Rated M for sexual content, rape, violence, suggestive themes, language, minor drug-use, etc.. This is a Titan-Victory, Alternate Universe and it may or may not be out of character in some regards.
defiance
[dih-fahy-uhns]
1. a daring or bold resistance to authority or to any opposing force.
2. open disregard; contempt
3. a challenge to meet in combat or in a contest.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
They kill us for sport.
-William Shakespeare
It's warmer today than it has been all week, and the children of Ms. Erad's seventh grade class know it. Paper airplanes zip over heads, nestling themselves into the arms of sleeping students. Someone sings Summertime Sadness noisily and off-key. Someone else tells the first person to can it.
Ms. Erad sits at the front of her kingdom of chaos. Someday, these children would learn obedience, if not from her, then from someone less charismatic. Once upon a time, she might have let them learn the hard way.
"Settle down, kids," the teacher says. "This is Titan History and Civilization, Jessie, not lunch. Put those chips away and pay attention. This will be on your unit test next Monday."
The children groan. The last paper airplane falters as it passes over the first row and crash-lands into Ms. Erad's cup of writing utensils. She tries not to sigh when a few pens clatter to the floor.
The teacher adjusts her broad-rimmed glasses. "So, raise your hand if you've seen the news?"
Six kids raise their hands.
"Really?" Ms. Erad rolls her eyes. This late in the semester, she stopped caring how many students found this frustrating. "Are you kidding me? Raise your hand if you want to fail this class?"
Not even an airplane elevates above the slumped heads of the middle-schoolers.
"Heather, what did you see on the news today?" Ms. Erad ushers to a blonde, freckled-face girl in a pink cashmere sweater. Class pet, to be spotted from miles away and usually a safe choice when attempting to get the ball rolling.
"Well," Heather begins, her nasal voice that's the equivalent of nails on chalkboard. "The evil rebels are at it again."
Ethan raises his hand but shouts before the teacher can call upon him. "I heard they captured Thalia Grace!"
Whispers erupt from the students.
Ms. Erad studies a lock of her muddy brown hair, attitude bordering disdain. In a dull voice she tells them of the helicopter crash in Washington, the explosion at the White House - nothing but an elaborate safe housing the weapons of the seven lesser Olympians that had been thrown into Tartarus. Several minor Titans and Lord Prometheus injured. Hera's lotus staff, Hestia's eternal flame, Apollo's bow, now gone.
But Thalia Grace captured - despite all the carnage that ensued trying to do so - and now being carted off to Othrys.
"Good riddance," Heather murmurs as Ms. Erad reaches the end of her new recap.
The class goes silent save for the absent-minded children scratching doodles in their notebooks.
Ms. Erad chews her thumbnail. Finally, she says," Turn your textbooks to page 532. Let's review the Battle of Manhattan."
The kids let out a collective groan.
Their lesson continues on at a snail's pace.
"Tell me about the siege of Olympus," she tells them, and they do.
The Olympian forces cornered and cut off from the Empire State Building. Kronos escaping to destroy Olympus, pursued by Percy, Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia. Thalia never makes it but the three that do fail. Ethan Nakamura, renowned regime traitor, is dealt with accordingly. Annabeth escapes. Grover submits. But Percy...
"I don't think Jackson is dead," says a mousy girl close to the back of the class. Lydia.
Ms. Erad's eyes narrow. Again the class goes silent. "And why do you think that?" she drawls.
Lydia's face flushes, finally realizing the treacherous words she's spoken. Too late to take them back now. "Lord Kronos says he's dead. He never told anyone how, so everyone just assumes. Either he was hit in his Achilles spot or our Lord revealed his true form and incinerated him."
Ms. Erad humors her. "And what alternatives are there?"
"Well, Kronos could have imprisoned him on Othrys. Give him his due." Certainly an option the Titan Lord would never shy away from. "Or... some people say he escaped. That he's secretly leading the Rebellion."
She crosses her arms over her chest and takes three menacing steps towards the students. No one breathes. "Who says this?"
"I... don't know." A beat of sweat drips down the side fo Lydia's face. "We just don't know for sure, is all."
"The Titans work in mysterious ways. We do not decide what they tell us." Her posture relaxes. "Perseus Jackson is dead."
They move onto far less contentious topics: Grover Underwood and the Green Reserves. How, in exchange for his allegiance, the Lord of the Wild would be given the chance to live in peace. The states of Montana, Colorado, Idaho, and Nebraska were quickly yielded over to the nature spirits and, while mortals were still allowed to exist in these spaces, the strict laws passed to keep the Wild thriving clashed with many ways of life. The mortals had been forced to move away and Grover Underwood and his veterans had disappeared, never to be seen again.
"My brother told my parents he was moving to the Green Reserves. Dad called him a good for nothing hippie," one student chimes in.
Ms. Erad can't help but agree.
For the last ten minutes of class, she decides to let the students rest. With their unit test coming up, it makes no sense to push the kids now.
Through the projector, she pulls up the Titan Army Rebel Dispatchment Unit's List of Most Wanted. The kids still engaged in these last few minutes of class stand up a bit straighter in their seats, craning their necks to see. Perhaps hoping to find some of their fellow classmates
"No Percy Jackson," Ms. Erad murmurs, earning a laugh from the class and a flush from Lydia. "No more Thalia Grace it seems either."
Annabeth Chase, Clarisse La Rue, Nico Di Angelo...
She keeps scrolling, the children keep talking.
"Wait!" Lydia shouts from the back. "What about her?"
Ms. Erad's mouse hovers over the picture of Rachel Elizabeth Dare.
Ethan, up front, lets out a hearty laugh. "LOL, wanted for hitting Kronos with a hairbrush."
Lydia frowns. "She looks familiar."
Ice water rushes through the teacher's veins.
"Maybe you've seen her. We could always turn her in and get a reward!" says Ethan.
"And I could pay for my college," Heather grumbles in agreement. More jokes fly around the classroom, faster than the paper airplanes.
Ms. Erad purses her lips. "Funny, kids. She's still a rebel. Probably a dangerous one at that. You'd best just go to your nearest T.A.R.D. unit officer."
"I don't know," Ethan drawls. "She looks a little weak and spineless to me."
The bell rings. The children make a mad dash for the exist.
Ms. Erad turns off the projector and slumps back in her chair, relieved. She exhales, not realizing she'd been holding her breath until now. A tear leaks down her face.
I don't know. She looks a little weak and spineless to me.
He's right of course.
"Rachel Elizabeth Dare."
Ms. Erad rips out the dagger taped under her desk and flings it. Not exactly useful, considering it gets swallowed up by a shadow immediately. The tension leaves her in one fell sweep when she recognizes the intruder's face.
"Nico," she leans over, putting her head in her hands. "Gods, what are you doing here? How did you find me?"
"I've known your location for a while now. I always know where to find you, no matter where you hide." He shrugs. "And I was escaping from the T.A.R.D. unit anyway. Figured I'd say hello."
An awkward silence settles in between them.
"How much did you here?" she asks finally.
A shadow erupts in his open palm. He fingers Rachel's knife. "You're not weak or spineless."
"You're right. Being weak and spinless is forgivable. Cowardice - running away from a battle and abandoning your friends - isn't."
To that Nico says nothing.
"You shouldn't be here," she says, standing from her seat and collecting the papers on her desk.
"I'm nineteen, Rachel. And relatively short at that," Nico sighs as if talking to an overbearing mother. "When you look like an emo high-schooler, you'd be surprised how many people tend to ignore you."
She slings her work bag over her shoulder. "Why are you here?"
He doesn't say anything at first, only stepping forward to grab her hand and place the knife in her open palm. She quietly pulls out a drawer and hides it in there.
"You've got new drawings, Rachel. I can tell by the callouses on your fingers and your unusually snippy attitude. I need you to show me them if the Rebellion is to have any chance against the Titans."
She grits her teeth.
Nico doesn't catch the hint. Or perhaps he does and decides he doesn't care. "We don't have time to waste."
"You could be a little nicer about it," she murmurs, pulling out another desk drawer.
Nico rolls his eyes. "Anything nice about me dried up a long time ago, Red. Sorry to disappoint but it's nothing but dark humor and sarcasm now."
The blood in Thalia's mouth runs stale. It seems to bother her more than her fractured knee, still blue and swollen. Though after all the T.A.R.D. unit officers she'd taken down with her, it's only right that they keep the nectar and ambrosia out of her reach. Besides, no need to waste supplies on a rebel marked for death.
Still, her knee throbs. But at least that pain keeps her from focusing on the other aches in her worn body. All from overexertion after the insane amount of running she'd done the day before in trying to escape.
Or at least, Thalia assumes it was yesterday. Being slapped upside the head with a sword left her memory a little blurry. Being tossed in the back of an armored vehicle - the same she'd woken up in earlier today - wasn't exactly conducive to time-telling either.
Thalia is wide awake now.
They drag her through dark hall after dark hall. The officers, she thinks, purposefully let her fucked up leg bounce upon the marble floors. They'd much rather bring her crying and screaming to Kronos but she refuses to give them that satisfaction.
The pain, at least, keeps her from addressing the swarm of emotions ready to break through. Fear bubbles inside of her like water in the caldera of a volcano, threatening to explode. And with it, a sense of failure.
Her failure to the Rebellion doesn't bother her nearly as much as her failure to Artemis. To the goddess that had blessed her with her last drops of power just so Thalia could lead her friends to safety. It had been an oath to continue saving her friends, continue fighting against Kronos and still keep her immortality, her superhuman powers in exchange. A valuable asset the Rebellion couldn't afford to lose and all she had to do was keep from getting captured.
Falling off a building and shattering her knee on the sidewalk had put an end to that.
And she'd awoken to a morning of hell, now sixteen years old. No longer fifteen.
Happy Birthday, idiot.
It's been nine years, she realizes, since she fought Luke on that cliff overlooking the bay. Seven years running from the Titans. Her enemies, certainly, had not wasted those seven years either. Compared to her last time here, she finds the Titan's palace fully rebuilt, emanating vibes strong enough to give Tartarus pause.
Alcatraz ought to look nice this time of year, Thalia thinks wistfully as they reach a pair of massive gold doors. Maybe if she survives (if she survives) Thalia could go there. She doubts it though, knowing they'd probably lock her somewhere below Mount Othrys, deprive her of food and fresh water, record the very moment both the neglect and the shadows drive her mad.
Or maybe they'll just spare themselves the trouble and have her executed.
They throw her down on the cold marble floor, again paying no mind to her knee. She loathes the small whimpers she lets out, loathes how it echoes across the throne room.
The guards retreat, shutting the doors behind her. She takes a deep breath, resting her forehead on the cold surface and relishing the chill, not a care in the world for all the eyes boring holes into her. It'll probably be that last thing sensation she'll ever feel and, after spending a good few hours trapped in the back of a smelly and humid van, fuck Kronos and his precious time.
Finally, Thalia lifts her head and a familiar wave of defiance shuttering any weakness, any pain, from infiltrating her face. Thalia is no ordinary prisoner; she knows this and they know this. Groveling is beyond her.
Five enormous thrones are displayed before her - not the twelve as had been on Mount Othrys. Four out of the five are mostly uniform, not at all unique, yet they still seem forged from so much gold that she wouldn't be surprised if Olympus had been melted down to craft them all. The center throne is slightly larger, constructed of pure obsidian and inlaid with an assortment of jewels, as if the architect had discovered an entire trove and hadn't known what to do with it.
And seated upon it...
Luke.
Not Luke. That body has long burned away. His features have mostly faded but she can still see his prominent jaw, the now almost invisible scar, blond hair browning and giving way to black. Different for sure, but enough to keep her confused and conflicted.
But there are some things irrevocably his own: a body large enough to crush her with a snap, as if carved from the same mountain beneath her feet, and his eyes. Gold like the ichor running through his veins.
"Thalia Grace," he says in a voice that is surprisingly calm. It reminds her of Chiron when he would get so angry with them that yelling was beyond him. She closes her eyes for a moment, wishing to shake the thought from her head. Chiron's dead, leave it at that.
"You know you kneel before us accused of treason and terrorism. Need I even mention your charges?"
"Please do," she says almost in a purr.
Kronos doesn't seem at all fazed. "Stealing my spoils of war, leading the Rebellion in guerrilla warfare against the Titan regime, freeing Athena from Tartarus, threatening the life of Lord Hyperion, my brother. Only to name a few."
Hyperion sneers down at her.
Thalia only rolls her eyes. "I'm sure the list is far longer."
"It is," Kronos agrees. "I suppose we could also add insolence."
"Ah yes." Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. "The worst offense of them all, I suppose."
He rests back in his throne, dissecting her with his eyes alone. It makes her skin crawl.
"So many crimes," he continues, though it seems like a pondering statement rather than any sort of legal proceeding. "But, be that as it may, I have seen it fit not to have you incinerated."
"What?" Hyperion's outburst and her own come at the same time.
Kronos smiles. "In fact, I have a better punishment in store."
Atlas scoffs from his own throne. "What could be better than spending eternity in the Fields of Punishment?"
He waves his nephew off. "A week from now, daughter of Zeus, you will acquire the honored title of wife. My wife."
Several heads turn to him; cracks in their otherwise perfect resolve.
Thalia's jaw drops. Mount Othrys's walls seem to lean in closer, as if caving in to crush her flat.
"No." Thalia attempts to hold back the bile rising in her throat. "Never."
Kronos only laughs, the sound positively grating on the ears. Though a bit uneasy, the other Titans laugh with him. She doesn't get the joke, doesn't want to.
"Five years, I've been trying to capture you," he says, his face displaying some sort of emotion that she can't really recognize. "And all this time I thought of numerous ways to torture you but nothing seemed quite so... effective as this. Five years, Thalia Grace. I am a patient man, even by set standards. But, in the form of your suffering, I will have those five years back one way or another."
She picks herself off the ground, though not trusting her shaky legs - her shattered knee - to hold her weight. Rage, pain, sadness - it swirls inside of her like a tornado. Refusing to settle, refusing to accept, her intense glare meets his head on. "History repeats itself, Kronos. You'll burn in Tartarus again, one way or another. But now I won't be content until I send you there myself."
"Blasphemy!" Hyperion booms, whipping his head towards Kronos. "Strike her dead brother! She is far more trouble than she is worth."
Thalia shoots the Titan of Light a perfect shit-eating grin. "I'm flattered. Really."
Kronos ignores them both. "Guards, do take this wild little beast into her cage. Perhaps she'll learn respect before I parade her across Othrys."
"Yes," says Koios, his voice frigid. "Let the world know of your new prize. Shall we send for Artemis as well? I want to see the look on our little goddess's face when she is told the news."
Her heart seizes up. "Artemis?" she whispers. Rough hands haul her up by the arms. Thalia struggles in their embrace. "I want to see Artemis!"
Atlas sneers. "Oh dear, you are in no position to be making demands."
Kronos ignores him, leaning back into his throne. She wants to scream, fry the smirk off of his godsforsaken face. "In due time, Miss Grace. In due time. Until then, your punishment begins now."