Mercy and Grace
"Percy!" Her wail broke the silence. "No! No! Please, no!" She dropped to her knees next to his fading body, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the blood on her armor, the blood on her hands, his blood, as she tried to staunch the bleeding. He was her partner, her best friend, her only friend, her brother in law, and he was gone.
Annabeth's face was stony, almost as if she didn't care. Logic dictated that he was gone, that this was normal, that it was a miracle that he had survived this long, that he shouldn't have survived for he was a powerful half blood. Annabeth clung to that logic, clung to her logic that shaped her reality. She shut out her emotions; they got her husband killed. As he lay dying, she shed not a tear. She couldn't shed a tear. She had been off of the battlefield for years now, opting to live in the city with Percy and her sons, as they were too young for camp, and Annabeth had had enough of it for now; she would return when they were old enough for camp. So she went to work. Percy couldn't leave the immortal world for long; he was needed far too much.
Her sister, Avalon, had taken over her place beside Percy at camp, in council meetings, on the battlefield, and she was so good at it, at everything, that it was a wonder she hadn't been made a goddess now. Even her name meant heaven, and she was perfect. Practically perfect. Mary Poppins couldn't have done a better job. And Annabeth should've been grateful. She'd saved Percy's life more times than anyone could count. Avalon had stepped in when there was no one there for her sons- Sally couldn't corral the boys with their powers, and only perfect Avalon could. She had given up job opportunities, and possibly even a relationship with Lord Hermes. What didn't she do right? Jealousy had been planted and Annabeth greedily nurtured the seedling until it bloomed into an ugly weed refusing to leave, especially once she had seen that Avalon and Percy had made an even better team than she and Percy. Avalon had always been better at battlefield tactics than Annabeth. She was a better swordsman. She was Greek and Roman, like Frank, though her blood was much less diluted, being a direct descendant of Pluto, and that blood enabled her to do magic. The Mist, she could bend it to her will, within limits of course. Even Apollo, laidback, arrogant, ignorant, uncaring Apollo loved her. She'd saved his infant son from monsters and he'd blessed her to spell sing. Yet another thing that made her better than Annabeth. The girl could sing things into existence. How was Annabeth supposed to compete with that?
Anything Avalon did, it was better than what Annabeth could do. She did everything well. Annabeth's own children loved their Aunt Avalon better. She took care of them when Annabeth and Percy went to work. She took them to school, taught them to fight, nursed their wounds, cooked them meals, whatever Annabeth and Percy didn't do, which, in retrospect, wasn't much. An apartment in New York that could fit them was costly, and they both had to work, and if Annabeth hadn't been laid off that one time, she would be able to be the only one working. But she still didn't make enough. So Avalon put aside her own life to take care of their four sons, because she was just that perfect. She could have been a professor at Princeton by now, but she had turned it down. She had boys to take care of, she told the dean. Annabeth's boys, not Avalon's, Luke, Paul, Charles, and little Leo (Leo wouldn't stop preening for days when he was told) loved their aunt as if she were their mother. One day, Annabeth had come home early, hoping to surprise her boys when she overheard Luke call Avalon "Mama". Of course, perfect Avalon immediately told him that she was his aunt, not his mom. Her sons loved her sister better. Her husband had a better partner. She was never enough. And now, the only person that loved her was dead. But that was okay. Her heart had gone cold long ago.
Avalon was heartbroken, sobs wracking her whole body. Percy was gone. How could the fates be so cruel? What had she done wrong? When people needed help, she came. She loved them with everything in her. When Annabeth stepped down, she stepped up. And Annabeth's pride only saw her as a monster that she couldn't beat. And when she left her kids to go to work, Avalon took care of them, trying in some way to reconcile herself with her sister. She was there for her children, fought with her husband on the battlefield, keeping him out of danger even though she had begged, begged the gods to let her flee to the mortal realm. They had sworn that so long as she never raised a sword in battle, she was under no obligation to help them. And of course, duty before want, so she raised her sword once more to protect her family.
Her hands shook, her tears mixed with the blood from the wounds she had sustained in the battle. It should have been an easy battle. Her strategy was sound, the enemies routine. And one stupid mistake, one second where she didn't watch her back, and it was done. He had taken the hit for her, striking him in the heart.
They had won. Their victory was easy, no dead, five wounded. The monsters, the dracenae and the empousai, had retreated. There was no one that could have harmed her. She was treating the wounded when a rogue empousa flung herself at Avalon. Percy had been nearby and intercepted the hit...with his body. The empousa's claws had hit him in the chest, shredding his skin.
Curse his choice to take off his armor! He had died for her. He had saved her. He had chosen her. No one chose her. No one did anything. She was never good enough. Nothing she did made her worthy-and the one time someone had chosen her, her, her, the lowly Avalon, servant to all, mistress of none, the one person to show her any of the love that she showed others died doing it. Percy died for her.
Rage like she hadn't felt since she was a child filled her. Rage against the gods, rage against the accursed life half bloods were doomed to live, rage against her sister for being so hubristic. She destroyed everything Avalon tried to build. Percy wouldn't have even been there if she hadn't gotten jealous of Avalon picking her eldest up from school and kicked Percy out of the house after their argument. Percy would have been in the city, raising his kids while she fought. Avalon would have gladly died to make that a reality. No one cared about what she felt. The gods didn't care that she wanted to be done with war. They pushed for her to lead the phalanx, and look what that had gotten her! Her best friend, her only friend, was dead.
Her eyes had faded to pure black. The light, the joy, the purity, all gone. All that was left was an emptiness that had stuck with her all her life. She was completely empty. She had tried. She had tried so hard to save herself from the darkness that eventually swallowed children of Pluto. How could she not when all around her she was faced with death. Children died before they could live. She had done everything right! How could she still be so empty inside? She had loved and lost, given freely and been taken from, hoped and been dissapointed, run and grown weary, fought and lost. She had lost everything.
The ground shook, responding to her anger and desperate despondedness. Her pure black eyes became impossibly darker, and even the gods felt that sense of foreboding that came with and angry and desperate demigod. Skeletons, armed warriors of the past came crawling out of the ground, the shadows elongated and twisted into creatures willing to do the bidding of the wrathful demigoddess whose powers rivalled those of the gods themselves. They formed a wall around Avalon and Percy, and finally, finally, the anger dissipated into nothing but sadness. The grief was tangible as the undead warriors and shadow creatures held the line.
The Olympian Council looked on in worry; Poseidon in anger, Hermes in empathy, Hades (an honorary spot) in outrage, Athena in concern, the other gods in terror. Avalon was a powerful demigoddess, exceedingly so. Many of them, her mother included, had wondered if it would be best to just kill her so as not to worry about situations like this. A surprising team of Hades, Poseidon, Apollo, and Hermes had convinced the council otherwise (it was a miracle to get that many gods to agree upon something without the end of the world being a factor). Avalon was powerful and untrustworthy when emotions ruled her, yes, but loyal and honorable. Enough so that she turned down immortality along with Perseus. Hermes had been her strongest advocate in that regard. He had fallen in love with her honor, her loyalty, but mostly her drive to love others the way none of them deserved but so desperately needed. He longed to give that love back to her when it was obvious that no one else did.
He would forever be indebted to the young Perseus, well not so young anymore, but young to a god. He had saved her life when Hermes himself couldn't, and it had cost the young demigod his life. If it had been allowed, Hermes would have flashed down to the battlefield and spirited Avalon away where no one else could hurt her. But he knew that Avalon would hate that. She was made to love people, even if they hurt her to no end, even if they hated her, even if they wanted her dead. She was so good, so pure, so gentle (for a child of the warrior goddess anyway), so kind, so loving. She deserved to be a goddess. And he had offered it to her, years ago. He had offered to make her his immortal wife, not a goddess so she wouldn't be bound by the ancient laws. She had refused, saying that she needed to be there for her sister's family. She wouldn't leave them broken like this. He winced. That had come back to bite her. Avalon had tried so hard to do everything right by her sister, and Annabeth simply became more envious, more covetous, more contemptuous as the years went by.
Finally he stood up, interrupting Athena's spiel on how her daughter was a dangerous hybrid of Greek and Roman power and must be stopped. "Avalon may be my daughter, but at least I am able to think clearly enough to say that she is menace and must be stopped. Her power is tied to her emotions and is uncontrollable."
"Uncontrollable? Sister do you not have eyes?" Everyone stared at the usually calm and peaceable god.
"Hermes be reasonable."
"Reasonable? Reasonable? Sister, I will tell you what isn't reasonable. Unreasonable is killing a woman who has given her entire life to us. Who has given up friends, family, lovers, to our service and the service of others. Her best friend, one of the few people to ever give that love back to her, has just died. And all the abuse she has suffered over the years from people she only loved takes its toll on a person. All she did was isolate herself from those who might hurt her again. She has control even after all of that, and you want to kill her?!" His glare was piercing, and the other gods shifted in their seats. Most of them had been thinking along the same lines as Athena. The logical choice was to kill her in case she ever lost control. But the human choice, the one that might not be rational but is pure and good, was to let her live a life free from them and from their troubles. But they were the gods, and they didn't let go.
Athena's pride was wounded. No one called the goddess of reason and logic unreasonable, not even her brother. "Come now, brother, set your lust for her aside and think. She is mortal. She will die like all the rest. And you will forget her and lust after a new woman."
Hades stood up, enraged with the both of them, but he could deal with Hermes later. He needed to protect his granddaughter. He had seen the same things in her that Hermes had seen. She was an anomaly of a half blood. She didn't take revenge (often), she didn't hurt without just cause, she loved those who hated her. This, this angel, for lack of a better word, needed to be protected, needed to be loved. He didn't trust Hermes, not one bit, but at least he had her best interests at heart. Hopefully. He didn't want her to become a god's playtoy. "Athena, I know you think you are always right, but that is not just your daughter. That is my granddaughter, and I am not in the business of killing my family."
"Weak." Everyone gasped. "Weak. Your emotions are making you weak. She is a danger. She tore apart Percy and Annabeth's family, is corrupting those children, and has gotten Perseus killed. She is a menace and needs to be stopped."
"No." Hermes' caduceus was in his hands faster than the blink of an eye. "I will fight for her. She will not die because you are afraid of your past "mistakes" coming back to haunt you."
It was possible that he might actually love her, Hades thought. This might be an interesting development. Aphrodite, being the Lady of Love, started giggling. The tense atmosphere evaporated slightly as they all turned to look at her. Why was she giggling?
"Finally! My ship is happening. Havalon is sailing!" Everyone stared at her incredulously. Was she serious? Athena, Hades, and Hermes were ready to kill and she was giggling about it like it was some television show? "Ah, it's taken you three thousand years, Hermes, but you have found your soulmate!"
Avalon was scared. Scared of herself, scared to look at the others, scared to see the condemnation in their eyes, scared to see their pain. For if she saw their pain, she'd push hers to the side and sweet heaven above, she did not want to do that again. She spent her whole life putting others before herself, and look where that got her! Alone, friendless, without family, rejecting a lover so that she could help her family. Why? What did she do this for? What gain had come of it? She had given everything and gained nothing!
Suddenly she felt a pair of arms around her. "Gained nothing, love? You gained an incredible patience, an incredible ability to love others, and you are one of the few people I know who actually forgives her enemies rather than killing them in anger."
Uncharacteristically, Avalon leaned into his comforting embrace and cried. She didn't deserve his love after she turned him down time and time again. She didn't deserve him but he was there. He was there when everyone else had left her. He was there. He was there. Someone had thought of her, not just once but twice. Percy and Hermes chose her. They chose her. And that felt so fantastic yet hurt so badly. It hurt because she didn't deserve it. Everything she had done was in order to get something, nothing was done out of pure love. She'd done nothing right even though she'd done everything right in the eyes of the world. She'd lived and loved according to her desires, just like everyone else whom she had, in the blackest, most secret part of her heart, thought herself a bit above because she actually loved.
But she was just as bad as the rest of them. She was as lowly and evil as Tartarus himself and she hated herself for it. She didn't deserve love, Percy shouldn't have died for her, she didn't deserve to live. She didn't deserve mercy or love or wisdom or grace. She deserved an eternity in the most foul part of the fiery pit.
"Did you not tell me something about grace and mercy a long time ago?" Hermes, the god of thought, asked the sobbing woman.
A weak smile came to her lips. " 'Mercy and grace are by nature undeserved. Mercy is not getting what you deserve, and grace is getting what you do not deserve. What you do not deserve is an unconditional love that raises you above yourself and justifies you, sanctifies you, and makes you clean. Love is a completely voluntary, completely undeserved, action of eternal forgiveness and compassion. It may be tough love at times but once it is given it is never taken away.' "
"Mercy and grace be unto you, my darling angel of mercy, always and forever."