For Andie, because she's awesome and didn't get one.
In Memoriam.
— A Latin phrase that translates directly to, "in memory of".
"Did you mourn?"
"We all did."
They all mourn...just in different ways.
There is a bloodstain on the floor.
It stains the otherwise immaculate marble with memories of the war. None of them ever mention it or show sign of it dwelling in their thoughts, but Nico has noticed there are a few rare moments, when one of them is up on the mountain, when you can find them standing above the mark they refuse to let the gods get rid of, or simply giving it a passing glance as they wander by it, sometimes stooping down and brushing it with their fingertips.
The stain marks more than another casualty of battle. It marks a moment of triumph, of death; it is where, separate and bitter as they were, they reconciled and saved the world, where they realized that maybe their parents weren't so bad after all. It is where they go on their own to collect their thoughts, looking into the empty void before them (even if Aphrodite remarks here, and Zeus complains there, no-one has gotten around to fixing the hole Kronos made that summer.) and remembering what is and what was.
Nico finds them in the Big House, seated around the ping-pong table and awaiting Chiron in relative silence, save the murmured banter of the Stolls. It's a heavy silence because these people are never quiet, but he avoids saying it out loud, and takes his customary seat in the shadowed corner of the room. Chiron comes in, and he begins to talk about recovery measures, and how they should rebuild the razed buildings.
The counselers don't say a word.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Annabeth slams her knife into the table apathetically. Percy's gaze slides from Seymour to the fridge to his partner and then back again. Katie Gardner pretends to listen, and the Stolls slide a wallet back into Jake Mason's pocket. Thalia simply stares dully out the front door, gazing at something beyond the reach of the others.
Chiron looks awkwardly at them, opening his mouth as if to say something. He seems to think better of it, and trots into the recluse of the building. A distinctive image of an old hermit passes through Nico's mind, fleetingly. Drew sighs heavily, because even if she didn't give a whit about anyone in the room her siblings died too. The silence in the room is thick, suffocating. Nico unzips his jacket slowly, because the heat is unbearable and he can barely breath.
"Do you think I could have..." Percy's voice cuts through the silence, and the tension is released and, in a strange way, they all begin to relax. He leaves the question hanging, Nico notes, perhaps out of fear when it comes to the answer. Annabeth assures him that yes, he did all he could; unfortunately, it failed to alleviate the burden and the guilt from his shoulders. He is mentally shot, unstable, and no-one says anything that might make the situation worse. He gives an inaudible sigh, closing his eyes and laying his head on Annabeth's shoulder. Briefly, Nico pats his shoulder and walks away.
It's a cold and bitter Christmas. They each harbor their own loss, and refrain from making eye contact because doing so would acknowledge that little bit of human in them, that tiny piece of failure, and they know their humanity is their weakness.
Their humanity makes the remember and their humanity makes the feel. Their bodies are wounded, their minds are broken, and the spirits are crushed. And yet their is still some small driving force behind it all, forcing them onward.
That driving force is in the haunted, tragedy-filled minds of them all.
Their mourning batters them down at the black of night. They carry onward.
Each one of these demigods mourns in their own unique way. Will plays minor chords, Jake makes an exploding ship, Annabeth plays chess without a queen. (It's funny how the genders switch when the game is played in real life.) Travis and Connor do the dishes, perhaps for the first time in their lives. Percy hacks away at that one training dummy they used to cut to pieces. The only one who makes no attempt to stem their grief is Thalia; she continues to study that something that the others can't feel or comprehend.
They all feel guilt and they all feel grief. Death in its icy thickness surrounds their lives. They have dealt with much, but this mourning beats down on their souls. Their hearts are full of fear, because any final attempts by the monsters could utterly wipe them out. They are tense and they are not in control, and it's that lack of control that scares them so much.
Luke had snatched their carefree hearts from their souls.
Still, the Stolls cannot help but mourn their wayward brother.
He is the one name in their mind, floating above all the others: Luke Castellan, Host of Kronos, Murderer, Traitor...Family.
The last one is ironic because it's the very reason this all happened in the first place.
They suffer as one, a single entity without any individuality. The rage, the hurt, the pride, the loss. It fills them all and they can barely hold this cross, and they have no Joseph of Arimethea.
But they do it for him.
They do it for all their friends and family who died.
They know death, and they know to accept it, but it's a mute shock that they're in.
It was a small, quiet affair; the burning of the shrouds. It doesn't rain; Zeus withholds because he knows. All the same, the air is steely-grey and overcast, the humidity making them all wet with perspiration. They can only see the shrouds— beautiful against the harsh sky— but they don't need to see their faces to feel the sorrow. The shrouds burn one-by-one, the smoke falling down the hill and wrapping around their feet. It seems to Nico a final farewell hug, a kiss goodbye.
Perhaps those lost souls are ensnared in the wisps.
Jake Mason sits up suddenly, and the others whirl around in surprise. His hand travels to his throat, and he pulls off his camp necklace with a strange light in his eyes, a sort of grim determination that hasn't adorned their souls since the war. Nobody says anything, watching in silence as he pulls out a small, clay bead from a wooden shelf. Percy looks over his shoulder and watches as the son of Hephaestus crafts his art. His hands are skilled and it's done quickly. It's small and black and full of words.
Everyone crowds around Jake, shifting as close as they can in hopes of catching a glimpse of the words. He carefully adds a glowing image of the Empire State Building to the bead.
Nico feels strangely lifted to see the list of names floating around the bead. It's as if facing the stark reality of it all helps him cope.
Thalia takes it into her hand gingerly, gazing at the largest moniker. Percy swallows thickly, his throat contracting. He forces himself to breath, and to stem the tears that threaten to flow.
"It's beautiful," says Thalia, her voice cracked with bittersweet grief.
They sit there in silence and think of everything that's happened in the past few months. They are reminded of their humanity, and perhaps that's all they ever really needed.
Thalia looks around mutely, and clutches the simple bead to her chest.
"Does anyone have some string?"