Note I: This story was not originally intended to be posted here on FFN. However, since I posted both my previous works on AO3 and FFN, I find that I should post it here as well just to be fair to those who only use this website. I apologize that I only decided on this now.
Note II: In this story, the lives of the characters – parentage, events in their lives, etc. – are different compared to the events in the two series. The separation between the Greeks and Romans gods are nonexistent. Thus, characters like Jason and Frank will be sons of Zeus and Ares respectively, instead of Jupiter and Mars. Secondly, this story is not about gods and goddesses. This story is an AU where the Greek gods and goddesses are suzerains – leaders – of thirteen districts. These districts might be called by their specified names or "House of (name of suzerain)" but they basically mean the same place. These districts are elaborated further in Chapter II. Thirdly, mentioned Roman gods and/or goddesses names are either names of mortals or actual gods/goddesses worshipped in this story, but they do not play an active role as they are merely figures for worship. Example of this is Bellona. She will be a mortal here in this story. On the other hand, Jupiter will be one of the patron gods in this story. Fourthly, there would be changes in the characters' names. They would still be called Nico, Jason, Percy, Annabeth, etc. but their real names in this story would be altered to some extent so as to adapt with the setting of the story. Additional notes on characters, translation of phrases/words, will be stated at the end note. For now, sit back, relax, and I welcome you to venture into the world of Pangaea.
Summary: At the beginning of the New Order, Pangaea was divided into thirteen districts, governed by the thirteen individuals who led the revolutions against Lord Kronos. For decades, the peace was retained allowing the inhabitants to believe that a lasting peace and coexistence under the governance of the thirteen suzerains were highly plausible.
Until everything changed.
Niccolò di Angelo, the illegitimate second son of Lord Hades, learned at a young age that happy endings were nonexistent. Bound by the world's rules and regulations, happiness is only a fleeting emotion. However, Perseus Tzákson begged to differ.
Bound to an oath and with a war looming over their heads, the son of Hades now finds himself serving under a different district, guarding the life of that person he abandoned two years in the past. Together, the two of them are forced to navigate the world while facing the nightmares and regrets of their pasts that they never made peace with. As they partake in this journey to life, Nico will realize that sometimes, it often takes sinking to the bottom of one's misery to understand the truth, and that happiness has to be attained, not offered.
Chapter I: We Begin Together
"But as in ethics, evil is the consequence of good, so in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss in the anguish of today, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been."
"Berenice" by Edgar Allan Poe
Monolithic columns with intricate and antique carvings were engaged, the shafts extending a few tens of feet – design, likened to the relentless rolls of ocean waves – from marble pedestals to support the wide arc of the domical painted ceiling. Hardened frosted glass finely encompassed the grounds of the domain, gleaming faintly while accentuating the kaleidoscopic lights emitted by the beaded and shell chandeliers. The alcazar radiated exceedingly of life and abundance; of an untamed freedom that was contradictory to the environment the young man was raised in. The heels of his jet-black combat boots clacked sharply against the glass as the young man stepped further with confident strides into the domain, all the while calculative eyes of the shade of a russet brown assessing the area cautiously despite his evident familiarity of the surroundings.
The members of the alcazar – local residents and military division personnel alike – regarded him with high respects, though the inquisitive yet jovial expression painted across their features did not escape his acknowledgement. It was neither uncommon nor a rarity for members of the foreign districts to venture and announce their presence to their neighboring districts, as such was a luxury – a right – brought forth in the beginning by the proclamation of the New Order. These open and diplomatic relations established between citizens enabled for a harmonious coexistence; a prerequisite measure to ensure that there should not be a repetition of the grim and dark history, twenty-five years prior to the present. What, perhaps, classified for "uncommon" and "rarity" was of foreign heirs venturing to neighboring districts unsupervised; such was his case.
The black medieval tunic loosely clung to the young man's prepossessing figure, slightly pressed to his torso by a black embroidered doublet vest adorned with the silhouette of a dark serpent; the symbol of his district. Dark leather trousers adorned the expanse of his decently muscled and toned legs, accentuating the alluring figure underneath the layers of extravagant clothing. By his side, attached to his frame by a silver chain belt, was a sheathed Stygian Iron sword of a midnight-black grip and silver encrusted pommel.
The young man was the embodiment of a royalty, exuding an aura of regality that was only plausible from a strict upbringing. The young man was equally the embodiment of a dolofónos, the natural yet dangerous glint of those clear yet unfathomable eyes exhibiting immense danger. The tattoos branded upon the young man's back seemed to ache – throb dully – as if to fruitlessly remind him of the house which he served; the house which he rightfully belonged to from birth, yet was abandoning at that moment. Not that his father condemned his decision; not that his father's consort condemned his decision.
Fulfill the oath. No more, no less.
The young man chanted the two statements in his head like a mantra, his features devoid of any indication to the inner turmoil sprouting up from the recesses of his mind. The given situation was nothing short of a fulfilment of an oath; a blood oath which he had fully committed himself to swear at such a tender age.
"It is a pleasure to see you in good health, young man."
Said young man halted mid-step, the heels of his combat boots clacking one last instance against the flooring as he halted, his frame shifting completely towards the direction of that modulated voice.
A winsome elder male adorned by flowing robes of the mixed shades of chartreuse and parakeet casually stepped forth, his silken black hair and stray wisps delicately framing chiseled, tanned features. Lively sea-green eyes glinted in partial amusement, surrounded by sun-crinkles that indicated of the older male's proneness to smiling. Had it not been for the intricately crafted seashell headdress resting atop the older male's crown, the young man would have admittedly mistaken the individual for him.
"Lord Poseidon," the young man breathed, formally bowing his head low as a sign of respect. "It's a pleasure to see you in good health as well. I believe apologies are due on my part, had I unintentionally kept you waiting."
The suzerain dismissed the apology with a sharp flick of his wrist and a slight inclination of his head.
"You should not be too formal with me, Niccolò," Poseidon responded in a silvery voice, gesturing for the young man to follow. "Despite our status, you should be reminded that we are family."
The young man, Niccolò, heaved an exhausted sigh.
"I apologize, uncle. It's difficult to dismiss my upbringing," Niccolò lowered his head by a fraction as he obediently trailed after the suzerain. "More so now, given the situation."
"Your status as the second heir to the House of Hades – to Skotádi – and your relations to the family does not change, despite the circumstances," Poseidon chided him.
"The Lady, Perseus, Tyson and I are well-aware of that, though Perseus is rather displeased of the circumstances you place yourself into," Poseidon continued, and the young man found his eyes drifting to the suzerain's flowing robes in clear avoidance of the subject of him. "Triton, on the other hand, still need be… "educated" of the said matter."
"The first heir need be "educated" of many matters, especially diplomacy and democracy," Niccolò grunted in a single breath, before pausing as he registered his impudence. "Ah, I mean…"
The suzerain merely laughed, the rich sound booming through the halls and startling the members of the household.
"Ah, you truly are the son of Hades. You possess the same vehemence as your father; it has been a while since I last saw the man," the suzerain responded with a recognizable fond lilt before his expression schooled to neutrality.
"Triton has been… exceedingly difficult. I have to apologize in advance for that," Poseidon resumed in a thick voice. "The influences of his mother – the Lady – has not aided in the least of preparing him for his succession. I fear much of the future of my district, more so the future of my other children, under Triton's governance."
The suzerain halted before ten-feet ornamental brass double-doors, one of his hands lifted and tracing the intricate pattern carved on the surface. A distant expression was etched onto those sea-green eyes, dulled throughout the ages and years of burdened responsibilities. There was confliction and a hint of anguish in them, one which the young man had been familiarized with throughout the years of becoming acquainted with the suzerain.
Niccolò pursed his lips, uncertain of his right to voice out his opinions. One would assume that those dulled sea-green eyes were induced naturally and solely by years of burdened responsibilities, and perhaps those misconceptions were much acceptable than what occurred behind closed doors.
"Family." Niccolò vaguely recalled his biological older sister's voice, thickly laced with immense sadness as she abandoned their House – him – once upon a time. "It will either be the one to make you or break you."
And break him, it did.
"I suppose, that is why I am eternally grateful of your presence in my House," the suzerain firmly stated, pushing against the doors. "I entrust the life of Perseus completely to you, Niccolò. I only hope that you entrust yours completely to him as well in return."
Before the young man could find it in himself to offer a response, the double-doors were fully pushed apart, revealing the grandiose interior of the throne room. Rich lapis blue drapes extended from a singular point on the grand beaded and shell chandelier, exquisitely twisting across the elevated columns. The room was bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors, induced by the rays of light passing through the stained glass windows which depicted scenes of the historical war decades ago. The sight was nothing short of spectacular and picturesque, withholding none of the ancient grandeur that it was patterned from.
The thrones of the Lord, the Lady, and the first heir was situated across the room, elevated by polished marble steps and each of varying designs patterned to the liking of their respective possessor. The family crest of the House of Poseidon, Thálassa – a golden trident framed by the raging ocean waves – was embroidered on a velvet seafoam-green cloth, suspended a mere few feet atop the throne of the lord.
The complete council of the House of Poseidon – comprised of notable military personnel and the female offspring of the suzerain – were seated by the sides, facing towards the aisle, calculatedly assessing the son of Hades with immense scrutiny.
"It's of improper decorum that you kept us waiting, Niccolò di Angelo," a soft-spoken voice exclaimed.
Lady Amphitrite, consort of Lord Poseidon and the Lady of the House of Poseidon, was the perfect embodiment of an exquisite woman, with her silken black hair pinned back in a silver net of pearls and silk, and a few wisps draping over her delicate features. The lady was fashioning a simple yet elegant white gown, and adorning an elven circlet with a miniature sapphire teardrop situated to dangle in the middle. Had it not been for her kind smile and the sheer amusement in those dark mocha eyes, the young man might have assumed otherwise of offending the Lady of the House.
Niccolò gracefully knelt a few feet from the thrones as the suzerain situated himself accordingly to his seat.
"The delay is my fault," Poseidon dismissed good-naturedly as he delicately clasped his consort's hands in his. "I engaged him in a conversation regarding his father's condition."
"Be as it may, apologies are due on my part for unintentionally having you wait, my Lady," Niccolò responded while his head remained lowered, permitting remorse to slip through his usually insouciant features.
"Instead of offering your apologies, it would be the best interest of everyone if you strictly practice punctuality. Regardless of your position, it is impudent to have the lords and ladies of the House waiting over a pathetic excuse."
The monotonous voice subsequently grated the young man's nerves, though his expression remained impassive despite the harsh remark.
"Triton…" Niccolò heard the Lady heave a displeased sigh before addressing to him. "Rise, son of Hades. And please, forgive our son for his lack of courtesy."
"Lack" is such a weak word, Niccolò thought to himself as he completely stood, lifting his head only when said heir snorted in response. In his peripheral vision, Triton had his head casted to the side, highly likely attempting to school his features back to neutrality. An innocent brown eye the shade of carob gazed firmly on his russet ones; the high-spirited six-year old brunette, Tyson, seated on the lap of Lady Amphitrite waving enthusiastically at him in greeting. The young man allowed for a small, fond smile to curl his lips in return before schooling his expression once more as he redirected his attention to the suzerain, pointedly dismissing his figure by the side of the Lady's throne.
Evident disapproval glinted in those dulled sea-green eyes as they regarded the first heir, but was only fleeting as the suzerain redirected his attention to the son of Hades.
"There is nothing to forgive," the son of Hades responded formally.
"Be that as it may…" Poseidon murmured, more so to himself before heaving a sigh.
"Niccolò di Angelo, Lieutenant Colonel and second heir of the House of Hades," the suzerain declared in an orotund voice. "My family and council are completely aware of the purpose and… circumstances of your state visit. Regardless of the established salubrious relations of Thálassa with Skotádi, these proceedings – as you should understand – is a mere necessity in ensuring the loyalty you offer to my district."
"I came here with a sworn blood oath," Niccolò responded in an authoritative voice, demanding attention from the gathered audience. "A sworn blood oath to our ancestral father, Lord Chaos."
"Prove it, Bloodbringer," Kymopoleia, daughter of Lord Poseidon and Lady Amphitrite, demanded in a penetrating tone, her unnaturally silver eyes – bordering almost to white – equally piercing.
Dismissing his discomfort and the overwhelming desire to protest, the son of Hades deftly parted his doublet vest, slender fingers unbuttoning the three upper silver buttons that ensured the impeccability of his apparel. Once that was done, the son of Hades simply pushed the tunic off his left shoulder, exposing a prominent brand of eight arrows in a radial pattern atop where his heart palpitated.
The Chaos Cross seemed to burn under the intense scrutiny of a dozen pair of eyes; against his once flawless olive skin.
"The blood oath I had sworn under the name of Lord Chaos…" The son of Hades paused as he gathered his thoughts, his slender fingers subconsciously tracing the branded symbol on his skin. "It is under the condition that I serve the third heir of the House of Poseidon, in the time of the succession of Lord Thanatos to the House of Hades."
Niccolò sharply yanked the tunic back in place once his discomfort started setting in once more.
"I offer my allegiance to the House of Poseidon; servitude as the guardian of the third heir. Nothing more, nothing less," the young man concluded as he fixed his apparel into place. "Lord Hades extends his approval of such a highly critical decision."
"The House of Poseidon perceives this as a possible alliance with the House of Hades. I have had bad premonitions of the House of Zeus, given the district's deteriorating governance and power imbalance." Poseidon pointedly dismissed the almost undiscernible displeasure that dawned on the son of Hades' features at the condition of the aforementioned district. "While our district is not instigating a revolution against one of the main Houses, I deem it fit that the council should take this possible alliance as an assurance that the House of Hades sides with us."
"The House of Hades indefinitely sides with no one," Niccolò responded firmly, his brows creasing at the thought that the lord might have had a misconception to what he was offering. "While the House of Hades highly prefer not to engage in another revolution, Lord Thanatos merely entertains the possibility of alliance at the moment. My prime concern is the well-being of the third prince. My servitude does not extend to the district."
"The impudence!" Triton bellowed, rising from his seat despite the disapproving and pointed looks he received from his parents. "Your district should be honored that our House considers an alliance with yours. Pray tell, what reason does Thanatos have to refuse?"
The son of Hades did not intend to respond, but his lips seemed to contradict his desire as he found himself snarling his response with vehemence.
"Lord Thanatos finds displeasure in establishing an alliance with the House of Poseidon when its successor is deemed unworthy to his eyes."
CLANG!
Had it not been for his fast reflexes, the son of Hades was certain that his people might have planned his demise by then. The deafening and grating sound resounded throughout the throne room as a Celestial Bronze broadsword clashed with Stygian Iron sword, inducing various startled noises from several people of the gathered audience.
The Sword of Triton was truly of an excellent craftsmanship; a Celestial Bronze broadsword of strengthened, ridged and lightened blade with a gleaming sapphire embedded close to hilt. And it glinted dangerously close to his face, only expertly parried by his Stygian Iron sword. The primal urge of the serpentine within him salivated on the desire to kill – to spill blood – and it took every ounce of his practiced discipline not to execute a kill.
"You have to tame it, Nico." Thanatos' composed and stern voice fleeted through his mind. "Our blood thirsts for the kill, but do not let it consume you."
"Enough!" The suzerain thundered, silencing the feral growls which the son of Hades belatedly realized was seeping past the first heir's gritted teeth as he maneuvered Triton backwards, cautiously placing a wide distance between them.
Lord Poseidon levelled his son with a pointed glare.
"We can commence this proceeding with or without you, Triton. You have the option to leave, should you wish," Poseidon exclaimed, though judging by the tone of his voice, the offer seemed contradictory to the suzerain's implications.
Growling under his breath, the young lord gripped the handle tighter for a few seconds before he sharply sheathed his blade, turning his back to the son of Hades.
"I disapprove of this vermin's presence in my House. That is my vote," Triton barked, storming out of the room and closing the doors with a resounding "Bang!"
"A vote that will undoubtedly be dismissed," the daughter of Poseidon and Amphitrite commented, disappointment lacing her voice as she regarded of the young lord's brute actions.
The young man considered the possibility that he had perhaps reflected impudence with his actions; a displeasing thought as he wordlessly sheathed his sword back to its scabbard. He had said too much, he had to admit, in a statement that was worded too offensively for – presumably – the council's taste.
Foolish, he mentally berated himself. Foolish.
Yet, as Niccolò registered the respective responses of the lord and Lady of the district, the disappointment and displeasure he had been too expectant of receiving were not directed at him. He ingrained it in his mind that he was not entitled to experience gratitude and pleasure from that, more so when he – in his peripheral vision – let out a relieved sigh once the first heir departed from the throne room.
Stop making the same mistake twice, he mentally berated himself, permitting no emotion to seep through his dignified façade.
"I believe that I speak for the council when I state that there should be no reason for us to refuse the servitude that the Bloodbringer offer to young Perseus," Kymopoleia declared, her eyes darting throughout the vast room as he regarded the gathered audience for any indication of defiance.
There was none.
"However, it would quell the council's fear if we could ascertain of your loyalty to our House by becoming a part of our ranks."
Niccolò frowned at the implication of those words.
"That is a matter of discussion for another time, Kymopoleia," Poseidon concluded, lips pressed into a firm line as he arose from his throne. "The council is dismissed for now."
The council wordlessly obliged, retreating to their chambers one by one as they exited the throne room until only the main family and the son of Hades remained. The silence was deafening, more so elevating his discomfort when the son of Hades registered that he might possibly be intruding at that moment, given the silent exchange happening between the suzerain and his daughter. Their expressions were indiscernible, permitting the young heir little to no knowledge of what they could possibly be conveying through their eyes alone.
The intensity of his gaze scalded him equally, further submerging him in that state of utter discomfort.
"Rhode would be highly displeased," Kymopoleia stated after a full minute of silence, leaning back against her seat with pursed lips.
"Your sister always has been displeased of Triton," Lady Amphitrite stated in a matter-of-factly tone, her delicate expression grim for once as she absent-mindedly weaved slender fingers through the dishevelled locks of the oblivious child in her lap.
"For reasons you and I, the entire council…" Kymopoleia furtively glanced at the son of Hades' direction. "… and the House of Hades know."
"Kymopoleia…"
"Niccolò di Angelo is right, patéras. If Triton succeeds to rule the district, it is merely a question of time when the people will start a revolution. If the people could be appeased with a different heir –"
"That is not the system by which we govern our district –"
"A district which will slip through your fingers if you pursue the idea that Triton could possibly be "educated"!" The daughter of Poseidon countered in a stentorian voice, leveling her father with an equally menacing glare. "Ouranós stirs, and soon, that bad premonition will dawn upon and shatter the peace established in the New Order. We need an alliance with Skotádi."
"An alliance which they do not propose," Poseidon concluded firmly, pointedly casting a glance at the son of Hades who simply remained silent throughout the respectable lady's and the suzerain's heated exchange.
"An alliance which they do not propose under the notion of Triton's succession." Silvery eyes glinted dangerously, challenging the Lord to rebuke her statement. "Triton– "
A sharp series of tugs on his impeccable tunic had the son of Hades shifting his gaze from the brewing family squabble, only to rest upon the sight of an innocent doe carob-brown eye gazing expectantly up at him. The eyepatch that covered his left eye was a natural sight by then, rather providing a character to the bubbly child. How fortunate – the son of Hades mused as he lifted the child onto his arms, tucking the brunette securely under his chin– is a child, to possess naivety; a bubble of haven from the displeasures of the world.
"Mitéra told Tyson to show big brother Nico his chambers now," Tyson mumbled against his tunic, cautiously fisting the fabric with his slightly chubby, little hands.
That doe eye glinted with such an innocence that could almost be regarded as an invaluable commodity in their times; in their age where premonitions of an imminent war doomed beyond the horizon. It was, Niccolò had to admit, an invaluable commodity in the age of power imbalance and struggling peace.
Chancing a glance at the Lady, Amphitrite merely flashed a slightly forced smile, her head inclining by a fraction towards the direction of the ornamental brass double-doors.
Go.
The son of Hades need not be informed a second time as he respectfully offered a low bow to the Lady, securing his grasp on the youngling as they briskly departed from the throne room.
Those sea-green irises followed his every movement and miniscule shifts critically, attentively, and the sheer intensity of those gaze on his back slowly and forcibly crumbled his resolution to avoid his gaze, and stare into the deep and seemingly bottomless chasm of those mesmerizing limpid eyes. As it was, the shallow yet excruciating reminder of their status – of where either of them respectively stood – and the successive painful throbs that blossomed in his chest, supported the young heir adequately until he had walked past the double doors.
The tremulous voice of Lady Amphitrite, bellowing "Arketá!" and the brief mention of a forbidden name were the last things that Niccolò registered as he cautiously closed the doors behind him with a soft click.
At a tender age of nine, Niccolò di Angelo comprehended of the indisputable fact that nothing tangible perpetually lasts, as he was summoned to the bedside of his dying mother. Even in the threshold of death, she would eternally be the most pulchritudinous woman in his life – with her deep russet-brown irises delicately framed by her long and tear-dampened eyelashes and her midnight-black hair, splayed across the silken sheets and framing her sickly-thin figure alike an alluringly dark halo. That was the image that vividly depicted itself even in the recesses of his mind, tragically the sole fragment of memory his mind had retained for him to reminisce. The memories of her saccharine voice – of that melodious croon, breathed like a tender lullaby – were comparable to nothing more than a forgotten bittersweet music from a time gone by. The warmth of her touch – of a hearth he used to claim personally as his sister's and his alone – was nothing more than a faint reminder of what their home used to be, which was composed solely of their serene and quaint family of three.
At the tender age of nine, Niccolò di Angelo comprehended of the indisputable fact that nothing tangible perpetually lasts. It was with that knowledge that he observed, with lackluster eyes, the fading image of the home his deceased mother had built – along with his and Bianca's dreams – over the distance, as they were escorted to the household of their supposed biological father.
It was shortly – barely a year later, and at the tender age of ten – that Niccolò di Angelo comprehended the concept of imprisonment as he was forced to silently and longingly trail with his dulled russet-brown eyes, then dampened by unshed tears, the slender figure of his biological sister just as she disappeared into the horizon, surging forth to a world unknown.
If freedom could possibly be crafted to a physical manifestation, the untamed and unpredictability of the element of water was undeniably its physical embodiment. It was untamed, in that his fogged memories conjured the vague image of the delicate teardrops that streaked his deceased mother's cheeks moments after her inevitable demise. It was unpredictable, in that the excruciating memory of Bianca's abandonment of him prickled his eyes and induced tears that were unshed on a time gone by.
Water was the physical manifestation of freedom, in that it reminded the son of Hades of him; of that sole person who had truly defined freedom for him. Water was the physical manifestation of freedom, for in his alluring sea-green eyes, Niccolò sensed himself being gradually stripped of the responsibilities and duties that his status had burdened him with. In his presence alone, breathing was as natural as existing.
The rich shades of blue and green that adorned the interior design of his chambers – his personal chambers in the household of Lord Poseidon – unintentionally suffocated him, and it was solely of the presence of the youngling in his arms that enabled him to remain grounded. Subconsciously, the son of Hades gingerly weaved slender fingers through the tousled locks of the slumbering youngling, as he – with his eyes drifted close – attempted to regain his composure.
Green was imprisonment; abandonment. Green was Bianca's color.
"I'm sorry, Nico. But you have to be independent from now on."
It was not a necessity, the son of Hades heaved a humorless chuckle as the words she had uttered once upon a time, haunted him once more in the shades of green and blue swarming his entire vision. There was not a necessity for her to depart from his side, and yet she did. She did so without a backward glance, without the barest hint of hesitation.
She left him. Just like that.
"You are strong, Nico. You can make it without me."
Niccolò did, truly he did, though just barely. Barely. For he was but a mere child then when the sole family he had known and come to cherish in his entire existence had abandoned him completely, deserting him under the mercy of an adulterous man who claimed to be his birthright father, and his "family". Niccolò did make it without her, but not as intact if she had not selfishly deserted him by himself.
Day by agonizing day rolled by, with him repetitively and fervently begging towards the sky that his "new" life was a mere figment of a haunting nightmare; that he would awake to the melodious morning hymns that was of his mother's voice and the tinkling laughter that was of Bianca's. Day by agonizing day rolled by, with his faith on everything dissipating bit by gradual bit.
There neither were melodious hymns nor that tinkling laughter. Only the haunting clanging of Stygian Iron swords as they were parried, and the erratic pounding of his heart on his every verge of collapsing from unbidden exhaustion.
"I love you, fratellino."
No, she did not. Bianca abandoned him. That was what Niccolò convinced of himself in the past seven years of his existence without her presence in his life; seven grueling years of trying to keep all aspects of himself intact.
He was broken because he had been weak.
"I love you."
He was broken because Bianca selfishly abandoned him.
"I love you."
Bianca was a liar.
A cool yet calloused hand cautiously cupped his right cheek, startling the son of Hades from his lugubrious musings as his eyes fluttered open, gazing directly onto swirling sea-green irises that seemed perturbed. Russet-brown eyes instinctively darted – as that calloused hand delicately caressed his features – to the slumbering youngling on his lap, belatedly noticing that his own grip had tightened considerably on the brunette and was causing the child to whimper softy in his slumber.
"Is it her?" the newcomer breathed as another calloused hand gingerly pried his slightly trembling fingers off of the youngling, settling Tyson to rest at ease atop the scented azure silken sheets.
Niccolò avoided the subject and those eyes like a plague, diverting his attention to the rays of light streaming through the casement windows.
"Are you in need of my assistance, Lord Perseus?" the son of Hades formally inquired, his voice surprisingly levelled and monotonous.
Even the mere utterance of his name was already burning his tongue; burning him internally.
The young heir heaved a sigh in response, the expression on his sea-green eyes morphing to undisguised sadness and displeasure.
"It's Percy. And I am "in need"," The young heir made quotations in the air, to which the son of Hades had to repress his desire to roll his eyes at the immature gesture. ", of you to talk to me, Nico. This is the first time we have seen each other in two years. You have been avoiding me."
There was an accusatory note in the young heir's tone of voice, one which Niccolò – Nico – had to deem as reasonable, considering as the young heir's statements were not mere fabrication.
Two uneventful years had passed, and yet that duration was inadequate – far too insufficient – to permit his obdurate heart to cease its meaningless, erratic palpitations for a person that was not his to have. Two uneventful years and relentless immersion on his district's development were inadequate for his obdurate heart to progress and abandon his first and unrequited love.
Not that it would mean anything at all for the older male who would eventually be betrothed for the mere sake of his family's name.
"We are at that age where freedom from our responsibilities are restricted to a minimum, Pers— Percy," Nico breathed the name through gritted teeth, once the heir levelled him with a pointed look. "You are already a full-fledged adult, at your age of twenty-one in a few months' time. You should consider where your priority lies."
"My priority lies with my people and my family," Percy countered, his eyebrows creasing in displeasure at the garnered accusation. "Not with the council and their meaningless proposals of the district's expansion."
"You know what I am addressing with my statements, Percy!" Nico bellowed, sharply arising from the bed and simultaneously gripping the hilt of his sword as he instinctively placed distance between them. Their proximity; it scarred him.
"You know the exact reason why I swore that blood oath. No! The audacity of you to look at me like that!" The son of Hades glowered at the older male when the latter seethed at the reminder of his actions. "If you do prioritize your people, your family, it would be in your best interest to consider succeeding over Thálassa."
"That is not what our law –"
"I do not care of your laws and the prejudices that filled your mind!" Nico growled, his hands trembling erratically on his sides.
Turning away, the son of Hades stalked towards the casement windows and breathed in the crisp breeze to quell his bubbling rage.
"I do not care," Nico repeated in a softer tone, his somberness seeping through his hushed voice. "Not if it means that you could live."
The silence that resonated throughout the entirety of the room was deafening, so critically fragile that neither of them seemed to be certain whom should shatter it. How amusing it was that throughout the years of their established platonic relationship, neither seemed to be of a better mind on approaching such delicate matters. Nico's hands incessantly trembled, rebelling against the will of his mind for them to cease movement, in a clear display of his crestfallen state. He hated it; that which signified the barest hint of weakness and the desire for comfort. He loathed that he had to crumble before Percy, of all people.
The poignant image of that shattered and abandoned ten-year old child of lackluster russet-brown eyes surfaced from the back of his mind.
Toned and tanned arms delicately enclosed his suddenly rigid frame, cradling and pressing him against a firm chest. In that proximity, Nico could swear of the rapid palpitations of the older heir's heart through the layers of extravagant apparel adorning the Adonis-like physique. The rhythmic beating quelled his raging emotions, lulling him to a comfort he had known, once upon a time forgotten. Their proximity scarred him, as did the lingering affectionate caresses against his partially flushed cheeks, yet the desire to pluck himself of that comfort was subdued by his shock of the sudden gesture.
"Seven years ago, you would have grasped so quickly at the aspect of people coming close to you," Percy breathed against the crook of his neck as he nestled his head against his right shoulder, the scalding warmth of his breath prickling his skin like a dozen tongues of fire ablaze.
"Seven years ago, I was desperate to have the home I once had," Nico responded in a hushed voice, slowly regaining his composure as he struggled within those toned arms. "Seven years ago, I was blinded by naivety as a child. Seven years ago, I was weak."
"Seven years ago, you were strong. You still are, more so with each passing day," Percy chided him, though his statement seemed to only barely register on the mind of the son of Hades as the warm puffs of breath against his skin induced miniscule shivers and goosebumps all over his body.
Registering his discomfort, Percy hesitantly yet gradually retracted his hands though he himself remained in place behind the younger heir.
"You have no need of anyone's protection. Or rather, you desire none that would remind you of events of the past. You have always been your own person, Nico, and I have always highly respected that aspect of you. Yet, if you wish for me to entrust to you my life, I ask that you entrust yours just as completely on mine," Percy requested, slowly annunciating the words as if carefully weighing each before uttering them. "You offer servitude, and call it as you may, but I request companionship."
"Companionship cannot be offered by a mere servant to the House," Nico responded in an instant as he cautiously turned to face the son of Poseidon.
"And you are not – by any terms – a "mere servant". Regardless of your proposed position on this House, you remain as the son of Hades – second heir and Lieutenant Colonel to the House of Hades," the son of Poseidon smoothly countered, his head tilting to the side as if to incite his incredulity to challenge his claims.
"The sole purpose of my offer remains intact," Nico critically dismissed the subject, invoking a wince from the son of Poseidon as they were dragged once more to the initial point of their exchange.
"The House of Zeus offers dark premonitions. Father and Thanatos believes just as much," the son of Hades murmured, his expression wary as if he were breaching a forbidden subject. "Rumors are that the citizens of Ouranós are going to start a revolution soon, and that Herakles is prepared to counter with military retaliation regardless of the vote of their council. With Triton's impending succession over the district, the whole Pangaea need not an alarming alliance between the two main districts, governed by individuals of questionable morals. Thálassa needs a righteous suzerain – you – to succeed over Lord Poseidon."
The son of Poseidon gnawed inconspicuously on his plush lower lip as he simultaneously turned his back to Nico, approaching the slumbering figure of his youngest brother with practiced caution. Tyson was the embodiment of innocence; of a quality which the son of Hades had been forced to strip off at a young age. The youngling was the embodiment of everything which Nico had been incapable of protecting; of all that the son of Hades despised on himself during those years of self-depreciation and loathing. Yet, he was everything that Nico undeniably felt an inclination to defend; to protect with his life, seconding that to the third heir to the House of Poseidon.
Slender fingers extended towards the tousled brown locks, brushing stray wisps from the child's chubby features. As the youngling unconsciously leaned into the tender caress, an affectionate smile curled Percy's lips before the said male lowered his head, delicately brushing his lips against the expanse of his brother's forehead.
"Theseus would have wanted the same."
The smile on Percy's lips instantly dropped at the remark, a flash of immense grief fleeting past his sea-green eyes for a mere second before disappearing once more.
Nico despised having to bring forth that forbidden name in the presence of the older male; despised more so that the name would just casually slip past his lips at inappropriate instances. The name and the history revolving around it was indisputably not flexible for any forms of discussions, and for due reasons.
"Please do not do onto Tyson, and to your father, what Theseus had done onto you," Nico urged as he slowly approached his bed, taking a seat beside the youngling's resting figure. But the despondent male had his lips pressed firmly onto a thin line, refusing to remark or voice a scintilla of his thoughts.
"If that did not matter enough, then I beg of you, please do not repeat history and cause… and cause Lady Annabeth to suffer through with the consequences of your decision."
"Annabeth and I are nothing more than mere close acquaintances, Nico," Percy stated firmly as he withdrew back his hand, clenching them onto tight fists atop his lap. "Please do not encourage Triton in his manic proposals of forming an alliance through the means of a meaningless marriage."
"That is beside the point, Perseus," Nico barked in a condescending tone before he continued in a hushed whisper upon noticing the son of Poseidon's deteriorating mood. The excruciating ache in his chest, induced by the mere mentioning of the young lady's name, mattered little. "You and I can only defend ourselves so much."
"I will never abandon you, Nico. That, I promise to you," Percy breathed, gazing at the son of Hades with a firm conviction and an unfathomable expression swirling on those alluring eyes.
"I stopped believing promises seven years ago, Percy," the son of Hades answered with a humorless chuckle.
"Seven years ago, you did not have me," the son of Poseidon offered good-naturedly, earning a roll of the eyes from the younger heir. "If I have to swear that to our ancestral father as well, then so shall it be."
The son of Hades slowly shook his head as he detached his blade from his side, resting the full weight of the sheathed weapon against the frame of the four-poster canopy bed. The silver encrusted pommel glinted against the light casting against it, accentuating a scintilla of the fine craftsmanship of the House of Hephaestus which was executed in forging the blade.
"It is enough that you consider the idea of succeeding over Thálassa, regardless of what Lord Poseidon perceived of a possible beacon of hope for Triton's well-being," Nico concluded, that tone of finality firm on each of his words. "If this discussion is as pointless as I conclude for it to be, I would like to request that I may be allowed to rest in private."
The son of Poseidon hesitated, lips parting for a second as if to refute the conclusion made by the son of Hades. In the end, all that the third heir managed was a hint of a forced, casual smile.
"I'll consider."
It was a lie, and the sons of the two main Houses were well-aware of the unwarranted deception. Yet, instead of invoking another cause of a squabble, Nico simply offered a curt nod before turning his back from the older heir.
The bed dipped once more as Percy gingerly scooped the brunette youngling onto his arms, protectively cradling the child's body against the expanse of his torso as he silently crossed the distance towards the ornamental brass double-doors.
The son of Poseidon paused at the threshold, glancing back at the son of Hades whom had not moved an inch from his position since the last he had spoken. It pained Percy immensely to observe the young man's hunched and guarded form, undeniably an instinctual reaction that he had procured once more in the past two years since their last encounter.
It pained Percy immensely, as the knowledge that Nico had once more reserved himself – reserved from him – settled onto his mind. Nico was once more shutting himself from the entirety of the world.
It pained Percy immensely because it was Nico.
"Nico," Percy called out to the younger man, but the son of Hades did not budge from his position. Taking a deep breath, the son of Poseidon simply resumed.
"I can't be what you wish for me to be."
As the doors slid shut with a resounding click, the son of Hades gradually nestled under the covers of the bed, allowing for the darkness to consume him as he curled in on himself with his russet-brown eyes firmly screwed shut.
Nico was well-aware of what Percy was implying with his words – Percy could not be the suzerain which the people and Nico desired for him to be, regardless of the high approval bestowed upon him by the council of majority of the other districts. Percy would be the last person to entertain the mere idea of losing faith on his brother; his family, despite the atrocities that the first heir had committed, unproven due to lack of substantial and credible testimonies.
Percy simply stated that he could not be the suzerain of Thálassa, which Nico desired for him to be.
That was all that his statement meant, yet the dark recesses at the back of his mind forced Nico to consider otherwise. His heart throbbed excruciatingly at the twisted implications he placed on those words, wounding himself unintentionally.
Every part of my being aches.
"I know," the son of Hades breathed, deeply breathing in the scent of the ocean – his scent – that lingered on the fabric of the covers, forcibly lulling himself to sleep. "I have always known, Percy."
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.
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To be continued
Guide on this story is in my profile section.
Meaning:
suzerain: a feudal overlord (historical)
Translations:
Dolofónos:
It is basically a term coined around an assassin or of a person who commits murder on someone else by stealth, etc.
Patéras: Father
Mitéra: Mother
Arketá!: Enough! / That's enough!
Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!