Who tells your Story?
AN:This is a fic based off of the song who lives who dies who tells your story, by Lin Manuel Miranda from the musical Hamilton. I in no way own any of the lyrics or the characters used in this story. Reviews and comments welcome.
Let me tell you what I wish I'd know when I was young and dreamed of glory; you have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.
It wasn't unlikely, but no one expected him to go out like this. The once strong and powerful hero reduced to nothing in a span of minutes. He wasn't the first one to go, far from it. However, his loss had crushed them the most. Their hero, the once they looked up to was taken from the too fast with no warning.
He took our country from bankruptcy to prosperity. We didn't give him enough credit for all the credit he gave us.
They had never thanked him enough for all of his sacrifices, all the things that he had given up for them. He gave up his normalcy, his childhood, the offer of godhood, and his innocence all for them and they had just accepted it and taken it for granted.
Every other founding father's story gets told, every other founding father gets to grow old.
Every other great hero's story had been told for generations, a legacy passed through the cabins as they regaled the legends of the most powerful, strong and brave. It seemed only fitting that his story be the one told for years to come. Until the fall of the gods, he was regaled as the only true hero. The one who sacrificed so much, the hero with the purest heart.
When he's gone who remembers your name, who keeps your fame who tells your story?
His mother, she wrote all of her memories and his adventures with the help of his friends so that he would be written into history forever.
His best friend, would never let the wild forget all that he had done for them.
His mentor, would encourage the next generations with tales of his most promising student/
His lover, would be the first to tell his story. To rebuke and curse out the gods for letting him go down like that, for not letting him come back to her.
I stop wasting time on tears, I live another fifty years, it's not enough.
Even though she would be the longest living demigod ever in history, it wouldn't be enough time for her to spread his story and to make sure it was written in stone.
I rely on Angelica, while she's alive we tell your story, she is buried at trinity church near you, when I needed her most she was right on time.
His mother would continue to fight for her son, long after he was gone. Joining the world's longest living demigod in her need to make the world understand was he had gone through and what had happened to him. He was dead, and his mother would join him soon enough. Her son's lover would be the only one left in their family after she was finally laid to rest beside her son.
And I'm still not through, I ask myself what would you do if you had more time
She had more time, he did not. So she filled her life with the things she thought he would do. She took up his passions and his causes. She fought for their rights and their beliefs. She knew she would never lead like he did, but she tried her best.
I raise funds in DC for the Washington monument, I speak out against slavery
His monument stood on Olympus tall and mighty as if to warn and remind the gods what happened when they got too caught up in themselves to worry and care about their children and what was happening in their lives. She spoke out against the gods' mistreatment of the peaceful titans and nature spirits. She lashed out at the gods for being hateful and spiteful and downright cruel because of a mere dislike.
And when my time is up have I done enough, will they tell your story?
Her final thoughts as she lay dying were of him and her elation of seeing him again and her worry of not having done enough.
Can I show you what I'm proudest of? I established the first private orphanage in New York City.
She had gotten married, some mortal who would be okay with the fact she could never completely love him with all her heart. They had had two beautiful children who were all she could ever hope for. But her proudest work was what she had done for him. The progress she had made, the fact that she pushed away her fatal flaw and pursued what he would have wanted. The house she had made for demigod kids that had been abandoned by their parents and could give the kids hope and a bright future. In their eyes she saw herself as a young girl and how much she could have become had she been given love at that age.
I can't wait to see you again, it's only a matter of time
As she lay dying with her friends and family all around her, she thought back on her life. Sure it might not have been what she always dreamed it would be, and yes there had been a huge part missing for the last fifty years, but she was finally coming home to him now. She would finally see him again. Her dying thoughts were not of the ones she would leave behind, but of the one she would see again moving forwards.
Time, will they tell your story
"Go see him now, Annabeth. I'm sure he's been waiting for you. I'll tell your story"
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?