Rowan's eyes flickered open with an effort, and she winced, groaning against the pain that seemed to radiate, pounding, throughout the entirety of her body. She fought against the dark that swirled within her vision till it finally faded, and she was free to examine the ceiling above her. It was low and dark, some form of stone, and underslung with fishnet, from which hung various cruelly shaped, medical devices. Cringing, she hoped they weren't used often. Between the cracks of the bricks grew small shoots of vibrant green plant life, and she raised an eyebrow in confusion. She was somewhere underground, but where, she knew not. She could only hope it was Earth. The last she could remember before she'd faded into the dark respite of unconsciousness was the struggle up the beach, carried by Percy and Grover, each footstep sending searing pain through her limbs till she passed out from the agony.
She twitched a finger, bit back tears at the pain; it felt as if every inch of her skin had stiffened into a scab, and that each movement cracked and broke it. She struggled to raise her head off the pillow that plumed about it, straining her eyes to see wether or not the blood she felt trickling down her fingertips from the cracked feeling was real or not. Her body rebelled against her efforts, and she let out a curse when she found herself unable to raise her head any higher than her chest, falling back against the pillow and swallowing past tears.
There was a movement to her right, and the ball in her throat dissipated, replaced by alarm as she strained to focus upon the figure in her periphery, her muscles stiffening. Someone was moving toward her, footsteps gentle upon the floorboards of wherever they were, the figure a shadow, now coalescing into a form, and finally a face that hovered over hers. It was Grover, eyebrows knit together, mouth tight in concern.
"How do you feel?" His voice was low, and she grunted her response.
"Like hell," she told him, then glanced down to the rest of her body. "Why can't I move?"
Grover raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You were exiled from Earth, and still chose to return to it, causing the most deadly, most untreatable and painful poison to course through your veins till there was barely any blood left, then you were prolonged in that state on ambrosia till Zeus could arrive and pardon you, and you've only been unconscious for two or three hours, leaving your body next to no time to heal, and you want to know why you can't move. I think the answer's pretty simple."
Rowan choked out a laugh, short and harsh, before she dissolved into coughing, and nodded, a bitterly amused smile stretched across her features. "I suppose that makes sense."
Grover's eyes flashed. "It should," he said, standing and moving out of her line of sight. With relief, she found she could turn her head, and did so, watching the satyr's movements. He was working at a counter opposite her, and she realized he was brewing tea. She let silence reign for a moment, letting her eyes fall back to the ceiling, her gaze drifting about all the growths of vegetation there till she spoke again, this time her voice much firmer.
"Where is everyone? And where are we?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grover lift his head from preparing the tea, and his gaze fixed itself upon her for a moment, intent and solemn, before he turned back to the pot.
"You're on Earth, but I assume you know that much. When Ouranos attacked, we could no longer find refuge above ground. All of our safe houses were destroyed within the month, so we retreated underground. We're in the Labyrinth now. We've got Pasiphaë… well, pacified," he smirked, "and Hecate, Circe, and Ariadne have volunteered to help us navigate it."
Rowan raised her head a little. "Circe?"
Grover nodded, breathing out a long sigh, indicating his own incredulity. "Yeah, believe it or not. She's rather irritated with Ouranos for interrupting her business."
"I can believe it," Rowan raised a corner of her lips in a smile and lowered herself back down. The conversation fell to silence as Grover finished steeping the tea, and she listened to the clink of the spoon against the cup as he stirred in what she could only hope would be ambrosia. Grover brought it near, placing it upon a bedside table. He frowned a little, then moved closer, wrapping an arm about her and pulling her up against him as she struggled to straighten.
She bit back tears as she moved, finding herself relying heavily on Grover's own strength rather than hers, which she couldn't help but feel was shot. Finally, sweat trickling down her back and tears down her cheeks, she found herself sitting, Grover's arm still wrapped about her as she swayed, lightheaded. He let her go when she regained some strength, pressing her palms into her eyes, forcing back the tears and the ball in her throat at the helpless agony of her body.
"Here," Grover's voice was soft as he offered her the teacup.
She looked up, her breath shaking, her hands trembling as she reached for it slowly, and took it from him, raising the rim to her lips and sucking down a small sip. She let out a shivering breath, forced herself to resist the panic building in her chest. Grover watched her with knit eyebrows, his eyes intent upon her.
"Taste good?" he asked in an attempt to pull her mind from contemplating her physical state.
She glanced over and smiled gratefully. "Yeah," she exhaled, her voice broken and cracked.
Grover nodded and smiled. "Good," he said with some finality. He let it all fade to silence once more, his eyes falling to the floor as she sipped the tea beside him. She was relieved to find that he had indeed stirred ambrosia into it, and already she could feel the healing effects of the stuff running its course through her veins. Between sips, she breathed deeply, sucking in the air, which, though damp, was more refreshing than the stifled atmosphere of the U-Wing.
"Where is everyone?" she finally ventured to ask, when the cup was half empty and her throat no longer so constricted.
Grover glanced to her. "They're meeting. Your brother's telling the prophecy, and they're going to decide what to do from there."
Rowan nodded, and despite her desire to leave the hospital bed, she could not bring herself to rise and urge Grover to take her to the meeting. She wrestled within herself for a time, struggling against her own exhaustion, till she surrendered to it and took another sip of tea, glancing up to Grover. He'd read it all.
"I'm sure they won't keep you out of the loop," he comforted, and she nodded, before changing subjects.
"How's Cassian?"
Grover hid a smile. "Good. He healed quickly."
She nodded, closing her lips and letting her gaze fall back to the floor. "Good." She breathed heavily. "That's good."
Grover slipped into silence once more, watching the steam of Rowan's tea curl up into the air as he did so, the wisps of it like ghosts in the chill of the Labyrinth. He looked up then, not suddenly but enough to startle her, for she glanced rapidly to him, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Who is he?"
Rowan raised her eyebrows. "Who- Cassian?"
Grover nodded and she gave a small, halfhearted smile, amusement flashing over her features. "He's the son of Kronos," she told him.
Grover breathed a heavy sigh and lowered his head, running his hand through his hair, careful to avoid his horns. "This is going to be a more complicated fight than I originally anticipated, isn't it?" He looked to her, and she let out a small, bitter laugh.
"Yeah," she said, "It is."
- - -
Cassian followed Luke through the close-set tunnels, his shoulders brushing against the stone as he avoided bumping into the eclectic stream of demigods moving opposite them. Ahead of them, Reyna strode proudly, seeming taller, Cassian thought, than she actually was. There was an intensity to her authority that he found somewhat intimidating, yet it aroused in him the trust and respect he'd once had for Mon Mothma. The thought of the Senator brought a pang to his heart, and he wished he could still use the excuse of his ribs.
The sensation of the ambrosia moving through his body had lasted with him. It had been a strange, searing healing, burning as it moved through his broken ribs till it faded suddenly, leaving him with a cold empty feeling he hadn't anticipated and didn't find himself enjoying. He shook his head in an attempt to rid his mind of the meditation, forcing himself to focus instead on the world about him. Reyna had explained it was the Labyrinth, and from the stories Rowan had told him, he found himself dreading each step, knowing full well the treacherous nature of the thing despite Reyna's assurances that they had the parts they inhabited under control.
It seemed a lonely and forlorn place, and the faces of the demigods that slipped past them to unknown locations seemed to only further the impression. Each of them had hollow, tired eyes, thin cheeks, cast into even deeper shadow by the flickering light of the lanterns they bore. Cassian's heart sunk even further and he turned his attention to his feet, decidedly averting his eyes from the brokenness about him, allowing himself that one respite.
The others were behind him, and though he could not see them, he could hear their echoed footsteps in the tunnels. There was Bohdi and Jyn, Clover and Romulus, Baze, Chirrut, Morpheus, and Jason, but Leo and Calypso had remained behind, choosing instead to attempt to revive the broken remains of K-2. Cassian wished he had stayed with them, longing deeply for the presence of his old companion and missing the sarcasm of the droid with each passing moment. He hoped that Leo would be able to do something, and fought against the urge to put too much faith in the legendary skills of the mechanic.
And Rowan's absence added a whole new level to his anxieties. She'd been carted off by Grover, a satyr, and apparently of some relation to Clover, to a hospital wing, followed closely by a large man, face hard and set, eyes burning with the light of war and the desperation of her state, Zeus himself, come down from the fight on high. Cassian had held his breath as the man passed, frozen in awe and wonder at the majesty of the king of the gods. The demigods had parted before him when he moved through their ranks to the hospital wing, following closely the satyr, Rowan's body draped in his arms.
It was the last he'd seen of her, her eyes rolling back into her head as she succumbed to unconsciousness, swallowed by the crowd waiting upon the beach, and in the long dark of the Labyrinth, following Reyna to the meeting in which they'd decide his fate, he longed for her presence.
Luke carried a little of her personality. Cassian read the same calculated impulsiveness in Luke's expression that he read in Rowan's, the very reason he trusted her, and, he thought, the very reason he might trust Luke. The suffering in the man's eyes brought out a gentle conviction that seemed to suffuse itself into every movement, and Cassian found in himself a budding respect for the man, alongside a solidarity.
The thought was sobering, and Cassian's gaze fell to the ground once more. He fingered the blaster strapped to his thigh, finding comfort in its familiarity. The council would decide his fate, and he hoped beyond hope it would be in his favor. He couldn't anticipate how gentle they'd be with the son of their ancient enemy. He couldn't help but feel that Luke, before him, suffered the same anxieties. He hadn't missed the glances, brimming with suspicion and distrust, shot toward the man as they'd marched.
It seemed an eternity had passed in the dark of the Labyrinth before they reached the council room. Reyna pushed into it, throwing her weight against the door. They filed in after her, finding themselves in a small room looking out over the beach, bleak and grey beneath the raging skies. The wind still buffeted the windows, though less violently now that Typhon had been momentarily defeated. In the center of the room sat a solitary card table, surrounded about various demigods, maps and documents strewn across the surface.
Reyna's arrival brought some semblance of order to the chaos of the room, and all the demigods froze in surprise before assuming stances of respect, straight-backed, heads high, anticipating her next orders. They came swiftly, though with more a touch of urgency than they had anticipated.
"We're calling an emergency meeting," she told them. "Is everyone here? Where's Dionysus?" she added, her voice sharp.
From behind a cluster of demigods, there stepped forth a man of middling height with something of a paunch to his stomach. His eyes, a violent purple, seemed highlighted by the leopard-print jacket he wore over leather armor.
"Here," he said, meeting Reyna's intent gaze, his own dark and cold. Cassian tilted his head curiously, recognizing here the Dionysus of the myths, before his exile to Camp Half-Blood, the one that could bring madness to whole battalions with a mere snap of the fingers.
"Good," she commented, striding forward to the table at the center of the room. The demigods crowded about her, drawn forth by her natural gravity, till Cassian found himself one of a ring of them about the table, eyes fixed upon her own heavy stare.
She turned to Luke then, expression expectant. Cassian sensed the tension in the man beside him, sensed it in the demigods gathered there, too. Most of them had recognized Luke, his unmistakeable scar, the grim gaze that lurked within his eyes, the solemnity in his features, and they had all but blanched.
Luke nodded his acknowledgement, let his eyes fall to the table, to his hands held before him, clenched together, knuckles white.
"There's been a prophecy," he spoke the words slowly, and they fell with a thud to the table. The eyes of the demigods about them widened. Cassian raised an eyebrow. "It was from Rhea," Luke elaborated, and mutters ran through the crowd, "or a vessel of hers." He opened his mouth to recite it, sucked in a deep breath, refusing to raise his eyes to the faces of those about him. Yet, as the words of the prophecy poured forth, he seemed to regain some form of confidence, glancing up, meeting the gazes of even the most distrustful with a hard defiance of their suspicion.
"The sighted shall enter the half-blood's domain,
With hope will the sun rise again,
To shadow must the darkness fall,
And titan's child will stand tall.
A lonely road shall lead to doom,
And all shall fail at sky's tomb.
The exile returns in a chariot of flame;
A broken world will never be the same."
Reyna herself seemed to size up the demigods as she listened closely to the prophecy, spoken in Luke's low and rumbling voice, grating a little with each word. Cassian followed her gaze, studying himself the expressions about him. For the most part, he read courage, a readiness, a brilliant and brimming strength in their eyes, though their faces were worn and haggard. He glanced back to his own fellows, to Jyn and Bohdi, Baze and Chirrut, felt the hurt in his heart.
Jyn met his eyes then, her own flashing with urgency. She nodded her head in the direction of Bohdi, and Cassian followed her gaze, his brow furrowed, suddenly loosing focus of the conversations that had erupted about him. The pilot wasn't doing well, his head almost lolling to the side as he leaned heavily against the wall, clutching himself tight against the shivering in his limbs, barely perceptible, but there, feverish as the color that seeped from his features.
Cassian felt his heart drop, and with what subtlety he could muster, he moved back away from the table. Luke glanced after him, saw his path, and with a foreboding in his heart, turned back to the meeting. Cassian reached Jyn then, and slipped to the other side of Bohdi, beside Baze, who moved aside with a grunt and a glance out of the corner of his eyes. Jyn shifted some of the pilot's weight onto Cassian's shoulder, and he peered about him, reading Jyn's concern before he let his gaze fall upon Bohdi.
"You okay?" he asked the pilot.
Bohdi slid his eyes open from their determinedly clenched position, grimacing as he did so. With tight lips, he shook his head negatively. Cassian looked about the room then, searching for familiar eyes till he found them. Morpheus was pressed into the back corner opposite them, his arm draped about the waist of a kindly-looking middle-aged woman, her greying hair pulled tightly back, her eyes, lined with age and looking old with sorrow, framed by gentle wrinkles. There was a joy radiating from deep within her now, but her gaze grew troubled when she felt Morpheus stiffen beside her as he caught sight of Cassian and Bohdi.
He mouthed something that Cassian didn't quite catch, but he read in the god's expression that they must wait, and he soon saw why. The room had grown silent, every gaze traveling from Luke and Reyna to Cassian himself. He felt his muscles tighten as Reyna spoke.
"It's settled," she sighed. "We contact Rhea. Everyone out," she commanded, before her gaze fell upon Cassian, Luke, and a woman with fiery red hair, pulled high up upon her head but still managing to shadow most of her features. "Except you three."
Cassian's expression darkened at the thought of meeting Rhea face to face, but he stepped forward resolutely, shifting Bohdi's weight back to Jyn. She gave Cassian a reassuring glance, though confusion glittered within her eyes, and began to move with the mass out the door. Cassian watched Morpheus hurry through the demigods, followed closely by the woman, to Jyn's side, taking Bohdi's arm beneath his and helping him forward, muttering something Cassian couldn't quite catch.
It seemed it took only a moment for the room to empty, leaving Luke, Cassian, Reyna, and the woman alone, standing stranded about the table in the center.
"Well," Reyna began, glancing to Cassian with a hard look. "Do we have the fountain?"
