The Story of Her

Prologue

You're not heads or tails – you're the coin

He wasn't scared.
Only thrice in his endless, immortal life had he been actually, truly scared. Only once had he cried. Now, he just felt like laughing.
He inclined his head in mock respect. "And now, my dearest child? Our good Lord?"
His son and his council should have scared him, maybe would have scared him if he'd been anyone else. But he wasn't anyone else. He was the Crooked One – a completely bat-shit psychopath – and before the mighty, proud Olympian council, Kronos just wanted to laugh.
It wasn't a normal meeting – Apollo wasn't fiddling with his iPod and Dionysus' purple eyes were wide and alert. Sober, even. Of course, the novelty of his grandsons' attention was lost on the Titan king. He'd never met them after all, not that his children had ever bothered to introduce them, not that he'd ever cared to meet them. Nearly every survivor of the recent battle – which some now veteran campers had begun to grudgingly dub the Battle of Manhattan – had been in invited to attend. Percy, well, all of them really, had just wanted to go home. Back to Camp. They were done fighting and Chiron, with a look of disgusted dismissal towards his estranged father, had made a strong case for their immediate return to Long Island. Grim expressions painted the faces of Zeus' council as Kronos was forced to kneel before them. Bound, maybe, but he'd been imprisoned in Tartarus when this all began. What guarantee was there that the bonds would hold? There was a collective inhale from the Olympians after the eternity it took to Kronos to rise to his feet.
For all this grandeur that'd clearly been poised to intimidate, Kronos seemed eerily calm to Zeus. Castellan, Kronos' former host, was writhing in sick bay – burns coating his body from where the Titan King had forcibly expelled himself. Columns, thrones, even some horribly unfortunate nature sprints lay grotesquely broken on the floor around them. Blood poured through the streets of Olympus. Meanwhile, Kronos' face displayed a docile smile – but his eyes burned with rage.

He hadn't wanted to kneel.
"Kronos," Zeus greeted coldly, "you've been summoned here to speak for your crimes against the Olympic Council."
"Summoned?" The Crooked One echoed. A smile crept across his face. Sharp, brilliant teeth shining. "And here I thought that I'd been dragged to your feet in chains."
Murmurs broke out through the throne room. Ares roared over the noise. "We should just send the bastard back to Tartarus – let him rot again for insul-"
"Enough!" Zeus hissed. "Out."
"My Lord," Athena sighed. Elegantly, her fingers drummed over the destroyed armrest of her throne.
"Out."

She deadpanned. "It would be very unwise to make this deci-"
"Out, Athena." His stormy eyes scanned the room. The tired eyes of his children met his gaze. "All of you."

Dionysus had been the first to leave and Athena, predictably, the last. Her expression showed her defiance, but she obeyed nonetheless. "Fool," she hissed as she followed her family through the open doors. With a flick of his hand, the King of Olympus slammed the doors. The residual energy stemming from the violent movement brushed past Kronos, pushing his hair over his shoulders. The Titan rolled his eyes.

Poseidon sighed from his throne beside Zeus. At his other hand, Hades folded his hands neatly over his lap. Both brothers watched their king closely. Hesitantly.

Of course, Kronos saw what they didn't. How he'd licked his already chapped lips in annoyance when Athena had had the gall to question him, a useful tell, Kronos thought. How Zeus' eyes were flickering between the three of them, between his two brothers and finally to his father, as though he were reading words on a page. How he scrunched his nose ever so slightly in his clear exasperation, just like his mother used to. Kronos tilted his head, to better meet Zeus' downcast gaze. He smiled when Zeus did not.

"Well..." He drawled after the moment of silence had stretched from intimidating to awkward. "I'm here? To, ah, what did you say? Speak for my crimes, was it?"
It was then the Olympian king finally moved. Thunder roared and the light blared in through the towering glass panes behind his brothers. Zeus rose from his throne as Poseidon minutely flinched. The windows quivered with the force of the storm he'd summoned. He lowered his hand slowly, carefully, eyes watching his own movements, and the Greek fire lanterns placed carefully around the room dimmed almost theatrically. The lanterns had been most of what warmed the overly grand room – and the sudden lack of heat did not go unnoticed by Kronos – who'd been dressed only in a thin, cotton chiton. His blood, begrudgingly the titan would admit had been from where the half-blood had slashed his cheek, had stained the collar and the belt – loaned from a dead nymph lying in the street – was too loose on his waist.

However, he, of course, hadn't been impressed by the theatrics.

"Ares!" Zeus bellowed. Poseidon jolted.

The doors slammed open. The war god came in arms blazing, a rifle in one hand and an axe in the other. Fire curled at his fingertips and his eyes were alight in the search of blood. Hades sighed and rubbed his temples. Kronos sniggered.

"Watch him." Zeus commanded, a regal finger pointed at his father.

"As you wish, my lord."

"Brothers." Zeus hummed.

"Zeus," and "yes," they'd said nearly in sync. Poseidon's eyes didn't leave Kronos' form.

"Attend me."

There was something Kronos hadn't noticed, much to his chagrin, until the brothers moved. Golden blood matted into his hair and across his eye had blockaded his vision to it. A small archway, right of Hera's, and subsequently Poseidon's, thrones – veiled with a pastel-colored curtain. As he watched them leave the throne room, the celestial bronze bounds his grandchild Zeus had called Hephaestus had fixed to his arms pulled backwards, towards his ankles. Tremors of electricity, no doubt powered by the Olympian himself, raced up and down his spine. Kronos snorted at the unnecessary caution – but didn't appreciate the energy jolting through him. He forced his muscles to relax, though it pained him unnecessarily. He lowered his gaze to rest his eyes on the marble beneath him and strained his ears to hear the albeit quiet conversation muffled by the doorway.

"What?" Poseidon said finally after they'd thought they'd evaded Kronos' earshot. Exhaustion was the only word to describe the lines etched into his usually smiling face. He didn't smile now. For all their fumbling, the brothers were not fools. They recognized the need to jump straight to the point.

Zeus bit the bullet first. "We can't return him to Tartarus."

Hades' hands clenched.

"You're joking." Poseidon sneered. "Why not?"

"You know why we really brought him here." Hades ground through his teeth, glaring at his younger brother. "I don't like it either, but if we send him back now, we might as well give up."

To this, unbeknownst to the brothers, the titan cocked his head – an eyebrow raised.

Poseidon snapped in reply. "And we can't tell Athena this why, exactly? Haven't we lost enough already?"

Hades laughed harshly and humorlessly. "Since when, dearest little Poseidon, are you in favor of Athena?"

"Since never, brother – don't dare insult me – but perhaps including our goddess of fucking wisdom in the decision making might not be such a horrid thing." Poseidon spat. For the sake of Western Civilization, he thought, he'd let Hades' tactless names slide this once.

"Enough." It was Zeus again, commanding the situation. Thunder rumbled. Clouds had formed over the temple, no doubt in response to their king's wishes. Wind blowing against the palace made in groan eerily. The room felt dark and cold. Olympus had never felt so sinister, thought Poseidon. Hades' eyes flickered to the clouds creeping over the palace. Cold dread seeped in his wrist up through his veins.

Zeus swallowed. "I have a plan."

And, oh, did he ever have a plan. Kronos couldn't help but chuckle. Oh, he could use this.

"What're you laughing at, punk?"

A mischievous smile met Ares.

It was not a shock then that Poseidon – for all his effort in being a voice of reason, to direct his brothers to a logical conclusion – fucking hated the plan.

ooo

"And?" He implored. He looked grand: golden breastplate polished, hair swept carefully across his forehead – but his cheekbones were too high, his fiery eyes too cold. Despite his good-looks, he meant to intimidate. To her credit, she seemed calm, but wrung her hands nervously against her stomach.
"No improvement."
"I thought you're supposed to be the best."
"We are." She affirmed.
"Oh, sure. Fuck." He turned his attention to the scores before him, the hospital entirely overridden with the sick. Men and women spewed around the too few cots that had been prepared; many of which housed their dying children. Their citizens were healthy, cheerful, never ill and the hospital had been set only for very few. A man, maybe in his mid-twenties, coughed violently – his own blood pouring over his lips. Wheezing, his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of his makeshift cot. He choked. The man shivered in the balmy air as his blood dripped to the floor. The doctor's lips pressed into a firm frown, but she did not move to aid him.
"We're doing everything we can."
"Yeah? Try telling that to Kronos. See if our Lord buys your dumb shit."
Her jaw snapped shut and fervent green eyes bore into his. "I meant no offense."
"Then stop talking and get back to work."
Her chin turned up slightly and her chest was puffed too proudly. She was snide."As you wish, my Lord."
"Yeah," Hyperion muttered as she receded to the cots, "I fucking wish."

Chapter One

Two weeks later

"She's great." Rachael promised, smiling to Percy and Annabeth over a steaming chai latte. "It's a masala chai" she'd said as though it made any fucking difference at all to him, "it's better than just plain 'ol chai." The cafe wasn't a place Percy would have called cozy and hilariously reminded him something sort of out of a teenage-heartthrob movie pretending to be for adults. With huge picturesque windows and a gleaming clean, white linoleum floor and silvery-metal chairs. The cleanliness gave a distinct impression of snobbishness, and the too-cool college kids in beanies dotted around at corner tables didn't help. Annabeth honestly seemed to fit in; in her knit sweater and relaxed jeans, hair curled like a princess at her shoulders, Daedalus' laptop right at her fingertips. Rachael probably would've have fit in anywhere they served moderately fancy drinks made with tea, sorry, masala chai – but Percy, well, he felt out of place in the overly modern décor.

"Can't wait." He promised, for the umpteenth time straightening out his hoodie, feeling plain with just a coffee. Too many hipsters.

Rachael laughed, brushing her hair over her shoulder. Her cheeks were sunburned from the Caribbean vacation the Dares' had just returned from. She'd said she hadn't really wanted to go – but after the Battle of Manhattan, anywhere but here with anyone was better than the tremors that they all suffered seeing the Williamsburg bridge. "Yeah, it's been really fun. I never thought I'd get into pottery. Guess that shows you to try and control the Fates." She laughed lightly. Annabeth's eyes flickered towards him with the same nervous expression she'd been wearing the past couple of days.

Percy, in turn, snorted in agreeable humor as he remembered why they were here. Rachael had been to study pottery at a relatively local studio and wanted to show it to them. Of course, she'd also thought to have them attempt their own creation – a prospect which apparently her teacher had happily agreed to. Percy thought you didn't need to be a daughter of Athena to know how his would turn out.

"How did you meet anyway?" Annabeth asked between sips – gluing her gaze to the oracle. She placed her mug carefully down beside her computer.

Rachael almost choked on her drink in her haste to reply. "At an art show, actually. In San Fran, you know? Great town - anyway," she swallowed, "we realized we were both in New York and she invited me to her studio to paint and it all sort of escalated from there."

Percy didn't think he'd ever be able to hear the word "escalated" without responding a mumbled, "...well that escalated quickly." He garbled a chortle when Annabeth jabbed his ribs.

Amiable conversation held them as they waited for Rachael's new pottery instructor. It was cute, Percy noted, how bubbly she got when she talked about her. "Oh, she loves Chinese china, ha, get it?" and "Did you know there were so many different kinds of Japanese miniatures? Not even like, anime ones, like traditional ones? They're so cool!" Annabeth obviously thought the same, because the prompts were endless.

"Does she know anything about Grecian urns?" Annabeth finally smiled.

Rachael stopped so suddenly. "You have no idea."

A raised eyebrow. "Really?"
A quick nod. "I thought they were museum pieces they looked so authentic. She's so good."

Percy tried to be interesting. "And she teaching you to form them too? Like, the, uh- pots?"

"Of course." A warm, melodious voice came from nowhere. Percy jumped. A curly – well, really more curly-frizzy – haired woman of a slightly taller than average height smiled at him. "That's half the fun."

"River!" Rachael all but squealed. She jumped from her seat and hugged the woman who in turn embraced her just as fervently. The woman kissed her just below her cheekbone.

"Hey, River." Annabeth was cool and collected as she rose from her seat. Hand extended. So suave. So posh. She'd be a good hipster, thought Percy. "I'm Annabeth – Rachael's told us a lot about you."

She was met with a good natured laugh and firm handshake in turn. "Is that so? All bad things I hope." River winked. Regardless of what she'd actually meant, Annabeth's blush rose to her cheeks. Percy nudged her ribs jokingly and laughed at her expense.

And his urn did end up looking like crap – but at least he had fun.

ooo

Camp hadn't really recovered yet.

No one was going to admit it though, and activities resumed as normally as they could, but everyone noticed it was Will Solace leading archery lessons and not his lost brother and that acting Aphrodite cabin-leader Drew wasn't as good at caring for the Pegasi as Silena had been. In fact, Percy thought mildly, Drew was a bitch all 'round – but at least no one took her too seriously yet. He pitied her poor Mitchel, who she never failed to screech at about the manure in the stables. He and Annabeth had both decided to stay on for awhile, to help some of the year-round campers acclimate to many of their friends – their family – being gone. Annabeth spent most of her designated free-time doing makeup homework assignments her teachers sent to her father, who in turn somehow managed to get them to New York. Percy was used to failing, though, and was sure he could do something to make it up. As he rounded the corner towards the archery range, where he could hear Will encouraging the small portion of the Ares cabin that'd actually bothered to show up, he spied Pollux cross legged on the ground. Percy looked the other way at the tears. He didn't need to embarrass him, and somethings are not easy for anyone. For somethings, there was nothing he could do that would help. He missed Castor too.

"Hey, Percy!" Will Solace of the Apollo cabin called – running from the archery range with unnecessary speed. He was a spritely thing, with wavy blond hair and vibrant blue eyes that reminded Percy a lot of his dad. He had a smile, while probably another gift from his father, that looked awfully like his late brothers'. Percy shook that thought away though, because Solace had the biggest grin Percy had seen on any camper for months.

"'Sup Will?"

The son of Apollo positively vibrated in place, so full of excitement. "You hear?"

"Hear what?"

"They finally finished the Hades cabin and Nico's actually gonna stay!"

"Yeah?"

Will looked like he was going to fist-bump the air. "Yeah!"

"Awesome."

An uncomfortable moment passed between them. Will blinked. Percy blinked. Will shuffled his feet slowly. Percy coughed.

It was harder to pretend they knew each other as well as Percy and Michael had.

"So, uh, yeah." Said Solace.

"Thanks for telling me."

Will grinned – seeing an exit to the awkward conversation. "See ya, Percy."

"Later, dude."

"Nice, Seaweed brain." Annabeth piped in from nowhere. She took off her Yankee's cap and stuffed it in her back pocket. "Way to hold a conversation."

Percy laughed and tried to ignore what the failed engagement had really represented. "Why the hat?" He distracted himself.

Annabeth looked almost sheepish. "I was gonna try and scare you."

Percy raise his eyebrow.

She shrugged. "We all could use the laugh."

Percy's shoulders dropped a little, but he tried to cover it up. "Yeah. Well, yeah."

"I finished my English homework." Annabeth began casually. She sighed, "I need to-" she was cut-off by the familiar horn from the mess hall. Percy's stomach growled. The camp had been less rigorous after the war in maintaining schedules – which meant Percy'd slept in this morning and consequently missed breakfast.

"Dinner?" He asked.

She nodded, albeit less eagerly than he'd expected. He suspected she'd not eaten either – but she looked almost green at the mention of food. "I'll tell you later then." She promised.

However, when the reached the mess hall – Percy realized dinner was going to end up being perhaps more exciting than either of them had had any right to expect. Percy blinked. "Poseidon?"

His father smirked casually – like he wasn't a divine being that'd just show up in nothing but a tasteless Hawaiian shirt and khakis. His hair was swept back, wavy against his forehead. He looked better than the last time Percy'd seen him, back in Manhattan on Olympus: he was younger-looking, his skin was tanner, and his posture seemed more relaxed. Poseidon stuffed his hands in his pockets. Definitely more relaxed. "Percy."

"Uh, hi?"
"Excellent conversation part two." He heard Annabeth snicker under her breath. He tried to glare without being too obvious. She must have been feeling brave today to taunt Percy in front of Poseidon.

"Uh, welcome?" He tried.

Poseidon chortled. "Yes, well. It has been awhile since I visited the camp." He glance down at a camper's half-empty plate of brisket. "It's… homey." It seemed pretty clear Poseidon was used to perhaps more… finesse in a mess hall – but if anyone noticed his upturned nose – no one said anything. Poseidon motioned over his shoulder to where Percy realized he'd missed something rather important. Or, someone rather.

Apollo, contrary to his very at ease uncle, seemed tense. His blue eyes, normally so crystal clear, were verging on bloodshot and his flaxen-colored hair seemed a little less vivid than Percy recalled. The god's disposition was less spirited, less animated than it should have been. It scared Percy.

"Lord Apollo." He greeted.

Poseidon snorted at the formality his son hadn't given him.

"Perseus." Apollo said. Percy's skin prickled, hairs on end, at the raw, crackled sound of it.

"I um." Apollo cleared his throat. He'd clearly noticed the attention he'd drawn to himself. Percy felt sort of bad for him; no matter what Apollo was going to attract views from onlookers – and he knew usually he loved it, but now, Percy could tell he didn't want the attention. With that, Percy was very scared.

"To the Big House?" Chiron conveniently offered in a rather serious tone from his position at the main banquet table. His tail flicked nervously from behind the chairs. Even Dionysus usually bleary eyes seemed somewhat alert.

"No." Apollo dismissed with a graceless wave of his hand. "Everyone should hear this." He inhaled sharply.

"The Oracle of Delphi, Rachael Dare, has fallen ill."

The gods stood solemnly as they waited for the news to sink in. It didn't really have the effect they were expecting however. For immortals, perhaps, an illness was a horrible, unusual thing – but for mortals? What's a cold ever now and then? The campers stared back at the two bemused.

Percy blinked in surprise. A cold warranted an announcement from the gods? "Like a flu?"

Poseidon cleared his throat, but couldn't find the words to respond.

The dread that spread through Percy's body like ice water made its way quickly from his wrists to his heart. Poseidon's silence told leagues more than an explanation would have. What kind of unwell? Why were the gods here? What illness could be so serious? Percy scanned the occupants of the mess hall. He wasn't sure if it was relief or terror that flooded him when he realized the half-bloods were evidently all as confused as he was. Poor Will Solace, the best medic in camp, looked pale. Nico di Angelo, who was, for some inexplicable reason eating at the Apollo table, just looked incredibly tired.

"I saw her yesterday." Annabeth said mildly, much to Percy's astonishment. Her face was etched in confusion. "She seemed fine." Apollo's eyes seemed to linger on her as she spoke, not really giving the impression of listening. His head cocked to the side ever-so-slightly as he watched her. Percy didn't notice, but Poseidon surely did. His eyes narrowed at his nephew.

"She's at the infirmary on Olympus," he promised, "and is being taken care of by Asclepius himself. The reason we've come," he breathed roughly through his nose. Percy shifted at the discomfort Apollo was displaying. Not even when Artemis had been captured by Atlas all those years ago had he seen the gods so… stressed. "Is to inform you all campers will be asked to receive a physical in the infirmary. A nymph from Olympus will be assisting you." He nodded towards his son. Hesitantly, he looked to Poseidon.

The sea god continued. "Further, if anyone begins to act strange, please let Chiron know immediately."

The gods shared a short glace to each other before nodding and as soon as they had come, they were gone.

"Annabe-" Percy'd begun to say.

She turned towards the floor and vomited the little brisket she'd managed to eat.

Let me know what you think. Actually, a lot of this is already written: it's a test for me, between Hourglass (another fanfiction which is driving me crazy, not to mention this guy's in the third person when everything else I've ever written's been in the first - which is weird, but ya know, new things, new things) and an original story (which has already made me lose it -.-), I'm trying to convince myself I can actually finish a story... let me know if you're interested in reading the rest. Thanks for reading and please review. (I live for reviews... :) )