Synopsis: This story is set in a Victorian Era Percy Jackson AU mixed with modern elements, where, in addition to Greek mythology, there are also witches! OCxOC, so the only concept that I'm using from Percy Jackson is the Greek mythology aspect.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Percy Jackson series. All credit belongs to Rick Riordan.

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at an OCxOC fanfic - or any real fanfic in general - so please be nice~! I have no idea how this will turn out, to be completely honest. I don't know if I'll even finish this story, as I have no storyboard written out and I don't really know where I want this to go. Not to mention I'm in high school and the days get rather busy (although I'm sure college is much worse, haha). So thanks for giving this fanfic a try! Please try to be nice in reviews as I don't have much experience in writing, although if it's so terrible that you think I deserve a flame feel free to drop one. I hope you enjoy the story!

"I suppose this will have to do." Fifteen-year-old Maeve spoke, studying herself in the mirror. She'd hurriedly applied dark eyeliner to make the electric blue of her eyes pop. Her grey-black hair had also been curled. "I don't have time for anything fancy, at any rate."

"Maybe if your father had announced his visit earlier, we'd have more time to prepare," Canale (who was also fifteen years of age) grumbled from somewhere in her room.

"I believe that's the most you've said all week."

Canale didn't respond. Maeve heard the tap-tap-tapping of his cane as he made his way to her restroom. She saw that he had changed the blindfold that he wore around his eyes. It used to be a dark grey cloth, now it was white.

"The white one suits you better," Maeve noted.

"Yeah? Well, I can't tell the difference anyways."

"Oh, was I being too insensitive?" she teased.

Canale leaned against the doorframe and held out his hand. In it was a bowtie.

"Can you make yourself useful and help me tie this? I can't see if I'm making it crooked."

Maeve complied.

"Can't you take off your blindfold for once?"

"No. And it doesn't matter...I can't see anything either way."

She snorted. "Well maybe I want to see your eyes."

At this, Canale tensed.

"What's the matter? Afraid your eyes aren't pretty enough for the rest of your face? Because you've seen them before?" Maeve pried.

"You don't feel any remorse, do you? I told you, I was born blind."

Maeve didn't get to respond. The doorbell rang right at the moment.

She walked down the stairs, dragging Canale with her.

Maeve opened the door and curtsied immediately.

"Hello, Father."

Zeus stood in the doorway, a hulking seven feet tall. His blazing yellow aura was accompanied by the occasional spark of lightning from his Master Bolt.

"Maeve." Zeus spoke with a business-like authority. "I need you to go to Paris."

.

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.

"Why?" Canale spoke.

"None of your business, boy," Zeus thundered. "You won't be going on this quest. My daughter has better things to do than look after the likes of you."

Canale face betrayed no emotion, but Maeve could tell her father's words had struck a chord. She could talk to him about this later, but Zeus was going to have to leave first. Maeve would have to appease him as quickly as possible.

"What is this quest for?"

"Not so many questions! You'll find what you seek when you reach Hades," Zeus replied, more calmly than before.

"Yes, Father. I will go to Paris."

"Good," he said, and proceeded to depart with a loud clap of thunder.

The first thing Canale said when Maeve closed the door was, "You're not going alone."

"Yes, I am. It's not safe. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for," Maeve snapped back.

"So you're agreeing with your father, then? You just think I'm someone useless who always needs to be taken care of, don't you?"

"No. I don't not want you to go because of my father. But I'd rather you not meet up with your father."

Canale smirked, but Maeve could tell his arrogance was fake. No matter how cold he tried to act, Maeve knew Hades had always been a touchy subject for Canale. "You know I have no intention of hiding from him. It's his fault I was even born. Besides, my father abandoned me. Hades was always cold, indifferent, especially when it came to matters concerning his blind, useless son. He couldn't care less whether or not I appear at his doorstep."

Maeve sighed. 'This is the only way to protect him.'

"You were right before, then. I don't want you to go because I don't have the will nor the means to look after you the entire time."

She left him standing there and headed off to her room. 'He can find his own way back to his quarters,' she thought to herself, trying to convince herself to be more angry. 'What right does he have to interfere with my business anyway?'

'He's the son of Hades, for Zeus' sake! Arguably the most dangerous of any Olympian. And we all know he doesn't quite get along well with his father...' Maeve reminded herself, just as she was falling asleep.

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The next morning, Maeve got up intending to make tea, only to find Canale collapsed, hunched, on the bottom of the stairs. She knelt down and shook him gently, just enough to wake him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't find my way back," he grumbled pointedly. "The mansion's considerably big, you know."

Maeve almost felt bad. Almost.

"Sorry," she responded, not sounding very apologetic.

Canale rubbed his face in his hands. "Are you?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely ashamed," Maeve picked up his cane and handed it to him. "Now let's go have some tea, shall we?"

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.

Maeve sat, silently observing Canale as he drank his tea, surprised at the ease with which his slender fingers found their way to the handle of the mug. She affectionately noted that Canale was left handed, so in his grip, the Starbucks logo on his teacup was facing her. Aside from this, Maeve didn't know many other facts about him.

They'd been living in a recently abandoned mansion together for over a month, but she still didn't know anything about his past. Maeve knew a month and a half wasn't that long of a time, and she really didn't want to pry, but her curiosity got the best of her anyways.

"Canale..." she started.

He didn't respond, but tilted his head to let her know he was listening.

"Who is your mother?"

What happened next was, Maeve supposed, entirely her fault. Canale dropped his teacup, which shattered, and the tea ended up spilling towards her, soaking her dress.

Maeve stood up, apologized genuinely this time, and went to change her outfit.

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.

.

When Maeve got back to the kitchen, she found Canale at the sink washing the teacups.

The sunlight from the window cast a light across the right half of his face, which was tilted toward the sink. The fingers of his left hand - 'pianist hands,' Maeve thought randomly - danced around the edge of the cloth, while he gripped the bowl with his right.

She slowly approached him, careful to be as quiet as she could. Then, loudly, she offered, "I'll help."

Canale just shook his head in response. "Your shoes make a clicking sound when you walk," he smirked, all traces of his previous shock gone. "They make your presence obvious to anyone who has ears. And you can't help, because I'm going to treat you as a burden to see how you like it."

"So you want to sleep on the stairs again? I'll bet it was comfortable."

"I'll have you know, it was better than sleeping in a graveyard for over half a year," Canale muttered. He quickly caught himself and clamped his mouth shut, not meaning to say what had just slipped out.

But Maeve had heard it, whether it was said purposefully or not.

She decided she was going to investigate the boy's past.

'The witch would know,' a voice spoke in her head, jolting her out of her thoughts. It sounded oddly like Hades. And somehow, Maeve understood who she needed to ask.

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.

That night, Maeve put on her cloak and snuck out to the nearest inn.

"May I see your fortune teller, please?" she asked the bartender, a man with red hair and dark eyes. He pointed at a curtain behind him.

"Go in," he gestured.

"Thank you."

Maeve ducked past the curtains and found herself face to face - no, more like stomach to face - with an old woman with greying hair.

"Are you here for your fortune?" the old woman asked.

"No, I'm here for information," Maeve replied, setting a large bag of coins on the table.

The old woman licked her lips. "Ask away, miss."

"Canale Ravenholde. Do you happen to recognize this name?"

"Aye," the witch's cast her eye down. "'Tis a tragic story, miss. Would you truly like to hear it?"

"Of course. I need to."

'Well, not really, but I want to. I want to know what he's been through.'

"Do you know what happens when you exchange something with a witch, miss?"

"Yes. You lose it forever," Maeve said.

"Keep that in mind while I tell you this story."

Maeve nodded.

"Well, I did not know the boy very well myself, but I knew his mother. She raised him all by herself in this very town. She died from a minotaur attack though, when the boy was only ten or so years of age. The boy spent many days at his mother's grave, not eating, sleeping on her tombstone. A witch appeared after some time, hoping to make a deal with the boy. She offered him great power, perhaps even enough to bring back his mother, in exchange for his sight. So the boy, he said yes. But he was tricked. She merely smiled. Told him that he already had great power, although not enough to do what he wanted. No one did. Even he, a son of Hades, could never bring back his mother. Pity he lost his eyes too, they were the most beautiful shade of orange."

Then, the witch conjured an image of Canale, a few years younger, fiery eyes sightless, with a single red tear trickling down his cheek.

"This is the boy's story. Since then, he's blamed Hades for not watching over his mother at all, although he claimed to love her. This boy, Canale, loved his mother so much that he would've given up his own life to bring his mother back. The only reason he kept on living like that was because he believed his mother's efforts would have been wasted if he'd died. And he didn't die. But his soul did."

Maeve couldn't remember the last time she'd exhaled. She let out the breath she had seemingly been holding for ages, feeling an anger burn inside her - towards the witch who tricked Canale, towards Hades, towards Zeus - towards the dangerous world she lived in.

"But if it makes you feel any better, the witch who tricked him was punished by Hades himself. Hades still looks after the boy, no matter what he thinks."

Maeve was speechless. She'd suspected that Canale hadn't been born blind, but she hadn't expected him to have such a backstory. No wonder he'd never wanted to talk about it.

'Perhaps going to Paris will make him stronger after all,' Maeve mused. 'He needs to open up before he puts too much pressure on himself.'

After thanking the old woman, she bid her goodbyes to the staff of the inn and headed back to the mansion.

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Maeve awoke the next morning intending to confront Canale. What she didn't expect was for him to already be at her bedside, sleeping.

She got up and gently shook him awake.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"You were having a nightmare," he mumbled in reply.

"Really? I don't remember anything about it."

"I could hear you screaming from my room, so I made my way here to check on you."

Maeve shook her head. "You need to actually wake up in your own bed for once..."

"I know, you're grateful," Canale smirked.

She sat down next to him, pursed her lips.

"You could say that. And another thing - I should've mentioned this ages ago - I found one of the pendants you were looking for in my room."

"The green jade one?"

"Ah, so you have seen colors."

Canale's cheeks flushed, but he didn't respond.

"Don't worry, I already know," Maeve assured him. "You don't have to retell anything."

"How?" he asked, face softening.

"A witch who once knew your mother."

At the mention of his mother, Canale's face once again turned rigid.

"I wanted to tell you, I really did. I wanted to drop hints. But I couldn't handle retelling it. I'm sorry-" his voice broke.

"...Canale," Maeve ventured cautiously, turning over and supporting herself with her arms so that she was on top of him but not touching him.

He nodded, clearly trying to compose himself.

"...I can't pretend to know what it feels like. Saying sorry is so empty, so I won't do it. Just...I don't know if I should be saying this, but...life is what you make of it." Her voice ended in a faint whisper.

A tear trickled down through his blindfold from the corner of his right eye.

"Sorry. I'm not very good at...comforting people," Maeve admitted. "But I promise I do mean everything I say."

"Oh, I have no doubt you do," Canale spoke softly. He wiped the tear with his sleeve and cast his eyes downward.

Maeve wanted to hold him, wanted to run her hands through his messy silver waves, wanted to tug the blindfold off his eyes and melt into his fiery gaze.

'"They were the most beautiful shade of orange."' The fortune teller's words echoed in her mind.

"Canale...can I see your eyes?"

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"They're a little...unsettling," Canale whispered. "You wouldn't want to see."

"But I do."

He tentatively lifted the blindfold to reveal...his closed eyes. They flickered open after a moment.

Maeve couldn't find the right words to describe them. They were obviously unseeing and couldn't focus, but the irises were as orange as the sunset. They hadn't dulled at all.

His eyes were, most simply described, beautiful. The orange strangely contrasted with his wavy grey hair, but not in a bad way. If Maeve thought his face was perfect before, she could think again. She could stare at him for eternity.

Maeve could tell Canale was getting uncomfortable not knowing her reaction, so she took the blindfold from him.

"You won't be needing this anymore," she teased, tossing it straight into a nearby trash can.

Canale directed a skeptical look in her direction.

"I'm serious," Maeve said, pulling him up. Then, she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace.

"I have one more thing to tell you," Maeve leaned in, whispering into his ear. "We are going to Paris tonight."

Author's Note: Please R&R! Also just a tidbit, not that anyone cares, but I'm not the left handed one. My best friend is, though.

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