Ch4 - On Land and Sea

When Percy awoke, he was in an unfamiliar location. The world around him seemed to glow like the sea in the evening, the air itself rippling with currents and caressing his skin like the most passionate of lovers. As he rose from his sleeping position, he felt the sheet under which he had been sleeping float from his body, the air catching the light.
His eyes followed this beam of light, the shaft of energy that seemed entirely too solid to be real in this seemingly new universe. It led his gaze to a window, outside which trees swayed in the breeze, where birds seemed to glide low to the ground in flocks, feathers catching the light and shimmering as they moved.
Those weren't birds, he realised…
They were fish.
He was underwater.
Ever since he had met his father for the first time, that summer solstice a little more than a year prior, Percy had wondered what the realm of the Sea God might look like, what the palace of which Plato had wondered might truly look like, what this lost kingdom, hidden from prying mortal eyes might truly be.
It was beautiful.
Each building was a work of art, an architectural marvel the likes of which he knew could never be replicated on the surface world. Each person travelling the streets seemed to be a figure of myth and legend.
Percy supposed they were.

A presence made itself known outside, and a servant, Percy supposed, a young girl wearing clothes less fine than those worn by the travellers outside, swam into the room.
"The Chiefest of Goddesses, the Third one who Encircles the Sea, Goddess of the Golden Spindle," She announced, pride evident in her tone and the smile on her face one of genuine pleasure, "All bow for Amphitrite, Neptuni Uxor, Queen of the Seas."
Percy found himself dropping to a knee, eyes wide in shock and head bowed in deference to the Queen of the Seas, and his stepmother. He had expected to be confronted by someone, yes, perhaps to explain the reasons for his being under the sea, or perhaps simply to escort him back to camp. The most high-profile candidates, one might've reasoned, would have been his father's lieutenant, Delphin King of Dolphins, or perhaps at a stretch Triton, Crown Prince and Heir Apparent to the realm of the Seas. Each served the duties of Royals, however, and each held military roles of significance. In a world where such beings of immense power could rarely be disturbed lest the carriage of their duties be interrupted, it was nigh on unthinkable that the Queen herself might meet him, let alone engage in conversation with him.
"Rise Perseus," a voice spoke, "You are among family here, for you walk in the realms of your father," spoke a voice. It was calm and gentle, soothing where Poseidon's was harsh, and tranquil where Posedon's always seemed to hide a hidden promise of pain.
Looking up, Percy was struck dumb for a moment, the air forced out of his lungs with the power and beauty exuded by the deity in front of him, and brightness of her blinding aura entirely too much for him to stand. He was forced to wince, an unseemly gesture in the face of one's Queen, and this further provoked feelings of distaste in the mind of the boy, still of the tender age of fourteen as he rose to his feet.
"My dear," the Goddess began, tone admonishing yet light in her amusement, "look up and meet my eyes," she instructed. Percy complied reluctantly, eyes flitting from the Goddess' own to the floor rapidly, his cautious mortal mind fearful of the pain through which it had been subjected mere moments ago. To his great surprise and relief, however, the Goddess seemed to be glowing rather less brightly than she had previously been. She saw his reaction to the reduced glow, and smiled with an unfamiliar expression on her face. Was that pride?
"Excellent, young Perseus," she praised, a smile on her face as she turned towards the door. "Follow me," she instructed. As he had done for her previous three instructions, Percy obeyed.

The walk was glorious, for despite the tangible difference between walking on the surface and in the water, and the unfamiliarity of breathing it so naturally, it was truly refreshing. The sea seemed to welcome him like an old friend, revitalising him and giving him energy even as he walked. He could sense every little movement, from the smallest of fishes to the Merpeople in the city.
The Goddess spoke as they walked, voice still as calm and measured as always, "Much has happened in the time since you were brought here, young hero," she began, tone careful as though she were considering each word before she spoke it. "Your Father presently informs the court of such happenings, and as such he shall address you personally when the session concludes."
Percy nodded, mind whirring with possibilities of what might be the case, of what might have gone so horribly wrong that his dad would have needed to call his own kingdom's council to order so that he could tell them personally.
"Thoughts run through your head like the ocean currents, boy," the Goddess said, turning her head to face him as they walked, "Speak now, lest they manifest themselves as hindrances to your ability to carry out your duty," she instructed.
"Nothing I can't handle, my lady," Percy found himself saying in protest, eyes dropping to the floor in embarrassment.
"Rubbish, Perseus," She chastised, tone suddenly sharp, "Your father will tell you when next you speak that it is not the nature of the sea to be restrained. Do not restrain yourself, Perseus," she said, voice increasing in volume and eyes lighting up like the most beautiful of lamps, "Your father might appear as though he serves Olympus, but each member of that council knows for fact that the kingdom of the sea shall not yield to the merest of whims of my brother-in-law."
At Percy's questioning look, the Goddess could only smile. "Perseus, politics is not as you may have seen in your camp, where a person of influence can speak, and others will simply take heed. For all that I may appear to degrade him, the Lord of the Sky is a wise king. He knows that the kingdom over which he holds titular dominion is not exactly such. Rather, it is a union of three realms. Do you follow?" She explained, pausing in her stride to allow the Son of Poseidon to walk alongside her, and nodding in approval when he expressed his comprehension, "He does not interfere in the matters of Atlantis or the Underworld, merely takes responsibility for their welfare. He does not command our armies, nor does he write our laws. This is the reason for Olympus' continued hold on its power, Perseus, for if one kingdom is threatened, the power of three will respond in full force, and if one is defeated, then two more bastions of Olympian power shall still stand."

Percy nodded along, understanding the point the Goddess was putting across, and appreciating the reason for the unusual style of rule. "My Queen," he began tentatively, formulating the question in his mind, "Is this the reason for the ancient system of city states too, then? Was it based on the way Lord Zeus ruled?"
"An interesting idea, Perseus," The Queen of the Seas replied appraisingly, "The matters of mortals have hardly been my greatest priority," she admitted darkly, "not since the day when Thales…"
She cut off there, much to the disappointment of the demigod walking alongside her. Inquisitiveness had never really been one of his defining traits as a child, and yet in this conversation with the Goddess he had learned much of the way in which this world he had found himself caught up in functioned.

The camp was in turmoil. The tree was no longer shooting up its intermittent pulses of light, nor did it ward off the nightmares of the young. The hill itself was a beacon, the tree a mere conduit through which its power was concentrated, all channelling one thing.
The pain of the Goddess of the Moon.
Dreams turned to nightmares, and the moon refused to rise across the eastern seaboard, nights becoming shrouded in darkness as the power of the Goddess in Chains wrestled with the wrath of Titans to break free.
It was thus that Thalia Grace found herself in the camp's Big House, in a crowd around the ping pong table. So often, the occupants of that room might've been raucous in their laughter, boisterous in their friendship, effervescent in the way they portrayed their joy.
Now, dark, sombre faces sat, hunched around a table, with a God at one end, a Centaur at another.

Dionysus looked exhausted, and well might he be. His punishment had not been quite as taxing as it was now, not in thirty years of his stationing as a minder of mere children. There was panic among the campers, and the nightmares that plagued the young, those under the protection of the Lady of the Moon, which left all those with kindness enough in their hearts to lend their help sleep deprived.
The camp was a family, but even among family there could be times in which patience wore thin. Even more so than the issue of the goddess' capture, the campers felt the absence of their strongest, their best, their most inspiring.
Neither hide nor hair had been seen of Perseus Jackson since his outburst in her name, and nothing had been conveyed from the Court of the Sea God since Triton, the Heir Apparent to Poseidon's throne and Herald to his Crown had swept his Demigod brother to the depths of the Sea.

A prophecy had been issued by Apollo's Oracle, and its promise was not a good one.
Five shall go west to free the Goddess in Chains
The Sea, the Sky, the Huntress, the Child of the Twilight Plain
One shall fall on Desert terrain, another in pain in a land without rain
And the trapped one's burden shall be removed again

It spoke with great promise, and yet had the definite potential to turn against them in the harshest of ways. There were two beings in this world to whom Thalia immediately assigned the mantle of 'trapped one', and the impact of each of them escaping their bonds was like the difference between the sweetest of victories and the most stinging of defeats, for one could spell the freedom of the Goddess Artemis or her son, the trapped hero Thales. The opposite outcome, however, as Lieutenant Nightshade had made exceedingly obvious, could spell the release of the likes of Prometheus, wiliest of tricksters, or perhaps Typhon, Husband to Echidna and the Titan Lord's brute hand. Worst of all, however, though nobody dared utter his name, was the General of Othrys' Armies. The Titan of Endurance and Strength, whose broad shoulders bore the weight of the sky, preventing the union of Ouranos and Gaia alone, and with naught but his own strength and willpower to prevent such an event from occurring.
All knew of Atlas' might on the field of battle, and how his devious cunning and tactical genius had nearly nipped Lord Zeus's fledgling revolt in the bud. All knew that none atop the sacred mount of the Gods could hope to match him, and all knew that if he were to be released from his burden, the war would be lost.

The council meeting, Percy found, was different to the ones he was rather more used to, the grandeur of his father's court a stark difference from the rawness of the ping pong table at which the campers convened.
It was fitting, however, he supposed, that those in the court of one of the most powerful Gods, in a council of Gods and Kings, sat in a chamber which would befit their station.
He was guided to the back of a raised dais, atop which his father was sat, the ornate golden throne shining as it caught the light. Looking around the hall, Percy could make out its circular shape, each member of the court decked out in the finest of their own kingdom, the state they ran on the behalf of the Lord of the Sea. On Poseidon's right sat the two-tailed Prince of the Seas, the herald of the oceans and the General of its Armies. On his left was the Dolphin King, Delphinus, a trusted advisor of the Olympian God and a close friend and aide to the Queen herself. Further around the hall, one could make out the likes of Rhode, the beautiful Princess of the Sea and the patron lady of the island of Rhodes. The forgemasters were together, as were many of Poseidon's trusted Generals and Commanders, each a hero the like of whom would pose a challenge to even the greatest of Mortal warriors and Demigods.

"My Lords and Ladies of the Court," Poseidon announced, standing up from his seat, "All shall rise for the Queen of the Seas, Amphitrite, highest among the Nereids and Chiefest among Goddesses."
The Goddess left Percy's side, taking her place on her own throne, a magnificent seat which appeared to her husband's court rose as one, a fanfare that Percy didn't recognise playing from instruments that seemed to be made from celestial bronze, the fiery metal producing a warm sound not unlike mortal brass, the sound full and loud, the section of fifteen horns cutting off as the Goddess took her seat. The council sat as one, and suddenly Percy knew what was about to happen.

He strode forwards, suddenly hyper aware of his state of dress; he was still in the jeans and T-shirt in which he had been dressed prior to the game of Capture the Flag, now an entire day prior.
He vaguely heard a voice introducing him to the court to this body of individuals so much older than him, so much better versed in the task ahead of him than he could ever hope to be. He saw the sat appear in front of him. It was by no means on the scale or grandeur of the others in the room nor was it anywhere close to the rough wood on which he would normally sit. The seat was at his father's feet, level with many of the lower-class retainers of the court, governors of small towns who might lead the garrisons of the settlements for which they were responsible. It was a statement, Percy noticed, as his feet drove him forwards still, not yet out of the shadow of the dais, and not in the eyeline of any of the members of the council.

None, that was, but for Triton.
Triton was not unintelligent.
He knew that his father wanted the young Perseus on this quest, and that the honour of the Kingdom of Atlantis would one day be synonymous with the actions of this little hero, puny and mortal as he was, dressed in the garb of a commoner from the surface world.
No, that would not do.
Heraldry, Triton knew, was not the most appreciated of roles in the world of mortals. He had felt as his power diminished due to the humiliating degradation of his role.
He was no mere messenger, for no God could be so weak. No, Triton was an envoy, an emissary whose word was taken as the word of Poseidon himself. He was a General of Olympus' armies, and a representative of Atlantis' throne. He was the trainer and foster-father of Pallas Athena herself in the art of battle and the one before whose battle cry alone the Gigantes were forced into retreat. Most importantly, he knew the value of making a first impression.

In the blink of an eye, gone were the shoddy garments that the boy had previously been wearing, and in their place sat the armour of a warrior, of a hero as the boy was.
The armour was celestial bronze, unassuming at first, the cuirass unassuming and in the muscled design of many soldiers from the age of heroes. The helmet, however, was Triton's masterpiece. It was a statement, both politically and on the field of battle. It was a work of art in every way imaginable, a symbol of dominance not only in the court of a Basileus, but equally in the field of war. It was perfect.
As much as it was accepted and understood that attacking the boy would greatly displease the King of the Sea, the presence of the Conch Shell's symbolism on the boy's helm set in stone the fact that any act against him was an act against Triton himself. This, however, did not mark the end of it.
Bronze greaves were strapped to his lower legs, the fiery metal a stark contrast from the turquoise of the battle tunics of Triton's own soldiers, and these too bore the symbolism of a God. Poseidon's own Trident adorned the greaves, where once it had merely been art depicting the sea's waves.
On the boy's arms rested bronze braces, once more with the symbol of the trident where once there had been the symbols of horses and other creatures of the sea. On his back was the cape of a hero, of a general, and yet in the turquoise of Triton's own troops.

Looking to his side, Triton noticed a proud smile on his father's normally stoic face. Not only was it a smile of pride in the young Perseus, though, but for Triton also. Father and son were each on the same page. This hero was destined for great things.

For Percy, sitting down in this room was one of the most surreal things he had ever experienced. He could feel the power of each of the supremely powerful deities sat behind him, like an electric heater, radiating raw divinity in near-excruciatingly potent pulses. The light in the massive council chamber was reflected in every way, becoming almost blinding in his mortal eyes, not adapted to life in such conditions as those of the citizens of his father's kingdom were, to the fluctuating light levels of the undersea kingdom. His vision had only now cleared, the result of some rather degradingly obvious blinking, when he was beckoned forward to speak.
He felt like a warrior here, as he supposed he was. Not some fourteen year old child from the Upper East Side, but a true leader, someone who could be relied on. His armour, while nearly entirely recognisable, had some notable changes. While it was still the same muscle cuirass as he had been gifted a year prior, with its bronze carvings, he could make out the changes from symbolism of horses and the waves, to the Trident of his father, and…

Triton only smiled smugly at his look of apparent awe.

There was not, however, time to fawn over the artistic and political marvel that his treasured armour had become, however, because it was at that moment that someone in from of him coughed, and the young boy became all the more aware of the gathering of beings before him; beings of great power who had no business sanctioning this mission, let alone lending him their support.
Amphitrite had explained as they walked that he was here for a multitude of reasons. The ability of GOds to meet their offspring was low, and understandably so, considering the consequences of too great an amount of contact with the divine for mortals. Odysseus had gone insane for some time, killing the suitors who had set up residence in his palace. Poseidon, having noticed Percy's little outburst in his duel against the huntresses, had taken his chance. Secondly, as always seemed to be the case among Olympians, there was the matter of politics. It was inevitable that Percy would be sent on the quest. Apollo had all but confirmed it in his last conversation with the God, some four months prior. Quests came and went, and praise was heaped upon the boy himself, and as a result Poseidon was able to claim influence among the Olympian council. His word held more weight, for it was his son who so frequently no brought glory and victory to Olympus. What Poseidon needed now, however, was not respect among his peers, but morale among his people. The glorious child of their King, to most of the citizens of Atlantis and its satellite states, was naught but a tool of Olympus itself. The heralds of each town would speak of the child's success in Olympus' name, and yet no credit would be given to his own father's kingdom. In a land which was hurtling at alarming pace towards war, they felt, despite the contributions of their brave soldiers patrolling Oceanus' realms, that they were bystanders, not doing their part in this war against their ancient foe.

Percy understood this, and had embraced the idea of being a symbol, though he had two inhibitions on the matter.
The first, of course, was treading on the toes of leaders and politicians who had been in their roles for longer than he would be able to comprehend. It was a political symbol for the people, and if a leader had been in power for quite as long has these had been, they would know for sure that he was not attempting to do anything that would go against their authority.
The second, meanwhile, was that he would no longer just be 'Percy' in the divine world. No longer would he be able to simply live his life; the weight of expectation would firmly be on his shoulders, though he did suspect at this moment that such would no longer be that case after this coming quest in any case.
Scanning the court, he recognised that the crowd in front of him was waiting.
Steeling his nerves, he breathed out and began to speak.

"My Lords and Ladies of the Court," he began, much as his father had mere moments prior, "I am thankful that you would invite me to speak before you, and I praise you for your admirable efforts already in this war."
He heard some shuffling in seats at this. Be it the stuck up nobles lapping up the praise or looking down upon his address of them, he couldn't care less.
"The surface world finds itself once more in turmoil, for as you well know, the Titan Lord gains power and forces. Even now, his ship sails the Atlantic, heading South and towards the Panama Canal and towards the unguarded west coast, from where they will establish their base of power."
More shuffling now, and a few unsettled looks upon the faces of those gathered before him. "I shall say this to you now, however, my Lords and Ladies, Atlantis shall stay strong, and it shall emerge victorious as it always has. Behind me sit Mighty Delphin, whose mind is second to none that dare to oppose him, Noble Triton before whom the Gigantes themselves were forced into flight, and Proud Rhode, whose voice alone turns armies to peace and their leaders to servants of our King. I go on a quest today, not for Olympus, but for the honour of our kingdom, with the might of my Noble Father, the one true God of the Sea behind me, that I may aid the recovery of the Goddess who gives us all light in the darkest of times, our symbol of hope. Let your people hear that it is not for my camp that I fight on this journey upon which I embark, but for them, and that their efforts in Olympus' war do not go unnoticed. With your blessings, allow me to go do my duty. I take my leave."
He bowed and stepped off the dais to rapturous applause, not that he would notice, head spinning with the adrenaline rush that came with knowing that he was about to embark on a quest. He didn't know where the words had come from; they seemed foreign and entirely too formal to have been his own, and yet he knew somewhere deep down that it was his own mind consciously deciding what to say and when. It was then that he heard the applause.

If nothing else, he had done some good for the people of the sea, and for that he could feel some pride.

Somewhere down the steps to the exit of the council chamber, he was met by Triton, each of the half-brothers still clad in their armour. "Wear this armour always, Perseus," Triton said sharply, "It shall mask itself as whatever you might require given the situation, but I tell you this now, never remove your armour."
At this moment, Percy felt the true power of the God, and the magnitude of his request.
It was not an order, nor would it ever be, and yet it may as well have been, such was the weight of a request from a being of such power. He found himself nodding, and Triton smiled.
"Good luck, little brother, the Sea goes with you. Do well in her name."

Percy felt himself leaving the sea, and dropped into the middle of a fight.
Spacecraft and planes hung around him, suspended from an arching roof, the normally crowded floor cleared of the usual flocks of curious mortal civilians, and instead occupied by a duel between a band of heroes and one of the most fearsome beasts Percy had ever seen.
Briefly checking his armour and assessing the scene below, he leapt from the top floor ledge atop which he had materialised, celestial bronze xiphos and shield appearing as though from nowhere as he fell through the air.

He rolled as he landed, bracing the brunt of the impact on the shield, Tyson's genius craftsmanship absorbing the crunching hit and allowing the Son of Poseidon to spring into the fray. Part of his mind was still processing the scene from which he had just now emerged, the applause of a full court ringing in his eardrums, and now the roars of the Nemean Lion itself joining the cacophony of noise and chaos that had made up the majority of his day. The full magnitude of the few days he had just lived may well strike him once the adrenaline wore off, but now there was a rather more pressing matter at hand.

It was the Lion that noticed him first, the great beast swatting a massive clawed paw at his head. Percy was hardly prepared for such a blow from the behemoth, and was forced to take evasive action, dancing away from its reach, the razor-sharp claws barely scratching the celestial bronze of the aspis' outer coating. The beast turned itself to one side as a volley of silver arrows thudded into its flank, bouncing off as though they were naught but flies to the juggernaut that was the Nemean Lion. Looking towards the source of the firing, Percy noticed a pair of archers atop one of the planes, each clad in the garb of a huntress. Zoe and Phoebe, Artemis' finest, were providing covering fire for someone Percy couldn't quite make out as they attempted to strike a killing blow to the monster. Raising his sword briefly to the two huntress in a salute, he began his assault once more, charging the lion at its head.

It went against all sane notions of strategy, for all parties to attack an enemy from one side, not even able to assault it from the flank, and yet there was no other weak point. Every young camper had heard the story of how Heracles had done away with the beast, catching it by the mouth and ripping its jaw open barehanded, and yet he knew that nothing would enable him to replicate this feat. Off to his right now, he recognised a set of armour he knew exceptionally well, the winged helmet and lightning bolt adornment of Thalia's armour all too familiar, without needing to observe her trademark Dory and Aegis, the face of Medusa forcing even the Nemean Lion into retreat, the feline spitting and hissing its displeasure at the hideous image of the former Priestess of Athena. Percy couldn't help but sympathise with the monster, having encountered the gorgon in person a few years prior, saved only by the genius of Annabeth and the ingenuity of Grover.

This fight, however, was rather less similar to that one.

The lion roared as another volley of arrows bounced harmlessly off its side, the two archers having now switched to firing off arrows in sets of three, in the sheer hope that something might work. Thalia was sent careening away, startled by the ferocity of the deafening roar and caught entirely off guard by the vicious blow that followed it, and then all of a sudden Percy was alone against the beast.

The sword would be useless against something of this size, and so Percy capped his trusty pen, instead allowing his own dory to materialise in his hand. The weapon felt wrong in his hand, as a melee weapon as opposed to a projectile to be launched, and yet he knew that it was necessary. He retreated a few paces, attempting to draw the thing towards a more assailable position, and yet was left disappointed as the feline refused to budge, glowing eyes tracking him as he moved, legs tensing as it prepared to pounce.

Eyes widening with fear, Percy switched his angle of attack, refusing it the right to advance, and yet ensuring that he never turned his back on the thing. Frustrated at its foiled chance, the beast growled, exposing its teeth, each long and impossibly sharp.
Then came the beautiful realisation, oh how blissfully relieving it was.
Heracles may have killed the beast with strength that Percy did not possess, yet it did not mean that the feat was impossible to replicate. The beast seemed to notice a change in his demeanour, judging his every change in body language as all felines seemed to be able to do, and decided that now was the time to strike.

Evading the claws was only the first part of his task, the switchblade-like appendages screeching in the highest of pitches as they scraped against his aspis once more, and once more Tyson's creation held. The next was its crushing weight, hundreds of kilograms of unassailable monster pinning him to the ground, as he wrestled to earn some level of space with which he could work. A strangled gasp rent the air, harmonised by the haunting whistle of arrows and the bassy thrum of the Lion's breath. Hot breath, almost uncomfortably so, bathed Percy's face, the parts of his head uncovered by Triton's helmet immediately feeling sticky with the humid breath of the monster, its breath seeming to remove all semblance of oxygen from his vicinity.

Now was his chance.

Anaklusmos, so short, redundant in such a fight, not useful in a duel against the Nemean Lion, materialised in his hand, piercing through flesh, creating the smallest of cuts in the roof of the mouth of the beast, and it bled.
Ichor, the blood of immortals leaked from the wound, dropping onto Percy's skin and burning where it landed.
All of a sudden, the weight was gone, the crushing pressure now a ghost of a sensation as the beast roared its displeasure at being wounded.
Its malaise, however, did not last long.
The lion may be the king of the jungle, and yet it was by no means the greatest of hunters.
Artemis' finest didn't miss.
Percy staggered to his feet to a shower of golden dust, a golden cloak of lionskin lying on the ground in front of him.

A/N
Sorry for the delay in updating, I kid you not this chapter has been on 3k for weeks, but agonisingly unfinished, finally got a chance to get it done today. I've been busy at the weekends, and that balanced with a degree gets a bit tricky to deal with. The next few updates should be a tad smoother in terms of timings; I won't promise anything, but two weeks sounds reasonable enough, depending on how much time I have.
This chapter was a bit of an exploration of politics; we're looking at federations, compounded into the union that is Olympus. Why? Because I thought it'd be fun, and let's be honest, it makes a lot of sense. The sea is a big place, so it's not unreasonable to have little princedoms under the overall authority of a single ruler in Poseidon.
The Nemean Lion fight wasn't originally going to be in this chapter, but I didn't want to put out a chapter as short as it was, and without even the slightest bit of action.
Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you thought.
Until next time,
Sol