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Chapter Text

Percy could tell he was traveling fast, but couldn’t control the direction or speed of the water. He could still breathe, thank the gods, but he was hurling through the waters at speeds he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. 

I’m alright, he told himself. I’m alright, I just need to focus.

Panic was already welling up inside him. This water was not at his command and he felt confined, trapped. He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the rushing currents. He imagined breaking the surface and breathing in the fresh air. He could hear voices speaking ancient Greek and willed himself towards them. Family, he thought. Who else could it be?

Finally he could see the rays of the sun above him and he reached towards the surface pulling himself up by the rocky shore edge. He heard his father’s voice, thick with irritation and disbelief. Pushing the wet hair out of his eyes Percy took in the scene. His father and a goddess stood 15 feet tall over a crowd of bowing mortals in various tunics and chitons. He pulled himself out on the pond edge. No, a fountain edge. It was the very fountain he fell into back in his father’s palace.

Percy had experienced the past before in his dreams, but he never felt so physical before. He could feel the sun on his skin, the rough stone edge of the fountain and unbelievably fresh air in his lungs. He knew instinctively this wasn’t a dream, he was really here. But he had no idea of knowing how and a dream was the most comforting explanation. Still he wanted to test it…

“Father,” he called out to Poseidon.

To his dismay, his father, the goddess Athena, and the entire crowd of mortals turned to face him. They all wore unreadable expressions. He looks to his father whose frown deepened as he summoned his triton and pointed it at Percy, his eyes cold.

“Who dares,” Poseidon’s voice was rough like gravel on the shore, grating in Percy’s ears. “Defile my gift.”

Percy gaped at him realizing the god did not know him. He was so thrown by the concept of his father aiming a weapon at him he couldn’t speak. He looked helplessly at Athena who stared at him with barely concealed horror. 

“Father,” Percy’s voice barely came out as a whisper, he could feel himself shrinking back from him. “It’s me.”

Poseidon continued advancing, scowling at him until Athena called out.

“Uncle, wait!”

She appeared directly in front of the fountain towering over Percy as Poseidon watched warily from behind her. Her gray eyes were more vibrant than Percy remembered. Her similarly colored dress moved unnaturally as she bent into a delicate squat and reached out a hand to Percy tentatively. She wore such a peculiar expression on her face, but Percy could tell she wasn’t happy. 

He froze, afraid to make any sudden moves. He was dimly aware of the growing crowd of mortals and it was obvious the gods had no issue displaying their powers in front of mortals. Athena’s hand stops just short of him and she pulls back with a grim expression.

“Uncle,” she says quietly. “I believe this child is yours.”

Poseidon blinked confused and looked at Percy again, disgusted. Percy almost buckles under the gaze.

“Athena… surely not?”

“I-,” Athena bit her lip still looking at Percy like he was her worst nightmare come true. “I’m not sure…”

Suddenly the sun grew brighter and hotter and the mortals cried out as a beam of light appeared above the fountain. Percy moved to shield his eyes, but Athena already blocked him from the god’s arrival, rolling her eyes. The light faded leaving Apollo in its place lounging at the top of the fountain. His hair was pulled up into a perfect ponytail and he wore nothing, but a long piece of cloth draped across his shoulders.

“Father would like a word,” he grinned viciously at Athena, twirling an arrow in his hand. “With you, your lover and your child surprise.”

Athena and Poseidon turned red at this sputtering in protest. Percy turned to face Apollo who looked down at him with glee before his face fell into something unreadable. Percy glared at him.

“I’m not a child of Athena,” he said in ancient greek. “Poseidon is my father.”

Percy could literally feel Athena’s exhaling breath on his back. A slow lazy smile spreads across Apollo’s face and he looks Percy up and down leisurely. 

“Now I see you that much is true,” Apollo hummed leaning down. “I doubt such a pretty thing like you could come from a union between these two.”

Percy was suddenly aware of the transparency of his seafoam chiton. Amphitrite had a bunch made for him after getting tired of helping him untangle himself from flowing fabrics. The important bits were covered, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Apollo could still see right through it. Suddenly he felt his father’s presence behind him.

“Who is your mother child?” 

Percy turned to face his father except the same wrathful god he faced moments ago, but he was calm now looking at Percy with a familiar twinkle in his eye. He was younger than Percy remembered him, with thick shoulder length hair and a beard. They always shared a strong resemblance, but now Percy could imagine people mistaking them for brothers. 

“I don’t have one,” Percy lied. It was easier than explaining the truth, especially since he had no idea how he ended up here and couldn’t actually produce said mother if asked. 

Poseidon beamed and barked a loud laugh. “No wonder you take so much after your father! Come out of the fountain child, you’ll need a name,” the god offered a giant hand to Percy.

“I have one,” Percy said, placing his hand on his father’s finger as he lifted him onto the fountain edge. “My name is Perseus.”

Apollo laughed and Poseidon wrinkled his nose. “I won’t have you share a name with a mortal, much less that child of Zeus. We’ll think of something else.”

“I am mortal, but you can call me Percy instead,” Percy offered.

The three gods stared at him. 

“You are godborn. You are not mortal,” Poseidon explains simply. “Maybe a bit small, but I suppose you’ll grow in the coming weeks.”

“Uh uncle,” Apollo said, splashing down into the fountain and approaching them. He peered down at Percy curiously. “I think he’s right. He is mortal.”

Poseidon frowned and a slice of water reached up and cut Percy’s arm. Red blood trickled into the water. Athena approached again at a more comprehensible height and took Percy’s arm in her hand.

“Fascinating,” she muttered.

Suddenly the sky darkened and thunder rang from above. Percy and the gods looked up warily. He faintly registered a flap of wings and gust of wind before another familiar voice rang out.

“Apollo you were meant to deliver a message not sit around and gossip,” Hermes rolled his eyes walking towards the fountain. The mortals wisely had already begun dispersing, but started moving quickly at the arrival of a fourth Olympian. “The rest of us want to see the little monstrosity too...”

Hermes' words caught as he made eye contact with Percy then saw the red blood dripping down his arm. He looked at Poseidon and Athena incredulously.

“This can’t be the child,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“He is Poseidon’s child not mine,” Athena huffed, dropping Percy’s arm.

“Who is his mother?” Hermes asked, looking Percy up and down.

“He says he does not have one,” Poseidon replied, still eyeing Percy’s blood warily. “He is of the sea and I will take him to my realm so he can finish growing.”

Thunder rumbled again and lightning struck the earth. Lord Zeus emerged from the debris, electricity sparking off him as he marched towards them. Poseidon stood keeping Percy behind him as he turned to face his brother. The winds picked up, heavy with the scent of electricity and the sea. Percy felt a warm hand on his shoulder and turned to see Apollo smiling encouragingly at him, he almost looked like the Apollo he knew. Brace yourself, Apollo mouthed as the King of Gods confronted his brother.  

Chapter Text

“Poseidon,” Zeus rumbled, stepping into the now empty town center.

“Brother,” Poseidon responded coolly. “Have you come to congratulate me on the birth of my new child?” 

Zeus sneered and thunder broke in the skies above them. “You think I’d approve of this trickery.” 

He fixed his gaze on Athena. “How could you be so foolish?”

Athena tilted her chin up. “I couldn’t. This child is purely of the sea.”

“The child has no mother?” Zeus asked.

“No,” Poseidon smiled, twirling his triton. “Just like Athena,” he laughed.

No one else did.

“Let me see the boy,” Zeus demanded.

Poseidon hesitated. 

“Father,” Athena begins tentatively. “There’s something… wrong with the boy.”

“How so?” Zeus said impatiently as Poseidon glared at Athena.

“He appears to be mortal. He has no ichor,” she says.

Zeus turns to Poseidon standing defensively in front of the fountain. The brothers hold each other's gaze for a beat before Poseidon relents and steps aside as Zeus steps forward. Apollo gives Percy’s shoulder a squeeze before stepping back as well, taking a seat on the fountain edge. Zeus towers over Percy eyeing the blood on his arm, the cut already healed from the water.

He turns to his brother. “Even if it weren’t for the blood I’d say this child is too pretty to not have a mother. Who is she?”

Poseidon rolls his eyes at the jab. “He has no mother. He appeared in the fountain after the contest for the city.”

“What was decided?” Zeus asks, still looking at Percy.

“I will be patron to the city of Athens,” Athena smiled.

Zeus smiled back. “A wise decision indeed.”

Poseidon scowled. “Those fools care more about food than a proper divine gift. I should teach them a lesson.”

Zeus chuckled. “Those fools are now the mortals who reside over your very… vulnerable son’s birthplace. Will you really slaughter them?”

Poseidon peered down at Percy who looked up at him helplessly. His gaze softened.

“No. He has not left his fountain yet,” Poseidon said gently pushing Percy back into the water. “This city could’ve been the birthplace of a god had the Athenians (derogatory) chosen wisely. They will never receive my blessings and that includes this child. I will bring him to Atlantis to grow.”

“I suppose the Athenians' decision could have had some influence on his birth,” Athena said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s better he lives among them until he has grown into his godhood… if he ever does.”

“He will,” Poseidon declares. “And he’ll be all the more likely to my realm. I will not leave him here. Much less among those idiots.”

“Where would you like to live, Perseus?” Apollo asked him, kicking his feet in the water.

Percy flushed under the sudden attention from all the gods. “With my father,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Apollo smiles brightly. “There’s plenty on the surface you’ve never experienced. Why don’t you stay a while and then make your de…” Apollo is cut off by Poseidon roughly dragging him out of the fountain.

“Cradle robber,” Hermes chuckles as Apollo hits the dirt.

“Perseus?” Zeus raises an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t have a name yet,” Poseidon snaps. “That’s the only one he knows.”

Zeus grins down at Percy. “So you named yourself after one of my son eh? How do you know that name?”

“It’s just the one I came with,” Percy sinks further in the water.

Zeus barks a laugh. “Very well Poseidon’s Perseus,” he leans down. “I look forward to seeing how you’ve grown by the Winter Solstice,” he gives Poseidon a pointed look.

Poseidon nods, frowning. “Time to go son. We’ll give you a proper name once you’ve settled in at home.” Poseidon seems to grow ever larger and scoops his hand into the dirt lifting the fountain with Percy in it. He nods to Zeus and makes his way into the ocean.

“Goodbye cousin,” Apollo calls. “I’ll show you around when you get back.”

Percy heard his father huff in agitation as they descended into the depths, the sun’s rays stretching through the water.

Chapter Text

“What did he look like?” Dionysus asked eagerly. The new god kept Hermes and Apollo’s cups full hoping to keep their tongues loose as he dug for information on Poseidon’s strange new child. They lounged in the soft grass clearing, trees covered in wild grape vines. Panthers stretched and yawned lazily around them.

“Ugh, gorgeous.” Apollo mused, strumming on his lyre. “Literally couldn’t have carved him from stone.”

Dionysus grinned. “Ah, so he wasn’t a little monster.”

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Apollo said, straightening up. “His beauty is divine .”

Hermes nodded. “I was shocked. I almost mistook him for a nymph when I saw him in the water.”

Dionysus raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? From our uncle.”

“Exclusively from our uncle,” Apollo grins mischievously.

“How do you mean?” Dioynsus asked.

“He’s not a child of Athena,” Hermes smiles.

Dioynsus frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Poseidon made his own child. Accidentally . The boy has no mother and was born as a young man.” Apollo said scandalously. 

“You lie,” Dioynsus grins, leaning in. “So now Athens is the birthplace of Poseidon’s new godling.”

Hermes popped a grape in his mouth. “Nope.”

Apollo lowers his voice to a fake whisper. “The mortals rejected Poseidon’s gift because they failed to recognize the divinity of it. The child was born bleeding red. Poseidon refused to let him leave the fountain and allow Athens to claim his birthplace.”

Dioynsus stared. “Mortal?”

“Yep,” Hermes and Apollo nodded.

“He only shares parentage with Poseidon?”

“Yep,” Hermes and Apollo nodded.

“But was born mortal because the mortals rejected him.”

“Yep,” Hermes and Apollo nodded.

Dionysus sat back taking a sip of his wine then laughed. “The Fates are harsh. Imagine having to earn your godhood just because a bunch of mortals don’t like the taste of salt water.”

Hermes and Apollo joined in the laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. The Fates certainly were cruel, but at least they were funny.

“Do you think?” Hermes giggled. “That the mortals who drank from it will experience any effects.”

“Oh gods,” Apollo laughed. “I think one of the nobles had spat the water back in the fountain.”

“That’s probably the boy’s mother now!” Dioynsus chortled as the three gods descended into laughing fits.

“And get this,” Apollo wheezed. “Uncle asked him for his name and he said his name was Perseus .”

Hermes straightens up in an imitation of Poseidon. “Time to go son. We’ll give you a proper name once you’ve settled in at home.”

The gods gasped for breath as they descended into yet another laughing fit.

“You must think I’m fucking stupid,” Amphitrite crossed her arms glowering at her husband cradling the gift he had labored over for the new city to his chest. A demigod peered over the fountain edge at her. Now she knew why her husband was so focused on his gift to the mortals.

“My love,” Poseidon smiled uneasily. “It’s the truth…”

Amphitrite held up a hand in warning. The cheating was one thing, the lying another, but treating her as if she were an idiot?

“My Lord. Have some faith that your wife is not a fool,” she sneered at him. “Get that bastard out of my house. Now!”

Poseidon flinched holding the fountain closer to him. The demigod had wisely disappeared into its water. Honestly, was the contest for the city even a real thing? Or just part of this elaborate ruse to.. Oh she couldn’t even say it, it sounded so ridiculous. She could imagine the look on her sisters’ faces when she tells him Poseidon really returned to Atlantis with a mortal child and tried to convince her he created him without a mortal woman.

“Amphitrite,” Poseidon's voice was stern in the water. “Do not call my son a bastard.”

“Your mortal son is not welcome here,” she huffed.

Poseidon ran a hand through his hair. 

“Triton!” he called. Triton manifested next to his father warily, his eyes fixed on the fountain.

“Where would you like me to leave him father?” Triton asked politely.

“He stays with me. You will go to the surface and confirm the details of his birth for your mother. His birth was witnessed by nearly half the Olympic council as well as the entire city,” Poseidon said. “Myself, Zeus, Athena, Apollo and Hermes can all confirm his emergence from the fountain.”

Triton raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize the significance of the city was so great.”

“Bah,” Poseidon scowled. “The rest of the council came for the boy, not the contest. They suspected Athena was his mother.”

Triton’s face tightened with disgust. “Athena?”

“Yes,” Poseidon chuckled. “My brother was not pleased at that. But he came to see as you will to my dear wife that this child is purely of the sea. His mortality is… a defect. It will be corrected soon enough.”

“How can he be purely of the sea and mortal?” Amphitrite frowned. Poseidon seemed so sure that at least half the council would support his sole claim to the child. Why? It couldn’t possibly be true.

“Athena suspects the city’s rejection of the fountain had something to do with it,” Poseidon frowned, peering into the water where Percy sat submerged. He caught a glimpse of a sweet smile in the moving water and couldn’t help but smile affectionately back.

“What did Athena offer them?” Triton frowned.

Poseidon looked up at him deadpan. “A fruit that can be turned into soaps and oils.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Husband, of all the outlandish things you’ve said in the last ten minutes that is the most shocking,” Amphitrite laughed.

“It can’t be true,” Triton gaped.

Poseidon nodded grimly. “They couldn’t recognize the divinity of the gift and rejected it because they could not drink the salt water.”

Triton could not help the smile cracking the edge of his lip. “So now the goddess of wisdom is patron to a city of fools.”

A small giggle could be heard from inside the fountain and Poseidon caught the small look of curiosity from Amphitrite.

“Do you still need Triton to confirm the child’s birth or are you ready to meet our new son?” Poseidon cocked an eyebrow playfully.

Amphirite sighed looking at the fountain warily. Could she trust her husband? Probably not. But somehow this explanation made more sense than him lying about it. She held out her hand. Poseidon hesitated, still surprisingly protective of the fountain child. Finally he walked over and placed the fountain in her delicate hand. 

It fit easily in her palm. She could sense the young mortal in the water, his nervousness humming in the currents. He peered up at her from the fountain floor. Her husband’s bright eyes looked soft and gentle in his youthful face. He wore a seafoam chiton that looked shockingly similar to her fashion, as if inspired by them. He had all the strong handsome features of his father but as if sculpted by a gentler, firm hand. She could almost believe this child came from her and her husband. He offered a small shy smile and it was decided.

Amphitrite looked up at her husband and son who watched her with anticipation.

“Very well, I will claim him as my own,” she said gently scooping the boy out of the fountain. He clung gingerly to her fingers, already able to control the currents enough to keep himself upright. “What is his name?”

“Why don’t you name him dear?” Poseidon offered brightly, relief clear on his face. She handed the fountain to Triton.

“My name is Percy,” a small but clear voice demanded.

Amphitrite looked down at him pleasantly surprised. He looked up at her from the palm of her hand unfazed in the presence of gods. She smiled. This child was a godling, no mortal could fake such ease, especially not so quickly.

“Let your mother choose a better name for you son,” Poseidon was by her side looking slightly exasperated. 

“What’s wrong with Percy,” she asked defensively. The boy seemed attached to his birthname, and why shouldn’t he be?

Poseidon grimaced and lowered his voice to a whisper. “When he was born he told me his name was Perseus, you can understand why I can’t have that.”

Amphitrite rolled her eyes. He was right of course, the boy would need a different name so he may collect his own glory outside of another hero’s shadow. But looking at the sweet boy she couldn’t bear to think of him engaged in the sweating, hacking world of heroing. She remembered how changed her first son was after his years at Camp Fishblood. No, this one would be raised at her side.

“I understand but he will be a god eventually. No mortal namesake will overshadow that. Let him keep his birthname,” Amphitrite pleaded.

Poseidon frowned, clearly torn.

“Perhaps he can keep his birth name and still be given a proper name to be addressed by,” Triton said. “Is it not tradition for mortals to have two names?”

“Why do they have two? Are they afraid they’ll forget one?” Amphitrite scoffed

Poseidon chuckled. “It is a way for them to track their ancestry. The last name is typically the family name that all relatives share. The first is the one they are typically referred to as.”

“I suppose that is clever,” Amphitrite nodded. “But the family name should be first, no?”

“I suppose we will need a family name to give him,” Triton chuckled.

Amphitrite looked down again at the boy who watched them discuss him with a bemused look on his face. He was a beautiful child, which was unusual for her husband to manage despite his own good looks. He reminded her suddenly of her brother, a sore subject between her husband and her but something told her it felt right.

“I want to name him after Nerites,” she says.

Poseidon pauses. Triton peers curiously at his mother.

“Why?” Poseidon asks hesitantly.

“He reminds you of him, does he not?” she holds the child up slightly.

Poseidon smiled softly, old memories haunting his face. “Yes, he does.”

“We can name him Krites since he came from a fountain not the sea,” Triton offers.

Poseidon and Amphitrite look at each other and grin. The three gods turn their gaze to Percy who is unimpressed by the name change.

“Very well then,” Poseidon ruffles his hair with the tip of a finger. “Welcome home Krites.”

“Krites Perseus,” Amphitrite corrects.

“Bah, Krites is fine,” he waves off the offending name.

“Little brother,” Triton leans down to greet Krites, a genuine smile on his face. “Welcome to the family.”

Chapter Text

“Who is Nerites?” 

It felt like the safest question to ask without giving too much away. Not that Percy knew what was happening either. He tried to think back to the moment he fell in the fountain but it was blurry. No conflicting. Like he was shifting through possibilities rather than trying to recall a memory. A headache started in the back of his head and he dropped the issue before he had to explain to his immortal family why he was getting migraines at less than a day old.

Mom. Paul. Estelle. Annabeth

He repeated their names in his mind like a mantra, their faces flashing across his mind. He would not forget his family again. They would be his mortal anchor in this strange backwards world. He and Annabeth had long since broken up but he added her name for good luck. Invoking her image had carried him through the River Styx, his amnesia… Tartarus. She would always be his good luck charm no matter what universe he was in.

“He was our uncle,” Triton smiled gently at Percy, looking him over with the unabashed adoration people gave newborns. 

“Was?” Percy asked from the palm of Triton’s hand. They had placed him back in the fountain before telling Triton to find a place in the palace for Percy- no Krites to live. “Was he mortal too?”

“No little brother,” Triton shakes his head with a doting chuckle. “He was a minor sea deity. Our mother’s only brother. He was well loved by father until he was tragically transformed into a shellfish long before I was born.”

“Dad turned him?” Percy had never heard this myth. 

“Dad?” Triton asked.

“Father,” Percy corrected in Greek.

Triton peered at him curiously. “What language was that?”

“English,” Percy said without thinking. “I made it up.” Smooth.

Triton raised an eyebrow. 

“ Dad, ” he tasted the word on his tongue. “What is your word for brother then?”

“Brother,” Percy answered.

“ Brother ,” Triton shook his head. “You’re a peculiar one alright.”

“Thanks,” Percy grinned. “You’re going the wrong way by the way.”

“I am taking you to your apartments.”

“My apartments are that way,” Percy pointed towards what he knew to be his wing of the palace. He didn’t know why but he knew it was important to leave as many details unchanged as possible in this strange ancient world.

Triton gave him a strange look but humored him, going in the direction he pointed. Percy directed him from his fountain to the weathered looking palace doors at the end of a decorated hallway. The place looks obviously abandoned and is inscribed with mosaics that Percy vaguely recognizes.

“This use to be the Oracle of Delphi’s place before her spirit took up residence on the surface with her new master,” Triton explains, opening the door. The room is mostly empty except the bare altar at its center and the eternal flames that light at their entrance.

Percy looks around taking in the depressing scene. He recognizes the room of course but it seems sad and foreboding without all his furniture and trappings. The water is heavy around them. Triton starts to close the door and Percy stops his hand with a current.

“This is my room,” Percy said determinedly. He points to the entrances to the right of the room. “Those are my closets and private places.” He points to the single entrance to the left. “That room will be emptied of water and filled with fresh air.”

Triton’s mouth twitches. “You want a room with half air and half water?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Percy rolls his eyes knowing Triton can’t see it.

“You speak as if you’ve seen this,” Triton looks him over suspiciously and Percy wonders if he’s gone too far. 

“I just know how I want it,” Percy tries for a shrug.

“Perhaps you’ve inherited some remnants of father's prophetic ability,” Triton ponders. “Very well. This will be your room.”

“What did Zeus say about the Krites?” Amphitrite said, settling back into her husband’s chest, his arms wrapped around her stomach.

“He approved of the boy,” Poseidon said carefully. “He requested he be presented at the Winter Solstice to see his progress.”

Amphitrite frowned. Sea deities did not fare well in the mythos of the surface and Krites was so fragile. 

“We’ll need to think of a solution for Krites before then,” she said. “Or a solution might be thrust upon us.”

“That’s exactly what I fear,” Poseidon kissed the top of her head. “Athena already has… ideas. No doubt she’ll be working to perfect them in the coming months.”

“Krites is not her child. Why would she involve herself?” she asked.

“My best guess is she feels either a small claim to the boy or she feels cheated out of her city being blessed as the birthplace of a god,” he sighed.

“The Athenians (derogatory) cheated themselves out of this,” Amphitrite scoffed. She could feel Poseidon’s deep chuckle on her back. “What was she planning?”

“She said if the city’s decision truly influenced his birth, he should be raised among them until he has grown into his godhood.”

Amphitrite sat up looking back at Poseidon. “What sense does that make? What mortal has ever become a god in the presence of mortals?”

“Dionysus' ascension changed what we thought we knew,” Poseidon said thoughtfully. “He may have some destiny tied to the city. He could be a great hero.”

“You can’t be serious,” she frowned.

Poseidon grasped her arm and pulled her back to him. “I would never leave our child in the hands of mortals. Athena is crafty and has time to plan and justify whatever claim she may feel towards the boy. We need to know what she may be thinking if we wish to protect Krites from her. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably. “Athena is the biggest problem, but there may be others. The present council members showed varying levels of interest in Krites.”

Amphitrite sighed. It was the typical fate of new godlings to get snatched up quickly by love sick or lust struck Olympians. Even Rhodes had been married off before she fully emerged from her island, only for her husband to set her aside mere centuries later. Krites was a beautiful child as Nerites had once been, he’d have no shortage of immortal suitors. Being male protected him some but not much.

“Who showed interest?” She asked wearily.

“Apollo was a bit handsy with him,” Poseidon grumbled. Yikes. That wouldn’t be good for Krites. Apollo was known to be a persistent lover with a tendency for tragic endings.

“And?”

“Zeus… seemed fond of him.” Poseidon quietly admitted.

Amphitrite froze. “How so?”

“He commented on the child’s beauty and was pleased with his choice of name,” Poseidon sighed. “He seemed open to Athena’s suggestion of fostering him in Athens (derogatory).”

Amphitrite rubbed her face. That was unfortunate.

“She cannot have him,” Amphitrite said. “He is divine born and of the sea. His place is here, not among mortals and their terrible hacking heroing.”

“He was born mortal my love,” Poseidon kisses her shoulder comfortingly. “Heroing is the likely path the Fates have set up for him. We cannot keep him from his glory, it may be the key to his godhood.”

Amphitrite quieted. All she could think of was Krites tiny smile and ginger steps across the palm of her hand. She imagined him older, weathered. He is covered in dirt and mud, holding a bloodied spear and grins at the sight of carnage. He does not know her.

“You never let me raise them,” she finally says.

“My love,” Poseidon begs. “Krites is yours to raise as you wish, but you know as well as I he needs fame to ascend. He won’t get the glory he needs down here.”

“We can make him a god ourselves,” she insisted.

“Amphitrite-”

“He only needs your brother’s favor,” she continues. “He already inspires affection from the Olympians. We should continue to foster that in him. Let him be a friend to the gods, under our careful eye of course.”

Poseidon raises an eyebrow. “That’s risky.”

“Husband,” she says, turning to face him. “How often is a god born with no domains? A blank slate their parents can truly mold. I can be a true mother to this one. Allow me to raise him without influence. You already have your heirs and spares, this one can just be for fun.”

Poseidon looks reluctant, but Amphitrite can see him crack. She didn’t beg him often, which made it hard to refuse her when she did. And she knew he wanted to keep this child safe as much as she did, even at the cost of glory.

“Doesn’t he remind you of Triton before he went off to train?” she smiled gently.

“Yes,” he returns the smile. “But remember he is mortal. You’ve never raised one before. They are needy and moody and time will fly faster than you think possible.”

“Needy and moody hm?” Amphitrite teases. “A shame I have no experience with that combination.”

“Very well, my love," he laughed. "You may take charge of his upbringing for these first few years, but if he shows no progress, we’ll do it my way.”

“Thank you husband," Amphitrite smiles and reaches up to kiss him. "I’ll take good care of your son.”

He takes her hand and kisses it. “Our son. You are his mother Amphitrite. When he emerged I kept him in the fountain so Athens (derogatory) could not claim his birthplace. I originally intended to have him born in the temple. I hoped if I could infuse him with my essence it would correct his condition. But you didn’t let me get that far my love,” he winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

“Fortunately the Fates are wiser than I. It was foolish to pour so much of myself into a gift for lower beings when I could have poured myself into creating a gift with you. A child. He was born in the palm of your hand and it is clear he should be molded by it. He is yours my love, if you will have him and if you’ll forgive my imprudence.”

Honeyed words from her husband were worth no more than their weight in gold. Still, they sweetened her smile.

“Between you and the Athenians I don’t know whose actions are more responsible for Krites' condition,” she hums. “But of course I forgive you, husband. Thank you for the gift… and the sweet words.”

He kisses her lips softly binding their promises to each other.

“But I have to ask,” Amphitrite bites her lip as they pull away. He raises an eyebrow.

“Are you certain Athena has no claim to this child?”

A flash of white appears in his beard. “He would certainly be a god if she did.” 

“Perhaps…” Amphitrite muses.

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps… it was not the rejection of the mortals, but his immortal mother that made him bleed red.”

There is a beat of silence. It’s a possibility and they both knew it. The Fates loved their cruel irony.

“Are you certain?” she asks again.

Poseidon nods slowly. “I am certain. Nor Athena or I sensed any of her essence on the boy and he rejected any claim of hers. Stated plainly that I was his father.”

Amphitrite cracked a smile. “Ah, so in truth it was Krites that rejected her.”

Poseidon smiles back. “Well he is my son.”

She laughs, punching him.

Athena watches over her new city as they celebrate the divine gift and presence they received. She had her work cut out for her with this bunch. Poseidon had the better gift. She had originally planned to gift the Athenians a divine spirit of wisdom to occupy the bodies of honored vestel hosts passed along from generation to generation. The Vestel of Athens would be to knowledge and wisdom what the Oracle of Delphi was to fate and prophecy.

Then came her uncle with his massive, flashy, over the top fountain. Athena wanted to scream when she saw the faces of the mortals light up in anticipation to see what magic the great sea god had given them. The divine gift of instant communication would be to these times what fire was to the first humans. It would put them centuries ahead of any nation or state in the known and unknown world. 

It was large enough to host multiple conversations at once. Every communication would strengthen both Poseidon’s and indirectly Iris’ domains. Suddenly Athena’s vestel spirit felt like a cheap doll. She was like a child presenting a pale imitation of her older brother work as her own. When suddenly a miracle happened.

The mortals were too simple to understand the technology. They tasted the fountain water and recoiled at its salt. Mummers rose in the crowd. The sea god must not know we cannot drink salt water. What a shame. Such a lovely gift too. She could tell they did not mean to suggest Poseidon was a fool, only that gods must be so far removed to not have any need to think of such details. Yet, they had still suggested Poseidon was a fool and were now complimenting the aesthetic and workmanship of the fountain to the baffled god, too stunned to smite them for their foolishness.

This was her chance, before Poseidon reacted, to sway the crowd in her favor. There were only two problems. One, she no longer considered the vestel a suitable gift. Even if the mortals failed to recognize the divinity of the gift, she refused to genuinely submit a less superior invention. Two, these mortals were clearly idiots. She would have to reform them completely before she could be proud to claim them as her city.

So she gave them a gag gift: a tree. Clearly inferior to her uncle’s gift, lacking in creativity and wit. She presented it simply as something they could eat. A barely concealed mockery of their ignorance to Poseidon’s gift. She had not expected them to genuinely love it. She burst into laughter as they declared her the winner, her uncle fuming at the insult. But before he could speak a strange voice called out in a foreign language.

A mortal had decided to enter Poseidon’s fountain and now looked at them with a familiarity that made her bristle. Poseidon reacted first, summoning his weapon and advancing on the mortal. 

Good , she thought at the time. Let him rage on that fool rather than my city of fools.

Suddenly the mortal made eye contact with her, a desperate plea. There were two auras of divinity, the fountain and the boy. Poseidon’s deep green eyes were bright in the boy’s fearful face and Athena’s heart dropped. He pled to Poseidon again in that strange language, shock lining his fine features. Athena called for Poseidon to stop and they learned the boy was his son, but not hers. 

He rejected her claim to him in proper greek and she could not sense her essence within him or the fountain. Still she felt a strange connection to the boy. Whatever Poseidon’s claims he was born in Athens. Sprung fully formed from his father’s fountain as she had from her own father’s head. His eyes were bright and intelligent like hers. She was certain he was picking up on more than he was willing to let on. Such foresight from a newborn was… unlikely. Even from godlings.

After thinking on the strange circumstance of his birth she was certain the events of the contest had led to his creation. A mortal god being born from a rejected gift not recognized for its divinity was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Her fingers rapped restlessly on the marble balcony. There was something about the boy. Something told her he was important, a key or a hint. She thought again of his knowing glances. The bright flash of intellect so unfamiliar in those deep green eyes. Essence or not she knew she had some claim to him, but not what.

Fortunately, she had time to put the pieces together. He would return on the Winter Solstice. She would convince father to keep him on the surface, preferably Athens. City of fools, she thought bitterly. Where had common sense gone? She straightens suddenly, the whisper of a theory in her head. An owl flies onto her shoulder and preens at her. Now… that’s an idea.

Chapter Text

Percy took a deep breath before allowing his head to break the surface. Shockingly enough, the sky didn’t fall. But he wasn’t about to test his luck. If the maps were right, the dark shore before him should be Corinth. He moved quickly towards the shore and pulled himself up between two rocks. There was a bit of a climb before him but the terrain wasn’t rough so much as he was just shaky from his weeks under the sea.

Still he continued forward, the thrill of finally being free was enough to propel him. The sea air felt so good in his lungs. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was at his family beach house and his mother's cookies would hit his nose any second. But of course they never did. He finally reached the top of the small cliff and savored the feeling of grass beneath his feet. The moon and stars were bright and he could see houses in the distance.

He needed to find the Fate’s temple, but first he needed actual clothes. His sea foam attire shone slightly in the night highlighting him to… well, anyone that looked in his direction. If he could get clothes, shoes and a horse he’d be golden. He’d try to return the horse.

Moving into the treeline he made his way in the direction he saw the smoke from the houses. It was a small village, nothing special. Still Percy thinks about how much Annabeth would kill to see these uneroded by time. He smiles to himself as he slips into the village. His form is fluid and quiet as he flows from house to house taking everything in. He spots a tunic about his size and changes into it quickly covering the discarded seafoam with hay.

The fabric is unrelentingly itchy as he begins his search for a horse. A quick loop lets him know he isn’t gonna find one here. Defeated, he starts to leave the village when he catches a small movement out of the corner of his eye. Suspicious, he heads out of the village hoping to lure whatever it is away from the mortals. He makes his way through the trees quickly and quietly, keeping an ear out for the creatures of the woods. Monsters weren’t the only thing he needed to worry about in these times. Wild animals and bandits could pose a problem too, but naturally it’s a god he runs into first.

“Bit late for a midnight stroll,” a voice called out.

A merchant, carrying all his goods on his back. He stopped in the path and gave Percy a lopsided grin. He immediately recognized the glint in his eye.

“Hermes,” Percy cursed internally. The tunic, he walked right into his domain.

The merchant looked surprised, but eventually chuckled and allowed the disguise to melt away. Hermes stood seven feet tall in a rich chiton, his winged feet kicking up dirt. 

“I must say I didn’t expect you to remember me, much less know my name,” Hermes teased, stepping into Percy’s space.

“Well you were like the fourth person I met,” Percy shrugs.

Hermes laughs. “I heard you have a new name, Krites.”

“Triton picked it,” Percy says.

“You didn’t like Perseus?” Hermes hums.

His eyes are quick on Percy’s face, reading every expression. Percy needed to get back home before he decided to take him to Olympus. He could try to get to the Temple of the Moiri another night.

“Dad didn’t like it. Someone else already had that name,” Percy says.

“Dad? ”

“Father,” Percy remembers his Greek.

Hermes squats to look at him more directly, his gaze intense.

“Where are you going cousin?”

“Temple of Moiri,” he mumbles. No point in lying to the god of lies.

“What for?” Hermes raises an eyebrow. 

“To ask them a question,” Percy says.

“What question?”

Percy purses his lips.

“Oh,” Hermes smirks. “Do you have secrets little one?”

“I should head home,” Percy begins to turn.

(TW: Attempted SA)

“Tsk tsk,” Hermes grabs his arm in an iron grip, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You shouldn’t have left home. Who knows what sort of scoundrels you’ll encounter?”

“Like you?” Percy scowls, easily turning his arm to liquid and slipping from Hermes grip.

“Exactly like me,” Hermes' eyes glint as he sizes Percy up and down. He licks his lips. “You’re young and clearly don’t know what you’re doing. So just this once, I’m going to give you a head start.”

A shiver runs down Percy’s spine and he watches Hermes’ eyes follow it. They snap back to his face.

“If you can make it to the surf, I won’t tell anyone I saw you,” Hermes promises, a finger to his grin. “If not-”

Percy doesn’t hear the rest, only Hermes’ delighted laughter as he races the way he came. There’s no outrunning Hermes, he knows this, but maybe if he can get close enough to the beach… He has a horrible vision of his dad turning him into a pile of kelp, but the idea of being caught by Hermes is much more frightening. The village rushes past him and a flush of hope builds in his chest. He ignores the treeline, instead darting straight across the flat grass toward the cliff overlooking the sea.

Hermes gives him no indicator that he’s being chased, which means he could swoop in at any point and was just drawing it out. Percy would have one chance to escape him and it’ll be the very moment he attacks. All of his senses are on high alert as his feet beat the earth. He’s only moments from the cliff and braces himself. Something moves sharply to his right and he pivots left launching himself off the cliff and down towards the cool water.

The wind is knocked out of him as his stomach hits Hermes' outstretched arm. Strong hands grip him tightly and suddenly the shore is replaced by rushing streaks of light and color as he races away. Percy tries to squirm out of his grip, but his hands are like steel bars. Finally he dissolves himself into water and feels himself fly out of Hermes’ arms and land roughly on the ground. He gathers himself just in time to see Hermes run back for him, flinging his stolen tunic to the side.

Terror drives him to his feet, but Hermes is on him before he can run. He doesn’t know how long they wrestled, only that they were evenly matched. Percy was impossible to grab, but Hermes was still quicker. He’d taken to literally slapping Percy’s liquid form in this direction or that. Blocking his exits and running him in circles. It was getting too tiring to maintain the form, but the minute he gathered himself Hermes could grab him.

He tried to stop and talk to him at one point, but found himself on his knees with his face pressed to the ground before he could blink. He was getting further and further from the sea. Hermes was herding him somewhere and he didn’t know where. He just knew as long as he stayed in the clearing he couldn’t be cornered. He could tell Hermes wasn’t just trying to exhaust him, but figure out the best way to capture him as well. He tried cupping his hands, scooping him up, holding him tightly against his chest. But as long as there was a crack, Percy could escape him.

It’s the exhaustion that wins out as Percy’s form sputters and solidifies enough for Hermes to grab him by the neck. Percy can’t help the whimper that escapes him as Hermes shoves his knee between his legs forcing them open. It’s almost meticulous how he arranges Percy’s limbs in a way that stops him from moving. He doesn’t even seem out of breath, angry or even victorious. The calm expression on his face belongs anywhere, but here. He leans over Percy’s shivering body.

“That was quite the marathon,” Hermes sighs contently, his body humming with energy. “I should reward you for lasting that long.”

“Reward me by letting me go,” Percy croaks out.

“And miss out on first dips?” Hermes grinned wickedly, his hand stroking Percy’s thigh. “Well, I’m assuming you’re still a virgin. Only virgins run like that.”

Percy spat in his face, which in hindsight, was probably a terrible idea, but it was the only reason Hermes was distracted enough to not see the silver arrows heading his way. The force of the arrows knocked him backwards. Percy in a daze manages to scramble to his tired feet. He looked up and in the dark of the forest could make out the auburn haired girl watching him between the trees. Her silver arrows illuminated by the moonlight. 

Artemis… Thank you, Percy thought before getting to his feet and running, leaving the messenger god to his older sister.

Chapter Text

A small smile broke on Athena’s face as a familiar aura appeared on the edge of Corinth. She knew it. Ever since Poseidon had taken the boy she had a feeling he might return on his own. His eyes were too sharp, too understanding of the situation for a newborn. It wasn’t his awareness that marked intelligence for her, but the instinct to hide what he knew and the ability to do it well. She’d almost thought she may have been looking a little too closely, searching for pieces of herself in the boy. But she was right.

It was… difficult gathering news from the ocean. Moreso when she wanted to keep her research private. She was fortunate Hermes still delivered frequently enough to Poseidon’s realm to allow her to suggest some light spying… for father of course. Poseidon afterall should expect some inquiring into the boy after such an unorthodox birth. Having Hermes ask directly would be both casual and official. Nothing the old sea god would refuse. Unfortunately, his fucking wife was another story.

Poseidon had given the boy to Amphitrite as a gift. She claimed him as her own son and gave him the gods awful name Krites Perseus. Hermes told her it was a nod to Nerites and reference to Krites’ fountain birth and all she could do was roll her eyes. Amphitrite was careful to keep Krites out of view of the surface. Always traveling outside of Atlantis with the boy permanently glued to her side. It was rare Athena would hear more from Hermes than “he’s with his mother”.

Fortunately, her less direct sources were always fruitful. Amphitrite’s constant trips were more of an ongoing tour of the kingdom for the young prince. He was introduced to the masses as the Second Prince and most had no idea his blood ran red. Despite his ‘divine’ status in the oceans he wasn’t feared like most sea gods, but adored.

The tour was meant to serve as an introduction to Krites, but in doing so opened a curtain into the world of the divine. Mortal sea folks who hadn’t seen deities in generations now had first hand accounts of the gods. Soon stories of the beautiful prince with childlike charm, kindness and mischief in equal measures spread throughout the seas. Among the common folk, Krites was lovingly referred to as the Child of Atlantis. His name was invoked when disciplining children.

The recipe for godhood had been applied, but Amphitrite was a fool if she thought she could substitute humans for merfolk. Krites Perseus was still mortal. He showed some promises of power, but nothing that couldn’t be attributed to his father’s close presence. Athena knew the sea goddess intended to use Krites' success in the ocean to keep him there. Athena intended to use it as proof his godhood could be restored if the same tactics were applied in the mortal world.

But Krites was not a prince in the mortal world, he had no lineage, no ancestry to create common ground with them.  Word of his birth spread quickly, but wilted in the absence of any proof. The fountain was gone, replaced by a freshwater spring, transcribing it and Krites to Athenian myth. Replicating Amphitrite’s results on the surface would be difficult especially in this time of legendary heroes like Perseus, Cadmus and Bellerophon. He would need introduction and proof he was who he says he is.

When the tour had ended and Krites was sheltered away at Atlantis the reports began to change. Krites was asking interesting questions about their histories. Well, the questions weren’t as interesting as the way he phrased them. That and the strange language he created seemingly to speak to himself. Nobles found him just as child-like and lovely as commoners, but their increased contact with him only revealed more strange behaviors.

Triton seemed to take over Krites' upbringing around this point. Introducing him to the Atlantian library which quickly became the boy’s favorite place. He began to spend long hours there, deep in the histories of their family, Greece and the philosophy of fate. When Athena learned he had taken residence in the Oracle of Delphi’s old chambers she knew he had some prophetic ability… and it was probably driving him mad.

The libraries of the ocean were notoriously outdated, he wouldn’t find any satisfying answers in his father’s realm. His best bet would be to return to Athens, find her temple and pray for guidance. But she didn’t think he was keen enough to realize that yet. Who knows what the old sea god had told him about her? He might seek the Oracle of Delphi, but unless he convinced his guardians to take him he was unlikely to go unnoticed.

Once he reached the shores he’d have four days of walking before he reached his destination, and another four to return. Even if he managed to go undetected by the gods his absence would be noticed by the end of the first day, if not the instant he left the Corinthian Gulf. Unless… he went to the Temple of Moiri. It was right on the neck and he’d be close enough to water to make the journey there and back in a day. 

It took less than a week of watching the shorelines before that little dark head popped out of the waters of Megara Gulf on the shores of Corinth. She had started to get worried that he’d be too frightened to visit the Fates’ Temple, but she smiled at her own folly. He was far too young to understand how terrifying the Fates were, of course he’d have no hesitation. She leaned over her balcony in the heavens, ambrosia swirling in her glass and watched him take his first shaky steps back on land. 

Like a newborn foul, she joked to herself.

He weaves through the trees with ease and finds a village quickly. Athena is mesmerized by his delicate prance. He seems to shift and flow between physical and liquid form, noiselessly picking his way through the sleeping village. He finds a tunic hanging on a line and the seafoam chiton covering him drops into a wet pile at his feet. He shuffles his tunic on, but Athena is distracted by a flicker of movement in the village. Krites kicks some hay on the discarded seafoam and starts circling the village. This time he notices the flash too and freezes.

Athena straightens up, narrowing her eyes. Behind one of the houses, out of Krites view, the feather of a winged sandal winks in the moonlight.

Artemis walked away. The carnal passions of men were of no interest to her. Besides, Apollo was her responsibility not Hermes. He would learn his lesson once Poseidon found the boy’s corpse. Father was unlikely to offer an Olympian justice for the killing of a mortal, no matter how interesting his birth was. Still that wouldn’t save Hermes from the throttling he’d get from the seas. She shook her head. Idiots.

Rustling in the trees caught her attention. A beautiful gray owl perched on the branches, its wide round eyes regarding her with distaste. Artemis scowls.

“Do I look like your subordinate Athena?”

“Is that a trick question, little sister?” Athena’s voice appeared in her mind.

“I thought the boy wasn’t yours?” Artemis ignores the jab at her appearance.

“What about it?” Athena says in a bored tone. “He needs assistance.”

“And you think,” Artemis crosses her arms. “That I exist to assist mortals?”

“I think you're available,” Athena hums. “And not opposed to being owed a favor.”

“ A favor?” Artemis arches an eyebrow.

“And the women of Athens.”

Artemis’ eyebrows arch further at the suspicious generosity. Athens was already a successful city thanks to her brother. Under his influence and Athena’s planning there was no doubt the city would grow into a powerful center. Apollo, already a major deity in the city, would make certain Athena keep her word.

“Why would you give me such a chief role?” she asks instead.

“I’m more interested in the civic domains of Athens,” Athena says in her mind. “ That and I refuse to give any piece of my city to our stepmother.”

Artemis smirked. If there was one thing all the children of Zeus could bond over, it was their collective hatred of the Queen of the Heavens. It was difficult to escape Hera in the business of city building, for as long as there were women there would be puberty, marriage, childbirth and children; and there would be a place for Hera. Her notable lack of reverence in Athens could be attributed to Apollo and Athena’s presence, but it seems their plans were a little more intentional than assumed. Athena was essentially offering Hera’s domains in Athens. 

The embarrassment of Hera playing second fiddle to a second generation god was too good for any of them to turn down. Still, Athena was known for being protective of the mortals she favored. So why wouldn’t she save the boy herself? 

“I’ll think about it,” Artemis says. If possible the owl scowls.

“This is a bit of a time sensitive offer,” Athena warns.

“Yes, yes,” Artemis waves her hand walking off. “Well if he is raped you’ll have my answer.”

Athena watches as Artemis and Hermes quarrel in the field, his ichor gleaming on the discarded silver arrows. Krites slipped safely beneath the waves, his path unknowingly protected by a dozen young girls hidden in the trees. Athena confirmed his small chariot disappearing in the deep before she turns her attention to her siblings. 

“You cannot claim every virgin you come across Artemis,” Hermes spat, yanking the last arrow from his forearm.

“Neither can you,” Artemis glared. “At least I have the common sense to not try to claim virgins that are off limits.”

“Who said he was off limits?” Hermes scoffed.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Artemis’ eyes blazed. “You could’ve started a war tonight! And for what?”

“Nothing you would understand,” Hermes mumbles. 

Artemis nocks an arrow and a dozen silver tips flash in the woods. Athena frowns. This was drawing too much attention. Keeping what happened to Krites secret was always out of the question, but she had hoped to control the spread. She assumed Artemis would perform her duty and slip back into the forest knowing her domains in Athens were secured at a steal. Instead she confronted Hermes directly, loudly. It was only a matter of time before Apollo showed up and he would not be pleased to hear his brother attempt to bed Krites before he did.

“Why don’t you explain it to me, little brother?” Artemis’ voice is deathly calm.

“Fine, fine!” Hermes rolls his eyes. “I’m leaving.”

“But I just got here.” The two gods look up to see Apollo leaning against a tree at the edge of the meadow eating a ripe apple. “Did I miss the party?”

“Matter of fact you did,” Hermes huffs. “Krites just left.”

Apollo is beside them in a flash.

“Krites was here?” he asked, smiling brightly. “What for?”

Shit, Athena curses. The situation was officially out of her hands, she’d have to make do with what she had for now. Clouds move to cover the scenes as she turns away from her balcony and makes her way to her father’s apartments

When she finds Zeus leaned over his own balcony for a moment she fears he already knew, especially when he doesn’t turn to face her. She approaches him nonetheless and catches a glimpse of the scene he’s watching. It is his own son Perseus, in a quarrel with another man, at a wedding of all places. Zeus beckons her forward without turning around. At closer look it appears Perseus himself is the groom, but the man accuses him of stealing his bride. 

Athena immediately recognizes the lovely Andromeda and the pieces come together. It seems the hero managed to defeat Poseidon’s sea monster Ceto and claimed the princess he was meant to rescue as his bride. Poseidon wouldn’t be happy about Ceto, but was probably too distracted at the moment with his own Perseus. The man, Phineus, was the princess’ fiance, a fact the hero justifiably ignored. To protest at the wedding was already disgraceful, but it was clear from the gathering of armed men Phineus intended to spill blood.

"See," Phineus shouts, pointing a spear at the lounging demigod. "See, I come here as an avenger for the carrying off of my bride. Your wings won't help you escape me, nor even Zeus, changed to a shower of fool's gold!"

“Fool’s gold,” Zeus laughed softly. The wicked glint in his eyes matched the one in his son’s.

“What are you doing?” King Cepheus, the girl’s father, leaps up first, his face panicked. He addresses Phineus backed by his thousand spears. “Brother, what mad feelings drive you to crime? Are these the thanks you return for such service? Is this the gift with which you pay compensation for a life restored?”

The hall is silent as the brothers stare each other down silently. Perseus lays unimpressed across a bench, his men slowly moving into position. His expression is bored, but Athena sees the sharp look in his blue eyes as he takes in the masses summoned against him. King Cepheus, hearing no response from his brother, continues.

“If you want the truth,” he says. “It was not Perseus who took her from you, but Poseidon, the stern god of the Nereids, and horned Zeus Ammon, and that monster that came from the sea to glut itself on my own flesh and blood. It was then she was taken from you, when she was about to die.”

Seeing Phineas unfettered by his pleading words and the mention of his niece’s impending death, the king’s voice shifts to anger. “But perhaps, hard-hearted one, that is what you want. For her to die and take comfort from my grief rather than grieve her being saved by another. You brought her no help when you were her uncle and intended. Now you would take the hero’s prize? If you valued her enough to bring war to a wedding you should have sought her among the rocks. Let the man who did seek it go, take what he has earned and what was promised, since, thanks to him, I shall not have a childless old age. Realize this. It was not Perseus, but the prospect of certain death that has displaced you.”

Phineus says nothing, his face a convolting mix of emotions. He looks from his brother, the king, to still lounging Perseus before hurling his spear in a flush of anger at the hero. Mortals. So short sighted. Perseus’ death would sour her father’s mood beyond what she could alleviate. If Perseus were to fall every breath Krites drew would remind Zeus of his own unjustly slain son. A more than significant wrench in her plans, but not because she felt her efforts could not overcome her father’s reluctance.

Her father’s favor was a powerful constant in her arsenal and she took great care to maintain it. She rarely allowed her interests to stray from his and never permitted them to oppose his. Looking at the masses raised against his favorite son she knew she may have to forfeit her own plans for Krites to avoid putting herself at odds with Zeus and was surprised to find herself unwilling.

The spear sinks into the bench where Perseus lays and only then does the hero leap up and return the weapon with great force. Phineas shamelessly dodges behind the altars and the javelin strikes another in the face. Then the crowd of men were truly ablaze with anger, and they hurled their spears. For an unfamiliar moment, indecisiveness floods Athena’s mind. The sensation is so alien she startles to find herself holding her aegis. She collects herself before Zeus turns to give her a peculiar look.

“Will you join the battle?” he is surprised, but not displeased.

“The coward has insulted my father,” she smiles playfully. “And bloodied my half-brother’s wedding for an unjust cause. King Cepheus calls on the gods of friendship to bear witness. I will bless their cause with shield and courage.”

“Very well then Athena Promachos,” Zeus laughs, his glass filling with ambrosia. 

With a small nod Athena, smiling, turns to the scene and enters to fray. She scans the field, well- the wedding venue, taking in the unevenly matched battle. Phineas men are in the hundreds, well armed, well trained and well prepared against the civilians and warriors flushed with food, wine and laughter. Still, they push back against the conspirators with righteous passion. She spots Perseus, unarmed, dashing a decorated mixing bowl, heavy in weight over the head of a man with a great battle ax. Athena steps over the dying man who vomits as he falls and locks eyes with her half-brother.

Despite the terrible circumstance and odds the hero grins at her, offering a small nod of respect before leaping on his next victim. Athena follows him with her shield, the aegis, protects him and grants him courage. It was a long, bloody and chaotic battle. Men, princes, demigods and nobles died by the hundreds. The aggressor of the whole ordeal, Phineas, did not dare to fight hand to hand and threw spear after spear. It becomes apparent Phineus’ lack of precision isn’t a fluke as he mistakenly strikes Idas, who had no part in the fighting.

“Phineas,” Ida says fiercely, holding the man with his gaze as he rips the javelin from his own body. “Since I have been forced to take part, then, Phineus, acknowledge the enemy you have made, and repay me wound for wound!”

He prepares to return the spear, when he collapses dying, his limbs drained of blood. An old man cried out against the needless killings. Warring in words and cursing their sinful weapons until he is decapitated, his body clinging to the altar as his head falls into the hearth. A musician clung to his lyre and plectrum as another warrior mocked him, telling him to go sing to the Stygian shades before piercing his temple with a sword. He falls and attempts to pluck his strings again, but his hand loses strength and falls on the instrument with a plain note.

As the battle continues it draws the attention of more gods both out of duty and entertainment.  Ares, pollutes and drenches the penates, the household gods, with blood, and stirs renewed conflict. The cowardly conspirators flank Perseus on all sides except his back which is pressed against a stone column. The hero, however, is aided by Fortune and continues to push against the warriors even as his allies fall around him. Still, it is not enough. Perseus' efforts are certain to succumb to the weight of numbers. 

“Since you plan it like this,” he spat. “I will ask help from my enemy. If there are any friends here, turn your face away!”

In his hands he held the snake haired Medusa’s decapitated head in the air. Athena is disgusted at the sight of her old priestess’ unrecognizable (and slightly decayed) face, but doesn’t turn away eager to see her creation at work.

“Find others, who might be worried by your marvel!” spat a warrior who prepared to throw his javelin, but was frozen like a marble statue in the act. Another, next to him, thrust his sword straight at the heart of Perseus’ ally, and in thrusting, his right hand stiffened and he turned to stone

They all deserved the punishment they suffered, except one of Perseus’s warriors. At the end of it two hundred bodies survived the fight, two hundred bodies were turned to stone and the rest of the slain were too great to count. Phineas with his gaze averted from the hero finally relents.

“Perseus,” he cries. “You have won! Take away that monstrous thing of yours: remove your head of the Medusa, whoever she may be, that turns men to stone. Take it away, I beg you! It was not hate, or desire for power, that drove me to war. I took up arms to win a bride! Your claim was greater by merit, but mine by precedence. I do not regret ending it. Give me nothing, except my life, most resolute of men, the rest is yours!”

Perseus breathes heavily, his skin slick with blood, his eyes blazing with familiar wrath. In the face of such overwhelming loss of life, for a cause akin to crime, death was the only answer. The audacity to still claim justification and attempt to appeal to the honor of the man whose wedding he stained with the blood of his friends and family… was unfathomable. But Perseus doesn’t need Athena to tell him this.

“Have no fear, most cowardly Phineus,” Perseus walks as he speaks, his steps wet on the stone. “I will grant both what I can grant, and what is a great gift to the fearful! You will not suffer the sword. Rather I will cause you to be an enduring monument through the ages, and you will always be seen in my father-in-law’s palace, so that my wife may find solace in the statue of her intended.”

As Phineus tried to avert his gaze, his neck hardened, and the tears on his cheeks were turned to stone. Now the frightened face, the suppliant expression, the submissive hands, and the slavish appearance, remained, in marble. Satisfied, Athena takes her leave, rejoining their father on Olympus, who leans back from the balcony, a smile dancing beneath his beard. He turns to his warrior daughter.

“Tell me what you want, child,” he smirks, sipping from his glass.

Athena chuckles softly. “Do you think me so transactional?” she teases.

He only barks a laugh in response.

“I have not come to ask anything of you,” Athena takes a seat beside him. “I bear bad news, but not without solution.”

“Oh?”

“It is about Krites,” she watches his expression carefully.

“Ah,” he smiles slightly, looking back at his son who was closing the eyes of one of his fallen companions. “Poseidon’s Perseus.”

Chapter Text

Percy felt something nuzzle his leg and lifted his head from his knees, folded against his chest. His hippocampus, Estelle, neighed softly looking at him with wide concerned eyes. He had kept his form liquid since he entered the chariot, flesh felt too confining. He reaches out a watery hand and pets her snout, but she exhales frustrated and nudges his hand. They needed to get back home. Triton and his parents were sure to notice his absence by now, but he couldn’t trust himself to face them yet.

He pulls his hand back and puts his head back on his knees. Just a few more minutes, then he could pull himself together. Even as he said it he felt the wave of nausea rise at just the idea of being confined by his own flesh again. He remembered how it felt when his strength failed him and he could no longer slip from Hermes' grasp. He had not realized how accustomed he’d become to living in the ocean, in the freedom that was fluidity. It felt like an impossible magic for nimble fingers wrapped around his throat to hold his entire being where it was.

He felt like a fucking idiot. He had dismissed all of Amphitrite’s warnings and stories about the surface as part her own personal bias and part fear tactic to keep him at home. It’s not that he thought she was being silly, she just didn’t know how powerful Percy was. Krites after all was a newborn and Percy made sure he kept his powers subtle. He slipped up a few times in front of them, but for the most part they didn’t think he could do much outside of controlling the currents.

It was his brother who taught him, indirectly, how to control his form. This Triton was very friendly with him and it was kind of- nice? He’d gotten accustomed to being carried on Triton’s shoulders when he’d take him down into the cities to meet the masses and see how they live. He’d seen Triton dissolve his form so many times when he would visit him and Amphitrite on tour during his deliveries. Soon the sensation became familiar enough to replicate and Percy was able to teleport pretty much anywhere he could see. His family had been thrilled, sure it was a sign his divinity was growing. Percy didn’t want to break it to them that growing up was very much a mortal thing.

He still didn’t know what to make of the world he had been dropped in. Amphitrite was a constant presence and he could tell his questions made her nervous. Triton was easier to talk to without raising suspicion, but eventually his older brother grew tired of his pestering and suggested a short visit to Atlantis where he was introduced to their massive beautiful libraries. When Amphitrite tried to take him back on tour he begged to stay home, Lord Delphin backing him by taking charge of his 'education'.

The education mostly consisted of a PG-13 version of the family history, but he was free to browse the gleaming libraries as much as he like. Percy was thrilled at the small win, but figured out pretty quickly there was little on the topic of spontaneous time travel. There was plenty about prophecy though… including a map. It held the locations of several temples of fate and prophecy including the Oracle of Delphi. He doesn’t dare take it, or even linger on the parchment. He’s long since learned his parents' eyes were all seeing in Atlantis, and rarely strayed from him. But whenever the opportunity arises, he takes a moment to commit another small piece of the map to memory. All that was left was to wait for the perfect moment to escape.

When that day comes he was in the library with Lord Delphin being educated on the ‘relevant family’ tree when his father’s voice shakes the palace. Delphin and Percy locked eyes and the god sighed wearily patting his head.

“Stay here child. Make sure you have a few of these memorized when I return,” he said, swimming away briskly.

Percy nods and watches as he swam through the enormous library doors then gets up from his bench. He hears a small cough. A guard gives him a stern, but exasperated look and Percy nods smiling. They’d snitch of course, but not until Delphin returned. Percy understood they were just doing their jobs as much as they understood he was just being a kid. Was it weird being babied as a fully grown man? Yes. Did he enjoy it? Immensely. 

Percy never really saw childhood as relaxing. He’d spent most of his trying not to get killed. He was worried he might be jealous of his new sister, but found it was manageable. Watching Estelle grow up and experience a normal mortal childhood was bittersweet, but Percy loved being a part of giving her that life of ease, fun and wonder. Watching Triton and his parents do the same for him had been equal parts embarrassing, heartwarming and gut wrenching. He wondered if this is what his life would’ve been like if his mother had taken his father’s offer of joining him in the sea.

He dissolves in the water and appears behind a column against the wall of his father’s throne room. There is a massive shimmering Iris message in front of his pacing father. Poseidon is at his godly height, his face twisted in anger. Amphitrite floats beside him, arms crossed facing the screen so Percy can’t see her face.

“This is my brother's interference,” Poseidon spat, the water practically vibrating with his frustration. “I know it.”

Percy peers at the scene and can hear the clamor of applause as people gather on a rocky shore. He watches as a naked woman is wrapped in fine fabric, her teeth visibly chattering, her brown skin pale. A man and woman dressed finely rush forward to grasp her, weeping loudly. She staggers as they wrap their arms around her and Percy sees the dark angry bruising around her ankles. Metal chains hang limply from the rock. Human sacrifice.

There is another man a bit apart from the crowd kneeling by the water’s edge. Despite the obvious concern for the girl the man still holds part of the crowd's attention. For a moment Percy assumes the man is Hermes, because of his white complexion and winged sandals, but in his hand are the throats of two serpents attached to a dark round shape. 

The man is drenched in saltwater but doesn’t seem to mind as he arranges the leaves on the ground purposely. He lifts the Gorgon’s head and places it on the leaves. Electric blue eyes watch curiously as the fresh plants harden at Medusa’s touch. Perseus, son of Zeus, stands and moves to greet the shivering woman and her family, among the rejoicing crowd that cheers as he approaches.

Percy still remembers Annabeth teaching him the mythos of his namesake, but to see him in the flesh felt… weird. No wonder dad was upset. Annabeth told him Perseus killed dad’s sea monster to save the princess. He gets to marry the princess, but has to fight her uncle at the wedding which Percy thought was a bit much.

“Why couldn’t they fight before the wedding?” Percy asked, confused as they scrubbed the camp dishes with lava.

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” Annabeth sighs, sweat gleaming on her forehead. “Phineas showed up with hundreds of men after the vows had already been said. It was a long, bloody battle and many great heroes died.”

“Was the girl okay?”

Annabeth stops surprised. “Yes. She was taken away from the fighting and Perseus won and gave her her uncle turned to stone as a dowry.”

“I thought dowries were supposed to be paid before the wedding?” Percy asked.

“Are you even listening to me, Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth raises an eyebrow and Percy swallows. “He didn’t have to pay one because he saved her from the sea monster.”

“Then why did he give her the statue?”

“Cause it’s- oh nevermind! You’re hopeless!” she finally snaps.

“Krites,” Triton’s voice appears behind him. He turns to face his brother looming over him with an amused smile. “Why are you hiding?”

“Sorry,” Percy smiles sheepishly.

Triton holds a hand out and Percy appears on his shoulder holding a lock of hair as he sits. Triton gives him an affectionate head rub as he swims them to his- their parents. Percy smiles watching Amphitrite scold Poseidon quietly for letting him see his temper. Even if he hadn’t seen all of their tempers in his real life his very first moments in this one were his father trying to unalive him. 

“Krites, I thought you were in lessons with Delphin,” Poseidon smiles, running his hand through his hair frustratedly.

“I heard yelling and came to check on you,” Percy shrugged.

They chuckle and Amphitrite holds out her hand for him to appear in her palm.

“Your father is just fine Pearl, his pride has just been wounded,” she smiles holding him up to the movie screen Iris message. “Remember that vain queen I told you about.”

Percy nods. Despite being trapped in the past he didn't actually think he'd get to experience any historical events. Except, of course, the one he crawled out of.

“Your father sent a consequence to ravage her kingdom,” Amphitrite hummed. “But your uncle Zeus' Oracle allowed her to sacrifice her daughter instead only to then send his son to retrieve her.”

It was a long, bloody battle…

For some reason he had always pictured it as a fight between Perseus and some old guy, but suddenly Annabeth’s words came to life. It wasn’t just a story anymore. Sometime tonight hundreds of people are going to battle at this wedding, including the gods. Percy was the only one on Earth who knew what was about to happen. It was the perfect distraction for an escape, he just had to make sure they stayed glued to the screen.

“That’s Perseus,” Percy says confidently.

The three gods exchange looks between each other. If Percy did this well he could actually stand a chance of figuring out why he was in this weird timeline. Triton’s initial prediction that Krites inherited some of his father’s prophetic ability had turned into anticipation for the deities. Partly Percy’s fault, he couldn’t help but get a rise out of them for knowing things he shouldn’t. That paired with his tendency to say and ask things that made no sense to them definitely gave him oracle vibes.

“You recognize him?” Poseidon frowns.

“The princess,” Percy shakes his head. “I’ve dreamed of her wedding before, once.”

“What did you see at her wedding?” Amphitrite asks, her voice tense.

“She got married,” Percy shrugs helplessly.” But everyone was wearing red. No one was really happy.”

They exchange looks again and Percy prays he’s not being too cryptic. He’s known Rachel Elizabeth Dare long enough to know what prophecy sounds like. He just hopes he can sell it.

“Hm,” Poseidon says thoughtfully. “That sounds promising.”

Amphitrite fixes her husband with a cross look he only grins at. 

“It seems despite the untimely death of Cetus the Fates still intend for Queen Cassiopeia to suffer,” Triton smiles 

Amphitrite tried to give him another stern look but the corner of her mouth twitches too. Percy just looks back at the screen trying not to flinch. One thing he’ll never get used to is the casual homicidal nature of gods.

“Can I go back to the library?” he asks politely.

“Hm, yes of course. That’s probably for the best,” Amphitrite says relieved. “You father and I have much to discuss.”

A few hours later he’d finished his lesson with Lord Delphin and finally had confirmation that the wedding was happening tonight. He tried to contain his excitement not wanting to alert any of his parents to his nervous energy. Once he was certain he’d waited enough he simply walked to his balcony and pushed himself up towards the surface, letting the currents pull him to avoid drawing attention.

It was too easy, Percy should have known that was never a good sign, but months of leisure made ease a familiar comfort. He ignored her stepmother’s warnings, he ignored his shaky first steps on land and he ignored his own instinct when he first felt that presence in the small village. A shudder ran through him as he remembered Hermes' gaze drag across his naked body, his knees between his legs, the wings on his ankle holding Percy’s feet firm against the dirt ground.

A sudden presence pulls him from his spiral just as he begins to feel he’s running out of air; Triton. He can hear Estelle neighing insistently in his brother’s direction and curses the day he named that hippocampus after his snitching little sister. He wasn’t ready, he still couldn’t imagine going back to his physical form and being confined and restrained by his own skin. But he definitely couldn’t tell Triton what happened on the surface. Even if it didn’t turn into war, he would never be let out of the palace again.

The chariot whirls around roughly so the open back faces his furious brother. Triton pauses at Percy’s watery appearance then sighs, irritated, and snaps his fingers. The sudden weight of flesh and bone is jarring and Percy gasps aloud as his physical form is forced on him. He can feel hands slide across his throat.

“Do you have any idea?” Triton’s voice is a hissed whisper as he leans into the small chariot. “How much trouble you’d be in if I hadn’t found you first-”

He’s cut off by the sound of Percy hurling into the chariot, Triton’s close proximity finally pushing him over the edge. For a moment the god just looks at Percy shocked, unsure what to do as Percy chokes on the vomit floating around him. Triton recovers quickly and waves away the vomit and bile, placing a warm hand on Percy’s bask as he coughs, his form sputtering from liquid to physical. Estelle neighs nervously in the water.

“I’ll take you to mother,” Triton says softly, a touch of fear in his voice. “Where were you? Did you eat something? Who gave it to you?”

“I- I was on the surface,” Percy coughs, closing his eyes against wave after wave of nausea. Triton’s hand feels like the cold hard earth on his back. His knees feel as if they are pressed into the dirt, not his chariot floor. He vomits again.

“ Why? What happened?” Triton tries to gently prop Percy upright, alarm plain across his face.

Percy shivers relieved to have the pressure off his back and struggles to his feet. Triton gently makes him sit on a bench in the chariot, his impatience vibrating the water. He’d just tell Triton the truth, that he was going to the Temple of Moiri. After seeing Perseus’ wedding come to life they wouldn’t find that a suspicious destination. He might even be able to convince them he was compelled to go.

“I’m sorry,” Percy manages, hating how weak his own voice sounds. “I only wanted to see the Temple of Moiri.

Triton frowns, pushing some hair out of Percy’s face. “Did you not think to ask?”

“I didn’t think I’d be allowed. Mother is always telling stories about the surface, I didn’t think she’d let me go,” Percy says truthfully.

“Why did you want to see it?” Triton presses. “Was something calling you?”

“Maybe- I don’t know. I just knew I had to go and felt I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” Percy keeps his head down.

“Nevermind that,” Triton shakes his head. “What happened at the Temple? Were you given prophecy? Did you meet anyone?”

“I didn’t make it to the Temple,” Percy shifts uncomfortably.

“Did you run into anyone?” Triton stresses.

“No.”

There’s a long pause and Percy can feel the tension growing in the water.

“Krites…” Triton seems to take a deep breath. “Tell me the truth of it.”

“I saw Artemis and Hermes,” Percy swallows the name like poison. “That’s why I turned back. I don’t know if they saw me. I’m sorry.”

“You are ill,” Triton’s voice is unreadable. “Why?”

“I wanted to taste mortal food.”

“From who ?”

“From a mortal village. I needed clothes. It was itchy and my stomach hurt so I came home.” Percy doesn’t dare meet his brother’s eyes.

Triton seems to deflate at this and sighs heavily.

“You are of the sea Krites. The surface is a hostile environment that you are not well suited for, nor do you have the knowledge to navigate without assistance. Mother’s stories are not fables or cautionary tales, they are warnings from lived experience.”

Triton’s hand is outstretched for Percy to step into and he does, grateful.

“Our parents are still watching the Red Wedding and haven’t noticed your absence. I will not tell them, but you must swear to me that you will come to me first before ever doing something so reckless again.”

Percy nods weakly. “I swear. I’m sorry”

Triton plants the softest of kisses on the crown of his head. 

“You are young Krites, and clearly have no idea what the world is like,” Triton’s words mimic Hermes’ own and for a reason Percy cannot name, tears sprang to his eyes. “I know mother and father are… possessive, but you can trust me to guide you and not restrain you. Do you understand?”

Percy only nods, not trusting his voice.

“If later… there is anything you need to tell me, that you’d like to keep between brothers, know you only need to call on me and I will be there.”

Chapter Text

Zeus rubbed his temple. Athena, the sensible child she was, stayed silent as he mulled over the news she delivered. He had been so distracted by his mortal son’s marvels he forgot how foolhardy his immortal ones could be. Miraculously enough, both had managed to vex his brother tonight. Regardless of Artemis’ intervention, Poseidon would be enraged. Perseus’ interference in the mortal queen’s punishment was enough to justify his brother taking action against him, but not to earn Zeus’ ire. Once word of Hermes’ actions reached Poseidon’s ears… it would be enough.

He had been looking forward to the Winter Solstice. He knew Poseidon would be wary of bringing a mortal child to Olympus, especially with all the attention surrounding Krites. His brothers rarely made an effort to ascend their children and would naturally expect resistance. Zeus intended to reassure him he supported his ambitions. After all, they were both fathers with similar ambitions, why not combine their efforts. Zeus now had experience with self ascending sons and Krites would be protected by his favor. There was little Hera could say against Perseus’ ascension with the full backing of Poseidon. It was a perfect alliance. Now instead, come morning, his wife would have a new ally in her campaign against Perseus. Thunder rumbled above darkly. 

“You come with solution, yes?” he finally says, dropping his hand from his temple.

“As is my nature,” Athena smiles coyly, her owl perched loyally on her shoulder. “I came to you with this news immediately after bearing witness so forgive me if I speak vaguely.”

He waves his hand.

“Krites was not defiled, that is a certainty. Artemis made sure of that,” Athena begins, filling her glass. “This is not enough to temper uncle’s wrath, but it may be enough to delay it. Krite has a prince’s pride, he will likely be embarrassed and not say anything to his family right away.”

“I hear he is attached to his mother. He’ll run straight to her,” Zeus frowns.

“She filled his head with horror stories about the surface,” Athena preens her owls. “He didn’t believe her and it nearly came true. What boy would want to admit that?”

Zeus chuckles and she continues.

“If he tells anyone it would be his brother first. Regardless, we should send a neutral party to Atlantis, an Olympian, out of respect and goodwill, to apologize for the unfortunate event.  If uncle is still unaware, Olympus can claim credit not only for the rescue, but informing him. A show of goodwill, a promise to discipline Hermes and a reminder of Krites' attendance at the Winter Solstice.”

“Hm,” Zeus hums. “I know my brother. He will be unwilling to let the boy return so soon. I’d rather not require his attendance than deal with his defiance.”

“Why?” Athena asks, her owl tilts its head. “Krites’ presents an opportunity that shouldn’t be wasted because of Hermes’ foolishness.”

“Hmm.” Is it worth risking Perseus? Zeus wants to ask. Athena had surprised him when she fought alongside her half brother yet she hadn’t mentioned him once, nor the danger he was in. He had of course assumed she was fishing for a favor, until she returned with news of Krites. He was, at the least, pleased to know Athena was preparing Perseus for future conflicts to come. Now he knew where her mind truly was.

He was certain the child shared no blood with Athena yet something about the circumstances of his birth felt incomplete. Her focused interest in the boy was obvious, but understandable. Still he hadn’t expected her to exceed his eagerness in bringing Krites to Olympus. She clearly had her own plans for the boy, but for now they aligned with his.

“What opportunity do you speak of?” he dug.

“Our relations to the sea have been poor of late,” Athena shrugged. “The envoy will serve to prevent war, but if we want to avoid tensions falling further, Krites’ opinion of us would be influential. If we can endear Krites to us, he may one day be a valuable asset.”

“Hm,” Zeus hums. Still not a word about Perseus. “This interest in Krites, my brother’s Perseus. It had better not be about Triton again.” 

Athena flusters, only slightly to her credit. “My main intention is mitigating Poseidon’s reaction. He is less likely to retaliate against Perseus’ if distracted by Krites’. The last thing we need is that alliance going to Hera.

“Good, this is a sensitive situation. I’d hate for you to get distracted,” he fixes her with a look.

“Yes, father,” she nods, frowning.

“Very well,” Zeus sighs, looking out to the night sky. “I will require his attendance. He will not be easy to convince. He will regard my goodwill with much suspicion.”

“Yes,” Athena’s bright eyes twinkled. “That’s where Perseus comes in.”

“Why involve him?” Zeus raises an eyebrow.

“There is no need for his involvement, only his mention. Our goodwill will appear genuine when you remind uncle that you are a father as much as he is and understand his hesitation. Both of your favored sons faced perilous situations tonight and both were generously protected by daughters of Zeus, on your order of course.” Athena’s smile is as sharp as a knife.

“Ah,” Zeus laughed softly. They were finally on the same page. “Always so proactive.”

“I try,” Athena shrugs.

“You say we should send an Olympian to deliver this message. Who did you have in mind?” he asks, sipping from his glass.

“Who better to send than one recently ascended from mortality on his own merit?”

Zeus huffs a laugh. “Of course. What a strange generation of gods we’ve spawned these days.”

“Dionysus also had that run in with the pirates a few years ago. He can sympathize directly with Krites. They are quite similar in appearance.”

“Yes,” Zeus laughs. “That’ll do.”

“ I have a better idea,” Artemis emerged from the dark night sky and leapt down from the marble balcony. Behind her the night melted around her golden brother carrying a binded Hermes. Artemis walked up to Zeus’ chair and held out her hand, requesting to be lifted up. Zeus, ever charmed by the rare affection, obliges her, lifting her onto the armrest of his chair, his arm around her waist.

“Send us,” Artemis smiled sweetly as Apollo dumped a filthy Hermes, covered in dirt and grass stains, onto the floor. Hermes glared viciously at his brother, his mouth gagged and his hands and feet binded in fine gold chains. His wings fluttered uselessly against the chains binding them close as well. Apollo, blemishless, smiled brightly adjusting his self-appointed laurels on his head. 

“Am I not the natural choice?” Artemis continues. “As my cousin’s rescuer and main witness to the crime.”

“Hmph,” Zeus chuckles softly. “I suppose you are. Tell me. Why did you rescue Krites?”

“I didn’t intend to,” Artemis shrugs. “When Hermes mocked his virtue I felt pity for him.”

“And you?” Zeus raised an eyebrow at Apollo, still adjusting his laurel in the reflection of a metal vase.

“Well, father,” Apollo smiles, straightening up. “I was on my way to Sparta to visit this wonderful restaurant when I looked down and saw my dear siblings in a quarrel.”

“ Oh brother, ” Athena mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“As the epitome and physical manifestation of perfection,” Apollo tosses his hair, taking care to step directly on his brother’s wings. “I had to set an example, so naturally I went to investigate. Only to discover the terrible crime Artemis single handedly thwarted, saving dear Krites and preventing an unnecessary civil war.”

Apollo knelt at his father’s feet. “As her elder brother-”

“ Whose elder brother-” Artemis narrowed her eyes.

“I took it upon myself to finish her good work and bring Hermes to justice,” Apollo looked up at Zeus with bright eyes and a sharp smile. “That and I had dibs and that horny traitorous cretin-”

“I’ve heard enough,” Zeus holds up his hand.

“I’d prefer to go alone,” Artemis frowns. “But like Athena says, we don't know what Krites has told them yet, it’s difficult to say if uncle will accept me into his realm.”

“He’ll accept me,” Apollo grins.

“ We know ,” they answer as an exasperated chorus. Hermes mumbles in the background.

“Very well,” Zeus taps a finger on his armrest. “Apollo, you will escort Artemis to Atlantis so she can deliver a message to my brother on Olympus’ behalf.”

“What message?” Artemis smiles pleased.

“Athena will fill you two in on the details, elsewhere,” Zeus frowns looking at Hermes who has decided to inspect the grooves in the floor.

“Of course father,” Athena says standing, there’s a sour taste in her voice. “We can discuss in the throne room.”

Artemis gives her father a small kiss on the cheek before leaping down from his armrest and following the sullen Athena. Apollo stands gracefully and gives his father a deep bow before tossing Hermes a vicious grin. Hermes gives a barely audible huff in response, watching his siblings leave him at the mercy of Zeus. He dares a glance at his father who looks him over like a crushed insect. Zeus sighs wearily and takes a sip from his glass. Fucking kids.

“He hasn’t slept like this since you brought him home,” Triton hears his mother muse.

“Prophecy is a taxing domain,” he can hear his father’s smile in his voice. “This is the first real sign of prophetic ability he’s shown us thus far. He’ll need all the rest he is getting now.”

 Amphitrite only hums, her mind too steeped in worry to hear his words. She wears a seafoam dress that mimics silk in a way mortals could never replicate. It shimmers in a familiar green with light touches of blue that have made home in all her attire since Krites was born. 

“Remember when I forfeit the domain to Phoebus?” Poseidon says kissing her shoulder lightly from behind. “How lethargic and still he became those first few months.”

“I remember,” she nods.

Triton remembers too. He happened upon Apollo in the Atlantean gardens. Seeing his irritatingly energetic cousin’s eerie silence and far off gaze had sent shivers down his spine. He always knew prophecy was a power that was more burden than tool, but his father carried it with such ease he didn’t truly understand until that day. Not that it is relevant now, Krites’ fatigue was not born from prophecy.

“Krites is still mortal. It is only natural his abilities come with some consequence,” his father continues.

Something happened last night while Krites was on the surface, Triton was sure of it. But what? He wanted to believe him, that it was just mortal sickness Afterall Krites had never tasted food on the surface, it was only natural his body was unaccustomed to it. Triton could relate to the discomfort of crudely made mortal clothing as well. What gave him pause was the fact Krites returned without reaching his destination.

“Winter Solstice is fast approaching,” his mother sighs. “Do you think he’ll be well enough for the journey?”

“He’ll have to be,” Poseidon says.

Triton never experienced the domain of prophecy, but knew enough of its users to know its calling wasn’t something that could be brushed off or ignored. At least not for long. If something was powerful enough to call Krites from the bottom of the ocean to the Temple of Moiri it would’ve taken something significant to make him turn back. I saw Artemis and Hermes. I don’t know if they saw me, Krites had told him. 

“I feel like I should be doing more,” Amphitrite sighs.

“We do have options…” Poseidon says hesitantly.

Triton frowned. He knew Hermes witnessed Krites birth, as did Apollo, but he couldn’t recall if his twin Artemis was present. His birth was witnessed by nearly half the Olympic council as well as the entire city,” Poseidon had said. “Myself, Zeus, Athena, Apollo and Hermes can all confirm his emergence from the fountain.” Yes, it had been five Olympians, but not Artemis. How did Krites know the goddess if he hadn’t met her? 

“What options?” his mother asks warily. 

“I was thinking we might invite Apollo to the realm. Let him be a teacher and first introduction to society for Krites,” father suggests.

Perhaps Krites had found himself in hot water with the virgin goddess. Triton wouldn’t put it past her to curse a man, even if he was a newborn, but Krites didn’t seem cursed. Still, his gut told him something was seriously wrong. He’d promise Krites he’d keep this between them, but he’d promised his parents to keep Krites safe. Triton sighed, he may have to break some goodwill with his brother tonight

“Didn’t you say Apollo got a bit handsy with him when he was born?” Amphitrite frowns.

“Apollo knows to mind himself in my realm,” father chuckles. “He’s always been respectful of my children and vice versa. He’ll be thrilled for the opportunity to claim the education of another young god.”

“I don’t know-” mother says hesitantly.

“Triton, what do you think?” Poseidon calls to him, breaking him out of his pondering.

“Yes, father?” Triton jumps and Amphitrite chuckles.

“Apollo,” his father smiles. “What do you think of him guiding Krites in the near future?”

“I-,” Triton frowns. It’s a good idea, a great one even, but his mind is too far away and last night has only made him wary of outsiders around Krites. “I have to tell you something.”

Poseidon blinks surprised, but nods seriously. “What is it son?”

“Krites. I- last night, during the Red Wedding,” Triton flounders a bit. He should’ve thought this through more before speaking but his mother is already sat up straight, her eyes bore through him.

“What is it? Did Krites have another vision?” father asks, putting a comforting arm around mother.

“No, not that I know of,” Triton takes a deep breath. “Sometime last night, while we were watching The Red Wedding, Krites snuck out of the palace.”

“What do you mean… he snuck out?” father’s voice sharp, but not yet angry.

“He was called by something,” Triton explains. “To the Temple of Moiri.”

“He went all the way there?” his mother gapes.

“Did he receive prophecy?” father asks almost eagerly, earning a hard look from Amphitrite.

“He didn’t make it. He found a mortal village on his way and tried their garments and food. It made him ill,” Triton says carefully.

“Hmm,” father strokes his beard. “I suppose I’ll have to take him myself soon.”

“What else?” Amphitrite narrows her eyes, searching Triton’s face for answers.

“His illness isn’t what made him return,” Triton swallows. “He says he returned to the sea when he saw Artemis and Hermes. That they didn’t see him but-”

“But-” Poseidon prompts.

“I- don’t think he was being honest with me,” Triton sighs. “I don’t believe he’s ever met Artemis, how could he recognize her from a distance. That and… he seemed frightened. As if something had spooked him on the surface.”

“When did you notice he was missing?” his mother demands.

“Last night,” Triton flinches. “When I went to check on him before the battle ended.”

“How did you know where he was?” Poseidon glares.

“I didn’t,” Triton remembers the crawling dread in his chest as he searched the palace for the small boy. It almost made him sick to remember that large empty bed and the open balcony window. “I had finally gone to check the stables when I noticed Estelle was missing too and knew he hadn’t been taken. Estelle found me and led me to him.”

“Estelle would never leave Krites’ side,” Amphitrite says, her voice tight.

Triton nods grimly. “That’s what I thought. He was in his chariot, was close to the palace, but hidden. He was… curled up on himself. When I made him come to a physical form he became ill-”

“Did he vomit?” Poseidon interrupts.

“Yes, father,” Triton grimaces. “Twice, then once again when I brought him home.”

“Good.”

“Why?” Amphitrite asks, her face twisted. Father’s arm was the only thing stopping her from rushing to his Krites’ side. “What does it mean?”

“Whatever Krites ate was left out late by the mortals,” Poseidon’s thumb strokes the back of Amphitrite's hand. “Which is unusual for them as it attracts wild animals. It’s likely he ate something discarded or inedible, mistaking it for food. Vomiting will repeal what he ate, but it is exhausting for them.”

“Is that why he’s sleeping?” she asks, but the relief is already evident on her face.

“Yes my love,” he kisses her forehead. “He’s probably nearly recovered. We’ll go wake him after we finish discussing this.”

“Still, something frightened him,” Amphitrite frowns. “You said he saw Artemis and Hermes.”

“Yes mother,” Triton nods.

“Did he speak to them?”

“He says they did not notice him,” Triton and his mother only need to share a look to know neither of them believe that.

“Did he seem injured? At all?” Poseidon asks.

Triton shook his head. “No, only ill and frightened.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” his father asks.

“I- I promised him I wouldn’t,” Triton admits.

“Triton-” Poseidon begins

“I wanted him to trust me,” Triton says quickly. “He… something happened and he wouldn’t tell me. I promised him he could confide in me and I would keep it between brothers.”

His parents are quiet for a moment before Amphitrite sighs and manifests in front of her son. She takes his face between her hands and kisses him softly on the forehead.

“You did a great job protecting your brother,” she holds him. “I know you must have been frightened for him.”

Triton only nods and closes his eyes letting his chin rest on his mother’s shoulder.

“You’re right to prioritize your brother’s trust, but thank you for telling us,” she pulls back and holds his shoulders at arm’s length. “We’ll make sure Krites’ doesn’t know what you told us, but we need to know what happened on the surface.”

“Hopefully it isn’t anything sinister,” Triton whispers softly.

Amphitrite smiles, the worry around her eyes too tight. “It was his first time being ill. It’s likely it frightened him just as much as it did you. We’ll take it from here, okay?”

“Yes, mother,” Triton nods, relieved to be relieved of the responsibility.

“Triton,” his father say suddenly, his tone dark. Amphitrite tosses him an annoyed look that falters when she sees his face. “Go sit with your brother then join us in the throne room.”

“Of- course” Triton bows slightly, giving his mother a confused look. He kisses her cheek and takes his leave.

“Poseidon?” Amphitrite asks, concerned. 

His face is grim as he extends a hand to her. She takes it and finds herself sat on her throne beside him, his trident in hand. We have guests… from Olympus, he says in her head and her ichor runs cold. She doesn’t have to ask who when she senses their presence in the waters surrounding the palace. She sneaks a quick glance at her husband who could be a statue if not for the currents moving his hair. Lord Delphin enters the throne room first.

“Hail Their Divine Majesties,” Lord Delphin begins. “Nephew and Niece of the Father, Twin God and Goddess of the Sun and Moon, The Olympians Apollo and Artemis.”

Chapter Text

It had been centuries since Artemis last visited Poseidon’s realm, but this would be her first journey to the deep sea city of Atlantis. She remembered how her brother had raved about their uncle’s palace of gold, his eyes lit with excitement. A stark difference from his reluctant departure, grumbling about the dark cold of the depths. Under the weight, pressure and power of the sea, even her brother’s brightest rays could not reach the ocean floor.

“Oh Artemis,” he sighed happily, stretching in the sun. “It was worth it! The food, the art, the creatures and their cultures. Completely untouched by our own! You must join me next time!” 

Artemis had a feeling this visit would not be as glorious as he described. She could see his enthusiasm failing him as they descended in the sun chariot. Even pressed against his side the frigid waters seemed to drain the warmth from her. She could feel eyes all around her, all over her. Apollo glances uneasily and her fears are confirmed. Poseidon knows and he’s probably been expecting them.

She was suddenly very grateful for her brother’s insistence on joining her. She underestimated how powerful Poseidon was in his own realm and overestimated her strength so far removed from her domains. She assumed the dark would be familiar to her, comforting. Afterall, if even her light dependent brother could make a sort of home here how bad could it be. Now Athena's final warning haunted her.

“Bah bring your idiot brother,” Athena waved, scowling. “You’ll need him for more than a guide.”

“Doubt it,” Artemis smirked. It wasn’t often they got to pull a fast one on Athena, but it was always satisfying.

“You’ll see,” Athena sneered . “Between father’s favorite demigod in Ethiopia and his favorite daughter in Atlantis I wonder who would make a more enticing target for uncle?”

Apollo laughed brightly. “Uncle would never even dream of placing a hand on Artemis.”

“On a good night,” Athena tossed her hair, leaving in a pillar of flame before they could respond to her ludicrous suggestion. 

Athena of all Olympians should know though Poseidon’s wrath was boundless, it was never foolish. Still as they approached Atlantis, Artemis raised herself against the ocean’s pressures to the form of a young woman. Apollo didn’t say a word, but gave her an appreciative nod.

She frowned at him as he unslung his own golden arrows. He’s right of course, but it doesn’t make it any easier to separate from her symbol of power and weapon of choice. Especially in circumstances such as this. Still, she was there as an envoy for peace not a warrior… and she could feel the suggestive pressure weighing her weapons down. Artemis disarmed.

“We’re here,” Apollo announced, releasing a burst of light as a greeting.

No sooner than he spoke a powerful current took hold of the chariot and horses and they were hurled at ungodly speeds. When it finally slowed they found themselves in front of the massive golden palace. Torches of eternal blue flames, rare gems and embedded crustaceans decorated the entrance. Sharp jutting towers seemed to extend to the skies. The entire structure hummed with primordial energy and casted a muted green glow in the dark water.

Apollo stepped down from his chariot extending a hand for his sister. The mood was solemn as they approached the palace, a partition of guards lining their entrance as the enormous doors swung open silently. A single guard awaited them, bowing deep at the waist.

“Welcome to Atlantis Lord Apollo, Lady Artemis. The Father, Poseidon, God of the Seas awaits you in his throne room.”

Artemis scowled. She’d like to kill the man for the insult, but it would not help her mission of peace. Besides he almost certainly drew the short straw to be thrown into a situation like this. 

“Where is Lord Delphin?” Apollo smiled brightly, a telltale crinkle of frustration in the corner of his eye. “Has he grown wary of receiving Olympians?”

The guard only shifted uncomfortably, possibly too frightened to make eye contact, or speak outside of the script he was given. Apollo still strode forward with false cheer and stood directly in front of the man making him look up.

“Thank you for the warm reception,” Artemis couldn’t see Apollo’s face as he spoke, but saw the shock and fear in the guard’s eyes. “But we’ll find our way quicker without a mortal slowing us down.”

The man barely had time to blink as Apollo’s heat melted and dissolved him. It doesn’t take much. Most creatures of the deep were made in mind of their hostile frigid environment and could not tolerate the heat of temperatures mortals would find freezing. That and it was also a clever way to keep Poseidon’s creations out of the realm of man.

Apollo turned to her pleased with himself. “Ready?”

Triton thought of Pallas as he watched over his sleeping brother curled in his clam shell bed. It wasn’t often he could think of her without pain, but Krites made it easy. It was impossible to think of her death while being reminded that Krites was so much like her when she was alive. Their mischievous disposition, eagerness to please, bright energies. Even the way they slept, limbs fully sprawled out with no regard for others. It brought Triton an alarming amount of peace to simply sit and watch the boy sleep.

Now worry consumes him as he pushes back his brother’s hair, his sleeping form curled up tightly on himself. Legs tucked against his chest as they were when Triton found him in the chariot. A subconscious current moves his hair to cover his face again and Triton sighs. He pulls the upper shell headboard at an angle to cover Krites, but not enclose him and dims the eternal torches alit in the room.

As he is dimming the eternal torches alit in the room he feels the Olympian twins' presence arrive in the palace. He startles so hard Krites stirs. Triton hurriedly calmed the waters around Krites to lull him back to sleep and turned his ears to the throne room. Apollo was a frequent guest to the realm and Atlantis, though he hadn’t visited in sometime. Artemis however, had never set foot in Atlantis and Triton was certain she never would… so why now?

I saw Artemis and Hermes. I don’t know if they saw me, Krites words rang in his ears like omen. There was only one person with enough pull to compel Artemis to venture beneath the waves and it certainly wasn’t her brother. What on heaven and earth, could garner such a response? Triton glanced down at his coiled sleeping brother and dread rushed through him like ice. Surely not…

As expected , Lord Delphin was awaiting Apollo and his sister when they manifested in front of the throne room. 

“Lord Delphin, it’s been some time,” Apollo gave a lukewarm smile. “I missed you at the welcome procession.”

Lord Delphin to his credit ignored the jab and simply bowed piously. “Indeed. Welcome, Lord Apollo, Lady Artemis to Atlantis. What business have you brought here?”

“A message from Olympus” Artemis floated forward. “For our uncle Lord Poseidon at the behest of his brother and king Lord Zeus.”

Lord Delphin raised an eyebrow, his usual mask of politeness missing its sincerity, but he still nodded and turned to the great doors which began to swing open. Outpours the source of the underlying tension and agitation Apollo had felt since they entered the sea. Artemis, forever unfazed, strode directly into the throne room’s dense waters. Honestly Apollo would prefer if she wasn’t here at all, but knew she would never welcome the suggestion.

He had been so excited when he found out Krites surfaced. Poseidon had produced an odd batch of offspring recently, even for him. All fascinating of course, but none so alluring as the beautiful fountain boy who emerged in Athens.  His seafoam chiton morphed and shifted like the faces of Aphrodite, teasing daring glimpses it never revealed. Droplets of water clung to his dark hair like pearls. Sharp bright eyes regarded him with an unnerving familiarity.

The Winter Solstice could not come quickly enough. Uncle's decision to take the boy to Atlantis was irritating, but Apollo was a patient god. New deities were often snatched up quite quickly, but Apollo consoled himself knowing his prize would be well protected and preserved from the prying eyes and hands of lustful gods. Alas, the lovely Krites was too impatient, as was that treacherous whore Hermes.

Hermes was an idiot. Risking war for a quick fuck was one thing, but risking Apollo’s wrath? He didn’t know if it was the betrayal or the complete lack of elegance that offended him more. Imagining that perfect, virginal body writhing not in silk, but fucking dirt boiled his essence. The blasphemy to treat such a treasure like a common coin. Apollo’s hands were wrapped around his throat in an instant.

Usually he would be satisfied with the throttling and call it a day, but it’s Artemis who procures the golden chains and tells him to bind his brother while they speak. The request was odd, but well deserved so Apollo complied, curious. Artemis quietly told him of how Athena was the one to draw her attention to Krite’s predicament and offered the women of Athens in exchange for the rescue. Which was… suspicious. There was very little Athena did without reason.

“If Hermes had been successful it would’ve meant war,” Apollo hummed, braiding his laurels into a crown. “Perhaps she wanted to avoid-”

They made eye contact and looked away, lips twitching.

“Okay,” Apollo chuckled. “So not that.”

“Regardless of if either of us intervened,” Artemis smiled, fixing her gaze on their binded little brother. “Poseidon will want reparation. Why should Athena benefit from our hard work?”

Apollo raised an eyebrow, but his eyes shone. “Delivering him to uncle is a bit harsh.”

“Athena is most likely with father right now, spinning her tales,” Artemis turned to the dark night sky. “If we take him to the sea we may find ourselves at odds with him.”

“She’ll have his ear,” Apollo hummed. “After her battle alongside the hero Perseus.”

“What? When did this happen?” Artemis frowned

“The wedding?” Apollo said. Artemis stared blankly. “To Princess Andromedea? Ethiopia? Cetus? Virgin on the rocks?”

“Ah! That one,” Artemis nodded. “She was rescued by Perseus?”

“He killed uncle’s sea monster with Medusa’s head,” Apollo nodded.

Artemis flinched. This night was not turning out well for Poseidon. If Hermes had been successful… she hated to admit Athena was right.

“Why was she fighting at his wedding?” Artemis asked.

“Oh my gods,” Apollo brightens. Artemis holds up a hand.

“Summarize it,” she says sharply.

He dimmed, marginally. “Princess Andromeda was previously betrothed to her uncle Phineus, brother of the king. The man summoned a militia against Perseus during the wedding after the vows had already been made, once the guests were plump with food and wine. The entire wedding party rises against the conspirators and Athena aided Perseus with protection. He won of course, but hundreds died. Mostly family, very sad. I think Ares was there.”

“Who does that shit at a wedding?” Artemis shook her head.

“A coward who does not wish to see it consummated,” Apollo chuckled. 

“Speaking of cowards,” Apollo gestured his head to Hermes, who stopped trying to dislocate his arm. “This one will only grant us so much favor with father after Athena’s heroics today.”

“He’s just our ticket,” Artemis’ eyes glint wickedly at Hermes. “ I don’t need to actually earn our father's favor.”

Artemis was, annoyingly, right of course. Father melted in her smile and charged them with delivering his message to Poseidon. It was shaping up to be a wonderful night for Apollo. Watching the epic battle with the muses, Artemis preserved his lovely Krites, punishing Hermes, sticking it to Athena, earning not only father’s, but soon his uncle’s favor. His life really was perfect. Oh, and if Athena could be trusted Athens would now be a Hera free society!

But now in front of his towering aunt and uncle he has some regrets. Poseidon and his wife loomed large and ancient on their thrones. Poseidon’s trident glows with primordial energy that deter the herd of fish swimming in lazy circles around the beautiful Amphitrite. There isn’t a shred of familiarity in their piercing gazes and Apollo longs for his bow.

“Hail Their Divine Majesties,” Lord Delphin announced. “Nephew and Niece of the Father, Twin God and Goddess of the Sun and Moon, The Olympians Apollo and Artemis.”

There is no fanfare or even a word from the deities sat above them. Apollo stepped forward first. 

“Uncle,” he beamed. “I’ve come to bless your realm with my long absent presence and deliver a message on behalf of Olympus and my father, Zeus.”

“Hmph,” Poseidon stared unamused. “I didn’t realize it took two Olympians to deliver a single message,” his voice vibrated oppressively.

“Artemis is here to serve as father’s envoy, I only as her guide,” Apollo explains. “Seeing this is her much overdue first visit to Atlantis.”

Poseidon huffs before his gaze falls on Artemis. “Speak child. What news do you bring from my brother?”

“Uncle,” Artemis bowed slightly as she floated forward. “I wish I came under better circumstances.”

“Yes?” Poseidon frowns impatiently.

“Last night there was an incident involving your fountain son Krites,” Artemis says. “Krites surfaced near Corinth and was intercepted by Hermes, who attempted to raped the boy. Krites fought well and on the behalf of my father I was able to intervene-”

Artemis broke off, though Apollo didn’t blame her. The colorful fish that always accompanied Amphitrite disbursed immediately and the water in the throne room grew dark and sickly. The servants and nobles in the throne room start moving towards the walls in an attempt to escape the tainted waters. Poseidon’s trident crackles like electricity in the dimming light as the currents start circling around them, debris lifted and tossed in its wake. He lets out a single unsteady breath, like waves crashing on the rock. 

Apollo is by his sister’s side in an instant, his little warmth enveloping them both. Artemis is taut and he sees her fingers itching for her bow. Far beyond the reach of her own domains and her father’s influence, true vulnerability would be a new sensation for her. But Apollo knows Poseidon’s wrath would have sent them to their knees. It is Amphitrite who speaks first.

“He. Was. Raped ,” her hissing voice echoes around the throne room like an omen.

A beat of silence passes before Artemis speaks.

“I did not let it get that far,” Artemis put her hand on her chest. “I swear to you. He returned to your realm unmolested.”

“Would you swear on your own honor?” Amphitrite sneers.

Apollo can only blink as Artemis reels back as if slapped. It was barely a threat, but to even suggest… He puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder and steps forward, his face a smooth mask of amiability.

“I swear on my honor as an Olympian,” he bows. “Everything my sister says is the truth. As you may know, the same night Krites escaped, my father’s own son, Perseus was assaulted at his wedding and shielded by Athena under father’s instruction as Artemis protected Krites. I cannot speak for Athena’s protection, but I can assure you Krites returned to your domain safely.”

“You escorted him yourself?” Poseidon's hand is placed gently over his wife’s, but the ice in his gaze never wavers.

“My hunters personally guarded his path directly to the sea while I confronted Hermes,” Artemis answers. “At least a dozen of them witnessed his safe return and reported back to me.”

“You trust your Hunters to protect a boy?” Amphitrite scowls.

“I trust them to obey,” Artemis’ pride flares. “Quite a few of them were rooting for him before I intervened.”

“Why?” Poseidon frowns.

Artemis tilts her head. “He is a virgin is he not?”

The sea king and queen blink slowly and look at each other.

“Surely not?” Poseidon almost seems to ask his wife.

Amphitrite looks uncertain. “He’s only a few months old. I haven’t seen him express much interest, but his brother would know?”

“You said he liked the Libyan nymphs,” Poseidon probed.

“He liked sparring with them,” Amphitrite reminded him.

“That’s it?” 

Amphitrite shrugged helplessly. “He’s a good boy.”

“It’s not healthy.”

“He’s perfectly fine.”

“He was vomiting last night.”

“Because of your nephew.”

“So, now he’s my nephew.”

“Is Krites ill?” Apollo interrupted the bickering before it got too far. “May I see him?”

A flood of seafoam burst in front of the king and queen revealing their heir Triton. The green skinned merman glares unforgivingly at the twins.

“He is resting,” Triton’s voice is sharp. “Recovering apparently from an assault.”

“Cousin!” Apollo smiled brightly. No one else does. “How is Krites? He wasn’t poisoned was he?

“Ask your brother?” Triton crosses his arms.

“He’s a bit tied up at the moment,” Apollo chuckles. “It’s the least I could do for dear Krites. Has he been sleeping much?”

Poseidon and Amphitrite exchange a look. Interesting , Apollo thought. Poison wasn’t really Hermes' thing. He was far too energetic for a limb body. Perhaps he was practicing some caution in his madness last night.

“Where is Hermes now?” Poseidon asks him suspiciously.

Apollo turns to Artemis. The question was directed at him but this was Artemis’ message to deliver. Besides he was eager to see Krites again and find out exactly what his brother lost his damn mind over. 

“Apollo detained him and we delivered him to father in chains,” Artemis says. “Father fully intends to punish him for the insult to you, but will allow your input at the Winter Solstice.”

“Why?” Poseidon asks Apollo again, narrowing his eyes.

“I’d never be so bold as to assume to know what father is thinking,” Apollo smiles uneasily. “Though I can imagine after almost losing his own favored demigod, he is in an understanding mood. Both as a father and brother.”

Poseidon seems to chew the words over before turning to Amphitrite. She frowns at their silent conversation before finally turning away with a huff. Poseidon gives her a small smile and squeezes her hand.

“Triton, escort Apollo to Krite’s chambers. We’ll continue this discussion with Artemis,” Poseidon declares.

Triton looks as if he’s rather skin himself alive and Apollo can relate. He was hesitant to leave his sister, especially after Amphitrite’s comment, but a quick nod from her was all the confirmation he needed. He follows a reluctant Triton out of the throne room just as Poseidon asks Artemis about Krites' battle with Hermes. He smiles to himself. Fathers, always so concerned with glory.

Percy stirred in his sleep. A familiar warmth was resting on his forehead and he nuzzled into the large hand. He heard Apollo’s light chuckle vibrate in the water and felt a thumb push back a strand of his hair. Was it afternoon already? He only meant to take a quick nap and shower before Estelle got home from school. Damn, he wanted to surprise her, but she probably already saw his shoes by the door. 

“Where’s Estelle?” he mumbled.

“Estelle?” Apollo’s amused voice sounded strange.

“His hippocampus,” Triton’s voice came through. Percy’s eyes snap open. Triton??

“The one that led you to his chariot?” Apollo asks.

Apollo is sat next to Percy on the edge of his- no Krite’s clam shell bed. Even sat the god towers over him at nearly twice his height. Triton floats at the foot of the bed frowning slightly as he and Apollo chat. Right. He was in Atlantis not Manhattan. Estelle had been born yet. His mother hadn’t been born yet. And Apollo… this Apollo wasn’t the overly friendly and musical deity that babysat his sister. This was the real Apollo. A shiver runs down his spine.

“Krites,” Triton finally speaks to him, mustering a small pained smile. “Don’t be alarmed. This is our cousin Apollo.”

“We’ve met already,” Apollo smiles brightly. He wore a one yellow shoulder chiton this time and his hair flowed loosely in the water under his crown of fresh laurels. His gold against the blue water made him glow almost as green as Triton. “I was present at his birth.”

“You stepped in my fountain,” Percy says, remembering how the god went flying when his father tossed him. 

Apollo only laughs good naturedly as Triton raises an eyebrow, glaring at Apollo accusingly. 

“You do remember me,” he beamed, pleased. “Do you remember who arrived after me?”

“Herm- “ Percy's voice catches on the name. Oh, oh.

The night returns to him in pieces. His head breaking the surface, tasting the fresh air on his tongue, the sensation of being watched, his feet beating the earth, the wool snatched from his skin, strong delicate feathers painfully pinning down his ankles.

“Yes, Hermes,” Apollo gave him a gentle smile, stroking his cheek. It’s painfully nostalgic. Percy can almost smell his mother’s cookies wafting in from the kitchen. He can almost hear Paul’s laughter following Estelle's tiny footsteps. 

“I heard you had quite a close encounter with him,” Apollo continues, moving the pillows behind Percy to sit him up.

“Yeah,” Percy said quietly, rubbing his arm. “Artemis saved me.”

“You’re very fortunate she did,” Apollo nods seriously. “Though I hear you put up a good fight! Artemis isn’t an easy goddess to impress, especially as a young man.”

“I’ll send her an offering,” Percy swears. “Can you tell her I said thank you? I didn’t get a chance before…”

“Really? She said you expressed your gratitude before you fled,” Apollo’s lip twitches. “Though I’m sure she’d love an offering, you can thank her yourself once she finishes speaking with your father.”

“Dad knows?” Percy sinks into the comforter. He isn’t sure why he feels embarrassment of all things, but something about his father knowing what happened to him makes him want to crawl into a hole.

Apollo gives him a pitiful look.

“Lady Artemis and Lord Apollo arrived as envoys on behalf of Olympus,” Triton explains, swimming to the other side of his bed. “They told us of the rape Hermes attempted and how you were rescued. Father is not vex with you, though I fear you may find mother overbearing these next few weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy stares at his comforter in his lap. He wished they wouldn’t use that word “I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble.”

“You know your father has always told me the sea doesn’t like being restrained ,” Apollo smiles kindly. “You were bound to break the surface eventually, and you caused no trouble by doing so.”

“I don’t want this to lead to war,” Percy muttered.

Apollo and Triton chuckled.

“Leave concerns of war to us little brother,” Triton smiles. “You were made for gentler things.”

“Besides, war requires some opposition,” Apollo gives a knowing smile. “Artemis rescued you on our father, Zeus’ instruction. Hermes will be punished swiftly, there will be no need for war.”

Percy gapes at him in shock. “Zeus? Why would he have me rescued?”

“My goodness,” Apollo barked a laugh. “What are these people telling you about us?”

“Nothing that isn’t true,” Triton chuckled amused.

“Tsk,” Apollo shook his head leaning on one arm over Percy’s legs. “Zeus, King of Gods, God of the sky, lighting, thunder is also God of law, order and justice. He is also your father’s brother and does not wish to quarrel with him.”

“How are you feeling Krites?” Triton changes the subject. “Are you still ill?”

“I feel better now,” Percy admitted, turning to Apollo. “Thank you.”

Apollo tilts his head curiously, lip twitching. “You are sweet. Gods of Olympus, where did you get it from?”

Because I said thank you? Percy thought to himself.

“Must be a side effect of the mortality,” Triton sighs but still looks at Percy pleased.

“Is he still mortal?” Apollo asks Triton.

Before Triton can answer, Krite's bedroom door swings open and Apollo quickly stands from the bed edge. Amphitrite is followed in by an auburn haired young woman with legs. Percy meets Amphitrite’s eyes and is almost floored by the familiar rush of relief he thought was reserved for his own mother. He’d been aching for his mom since he emerged from the fountain and it’d only gotten worse since his visit to the surface. He reaches out for Amphitrite, the word mom on his lips, but she’s already at his side.

She lifts him from the shell, cupping his whole body in her hand and holds him against her. He closes his eyes and is enveloped by a gentle scent. The gentle hum of divinity from her chest is as comforting as a heartbeat and the stress of the past two days melts. After a long moment she pulls him away to get a better look at him. Her fine features are twisted with grief and a pang of guilt surges through him.

“My sweet Pearl,” she sounds as if she might weep. “Did Hermes rape you?”

The question is so blunt Percy’s jaw would’ve dropped in shock had he not frozen.

“ Krites, ” she insists

“N-no,” Percy blurts out. “He didn’t. Artemis was there. I’m fine. I’m okay.”

With a start he realizes the auburn haired young woman behind Amphitrite is Artemis, but older. Amphitrite still looks as if she doesn’t believe him, but nods satisfied for now.

“Where’s dad?” Percy asks, desperate to change the topic.

“Taking care of some things before he travels to Olympus,” Amphitrite’s expression hardens. “He needs to speak to his brother. Did you find any poison?” she asks Apollo directly.

“ Poison ?” Percy says quietly, Triton gives him a look that says hush.

“It was not poison,” Apollo shook his head, moving to stand at the foot of the bed with Artemis. “He was likely just overwhelmed from the journey and events that transpired. He was quite recovered when I arrived.”

`

Amphitrite seems pleased with this answer and nods, turning to Artemis. “I owe you a debt, Lady Artemis. For returning Krites to us unmolested.”Amphitrite bows slightly.

“It was my pleasure Lady Amphitrite,” Artemis says coolly. The goddess stare each other down with relaxed hostility.

“Hi Artemis,” Percy waved shyly hoping to break whatever tension was brewing between them.

Artemis smiles, warmly at him. “Hello, little cousin. It’s good to see you again, and well.”

“Yes, thank you for last night,” Percy bows his head slightly. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your hunt.”

“You’re a sweet one,” Artemis gives him an appreciative look. “We managed just fine despite the interruption. You fought well for one your age.”

“I did my best,” Percy mumbled, trying not to think about it. Apollo laughs quietly.

“Usually we would save the gift giving for your introduction on Olympus,” a letter manifesting in Artemis’ hand. “But seeing as you’ve already met half the council, we decided to make an exception. This is from my father Zeus.

The letter is almost two feet long in Percy’s hands, made of soft cream colored paper with a solid gold lighting bolt as a clasp. He opens it and the paper crackles with electricity and releases a burst of energy that envelops Percy as Amphitrite cries out. She snatches it from his hands before he can read  anything it says.

“ Blessing of Zeus ,” she scowls and the letter disappears from her hands.

Artemis shrugs. “He guaranteed you Krites would be under his protection.”

“At the Solstice,” Amphitrite steams. “Not in my home .”

“This is from Athena,” Artemis ignores her. “Nothing magical about this one.”

A small jar appears in Artemis' hand and floats towards Krites who gives Amphitrite a hesitant look before grabbing it. He opens the lid and inside are… olives. Just plain olives. He looks up at Artemis.

“From the contest?” he asks, cautiously.

“Yes, these are from the very first olive tree that was created the day you were born,” Artemis smiles, watching his reaction closely.

He picks one up and holds it between his fingers. He didn’t like olives, but he wasn’t supposed to know that yet. Blessed Amphitrite intervenes, taking the jar from him.

“Don’t eat food given to you by deities,” is all she says. Apollo and Triton chuckle.

“Lastly,” Artemis sighs. “This is from me.”

A silver arrow appears between her fingers. She flips it pointing the tail towards Percy who reaches out to take it. As soon as his hand grasps the tail end of the arrow it morphs and flattens into a three foot long sword. It’s sigil, a full moon over an ocean wave at its hilt. It was beautiful, sleek and deadly. Percy could feel the magic embedded in the blade and see the soft white glow that hovered just around it. It looked more holy, than divine.

“A young man should have a weapon,” Artemis smiles at Percy, but her eyes shift to Amphitrite. “I gift you this sword made from my own arrows that can pierce any shield. It will protect you as long as you choose to remain virtuous. After which of course you’ll have to fend for yourself.”

It was no Riptide, but the weight of a sword in his hands was familiar and welcomed. He glanced up at Amphitrite eagerly. Surely she wouldn’t decline such a personalized gift from an Olympian. Percy can tell from the set line in her mouth she won’t and he grins at Artemis.

“Thank you,” he bows, placing the sword on the bed beside him.

The blade sinks to the hilt through his comforter, as if it were made from butter. Expecting resistance he pulls up at a reckless angle almost slicing open his own leg. Triton, not unkindly, takes the sword from him and sheathes it in a column of water before placing it on the bedside table. There is a humor on his face Percy can’t read.

“Thank you, Lady Artemis,” Amphitrite sighs. “Is that all?”

“Not quite,” Apollo cuts in as Artemis frowns.

“What else is there?” Artemis asks wearily.

“Well my gift of course,” he beams. “Artemis may want to deny you the pleasure in this world, but I won’t. You have a refined palette, yes?”

Percy doesn’t have a chance to respond before he pulls a small coin pouch from the folds in his clothes and places it gently in Percy’s hands.

“Take this wherever you go and you’ll always have something nice to eat,” Apollo gestures for him to try it.

Hesitant, Percy reaches in, feels a rough disk and pulls out a blue cookie. Not just any cookie but his mother’s blue cookies with dark chocolate chips and coarse sea salt. His mouth starts salivating.

“What the fuck is that?” Triton looks at it in disgust, reaching out to take it from him.

“I- honestly have no idea,” Apollo recoils.

Percy snatches his hand away from Triton, gripping the food bag tightly. 

“It’s a cookie!” he snaps in English. “I’m keeping it!”

“What language is that?” Artemis tilts her head as her brother laughs.

“He made it up,” Amphitrite sighs, waving Triton away from Percy who happily shoves the cookie in his mouth. “He slips into it every now and then.”

“I said it’s a cookie and I’m keeping it,” Percy said through his full mouth.

“Hmm,” Apollo grinned at Percy. “Perhaps language will become your domain one day.”

“Aren’t you the god of language?”

Apollo laughs, delighted. “No sweet boy. I am the god of many wonderful things, but language is my wayward brother’s domain. It would, however, be an excellent form of reparation to demand from him.”

Oh, that brother.

“You can pass it along to uncle on our way to Olympus,” Artemis says. “He should be ready to depart by now.”

“Ah, right! I’d almost forgotten,” Apollo turns back to Krites and smiles warmly. “Try not to overeat or you’ll be sick again. I look forward to seeing you again on the Winter Solstice.”

He turns to Amphitrite. “Aunt Amphitrite, always a pleasure to be welcomed into your home-”

Artemis and Apollo seem to be in a rush at that point, probably summoned by his father. The deities finish their formalities and goodbyes and Triton escorts them back to their chariot. Amphitrite lingers, they don’t speak. She sinks into the space beside him and folds herself neatly into the bed. She holds him close, tucked in her arm, humming a wordless song. She smells of salt and deep sea gardens. The colorful fish surrounding her swim slowly, their gentle currents soothing. It doesn’t take long for Percy’s fatigue to find him again and he finally lulls to sleep in the goddess’ arms.

Chapter Text

The bath was cold and smelt of salt and blood. Dark as the ocean she could see little pass its surface, only the frightened reflection of her eyes. Her arms and legs would not obey her and neither would her mouth had it been above water. Petrified, she waited and watched as the wicked creature rose slowly from the depths. She could feel the water moving as the creature’s head appeared between her legs. It’s terrible, fleshy skin against hers. It rose and rose until she could smell its breath and count its fangs. She opened her mouth to scream and the beast lunged.

Andromeda’s eyes flew open, heart thumping in her chest. She takes one long shaky breath and exhales, grateful to be free of the night terror. Her wrists ache and she releases her grip on the sheets. Her ankles ache too and she stretches slightly testing her control of her own body. In the corner of the unfamiliar room a pair of winged sandals, tied to the floor, beat restlessly. She looks beside her and finds her husband is gone, as is some of the bedding.

Right. She was married now, and to a hero, son of Jupiter, mightiest of the gods, whose Oracle  condemned her to the sacrificial rock over words that were not her own. To say there was anger in her heart would be a lie. She was filled with rage at her mother, her father, her uncle and the gods in all their many forms. Still, she could not find her rage for the hero who had rescued her. She first thought him to be the god Mercury, on his winged feet, until he revealed his true identity. 

Even knowing her peril was designed by the eldest gods, one of which was his own father, the hero did not deliberate. In front of the audience of people she’d known and loved her whole life, he was the one who risked life and wrath to free her from her sorry fate. He carried her through the crowds keeping them at bay with his commanding voice. Mummering soft comforts to her through gentle whispers. He condemned the physicians more concerned with his congratulations than her condition. When her mother voiced guilt and asked to be punished before more horror falls on their land and people, he built altars out of turf to the Olympians Jupiter, Minerva and Mercury who he calls father, Athena and Hermes to appease them on her behalf.

He claims Andromeda, without a dowry, valuing her as the worthiest prize. Hymen and Amor wave the marriage torch, the fires are saturated with strong perfumes, garlands hang from the rafters, flutes and pipes, and singing. The happy evidence of joyful hearts being filled… until her uncle, and once intended, arrives with his armed men. She is escorted from the halls only just before the violence begins. She and the other women spend hours huddling in the dark listening to the cries of dying men until one arrives in blood to say it has ended. Their guard asks if they were victorious and Andromeda will never forget the look, in the man’s eyes.

“The conspirators have been subdued,” he sways on his feet a bit. The guard put a concerned hand on his shoulder to steady him. “There was no victory here.”

She is escorted to her marriage chambers with no word if her parents or husband has survived. She imagines him, dripping in blood, brimming with lust, rage and the need to take. His gentle, comforting hands now painful and unrelenting. Turning away from the bed she steps out onto her balcony. It was not too late to change her fate again… if the gods were kind.

“Andromeda,” a voice called out.

She startled turning to find Perseus sat on the marble balcony. She should have smelled him first, the scent of perfume was strong. He stepped down and walked to her slowly scanning her face with a frown. He was freshly bathed, wearing a clean set of clothes with colors too vivid for his pale complexion. He takes one of her shaking hands, there is still blood under his nails.

“If you are tired,” his voice is soft. “Let us rest. If you are restless, let us sit together.”

“I- I am tired,” she swallows. “But I cannot rest.”

He gives her a small smile, his hands are shaking too. “Neither can I.”

The winged sandals beat in the corner again pulling her from her memories. The balcony was open letting the cool air flow in. It stank of ocean water and burning corpses. Still, she rises before sleep can take her to that terrible place, and steps out on the balcony to greet Perseus.

He is wrapped in the bedding like an old woman, clutching the sheet closed with his hand on his chest. He catches her eye and smiles warmly as if they’ve known each other for years. He opens an arm, inviting her into his warmth. It’s easy to accept.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, kissing the crown of her head. His voice is still weak, as if he hadn’t slept. “Did I wake you?”

She shakes her head against his chest. “No, your shoes.”

His chuckle sends a deep vibration through his chest and Andromeda can’t help the secret smile playing on her lip.

“Apologies, my love,” he finishes chuckling. “I’ll make sure they don’t wake you again. Did you sleep well?”

“Nightmares,” she answers quietly.

He only nods, sighing. “I’ve been having nightmares too.”

“Monsters?” she asks.

“No,” he seems to pause. “About my mother. I think she’s in danger, but I cannot go to her.”

“Your mother?” Andromeda asks, looking up to him and regretting it as she gets a nose fill of the burning flesh. 

He swallows. “I dream of her trapped somewhere, alone. She calls for my father, but he does not answer. I wake in her despair.”

A shiver runs up her spine. “A god sent you that dream. Perhaps your father?”

“Perhaps,” he doesn’t say more.

“Why can you not go to her?” Andromeda asks. “Surely your wings can carry you.”

“They can,” he shifts. “It would be a long journey, a cold one now that harvest is done.”

“It will get colder still,” she warns. “Too cold to travel in your countries. If she is not trapped now, she will be come first snow. Is she married? Can you not bring her to Ethiopia?”

He is silent for a moment. “It- I would feel irresponsible. To leave such a young wife alone in a vulnerable condition. I don’t think my mother would approve.”

Of course. Their marriage was not yet consummated therefore open to being challenged… or worse. He had spared her from her duty last night, but at the expense of his own mother. Andromeda thought of her own mother. She had imagined her chained to the rocks more than was appropriate, but this time it filled her with sharp fear not satisfaction. Despite everything, she did not want any harm to come to her. Guilt lodged in her throat.

“Go,” she says before she can think.

“Andromeda-” he begins.

She pulls her face away to look at him. “If not for you my father would not have a kingdom, he would not have a daughter and he would not have his life. You were a son before a hero and a hero before a king. Go rescue your mother, tell her of your victories and deliver her safely to this land. When you return, your reward will be waiting and I will give you a son by year's end.

He searches her face, his blue eyes as bright as the skies above them. He takes her face in his hands and she freezes.

“I knew you were a treasure the moment I laid eyes on you,” he breathes, he gives her a soft kiss, chaste on her lips and pulls her back into his warmth. She leans into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His scent overpowers the stench of the fires and she breathes deeply.

“I will return,” he peppering the top of her head with kisses. “Wait for me Andromeda.”

TW in notes starts here. Chapter will be summarized in end note so you don't have to read this.

Poseidon enters Olympus quietly. Even the horses of the sun subdued by his temperament. He made no show of marching the gilded halls, choosing to appear directly behind his brother, waiting for him on a balcony beside an eternal fire pit. Zeus gestures to the throne-like chair besides his own. A glass bottle of chilled ambrosia appears on the short stand between the chairs, with two gem rich goblets of gold.

“Brother,” Zeus says. “Sit. Drink with me.”

Poseidon wordlessly moves to accept the offer, the marble floors rippling like water beneath his feet. Green scales winked in the firelight as he took his seat, his black nails tapping the armrest. His hair moved like a living thing, dripping a dark substance Zeus chose to pretend was squid ink. He turned to Poseidon, his green eyes bright, but not ablaze.

“You’ve had a long night,” Zeus says casually waving his hand for his new cupbearer.

“Because of your sons ,” Poseidon grates, glaring at him. He casts a disapproving glance at the boy pouring their drinks timidly.

“You know I can’t send him too far,” Zeus spreads his hands. He still had no domains and was a weak god. Hera’s rage was so consistent it had become predictable. She would slaughter him if given the chance.

“You are a fool for bringing him to Olympus,” Poseidon scoffs, still taking his time to drink in the boy’s figure.

“I am allowed the rare folly,” Zeus smiles appreciatively, stroking the back of the boy’s goosebump covered thigh as he walks back to his corner.

“Is that what you’re teaching your sons?” 

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Zeus sighs. “Hermes' behavior tonight was… regrettable. He was dealt with by his siblings, but I am willing to give you say in his final punishment.”

“Hm,” Poseidon watches him warily before turning to the fire and taking a long sip from his goblet. “The twins said as much.”

“You do not trust me?” Zeus states more than asks.

“You lack generosity brother,” Poseidon taps his armrest. “You want something too.”

“I don’t deny it,” Zeus says easily.

“ Oh ,” Poseidon shoots him a sharp look. “And what do you feel entitled to from all this?”

“Peace,” Zeus takes his goblet in hand. “We communicate far too infrequently to have such poor relations. You may not believe I am willing to punish an immortal for… one with mortal blood-”

“I don’t,” Poseidon scoffs, taking another sip.

“Regardless,” Zeus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am willing to for my brother’s peace of mind.”

Poseidon cast him another wary look, warring between distrust and curiosity. Zeus hears the question in his mind. 

What do you want?

Zeus turns to the dark skies and waves his hand. The mist shimmers and reveals his son, Perseus, perched on a balcony of the Ethiopian palace in fabrics of stunning colors.

“Do you think you’re the only one with a son to ascend?” Zeus asks Poseidon as he gazes unimpressed at the demigod.

“Dionysus ascended less than a year ago,” Poseidon takes another sip watching the scene.

“Yes,” Zeus smiles slightly. “Which is why Hera would never allow Perseus to ascend, as things stand.”

“As things stand,” Poseidon says darkly. “Neither would I.”

“Which is why I’m speaking to you right now,” Zeus gives him a look.

“I will not trade my son’s justice for yours to gain immortality,” Poseidon scowls at the screen.

“Not a trade. An alliance.”

“No,” Poseidon declares, starting to stand.

“Another glass my lord?” a quiet voice from behind them.

The gods turned to see the little Trojan prince holding the bottle of ambrosia. Ganymede trembled slightly in the elder gods' overbearing presence, still too loyal to his mortal form. Evident by the chilled bottle, that drips water from his fingertips only because he expects it to. Gods, he was adorable. Even Poseidon in his irritation had a lustful glance to spare. Zeus couldn’t help, but chuckle, reaching out to brush a shining raven lock from his lovely face.

“Why don’t you come here in front of the fire?” Zeus cooed, running a finger along his jaw. “Fill my brother’s cup.”

A small nod and Poseidon sinks back into his chair, his form less… otherworldly. Ganymede walks slowly around Poseidon’s chair and in front of the gods. Poseidon holds out his half empty goblet and Ganymede begins to pour the divine liquid into his cup. His brother’s eyes never leave his downcasted face.

“Lovely isn’t he,” Zeus smiles.

“Hm,” Poseidon hums as Ganymede’s finishes his pour and bows slightly moving to fill Zeus’ cup. 

Zeus holds up a hand. “Focus on Lord Poseidon. Maybe I’ll be able to finish a thought tonight.”

Poseidon tosses him a look, but his hand is already outstretched for the cupbearer. He grasps Ganymede by the waist to have him stand between his legs. 

“Just tell me what you want plainly,” Poseidon says with false annoyance as places his goblet down.

“I will agree to support the Krite’s future ascension if you support Perseus when the time comes,” Zeus finally says, watching carefully as Ganymede’s serves his brother.

“Can you swear to that?” Poseidon scoffs, almost laughing. He tilts Ganymede’s head up to see his face properly and his green eyes shine. Red faced, wide eyed and trembling, Ganymede is a sight to behold. Poseidon hums pleased, taking his face in one hand. 

“He is lovely,” he admits, a genuine smile finally creeping on his face. 

“I can swear it on the Styx,” Zeus says easily, watching Ganymede’s sink carefully to his knees. He gives Zeus a quick confirming glance and Zeus smiles, knocking his drink back. He had finished breaking in the young prince quite some time ago, but had yet to start training him how to perform properly. He was certain they were well pass the crying phase, but he was still a young godling, prone to unpredictability. Poseidon would understand.

“I’ll believe it when I hear it,” Poseidon raises an eyebrow. “Besides, neither of the boys have achieved enough glory to ascend. There will be envy.”

“Hm,” Zeus nods. “Which is why you must allow Krites on the surface. His potential will be wasted in the oceans. You and I know this.”

“I don’t disagree,” Poseidon frowns.. “Krites is too young, too sheltered. All he knows of the world is the divine and their worshippers. He needs experience among his own kind. 

“What delays you?” Zeus asks.

“I’ve given the boy to Amphitrite,” Poseidon sighs. “She’ll be difficult to persuade after tonight’s events.”

“I’ve already given Krites my protection,” Zeus frowns. “Surely that’s enough-”

“What?” Poseidon startles. “When was this?”

“I sent the twins with a gift from Athena and my protection for the boy,” Zeus says.

“Ah,” Poseidon sighs, irritated. “I had my wife escort Artemis for that. I was not present for the gifts.”

“Hmph, you leave too much to your woman,” Zeus mummers.

“Hm,” Poseidon nods, distracted.

“Aside from my protection,” Zeus begins. “Your festivals will be at their height in Athens during the solstice, yes?”

“The solstice,” Poseidon nods. “Krites will need more than a day for such ambition and I’m not letting him stay in that city.”

“Yes, you will. Artemis has taken dominion over the women of Athens, limiting Hera’s power there. It’ll be the safest city in the world for both our sons,”

“Both?” Poseidon hums questioningly.

“Yes,” Zeus smiles, looking back at his son who is joined on the balcony by his new wife. “Krites is a young man with less than a child’s understanding of the surface. Perseus would make an invaluable mentor and protector.”

“Ha,” Poseidon barks. “You can’t be serious.”

“This is an alliance is it not?”

Poseidon’s eyes meet his. There’s a tension in the air, thick and electrifying. There was little they couldn’t achieve together, but even less that survived their fall outs. 

“What are you planning, brother?” Poseidon finally asks.

“Let us swear on the Styx to support the ascension of the other’s son. Perseus and Krites will winter in Athens while Krites matures. Come spring, the glory they will achieve together will be worthy of godhood.”

“Ah,” Poseidon smiles. “ If they get along.”

“If they get along,” Zeus grins.

There was nothing to decline, it was the perfect stage for the perfect alliance. They would set an example of companionship for their mortal sons and send them out into the world to bring glory and new domains to Olympus. If they failed, they failed. If they succeeded... Perseus and Krites may usher in a new golden era for their pantheon.

Poseidon still takes his sweet time thinking it over with Ganymede, but he finally sighs, satisfied and turns to his brother, watching him with growing impatience.

“I have a punishment for Hermes,” he grins, refilling his own glass as Ganymede picks himself off the floor. “As well as a condition for Athens hosting my heir.”

“Heir?” Zeus raises an eyebrow. “You cannot name a mortal your heir.”

Poseidon shrugs. “He is my second son, Child of Atlantis, Prince of Pearls. It is his birthright.”

“Spare, perhaps.”

“I thought you wanted peace with me brother?”

“Your conditions,” Zeus says, exasperated

“First, Hermes’ punishment,” Poseidon rubs Ganymede’s leg with a finger as he walks back around to his corner. “I want two domains stripped. Triton will hold them until Krites ascends.”

“Which domains?” Zeus asks reluctantly.

“Krites is fond of making up languages,” Poseidon smiles into the fire. “It’s mostly gibberish to me, though Delphin seems to decipher it from time to time. He’ll do well in that domain.”

Zeus nods. It was a large domain, but nothing he couldn’t be prepared for. Especially during his time in Athens. Apollo would be thrilled to have two young demigods to prepare for immortality.

“Consider it done.”

“He’s very sociable as well,” Poseidon chuckled, lost in some memory. “He’s unintentionally become an excellent bridge between the divine and creatures of my realm. I recall you once sent Hermes as a teacher to mankind to teach them the knowledge and value of justice and to build connections between mortals and the divine. Allow Krites to replace Hermes as this bridge.”

“No,” Zeus shakes his head. “Hermes is my messenger. I will not cast him aside.”

“You misunderstand,” Poseidon waves. “I do not want Krites to be a messenger of the gods in letter, but in relations. Give him free reign between realms. He will be envoy of the gods and man.”

“Hm,” Zeus thinks. That did sound useful, but still… “That domain is too large for him and Triton would be a poor fit. I would need to be convinced by the boy myself at the time of his ascension.”

“Very well,” Poseidon agrees.“Allow someone else to hold the domain for Krites. Someone who can be trusted to relinquish it to my son when the time comes.”

It would be difficult. Finding one with the capacity to take on such a large domain. Much less finding someone who can be trusted to relinquish it when the time comes. Zeus says as much.

Poseidon chuckles to himself. “If only we knew someone trustworthy, with an unlimited supply of energy, willing to take on large domains allowing them to be in direct contact with mortals.”

Zeus blinks and laughs. Of course. Who else loved receiving and bestowing blessings and domains as much as his golden son Apollo?

“Phoebus,” Zeus booms, summoning him.

A beam of sunlight appears before them and melts away to reveal the kneeling sun god. His laurels still perched loyally on his blazing hair, illuminated by the firelight. He turns his face up to the elder gods and smiles brightly.

“Good morning!” he beams. “Lord Father. Lord Uncle.”

Chapter Text

Somewhere on the rocky green hills the shepherd's son lies in the grass watching the sun peek over the horizon. It is a long moment pass before he realizes something is amiss. His arms still cold, the grass silent, the sun frozen on the horizon as if holding its breath. Certain his eyes are playing tricks, the lack of sleep at last overcoming him, he stands and stares. Willing what he knows to match what he sees, but the sun remains hidden off the edge of the world.

And there it rests as the boy makes the long walk to the ocean’s edge, his eyes never leaving Apollo’s golden crown. 

The day could wait. History was being made. The primordial brothers were in harmony. Though Apollo knew the look of scandal between siblings well,  it almost takes his breath to see it between his lord father and uncle. If their self satisfied grins weren’t turned on him, he might even call it a boyish glow. Instead a thrill of terror runs through him.

“Good morning!” he beams effortlessly. “Lord Father. Lord Uncle.”

Poseidon and Zeus smile in horrible unison. They look to each other as if to ask shall you or I? Humor dancing along their faces. 

“I have decided on a punishment for your brother. As well your reward,” Zeus begins.

“My reward?” Apollo’s ear perked up. Of course he deserved a reward, he always did, but it was a rare moment to receive it from father.

“It comes with responsibility,” Poseidon warns, swirling his goblet. “If you’re up for a challenge.”

Apollo’s lip twitches as he looks between the two elder gods. He can tell they are watching his expression closely for his reaction, dare he say with excitement .

“Always,” he accepts eagerly.

“Hermes will be stripped of two domains,” Zeus says. “In the event of Poseidon’s son, Krites' ascension, the domain of language and responsibility of teacher to mankind will fall to him. Until that time you, Phoebus Apollo will carry these responsibilities. You will swear to relinquish them to the godling and you will swear no harm shall befall him by your hand or influence.”

The fire crackles loudly behind him as a log finally breaks and falls. It was a harsh punishment, to put it gently. To be stripped of a domain, let alone two. The urge to defend his brother was almost instantaneous. Hermes was out of line, yes, but these things happened and Krites was fine. It was fortunate he was too shocked to speak as his father continued and the details of his reward were made apparent.

It was only natural Poseidon take advantage of the situation. Favor from Zeus was rare, favor with no consequence rarer still. To throw all the favor behind a demigod ? Apollo would call it a bold gamble if he had not seen the blind adoration the sea pantheon held for their mortal prince. Of course he would prioritize Krites ascension. It was after all a golden age of new gods and with father eager to strengthen relations between the different aspects of the pantheon, Hermes was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apollo wasn’t. 

“Well, boy?” Poseidon asks.

“That is- very generous,” Apollo bows his head. “For myself and young Krites.”

“Hm,” Zeus taps his fingers. “Do you accept?”

Apollo looks up. “Responsibilities were mentioned?”

“Aye,” Poseidon cracks a smile. “After the Solstice I will have Krites winter in Athens so he may learn of man before setting out to earn his glory. Krites will be your responsibility in that time.”

“I am an Olympian,” Apollo raises a brow. “Am I to foster Krites in Athens?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to foster him directly,” Zeus says gesturing behind Apollo. He looks up behind him to see his half-brother Perseus on a balcony with his new bride, tucked under his arms. “Perseus will bear the bulk of his mortal upbringing. You will serve as a guide.”

A flurry of questions rush through him. He desperately wants to ask why but understands he was likely a pawn in their plotting, nothing more. As long as he played his part well there would be more reward in the future. He thought of the sweet sea prince tucked in his shell. His dark raven hair, his shy trusting smile. A lick of flame dances on his skin. 

“I accept,” he says standing, bowing at the waist. “I, Phoebus Apollo, will name Krites my champion on Earth. I swear on the Styx, no harm shall befall him in my presence nor by my hand or influence. I swear to carry his domains, prepare him for glory and relinquish his responsibilities to him at his ascension. I will serve as his guide and his patron.”

Thunder claps and the trident rings on marble. His sacred vow is sealed, witnessed in secrecy by the eldest gods of Olympus. He couldn’t wait to tell his sister.

Poseidon’s wife rarely entered his private quarters, which he had half hoped it would be a deterrent. Wishful thinking in regards to Krites. When he returned to the sea and entered the boy’s chambers he was greeted to the sight of Amphitrite’s colorful shoal swimming lazy currents around the too small clamshell. Her feet hung delicately off the edge of the shell, the rest of her body curved around the small lad, sat upright against her stomach, playing with the fish.

Krites noticed him too soon and smiled unsure, his smallest movement causing Amphitrite to stir, her arm protectively around his waist. Poseidon approached, running his hand through the boy’s hair and sat on the edge of the shell as his wife wakes. She does so slowly, as always, but wakes with a start when she sees him there. Her eyes demanded answers and his warned for patience.

“Poseidon,” she says as she floats through the arched entrance. She approaches him, lounging on a short sofa and takes her seat on her own across from him. Her green-blue dress seems strangely still without the dozens of fish swimming ripples around it.

“Is he asleep?” Poseidon gives what he hopes is a smile of contentment as he sits up to face her. Her expression is apprehensive and he knows she suspects unfortunate news.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Triton watches over him.”

“He’s not too upset about his sword is he?”

“Poseidon,” Amphitrite’s gaze is unwavering. She did not come to discuss Krites’ well-being. 

Poseidon sighs wearily and pats the space beside him. 

“I thought justice was all but guaranteed,” Amphitrite’s eyes harden.

“Guaranteed and now secured,” he holds his hands up.

“Then tell me what happened?” she snaps.

“You doubt me?” Poseidon raises an eyebrow.

“I know you,” Amphitrite scoffs, crossing her arms. “Even now you avoid the question.”

“It is just like I said,” Poseidon says. “Krites justice was guaranteed and secured,” 

“ How ?”

“So little faith,” Poseidon says. “Zeus and I came to an agreement.”

“On punishment or reparations,” she glowered. 

“Both my love. A punishment for Hermes as well as reparations to the seas.”

“In what form?” Amphitrite’s tone is still suspicious, but her arms finally loosen on her chest.

“Hermes will be stripped of two domains. No contingencies,” Poseidon smiles at her look of surprise. It was hardly the violence she’d prefer, but still a significant punishment. To be divine was to be the personification of aspects that lacked form, their domains. Hermes would be stripped of part of his identity. “As for the reparations, there must be some effort on our part.”

“Reparations are not earned, they’re deserved,” Amphitrite gives him an unimpressed look.

“You know this as well as I,” Poseidon nods. “I suppose Zeus knows there is little we wouldn’t trade for Krites’ immortality.”

“Krites’ immortality isn’t-” Amphitrite pauses, her eyes widening. “What did you say?”

“I have secured Zeus’ support for Krites immortality,” Poseidon smirks, enjoying the emotions playing out on wife’s face.

“Surely, you jest…”

“Not about Krites,” he takes one of her hands across the small table. “Of all the gifts you’ve received, I know you treasure him above all else. He will be a god. Zeus will support his ascension.”

“What are the conditions?” she swallows, her breath above a whisper, her eyes shining with hope.

“Only two,” he smiles. “Krites still must earn enough glory to justify ascension and when the time comes I must also support and defend the ascension of Zeus’ demigod Perseus.”

“A son for a son?”

“Aye,” Poseidon smiles, taking her other hand. “He will ascend alongside his cousin. Under the full protection of the sky and sea.”

Amphitrite’s expression dances and a smile comes to her face. 

“He will be a god?” she asks.

“He will be a god.”

Chapter Text

Curious as she was, Athena did not wait to witness the sea god’s reaction. The twins had complicated her plans with their overinvolvement, but a wrench or two wouldn’t be enough to derail her. It was time to set things in motion. Surrounded by vaulted clouds, she vanished from Mount Olympus and headed for Thebes, and Mount Helicon, home of the virgin Muses. Crossing the sea by whichever way seemed quickest, she alighted on the mountain top to speak to her sisters.

“Talk of a new fountain has reached my ears,” Athena begins, descending in slow deliberate steps as curious eyes peer out from the foliage. “Gushed out from under the hard hoof of winged Pegasus, born of Medusa. That is the reason for my journey. I wanted to see this wonderful creation of he himself I saw born from his mother’s blood.”

Urania of astronomy approaches first, stars in her dark hair like shining droplets. She grants Athena a celestial smile, a knowing look in her eyes. 

“The tale is true: Pegasus is the source of our fountain,” she bows. “But whatever reason brings you here, to see our home, goddess, you are dear to our hearts.”

The sisters smile warmly, grasping each other's arm in greeting. Athena allows Urania to lead her through the rich foliage to the sacred waters, the sounds of music, poetry and gentle voices in the air. The chatter quiets as Athena’s eyes take in the beauty of their home. For a long moment she is entranced at this stream, made by the blow of the horse’s hoof, and gazes around her at the grove of ancient trees, the caves and the grass, embroidered with innumerable flowers, infused with divine waters.

“The daughters of Mnemosyne were equally happy in their home and their pursuits,” she compliments.

 “‘O, Tritonia,” Thalia of comedy laughs, stepping out of the stream unclothed to greet her. “You would have been one of our choir, if your virtues had not formed you for greater things. What you say is true, and you rightly approve our arts and our haunts!”

Athena shakes her head at the boisterous girl. “I would scold your vanity had it not been deserved.”

“Yes, our life is happy, if only it were safe,” Melpomene of tragedy sighs, she makes weary eye contact with Athena. “But nothing is sacred to the wicked. Though all things frighten virgin minds, dreadful Pyreneus’ destruction is in front of my eyes, and my mind has not yet recovered fully.”

“King of Thrace?” Athena raised an eyebrow. “What circumstances put such a lowly mortal king in your presence?”

“Poor weather,” Thalia chuckled to the glare of several of her sisters.

“That fierce man had captured Daulis and the Phocian fields, with his Thracian warriors, and wrongly held the kingdom,” Urania explained, leading Athena to the waters. “We were heading for the shrine on Parnassus. He saw us going by, and his face showing apparent reverence for our divinity.”

Athena cannot help but notice the muses faces almost tighten in anticipation. As if they were reliving the memories themselves. She takes seat on the smooth rock by the stream, declining fruit offered by a young nymph, surely sprung from the fountain itself.

“Knowing us he said: Mnemonides, wait, don’t be afraid, I beg you, to shelter from the rain and the lowering skies. The gods have often entered humbler homes,” Urania continues. “Responding to his words, and the weather, we gave the man our assent, and went into the entrance hall of the palace. The rain stopped, the north wind overcame the south, and the dark clouds fled from the clearing sky. We wished to go. Pyreneus closed the doors, and prepared himself for violence that we escaped only by taking to our wings. He stood on the highest summit, as if he would follow us, saying: 

“Whatever is your way, is also mine”, and foolishly threw himself from the roof of the main tower. He fell headlong, breaking his skull, hammering the ground in dying, and staining the earth with his evil blood.”

There is a chill in the atmosphere as the words sink in. For a mere mortal to attempt such a thing and the audacity to die before facing the gods’ justice, their father’s justice. It burned to know she would not have the opportunity to engineer her sister’s revenge, but he was a subject of Hades now. It was satisfying enough.

“Let us not waste our rare visit with morbid talk,” Erato of love poetry broke the stretching silence. “Athena, surely you have a tale for us. We’ve heard rumors of another child of Poseidon and the fountain sprung in your own city state of Athens.”

“You are well informed,” Athena nods. “Though I fear we will find ourselves in the same manner of conversation.”

“Oh?” Clio of history moves closer.

“The contest for Athens was concluded with my victory,” Athena smiles. “A young man appeared in the sea god’s gift, a divination fountain, speaking in a strange tongue. Weapon in hand and already irate from his loss, Poseidon marched on the boy. Suspicious of the circumstance of his arrival I placed myself between my uncle and his fountain and we quickly learned the boy was Poseidon’s child in earnest.

A beautiful young man clothed in foam of the sea with a strong resemblance to his father. He sprung forth fully formed from the rejected fountain. He claimed to have no mother and called himself Perseus, despite having no knowledge of the son of Zeus. This would not be so unusual had it not been for the red of his mortal blood.”

“Mortal?” Calliope blinks.

“Aye,” Athena nods. “It is rumored Poseidon went through great effort to produce the fountain for Athens. When the Athenians rejected his fountain, the sea god’s efforts were wasted. The boy was born mortal. His birth was witnessed by myself, his father, Hermes, Apollo and Lord Zeus who instructed Poseidon to bring the boy to Olympus during the next Solstice so we may observe his progression.

He was given to Amphitrite and named Krites after her brother Nerites. Unfortunately the boy was impatient and surfaced off the shores of Corinth. He was quickly confronted by the messenger god in disguise, but recognized him and fled. Hermes pursued and though divine as he was, he could not capture the fluid boy until his mortality exhausted him. Artemis’ arrow alone allows him to flee to the sea unmolested.”

“Even the virtues of men are not safe from the wicked,” Polyhymnia of hymns hums, shaking her head.

“You are right to say nothing is sacred to the wicked,” Athena nods. “It is often the innocent who pay the price for wicked deeds. 

“Artemis involving herself is quite unusual?” Calliope half asks.

“Yes,” Clio says. “There’s not much precedent for it.”

“Artemis and her brother Apollo both brought Hermes before our father’s justice,”Athena added.

“Is that why the morning is delayed?” Urania raises an eyebrow..

“Delayed?” Even as she asks, Athena knows it is true. The sun chariot has halted in its ascent entirely, the landscape frozen in the transition between night and day. Fucking idiot.

“My word it should be day by now,” Melpomene exclaims.

Athena frowned. “Hm. Seems both the twins are acting out of character today.”

“ Is it today yet?” Thalia asks.

“Oh shut up,” Euterpe of flutes laughs.

“The mortals will notice,” Clio frowned. “It will be in their records.”

“Why would the twins betray their brother for this boy?” Urania asks.

“Krites is well loved by the sea pantheon,” Athena explains. “Especially Poseidon’s queen, Amphitrite. Father knew Hermes’ actions could not go unignored by his brother so he sent the twins to handle it. Poseidon should be on Olympus right now.”

“Surely that’s not enough for Apollo to abandon his duties,” Calliope says.

“Who knows with him?” Athena waves, though she can’t help eyeing the horizon. Calliope was right to say it should not be enough for Apollo to abandon his duty. And though his interest in Krites was apparent it should not be enough either. Something was happening, something outside her expectations.

“You need to get back to Olympus dear sister,” Urania smiles knowingly.

“Yes and return quickly with more news!” Thalia brightens.

Athena chuckles standing. “I will, dear sister, I can promise this. It was a great pleasure to witness your home in its new glory.”

“Your presence is a greater pleasure, Athena,” Clio smiles.

The Muses give a chorus of farewells as the goddess surrounds herself in vaulted clouds once more and rises to the heavens, just in time to see Apollo’s chariot finally pull over the horizon with renewed light.

Chapter Text

For once Perseus doesn’t dream of his mother’s death, but a serpent in a tree. It is no unusual thing for him to wake within his dreams, while his body is still sleeping. He had become accustomed to the warnings and visions that plagued his sleep since before he departed from Seriphos on his very first quest. Yet they took on a sinister quality the night he rescued Andromeda from her sorrowful fate. Driven by tormenting nightmares he flew his new home in Ethiopia, above the sand of Libya with his Gorgon prize and weapon. Upon returning to his homeland, Seriphos, he discovered his mother Danae had taken refuge with his foster father Dictys from the violent advances of his brother Polydectes, the king. 

Half mad from weeks of wind tossed travel and sleepless rest, Perseus kills Polydectes with Medusa’s head, making no grand event of the thing. The stone king is chipped off of the throne of Seriphos that is now his by all rights. Perseus declines the throne and instead names Polydectes’ brother Dicty, the King of Seriphos. Thinking of no better way to honor the man who had raised him and loved his mother.

 Naturally his mother Danae becomes Dicty’s wife and queen of Seriphos. Perseus tried desperately to seem merry as his mother danced and laughed at her wedding, but the memories of his own were still too fresh to bear. She notices, as all mothers do, and gives him her blessing to take his early leave. He lays in his familiar bed that now seems far too small for everything he’s become, and braces himself to close his eyes.

When they open he is neither in the world of man or gods. The water is as still and flat as ice. Barely brushing the height of his ankle, it extends as far as his mind can comprehend, with no hills or mountains to mark place or distance. It is beautiful, but terrifying in its vastness, only exacerbated by the cloudless sky it reflects. He closes his eyes against the concept of infinity and begins to pray. It is not long before a familiar voice rang in his head.

Look down.

He dare not disobey the maiden goddess and opens his eyes to see something gold between his feet. He reaches down to pluck the thing out of the water. A cicada. So golden he would’ve thought it touched by Midas had it not flown out of his hand. He follows its flight with his eyes and startles at the gnarled and twisted ancient tree that now stands before him. A silver scaled serpent is draped throughout the canopy of oblong silvery green leaves heavy with a bounty of small wine colored fruit. 

Look down, it says.

Perseus looks down at his feet and this time he can see his reflection in the water, only it is not him. A younger man, by only a few years gazes back at him with an expression of surprise. Perseus leans down to get a better look at him and the man follows suit. The stranger wears a simple chiton, pinned by another golden cicada, with eyes made of pearl. Dark haired and handsome, he peers at Perseus with the same apprehensive curiosity.

They reach their hands towards each other, their fingertips only a hair’s breadth away from the surface of the water, when the stranger suddenly deviates from their synchronized dance and glances at Perseus' winged sandals, beating softly on the water. Alarm crosses his lovely face and he recoils. The surface of the water ripples and distorts and Perseus feels as if he does too. A spinning feeling over takes him and just as he feels he may lose his balance, he wakes.

“Have you truly not heard the story of your namesake?” King Dicty exclaims.

“Namesake?” Perseus frowns.

They walked together along the long external open arched pathways, discussing Perseus’ strange dream. The scent of the sea is paired well with the pleasant iris flowers Dicty insisted on planting for his new wife. A beautiful day, only marred by his restless mind.

“The fountain boy in Athens?” the king tries to probe his memory.

“What’s Athens?” Perseus asks.

“Surely you know of the contest between the sea god and your patron for the naming of the great city up north?” King Dicty shakes his head humorously.

“Of course,” Perseus smiles. “I should assume Athena won from the spelling.”

“Yes,” King Dicty nods. “The city was named Athens after the goddess of wisdom, who gifted the city an ancient tree with a twisted trunk and silver leaves.”

“This is the tree I saw in my dream,” Perseus half asks. “It was heavy with fruit. Small, dark and round.”

“Olives, they’re calling them,” King Dicty confirms with a nod. “They’ve yet to arrive in Seriphos, as far as I know.”

“What does this have to do with the boy?” Perseus asks.

“Ah well, that’s where the story and myth begin to blur,” King Dicty smiled. “The sea god’s rejected gift was a salt water fountain. After the contest was concluded a young man sprung from the fountain fully formed and claimed to be the sea god’s son.”

Perseus thinks of the young man’s dark hair and deep sea green eyes. He knows in his heart the man in the reflection and the one sprung from Poseidon’s fountain are one in the same.

“From the heavens came the messenger god Hermes and the sun god Apollo to witness his birth,” King Dicty continues. “Followed by the King of Olympus himself, your father.”

“My father?” Perseus repeats, he can hardly imagine. “Such a gathering of heavenly hosts, for one man’s birth?”

“Well he must be a god of course,” King Dicty says. “His parentage has one line, that bleeds gold.”

“I suppose,” Perseus frowns. “He seemed… young.”

“He’s a newborn,” King Dicty jokes, finally earning a cracking smile from Perseus.

It is clear enough what he must do. The goddess clearly wants him to travel to Athens and King Dicty agrees. Still he must return his magical loans, only given to him for the task of conquering the Gorgon Medusa. With cold winds rising, travel would become more difficult.  If he wanted to make both journeys and return to his new Ethiopian home he would have to leave soon, too soon.

“Already?”

Perseus flinched at the hurt in his mother’s voice. He joined her in the redesigned gardens and placed his hand in her lap. He explains his dream to her and the discussion he had with King Dicty, watching resignation fall across her face as she holds his hand.

“Be wary of the ocean,” Danae warns with sad eyes. “You have insulted the sea god as a child of the sky. You have killed his creature and married the subject of his ire.”

“Do not fret Mother. I will travel over land,” he reassures her. “I will be as swift in the air as a ship is over sea.”

“Good,” she smiles, patting the side of his face. “If the winds are favorable you will get to Athens before the Festivals of Poseidon begin.”

“I will return my loans to the gods firsts, then travel to Athens for the goddess,” Perseus says.

Danae rears back. “Are you a fool?”

“I-”

“Do you not think it wise to prioritize the goddess who has aided you in person not goods?” she asks incredulously.

“I-”

“You’re flying to Athens first.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Pearl?”

Percy’s eyes peel open at the sound of Amphitrite’s voice. Her school of fish quickly find him in the tall flowing gardens, dashing through his hair and clothes in a playful dance. He feels Amphitrite’s currents following them nudging him awake as her tall form comes into view above him. 

“Yes, Mother,” he yawns with a smile, trying to stretch the sleep out of his limbs.

Her gentle chuckle hums through the water. “Come out of those grasses child, you’ve slept enough.”

Percy smiles and pushes himself up, swimming into the current that rests him upon her shoulder. Her curtain of hair envelops him like a cocoon leaving him a window of golden locks to gaze through. Amphitrite’s gentle hand reaches up to righten him as she makes her way back to the palace.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she hums.

“I won’t,” he yawns

“Your father wants to speak to you,” she pokes him gently.

Percy perks up. “What for?”

“We’ll both find out soon enough,” Amphitrite hushes him.

Ah, another one of dad’s surprises. Percy really hoped it wasn’t another portrait. He didn’t think he could sit still that long again and all portraits down here were painstakingly carved from stone. Still, despite all the interruptions from all his naps and his eating, the finished piece was stunning and well worth the wait. His very first Atlantean family portrait.

He spent more time than he cared to admit just gazing at the carving. It stirred some deep emotion in him that was hard to name, but he knew he loved it. It made him long for wallet sized pictures, so he could look at it whenever he wanted. Though, it’s not like he had a wallet anymore.

He does, inevitably, fall asleep again on the way to dad’s surprise. Lulled by the gentle currents and warmth of Amphitrite’s neck. The fish nudge him awake as they reach the doors of his father’s office and the curtain of hair blocking his view parts as the goddess steps inside. Father and Triton are speaking loudly about something. It takes him more than a moment for Percy to realize his brother is agitated as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes. But it’s the alarm in Amphitrite’s voice that wakes him with an urgency.

“Poseidon?” she tried to interrupt them

Triton barely glances her way, but then his eyes lock on Percy. 

“Father, look at him!” Triton gestures at him angrily, his voice raised. “He’s not built for this.”

“Triton,” Poseidon warns. Percy cannot see his father’s face, but can hear the barely contained temper brimming beneath the surface. Percy had never heard Triton raise his voice at father, ever. Something in him was frightened of the idea of them fighting. Blessed Amphitrite intervenes.

“Poseidon,” Amphitrite demands the attention in the room. “What is this?”

“Amphitrite-” Poseidon begins.

“What is Triton talking about?”

There is a long pause. As curious as he is, Percy dares not poke his head out from his mother’s hair.

“The conditions we discussed,” Poseidon finally says. “Regarding Krites.”

“What conditions-” 

The world around him seems to freeze for a moment before the colorful fish sharply disperse, taking the warm waters with them. The water turns dark and sickly and Percy recoils in alarm pressing himself against the goddess before realizing the frightening aura was coming from her. Her golden hair begins to writhe around him like a living thing as her anger grows.

“Amphitrite,” his father's voice comes softer than before. “You’ll scare the boy-”

“You would have him killed,” Amphitrite literally hisses, spitting out each word as she advances on his father. Triton steps aside quickly giving Percy a sharp look. 

Come here.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Percy melts away and reforms on his brother’s shoulder, looking to him for answers, but Triton’s focus is on their parents.

“He will be a god,” Poseidon says before an atom splitting slap rings through the water. Percy ducks into Triton’s hair, his ears resonating with the vibrations.

“He will be killed !” Amphitrite shouts. “Have you lost your mind?”

Poseidon snatches her arm. “Have you lost yours ?”

Percy flinches at the sight and feels the water around him tense as Triton stiffens. Percy wanted to jump in. Do something, say something. But his mind was reeling. He will be a god.

“You promised me!” She struggles against his grip. “You promised me this one would be mine !”

“And I am keeping that promise!” Poseidon shouts, grabbing her other arm and shaking her violently. Triton’s hair finally moves to block Percy’s view, wrapping around his waist and arms, pulling him deeper into the flowing locks. “Did you think he could earn the glory needed to ascend here ?”

“ Tri, ” Percy whispers insistently, pulling at his bindings. The water tenses around him tightly, a warning.

“He will be safe here,” she snaps. “You expect me to just let you abandon him on some nameless mortal shore? To just let monsters and gods have their way with him? He is our child!”

“He will be safe!” Poseidon shouts so loudly it feels like a rough wind passing through Triton’s hair. “Do you truly think me a monster who would leave him unprotected?”

“What protections?” Amphitrite spits.

“Phoebus,” Poseidon says. 

“What?”

“Lord Apollo has sworn on the Styx to protect him,” Poseidon’s voice is deadly calm.

“No,” Percy hears Amphitrite struggle. 

“He will name Krites his champion on Earth,” Poseidon continues. “Prepare him for glory and serve as his guide and his patron.”

“No,” Amphitrite’s voice breaks and Percy pulls at his binds again.

Be still brother, Triton’s voice is taut in his mind.

“Krites will surface at the winter Solstice as agreed upon and be introduced to Olympus. Afterwards he will be sent to Athens at the height of my Festivals. The height of my worship and my protection.”

“Poseidon, please.”

“There he will learn of man and how to live among them over the winter months. He will set out to earn his glory and he will be a god,” Poseidon punctuates the last five words with such a finality Percy is glad he can’t see his face.

“You cannot do this,” he hears Amphitrite beg. “He is a child.”

“He has never been a child.”

The arguing lasts for hours, possibly days. Triton carries Percy to his room and tells him to pack for the lake in Libya, they were going to stay with cousins for a few days. Percy quietly packs a few of his things and sits on the edge of his clamshell bed feeling the waves of divine rage penetrating the ancient walls of the palace. He longed for music to drown out the noise.

Triton doesn’t return for a long time, but when he does he carries something silver and gleaming in his hands.

“My sword,” Percy says, recognizing the unmistakable gleam of Artemis’ arrow.

Triton sighs and ruffles his hair with a tired smile.

“It seems Father is ready for you to grow up, little brother,” Triton says gazing over him sadly. “You should learn how to wield a proper divine weapon.”

Triton places the sword in Percy’s arms and Percy looks back up at him.

“I’ll get to come back home right?” he asks. “Before I go to Athens.”

Something unreadable flashes across his brother’s face and Percy puts his head down.

“Krites,” he says. “Look at me.”

Percy does. Triton’s eyes are bright with inner will.

“You will come home,” he stresses. “You are my brother and you will be a god above all men.”

“I don’t want to be a god,” Percy whispers. “I never have.”

“Father has decided you will be,” Triton says. “And so you shall.”

Chapter Text

Triton was not known for rebelling against his father. He had very little reason to. In all their privilege and power, even the golden Phoebus and legitimate Ares could not make the claim he could. Heir to the Seas, Triton was the only being in existence to whom an Olympic throne was a birthright. While the sons of Zeus struggled and competed to hold their father’s attention and favor, Triton’s position was secured before even his essence was conceived. Unlike his cousins, he enjoyed a lengthy and pleasant childhood, unmarred by mythos inspiring events. It was something he had always appreciated and had grown to be grateful for. His obedience was how he showed that gratitude.

Still, Triton could not bring himself to regret his insubordination. Krites stirs beside him, restless on the rough bedding of mortal silk and cotton. His sword glows brightly in the night air, shining like the moon from within. Sheathed in a scabbard of divine waters forged by the cyclops of Atlantis, the deadly weapon rests against the boy, illuminating his resting face. Triton sighs and wipes at a small trail of water trickling from Krites’ mouth. This would be new territory for all of them.

On the rare occasion Triton did work against his father, it was always in the family’s best interest. Never out of selfishness, never out of anger. It was well known that the gods were as infallible as fathers and just as willing to admit so. Triton had long mastered the delicate subtlety of correcting errors that could not be voiced. But oh, how his voice rose that night. His father’s stunned expression was seared into his mind. He remembered how the anger boiled in his chest, churning the deep waters with heat until his mother’s presence brought him back to himself.

Krites was born a man grown, yes, but he was a child. Foolish and clumsy. Spirited and endearing. Spending his days delighting in their world through fresh and inquisitive eyes. He knew nothing of the world of men or the true nature of gods. He was too sweet for them. He would’ve made a better daughter than a son. Perhaps that was their fault, perhaps he and mother had coddled him too much.

Even during the arguing Triton tried to protect Krites from seeing the worst of it, but mother had no qualms about expressing her dark rage. She strikes father with such a ferocity, Krites’ hands fly to cover his ears. Triton could feel the mortal boy’s heartbeat racing as father holds their mother in his grip and makes his violent proclamation.

The halls are unsurprisingly empty as their parent’s rage shakes the walls of the palace. Triton takes the struggling Krites to his room and sets him down, telling him to pack. He never intended to take the sword with them, but when he sees Krites’ small face tightened in a frightening expression, his body taut like a soldier for war his mind is made up.

He leaves Krites to pack for the surface and seeks out the forbidden sword set in the stone of Krites’ birth fountain. Still infused with his presence the waters smell of grass and sunshine, of the day father brought him home. Triton smiled remembering Krites’ laughter from inside the fountain. His prancing steps across the palm of mother’s hand. His tentative smile as he won them over in a heartbeat. He hands Krites the sword with no hesitation or guilt.

The plan was to leave Krites in the care of the Guardian nymphs of Libya, until the feud had passed and his mother submitted, but troubling news along his borders gave him pause. The nymphs warn him of strange serpents that had emerged in the deserts beyond the shores of Lake Tritonis. Venomous and deadly, they hadn’t claimed any lives yet, but made the residents of the lake nervous. Triton suspects Hermes influence even before the dryads report of the man they saw in the sky.

“Who was this man?” Triton demands feeling a familiar anger build in his chest again.

“It was too dark to see my lord,” the nymph frowns uneasily, looking to the desert. “We only know from the dryads that something dark fell from his hands and took the form of serpents when it struck the barren sands.”

Triton leaves Krites under their watchful eyes, taking on the form of a man to investigate the disturbance himself. Although forthcoming, the dryads insist the man was not Hermes.

“Too slow my lord,” an elder dryad answers nervously. “My eyes are not powerful enough to see the flight of the winged god. Yet I watched this man cross the sky with ease.”

“By what manner?” Triton asks.

“Wings, my lord. On his feet.”

Unsatisfied Triton reluctantly steps out onto the dry sands, his bident in hand. He would have to examine these vipers himself. If Hermes truly was defiling their sacred spaces as retaliation for his punishment, then he hadn’t been punished enough. Triton smiled imagining Hermes chained and worked in his father's forges for a decade or two. His lumbering cyclops brothers were known for being a rough bunch yet they adored Krites. They would ensure the lesson was well learnt.

It doesn’t take long for Triton to find a serpent moving just underneath the sands. The wicked thing coils and hisses at his approach, displaying its sharp fangs and bright warning colors. He strikes it with his bident with a twist of his wrist, lifting the twisting viper into the air. Though familiar, he could not sense his cousin's essence on the beast. Nor any other divine presence. It was a pure monster.

Triton feels the sands by his feet shift and he jumps preparing to strike the creature afoot, stopping just a hair’s breadth of Krites startled face.

“Krites,” Triton snaps. “What are you doing here boy?”

“You left me,” Krites steps back from him.

“These sands are dangerous,” Triton runs his hand through his hair. “Where is your sword?”

“They would’ve noticed me if I took it,” Krites shrugs unapologetic.

“Come,” Triton holds out a hand. “You cannot walk here.”

“Why?” Krites asks as Triton lifts him to sit on his forearm.

“Do you not see the venomous serpent in my bident?” 

“Is it Medusa’s?” Krites asks.

The question catches him off guard. Firstly because he does not expect Krites to know of that woman turned monster. Secondly, because the boy is right. He takes another look at the dying snake and recognizes its bright coloring from Medusa’s living locks. He looks back at Krites suspiciously.

“What?”

“How did you know that?” he asked him.

“I saw it on the jumbotron.”

“The what ?”

“The iris message,” Krites says. “When Perseus saved that princess.”

Ah, of course. Triton had forgotten Krites was there for the event preceding the Red Wedding.

“So this is Perseus’ doing,” Triton half mumbles to himself.

“It was an accident,” Krites says.

“Nothing is an accident Krites,” Triton frowns. “But tell me why you insist.”

“I saw it.”

“Hmm,” Triton hums, walking them back to the treeline. There is a reluctance in Krites tone that tells him not to pry. Krites hadn’t mentioned having a vision since the Red Wedding though Triton suspected he had been having quite a few. “You should keep your visions secret. Especially from other men.”

“And gods?”

“Yes, especially your new patron,” Triton frowns. “One god of prophecy is enough.”

“Yeah,” Krites nods agreeing, making Triton chuckle.

“You told me something interesting back home,” Triton muses. “That you never wanted to be a god.”

“I like the way things are.”

“You don’t think you’d like them better as a god?”

“They’ll put me to work, like you.”

“Ha!” Triton barks as they reach the trees. “In a few weeks time you’ll see what real labor looks like.”

Krites laughs as Triton lifts him into the trees. Krites proves to be an efficient climber grasping the branches with ease and making himself comfortable. Triton summons the elderly dryad watching them from the trees. She makes her way over slowly as Triton reaches his hand into the dirt, drawing on his powers to call on the sea. Little fragments of shells and fossils gather in his hand and when he pulls the clod of earth up from the ground, it smells distinctly of salt water. The specks of divinity sprinkled throughout it, sparkle in the moonlight. The dryad approaches and he holds out the earth to her.

“Take this and share it with your brethren. Spread this earth across my borders and let it multiply to protect yourselves from the recklessness of Zeus’ mortal son,” Triton places it in her outstretched hands as she bows in gratuity, muttering many thanks.

He nods satisfied for now and reaches out his hand for Krites to return to him. Krites melts away into water and leaps onto his forearm, trying to get a closer look at his brother’s miracle. A nymph comes bounding through the trees, her eyes wide in alarm as she stops Triton. She bows deeply, apologizing profusely for losing track of Krites, but Triton waves her off, telling her to inform the others the serpent problem was being taken care of. He knew now his brother was far too evasive for Triton to waste time punishing every being that lost him.

Krites is unconcerned, distracted by the star-filled skies winking through the canopy as Triton walks them back to the lake. Triton smiles remembering the first time he experienced a sky with winking lights. Lord Delphin had taught him the relevant constellations, but it had done nothing to prepare him for the beauty of it all. He made a mental note to teach Krites the constellations before he returned to the palace.

He was so distracted watching his brother have this experience, he almost misses their mother’s bright aura until they leave the treeline. Amphitrite stands tall and otherworldly among the simple lake landscape in a dress as dark as the night waters. Her eyes are sad, but twinkle in amusement at Krites tilted back head. Triton gives her a small smile and she nods.

Krites finally notices her and brightens in the way he does, melting out of Triton’s arms onto the rocky shore. He walks to her in his little prancing steps as she bends down to greet her youngest son. Triton can’t help but notice how Krites looks over her wrists as if expecting to see their father’s mark still on her skin. His hands pass tenderly over where father gripped her.

“Are you okay?” he asks timidly.

“Of course I am,” Amphitrite pushes his hair back to get a better look at his face. “Your father would never hurt me.”

Krites must make a face, because she smiles reassuringly and picks him up like a child.

“Families quarrel,” she says. “But we will always be here. We will always be together. Forever.”

“That’s a long time,” Krites says apprehensively.

Amphitrite laughs softly. “It’ll pass in the blink of an eye.”

Perseus curses as he makes his rough landing on the rocky lands outside of Athens. Medusa’s head hits the ground with a wet thud, spilling more of her seemingly never ending stream of grotesque blood. He was a mess, but he had finally made it. He would kiss the ground if not for the curious onlookers watching his graceless arrival. He sees one or two peel off into the city, likely to inform everyone of his embarrassment and gather them to watch. 

Fortunately there is a stream nearby and he trudges towards it, determined to make himself somewhat presentable. Athenians were a pompous bunch. Even so, he was a son of Zeus. He would not enter his immortal sister’s temple in such a state. He shucks off his wind battered tunic and climbs directly into the stream rubbing the fresh water into his face. He cleans the important bits, just his arms and legs and dresses quickly as the clamor of the townspeople gets closer.

“You boy!” an older man cries out to him.

Perseus rises to his full height, tightly clutching the sack with the gorgon’s head closed. The man isn’t dressed richly, but the crowd has an air of respect for him as he approaches.

“Greetings kind sir,” Perseus waves with a smile he hopes doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “Where can a stranger find good lodging in your fine city?”

“This is Athens, city of the goddess Athena,” the man answers. “All the lodgings are as fine as the city itself.”

“I am glad to hear I wasn’t blown off course,” Perseus steps forward, his winged sandals beating themselves dry. “I am Perseus, of Seriphos”

The man laughs genuinely. “We know who you are, son of Zeus. You are very welcomed here. Your visit has been anticipated for some time, though you’ve chosen a curious day to arrive.”

“What day is that?” Perseus asks, smiling at the warm reception.

“It is the eve of the Festivals of Poseidon,” the man smiles knowingly. “Come, you must be weary from your travels.”

Chapter Text

Perseus wakes before the sun. A fortunate thing, considering most of the city was now aware of his arrival. The day before had been a blur of introductions and storytelling concluded with wine and more of the same. It was a relief to have the early morning to himself before the festivities began in earnest. He would have to make haste to the Athena’s temple if he wanted to avoid the crowds.

The old man who welcomed him to Athens served as his guide through the excited city. The inns are as fine as Diodorus described, but when the old man offers his own home Perseus gratefully accepts. It was difficult for him to rest easily in public lodgings. Medusa’s head was a valuable prize not just to thieves, but bold youths. Perseus had taken to sleeping in trees after waking up to the statue of a young lad holding the Gorgon’s head in the center of his room. He took great care not to gaze upon either of their faces as he quietly left the small town.

Diodorus leads him through the city to his home where his son startles hard at their arrival, almost breaking the amphora he was working on. Euthymius proves to be just as welcoming as his father and generously offers him room and bread, as well as an invitation to the symposium that evening. They were a cheerful household and had good reason to be. Their young and growing family had finally produced a son after two daughters. 

Fortunately Euthymius had done well for himself as a high quality painter of pottery and could afford the liability of daughters. He proudly presents the young Athenodoros, named after the goddess the household prayed feverishly to, for his healthy arrival. Athenodoros is wholly uninterested in being held by Perseus and cries adamantly until he is returned to the comfort of their servant’s arms. Perseus waves off Euthymius’ apologies with a laugh, forever charmed by the sound of babes, especially after so much travel.

He can’t help but think of Andromeda and imagines her features on the red faced newborn. For the first time since his departure he regrets not consummating his marriage. He would have liked to return to such blessed news. 

Euthymius continues with their tour of the home and offers him two of their best amphoras for Perseus to seal his divine gifts in while they drank in the symposium. The night was merry and full of storytelling and listening alike. The biggest story outside of Perseus' arrival was of course the fountain boy. Most citizens of Athens had been witness to his birth from the divine fountain and his declaration of name.

“Are all demigods born knowing their names?” a drunken merchant asked Perseus.

Perseus laughs. “I suppose the magically born ones very well may.”

“Is your own conception of golden rain not magical by your standards, son of Zeus?” Euthymius raises an eyebrow.

“Ah, I forgot,” Perseus blinked as the men roared in laughter. “In my defense I was not present for my conception, only my birth!”

“I suppose it must be common from those born full grown,” another man laughs, patting his back. “Like the goddess herself.”

“Does he share a relation to the goddess?” Perseus asks.

“Ah,” Euthymius flinches. “I would be careful with that line of thought.”

“Oh?” Perseus takes a sip of his wine sensing a story.

“There was a young man who claimed the child was of Athena and Poseidon,” Euthymius says.

“What happened to him?”

“He was blinded by the gods,” Euthymius shook his head, the other patrons nodding in agreement.

By the time they returned to the house Euthymius and Perseus were in a stupor of wine, singing together loudly as they made their way home. Now he lays in bed with his head pounding to the rhythm of his winged sandals beating in their amphora. The one containing Medusa’s head is thankfully silent as he groans and stretches. He would have to make haste to the Acropolis if he wanted to return before dawn.

He dresses and gathers his magical items before leaving his room to enter the courtyard. The servants are unsurprisingly already up and quietly preparing for their masters to wake. They offer him a small breakfast of barley bread and dipping wine, with figs and those strange olives but he declines. He would dine with his hosts when they woke. He sends them to find oil for him to pour libations for his family as well as his hosts then sets out into the night.

His sword and shield gleam as he walks the dark empty streets of Athens, his arms full of his divine gifts. Just as he tenses his legs to take flight a familiar voice calls out to him.

“Honored guest!” Diodorus calls in the dark.

Perseus is so startled he almost loses his footing tripping over his own winged foot.

“Apologies my young friend,” Diodorus chuckles, walking towards him. “I see you are in a hurry to leave us so soon.”

“Diodorus,” Perseus exclaims. “It is I who owes you apologies. I did not mean to wake you.”

“Nonsense,” the old man waves. “I was just on my way to your father’s temple. When I saw the shine of your shield I thought he had granted me your assistance.”

“Perhaps he has,” Perseus smiles. “I was on my way to the goddess’ temple. Though I’d be happy to escort you there and back home.”

“Don’t keep the goddess waiting on my account. I’m sure you’ve delayed this visit enough,” Diodorus smiles knowingly, linking an arm with the young hero. “I will find my own way home, with the light of day.”

“I fear you will have to guide me again ,” Perseus says, adjusting the weight of his load to his other arm. “I do not know the location of my father’s temple.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Diodorus chuckles, turning them around. “The Olympieion is not atop the Acropolis as one might expect, but at the heart of Athens. A grand thing…”

The painter’s father prattles on while Perseus listens politely, grateful he poured libations for the goddess before setting out. Travel from Seriphos to Athens would have taken less than a day had he flown over the sea, but his mother’s warning kept him inland. Hopping from island to island until he reached the mainland where he was finally able to travel without fear. It’d been nearly a week since the virgin goddess sent him that perplexing dream urging him to her new city. This would only delay him further and Athena was not known for her patience.

Perseus could only hope Diodorus was as favored by the goddess as his grandson as he allowed the old man to lead him away from the Acropolis. When they finally reach the temple Perseus is eager to take flight and would, had the temple’s appearance not stopped him in his tracks. He turns to Diodorus.

“Are you offended young demigod?” Diodorus laughs heartily in the empty night air.

“I think I may be,” Perseus frowns. 

The temple was clearly well cared for, clean and tidy, but was unfinished. And there were no signs of tracks or construction to imply any intention to complete the temple. It had been abandoned…

“The Olympieion. The great Athenian Temple and Sanctuary of Zeus,” Diodorus announces as he walks towards the marble steps. “Was meant to be the greatest temple in all the world.”

“What happened?” Perseus asked.

“Laziness,” Diodorus tsked, climbing the first few steps. “Disguised as a fear of hubris.”

“They should fear their idleness more,” Perseus shook his head. “This is a temple of Zeus not Apollo.”

“That’s very good son,” Diodorus laughed. “Perhaps you will be the one who convinces King Cecrops to resume this project.”

“I doubt I’ll be in Athens long enough to meet the king,” Perseus chuckles following Diodorus.

“You are the son of Zeus,” Diodorus stops at the top of the stairs.”The most famous one of your age. The king will meet you, not the other way around.”

“Divine blood rarely trumps royal blood,” Perseus sighs.

“In the mortal world perhaps,” Diodorus says. Perseus is startled by his sudden shift of tone and looks up. Diodorus’ eyes burn a familiar hue and Perseus' harpe sword begins to glow by his side. “But in the world of the gods, even a divine bastard is more valuable than a man with a crown.”

“Who are you?” Perseus whispers, the autumn wind passing through his clothes

Diodorus gives him a crooked smile, a warm glow stretching from the temple entrance behind him. “Come now Perseus. We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“Your recent successes have brought you much glory, my son,” Diodorus hums as he walks the length of his temple. “And with that glory, the attention of the divine.”

The temple seems to stretch and awaken in his presence. Fires spring to life in their unlit torches as he passes and the tiles beneath Perseus’ feet swim and shift into mosaics displaying chronicles of the divine. Sweet incense swirls in the air as the columns seem to stretch to the heavens, dwarfing and terrifying him. White curtains fall between them concealing the grand interiors from the outside world as above a roof of benevolent clouds begins to form. His figure seems to loom larger as he approaches the enormous chryselephantine throne. 

They thunder gently, offering little comfort to Perseus who follows from a distance as if pulled by a string. By the time Zeus reaches his forty foot throne, the temple’s magnificence is on full display and so is he. Draped in divine fabrics as large as a ship’s sails, the colossal god turns and for the first time Perseus can gaze upon his true father’s face. He shivers in the temple’s warmth and falls to his knee, bowing his head.

“I am honored,” Perseus says with a clear, shaking voice. “My lord.”

Zeus chuckles, taking his seat on the throne. “Even those gods who are not my natural children address me as Father, and all gods rise in my presence. Yet you, my son, who I formed with such grandiose display, call me lord.”

Timidly, Perseus lifts his head and meets the allfather’s eyes. They crinkle in humor as they did when Diodorus greeted him at the riverbank.

“Father,” Perseus swallows. “How may I serve you?”

“Stand boy,” Zeus says. “Let me get a proper look at you.”

Perseus rises to his feet and meets his father’s eyes again. Zeus takes a long hard look at him and he feels as if the examination is of his very soul. He now understood why so many described his gaze as piercing.

“You have done well,” Zeus nods, pleased. “From your first task you have proven yourself reliable, enduring and now honorable. No mortal has ever been granted such a tally of divine gifts, much less taken such initiative to return more than they were given. I would see you rewarded, but there are dangers to address.”

“Dangers?” Perseus blinked.

“Aye,” Zeus’ expression turns serious. “I am not the only Olympian whose attention you have earned. The sea god stews in his golden palace at the loss of his precious monster and the insult to his wife gone unpunished, due to your heroic intervention.”

Perseus’ mother’s warning rings in his ears. You have killed his creature and married the subject of his ire. So used to the favor of the gods he was ashamed to admit the idea of their ire felt unlikely. To hear the same warning from his immortal father made the threat real and imminent. 

“There are also reports from Libya of his son Triton’s displeasure with your adventures,” Zeus frowns.

“I’ve never been to Libya,” Perseus says.

“No,” Zeus chuckles, amused. “You’ve only flown over that land. The kibisis gifted to you was meant to contain the Gorgon’s head, not her potent blood.”

“Must I travel there?” Perseus asked.

“No,” Zeus says sternly. “If you leave Athens before the snow has thawed, your life will be forfeit.”

Forfeit?

“You will winter in Athens, under the continued protection of Athena,” Zeus continues. “I have use of you yet.”

To winter in this foreign land after all his hardship felt unjust, but Perseus dare not accuse the god of justice of such a thing, even in his own mind. Still, reluctance floods him as the image of a long warm winter in the luxury of a princess’ arms vanishes. Was this the life of heroes? To quest without end except for death. To reap great rewards just out of reach of enjoyment.

“A quest?” he asks, masking his unenthusiasm.

“A task,” Zeus smiles. “In due time. I imagine your current concerns should be elsewhere.”

“My wife,” Perseus nods, thinking of Andromeda, over a month’s journey away.

“Your gifts,” Zeus raises an eyebrow. “Your marriage lacks legitimacy.”

“I-.”

“I would see you a king,” Zeus hums thinking to himself. “You must consummate this marriage to secure your line to the throne. Send for the Ethiopian princess.”

“She is royalty. How will I provide for her?” Perseus asks. He couldn’t imagine the beautiful Andromeda with her rich skin and cloths in the Euthymius household. Despite their fellowship he doubted King Cepheus would forgive him for bringing his beloved daughter to such lowly and foreign lodgings. 

Especially after a long and difficult journey. The sea god’s threat to her was more direct than his. Traveling over water would not be an option. Once the winds turned cold and the dirt froze, travel would become all but impossible. Perseus could hardly bear the thought of the princess on winter roads for those long weeks. He’d rather her wait for him in her home country, safe among her people.

“You lack faith boy,” Zeus frowns, shaking his head, his clouds above thundering his displeasure. “Remove these doubts from your head and heed my words. Return the helm of darkness, Athena’s gleaming shield. The messenger’s gift is yours to keep as is the divine harpe. Send for your bride, though only yours in ceremony, and make her yours in the eyes of gods and men. Dare not set foot outside the boundaries of Athens, no matter the promise, no matter the fear.”

Perseus bows his head deeply. “Yes, father. Please forgive my impudence. It was born from a husband’s anxiety, not a son’s defiance.”

“You have yet to require my forgiveness,” Zeus’ voice is calmer somehow yet Perseus cannot seem to shake the weight of his disapproval. “You are right to fear for her safety after leaving her in such a vulnerable state. Her current virtue is unlikely for a married woman thus unlikely to be assumed by wicked men. Send for her and perform your neglected duty. The maiden goddess will protect her on her travels as you were in yours.”

“Thank you father,” relief floods his body. “I will prove myself to you once again.”

“Yes,” Zeus says, his voice sounding strange and far away. Perseus looks up to see the smiling god fading into cloud and smoke. The clouds above them begin to disperse and the grandeur of the temple seems to melt away. “You will.”

In an instant Zeus is gone and Perseus stands alone in the empty abandoned temple, the first light of the day already streaming in between the marble columns. He releases a breath and looks down at his shaking hands. Between his fingers a flash of gold catches his eyes and he looks past them to his feet, where a golden cicada glints in the waking dawn. It takes the air and flutters loudly out of the temple. Towards his original destination: the Acropolis.

“You’ve asked me this recently.”

“How would I know how many days have passed?” Krites rolls his eyes following his brother down the grand artistry of the Thalivian halls. “There’s no sun down here.”

Triton smiles, continuing his inspection of the perpetual Walls of History. Elegant as always the art depicting the centuries long history was precisely as accurate as it needed to be. What had started as a mortal king’s vanity project was now a powerful tool for educating the masses. Triton visited occasionally to ensure the Wall’s carvings were stories the divine wanted told. The story of Krites was very much something he wanted to ensure was subscribed to stone.

“The same way you did before brother,” Triton walks past a detailed depiction of the Triumph of The Merrihins.

“I didn’t,” Krites whines. “I never needed to before.”

“What a charmed life you’ve lived,” Triton chuckles, continuing on his way.

“Is that my fault?”

“No, I suppose not,” Triton glances over his shoulder at the frowning boy. Gods, he looked so much like father in his irritation. “Still you’re a man grown you should have figured out how to tell time by now.”

“I didn’t grow into a man,” Krites scoffed. “I just got here. I don’t even know how old I am.”

“Huh,” Triton paused and turned to face Krites who looked startled by his halt. “I keep forgetting how young you are, little brother.”

“Me too,” Krites nodded.

“Come,” Triton shook his head smiling, leading Krites towards his first depiction on the Walls of History. “Look.”

Krites appears in front of his brother looking up at the Walls before him. The mosaic art showed the scene of Krites’ birth in the fountain for Athens. Krites stood on the ledge of the fountain his arm outstretched to the towering gods gazing down at him. First father and Zeus, behind them the maiden goddess and behind her the sons of Zeus.

“Do you remember how to read these?” Triton asks gesturing to the year transcribed beneath the mosaic.

Krites nods. “A thousand… eight hundred and one years after the Blight.”

“We tell the mortals that the Blight was a disaster on the surface that spilled into the seas,” Triton begins. “Which is true, but not the full picture.”

“What’s the full picture?” Krites tilts his head up to look at Triton.

“Our cousin Apollo made the grave error of swearing an unbreakable vow before hearing the conditions. What’s worse, he swore it to a mortal and the world burned for it. The devastation to our realm was great. So significant a moment it marked the beginning of a new era.”

“He let his son ride his chariot,” Krites says.

“How do you know this?” Triton blinks at the boy, knowing the answer before Krites says it.

“He wanted Apollo to claim him as a son,” Krites continues. “Apollo swore he could ask for anything, but he asked to ride the chariot. Apollo tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen so it went bad and Zeus killed him.”

“Exactly that,” Triton nods, rubbing the boy’s head affectionately. “And thus began the era of the Blight. Though we are past all that now and the sea has long since been too recovered to continue adding years to this era. We would need a significant and widely known event to begin a new era.”

Krites looks back at the Wall, understanding dawning in his mind. “Me?”

“Yes, little brother,” Triton smiles, leaning down to run his hand across the plaque, watching the numbers count down to zero.  “Almost three months to this day the Era of Child Surprise began.”

Against his better instincts, Perseus inquires about Euthymius' parents, alas, only to learn they were no longer amongst the living. He had no recollection of the old man who brought Perseus to his home, nor his presence in the memories they shared.

With the day came young slave boys with their empty carts, filling the courtyard. Perseus watched with keen interest as Euthymius went about organising them and filling their carts with his painted amphoras. The household servants had prepared a surplus of food not only for the festival but for the boys to take a mid day meal with them.

“I find I work harder on a fuller belly,” Euthymius smiles as they watch the boys scurry back and forth from his workshop to the courtyard.

Euthymius explains over a bowl of olives that the boys would each place themselves in good selling locations around the city and return in the evening for their pay. This way he could enjoy the festivals to its entirety in home and business.

“One day I hope to afford to do this daily,” Euthymius smiles. “Enjoy my work and that life its built without the interruption of selling.”

“It’s a good plan,” Perseus nods. “I imagine some of these boys may become your apprentice in time.”

“I’ve got my eye on one,” Euthymius says. “Small lad, but hardworking. Quick eyes. I’ve seen them linger on the paint in the workshop. I hope to see if he has some talents soon.”

At last the final boy leaves with his heavy load and the Euthymius family sets out with haste. The city is bursting with celebratory cheer and Euthymius receives many congratulations from his neighbours as they walk by. Athenodoros, again, is unimpressed by his greeters and takes greater interest in his older sisters who walk beneath him.

Merchants of all hues line the roadside to the theatre with their wares of painted amphoras, cuts of meat and shining jewels. Eager to pick an ideal seat, the crowd pushes forward mostly ignoring the merchants on the roadside. The play was meant to be a comedy, funded by the king himself who witnessed the birth of the play’s subject. Expectations were as high as spirits and no one wanted to miss a thing.

“Prince Perseus of Seriphos!” A voice rings out from the gates.

A group of well decorated soldiers approaches them, spears held high. Onlookers point and glance in surprise, many not realising they were walking aside a living legend. Perseus hadn’t realised how much he was enjoying his anonymity until it was shattered. Reluctantly he smiles and steps forward to greet them.

“Who calls for me?” Perseus asks the soldiers

“Are you Prince Perseus of Seriphos? Son of Zeus, Slayer of Gorgons,” the lead soldier inquires. The surrounding crowd is uncharacteristically quiet, allowing the soldier’s voice to carry.

“I am he, though I’ve only slain a single gorgon I fear,” Perseus pulls a few laughs from the crowd.

“Then it is a great honour,” the soldier smiles earnestly. “We come at the behest of King Cecrops II of Athens, who requests you join his family for the premiere of his latest play, Child Surprise.”

“I’m not sure I’m deserving of such an honour,” Perseus gives a reluctant smile. “But who am I to refuse a king?”

“He will be very glad to receive you, Prince Perseus,” The soldiers nod, gesturing to the entrance of the Theatre of Dionysus. “If you would come this way.”

“Just a moment,” Perseus turns to face his host who already gives him a small sad smile.

“You aren’t abandoning me with all these women are you?” Euthymius jokes.

“I fear I must,” Perseus walks over, clapping his back. “I will return and find you when I can. You are a host among hosts my friend.”

“No better host than a king surely,” Euthymius laughs. “I will keep your belongings under my protection until you come to collect. It was a likewise pleasure, Perseus.”

They split ways as Perseus follows the soldiers through the gates and parted crowds. As he passes beneath the marble arches he can hear a whisper on the wind.

You are the son of Zeus. The king will meet you, not the other way around.

Chapter Text

These words are still ringing in his head when the soldiers escort him past the rich purple curtains and he is drowned in a rush of cheers. Suddenly he finds himself in an ocean of thousands of Athenians, all screaming his name so loudly it melts into pure sound. The grand stage stands before him richly decorated, its towering skene draped with cloths fit for sails. 

“Prince of Seriphos,” Perseus turns and several steps above him stands the king with open arms. Behind him, ten thousand craning onlookers. “Perseus, son of Zeus, greatest of all the gods. You are well welcomed in Athens!”

King Cecrops II, according to Euthymius. The king is flanked by family first, then servants and finally soldiers forming a living wall between the royal entourage and the crowd of onlookers. Their spacious section is covered in lush rugs and furs. Little tables dotted throughout overflow with fresh fruit, bread and drink. Perseus lets his knee find the ground as he bows his head to the king. When he rises, the crowd’s roar is dulled by listening ears watching them intently.

“King Cecrops of Athens, it is an honor,” Perseus smiles, through his discomfort. “I’ve been very well received by your countrymen. The little I’ve been shown of your grand city has given shape to all good word I’ve heard prior.”

“You will not find a grander city in all of Greece,” King Cecrops says proudly. “Patroned by the maiden goddess herself who had hand in its creation. Come. Join my family for the festivities today. I would be honored to break bread with a legendary hero such as yourself.”

“The honor is all mine,” Perseus says as he ascends the steps.

“Father is that him?” a young voice draws Perseus’ eyes to a toothy brown hairs princeling.

“Ah,” King Cecrops smiles apologetically as the young boy bounds over. “My youngest, Pandion, has been eager for your arrival.”

“Are you Perseus?” Pandion’s eyes are bright with familiar hero worship.

“I am,” Perseus smiles at the boy. “Are you the esteemed Prince Pandion?”

“I am!” Pandion says, astonished, as his father and Perseus chuckle.

“My firstborn, Prince Talus,” King Cecrops beams as the dark haired boy approaches from his mother’s side. 

“It is an honor to meet you Prince Perseus,” Talus greets him with barely, but well concealed excitement.

“The honor is all mine Prince Talus,” Perseus nods. “Thank you for inviting me to sit with your family.”

“Will you stay in Athens long, Perseus?” Pandion says, taking his hand.

“Longer than I expected,” Perseus chuckles, letting the child guide him to their seats.

“Will you live with us?” Talus takes his other hand gently. 

“I haven’t worked out my living arrangements quite yet,” Perseus shakes his head, charmed by the unusually childlike, royal children.

“Now lads,” another man approaches, looking apologetic at Perseus’ predicament with the princes. “Let’s give our guest some room to roam, these seats are far too narrow, god forbid you should fall.” 

Talus releases him reluctantly, but Pandion only switches to holding the edge of his chiton. The man bares a remarkable resemblance to the heir, sharing the same shining dark hair and painted gray eyes. Perseus would think he was Talus’ true father were it not such treasonous thought.

“Ah my brilliant brother in law,” King Cecrops introduces the man. “Daedalus of Athens, The Great Inventor.”

“Turned caretaker I’m afraid,” Daedalus gives a simple smile as servants guide the boys over to their mother the queen, another dark haired beauty. “It is an honor to meet the hero so favored by our city’s patron.”

“It is an honor to meet the goddess’ blessed inventor,” Perseus says earnestly. “Your brilliance has spread as far as my travels.”

“I’m not surprised,” King Cecrops laughs, clapping the inventor’s back. “Daedalus is a genius. Talus has already learned much under his charge.”

“A fortunate pupil,” Perseus nods at the young heir, who beams from the attention.

“Very much so,” Daedalus shakes his head, smiling.

“Come,” says King Cecrops. “Let us take our seats. Give our spectators something new to gawk at.”

They take their seats with Perseus besides the king, the eager princes besides their mother Queen Perdix who sits apart, a newborn in her arms and female servants watching her keenly. She pays little mind to Perseus, with that far off look that sometimes possesses new mothers.

“I’m curious,” King Cecrops begins. “What brings you to Athens, Prince Perseus?”

If only he knew, he wants to say. A task to be revealed in due time was hardly a reason to ask for months of room and board from a king and Perseus was unlikely to reveal to anyone much less royalty that his life would be forfeit at the city borders. He opens his mouth to say gods know what when a glint of gold catches his eye. A golden cicada, resting on the king’s shoulder. In the goddess’ voice, his father’s words seem to come from within his own mind

Perhaps you will be the one who convinces King Cecrops to resume this project.

“The gods,” Perseus answers, accepting wine from a servant. “I spent the early morning in conversation with my father… at the abandoned Olympieion.”

King Cecrops’ smile flatters and Perseus has a feeling he’s expected this reckoning for quite some time. For how many years did King Cecrops build the wealth and prosperity of Athens around a monument of neglect to the King of the Gods? Zeus was not a god known for any warnings, much less gentle ones for his impending wrath.

“Fear not. I am here to reassure you,” Perseus says quickly. “My father came to me in disguise and led me to the Olympieion where he voiced his… displeasure.”

“I see,” King Cecrops swallows. “What did he say?

“Laziness disguised as a fear of hubris, were his exact words,” Perseus says apologetically. “It is meant to be the greatest temple in all the world.”

“And it shall,” King Cecrops says seriously.

“Yes, it shall,” Perseus agrees. “I have been tasked with not only delivering this message, but remaining witness to the Olympieion’s completion.”

“Then I promise you this, son of Zeus, representative of the gods,” King Cecrops clasps Perseus’ forearm. “Your divine father will receive his just tribute. Tenfold, I promise this. The Olympieion, Temple and Sanctuary of Zeus will be completed in a year's time. Tonight I will hold a great sacrifice of cattle in his honor and commit this grand monument and vow in the eyes of gods and men.”

“You misunderstand King Cecrops,” Perseus shakes his head. “I have been ordered to winter in Athens until the first snow thaws at which time, the task will be complete or failed.”

The king blanches, too noticeably, drawing attention to their conversation. Perseus can hardly blame him. To complete such a project in a matter of months was nearly impossible in the kindest portion of the year. Winter had little kindness to spare. The season was notoriously devoid of construction and for good reason. It was an unfair demand and made Perseus feel a bit cruel, but not enough to clarify the deadline was of his own making.

“Remove your doubts,” Perseus squeezes the king’s forearm. “The gods always ask more of us than we think we can achieve.”

“Words easily said from a man blessed with the tools of the gods,” King Cecrops gives a humorless laugh looking suddenly much older.

“Words that should be easily received by a king blessed with the greatest mortal inventor, the richest Greecian state and the patron of the wisest of Olympus,” Perseus encourages him. “For it was our shared patron who guided me to Athens on dreams of olive trees and golden cicadas.”

King Cecrops gives Perseus a long searching look, before something passing for relief finally eases gaze. “Blessed Maiden Goddess. Athena Glaukopis. Before the first of the gnarled trees sprouted from the earth her priestess had seen with resting eyes, the golden cicadas in an olive tree. How foolish of us to fear omen! Allow me the honor to host you, son of Zeus. Your presence is welcomed in my home.”

“The honor is all mine, King Cecrops,” Perseus bows his head.

“We will discuss this further in the palace,” Cecrops takes a bracing breath. “Today is a day of celebration. Tomorrow will be of redemption. Let us enjoy the play.”

Wearily, the king places his hands on his knees and pushes himself to stand. Pulling a purple cloth from his sleeve he waves it in the air to signal the start of the play and the crowd cheers in anticipation. Gently, the orchestra drifts into the noise of the audience, hushing princes and common men alike. Breathing anticipation into the crowd, the chorus rises. Dancers sprout from the stage like flowers, spinning baskets, scrolls and bread over each other’s head. Imitating the bustling agora effortlessly with their weaving paths.

They sing of Athens, its beauty, its favor of the gods. They sing of Demeter’s fruitful blessings, Hepheteus’ meticulous guidance and Apollo’s shining ideal.

“But who?” They sing. “Of the shining gods to choose. Of the hundreds Zeus will pick two.”

The dancers turn their heads upwards to the background skene where an unnoticed man stands on a high arched window, his exquisite mask the image of Zeus. He peers down at the dancers and crowds and says:

“I think I’ll leave the rest to you.”

The crowd is enchanted and charmed as the dancers continue their song. Speaking directly to the Athenians' sense of pride, elation and excitement that day. To be the topic of Olympus. To be coveted by the divine. Perseus can almost feel the bliss of the moment as if he were there himself. Seamlessly the flock of dancers transforms into a crowd of citizens dressed with pride, their King Cecrops, at the head of them. 

The growing song cuts off sharply, leaving only the soft elysiumal instruments announcing the Olympians' arrival. The citizens face the skene, then gaze upwards as two curtains fall from arched windows revealing the goddess Athena and god Poseidon in their elegant masks. Following their king’s example, the crowd of citizens fall to their knees with mesmerizing fluidity.

The Olympians step from the ledges and fall, inciting a gasp then cheer from the crowd as they are caught by rope. The deities descend delicately onto mortal ground to the rising chorus of praise and wonder. A hush falls over the crowd as the Olympians take to their platforms and address their mortal flock.

“King Cecrops II,” Poseidon’s voice is deep and carrying, commanding the attention of thousands. “Bless the day. Your lands flourishing with arts and riches and leisured peace have been coveted. Not by barbaric men nor envious neighbors nor commoners deity. Zeus Eleutherios, freedom giver, King of Gods, has heard the Olympians of his council and in his wisdom allowed his brother Lord of the Seas, the god Poseidon and his daughter, maiden goddess of warfare, of wisdom, Athena to compete in a contest of gifts to patron this city, worthy of the greatest gods.”

The Athenians in the theatron roar with cheer, clapping and stomping their feet with pride. King Cecrops shows no sign of their previous conversation as he beams with pride. In just the introduction, this play had already cemented itself as one of the greats. Even Perseus, who was no stranger to grand productions, growing up in King Polydectes palace, had never experienced theater of this scale. If the Athenians were used to such luxury they gave no indication in their unabashed celebration. Looking just as awestruck as Perseus felt.

King Cecrops’ actor stands on comically wobbly legs garnering a laugh from the audience. He bows too deeply and welcomes the Olympians to his fine city. Satisfied with introductions the divine nod and Poseidon begins the competition with a wave of his trident. The dancers again spin in a weaving circle as the chorus sings the praises of each god and ponders the benefits of each choice. 

Distracted by song and spinning dance, Perseus can scarcely believe his eyes as a beautiful, rocky edged fountain is built in the center of their dance with nimble, learned hands. When they disperse the fountain is revealed in its entirety and the audience erupts into applause for the clever craftsmanship. This was no puppet theater. As the excitable audience finally dies down a delicate building chorus can be heard. Slowly the dancers begin to tentatively approach the sea god’s magnificent fountain.

“You should have seen the real thing,” King Cecrops whispers to Perseus reminding him that he might be the only one in the audience for whom this play was myth not memory

Slowly the dancers begin to tentatively approach the sea god’s magnificent fountain as the chorus sings of its beauty. Of the living mythology carved into its rocky face. Of the shining water, as clear as glass. Of the overbearing taste of salt??

A dancer turns to the audience and spits an enormous spray of water in the air, coughing violently. He turns to the audience, wiping his mouth.

“I’ve had better at the bottom of a fisherman’s bucket,” he says in disgust to the roaring laughter of the Athenians.

“He said that in front of a god?” Perseus whispers.

“No,” King Cecrops chuckles. “But he did spit out the water.”

Dancers recoil dramatically from the grand fountain. Mummers grow among them as they weakly sing their gratitude to the tune of awkward conky instruments.

“What craftsmanship! What beauty! To accept a poorly paired gift is a humble man’s duty .”

The Athenian disappointment is immense. They expected divine marvels not grand ornaments. Even Perseus' initial awe wanes as the realization builds that it was just a pretty fountain with very undrinkable water. The chorus moves on to the goddess Athena, attempting to garner excitement for her gift among the fog of disappointment still hung in the air.

Either unfazed or indifferent to the poor mood, Athena turns to the space between her uncle and herself. She deliberately raises her hand over it to the building chorus of anticipation. A rumbling can be heard from the stage as the platform pulls the Olympians apart. Dancers scramble back in surprise as gnarled branches emerge like an ancient clawed hand. Perseus watches in astonishment as the now familiar tree rises from the ground to the pitch of choral harmonies.

As the olive tree grows so does the sense of wonder, awe and anticipation. Before it finishes emerging the audience has already taken up their applause again, some even standing to their feet to welcome the divine tree’s creation. When the goddess completes her marvel, she turns to the Athenian crowd and utters a single word:

“Edible.”

Mayhem. The crowd literally goes wild and Perseus can’t help, but be swept up into the roar of ten thousand voices chanting ATHENS! ATHENS! ATHENS! The goddess raises her arms in victory and Perseus can feel ten thousand voices vibrating through his chest, the floor, the seats. Even the orchestra and chorus are drowned out by the roar of pride and stomping feet, gone on so long the play pauses as the actors are captivated and take up the chant ATHENS! ATHENS! ATHENS!  

Finally King Cecrops’ actor takes his place and faces the crowd with raised arms, prepared to announce the obvious winner. As the crowd dies down, somewhat reluctantly, Perseus notices a faint glow begin to form behind the actor. Squinting, Perseus can tell the glow is of his father’s world and his excitement gives way to a sudden chill. 

You have killed his creature and married the subject of his ire. With a start he remembers, this is Poseidon’s festival and Athens had chosen to ring it in with roars of worship to Athena on the heels of the sea god’s embarrassing loss. His breath catches as the glow builds behind the oblivious actor and crowds. It’s all he can do to not cry out in warning. Without his winged sandals he was as helpless as any mortal to watch in growing horror. But before the actor can speak, a small voice calls out from behind him.

Turning, confused, the king steps aside to reveal to the audience a dark and long haired boy in the fountain. Thrumming with obvious divine energy the boy’s back is turned to them, his face turned up to the god Poseidon. Slender and beautiful he could almost be mistaken for a virgin girl were it not for the cloth held draped over his shoulders and around his body.

The boy calls out again, to the sea god Poseidon, who has switched to a mask of pure bewilderment. Very deliberately, the sea god turns in a circle, unveiling his mask of great rage as he levels his trident at the boy. The audience, unaware of the deity on their stage, laugh at the boy’s squeaks of alarm as the sea god approaches, harshly questioning him for defiling his gift. The dancers scurry as the boy pleads with the god in his lovely voice calling him father.

The Athenian crowd cries out for the boy too, fully engrossed in the play, imploring Athena to act on his behalf and spare him the sea god’s wrath. Without changing her mask of confusion, the goddess approaches, laying a hand on her uncle’s arm. No words pass between them as she looks deliberately between the boy and the god. Poseidon’s mask is switched to confusion as he does the same, the wheels in their heads turning. Finally they straighten, turn from the audience, then again to reveal their masks of horror, backing away from each other while venomously denying involvement with the fountain child.

The audience roar with laughter as the gods bicker like an estranged couple. Several glances are thrown Perseus' way to garner his reaction to his namesake’s introduction. He tries to laugh along, but his focus is on the divine taken mortal form on stage. His first instinct told him this was the genuine son of Poseidon born from the god’s fountain. They were similar enough in build, but the god’s movements were just too effortless and graceful. There was a sense of intentional allure that Perseus struggled to picture of the dark haired boy from his dreams. He wondered if he was looking at an Erotes.

As if hearing his thoughts, the god turns from his feuding parents to give Perseus the briefest knowing glance. Vibrant violet eyes capture him. A curtain falls from the skene, breaking the moment and the bickering deities pause to look up at the newest Olympian arrival.

“Father would like a word,” the cheerful actor sings, as he steps from his ledge, yellow robes blowing in the wind. “About your ill-advised, child surprise.”

Chapter Text

The sea princes float above their mother’s gardens, watching the Athenian depiction of recent events. Lounging happily between his brother’s arm and chest, Krites enjoys his snack bag, as he’d taken to calling it. A few of mother’s school orbited Krites, ever eager for the morsels he dropped. Despite the pleasant scene, the atmosphere was tense. 

The Athenian performance was… more unkind to father than Triton had expected. Though they did not say it, he knew his parents were wary of the mortal perception of Krites, especially in Athens. Their former king, Erechtheus, had been felled by Poseidon’s own hand after his sweet sung son, Eumolpus, was killed in fair battle by the king. Athena, who had reared Erechtheus was naturally displeased, but overruled by Dionysus and Demeter to whom Eumolpus was a favored priest.

The disgruntled goddess contented herself in taking Erechtheus’ widow as her priestess and commanded a shrine be built to her late husband… under Poseidon’s sacred name. Erechtheus’ eldest son, Cecrops II was appointed as his successor and had ruled Athens ever since. Now he sat laughing beside Zeus’ prodigal son Perseus, enjoying the king funded play that did no favors for the sea god.

“If Krites is to live among them he should know them and what they know of him,” Triton had argued. “Allow me to take him ashore. Lessons alone won’t prepare him for a mortal life.”

Mother and father still sat apart, wariness lining their features. They were both reluctant to allow Krites to surface before Solstice, but exchanged a knowing look. Whatever their silent battle, it is father who bows his head in defeat. He will allow Krites to surface prior to the Solstice. Under one condition- that the play was at least favorable to the boy.

“Those Athenians (derogatory) have little love for me,” Poseidon fixed Triton with a hard look. “Less now, than even you remember.”

Now Triton sat in shock as he watched the Athenians (derogatory) congratulate themselves for their folly. Too arrogant to believe their comprehension had limits, they reject technology akin to fire. Only seeing a fountain where a fountain stood, they dare assume a god a fool. Triton can feel his parent’s tension in the water, thick and swirling.

Unaware, Krites was enjoying himself thoroughly, laughing in delight at the mortal folly. He’d taken to calling the performance ‘his’ play, eager to finally see himself arrive on stage. He adored the exquisite masks and talented dancers, naming each god as they arrived on stage. Even more so he enjoyed the mortal crowds, drinking in their interactions eagerly. For the first time, it occurs to Triton that Krites may be lonely in Atlantis.

He is scarcely given the moment to ponder that thought when a presence on stage catches his eyes. Already, Krites has noticed too, looking to Triton for answer. A divine presence was hidden from view, behind King Cecrops’ actor. Triton could guess who it was. The theater god, afterall, was very generous with appearances. He would never miss the opportunity to perform in such a historical play.

Krites pushes himself up to get a closer look at his actor, his little fingers leaving sticky prints on Triton’s arm. Looking to Triton again with disappointment lining his face, he asks. “Where’s my mask?”

Triton stifles a laugh. The priorities of mortals never ceased to amaze him.

“Be honored,” he says. “You were given no mask because of your mortality, yet it is an Olympian heralding your introduction to the world.”

Krites blinks surprised looking back at the scene and Triton knew he did not recognize the god. Of course not, they had yet to meet. Dionysus had only ascended recently and text on the newest Olympian was still scarce in the seas.

“Dionysus of Naxos,” Triton explains. “Twice-born god of the vine, son of Zeus and Semele.”

“That’s Dionysus?” Krites head snaps back at the screen, his jaw slack.

“Aye,” Triton raises a brow. He silently prays that it wasn't interest, not that Krites had ever shown any before. 

A fortunate thing after all. It would have felt strange, preaching virtue to a young man. But besides the sword, the goddess’ favor was far more valuable to Krites. This became apparent on the banks of Libya when Triton began to train Krites in earnest.

The sword gleamed like a target at Krites hip, spilling moonlight in the afternoon sun. Triton meant to ensure Krites could wield it well. Turn the target into a weapon. Moments later, with the ground on his back and Krites laughter in the air, Triton’s worries are put to rest. Still, the sun shone too brightly on Krites’ triumphant smile that day.

“He is mortal-born, like yourself,” Triton says. “Ascended to Olympian by his great feats and greater favor with his lord father Zeus, King of the Heavens.”

“Is that why he’s playing me?” Krites asks.

It may very well be. Dionysus’ godhood had been hard earned and his followers protected it furiously. Some of his most notable feats involved his travels around the world, opposing and punishing those who denied it. When he first appeared on stage Triton feared an Olympian plot being unhatched, but perhaps his arrival was just a mere personal curiosity. The mortal born god and the god born mortal may be fast friends indeed.

“Perhaps,” Triton ponders. “He may feel kinship with you.”

The few times Triton and Dionysus had met left good impressions. He was certainly a strange god, but not an unpleasant presence. As generous with wine as he was with mortal interference, his addition to the Olympian council was as obvious a boon to Olympus as Krites was to Atlantis. The divine city, more lively and cheerful these last few decades than Triton ever remembered them. Still, the toll of his mortal life was apparent in the eyes, vibrant and intoxicated. More ancient than his age.

“Apollo,” Krites points out, distracted. Low and beyond, it was Apollo’s masked actor, descending from the skene.

“Father would like a word,” the cheerful actor sings. “About your ill-advised, child surprise.”

“Cousin dearest, use your eyes,” Dionysus performs loudly, rolling his eyes at Apollo's actor. “Such blasphemous assumption is ill advised.”

“O such bold youth!” Apollo’s actor exclaims to the laughing audience, hand on hip. “Though in words and not in deeds. Unlike that newborn brother that once stole from me!”

“Full grown I appear, but I was only just born,” Dionysus turns. “There’s still ample time to outshine that cousin of mine!”

“My cousin aye, my nephew no,” Apollo laughs. “Such lack of wisdom wouldn’t thrive in my sister’s hold. For even if I’d never known you so bold. My golden eyes still see, such fair youth as you is unlikely from these two.”

Krites looks up at Triton in question. “Why does everyone call dad ugly?”

Triton laughs aloud to his embarrassment. Still, he collects himself, barely.

“You mustn’t ask such questions, Krites,” he says, turning the boy’s head back to the screen.

“Which woman,” father’s actor lumbers forward, Apollo stepping aside. “Have I known, from which you have been born?”

“A woman?” Dionysus laughs prettily. “This I do not know. I have come from my father’s fountain, to be gifted in great show.”

“But alas!” he cries, suddenly distraught. “What poor audience! What motherless sorrow! My father neglects me! My peers disrespect me! I only draw breath, because the maiden heard my pleas!”

Krites is unimpressed, but to Triton’s surprise and delight, the audience again cries out on behalf of the fountain boy. Imploring the sea god to accept him, just as they implored Athena to act on his behalf. 

“Despair not,” Poseidon’s actor raises his arms, wearing a mask of elation. “Bless this day! My son, all mine, was born this day. A grand creation! A cause for celebration! He will be called-”

“Perseus,” Dionysus interrupts happily from his fountain, apparently over his moment of despair.

Triton can’t help, but chuckle with the howling audience. Krites laughter vibrates in the water as Poseidon’s actor stands frozen waiting for the laughter to die down.

“No,” he says firmly, sending the crowd into another laughing fit. 

“Well, I see why not?” a loud voice booms from above, Zeus’ actor has made his return on the skene and the crowd roars their approval. “I say Perseus is a fine, noble and recently royal name!”

The Athenians (derogatory) laughed, many heads turning in the direction of the now, Prince Perseus, sat besides King Cecrops II and his entourage.

“Stay out of this,” Poseidon snaps as his brother descends.

“I’ve come to congratulate you,” Zeus’ actor feigns hurt as he is slowly lowered. “What a glorious day! A feat out of reach of even the Queen of Heavens, goddess of childbirth. My brother unaided has made a son! Rejected for a tree!”

“Let us see,” Zeus waves his hand. “This fountain child of the sea. His parentage will be plain to me.”

The gods step aside as Zeus approaches Dionysus, playing Krites, and gives him a hard long look. When he turns to Poseidon, he is wearing a mask of incredulity.

“Mortal?” Zeus asks Poseidon.

“Yeah...”

“I suppose that’s the best you could do,” Zeus mocks, garnering laughter from the audience. “Still if not for his blood, I’d say he’s too pretty for you.”

“And too good for fools,” Poseidon huffs. “Far better than a tree. Had the Athenians choose wise, he would be their god true.”

“Perhaps in time,” Athena’s actress begins. “He can become divine. Only recently, my mortal brother Dionysus, joined us as the god of wine.”

“Aye,” Zeus nods, turning to the audience. “He should live among men.”

“Aye,” Apollo nods. “He should live among men.”

“Aye,” Athena nods. “He should live among men.”

“No,” Poseidon says, walking to the fountain. “I will not forsake my blessings in stone or flesh to these foolish men. He is my son all mine and he will return to the golden palaces of the sea to ascend.”