A Crown of Golden Leaves
By Kitty
January 1, 2017
"Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool, or you go out in the ocean." – Christopher Recue
Caput XLII: The Puzzle Pieces
WARM, early morning sunlight filtered through the linen draperies that were meant to block the harsh heat of the afternoon. The birds sang their melodies, their voices harmonizing and pitching in perfect cacophony. The streets bustled with the early rising servants and plebeians moving about, preparing to tackle the mob that was the midday market during a State of Emergency.
If he was a morning person, he might have enjoyed lounging in bed, listening to the sounds of life. Even though there was a plague taking men and women and children, plebeian or patrician, left and right, there was still movement in his city.
Percy was not a morning person.
He glared at the drapes, somewhat wishing he had the ability to douse them with water or set them on fire or something by his will power alone. A part of him wanted to strangle the birds. But, here was the worst offense of all: Annabeth the snoring starfish had stolen his side of the bed. With his blankets. And she was the one who always, somehow, miraculously, woke up bright eyed and bushytailed before Apollo dragged his scrawny podex into his chariot to pull the sun over the ocean.
And it was all Grover's fault.
The faun was worrying his bottom lip even as he (quite bravely, Percy understood) repeatedly poked his shoulder, rousing him from his glorious state of slumber. With a groan, he attempted to borrow back underneath the sheets, half tempted to gesture rudely at his companion. It would be warranted. But it would be unbecoming of the future Caesar. And Reyna would disapprove of that. But Jason would try to egg him on. Annabeth would probably be disapproving to save her face and then she would covertly encourage him.
But the only way to get rid of him so that he could get back to sleep was to tell him to explain why he was waking him up at some gods' forsaken hour in the morning.
"What?" he snapped. Grover ignored his tone out of long habit. Thank the gods he had found someone calm enough to not take his morning moods personally. Or perhaps he had been desensitized over time?
"Sorry, sire. I wouldn't bother you if it's not important. I know that you don't like waking up early. And normally Lady Annabeth is awake, so usually she handles it if it's urgent, but she's sleeping and she probably needs it because she's usually awake before I'm here. So I decided to wake you up. Plus he said to tell you directly. Which meant I probably wouldn't have been able to tell Lady Annabeth."
Probably desensitized. Grover was nervous and jumpy by nature.
"Grover," he tried to say nicely and patiently. "You're rambling. I can't translate rambling this early in the morning."
You need to cut back on the sarcasm, he heard Reyna sniff mentally.
It's too early in the morning to have to deal with society without an abundance of sarcasm, he told the Reyna-voice.
You need to stop talking to yourself in your head, either Jason or Annabeth warned.
"The Caesar wants to talk to you. Immediately."
For a moment, Percy wasn't entirely sure he had heard correctly. And then he wasn't sure if his ears were lying to him. It wasn't uncommon for his pater to talk to him, but it was usually during midday. When the sun was high above the clouds and the sky was blue. Not pinkish-reddish black. Unless it was night time, but then the stars and the moon was out.
This was a first.
"You're joking."
"Does it look like I'm joking?" Grover pointed at his flat face, and Percy admired the sudden bravery for a moment. "Besides, waking you up in the morning is not something I enjoy doing without a good reason."
Apparently, Grover was testy about waking Percy this early too. With a loud groan, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
"Wha'?" Annabeth asked, her voice hoarse from sleep and muffled into her pillow. "Percy, why're'ou up?"
"My pater has had a temporary bout of madness." He paused, and then he grabbed his pillow, stuffing it into her arms. Like that plant he found when he was a boy that closed around bugs, she snapped her arms close around it. He raised an eyebrow at the way she started hogging his stuff. She better not go about stealing his pillows next. That was just greedy. Wars were started over lesser things. "Go back to snoring the morning away, love."
"I will hit you for that later." She suddenly sounded much more alert, but she relaxed back into the mattress that she stole, so he figured she was going to go back to sleep. Turning back to Grover, he shooed him away with his hands.
"But your clothes—!"
"I'll be fine. It's not like he expects me in ceremonial clothing." It was too early in the morning for anything that required so many different layers. Hopefully. "...Right?"
Grover pointed at him with an angry finger and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. Probably insulting. His face turned a little red with the strain of keeping inside of him – it surprised Percy a little, usually he was much more mild tempered – but he snapped his jaw shut with a click of his teeth scraping together. He turned and walked away, his back rigid though his brown hooves didn't make a sound against the squeaky floors as he strode out, probably out of consideration for Annabeth.
"It's only gotten worse ... never let me do my job ..."
He didn't think he was supposed to hear that. With a laugh, though he was mindful to keep it quiet, he grabbed the toga Grover had laid out earlier (or perhaps it was Annabeth's maid?), stripped out of his sleeping clothes and pulled it over his shoulders.
"Percy!" Annabeth sounded startled (somewhat belatedly), and very, very awake, and he jumped. He'd thought she had fallen back asleep. But then she started laughing and was barely able to keep himself from ducking his head. "Nice."
His cheeks burned at her appreciative tone, and he looked at her over his shoulder. He couldn't see clearly in the dim lighting, but he thought she might be smiling.
"Like the show?"
"You're not giving me much to look at."
This time, he tried to duck out before she could embarrass him (more), but she grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down to bed. He caught himself before he could sprawl across her stomach (she was stronger than she looked, but he was also heavier than her), and she blinked up at him.
"Uh..." he said eloquently. He cleared his throat. "Seriously, I have to leave. My pater..."
Understanding made her eyes drop, and she nodded, pushing herself up onto her elbows to brush her lips against his gently over and over. He allowed it until his head started to spin, and he pulled away. She pouted at him—Oh gods.
"Annabeth," he groaned, and she laughed. He turned on his heel, and rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving before I give in to any more temptations."
"I'll be here, waiting." She replied cheekily, startling a laugh out of him as he closed the door behind him.
___________________________
Percy stilled at the entrance to the throne room, hesitant to continue further into it. His pater was talking with a woman in hushed, tense voices; about what, he wasn't sure, but he could certainly postulate a half dozen different reasons ranging from the current state of affairs to her being a jilted lover. The gods know how often he had walked into those kinds of arguments.
He cleared his throat, loud enough that his pater would be able to hear him, but the Caesar didn't acknowledge him. Frowning, he stepped forward, and said, "Pater?"
"Ah, Perseus." His pater and the woman turned, and Percy froze. There was something eerie about her. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, perhaps it was the strange, purple gown that seemed to flow like water over the boulders on the North shores of the Mare Nostrum. Somehow, he had the feeling that she wasn't human. "I must to talk to you about this epidemic. You know more about the crisis than I, and the Senate is pressuring me for knowledge."
"Uh. Yes. I thought. Um..."
Good gods. He was the hope and heir of the Roman Empire. He'd been around women all his life; some beautiful, others seductive, and most ugly (in many ways). He should not be freezing up from being in the presence of this woman like some skittish horse.
He clenched his teeth, forced his feet to move forward, and held his head high.
"I must leave," she said to his pater, and she regally nodded to him, acknowledging his presence for the first time since he had arrived. He caught her gaze before she pressed her lips to his pater's cheek (so not a jilted lover then) and left behind the screen that went off into his pater's private quarters. "Perseus."
... Violet.
Her eyes were violet.
Gods above, this wasn't a human. This woman was perhaps a dryad or demigoddess or something; only those who were descended from the gods themselves had eyes that were different, like Jason's ice-blue eyes or Annabeth's storm cloud gray eyes.
"Who was that?" he wondered, and though something like humor sparkled in his pater's eyes, there was something heavy hidden there too. There was a shiftiness about him, as if he were trying to hide something from him—nothing new there. His pater was always hiding something from him and would continue to do so for as long as he might live. He poured himself and his pater a glass of watered down mead and took a sip from his goblet as he offered the second one to the older man. "I haven't seen you quite so taken with a woman since my mater."
"Her name is Nox."
Something about that name... he'd heard that name before... but where from?
"I did not call you at this gods-forsaken hour in the morning to talk about women, however." His pater took the second goblet from his right hand – his less dominant hand – and gestured toward the locked area toward the side of the room, where he held private matters that he didn't want someone to overhear. Percy closed the door behind them. "How many people are dead? What are the chances of finding a cure?"
He pushed the matter of the strange woman to the back of his mind and began to brief his pater, falling into familiar territory, so he allowed his mind to wander down several different paths as his mouth moved out of habit. After that, he made his way to check on those who were ill, checking with Medicus Gaius about the mortality rate. Nobody had died overnight, thank the gods, and Jason was stable for the moment.
He decided to pop in on his friend to check how he was doing, knocking on the door before he pushed it open. Jason's eyes opened slowly, and he blinked at him for a moment before he smiled, probably recognizing him. Or perhaps he hadn't—he was more likely to make a rude gesture at him before he smiled.
"Hi," he said lowly, leaning his hip against the side of the door as he crossed his arms. "You still look terrible."
Jason sat up, rolling his eyes, and Percy noticed how pale he was even though he tried to put up a display of strength. "And you look exhausted. The circles underneath your eyes are ugly."
"Being stuck in bed doesn't suit you."
"It's nice for a couple of days. You don't have bossy heir apparents telling you what to do, you sleep as much as you want, and you get fussed over. I can tell why you like it. Though it is a bit maddening, not being able to get out of bed when you're awake."
He clapped sarcastically, thrice, before he leaned forward to study him with a frown. "Seriously, take it easy. I have no intention of walking down into the Underworld because you decided to kick the bucket."
"Touching. Your undying loyalty means a lot."
Percy grinned at him, and he opened the door. "No heroics," he commanded, knocking on the wood.
"No promises." Before he closed the door behind him though, Jason called him back, and he looked at him over his shoulder. He held his head high and he looked serious as his eyes roamed over him from head to toe. "You take care of yourself too, Percy. You can't do anything to help Roma if you work yourself into death."
He nodded in acknowledgment. "I always knew you cared."
Grinning at the spluttered denials, he closed the door behind him softly. The grin faded quickly as he took in the people lying ill, and he breathed in through his nose. He appreciated the warning, but there was too much for him to do. He would rest later, when the danger had passed.
So, he went to the public bibliotheca.
___________________________
The wax had burned low by the time lithe fingers slid a small platter of grapes across the table. Quickly, her hand withdrew and Annabeth swore under her breath, sticking her third finger into her mouth and sucking on it, her eyebrows pinched together – out of pain, he presumed.
"What? What happened?" He pulled away from the scroll he had been reading, glancing around. Strange, he hadn't even realized he'd been in the palace bibliotheca for so long... there was nobody else here. Annabeth threw herself down next to him, and he was suddenly very aware of her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders and—
He nearly choked over his tongue when he realized her back was bare too. What? What? What?
"I haf a splin'er. You, eat your foo'."
Percy stared at her for a moment, and then he took a grape carefully and bit into it, tasting the tart sweetness on his tongue. There was no way he wasn't going to obey a direct command from her. Especially involving food. He took two more, spit the seeds into his palm, and pushed the platter toward her so that she would eat some too.
"You know, sticking your finger in your mouth is not really a good way to get rid of a splinter." He felt like he had to say, because it was obvious and just the kind of thing she'd miss. She glared at him and pulled it out, waving her hand in front of him.
"A 'thank you, Annabeth, for risking your poor fingers to feed me so that I wouldn't starve myself' would be appreciated." He snorted. She jabbed at him, the bracelet dangling on her wrist clanked against another as she took a grape. "Seriously, I risked my limbs getting this from the cook. I mean, yes, sure, I probably ate enough for a small army this week... but that was because I've been training! And using my brain! Which makes me hungry! She shouldn't glare at me."
He took her hand and tugged it into his lap, squinting at her finger. All he saw was a tiny little black... freckle? He hadn't even noticed she had freckles on her fingers. Seriously, freckles on her fingers?
"And I was trying to get it out with my teeth, thanks. Not my saliva." She gestured with her free hand, the motion sweeping and encompassing. She leaned over and pulled the scroll over, tilting her head to study it. He poked at the freckle, and she winced but didn't react otherwise. So, the splinter was buried underneath the freckle? "So, what's this...?"
"If you can figure out half of what it's saying, I will do whatever you want me to for a week without arguing about it. Much. It's a book of legends. I thought that it might have something in there... not that I'm getting anywhere with it. There's too much ambiguity and..." He thumped his head against the back of the chair, as if that would bring the word to the tip of his tongue. But nothing. "Nothing. I have nothing. It's giving me a headache. This is why I hate piecing mysteries together."
Annabeth raised an eyebrow at him, but then something like understanding crossed her face. She leaned forward, and the hand he was holding loosely wriggled up his arm, fingers clutching his elbow as if she was away he might try to run away. "We'll find a way to save him. All of them."
He sighed. She knew him so well that it was impossible to hide his worries from her—or from himself. "It's just... he was worse earlier today. Last time I saw him, he was trying to read a tome for cures, the stubborn idiot. This morning he was fine, but when afternoon rolled by and I went to check in on Gaius, he just kept coughing... he didn't even wake up. I hate seeing him look so lifeless; it brings back bad memories..." Of days spent in withdraw and anger. A different time, really. He felt like a different person now compared to then. "And there's so many people sick..."
"I know," she said softly, still understanding. Her fingers traced over the indentions in the writing. "But dwelling in it like this won't do anything to help them get better."
"I know." he echoed. And he did. He couldn't let his doubts or worries get ahead of him. If they did, then he would be accepting defeat—would mean that he was just going to let them die without doing anything. And he couldn't do that; he'd fight this disease until it took him as well if he must.
He wasn't going to let Jason die. There were things he had to do; he still owed him too much to let him go gently into the night.
"Don't worry. We'll find a way. There's always a way." There was a quiet confidence in her eyes, and he wished he knew how she was so sure about this. If he had half of her confidence, he didn't think he would doubt as much as he did. But he nodded, keeping silent, while worries plague him.
They worked together in tandem, the wax on the candle burning lower and lower as the night continued until it went out entirely. Annabeth shifted, and he stood up to rummage around in the cabinets for more candles, a striker, and flint to light them.
"It's strange." She stared at the dancing flame, her arm resting on the edge of the chair, hand draped carelessly over her book, fingers splayed across the pages. She scratched the back of her ear, eyebrows furrowing, and the light cast long shadows on her face. "Something about this plague is... strange." She wrinkled her nose in distaste and muttered something about repeating words, but it was too low for him to discern completely.
"Of course it's strange. It's an epidemic that's sweeping across the country and is taking gods only know how many lives." Sarcasm was his only defense at hiding how terrified of this unfightable enemy. All you needed to fight against the Gauls and Celts was a sword and the muscle between your eyes. This, however, came from the gods—not humans. You couldn't fight the gods' will. At least, not that he knew of.
She rolled her eyes, but her expression remained serious. "It's not just that. What I understand of epidemics, there's usually a sign that there could be one; sometimes, you can catch it before it breaks out. But this is... this was sudden. It's not a time of war and Winter hasn't arrived yet."
"Sudden?"
"Yes, like the gods snapped their fingers and created it into existence. Like day turning into night."
Something inside of Percy latched onto that phrase, almost. His mind stuttered to a halt. There was something there, something, something— he didn't know— he had to hear that again— "Repeat that," he commanded slowly. Annabeth blinked.
"The gods created this plague into existence?" she repeated, a little hesitantly. "Percy, if you're thinking about marching up Mount Olympus to knock on the doors of the gods, it's not going to work."
"No, no. I'm not stupid; Neptune hates me." He shook his head. "The other part. About the day."
"What, the day turning into the night? Neptune doesn't even stay up in Olympus except at the Solstices; it's usually Jupiter and Juno, and Hestia, who keeps the hearth going. Why would Neptune hate a mortal like you?"
Why would he indeed? Neptune was a god, he didn't have time to hate have mere mortals like him. Unless he had a direct connection... but how? Why? His great-uncle, Julius Caesar, was a son of Jupiter, yes, but Percy didn't think Neptune would pay attention to him that much...
Unless...
...His mater was from Greece... and he had an affinity for water—oh, gods... but she had married his pater when she was young, when she was thirteen or fourteen. Maybe. She'd had him when she was sixteen or seventeen; he was pretty sure she had a miscarriage somewhere in there... and his pater had had wives before his mother, and they had children—perhaps he was related to Neptune somewhere after all?
(Now that he thought about it, hadn't his pater been orphaned?)
((No, no—He had to switch to a different train of thought. He would drive himself insane over this.))
... Neptune.
Gods...
Like the day turning into the night... night turning into day... Day turning into night. Day turning into night. Gods... Neptune... Nox... Where had he heard of her?
(His brain kicked into gear, clogs whirling too quickly for him to keep up with it, his thoughts kept tripping over each other—)
Nox, Nox, Nox. I know I've heard of her. Where from? Gods—
Gods.
Gods?
He suddenly remembered that stained glass in the bibliotheca, the public one—of the man and woman intertwined.
Violet eyes.
What human has violet eyes?
"...Annabeth," he said slowly, her eyes were wide, and he probably looked half mad. "What does nox mean in Greek?"
"It's not Greek," she said slowly. "It's Latin."
"I mean – what's the translation of it." Because this was important, there was something inside of him telling him this was important. He used to scoff at funny feelings because they weren't scientific, when he was young and arrogant, but as he grew older, he couldn't deny that there was some kind of sixth sense in humans that they were gifted with, to tell when something was off, like how Jason always knew someone was telling a lie or how Reyna always knew bloodlust was in the air.
(He didn't have feelings like those.)
((Except he did; he had known tragedy was going to strike before his mater dried and Rachel had been murdered. His mater had drowned when the sea had reached up and grabbed her with its icy tendrils according to the guards that escaped. He had found Rachel with that gods-damned dagger in her chest.))
Annabeth hesitated.
(((This feeling was the same as it had been both of those nights. He'd been feeling this feeling since Jason had collapsed. He just hadn't been able to put his finger on it until now.)))
"Annabeth?"
The blood drained from her pace, leaving it pale and waxy.
"... It's Nyx."
(This sixth sense only came when the gods were afoot.)
That man and that woman had been clothed in shadows. Night. Shadows. Night, night... Nyx... darkness... gods...
"Oh, gods," he breathed, his chest tight.
"Percy?" Annabeth sounded scared. He stood up, knocking his chair over, and bolted for the section on the gods and goddesses the Pontifex Maximus had the priests keep stocked in the library, so not to risk the wrath of the gods—knowledge was supposed to be free, after all.
(It was generally frowned upon for an Heir Apparent to run except in times of crisis. This felt like a crisis.)
Gods, gods, gods and goddesses...
"Night," he rasped, half to himself. He yanked down the giant tome, the reference book on the gods themselves (if you could call it that), fumbling with it because his elbows were trembling—Why in Jupiter's name were his elbows trembling?
"What is it?" Annabeth had materialized by his side, warm and solid and brave and terrified all at once. "Percy, what is going on? What's happening? What did you find out?"
"Hunch," he rasped, throat raw, as he flipped through the pages. "I don't know... I have a feeling..."
"A feeling? Hunch?"
"My pater... I think he has a lover... her name is Nox, so she said, but..." He shook his head and met her eyes square on. "You can always know if someone is a demigod by their eyes. They're different from us mortals', Annabeth. Nox... Her eyes weren't human. Not completely."
He didn't think he had to look at this book to confirm his theory.
Lightning flashed and thunder boomed—Jupiter was angry this night. The wind howled and the candles made the shadows twist into something monstrous.
"That's how you knew my mother was Athena."
He nodded. "I always know, Annabeth. I have funny feelings, suspicions... I dreamt of you before I met you."
(He'd forgotten about that until recently.)
"Like an oracle of Delphi..." she breathed, awed. "You could have been an oracle?"
He didn't answer her, too focused on his own questions. Night, night, night. Night and darkness. What in Tartarus am I missing? There's something here, something important –
Blood seals. Poseidon . . . death chains . . . primordial sea god – There was something missing. There was a link between this.
"They're all tied together," he muttered under his breath, to himself. His mind was whirling at a thousand heartbeats and he could barely keep up with it now. His thoughts were spiraling out of control and he could barely keep the ends separate. They connected over and over in a circle, in an eternal cycle, like an Ouroborus. "What do you know about the gods?" Because she would know better than anyone else what they were capable of. He suspected that she was more involved with them than she told him of her own initiative, and he never asked or pressed for details before.
"... I think they can change into any person at will." He tasted something sour on his tongue as he looked at her. She paled abruptly. "Oh, gods. Eris ... golden apple ... and Troy and – Oh, my gods – Piper."
Annabeth lunged for a spare pierce of parchment paper, dipped her quill into ink, and began scratching sloppy, frantic, Roman letters onto her paper, her eyes wide. And he continued to flip through the pages desperately, feeling like he'd been possessed by a bout of sudden madness. Night, dark, night, dark, night, dark – There's something here. I'm missing something.
Night, night, night . . .
Something older than the gods... like Khaos ...
Khaos.
(Those dreams suddenly made a little more sense to him, had Khaos been talking to him? Was he been warning me?)
Khaos was a primordial god.
Primordial gods, primordial gods. . .
Protogenoi.
Protogenoi!
"Protogenoi!" He breathed. He tore through about fifty pages at once, looking for that section.
THE PROTOGENOI.
"Percy?" Annabeth sounded frightened, pulling away from her paper. "Percy, we have a problem."
"I know," he ran his finger over the words, ignoring the long-winded paragraphs that explained absolutely nothing and everything at once. It wouldn't surprise him that she had connected the pieces of the puzzle already; she was smarter than him in that way.
Anace, necessity . . . no . . . Erebos, darkness . . .
Nox. Night.
He cursed, not entirely aware of it. His pater's mistress was a goddess. Gods above, of all the bullheaded, stupidest—did his pater even know? Of course he did, his pater never missed a thing— and everyone knew you couldn't trust the gods!
"What are they planning to do with my country?" he snarled. This time, he was trembling from fury instead of fear. Connections formed in his head. This plague was too sudden, unnatural. Perhaps he had missed something—No, he knew he had missed something. "Is there a god or goddess of poison or disease or something?"
"Apollo heals diseases and poisons? But I don't think he's behind this; gods tend to reflect their natures and, even though he's an idiot, he's too loyal to Jupiter and Diana to turn his back on them."
"They're doing something..."
"I know, but what is it?!" Annabeth sounded anguished as she stood up abruptly and stomped across the room, tugging down more books. Percy ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends of it.
Lightning flashed, and the shadows looked sinister. His heart jumped as thunder boomed, and...
The shadows... were they ... moving?
"Annabeth..." he said slowly, suddenly more scared than angry. She whirled around, books in her arms, and he pointed at the writhing mass of darkness. He stood, and the second chair clattered against the ground. That wasn't normal for shadows. They should be still. They shouldn't move like that. "Do you see what I see?"
Her books slipped out of her arms, which was how Percy knew something was wrong. Suddenly, the shadows formed, and he saw a face in them – eyes and a grin with nothing but teeth, and the shadows changed into tentacles heading ...
Directly ...
At...
"ANNABETH!" He screamed as he realized:
a) She was closer to the shadow
b) The shadow was going to stab her
He ran – or flew, or something, he'd never moved so fast in his life – pushing her out of the way, his mind screaming at him to save her. He had to get her out of the way. She couldn't – oh gods, Annabeth. And the shadow descended upon him too fast and...
The shadows descended, swallowing him whole. A wind came out of nowhere, snuffing the lights out. Pain exploded in him, everywhere, building and burning and it was filling him from the inside out and oh, gods it hurts it burns make it stop it hurts stopit stopstopstop and he didn't know how to describe it.
And then there was white.
___________________________
"Hello, Perseus."
Percy didn't awaken with a jolt, but he didn't keep his eyes close for a long time either after he became aware of what was going on around him. No, he only opened his eyes and took in his surroundings as his pater had taught him, and then later Jason had drilled into him.
His mind felt discombobulated and jumbled as he looked around this clearing of nothing but green grass and blue skies. A part of him recognized the woman standing in front of him, and he sat up straight, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, somehow knowing that his mortal eyes were not meant to behold her. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders as her white gown swept against the ground.
"Are you... are you Juno?" A nod was his answer when she lifted his chin up so that he had to look at her. He'd never stood in the presence of an Olympian before, and it made him uneasy. No mortal should know the face of an Olympian. (So why did he recognize her?) She was here, standing in front of him, omnipotent, and she didn't seem like she was going to smite him for his arrogance, so he figured it was safe to ask. "What happened, my lady?"
Juno's face was as hard and as unreadable as stone. She gestured for him to walk beside her, and, swallowing, he stood and moved so that he was walking a half-step behind her, all too aware that he was a mortal. Not a demigod, or a faun, or even a nymph. A distant part of him thought that he was dreaming, but this place felt too real to be a dream.
Eventually, and it could have been a heartbeat or an eternity later, she spoke, her voice level though he knew better than to push her patience.
"You stumbled upon Nox's plan. She got worried and had E—" Her face twisted, as if she were in pain. Before he could do anything though, her expression cleared, and she huffed, suddenly looking remarkably human. So strange... "Her grip is strong, even in this place between Earth and the Underworld."
How could someone be stronger than an Olympian?
"Is she.... Did something happen to the Olympians?" He wasn't exactly sure how he jumped to that conclusion, or why his brain-to-mouth filter decided to stop working in the presence of an Olympian for that matter, but it seemed correct answer, and he was sure that it was, even though he didn't know why. The lines around Juno's eyes tightened and he hoped that she didn't decide to smite him for his impudence.
"Somnus and Achlys have betrayed us, casting their lot with the Protogenoi by somehow binding us to Olympus on the Summer Solstice." So, that was why the gods hadn't been answering their prayers. It didn't explain how he was talking to her now, of course... "One of Nox's servants detached your soul from your body, which is why we are able to converge here."
That didn't sound pleasant. In fact, it sounded like might cause permanent damage. He wasn't sure if the idea that she was reading his mind sounded even more unpleasant. "... So, we're both basically dead?"
Juno gave him a strange look, as if he had suddenly became someone else in front of her eyes, but she shook her head. "Not yet. He was not aiming for your life force, therefore you did not receive the full curse. If you choose, you may go back."
He? So, that thing was a he?
"They're planning to do something with my country. There's a plague taking hundreds of lives, but it came so suddenly. That's what made me realize something was going on, then Annabeth and I connected the pieces... though there's something still missing."
"I only know as much as you, if not less."
If he treated her like he talked to his pater, he might be able to get out of this alive. In fact, she might be a little easier to talk to even though she was an Olympian, she he wasn't related to her. Not really, at least. They were both as blind as each other, but he didn't intend to be led by someone as blind as he was. Even if she was a goddess and could boil his insides if she chose. Maybe he should continue on pretending like he was listening to her and then go back to doing his own thing?
He looked up at the cloudless, sunless, blinding blue sky. "Rome is connected to her plan, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"My people will be hurt."
"Whatever Nox has planned is nefarious for whomever is at the receiving end of it. She betrayed her father, Khaos, once to help the titans overthrow him."
"Then I must leave." As if there was any doubt. There was no way he wanted to stay here with her.
"If you go back, you will face misery."
He turned and faced Juno directly. "Nox is planning to do something with my people. I have to find a way to stop her." he stated calmly, addressing her like an equal, pushing the fact that he was talking to the queen of the gods to the back of his head. Who could cut his tongue out of his mouth if she wanted. She could a lot of things that could cause him harm if she so chose. "If I turn my back on my people, I will have no peace. I'd rather face a life of misery than an eternity of torment."
Juno studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You are an unorthodox hero," she said, almost like she was thinking out loud to herself. "Perhaps Rome has a chance to survive the upcoming storm, with a mind like yours."
"Hero?" He frowned. He never wanted to be a hero. Heroes were the ones who were killed, and he had no intention of dying anytime soon. He had a country he intended to rule one day, and heroics were not part of ruling a country. "I'm not a hero. All I care for is my wife, my family, and my people."
People like Jason and Annabeth were heroes. They were brutally honest, brave, and compassionate. You could trust people like them. He was the opposite of that. Yes, he knew he cared for his people, but he would run away so that he might live another day to fight before he would charge into a hopeless battle. He would lie to protect someone he cared for. There were too many blemishes on his past and he wanted to live more than anything else; that was the only thing he wanted.
He was loyal, but loyalty could be cruel.
She smiled at him, but it was a cold, almost cruel, smile. "We shall see."
It infuriated him, how the gods played with the strings of mortal lives like they were mere puppets, manipulating them to do their bidding. But there was nothing he could do about it; they were the gods and humans were nothing more than mere ants in their eyes. It was as simple a fact as the sky was blue: you couldn't fight against the will of the gods, and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. All you could do was to go along with what they commanded you to do and hope they didn't destroy everything you held dear in a fit of rage because you weren't perfect. Because they didn't account for human fallibility.
And hope you recognized yourself in the end.
When he blinked, she and the clearing were gone, leaving nothing but darkness to stare at. At first, he didn't recognize what he was lying on top of—at least, not until he realized he was staring at Annabeth's wide gray eyes.
___________________________
Every light must cast a shadow. To create darkness, you needed light. For there to be light, therefore, there must be darkness, and for there to be darkness, there must be light. If you didn't know what light was, then there could be no shadows, but if there were no shadows, then there could be no light. For every light you cast, there was a shadow attached to your heels.
It was a conundrum, how two opposite entities needed each other so that they could exist. Apparently. the gods took delight in creating paradoxes. To know joy, you must understand despair. To love, you must be selfish and unselfish. The moon took light from the sun so that it might shine in the night, but the sun took no light from the moon. If you looked, you could find so many symbiotic relationships within the tiny hemisphere that humans lived in.
With this logic in mind, Annabeth lunged for the candle that Percy had lit earlier, swerving around fallen chairs and that shadowy, monstrous thing that would haunt her dreams for months to come. She couldn't fight shadows with her saber or a knife or words, so she would have to take away the light. The shadows reached for her, writhing and twisting into knives as they tried to stop her from blowing out the candle. Another tentacle reached forward, and she realized that it was going to knock the candle over so that the books would catch on fire.
Oh, no you don't. She wouldn't be able to take out the light to defeat this shadow thing if the bibliotheca caught on fire, casting more shadows about the room. So, miraculously, she managed to swipe the candle at the last second by lunging for it and extinguished the flame, blowing it out. The second one had been snuffed out already in the chaos of the fight and Percy's revelation, so she was left with total darkness. Not even the moon or the stars were out that night, and all she could hear was herself gasping.
Percy!
Scrambling and cursing as she stumbled over books and chairs and as she bumped into tables and shelves, Annabeth nearly tripped over Percy's prone body, though she managed to stop herself when she felt his arm against her foot. Terror and adrenaline thrummed through her veins, warming them, and she was trembling so hard she fell to her knees beside him.
"Percy?" she asked, pressing her hand against his still chest. Her eyes were hot and they were beginning to prickle as she bent over him, pressing her ear against his chest, but she couldn't hear anything other than the blood that was rushing between her ears. Her heart was racing and she held her breath, trying to listen because she couldn't lose him. It wasn't his time yet; he still a country to rule. She still didn't feel like she knew him very well—They were supposed to have their entire lives ahead of them!
But then he jolted awake with a cry, and she yelped when their heads collided, instinctively moving her hand to cradle her temple.
"Annabeth?" He sounded confused, and she reached out to touch him with her free hand, just to make sure this wasn't a nightmare, that he was real. "I don't understand, what happened?"
"Thank the gods you're alive," she responded automatically, not ready to answer his question because she didn't understand what happened. His hand trailed up her arm, over her wrists, elbows, biceps and shoulders, and she felt his thumb ghost against her chin and over her lips and nose, as if he was reassuring himself she was still here. "I don't know what happened. There was this shadowy thing, and then you leapt in front of it, of all the hare-brained, half-schemed things you could have done."
Her voice hitched and cracked to her mortification. His palm cupped her cheek and she exhaled shakily, trying to calm herself down. Her head ached, the shadows had somehow become tangible and had tried to kill her when she had spent her whole life scoffing at the idea of monsters living under her bed when there were monsters hidden in humans, but she was still alive, and he was still here. "I'm very angry with you right now."
"I know. I'm sorry for scaring you." His voice was warm, and her shoulders slumped as some of the tension drained from her. "Is it still here?"
"I don't know. I blew out the candles." She didn't have to ask him to clarify what he meant. She had a feeling that she would be having nightmares about that thing for months. Shadows became tangible and could hurt people. Perhaps children could sense that thing when they were young, and that was why they feared the dark until they could rationalize it when they were old enough to. "Can we get out of here? This place is giving me the creeps."
He hesitated. "The books though..."
She shook her head. "Leave them there. We can get them later. After the sun is in the sky and there's somebody else here." She didn't want to stay in this place longer than she had to. Normally, she didn't like leaving messes for other people to clean up, and she definitely didn't like leaving books strewn across the floor, probably damaging the binding, but this wasn't a normal situation at all.
"Okay." He stood, his hand trailed down her neck and her arm until he grabbed her hand, which made goosebumps erupt on her flesh. She wasn't sure if he was holding onto her because he was more nervous than he appeared or if he just didn't want to lose her in the darkness. It probably didn't matter. He seemed distracted, as if he was thinking about something very hard, and she let him lead her through the too still night back to their chambers.
"Are you okay?" she asked, hesitant, after she closed the door behind them with a soft click. The darkness in here didn't feel as oppressing as it had in the corridors or as dangerous as it had in the bibliotheca, so she felt safer asking him that. She tugged on his wrist, to turn him around, and she captured his second hand so that he couldn't move away. A sliver of light trickled in so that she could see his green eyes and his shadowed expression. "You're not injured, are you?"
"I... I think I spoke to Juno."
"Juno? Juno? As in the queen of the gods Juno? Hera's Roman counterpart?"
"Yes." She fell silent, knowing that they would go off on a tangent if she continued asking questions and she wouldn't remember the original reason why she was worried about him. He was quieter and she was more frantic than usual. "She said that the gods were somehow poisoned by Nox. The only reason why she was able to talk to me was because my soul had dislodged from my body." He made a face, and she didn't like the idea that his soul had been removed from his body. At all.
"Oh." She was feeling very articulate today. "That's bad."
He snorted. And then he started laughing until he was laughing so hard he was nearly doubled over. Hysteria made his laughter sharp as she found herself joining in with him, not because it was funny but she felt like she might start crying if she didn't laugh. Eventually, though, she had to stop, and she let out a heavy sigh as she slid to the floor, her knees giving out on her.
"I'm not injured," he said softly, falling with her. She met his eyes again, shining in the darkness, and she reached up with a trembling hand to place it over his nose and mouth, feeling the way his breath warmed against her palm. He pulled her close to him, folding his arms around her back and waist, and she exhaled.
She felt like they had both narrowly escaped the clutches of death. A part of her was almost unsettlingly aware of how her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she was half afraid it might burst in the silence. The other part was fixed on how warm he felt against her, and how she could feel his heartbeat underneath her hand, telling her that he was still alive too. Something inside of her was shifting, now that she wasn't so focused on the terror, and she tried to pull away before she could start acting on impulses that she shouldn't, but his arms tightened around her.
"Percy..." she grumbled, and rested her forehead against his collarbone, suddenly wishing that he wasn't untouchable to her right now. All she wanted was to feel his flesh against hers to reassure herself he was still alive. Again. "You're an attractive man and I'm pressed against you. I won't hold myself accountable for my actions if you don't let me go."
He didn't release her, and she sighed. He ran hot and then he ran cold, sometimes welcoming her advances and other times rejecting them. She understood where he was coming from, she felt it herself and he had held himself off, but it was beginning to unravel her, trying to figure out what mood he was in.
She wasn't patient like he was, and they both knew it.
"Please," she whispered, closing her eyes, suddenly feeling raw and open and maybe a little mutinous, not entirely sure what she was talking about. "I can't do this much longer..."
She felt him swallow, and his arms relaxed, but he didn't drop them from her shoulders. Time passed, and it felt like an eternity, and he sounded nervous as he whispered into her ear, "I don't think I can either."
It took her a moment to understand what he meant, and then another to make sure that she was translating that properly. She pulled her head up and stared at him, and now she was the one hesitating. "Are you sure?" she asked. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Piper's yelled at her for questioning his sudden change of heart, but she felt obliged to push it to back of her head and ignore it like he had done for her. "It might just be the heat of the moment... I don't want to do anything we might regret later."
He blinked at her, his eyes widening slightly in a way that was, of all things, adorable on his face. (Adorable wasn't a word she had thought she would associate with him, ever. Gorgeous, attractive, annoying, yes. Adorable? No.) She suddenly realized that she had echoed what he had told her when he arrived after she thought he had almost died a couple of months ago. She'd been a little annoyed with him then too.
Then his expression softened. "I'm an idiot," he said, and she certainly agreed with that statement. "Yes, I'm sure. I don't want to wait anymore."
A paradigm shifted, and the walls she hadn't realized had been erected because they had been built slowly over time so that she would never notice them came crashing down to the ground. Hesitantly, she reached up and pressed her hand against the nape of his neck, biting her lip. He ducked down, and he was moving too slowly, so she pulled his head over and pressed her lips against his.
Slowly, almost tentatively, his hand fell from her back to her waist and he pulled her flush against him as his lips trailed down her jaw and the side of her neck when she tilted her head to the side. He was treating her like she was as fragile as porcelain, but she didn't feel offended. She could sense the tender, loving care in his trembling hands as his thumb rose up and down her side, and it made her feel like a priceless treasure. His hand tangled in her hair, and she felt bobby pins fall from her scalp and as her hair trailed down her back, never to be found again.
She pulled herself closer to him and straddled his hips with her thighs, aware of his body and her own as his hand trailed higher slowly, up along her ribcage, before it fell again. He pulled away from her shoulder and blinked at her.
She almost lost him again today. There were so many unknowns in life, so many variables; one day, they might be here, and then the next, either of them could be gone. What was thirty or forty years in the eyes of a god who had already lived for several millennia? Nothing. Life was short and fragile, they were mortal, and that was why it was so precious. They burned as bright as wildfires because it was so short.
You couldn't live if you didn't take any risks. Sometimes, the only way you could learn to love somebody was to fall with them so that you could selfishly save each other before you hit the ground.
That was what she wanted, most of all. She didn't want to live a half life; she wanted to experience it fully with all of its colors. She wanted to view the world like a rainbow, not in monochromes. She wanted her eyes wide open, not closed and blinded.
"Me either," she whispered, heart pounding as she felt his breath fan against her face and warmth pool between them. The air between them shifted again, and she wasn't sure which one of them it was who moved first, but her arms had suddenly wrapped around his neck and her legs had wrapped around his waist when he stood and fell back against the door. He was kissing her like he had been drowning and she was the air he needed to breathe, his hands burning through the folds of her clothes as he gripped her thighs. Her hands withdrew from his neck to his shoulders, because as romantic as holding onto him like that was, she didn't want to fall over.
When his head tilted back, she dove in for the opportunity he presented her, feeling how fragile the bones in his neck were underneath her lips. He was powerless in this position, unable to do anything if she decided to harm him, just as she was if he decided to harm her too. Something possessed her to pull away, and she drank in the sight of his half-lidded green eyes staring at her with this emotion in his eyes that she couldn't name. Something open and soft and raw and full, and there was something like hesitation in them mixed with a certain surety.
Perhaps he felt just as vulnerable as she did.
(She fell in love the way you would fall asleep: Slowly, and then all at once.)
((pop in a puzzle piece))
He carried her across the threshold of their room, careful not to trip or stumble, and she kept her arms wrapped around his neck, trailing kisses over his jaw and neck and collarbone. Time blurred, and at some point, she fell onto the mattress, tugging him down with her as they both laughed and clothes came off slowly. Her hands trailed over his body in tentative exploration (His wonderful, wonderful body; another blessing the gods gifted her with, or him. Probably her more than him since he didn't seem to notice much. For as arrogant as he could sometimes be, he wasn't vain.), memorizing as much as she could. His hands were trembling as he wrapped his fingers around the knot of her chiton as he looked at her imploringly ("May I?"), and, though she hesitated for a more than a heartbeat and he had started to pull away with a look of understanding in his eyes, she nodded and closed her hands over his ("Of course.").
There was an infinite set of numbers between zero and one such as point one and point twelve and point one-hundred and twelve and an infinite collection of other numbers. Of course, there was a bigger set of infinite numbers between zero and two or between zero and a million. It had taken her a long time to understand, because she had felt like they were invincible because they were young and healthy, but all their days on earth were numbered. They were mortal, they could die today, or tomorrow, or in ten years from now. Simply put, some infinities were bigger than other infinities. Every day had to be cherished like it was their last.
He had given her a forever in their numbered days and she was grateful.
((out goes another))
________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Much of my internal dialogue for this chapter: "Why, hello there, Grover. I totally didn't forget about you for the last 35+ chapters. No waaaay, I'd never." / "Who is the strange lady-friend of Octavius and what is she doing there?" / "Hello, Hera. I didn't want you back, I hate you very much even though you're a fictional character. Wait, no Percy, don't tick her off—Bad Percy! Very bad Percy!" / "But it only took them 40 chapters and 150K+ words to get their acts together and jump each other. I mean, there is a method for my madness... even if I don't understand it myself half the time, but IT'S THERE. SOMEWHERE. Though I very much like the imagery with light at the beginning, mwahahahah. (Also, welcome back sassy!Percy. We've missed you very much.)"
Okay, no more sarcasm—My sister's been rubbing off on me, apparently. This chapter is a whopping 9K+ words, which is about twice as long as my usual length, and it took twice the amount of effort to write. I meant to upload this on Christmas, but the final scene wasn't coming along because I kept deleting bits and pieces of it from fits of embarrassment (or just glaring at a screen full of words, having no idea where to go with the next sentence), so I gave up trying to write it... or, well, revising it.
I might put up the first draft of that scene on Whimsical Wanderings later if there's more than ten people asking for it. (*hint hint* You can use the review/comment function to politely demand for the terrible rough draft. The people on there are wonderful and if you're a budding writer or graphic designer— there's a lot of really helpful challenges to get you to start practicing if you don't know where to begin. Doesn't matter which fandom you're involved with or if you just write originals! *hint hint*) I probably can't write smut unless I'm sleep deprived and I'm in a strange mood. Otherwise it's not happening, lol.
Also, the overabundance of parenthesis in that scene in the middle of this chapter? Very deliberate. Percy's thoughts were spilling over and I decided to break the rules of writing for my mental sanity.
I wonder if anybody's caught the bits and pieces of philosophy/irony I've inserted in here...? Has anybody else ever wondered about stuff just in general, like where you came from, what you believe in, what you want for your life, etc.? I think I'm in a phase, it's coming into my writing very strongly between the original I want to publish and this.
Okay, I'm done talking. Tell me what you all think about this! I want to hear all your ideas and thoughts. Or, you know, you can just tell me random things. My sister was detailing to me about her adventures with Sir McFluffins the Giant Stuffed Bear and the Really Awesome Harry Potter Backpack I got her for Christmas last Wednesday, so I'm used to random. :)
Shoutout to @MeridaHaddock2, who has been so supportive of this. :)
TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED FOR ME ON THE PJO WATTY AWARDS EVENT THIS YEAR, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I got first place in the Ancient Times winner, 2nd in favorite pairing, and 3rd in favorite title and cover and I wouldn't be able to do it without you. =D *high fives*
Happy New Year!
- Kitty
P.S. I have absolutely no regrets about stealing those final paragraphs from TFIOS. I love the concept of that kind of infinity.