A/N: Percy Jackson was created by Rick Riordan. I only take credit for my own added character's and storylines.
I post on both A03 and FanFiction, take your pick in whichever you prefer to read.~.
I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 3 ~ Bright Candle
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
[Unknown - Early 21st century]
Contentment.
It defines her state of existence, she thinks.
It's not like she minds said state. Nor does she hold any frustration towards it. Out of the three maiden Goddesses - the most well known, that is - Athena is the only one that has children. And while Artemis most definitely does not, her protectiveness over her huntresses might as well leave them as such.
And then there's her.
She's content to stay at the sidelines, content to not be noticed. She's content to watch.
But, sometimes, she can't help but wonder...
And it's in times like these that she tends to... deviate from her set norm. Such as when she turned a blind eye when Prometheus took some of her sacred fire, or... well, she supposes it doesn't matter at this point.
History has a tendency of forgetting her, she's found.
There's little to no memory of her participation throughout the First Titanomachy. Nor are there any of her participation in the second.
But she's unable to let go of the past when her family does anything to forget. There's a reason she's never wished to be a mother. A shiver travels down her spine, memories of her father eating her hole vividly flashing through her mind.
But unlike her siblings, that memory is one made up of betrayal. Of shattered pictures of her parents smiling fondly. Of soft touches, amused rolls of eyes, of bubbling laughter.
Of what her family should have been.
So, instead, she wonders through the hearth of mortals. To watch over the mortals. To learn from those mortals. It's an unfamiliar, breathtaking experience. She watches as their life progresses in a single breath, how fragile and delicate they can be, how they can change and adapt so swiftly.
It's a brief, beautiful thing, a soul. Like a matchstick that disappears in a single blink of her eyes. A breathtakingly, beautiful flash that disappears before she can bring up the courage to reach out. To be part of. To exist.
Perhaps because she knows what she is not, She finds herself at her hearth more often than not. Picking and stocking in flames as she watches the time just... pass.
Her first thoughts on Perseus Jackson are, ironically, not of him at all. Instead, it's the horrifying realisation that Posidon chooses to father a child after making an oath against it. After Zeus's lightning bolt was stolen. After Thalia Grace had been hunted down by her uncles.
The simplest way to describe it is as such; her first thought of Perseus Jackson is comparable to watching a plane run out of fuel in the middle of New York. Watching it lower ever so slowly while standing in the middle of its path.
It is not a pleasant experience.
But she doesn't think until later. Much, much later. When Olympus doesn't stop gossiping about Poseidon's son. How they pick sides, as civil war seemingly brews at the horizon, how Luke Castellana poisoned Thalia's tree, how Atlas almost escapes his imprisonment...
Athena had once stated that Perseus's flaw was loyalty, how'd he'd risk the world, or even his own life to save the ones he loved.
Hestia disagrees, Perseus loyalty is legendary even in Olympus, yes, but... more than anything, compassion is what she'd used to describe them. It's when Athena states her own opinion that Hestia realises that, at some point, she's become completely mesmerised with Posidon's child.
Not in the way Greek Gods are usually mesmerised. She's existed long enough to realise she holds no romantic interest - to her Aunts great horror - be it emotional or physical to anyone. Just... not.
It takes her longer to realise why.
Because demigods are much like their human parents, they change, they adapt. But they also grow.
Olympus has always been plagued by division, no matter how much she loves her family, it's a rare day when at least one is not at another's throat. And that's when she realises what that difference is. When Perseus arrived at Camp Half-blood when they were chosen as Posidon's child, it was never Posidon's children are my family, it's the Camp is family.
It's Olympus is my family.
It's a realisation that starts as Kronos and Perseus clash in Olympus's very own throne room. When they chose to trust Annabeth, and, in extension, Luke.
It's when they chose their gift, not for immortality, not for the chance of eternal existence, as it's always been used for. No. It's used for their family, more than their family.
"I want you to recognize your children. To claim all children of all gods. I want you to recognise the minor gods, all gods. That's your gift. Your Oath that you'll treat your members, all members kinder, better and fairer."
Oh, she thinks, staring from the comfort of her own hearth, its resonance.
There's a common misconception that Gods are capable of creating champions. That they can choose their champions.
They can't.
A champion is a mortal -thought usually a demigod- that is compatible with a Gods realm. There isn't a specific definition as it varies between every God and Champion, but neither party gets a choice in the matter. And, in almost every case, every child of a god is a champion of said god. It's why there are similarities in personalities, in their abilities, ideals or others between parent and child.
She's never had a champion before.
She has no idea what to do with the realisation.
So she watches.
She's content to stay at the sidelines, content to not be noticed, content to watch.
Only... only she's not.
And she does more than wonder, then. Now. Mesmerised, that's the only way she can call it. What else could she possible call this?
So she goes. Descends would be more appropriate, she supposes, but she's never enjoyed calling herself something she's not, even if only implying, so perhaps visits is a more appropriate term.
Only once, she thinks - and she so blatantly lies to herself - calmly. Only once, and I won't interfere again.
It's only more tempting after doing it once. So she does it again, and again, and again...
Annabeth, apart from being somewhat bewildered by having a goddess in their apartment, isn't particularly surprised by her constant presence. If anything, Hestia would make a guess and say she was sympathetic.
"I shouldn't be surprised," She once told her, half asleep from University classes as the moon shone in the sky, "they've been working on their ADHD, you know? Percy's actually started to develop a filter between his mouth, and that's pretty much the only thing that had people not eating out of their hand."
And it was true. Nowadays, even the more antagonistic members of camp half-blood were at least cordial with them, respectful, even. She says as much.
Annabeth snorts, nodding when Hestia voices her thoughts. "I know. Seeing Clarise of all people get along with Percy is so weird. And then there's the hero-worship of the newer members."
There's an exasperated fondness in her tone. As if she can barely hide her pride.
It always struck Hestia as strange. Annabeth's and Percy's relationship, that is. They love each other, that much is clear, but... she wouldn't call it romantic. But then, she also would say that it's more than just close friends...
Well, it's not like she's an expert in the matter anyway.
Though. Aphrodite always has an amused expression whenever the topic is raised. It had driven so many of the Gods up the wall to know why.
A year is little but a moment of fresh air for a God. Years are little more than a moment of peace.
And then both demigods are killed.
It's-
Achilles' curse made one invulnerable, not immortal. She'd been aware of that. She'd known that.
She still feels something inside her shatter when they die.
It's more than just because they've entered her brother's realm. She'd be upset and heartbroken if that were the case, but not…
See. Thing is. When the God's swore to hold their oath, to protect what should have always been protected, to care for the life they'd brought to Earth, it… it hadn't been kept.
Some had, of course, but it was difficult for her family to not fall into old habits, to change like mortals so easily could...
Demigods, Gods, Titans, everyone, really; they'd all sighed sadly with the knowledge it'd been too good while it'd lasted. Of how nice the small number of months had been when Olympus had put some degree of effort.
It quickly became lacklustre, a bore that'd lost its interest as things returned to their broken normality.
For Percy, like so many before, that'd been unacceptable.
But Percy, unlike so many before, had spoken against it. Repeatedly, they'd speak, explain, teach... Prophet, some took to calling the demigod.
Some in jest, most in exaggeration, and some in realisation. But some few? They would look at her, wide-eyed and realise that that's my champion, she'd smile sharply, my prophet which you shall not ignore.
There is a weight, acting when you have never acted before.
And that weight was enough for few to listen to her champion. Few became some, some became many, and then...
She always sees the glass as full. Always saw someone for their good actions, instead of becoming blinded by the bad. Her family is capable of so much good, and she loves them so dearly, how could she not hope but the best for and from them?
Even her father and siblings, no matter how far they'd sink and hate, would still hold something that'd allow her to love them.
She becomes attached, and the weight of a famous God is enough for words to be heard.
But then, if words are heard, they hold weight. And that weight is something she should have known would have consequences
Just past the third year after the war ends, Percy and Annabeth are surrounded by monsters. Overwhelmed and outnumbered, with no call of help being voiced, they're killed in battle.
All turn blind eyes at the sudden silence of words of equality, of the lack of resistance as the world, returns to its broken peace. Not a single word as Hades's and so many other cabins are torn down.
Hestia has been hurt before. Hurt so many times that she can barely feel when someone hurts her now.
Rare as it is, she's been angry before. Even rarer, she's been furious before.
But never, has she loathed something to its core.
Because it's too convenient. Because she knows her family and chooses to overlook their faults, not because she's blind to them.
And she sees them. The relief reflected in their eyes. The amusement that a problem has been neatly resolved. The slight easiness in their poster that not even their divinity can hide.
That they'd murdered her champion. Both her friends because, in such a twisted form of irony, like her father, they've started to obsess over their thrones. Over their power.
Some might suspect that she herself suspects. Might realise that they've crossed a line she'll never forgive having been crossed.
But, more than anything, she hates that she can do nothing. That she can neither search nor avenge. That no matter what, she has to be content to stay at the sidelines, content to not be noticed, content to watch.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
[November, 2 - 11 - 2023]
It's a slight echo, at first. A pleasant breeze that one barely notes but can't help but feel at ease from its company.
It takes her far too long to realise the slight ember that resounds inside her essence. The slight hum that she'd lived for centuries without, and yet missed so dearly after the so few short years she'd found it.
It's all she can do to not appear in the Blofis-Jackson residence in a flash of flames.
She's kept an eye on them, half out of fondness and half out of paranoia. The Chase and similar families of members close to Percy as well, of course, but this family, in particular, is one she felt responsible for.
Instead, she acts casually, over an hour of walking and moving, appearing in a different residence as she twists the mist so none ask what a preteen does in New York alone.
It's only when she reaches the door, the doorbell already rang, that she starts to hesitate.
Almost teasingly, the ember pulls slightly, just enough for her eye to twitch at the unspoken mischievous welcome. If nothing else, Perseus had clearly not lost their humour. Probably thought it'd be funny to not even tell her that they'd somehow not died.
Or, well, she supposed that resurrected might be a more appropriate term. Not that she was entirely sure how that'd worked.
Hades didn't make exceptions even for his own children, and while having become moderately more cordial, she'd doubt he'd make an exception for Perseus.
...She might have to interfere in the future. The God of the Underworld was not an enemy one wanted to cross.
"Yes?" Paul opens the door, eyes instantly meeting her own as he raises an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"
Ah. Or, maybe, Perseus had found it amusing to have her explain her way through. They could be a brat like that, sometimes.
"Good evening, Mr Blofis," She greeted with a smile, "I'm Hestia. I believe Percy told you I'd visit?" At least she'd assume he'd been told. It'd probably be awkward to explain why an eleven-year-old was knocking at his door long after the sun had set. "We've met before? You might recall some few years back in your family gatherings."
"Er-," The poor man frowns, clearly sterling at her wearily as he shifts awkwardly. She… she'd be having words with her champion about this. Hestia was patient, yes, but there were lines between funny and very much not. This? This was one of them. "Right." He trails off awkwardly. "I'm sorry, but Percy died years ago in a car crash..." He explains tiredly, shaking his head as his words trail off. "But I'm fairly certain we did meet. You were at our Wedding? I'm fairly certain that was you with Percy, at least."
Oh.
Well. Maybe she'd read too much into it. Now she felt the need to apologise to her champion.
"I know Perseus is alive." She sighs, even if she is delighted to know Paul would lie to a God's face to protect his stepchild. "And no, I wasn't at the wedding, as you already knew. And," Her lips twitch in faint amusement, "I happily blessed you daughter when she was born. A blessing she still carries to this day."
"Ah, I-," Tha man blushes embarrassingly, opening the door further to let her pass. "Right. Sorry about that H- Lady Hestia. It's… been some very emotional past few hours. I'm still on edge." He explains, closing the door with a tired if happy sigh.
"You don't need to use any titles. I do believe I said Hestia was more than acceptable." She smiles, even if she is still somewhat befuddled by what's happening. "And yes, I could guess as much."
Perseus is alive. But she was there when the body had been buried. But the Jacksons-Blofis hadn't known Perseus was alive so…
Right. She's getting to the bottom of this. Now.
"Yeah. It's… yeah." He nods, smiling slightly as his hand goes through his hair. "Sally just went to sleep, she's… delighted, obviously, but she was exhausted. I need to call work for a few days off tomorrow so I'll be going through paperwork in the kitchen. Oh," He blinks, turning towards her slightly hesitant. "You, er- might want to... steal yourself. I think this is insane, even for Gods." He nods somewhat awkwardly, walking towards the kitchen with a pensive expression.
Staring for a moment longer, she tilts her head, somewhat befuddled by the man's explanation.
But she steels herself nonetheless, reaching for the door as she knocks quietly, patiently waiting for permission to enter.
Verbal, that is. Because, of course, all she gets is the playful tag of ember she feels pull on her essence.
Brat.
Opening the door, the mayhem of emotions running through her dissipates at the sight of the two individuals on the bed.
It pulls on her realm, which counters the bewilderment she feels as she blinks repeatedly.
Perseus - and it takes her a moment to comprehend that the child is her champion - pulls a finger to their lips, eyes almost smiling as they tilt their head towards the figure on their lap.
Give me a minute, they mouth, gently moving Estelle as they tuck her into the bed. For a moment they simply stare, eyes softening as they move a strand of her hair off her face.
It's a peculiar sight, she can't help but think, both the same age and yet leaving no doubt which is the older soul.
...Then again, she was cheating. Just a little bit.
Perseus closes the door behind them, a tired expression decorating their features as they switch the lights off. "Do you mind if we walk outside?" Perseus asks, tilting their head towards the fire exit with a ghost of a smile gracing their lips. "Might be nicer to talk with some fresh air."
"Lead the way." She shrugs, far more carefree than she feels as she meets their gaze.
As they walk, she can't help but wonder if they're as uncertain of the situation as she is. It's an idle thought, built more of fear than any actual sense she can formulate. She knows that it's built on inexperience. That for all her years, this is the first time she's had a champion. That this is the first time a champion has ever returned from the dead.
"It's a nice night, " Perseus trails off, twisting the mist with only a slight effort as their reach New Yorks Central Park, "I was wondering If it'd rain tonight."
"...Right."
"Would it help if I admitted to not expecting... this."
She thinks for a moment, memories flashing before her mind before her lips twitch upward. "Not quite. Predictability is not something I would use to describe you, Perseus."
"Point." They concede. A sigh escapes their lips before a ghost of a smile forms on their lips. "And I'm going to need a different name, I think. I considered Persia, but I felt it might have been a little on the nose. Maybe."
"Persia." She tries saying. Weighing the name, a faint smile etching on her lips. "Would you rather if I used she and her pronouns?" She asks
"For now, please." They hesitate, hands going through their head as they sit next to a tree, back leaning into the wood as they sigh exhaustedly. "It's complicated."
"Is Anabneth...?" Hestia hesitates, closing her eyes when Persia shakes her head.
"She's moved on." She whispered gently, fingers fiddling with the grass under her hands. "I really didn't mean to... well, die wrong." Her lips echo into a wry smile, turning towards her into an apologetic smile. "Logically, I understood that reincarnation was a thing. That it would happen to me, eventually. But waking up in a body that wasn't my own and..." She trails off, taking a strand of her hair behind her ear as Hestia sit's next to her. "and just-. It doesn't feel wrong. And I'm not saying that because I'm non-binary. Logically, I know this isn't what Perseus's body is like. At all. But it doesn't feel wrong when I know it should."
"What happened?" Hestia hesitates, slowly interlacing their fingers as she waits patiently.
There's silence, for a moment. She uses it to wonder. Because she understands, somewhat. It should feel different. As if the shape of the puzzle piece had changed.
And yet it fits perfectly. As if it'd been yesterday that Hestia had visited Annabeth and Perseus in their small house, smiles and laughter instead of years of just... existing.
"I-." She shakes her head, leaning into her shoulder as she closes her eyes. "We have a few theories." She admits, a silent promise of explaining it later. "I died in exhaustion, I think. Not because I was physically tearing my body apart. I mean I did, but... remember in the last few months? When my powers..."
"How they were growing?" She prods gently, squicking her hand in an offer of encouragement.
"Yeah." She sigh with an exhausted nod. "I was getting on the older side of demigods, but... I was still twenty, my progress should have been slowing down."
"But it wasn't." Hestia frowns, nodding as she remembered the one question she never had quite figured out. "It's related?"
"...I think I died... well it's..." Persia frowns, irritation forming at her inability to find the right word. "You know how Gods have divine forms? How it... incinerates mortals?"
Hestia blinks, her mind spinning as it falls into place. "You incinerated your body?" Horror feals her voice, realisation of how dangerous those last few moments of Perseus's life had been.
"Yeah," She grimaces, "Yeah, that's how I reacted when I woke up." Her lips twitch slightly, opening her eyes as she pulls back. "You remember my theory of circles?"
"The one where every demigod had a circle in their parent's realm?"
"That one." She nods, a faint smile forming on her lips. "I'm no longer his kid. Not anymore. And my circle is more or less the same, but the colour that used to be there is... gone. And there are impressions still there. I still know what it felt like for it to be there..."
"It just isn't." Hestia nods slowly, unsure how to emphasise with something so... foreign.
The silence continues, more peaceful than awkward now that time has started to pass.
After some few minutes, she finds her fingers slowly going through the other's hair, slowly forming a braid as they both listen to the crickets sing.
At some point, Persia starts to hum. She vaguely recognises it as something Annabeth would listen to on summer nights; warm drinks and starred sky as they'd talk with no end in sight.
"How do I look?" She asks, twirling slowly as a smile plays on her lips.
"Like the moon descendent to great me." She echoes, a smile pulling on her own as she studies her features thoughtfully. "And I think I know who your father is, now. He's the only one that has that smile, no matter how little he likes to use it."
She laughs, softly. Eyes twinkling as she offers a hand. "Do you now?"
A tune Hestia recognises fills the night, her eyes twinkling as she reaches for the offered hand.
"We can continue talking later, okay?" She offers. Taking a step back as her hand holds firmly. "It's so rare for me to dance well in a body you are comfortable with."
And despite everything, Hestia finds herself nodding. Worries and anger, fear and furry, they all evaporate as her smile grows to the point where she truly could be mistaken with a child. Untouched by the horrors of the world as she started to dance under the moonlight.
o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.0.o.
Okay. So, first of all; I'm alive.
Super busy, though. Had to put a stop to every fic for the past few months. Only started having a bit of time now, so I thought I'd finish this chapter, which was like three quarters done already.
Before anything else, I want to make this very clear. Percy and Hestia are not nor will they be romantically involved. Someone needing the 'right person to 'fix' whichever their sexuality is - or lack off - is one of the few things that really get under my skin. Hestia's asexual and aromantic, that's it. And no, it isn't up to debate.
When she shows up - and chances are I'll have to repeat myself - I'll say the same for Artemis. It's something I kind of implied in the last chapter, but her extreme reputation is because she's, what I like to call, an old-school-feminist. That means she doesn't want to murder men, but rather wants all women to be treated with the same advantages men have. And sure, nowadays it's common. But it was only a century ago when women were allowed to vote, and she's millennia old. There's a reason men disliked her.
On that note, any ideas what male characters you want showing up? I'm more comfortable writing females/non-binary's, but I do want to get better at writing males too, so...
None the less, if you felt I should have written something differently, be it personality and/or displays of different states of mentality, please leave a comment! Any advice is welcome and appreciated!
Anyways, Ill See you next time! Ciao!
~ Sapphire and Emeralds