through some sheer dumb luck (because the Fates would never grant them eternity – they would never be that kind).

But now…

He might only have this competition left.

The winner would be betrothed, bound to the princess.

And Percy wanted it to be him. The dark look in his eyes was all the confirmation needed.

So, when the demigod finished his final opponent before the grand finale, Telemachus steeled himself for the confrontation ahead, knowing he could not let his friend go without saying his piece.

Without taking the chance to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

If his heart was to be broken irreparably anyway, it should at least be throughout. Without any room for misunderstanding or misconceptions. His heart couldn’t take it if there might be even a sliver of hope left.

The prince didn’t even feel when one of the orderlies swapped his grand sword against the comforting wooden staff of his double-headed spear. In the back of his head, he was sure that everyone had seen the demigod’s prowess by now. Maybe King Kleitos had decided Telemachus needed all the advantages he could get to defeat Percy, not knowing that no matter how much the prince was equipped and trained, there was no way he would ever win an honest spar - or fight - against the son of Poseidon (even if the prince had wanted it, which he…didn’t, did he?)

Would he want to marry Irene just to avoid seeing Percy walk down the aisle? Would he be that selfish and deny his friend his happiness, just because Telemachus was now bound to never get his own?

However this fight would end…it would destroy something.

Whether it was their friendship, Telemachus’ heart or both…

The prince was about to find out

Chapter Text

TELEMACHUS never thought he'd face Percy in a real, genuine fight, where sharp weapons were far more than just training tools. It was a real blow now, to be in such a situation with no way out, trapped by circumstances and the schemes of others. And his own heart.

The prince had lost even the slightest spark of hope, as he stepped further into the arena, sand under his shoes and his trusted spear in his hand, ready to be leveled at the only person he never, ever wanted to hurt.

He had refused to believe it for the longest time… but with this being the grand finale, the last fight, where the winner would be ‘awarded’ the honor to marry the princess, it was far too late for any possible plot of Percy’s to come to fruition. Telemachus was forced to face the reality that this was actually happening, that he was truly going to fight his most precious person for something he didn’t even want.

Be it win or lose, the prince wanted neither to happen, because either outcome would kill him equally. Just in different ways.

Percy had no plan. No great escape. No magical dust to whisk them away. Just his celestial bronze sword Riptide in his hand and a scowl on his face that showed just how serious the demigod took this whole thing.

He wasn’t here to play games. The furrow in his brow and the twitch in his cheek told Telemachus all he needed to know. Percy wanted to win this.

To win Princess Irene’s hand. For himself.

Which was a far greater strike than any physical attack might ever be. Because it didn’t simply scratch Telemachus body, but tore into the prince’s heart and soul, ripping him apart at the seams and leaving him bleeding and dying lonely in the dust of his feelings and misery.

And all of that without a single word uttered from the son of Poseidon.

No explanation, no excuse, no apology.

Nothing.

Not. One. Word.

Just looks that spoke all and nothing, too hard to read but to open to ignore, evading Telemachus with a stubbornness he had never seen before.

But the prince was done.

He was hurt.

He was afraid.

He was alone.

And he was furious.

They collided like two mighty (and angry) waves right there on the sand. Turning and twisting around each other, clashing with the shing of steel against bronze. The first attack from both sides was testing, evaluating, trying to figure out how serious the other was about this. The answer was: very.

But Telemachus wasn’t fighting to win. He was fighting to get answers. To break through the high walls that Percy had pulled around him like a fortress, locking everything behind it that would’ve given the prince a hint as to what the demigod was truly feeling under all that determination and laser focus.

Because the man facing him in the arena in that moment wasn’t his Sea-Boy. It wasn’t the charming and sneaky and sometimes oblivious lovely idiot Telemachus had given his heart to. It wasn’t even the war veteran or hero of Olympus, not the slayer of Kronos or the defender of Camp-Half-Blood.

This was someone else, someone empty, someone hiding.

And Telemachus was through with chasing. If his heart was dying today, it would be without any open questions. 

“What is this, Percy? What are you doing?”, he threw at the demigod in his heavily accented English.

While the prince was enraged and mad at his friend, he didn’t want to air their dirty laundry for all of Kerkyra to hear. Particularly not for the King and Princess.

Especially when he was about to be rejected spectacularly by the only person he ever loved. With every fiber of his being. 

And if his heart would get broken, Telemachus would prefer it to be as private as possible. Plausible deniability and all of that, once they stepped out of the arena.

Because life would move on. Even after all the color and happiness left with Percy, and Telemachus was abandoned in the shell of what once was. What once could have been.

But this wasn’t now. Not yet. And over the clash of blades and dance of feet, Telemachus was still set on getting his answers. On speaking his mind.

It was the only thing he could do.

One last, desperate call for the attention he was about to lose forever.

Even if Percy refused to answer him for several quick swings with his sword that the prince evaded easily. (The demigod held back…). The silence was deafening.

“So you won’t even talk to me now? That’s how it is?”, Telemachus pestered further, pressing forward with his own attack combo that he had learned from Athena. He actually managed to surprise the son of Poseidon enough to get closer, while asking harshly: “What’s going on here?! I thought we were friends.” On the last word, his voice broke hollowly, hurt and pain and rejection bleeding through, showing the prince far more vulnerable than he wanted.

But it appeared to work.

Something moved behind the towers of Percy’s walls. A crack in the façade, which wasn’t patched up by the other man fast enough to stop the response from spilling out in a breathless plea: “We are. We’ll always be.”

Telemachus couldn’t do anything else but scoff, as he twisted out under another strike: “Yeah, right! Then why are you doing this?!”

Silence was the only answer he got. Percy gritted his teeth visibly, and that restraint broke some of the prince’s own. His attacks became more vicious, less controlled like Athena had taught him and more instinct like Percy always insisted on doing himself.

They moved like two pieces of a whole, dancing more than fighting, leading more than charging, and never aiming too close to something really important.

That changed when Telemachus lost a bit of ground though.

Instead of stepping back, he pushed forward, deep into the personal space of the demigod, making him flinch back and lower his sword to not hurt Telemachus. The prince used the opening to strike the butt of his spear right into the hole in Percy’s defense.

The sharp little blade of the spear caught the tanned bicep it had been aiming for, cutting a thin and long line right across it, letting the skin bloom in ruby red.

Telemachus had landed the first hit. Had drawn first blood.

But it could’ve been his own just as well. It hurt like it was his body that took the wound either way. The pain lacing through his own arm and into his heart felt as real as the red drops that fell into the sand below the demigod.

The prince faltered instantly, finally catching Percy’s gaze with wide and panicked eyes, pleading and regretful. But the sea-green wasn’t pained or angry. It was sad and resigned. He didn’t blame Telemachus for anything that was happening.

And wasn’t that just even more infuriating?

The fight wasn’t over. Just a knockout or yielding would end it. And Telemachus refused to do that without getting his answers.

He would rather get beaten over and over and over again, than to yield while his heart was still clinging to the last threads of something akin to hope.

“Why are we doing this? You could’ve-“, the prince stumbled over the words, not really wanting to express the sentiment, but still doing it to finally get the truth: “You could’ve just told me that you wanted her. You – You still can.”

Percy next strike was wide and missed Telemachus blatantly. The demigod sounded confused and tense as he barked: “What are you talking about?”

He couldn’t really be this stupid, could he?

“Irene.”, Telemachus clarified with a pinched expression, “As your friend I – I would’ve understood. Just because we never talked about love and crushes and – and desire before doesn’t mean I am stupid.”

But Percy refused to be honest.

The son of Poseidon ducked under an arc of the spear as he finally gave up his vow of silence to clap back: “I feel like you very much are right now! I’ve got no clue what you’re yapping about. Love? Hah. What love?” But the stony and phony tone in his voice betrayed the demigod.

Percy may have sounded winded and breathless, but he wasn’t truly clueless. Telemachus ignored the jittery jap of the bronze sword and fed the obvious ignorance of the other man into the flame of his anger.

Without any more patience for subtlety he screamed, still in English: “Your love for Irene! I can’t find any other reason for you to compete in this blasted competition.”

Percy stopped abruptly in his movement. His face contorted into a complex expression Telemachus couldn’t even hope to decipher before the walls shuttered down again.

“Is that what you think?”

“What else could I be thinking?! You’re not giving me much to work with here!”, the prince exclaimed frustrated, aiming a kick at Percy’s knee.  

The demigod got back into his groove instantly, evading and countering with a weak punch of his own, that Telemachus dodged. The son of Poseidon sounded weirdly unbothered as he griped: “Why are you so angry about all this? I am giving you a way out, isn’t that what you wanted?!”

Telemachus spluttered: “Yes- No! Not like this.”

“You make no sense!”, Percy screamed back, now equally frustrated and with a pinch of pain in his voice: “Do you want that princess or not? Make a choice, Telemachus, so that we can all live with the consequences of our actions!”

What was that supposed to mean? It was the first time ever that the prince didn’t understand his Sea-Boy. The cryptic evasion and riddled answers were grating on his nerves, especially because he wasn’t used to such things from the demigod. He never held back his words, or his mind. No one besides him was as crass and honest in some of his assessments. It was one of the things Telemachus had adored so much when they first met. 

“I just want to understand why you chose to compete!”, he gave back similarly heated, “I never had a choice here, but you did! Why would you enter this thing when you knew I could never beat you in a fight anyway?! Why would you want that, if it isn’t for the Princess?”

Instead of a real response, he only got even more cryptic bullshit. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Not if you don’t TALK TO ME!”, Telemachus screamed in rage as he managed to strike his spear against Percy’s torso with all his strength, making the other man wheeze and stand still for a second.

It gave the prince a chance to gain his breath before he harshly accused: “You’re trapping yourself in a marriage, a vow for the rest of your life! To be faithful and loyal until death does you apart, Percy, loyal. You remember, that fatal flaw of yours? A thing you could never break even if your life depended on it?!”

He wanted to say more but was interrupted by a sword coming for his shoulder. As Telemachus jumped back, he met the sea-green gaze of the demigod, which was darker and more serious than the prince had ever seen.

“I could for you.”, was Percy’s deep and quiet reply.  

Telemachus wanted to scream. Long and loud. So he did, before crying out: “What does that mean?! Why would you throw away your future like this? For a duty you think is bullshit, for a kingdom that isn’t yours, for a moral you couldn’t care less about? Nothing forced you to be here! Nothing would’ve changed for you if you just stood back! Why are you here anyway? Why would you do this?”

No answer. Only another attack that Telemachus could block just in time. Percy upped the intensity of the fight, his strikes coming faster and were harder to counter. The prince was pressed back under the onslaught, a pretty obvious ploy to shut him up, but Telemachus refused to bow down this easily.

Panting, tired and trembling in exhaustion, the heir of Ithaca still found his voice in one last frustrated try to get the words he needed to hear to break completely. Irrevocably.

He needed the other man to just do it already.

Break his heart, destroy his soul. Reject him.

“Is it because of glory? But you never cared for that. Is it because you want to protect me? No friend should be worth your freedom like this!”, Telemachus screamed in despair, and he meant every syllable, “Tell me, Percy Jackson, what should I think why’d you do this, if it isn’t because you love Princess Irene? You are walking into chains willingly, into restrains, although you said the Sea never liked to be exactly that. We both know you’re not here to let me win. So why-“    

“Because I love you!”, Percy thundered across the space between them.

Breathing hard and labored, the demigod shut the prince up faster than even death could’ve. Their blades were locked against each other, a struggle for dominance that faltered upon the confession.

But the son of Poseidon wasn’t done. Riptide was steady, his head held high, eyes blazing in otherworldly intensity as a breeze moved the black and grey strands of his hair. Sweat ran down his strong cheekbones and narrow nose, the liquid caressing his face in a way that looked nearly sinful.  

He was gorgeous.

He was deadly.

He was everything the prince ever wanted.

“I love you, Telemachus of Ithaca.”, Percy declared, unwavering and strong, “And I’ve loved you since the moment I was about to lose you for the first time, in my dream before the lighting. Every day without you back at home was agony. My heart was so broken that nothing could heal the cracks you left behind. I cannot let you go a second time.” The declaration left the prince speechless, heart speeding like it wanted to burst out of his chest.

This couldn’t be real. Percy couldn’t-

But of course, the blasted demigod didn’t even let him have the time to really process any of the spoken words before he pushed on. The dam on his emotions had broken, a flood of feelings was crashing down onto both of them, unrelenting and unstoppable.

Percy stepped closer, weapon weak in his grip but still pressed against Telemachus’ spear, eyes swirling and nose twitching. Their arms were touching, sending sparkles and rivers of goosebumps down the prince’s spine.

“And I know I am not worthy.”, his Sea-Boy stated matter-of-factly, “I know you deserve more than me, that I cannot give you what you long for… I don’t have a noble lineage. I don’t have land or money or influence to give you beyond the one I built since I came here. I can never give you children”, Percy was choking on that word with the deepest regret and pain, but marched forward unflinchingly (like he always did), “Or any other way to do your duty to continue the line of Odysseus… I know that. I know all of it!” That last part was louder than the rest.

With a voice as hoarse as sandpaper, the son of Poseidon continued, eyes softer than ever: “And I promised myself not to force you into the position to reject me. I wanted to keep it hidden - this love I knew could never be real - I want you to be happy. To have a family. To lead the life of your dreams without me throwing a shadow over it. I tried to be content. I tried to live with the knowledge that you’d choose somebody else to be by your side eventually, to share your burdens and happiness and…all of it. And I nearly convinced myself that it would be okay. That I would be okay, as long as you’re happy. But this…” Percy loosened one hand around his weapon to point around them, at the crowd, at the lodge where the princess sat, waiting for her husband to be decided, “This will never make you happy! Marrying a princess you don’t know, because of some scheme you had no part in…I can’t let you throw your life away like this.”

Telemachus was too stunned, too shocked to react as his Sea-Boy turned back to him, inches away, still locked with their weapons, which were more support than danger right now.

“I don’t care for her! I don’t care for anyone but you.”, Percy declared loudly, finally, “And me competing? That was the only way I could see for you to get out of this! Losing against someone weak would damage your reputation and Ithaca’s standing. And while I couldn’t give a flying fuck about that, you do. But losing against me? No one would ever be able to say anything bad about you. I’ll never lose to anyone but you. Your reputation would’ve been safe.”

The demigod was breathing heavily, shoulders moving like he was running a marathon. “I don’t care if I am miserable for the rest of my life with someone I don’t love. As long as it isn’t you bearing that fate, I can face anything, because- because with the deepest part of my soul”, he paused to correct himself instantly, “No, with every part of my soul, and my heart and my mind and my body, I love you.”

The words were like lightning straight through the prince’s very essence.

Telemachus was frozen in time, not daring to move a single muscle, fearing it would destroy this beautiful illusion once and for all.

But still, Percy wasn’t done. And the longer he spoke, the more real the words became.

“I’ve longed for you through time and space, Telemachus. I faced gods and pleaded with the Fates. I beat Titans and Monsters. I said goodbye to my Mom, just to get to see you again… My love is greater than the deepest ocean and my loyalty will never belong to anyone like it does to you. I am yours till my dying breath. No matter what vows or binds may be placed upon me. Even if it will never be enough- can never be enough, to give me what I so desperately pray for every night… I need you to know it. I am too selfish to go this next step without you knowing.”

Warmth flooded the prince’s veins, burning hotter than fire, healing more than any nectar ever could.

“I love you. I always have. I always will.”

And there it was. The sentence Telemachus had never hoped to really hear, but prayed for regardless.

Percy said he loved him.

Percy said he loved him.

“You’re the one in my heart, the one balancing my very being in your hands. Crush me, throw me away, hate me for all eternity, I can take it.”, his Sea-Boy, his Dearest said with unwavering certainty, “The Fates made my yarn to be linked to yours… and if I have to rip mine apart to keep you safe, to keep you happy, I will! Because you are everything, Telemachus. My strength, my consciousness, my breath…You are my Prince, my Dream-Boy, my Friend…and just for this very brief moment, you are my Love.”

Telemachus hadn’t even noticed how he had started to cry, but the tears burned their path down his cheeks either way. Wet and salty, real and genuine. He hiccupped and couldn’t suppress the sob of pure and instant relief that crushed his chest with all the intensity of 300 Oxen.

His world was spinning, his bruised heart still beating.

This was by far the most beautiful and grandest love confession the history books could ever repeat. And it was for him.

Finally, the demigod appeared to have run out of steam, letting his words settle in the space between them, accepting the quiet as his only answer. His breathtaking eyes closed in defeat, the grip around his sword, that rested more than it pressed against the prince’s spear was faltering.

As if Telemachus had nothing to say to him as well.

“You’re so-…so unbelievable stupid, Percy Jackson.”, the prince of Ithaca burst out under his tears, desperate and rushed.

He trembled right down to his bones, but still managed to declare: “You think I can be happy like this? With you leaving me? My mother was so right! I really need to spell it out for your dumb, thick head.” Telemachus pushed against his spear, throwing off a bewildered Percy, before snatching the collar of his armor to pull the demigod as close to his face as he could without smashing their lips together.

“You make me happy, you big dump hunk!”, Telemachus cried, “You always have! And right now, I am probably the happiest person alive! What family? What children? I don’t want any of that without you! I don’t need it! I need you. How can you- How can you not know?” His intensity fled upon realizing that this whole situation could’ve been avoided if he had just taken a heart earlier. If he had listened to his mother and her infinite wisdom of oblivious men.

“I’ve been waiting so damn long for you to finally get it. I’ve been flirting so much! I’ve been patient, I baited my time. Waiting for you to finally be mine. I gave you hint after hint after hint, but you just…I can’t believe you.”, Telemachus choked out a wry laugh, ignoring his quivering hands as he was searching for reason, for words to stress just how much his chest was swelling with warmth and happiness and care.

His voice was a fragile whisper when he finally asked: “How can you not know I love you too?”

Telemachus saw the exact moment the pieces fell into place for the demigod. It was like a light lit up inside his brain, shining through his eyes, turning them into the most beautiful shade of turquoise the prince had ever seen.

Percy stepped out of the weak grasp holding his armor, lips quirking up into that devastating troublemaker smirk. Telemachus let him go, too overwhelmed by his own head to question the actions.

His Dearest was chuckling self-deprecatingly as he let Riptide sink to his side and called out, weirdly normal after the explosion of emotions: “Hey…Tel?”

“What?”, snapped the prince, still flayed open for all the world to see the breakdown and build-up of his heart. He felt agitated and vulnerable, but the shining smile in his Dearest’s face soothed his jagged edges immensely. The grip on his spear was defensive still, as Telemachus didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Or to feel. Or to think.

But his Sea-Boy didn’t appear to have the same problem. His free hand vanished inside his tunic as he twirled his sword around. With the most boyish smile ever, Percy said: “I got something for you.”

Exasperated and tired, Telemachus thought he was prepared for anything his demigod might’ve hatched in that brain of his. The day couldn’t become any crazier than it already was.

But the son of Poseidon defied every expectation again, when he revealed the round and slightly bruised form of an apple inside his big hand. Its skin was shiny but banged up, the red skin still gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Telemachus’ heart stopped.

Percy twisted the apple in his grip, looking contemplating at the fruit as he announced: “I think I know what this means now.”

When his eyes were raised back at the prince, Telemachus had only time to blink before the apple was sailing toward him in a high, perfect arc.

The world seemed to stop for a second, the sun blazing harshly as the symbol of love and beauty was suspended in the air, twirling lazily and shining like pure gold for a fraction of a second, before it came back down to earth. Back to Telemachus.    

His spear clattered to the ground as he caught the fruit without hesitation. Instantly.

The prince felt his knees grow weak and his breath labored, as his heart exploded with love and happiness. His eyes were still shiny with tears as he found his Dearest’s gaze.

The demigod was with him in a heartbeat, hands gently cupping his cheeks (Riptide discarded carelessly on the ground) as Percy breathed: “Sorry for being oblivious. I am yours. If you still want me.”

How often could his heart stop and start beating again on this day? Telemachus felt unreal, ethereal, like he was once more only a specter, allowed to witness greatness but never able to participate.

But this was real. 

The touch on his cheek, the weight of the promise in his hand, the smell of salty water and sour apples. Percy Jackson smiling down at him like he was the most important thing in the world.   

“Your mine?”, Telemachus dared to ask, breathless and pleading with all the gods above that this wasn’t a dream.

“I promise.” Percy answered, steady and sure. His presence drowned out the world, the screams, the fear of the future. He was a rock in the storm he commanded.

Wild, unrestrained, powerful beyond compare.

And he was his.

Percy sounded so very confident when he demanded softly: “Yield, Love. Let me save you.”

And what was Telemachus to do about that besides saying: “I-I yield.”

Chapter Text

PERCY wasn’t normally a person to be swept away by emotions, or do reckless things based on that.

Who was he kidding? That was exactly who he was.

So, it might not be that surprising after all, that he had no idea how to follow through with his bold declaration of ‘Let me save you’.

In his defense, Percy had been thoroughly distracted by the lovely, freckled face of his Prince, his Love, in that moment to think about anything else than the burning desire to kiss the other man right then and there.

His gambling had, miraculously, unimaginably, paid off, better than the demigod dared to hope. Telemachus hadn’t reacted with disgust or surprise or pity. He hadn’t said, with that look of a kicked puppy, that he didn’t feel the same and felt awkward to be around Percy now.

No.

Telemachus reciprocated his feelings. 

He loved him.

It was the sweetest victory the son of Poseidon had ever experienced. Better than stabbing Kampe, more pleasing than thrashing Hyperion, and even more satisfying than seeing the Titan of Time bound by the power in his veins.

Having Telemachus’ heart, hearing him speak of love and devotion, was by far the greatest triumph of Percy’s whole life.

He couldn’t even begrudge the fact that it wasn’t as private as he’d hoped. (And he didn’t mean all the humans around the arena with that.)

The scents of various gods had been very much nauseating during their spar, mixing and twisting around each other in one giant headache, which made it hard to concentrate on fighting, listening and not talking back.

It had been Percy’s original plan to just stick it out, win this thing, set Telemachus free and deal with everything else afterward, but he knew that he would break his vow of silence (which he had made to not stress out his frie- his Love too much) if he ever met the hurt caramel gaze for more than a second.

And who would’ve thought? The demigod did break after hearing the desperation and pleading in the prince’s voice, how he talked himself down and questioned things that should never be questioned (like Percy’s devotion to him, and only him, or like the fact that he would ever contemplate falling in love with someone else – ridiculous!).

At least his noisy, divine family had gotten a good show out of it.

The telltale scents of roses and strawberries wasn’t surprising, Aphrodite and Hermes were gossips and far to invested in the affair of mortals to keep away from this spectacle, but the son of Poseidon didn’t expect to smell Hestia’s warm Campfire-scent (he was actually happy about that) or clean linen and sweet perfume, which took him a moment to place, before he remembered smelling it once before in the throne room of Olympus.

He tried to ignore the blazing sun in his back as well, just knowing that Apollo was watching from somewhere (or was it Helios still – argh, history sucked).

In the end, it didn’t matter who was there with him, because Percy was gifted the most precious present despite all the stalkers hanging around: Telemachus’ affection.

And Percy couldn’t care less about who got to witness it.

Which still didn’t erase the teeny, tiny problem of the forced marriage hanging over their heads. While the son of Poseidon might’ve gotten his heart’s desire, it still didn’t change his plans all too much (at least for now).

It was a little too easy to coax the words from his Dream-Boy’s tongue that sealed his fate, but Telemachus was a puddle in his hands. Eyes wide and shiny, lips enticingly wet and body pliant in the demigod’s grip. It cost Percy everything to not let his mind wander to what else he could do to get this (or an even more intense) reaction from the prince… preferably between the sheets of a bed - or at least in a room without hundreds of eyes - but the compliance he already got did help in getting the other to yield.      

The words had just left Telemachus’ mouth, breathless and quiet, when the world crashed back into them with the vengeance of a sledgehammer. Their little bubble, created by their different language, the sole focus on the other and a bit of godly sprinkle, was burst by the sheer volume of screams that filled the arena. Most were confused, some were angry, but after checking the surrounding space for immanent threats, Percy assessed that some of the people in the stands were actually…crying and shrieking in some form of…happiness?

It was all very confusing and overwhelming, and the demigod tugged Telemachus instinctively closer to him. The smell of clean linen and overly sweet perfume rushed between and around them in one last mighty breeze. Percy followed the path of the godly presence until it rested on the apple still clutched in his prince’s hands, making the fruit shine gold again before it shrank down to the size of a nut, turning it into a charm fit for a bracelet or necklace.

If he would’ve gotten the time to be confused or skeptical about Hera of all people changing his gift, the son of Poseidon might have done more than gaping, but the slow and loud clapping that silenced the crowd instantly drew his attention first.

Percy bit his tongue as he saw the traitorous king step forward, face strained with a smile so fake it looked more like he had diarrhea. (Which Percy prayed him to get right this instance, in front of all the people, but sadly, Apollo seemed to be busy elsewhere now that the show was over). Kleitos was still clapping when he gestured toward some of his guard, who vanished from the lodge instantly.

Something in the back of Percy’s head tingled ominously.

“Congratulation, Perseus Jackson.”, the King announced loudly for all his subjects, “You won the contest against all other competitors and earned yourself the right to face a last trial for my daughter’s hand. Should you fail, the second place will take up the honor to marry my child.”

“Wait, what?”, Telemachus exclaimed beside him, horrified, but the demigod simply narrowed his eyes.

The doors to the arena burst open and a whole battalion of soldiers stormed the sand, dressed to the nines with shields and helmets that hid their eyes. They marched at the edge of the arena in a perfect circle, herding the other competitors out and surrounding Percy and his prince from all sides. Three came up toward them and one of them quickly snatched up their fallen weapons from the ground.

The son of Poseidon was about to protest seeing Riptide in hands that weren’t his own, when Kleitos voice rang once more through the air: “Any future King Consort must be able to defend Kerkyra to his uttermost ability. Facing human invaders is just one of the numerous dangers our kingdom is exposed to. As a final task to test your worthiness, you’ll have to win against the creatures that haunt our mines and scare our children!”

That snapped Percy back into fight-mode efficiently and he felt for the warmth in his chest while simultaneously making sure that Telemachus was still by his side and in reach. Just as he sent out his senses to track down the liquid in the area under the arena, he felt the other two soldiers get way too close to his prince. The demigod didn’t even look as he snatched the wrist of the one reaching for Telemachus and twisted his arm painfully on his back.

“Paws off.”, Percy growled, mind still halfway down the tunnels, searching for the signature of the ‘creatures’ Kleitos had blabbed about.

He found them scarily fast once they stepped into the range of his powers.

Their blood was thick, pulsing lazily through massive bodies which forms were hard to make out, but they had big mouths and a lot of saliva production. It didn’t feel that special, but the darkness creeping up the demigod’s spine and the flavor they left in his mind was more than enough to tell him that this wasn’t just some deformed humans declared as creatures.

These were real monsters. The mythical kind.

And none of which Percy had faced before.

“Shit.”, he cursed, his thoughts racing. In one smooth motion, be turned his blazing eyes toward the soldiers who had intended to take Telemachus and hissed: “Don’t touch him if you want to keep your hands.” Before he rounded to his prince, gently brushing a strand of his soft hair away from his face before pressing an insistent kiss to the crown of his head, breathing in the enticing smell of honey, parchment and home.  

“Go with them. I’ll take care of this. Believe nothing they say and wait for me to get you.”, he instructed quickly and quietly, following the monsters steadily coming closer with the heat in his chest. Telemachus opened his mouth as if to protest, but the gates at the other end of the arena were shuddering and a mighty roar could be heard through the thick wood that shut his Dream-Boy up instantly. Percy knew they were running out of time.

“I will get you!”, he reiterated urgently and only when his Prince nodded unhappily, Percy stepped back to let him be escorted to the other side of the arena.

The monsters were nearly there, and the son of Poseidon called out to the man that had taken Riptide from the ground. “My sword!”, he ordered with an outstretched hand, but the soldier’s smile turned cruel as he retreated toward the ranks: “You won’t need it. A true king can fight without weapons!”

Percy was about to make after him and get his weapon back, but the doors on the other end of the arena exploded, interrupting him very efficiently. Splinters and wooden beams sailed through the air, forcing the demigod to dodge in the other direction, giving the asshole the few precious seconds he needed to leave the arena. With his sword. With Riptide.

The only celestial bronze weapon he had. The only blade that could kill mythical monsters.

“Fuck!”

-

There was little time for the son of Poseidon to lament about just how shitty his situation was yet again. He’d thought that he left behind his bad luck when he came back to the past, but as he evaded another chunk of wood as big as his head and as fast as a train, he seriously considered filing a complaint with the Fates.

Wasn’t this supposed to be his reward?! His happy ending?

When the monsters finally stepped into the light, the young man couldn’t suppress his frustrated shout: “Are you fucking kidding me?”

During his life as a demigod, Percy had seen lots of hideous and anatomically impossible monsters, big animals and other stuff he had to kill, but these two guys were serious competition for the Minotaur in the department of looks and strength and size. Hopefully as well as in wits, because then the demigod could possibly kill them in half an hour.

If he would’ve had Riptide.

Damn.

The monsters were an ugly combination of men and bear, rising as high as ten feet and throwing massive shadows on the sand of the arena. Their lower halves were most human-like, with thick, furless thighs and feet that still had long and sharp claws instead of toenails. From the waist up, they were pure animals. Big bones that were hidden under mountains of muscles, covered in dark brown hairs. Their wide chests looked comically unproportional and for one hysterical second, Percy thought they would just topple over because of the unequal weight distribution. With heads as big as a carriage wheel and maws full of crocked and sharp teeth, they roared simultaneously, throwing spittle and little chunks all over the place.

At least a bit more ammunition for Percy.

He recognized the monsters vaguely from a story Blackjack had told him once. They had been Luke’s commanders on the princess Andromeda and were called Agrius and Oreius, two brothers born from a mortal woman that had been cursed by Aphrodite to be raped by a bear because she…honestly, Percy couldn’t care less about the origin of them.

Because right now, they were a real threat that he had no way to dispose of without using his powers. (He still hesitated to show himself as a son of Poseidon in front of the humans in this time…he didn’t want their stigma and expectations, the reputation and rumors. He just wanted to be normal, live with Telemachus and protect Ithaca like he promised.)

Luckily, he had a few subtle moves in his arsenal.

Taking stock of the debris in the arena, the son of Poseidon rolled over to a long wooden stick with sharp ends and took it with him as an improvised weapon.

The bear-stards (hah, got it? No…oh well) were looking around, scenting the air and looking up to the stands, where the humans had vacated the first few rows closest to the arena in sheer panic. One of them (the slightly taller one with only one ear) was the first to notice the snack sized demigod much more easily accessible on the ground with them and he punched his companion in the snout to draw his attention as well.

“Oreius, look. We’ve got our lunch brought to us, brother!”, he growled nearly unintelligible and slightly stilted, proving that his brain capacity might be lacking, which was a good sign for Percy. The punch he had thrown at the other bear on the other hand was a very bad omen, because it had been a hard one, and the monster hadn’t even flinched.

“Immune to brute force, or maybe just resistant.”, Percy muttered, “Well, let’s test it out.” He came to his feet and rushed toward Oreius, who was still a bit disoriented from being screamed at. One quick jump on the bear’s thigh threw him high enough to bring his stick down on the back of his head, cracking the wood and making the monster rock forward under the onslaught.

The demigod had pushed every bit of his strength into that strike, but beside shaking his head a bit, Oreius was unaffected. Before Percy could curse again, Agrius was on him, faster than expected and with a rageful scream. There was not time to react in any way, as the clawed paw of the monster came for him and punched the son of Poseidon straight in the chest, flinging him across the arena like a ragdoll until he smashed into the stonewall with a sickening crack.

Agony laced through Percy’s body, paralyzing his spine and pushing the breath out of him for a whole minute, while his body crumpled to the floor, too lax to stay upright.

Motherfucking Hades, that hurt.

His ribs were broken for sure, his spine damaged and he felt like at least one shoulder was dislocated from the impact into the wall. Blood was gushing from the deep claw marks in his chest and trickled down into the sand. He also felt a bit of liquid collect somewhere inside his belly where it didn’t belong.

Okay Percy, time to stop playing.

The demigod gasped as the heat in his chest expanded like a supernova, the air around him thickening instantly as he called forth his father’s powers as the Stormbringer.

The sky rumbled as the clouds became black.

The first drop that hit his chest felt like white stark relief, sinking into his skin and starting to mend the broken bones there. More followed, giving the son of Poseidon the strength to get back to his feet and sluggishly evade another incoming strike. He moved to take the steel sword from his hip, desperate to have any kind of blade in his hand and cursed when his right arm protested with deep lacing pain.

Right, the dislocated shoulder.

Percy had never been more thankful for Zeno for suggesting he should learn to fight with both hands.

Slowly healing through the rain and with more liquid at his disposal, the demigod entered the confrontation with way better odds. He commanded the water around him to become sharp little projectiles, invisible to anyone further away, as he sent them hurling toward the bear-brothers. He went after them as well, swinging his sword in sharp arcs that changed between slicing and piercing, but the blade was too weak to go through the thick skin of the monsters. Not even the water-needles were enough to get past the fur and muscle, leaving Percy on the defense again.

He ducked and jumped like a show pony, needing to use all of his speed to not be made into another fly on the wall again. His mind was still slow from the paralyzing pain in his back, as not even the rain managed to erase every injury completely. He’d need the ocean for that. At least the marks on his chest were nearly gone, leaving no prominent scar, which Telemachus would probably appreciate.

Speaking of the prince, Percy saw him briefly up in the lodge of the King, together with the guard and their weapons, Riptide still in the grip of one man, making it impossible for the sword to come back to him as a ring.

Another swing was coming toward him, clipping his shoulder as the son of Poseidon threw himself back. Agrius roared in his face and snapped after his neck, but Percy managed to scrambled out of the way and retaliate with another punch to weak to do anything significant.  

In desperate need of another way to kill Agrius and Oerius, the demigod resorted to giving up his charade as a normal human and just boil them from the inside, when a bright voice sounded over the storm raging above them.

“Percy! Catch!”

From the corner of his eye, a slim, gleaming, bronze shade made for his face with great speed and Percy had just enough time to twitch out of the way of being beheaded and catch Riptide with his bad arm, ripping the hurting shoulder even more around, causing him to wheeze.

His Prince was truly magnificent.

Somehow, Telemachus had managed to not only get Riptide from the guard, but to sling the sword down into the arena, just in time for the demigod to block another attack and finally, finally strike back with his own.

The magical sword sang in tandem with the pulsing pain in his shoulder, as Percy twirled it under the armpit of Agrius and ripped it straight through the arm of the bear-stard, slicing the limp clean off in a spray of ruby red blood.

The liquid drenched him from head to toe, but the demigod had no intention of letting this fight go on any longer. Now armed with the right weapon, he switched hands (the steel sword fell into the sand) and started pressing in with a speedy combo of different stabs, piercing the chest of the already damaged monster, making it burst into golden dust in seconds.

Oreius, upon seeing his brother’s death, roared even louder, fully clouded in his rage as he trampled toward the demigod. Percy finally let the heat in his belly take control of the creature’s hot blood, making it stop its path and freeze the monster long enough for him to get beside his head and slice down.

The separate limb rolled through the sand, as Oreius followed his brother and burst into golden durst that mixed with the blood and sand of the arena.                     

He breathed heavily, as the crowd started to go nuts in approval and bloodlust, chanting his name and throwing flowers down toward him. Percy ignored them. He had only one focus.

But when he swiveled around to search for his prince, the lodge was empty. No King, no Princess, no Telemachus.

His eyes sharpened and the world dulled. The blood pumping through his sore body grew hotter, as the demigod stretched his divine senses out again, desperate to feel for a wisp of the sweet and gentle blood he knew like the back of his hand.

There was nothing to be found over the commotion of hundreds of bodies, all equally pumped with adrenalin and fear. And because Telemachus had no special marker in his veins, it became impossible to pinpoint his sweet flavor, even after the son of Poseidon got a whiff of it.

Panic spread through his torso as he tumbled toward the broken gates, where he saw one of the twins of their guard waving for him frantically. He reached the other man in four great strikes, already barking: “Where is the prince? I ordered you to stay with him!”

“They took him away once you got the sword, Captain. Kleon and my brother tried to follow. I think they took him up to the palace.”

“Let’s go then.”, the demigod snapped and pushed past the guard. He didn’t look back to make sure the man followed as he searched his way through the confusing tunnels under the arena. Following the sounds of the hundreds of human feet, he weaved past empty rooms and endlessly long corridors.

Percy’s mind was racing, his heart pumping fast and unstable, as the voice in his head whispered all the horrible things that might happen to his Love while he was away. They wouldn’t be able to get very far. The demigod was too fast and relentless to let them kidnap Telemachus further than the city walls. But maybe they were already threatening him, hurting him, and that was something he wouldn’t accept.

Just when he passed another archway, a sudden presence inside startled Percy out of his thoughts. He turned, sword already in hand, but the attack didn’t come from the smirking face right in front of him.

It came from behind.

Pain bloomed from the back of his head, where a big slap of stone had been bashed against the most vulnerable part of his skull. Stars and darkness fought for dominance in front of his eyes, as the son of Poseidon slowly staggered around, heart jumping in his throat and breaking there when he saw the identical face of the smirking one behind him, stone still in hands.

The twins had betrayed him.

“Sorry Captain.”, one of them slurred, “But they pay more, and we wanted to see if the rumors about you are-“

But the rest of the justification got lost in the void that swallowed Percy.

The world became black, as his bruised body crashed into the ground, out cold, but with burning rage still very much alive.

Telemachus was missing. He had been betrayed.

And the world would shake once he’d wake up.

His wrath would be legendary.         

Chapter Text

The world was black and silent for PERCY, until a burning sensation by his ear ripped him out of the peaceful drifting and back into his body.

It took a moment for all of his senses to sharpen and for anything else besides the pain to come back.

For a second, everything hurt.

His back and shoulder with a fiery kind of sting, his head with dull pulsing and his ear felt like it was branded with a hot iron. After that came the smell of dusted hay and something metallic, tinged with sweat and stale water. The light was dim (which was great for his headache) and his mouth was sticky and dry as Percy tried to orientate himself. Was he lying down?

Something moved right above him, just a shadow and the slightest movement of the air, and the demigod felt his reflexes snap into action before his brain caught up. Still slow with pain, the son of Poseidon grabbed whoever was in reach and kicked at their knees (or ankle?) to bring them down to eye-level. The attacker grunted. A sharp slicing near his collarbone made the demigod more than aware that the person was armed, and Percy instantly sat up, ignoring the protest of his body.

Blinking heavily against the dancing spots in his vision and the headache pulsing against his skull, his sight finally came back, just in time to avoid the swipe of a dagger aimed at throat. Slipping into survival mode, there was no hesitation when the demigod reached for the hot sun inside his belly, expanding his powers and yanking the liquid around him to comply.

There were water and blood reacting to his call, both so very different in viscosity and compliance that the water smacked Percy in the face, while the blood he latched onto only slowed down immensely, making his attacker fold up like a piece of paper.

He didn’t care who the person was. He’d killed strangers, teenagers, for less in the war with Kronos. Swiping blindly, his fist crushed against the body beside him, breaking some bone (probably the jaw from the feeling) and making the assassin spit out blood and saliva, which were like blaring signals for his confused brain. It reminded him that he wasn’t limited to physical confrontation when his life was on the line.

The water had revitalized Percy enough that he finally got a grip on the reality around him without relying only on his instincts.

The son of Poseidon was in some chamber made from stone entirely. The walls weren’t very high, and the light only came from two torches near the solid door, which illuminated a little stack of hay, an old trough (now without the water) and four other people in the room with him. He clocked the three familiar faces, and the unknown man crouched before him, chocking on the blood gushing from his mouth behind a hideous and ridiculous mask. (It looked like some kind of demon, the cheapest Halloween mask Percy had ever seen, only centuries too early).   

All that had happened before unconsciousness took him under came back in a flash of memories, pictures and feelings. Accordingly, the presence of both twins and Kleon did nothing to reassure the sn of Poseidon.

He felt the world finally click fully back into place.  

Telemachus was gone.

Kidnapped.

And Percy had been out for the count for who knew how long because of some stupid betrayal for money. Also, evident from the dagger at his throat and the masked man, there was someone out there who wanted his death and had paid for it most likely with the same coin that had turned his soldiers into traitors. 

But all that was secondary for the son of Poseidon. He couldn’t care less for the scum that was after him. He’d deal with them soon enough.

His Prince needed him. Now. Like, right this second.

He didn’t have time to play with the vermin gunning for his head.

Percy didn’t hesitate for a second.

The blood still in his grasp began boiling without conscious thought, making the assassin twitch and scream instantly, the dagger falling to the floor in the throes if his demise.

And even though his body protested with every move, the demigod was on his feet before either one of the twins could do more than lift a finger. Stepping onto the neck of the spasming man at his feet, snapping his spine with a twist of his foot and ending the torturous misery, Percy felt the strength return to his bones.

There was no mercy left to give to traitors and backstabbers. The twins seemed to notice that as well, because they launched for their weapons, only to be caught in the grip of Percy’s powers, their blood following his command beautifully and bringing both of them to their knees in front of him.

The power in his veins, the control over theirs was addicting in its sweetness. 

His whisper was full of dark promise and vengeance as he said: “You wanted to know if the rumors about me were true? Tell your client in the afterlife about them. I’ll send him after you soon.”

Percy had no need for information or useless talk. He doubted that the men left behind with him knew enough to be of use and frankly, he wasn’t patient enough to find out.

That he had no other source of knowing where his Prince was didn’t register in that second, but it would later.

Oh well…Percy had beaten worse odds before.

Not even giving the twins the chance to answer, he slit their throats with a clean slash from the dagger of the assassin. They died fast but without honor, having lost that privilege when they gave up their integrity for money. When they chose to betray their prince. Percy’s prince. But still, the young man felt a twinge somewhere deep in his heart, some form of regret, or maybe pity for the two men he had trained with for years, who had gotten his back against Silas all this time ago.

It was nothing against the storm of his rage thought, and when his burning eyes turned toward the last person alive in the room, the demigod didn’t care about looking human anymore.

Kleon sat against a wall, hands and legs bound, mouth covered by a dirty rag. His wrists were bloody from how hard he had been fighting to get free and the way the soldier looked up toward his Captain (that had just killed two of his comrades) was nothing short of shocked. But it wasn’t disgusted, nor very frightened. Cautious maybe, but Percy would never judge him for that.

He was the son of the father of Monsters after all.

With two quick strikes, Kleon was free as the demigod stated: “You had no part in their actions, right?”

“No.”, the soldier gasped, eyes wide, “I had no idea! I would’ve-“

“I don’t care right now.”, Percy interrupted sharply, as he looked around the room for his steel weapon (Riptide had returned as his trusted ring, weight comfortable around his finger), “Go to the harbor and prepare our ship. We’ll leave as soon as I have the prince.”

With that order he strapped his sword (it had been thrown carelessly in a corner) back onto his belt and finally took a second to take stock of his own body and injuries. With a brutal twist of his arm, the son of Poseidon realigned his shoulder and stretched his back to work out the kinks his nap on the stone floor had caused, his eyes never leaving the trembling remains of his once trusted royal guard. (To make sure they didn’t stand up again or to burn their faces into his memory, so that they could make an appearance in his nightmares, Percy refused to decide.)

Somehow, a few coins from his purse found their way onto the eyelids of his former comrades, when another burning sting in his earlobe drew the demigod’s attention away.    

Annoyed, the demigod lifted his hand to feel what exactly this pain could be and when his fingers moved against the trident charm dangling there, the air filled with salted caramel so quickly it made Percy lose his balance a bit.

The presence of his father was heavy like a blanket, nearly suffocating as it coated the demigod’s skin in concern and care. It felt like a nice hug, but Percy didn’t have time to sooth the ruffled god.

I’ll talk later, Dad. I need to find Telemachus.

The deep voice of his father replied not even a heartbeat later, echoing in his ears and worsening his headache: “I felt blood, son. Are you injured?”

Confused, Percy pulled his hand back down and there was indeed fresh blood smeared across his palm. Drawing the steel sword again, he used the shiny surface as a mirror to look at the previously unimportant injury stinging in his ear. What he saw made the fury burn even brighter in his veins.

Someone had ripped out the grey pearl from over the trident. The token he shared with Telemachus, the earring that connected them in a small claim that Percy had been too obvious to register before. But now that he knew, now that he was sure Telemachus wouldn’t reject him, the missing jewelry felt like a violation of their bond and all the patience his Dream-Boy had shown by waiting for his lazy ass to get the memo of their feelings.

No. He answered his father with a harsh growl. I need to find Telemachus now.

The salted caramel twirled around his nose, making it tickle in a small reprimand, before the god of the Sea told him calmly: “That boy of yours in on the cliffside west of the palace. Hurry son, if you’re still intent to make him yours.”

“No need to tell me twice.”, Percy hissed, and he was out of the room with his next breath, the door nothing more than paper to the wrath of the demigod.

-

The moment he stepped outside of the arena, rain was pelting down from the sky, drenching the demigod from head to toe and giving him the boost he needed to make it to the palace in record time.

The cliffs were long and jagged, rounding up the gardens and following a small path through woods that was the only clear way further up. Percy followed it like a man possessed, senses turned up to the max and the warmth in his chest coiling like a snake, ready to strike, sticking to everything remotely liquid along his path like an invisible claim. He ignored all the animals fleeing from his thunderous presence and the plants bowing under the downpour.

The water didn’t obscure his vision in the least, so when his senses began to tingle and pointing toward his right, it was only a heartbeat later that Percy saw the drop of red amongst the startling white of some flowers near the path. It wasn’t necessary to go any closer, because the blood felt hauntingly familiar, like a scent that never quite left him.

The son of Poseidon just knew that this was where Telemachus had been dragged away. His head swiveled around searchingly, before the heat in his chest snatched another whiff of the sweet blood of his Love. The drops continued in a suspiciously consistent spacing and Percy felt a feral little grin slip his lips as he purred: “Clever little prince.”

Following the trail was easy. The moon had just begun its course over the sky, when Percy finally reached the highest point of the cliff, where the woods cleared into a vast little plain right on the edge. Even before the demigod got a good view of the place, he already felt the humming of many different bodies right ahead and slowed down to get a better grasp on the situation.

He wasn’t afraid to storm in and just take what was his, but he feared that Telemachus might get hurt if he acted too brashly right now. Against his natural instinct to just move, Percy stopped behind a wide tree and caught his breath, while he peaked into the clearing and listened for the ongoings there.

The rain had lessened a bit as his hunt became fruitful and the panic in his heart vanished, but the light drizzle still allowed him to see more than just what his eyes were showing him.

There were about fifty humans gathered, most of them soldiers (the rain pelted from their armor in a distinct rhythm) who surrounded a small huddle of people in their middle, right under a wooden arch decorated with roses and ivy. Two very big flares lit up the night on either side of the arch, under which a priest dressed in silver and gold was to be seen, a goatskin across his shoulder. The older man held a big golden cup filled with diluted wine as he mumbled something under his breath to the two people in front of him. One of which was Princess Irene, hastily dressed in a gown way too small for her, the flesh of her breast and hips spilling out of it as she was shivering in the cold. The other one-

Percy lost his ability to breathe.

Telemachus looked glorious. Beautiful and splendid and all the other words his seaweed brain was too stunned to remember.

The prince wore a chiton made from the finest white silk, which sat loose and sheer over a wrap covering his hips and privates, as the wind played with the fabric. Under it, his skin was shimmering enticingly, a glimpse of paradise draped in fine chains and jewelry that emphasized the lean build of his body and the delicious dips of his muscles. One of the chains caressed both of his collarbones with small white gems, before it came together in the center of his chest, moving down toward his navel in three big, teardrop shaped crystals, where the golden chains spread out again over his hips to connect in the small of his back right over his tailbone.

The gentle rain caressed his figure, dripping down his arms and shoulder sinfully, gathering on the metal resting against the cool and flawless skin, teasing Percy with the hint of warmth of his prince’s body. It felt indecent how much Percy enjoyed following them with his mind’s eye, as they drew a path down Telemachus chest, over sensitive flesh and harden nubs before travelling lower, lower-

He was ripped from his daydream and desire when the snide voice of King Kleitos was carried over to his hiding place: “Get on with it!”

The priest nodded his head. “Very well, my King.”, he said before turning toward the couple in front of him and it was only then that Percy saw just how close the traitor stood to his Dream-Boy, a sharp and small dagger raised just underneath the jugular vein of his Prince, allowing him no movements besides shallow breathing.

The threat to his Love’s life was so casual, so real, that it doused any lingering flame in Percy’s lower belly instantly, and the demigod tensed, ready to jump in and pummel the head of that arrogant King.

He had already taken a step when the priest spoke again, addressing Telemachus: “Will you, Prince Telemachus of Ithaca, son of Odysseus and heir to the throne, swear on the Styx and in front of the represent of her holiness Lady Hera, Queen of Olympus and Goddess of marriage, to honor the oath binding you to Princess Irene? To give her hearth and home and children and be loyal as long as you both shall live?”

The rain stopped in the air as Percy’s control slipped and the heat in his chest expanded to dome over the whole clearing-

Watching… waiting… daring.

His chest constricted painfully and every cell of his being was suspended in the limbo of the moment.

The son of Poseidon wanted to move. Wanted to intervene, wanted to rip apart that priest, his King and all those forced promises… but the fear, the anxiety in his soul that maybe, maybe the whole thing in the arena had been a dream, froze him to the ground.

But his Prince stayed silent.

He stayed silent. Head held high, brown hair falling around his face like a veil of defiance as his sharp eyes pierced right through the priest. Defiant and angry.

Telemachus refused to comply, even when the dagger on his throat dug in and opened his skin to let a single, red drop of blood escape.

The inner beast in Percy roared.

“Do it boy!”, King Kleitos screamed, “We already told you that your little toy is dead! We brought you the proof still fresh with his blood, now take my daughter or die by my hand!”

That was why they had ripped out his earring? To prove to Telemachus that he was dead?

The son of Poseidon couldn’t suppress this snort.

As if his prince was dumb enough to believe a flimsy thing like that would be enough to end him, when Percy had given him his word, his promise.

With newfound confidence, burning bright with trust and love that would make the vengeance taste oh so much sweeter, the demigod straightened up and headed calmly for the clearing.

He had a Prince to save.

Telemachus voice accompanied him, as he casually closed in on the gathering. His Love declared: “I would rather die than marry her. You want Ithaca? You’ll have to fight my mother for it! I won’t be a pawn.” The burning caramel of his gaze settled on Kleitos as he spat: “And if you really think you ever stood a chance to kill Percy and I’d believe you, you are even more delusional than I thought.”

“You little-“, the King was heaving in his rage, raising his hand as if to strike the younger man, but when the prince didn’t flinch, Kleitos just leaned into his personal space to hiss: “I will cut the words out of your mouth if I have to. I’ll let my men take you here and now, over and over again like a Bitch in heat, until you’ve given me enough seed to stuff in my daughter, before I’ll let you die like the indigent pig you are! Maybe then-“

“Wow… If that isn’t the most deranged proposal I’ve ever heard.”, Percy interrupted loudly, with faked nonchalant, twisting his steel sword lazily between his fingers. His voice cut through the rain like a whip and every soldier between him and the royals turned around, raising their weapons as one. The demigod ignored them all to address the seething King: “You really need to work on that, man! Someone might call you a shameless bastard, to curse in front of an altar like this.”

Kleitos was vibrating with surprise and anger as he bellowed to one of his men: “What is he doing here?! I said to dispose of him!”

Percy couldn’t stop himself from mocking: “Yeah, right. Your soldiers are a joke, Kleitos. Wasn’t hard to get through them.” As if to prove his point, two of the guards came straight for him, ready to attack. Without even looking, the son of Poseidon cut their advance short by leading the sword of one of them into the chest of the other, before slitting the throat of the first with clean efficiency.

Their blood sank into the earth as life left them. Feeding the ground and his senses with equally sweet revenge.

A shocked kind of silence reigned over the clearing and Percy used the opportunity to silently take control of the puddles gathered on the ground, forming it into spikes that could take out half the soldiers at once, should the King order an attack. The heat in his chest purred.

“And what do you want, whoreson?!”, Kleitos finally broke the silence.

He had stepped away from Telemachus (good for him) to let out a high laugh that sounded rattled and scared: “Come to take your price after all? I’m afraid you lost your chance, she’s already married to the prince!”

“She’s not. And you have no agreement to hide behind this time.”, Percy stated, eerily calm and detached, his eyes glued to the form of his Prince. Their eyes interlocked and didn’t let go, as the silent reassurance that the other one was fine drifted between them like a physical string. The demigod was once again blinded by the beauty of his Dream-Boy and the way the shadows enhanced the handsome lines of his face and freckles. But he wasn’t so naïve as to forget the situation they were in (again). Percy demanded: “Let Telemachus go. He lost the contest; he has nothing to do with this.”

It was one last try, one last chance for the humans of Kerkyra to do the right thing. For anyone to step forward and end this farce (or at least attempt to, which might’ve spared them eventually), but no one did. No soldier moved, not even the priest and princess locked even slightly uncertain. The son of Poseidon sighed internally, before he let go of the notion of mercy.

They’ve had their chance. This was all he could offer them.

King Kleitos quivered in rage still as he spat: “Pah, you are a shameless man, Perseus Jackson!” (Not exactly untrue, his mother would be ashamed if she knew all the things he thought about doing with – or to - Telemachus regularly) “My men overheard your little scheme last night! Too flee in the darkness like the scum that you are and leave behind the woman whose hand you swore to take by participating in the contest! You have broken your word with no honor, no dignity!”

Now that was a lie if he ever heard one. Not the part about not marrying the princess (that had been very much the plan), but the part where Percy had apparently planned to sneak away? Where did that come from?

His incredulous musing was interrupted by the manic man when he stepped back into Telemachus’ space, grinning like a cheshire cat, wide and victories as he brandished the dagger in his hand: “Thankfully, Prince Telemachus is a gracious heir as he decided to compensate us for the treason of his Captain by marrying my daughter himself-“

“I did no such thing!”, his Dream-Boy instantly spat with hateful eyes, but his disobedience was rewarded with a blade to the chin. “Silence!”, roared Kleitos as he pushed the prince closer to his daughter, drawing a few more drops of blood.

“Watch it!”, Percy barked harshly as he made his way forward, ridding the word of another two humans that though it was wise to step in his way. “What plan are you even talking about?”, he asked when he was done, his back now to the edge of the cliff, the ocean roaring behind him in agreement, “I never conspired to leave, but regardless: I swore no vow; I made no promise that could claim me beyond the ones to my Prince, so stop trying to deceit yourself here.”

“Your name was on the paper!”, Kleitos was frothing from the mouth like a rabid dog by now, having lost all his composure and dignity, “Your participation was under the rules and agreement of the court! Everyone stepping into that arena swore an implicit oath to take my daughter as his wife upon his win, but you never intended to fulfill this duty. Oathbreaker, I call you! Every man in Greece is bound by the laws of the written word!”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Percy mused with a chuckle, his eyes glowing ominously. He felt the ocean rise and sink with his breath; the rain strengthened with every clench of his fist, and the blood all around him pumping like an invisible beat. There was warmth in his chest, heat in his veins and the air was filled with the curious scent of salt and apples. He didn’t even know why he was still holding back, but somehow the feeling of standing just on the precedent of something mighty, something great, was exhilarating.

Like a tightrope that was seconds away from ripping.

Whatever it was, the demigod wasn’t the only one feeling it, because he clocked the nervous movements of the soldiers closest to him instantly, and the way they slowly inched back. It made him smile ferally and smugly when he purred: “Shame then, that I don’t need follow your flimsy rules and arbitrary laws.”

King Kleitos spluttered: “What are you talking about?! Didn’t you hear me? Every man-“

But Percy had heard enough of the doomed. Steadily walking closer (no soldier dared to intercept him again) he rumbled: “You’ve made your worst mistake here today, Kleitos, and you are blind if you haven’t realized what makes your soldiers tremble in their boots.” The beady eyes of the King scurried around, and he became pale when he saw that all of his men looked wary and tense.

Percy relished in their anxiety as he made the rain swish over the clearing, thunder rumbling. His smirk was mean and menacing: “Let me be perfectly clear for your pea sized brain, silly King. I am not bound by your punny little rules, I was never restricted by your human laws and morals - Because I am no mortal.”

The declaration landed like lighting in their midst. But the tension only built Percy’s confidence even higher. Not caring for the bloody and torn clothes on his body, the demigod straightened, showing his height and letting his sword dance through his finger. His voice was hard and steady as the mask he always felt like he wore around people that didn’t know about his Dad fell away, revealing all the unnatural underneath.

His eyes were glowing like lanterns as he finally spoke his truth.  

“My Name is Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, god of the Sea, the Stormbringer, the Earthshaker and, most importantly for you,” he couldn’t resist the dramatic pause, “The Father of Monsters.” 

Chapter Text

PERCY didn’t know what he expected after finally revealing his godly heritage in a way that would make even Drama-Queen Zeus proud of the sensational flair of it all, but it certainly wasn’t for the Kleitos to break out in maniacal laughter loud enough to shake his whole body.

It was a bit humiliating, if Percy was being honest, but the demigod couldn’t let the uncomfortable feeling cower him. That stupid man would soon enough learn just what an enemy he’d made.

Especially if he didn’t get his dirty paws off of Telemachus soon. His Prince looked equally as put out as Percy felt and sent a nasty glare to his captor, that could’ve set a lesser being on fire.  (Percy would set anyone on fire for his Dream-Boy.) The son of Poseidon appreciated the quiet support, but the whole situation still rattled his teeth.

The rain began pelting harder on all of them and the heat in his chest began creeping outward, latching onto the drops in the air and the puddles on the ground.

There was a smell of salt in the air, but it was too faint to pinpoint. (Maybe Percy was smelling himself?)

Once the King calmed down from his hilarious cackle, he had tears in his eyes as he mocked the man that was about to kill him: “You? A demigod? Hah, what a joke! Poseidon cannot love you very much then! Every great Hero was proclaimed by their divine parent to all of Greece right at their birth!... No one has ever heard shit about you though. So, are you a fraud or just the biggest shame in the Sea-God’s immortal life? What can Daddy’s little disappointment do? Move a puddle?”

The words were full of deride and sneer. And stupid to boot.

Even if the demigod truly could only move a puddle, there were more than enough around to drown them all anyway.   

Oh, how he would crush that bug underneath his feet.

Percy felt himself grow agitated, the sea behind him rising even further, lapping at the cliff, nearly reaching the edge now. From somewhere deep down in the ocean, a dark rumble crawled its way forward, reacting to Percy’s anger and humiliation.

He felt like he was eleven again, facing off against Nancy Bobofit as she mocked his mother, his clothes and his ADAH. Like he wasn’t taken seriously despite all the stuff he had suffered, all the things he had done, the lives he had taken, the ones he had saved.

King Kleitos knew nothing about his Quests or perils, or his powers, but he still dared to have an opinion, a doubt, mocking what he had no fucking clue about… it was the most brainless thing any human being could be doing right now… And still, Percy felt frozen in shock and shame. Helpless.

Why was he feeling helpless again?

He wasn’t! He wasn’t-

Percy’s breath became shallow, and his eyes searched for the only thing that made him feel safe, made him feel seen.

Caramel met sea-green, and the jittery nerves and racing thoughts calmed, as if the prince had soothed a spooked horse simply with his presence. There was so much trust in the doors to Telemachus’ soul. They gleamed with pride, with rage, with warmth, steadily fixed on the demigod, relying on him to untangle this mess.

Telemachus relied on him.

That was all the kindling Percy needed.   

Kleitos was speaking again: “We are not afraid of you, scum! Your little Prince will stay and be married to my daughter. I will rule Kerkyra AND Ithaca in their name. But don't worry, you won't be alive to see their union come to fruition. For his seed to take in her loin and give me an heir. I don’t care how we get it. Maybe your corpse can at least be useful to-“

The cliff shook, the ocean roared and the earth shattered with a mighty CRACK, as Riptide was slashed down toward it, making the dirt by Percy’s feet break apart in a clean spasm that raced toward the royal assembly. (When the swords in his hands had switched, the demigod had no clue, but the celestial bronze burned just right in his grip.)

Rain whirled around the clearing like a vortex, collecting water from all around and growing steadily in size, capturing them all in the eye of a growing storm.

Every element was reacting to the ichor in the demigod’s blood, standing at attention like an eager puppy (bloodthirsty and vengeful), screeching in the back of his head to be let go. The world was his oyster and the command to harvest it was on the tip of his lips.

Percy would’ve let the hurricane swallow them all, if it wasn’t for the beautiful beam of love right in the center. His blazing eyes didn’t leave Telemachus once, as the son of Poseidon spoke, voice contorted and dark, echoing eerily: “I can excuse insults to myself. I can overlook crass and derogatory fantasies. But you should not have laid hands my Prince, nor addressed my father with such disrespect.”

Slowly, the demigod lifted his free hand toward the burning trident-charm in his ear. He didn’t need to draw his father’s attention toward him. It was already there.

Salty caramel surrounded Percy, tinged with a darker smell of decay that some monsters carried as well. He felt the heat in his chest feed off of the god’s presence, growing exponentially in strength and size.        

His sight became sharper and he felt something move in his irises, probably erasing his pupils to reflect the bottomless pits that all gods wore proudly in their face when enraged.

Percy relished in the fact that he might look like one to the mortals around.

It was especially satisfying to see the reaction on Kleitos’ face.

The King had stepped back, hands flat by his side, eyes comically wide and lips trembling in fright, as he took in the imminent destruction around him. It appeared as though it finally dawned on him just how much he’d fucked up. Princess Irene was whimpering pathetically and tried to hide behind the priest, who pressed the cup to his chest, face a chalky wide and lips forming prayers to gods that weren’t here.

Or maybe they were.

Percy just didn’t care to feel for them.

He had a reputation to maintain, a promise to keep and a king to kill. 

Growling like the thunder above him, the demigod’s voice carried all the darkness of the deep trenches of the ocean as he proclaimed: “Your life is forfeit.“ He tilted his head a bit to the side, listening to the voices that were carried by his storm, grin growing ferally when he offered to the Sea: “Do you want to watch?”

There was a brief halt in the chaos around. A heaviness settled over the clearing.

King Kleitos actually got his courage together once more to ask squeakily: “Who - Who are you talking to?”

And if that wasn’t an invitation for the most dramatic entrance ever, Percy couldn’t imagine what would be. And of course, Drama flowed in their godly veins just as much as ichor.

Of course, his father couldn’t resist this opportunity.

Percy felt some of the water slip out of his grasp, being gently pulled away as Poseidon collected his godly essence right under the surface of the Sea. The demigod felt the tension in the air crescendo and smiled excitedly.

The ocean exploded.

A mighty hand, clawed with black nails and bigger than a carriage, shot out of the depths, looming over the clearing like a divine punishment that was about to come down (which it was). The saltwater it brought with it rained on the gathered humans, making them gasp and screech while Percy savored the feeling of his bruises melting away. His muscles relaxed, as he was surrounded by his element. His father’s element.

The hand remained high in the sky only for a few seconds (dramatically drawing all eyes to it), before it crashed down like a thunderstrike right in the middle of the humans, destroying the archway and smashing the priest below it. Blood and guts swirled through the watery skin of the god, as he slowly drew the debris and remains away, leaving behind nothing but empty space and wet grass.

Princess Irene had been pulled back just in time by a soldier, but the girl was now crying and screaming, clawing at her savior in a try to get even further away.

The King himself had been blown back by the strike, landing on his fat ass, while Telemachus remained untouched, only inches away from Poseidon’s hand.

Percy had tensed when his father’s wrath came down, but the god reassured him with a warm shower and proved his restraint (and control over the situation) when he sent a small puddle of water to play with the prince’s hair, before it followed the rest of the limb back into the air. His Dream-Boy looked startled and slightly ill (eyes wide like a deer in the headlights), but he remained standing tall, which was more than most of the soldiers did.

The men were cowering on the ground, hands raised over their heads, and quite a few had lost the contents of their bowels one way or another, as the priest was killed.

When Poseidon finally rose from the Sea for real, it was with a mighty wave crashing over the cliffside, drenching the ground. His form was massive, clouding the sky and dwarfing everything under his scrutinizing gaze. Long black hair that was interwoven with water and shipwrecks, a pointed and dangerous face, which was only enhanced by the spikey crown he wore. It all screamed of power and displeasure. His eyes were sea-green again, mirroring Percy’s eerily (as did the form of his lips, which were sneering) and he wore armor made from coral and shining bronze.

He didn’t need his trident to be easily recognizable, and the god knew it.

So, with a voice like a thousand storms, the king of Atlantis simply said: “Me” as an answer to the soon-to-be-dead King’s question.

Behind his shoulder, a tornado of water and wind rose, hovering in the sky and sending a few tree branches flying at the clearing, whisking away three humans and crushing them against the ground. The hurricane settled on Poseidon’s shoulder and with a dramatic little twirl, it formed the figure of a woman smaller than the god of the Sea, but still massive compared to the humans.

She looked like chaos and mirth reincarnated. Bright jellyfish hair, pupilless eyes of toxic swirls and a maw full of fangs that clicked against each other as Kymopoleia cackled: “Us!” 

She crossed her legs languidly, as she lounged on their father’s shoulder, twirling her hair and then leaning down to be closer to Percy. Her unproportionally long arms were thrown sassily around the demigod’s neck, filling his nose with the scent of algae as she cooed: “My sweet little baby brother…how nice of you to invite me this time! Let’s finally wreak havoc together! You’re officially ours now.”

That last bit was underlined by a possessive stroke of her long nails over his nearly bare chest, which made Percy grimace. He felt a bit put on display, but thankfully, Poseidon interrupted Kym’s need for flair when he shrugged his shoulder and made her release the demigod to keep her balance. Her affronted snort was interrupted when the Father of Monsters corrected her with a dark growl: “Mine.”

The mighty eyes turned toward Percy, heavy with intent and glowing with pride. “And as my son, you will look the part!”, the god declared as he raised his hand.

Even if he wanted, the demigod had no time to prepare for the tidal waved that crashed over him, drenching his clothes and making him splutter hard when the salty water came into his mouth unexpectedly. He didn’t even feel the weight that settled on his shoulder and chest until the water was called away equally quickly, leaving him behind a bit startled and struggling to find his footing.

Percy was about to protest when a sharp inhale whipped his head around instinctively toward Telemachus. The caramel eyes were looking straight at him, wide and hungry.

There was a blush on his Dream-Boy’s cheeks that hid half his freckles, and he was chewing his lip in a way that made Percy’s knees weak. When he looked down to see what had captured his prince’s attention, he saw the beautiful royal armor his father had created for him years ago.

Teal-like leather, that was arranged like scales, covered his torso, sneaking over his shoulder and even appeared on his arm and shin guards. Accents of bronze and golden metal protected his most vulnerable places and formed wave-like decorations all along his sides. The sigil of the trident was emblazed proudly on his chest, gleaming, as Percy felt his hair whip around his head in Kym’s breeze.

The demigod grew hot under the scrutiny of two gods and a god-like mortal, but what was even worse was the short burst of lemon and salt in his nose as something was thrown at him from the depth of the sea.

Percy caught it instinctively.

Forgot your weapon, you little menace.   

The trident was beautiful. Simple and deadly, made from bronze and with a core that felt like water from one of the springs in Atlantis. He twirled it around in wonder and awe, before Kym steered his attention back to the chaos at hand.

“Go on now, little Pearl.”, she giggled, “They dared to touch what is yours, Perseus. They tried to take it from you…Kill them, Destroyer.” She was like a devil on his shoulder. And right now, there was no angel to counter her. One look at Poseidon showed that his father was unmoved and stoic, not showing what he thought about the situation. Giving Percy the backup and support to decide for himself.

A soldier near them fell to his knees with a loud clatter of his armor, hands raised in prayer as he stuttered horribly: “P-P-Please have m-mercy, m-my Lady-“ The man stopped in horror when he couldn’t come up with the name of the goddess threatening to kill them and the demigod suppressed a mean snicker as Kym puff up in indignation and insult.

“HOW DARE YOU! Miserable little maggot! THEY DON’T KNOW ME?!”, her voice was going up and down like a rollercoaster, but in its depths was genuine hurt that made the son of Poseidon frown. He stepped forward and said with a voice full of reverence: “She is Kymopoleia! The great Goddess of violent Storms. Kneel before her might!”

But even that introduction did nothing to soothe the bruised ego of his half-sister. “The disrespect!”, she hissed, “Kill them Perseus, before I do!”

“With pleasure.”, he said evenly, feeling for the rage and anger and anxiety inside of him from when he’d noticed that Telemachus had been missing. It wasn’t hard to conjure the ire back up, but just when he was about to unleash his powers, his father interrupted their playtime with a derisive sneer.

“In all my years of living, it isn’t very often that I get pissed off like this.”, he mused idly, laying a finger on Percy’s shoulder to stall him. And weren’t those words really familiar? The demigod whipped around to gape at his father, stunned that he would choose to deliver the exact same speech again!

Did he want to bring up that trauma for him?

Or was this a lesson as to show him what the deity had meant back in the day?

Because, as queasy as the words made Percy feel, they weren’t as baseless as they’d been some six years or so ago. The god continued: “I try to keep to myself, but in recent years, it appears as if the mortals have forgotten to fear me. Or mine. You crossed more than one line today, people of Kerkyra. Daring to invoke my name without sacrifice? Hurting not one, but two of my children?”

The furious Father of Monsters leaned in, eyes blazing and focused on King Kleitos, who was quivering on the ground like all of his men. The expression on his face was hilarious. Wide eyes, mouth agape. Like he had seriously thought he could get away with insulting the divine. As if history hadn’t taught him that gods dealt out punishments for way less.

His beady eyes slid over to Percy, shocked and pleading, but the demigod had no compassion or mercy for the man.

He’d tried to take Telemachus from him. Marry the prince against his will, force him to sleep with his daughter to get an heir and threatened to have him raped by all of his soldiers.

Yeah, the heat of the hate was back, much more potent than before, and it left Percy smiling cruelly at the downed man.

“Yes.”, Poseidon purred proudly, “This perfect little pearl here is mine. So really, you’ve dug your own grave. Guess the pack of rats are swimming with the sharks now. You will bleed, you will drown. Your line will end, idiot king. For daring to threaten and touch the beloved of my son.”

Oh, those words sounded like music in Percy’s ears. Like approval, like acceptance. Like Telemachus was part of him already in his father’s eyes. And that was the biggest gift the god could’ve ever given him.

Because the Prince was part of him. Always was and would always be.

Kym didn’t want to be left out, and she pouted with a fake whine addressed at the Princess: “Oh no…how bad for you.” Her cackle after that was mean and arrogant.

Another wave crashed loudly against the cliff and Poseidon’s claw tapped against Percy’s back in an incitement for him to act: “Go on son. Do what you will with them. This is your lesson to teach.”

Percy looked from his trident to his immortal family, before glancing at Telemachus. His Prince still stood tall and proud amongst the enemies, an excited glint in his eye and a hungry smile on his face. Percy felt electric when he said: “Alright.”

He saw a movement from the corner of his eye and threw his trident, but the unexpected weight of the weapon meant it was slightly off-course, missing the soldier heading for his Prince by a hair’s breadth, until the scum had his sword leveled at Telemachus’ throat, eyes blazing in victory.

“Wait! Wait!”, he called out of breath, hand trembling, “Do you really want to risk your prince’s life? One wrong move and I’ll slit his throat! Stay back and leave!”

Everything in the clearing stopped except for Telemachus and Percy, who were gazing at each other with no care for anyone else. His Prince didn’t look scared in the least, eyes calm and collected. The demigod was so proud of his composure.

Quietly, calmly, only just loud enough to reach his Dream-Boy’s ears, the son of Poseidon asked: “Do you want me to stop? To hold back?”

Telemachus, beautiful, brilliant Telemachus smiled indulgently, tilting his head a bit before he graciously said: “No. Go on Dearest, end it. I tire of this farce. I want to go home.”

“As my Prince commands.” The demigod purred, calling his trident back with a twitch of a finger, the heat in his chest pulsing lightly. He was still looking at the caramel pools when his Dream-Boy added, slightly regretful: “Maybe keep the Princess alive. We might need her to take over the throne. She’ll remember the lesson taught today though, about slighting Ithaca.” 

A feral grin was his answer, as Percy reached for the heat in his belly and followed the call of the ocean and earth to his feet.

The screams that followed were glorious.