Ch5: A Stitch in Time

The journey from Washington from then onwards had been comfortable, to say the least, and that was most certainly a rarity among statements made on quests, in Percy's now enviable experience on quests. His companions, however, made his own record appear pathetic; Zoe and Phoebe, millennia old and having served in nations that were now mere relics; having fought armies that now only fought in history books and alongside heroes that now walked frescoes and mosaics that had long since crumbled to dust.
The other, of course, was Thalia. Despite not having been bound by prophecies as he himself had been, the girl had been forced by circumstance and the cruelty of the world that surrounded them to wander the length and breadth of the United States of America, naught but the spear and shield she carried and the clothes on her back to her name. All knew that the Gods had watched for her, of course, guiding friendly demigods to her aid; removing monsters from her path that may well have prematurely ended a life that tipped the scales, evened the balance between the side of Gods and Titans in the forthcoming battle. It was chilling, though, to imagine.
What might have happened had they known of Percy before he sprung to their attentions that summer?
Would she still have been alive?
Of course, she didn't notice his musings, let alone hear them, asleep as she was in the seat of the expensive sports car, radio still blaring music to which no human being possessed the right to find relaxing. Percy merely sighed, banishing all thoughts of the demise of the person he was proud to call possibly his closest friend, despite all that hoped that they might end up foes. The bond they shared, Percy knew, was closer than even Zeus and Poseidon might've expected when they were brought together for the first time, that fateful day under the pine tree that now bore the Golden fleece, that ingenious conduit of magic that Zeus had constructed.

Zoe and Phoebe, he knew, were somewhere ahead of them, either taking some much-needed rest or doing whatever it was that immortal warriors did in the absence of a battle to fight, a target to hunt.
The train itself was quite obviously divinely propelled; if the presence of Lord Apollo himself guiding them onto the carriage in which they were sat was not enough evidence for the matter, then the weight of divine power that seemed to permeate every atom within the carriage would suffice to do exactly that. It was useless to even wonder how quickly they were being transported, but he knew that it would be enough to give them ample time to complete their quest. Signs had indicated that their destination was somewhere within New Mexico, which placed them a handy day's drive from their final goal in San Francisco, supposing they circled between four drivers, and without any of the near-inevitable divine intervention that they had been the recipient of this past day or so.
If not Apollo or Hermes, the brother of Artemis and the Lord of Travellers respectively and hence the most likely aides to their efforts, they could likely count on the involvement of Lady Athena; it had been well documented in the last few days of the crushing insanity that had mysteriously broken out in academic institutes across the States, and the numerous fires in Universities nationally had been even more of a sign of the Goddess' displeasure, no, rage at the capture of her favoured child, the one who some said would finally restore her pride, the legendary Athena Parthenos. Only the Ancient Romans would be able to tell the Greeks of the legendary statue's whereabouts, though there was an infuriating lack of such people of whom the location could be demanded to hand.
On they went, their progress a secret to all who travelled and yet a certainty all the same. They had to trust Apollo, for in truth they had no other choice.

At some point along the journey, Percy spotted Zoe leaving the sports car in front, leaping from its elevated position with grace befitting a huntress of her experience, and drawing a hunting knife. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed as the huntress practised, admiring each fluid movement as she struck, feet moving with an agility that he could only aspire to match, let alone outdo. It was a dance, he noted, for without the enemies against whom she was evidently training to fight, it seemed almost choreographed; a set of moves laid out for her to practise and hone to perfection. It was then, at the climax of this most lethal of ballets that she spotted him.
"Come, Perseus, and let us dance," she said, voice soft, and yet carrying within the freight train carriage. "Every man of culture must know the art of dancing, must he not?" she asked, voice teasing and yet deadly serious all the same.
Percy saw no reason not to comply, his insomnia that seemed to have only been exacerbated by his desire to sleep driving him to accept something, anything that might draw his body to sleep.
He hopped out of the car, landing with some measure of agility, first on the balls of his feet, his legs cushioning the impact of the metre or so's drop to the extent that he straightened without so much as the slightest loss of balance.
At a mere thought, his clothing gave way to his armour, t-shirt and jeans morphing into celestial bronze, though the jacket he wore, the trench coat that the Nemean Lion's pelt had become vanishing inexplicably.
Zoe clocked onto his confusion, walking over to him, knife in hand.
Grabbing a fistfull of the cape which Triton had attached to his armour, she made to slash it, and yet the knife made no impact.
She retreated a few paces, each of them smirking at the other, the mind of one rushing with the possibilities that such a thing might grant him, the mind of the other filler with pride that her charge might think so tactically with only the short few weeks he had spent in her tutelage. Not only was it a credit to her skill as a teacher, but equally it was a shining testament to his own tactically adept mind, sharp as a razor even in his tired mental state.

Each took up their guard, Zoe brandishing each of her two hunting knives in her standard stance, muscles tight and ready to spring in a pounce like the monster they had fought that very day. Percy, for his part, was the picture of an Ancient Greek Warrior, clad in bronze which seemed to burn like fire in the dim light of the carriage. His circular Aspis told tales of his quests, proudly proclaiming his ancestry, much as the rest of his armour did. In his right hand was the mighty blade Anaklusmos, the tip of the glowing xiphos resting slightly on the top edge of the shield. There they stood, each ready for the first move, each aware of the narrowness of their training space; a clear advantage to the heavy infantryman, given the presence of his shield and longer blade. There would be no circling, no testing of their opponent's guard. There would be no powers either, and hence Percy's martial skill alone would be tested against all Zoe's experience.

Each held an advantage.

Percy moved first, stamping his leading left foot, causing the huntress to spring back a few metres and allowing the Hero to advance towards her, gaining ground and reducing the space in which she could engage him.
Percy smirked.
"Nervous?" he asked, tone playful as the huntress sent a scowl his way.
"Hilarious, Hero," she responded, eyes narrowing. "Come and fight, and you'll see exactly how nervous I am."
He didn't do her challenge the honour of compliance, instead stamping once more, pressing forward once more, and yet once more refusing to engage. Zoe let out a huff of frustration, noting the rapidly decreasing space that she was now able to utilise.
The third time he stamped, Zoe didn't retreat, expecting his reflexive advance into the space he believed she would vacate, and therefore leading Percy straight into a trap. With a shout she struck, lunging forwards to aim a strike at his eyes, the only exposed part of his upper body behind the shield he held in his left hand. The Son of Poseiden deflected the strike upwards, using the top edge of the aspis to redirect the hunting knife, throwing the huntress momentarily off balance as she struck, denying her the ability to withdraw from her lunge as the force of her strike kept her momentum travelling forwards. A well-timed shove floored her, and yet Percy didn't move to subdue as most might've done.
Well might he have done that, considering the speed of the Lieutenant's recovery; he might've lost an eye had he advanced any further. The sequence of moves earned him an approving nod from the huntress, before she charged again, this time leaping as high as the carriage's ceiling allowed her, striking this time from above. Percy was forced to take the blow upon his shield, the force of the impact enough to force him to drop the beautifully forged aspis and stagger briefly backwards.
This time it was Zoe's turn to smirk, for now Percy was at a distinct disadvantage. He had neither the dearth of powers that might normally have served him well in a fight without his shield, and his armour, however divinely formed, would impede his movements. In a duel such as this in which the smallest fraction of a section spelled the difference between victory and defeat, it was nearly catastrophic.
He had one solution, however.
He capped Anaklusmos.
Zoe found herself raising an eyebrow at the tactic, and then grinning almost animalistically when he tugged on the bracelet on his wrist which she knew would summon his spear.
However, she didn't get the chance to experience the fight she desired, knives on spear, for that was the moment at which the train stopped.
"It seems as though training is cut short, Perseus," she said, partially disappointed and partially relieved that their mission could now continue under their own steam. "Wake your lady friend, and we'll get on our way, shall we?" she asked of him, laughing to herself silently as the boy's face reddened, turning her back and walking away as he spluttered.


It was reassuring for Thalia, having Percy back around. He had, in the time since she had emerged from her tree, become arguably her closest friend, surpassing even Annabeth and Grover. He was one of the few people on the mortal plane who truly understood the pressure of being the Daughter of Zeus, the person who had simply wandered across the country, laying waste to all that came in her way. No matter how much she had tried to explain that no, she had not annihilated a monster army in Minnesota, or duelled a Titan, or found Bigfoot in California, or whatever the hell else people claimed she had achieved as she struggled to reach camp all those years ago.
He understood, and he sympathised because much the same thing was happening to him; a consequence of the quests and missions on which he had been this past year and a half. Not only had there been the two prophesied quests, but there had been dozens of missions to bring newly discovered demigods to camp, Percy and Thalia being trusted with the responsibility of bringing them in safe as a result of their experience in pressure situations.
Their friendship, she knew, was not one that many had expected. Her father himself had appeared to her in a dream stating as much, and yet not seeming quite as disappointed in the matter as she might have expected. He had told her of the conversations he was now able to have with his brother; conversations he hadn't had since the Second World War, when last the both of them had sired heroes. This, too, was a crushing realisation for the young girl, the idea of being important on such a scale contributing to the crushing weight of expectation that she felt as a result of her birth alone.
For all that she appreciated Percy, seeing his face the first thing when she woke up was quite something.
There he was, though, inexplicably clad in his slightly-too-bright armour, arms bare to the winter cold and cape tugged around himself. This, however, stood in stark contrast to the slight sheen of sweat which coated the exposed skin of his tanned arms and the infuriatingly present scars that seemed to litter them.

Nectar and Ambrosia, she knew, healed much, though they could not heal scars that had been present since one's early childhood, nor could they heal the imprints that still occupied his mind. Noticing her gaze, his demeanour shifted, expression suddenly becoming guarded and eyebrows furrowing in discomfort. Thalia made to apologise, but no words escaped her mouth.
"We've stopped," he stammered out quietly, "Zoe said we're moving in ten."
He left immediately.
Thalia couldn't help but feel sad, no, ashamed, that she had made her friend feel this way.
Apologies were due, she decided, but they would come when the time arose. For now, there was a quest on which to concentrate, and it wouldn't do at all to die before she could apologise properly.

Eight minutes later, Thalia found herself ready for what may come until she next had the luxury of sleep. They left the train carriage by forcing the door, finding themselves…
In the middle of the desert.
Suddenly, the prophecy sprung to mind, the idea of losing one of her companions to the sands of the desert neither appealing nor comprehensible. Overthinking the words of the Oracle, however, would make it all the more likely that the words came true in a way that did not favour them.
The next thing she noticed was the darkness of the sky; stars still hanging above them like the most beautifully crafted of ceilings, causing Michelangelo's work on the Sistine Chapel to look like the scribblings of a child. They were all visible from where they were stood, the myths of Ancient Greece all preserved in the sky for all to admire, Pegasus and Orion and Ursa Major, each a commemoration of a true story.
Off to one side was a diner, still inexplicably open despite the evident lateness of the hour. It was nowhere near any form of civilization, and yet here it was, almost eerily empty and still open for service.
The other side, though, was the obstacle which the questers knew instantly that they needed to navigate, somehow without causing one of their number excruciating pain as the prophecy dictated one might in this place.

It was a junkyard, Thalia decided, though it was nothing like any of the ones that mortals kept; it stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions, narrow and winding paths seeming to meander their way from one side of the mess of divinely created clutter to the other.
Sharing a meaningful look at her fellow questers, she began to walk, when her entire field of view transformed to the most blinding of whites.
As though from nowhere, a limousine appeared, as blinding white as the headlights that seemed to be striving to do away with the daughter of Zeus' eyesight. Upon closer inspection, however, she noticed that the thing seemed to flicker, the telltale sign of the mist being at play. One moment it was a regal limousine, cruising along the rough dirt track as though it were the finest of city roads, and yet at the next moment it was a blood red chariot, drawn by fiery horses and flying the blood-red boar banner of the God of War.

Lord Ares himself saw it fit to greet them on their quest.

The extravagance of the mist-induced vehicle, however, strongly suggested the presence of another.
Zoe and Phoebe had evidently come to a similar realisation, judging by their identical groans of annoyance.
Ares' disguised chariot settled in front of them, settling in the form of a limousine as first it had appeared to them, and the God himself emerged from a door close to the back, his form flickering between the images of a Spartan Hoplite, decorated with all the paraphernalia of a king; a US Army Officer, no a General with what appeared to be every medal available to an American Soldier, and the image of a young man out on a date. Thalia honestly wondered what the God was truly doing at this point in time, for his power certainly didn't seem to be concentrated in this location as Artemis' had been that day in the Arena. She couldn't help but feel slightly grateful to the man who she supposed on some level was her half-brother, though her pride would never allow her to admit such a thing.
He met her eyes briefly, and she found herself rising to her feet.

"The lady awaits you, little sister," he said, eyes hidden from view by his dark shades though his mouth was contorted in a smirk. "Not sure why she didn't take Uncle Poseidon's child though, I must say it would have been rather more amusing to see his mind torn to shreds by her than yours."
"I thank you for your kind words, Lord Mars," Percy interrupted, causing the God's smirk to widen as he snapped his head across to look in the Son of Poseidon's direction, "And I'd ask you about the ankle if I did not know that you would immediately challenge me to a rematch against a rather more potent form than the one I encountered that day a year or so ago."
"Well spoken, young one," the God responded, "And I would welcome such a challenge, for it is rare that I can truly boast that I have bested an opponent of any legitimate skill. I shall, however, require the explicit permission not only of your father, but apparently your half-brother as well, is not that so?"
Percy seemed to blush slightly at the praise, Thalia noted, though that was the last of that interaction that she was privy to before she was inside the vehicle, face to face with perhaps the Olympian she had least awaited meeting.


Ares conjured up a few seats, gesturing towards them dismissively as a sign to sit down. Sharing a look of wary understanding, the huntresses took their places; Zoe to the God's right, Phoebe across from her to Ares' left. Shrugging, Percy took his own seat, across from the Lord of War.
"Ladies, it has been a while since last we spoke has it not?" Ares asked, as nonchalantly as one might speak in a conversation between casual friends.
Percy supposed that such might well be the case, given the longevity of the two huntresses' times on this mortal plane.
"All is well, thank you Father," Phoebe responded, almost mockingly casually, prompting a chuckle of amusement from the War God.
You will notice, Perseus, that heroes all seem to become exponentially shorter in conversation with me as they realise that I am not, in fact, as my siblings are where conversation is concerned," Ares explained, a smile curling the corners of his lips at the Demigod's expression of bewilderment, "I am a military commander, you see, and a man cannot command his troops without building up a rapport with them first, do you not think?"
Percy nodded, always eager to learn the art of leadership, one of the many things to which he had been introduced by Chiron in the time he had spent exclusively at Camp.
"Ah, you see, Phoebe?" Ares asked of his daughter, "There is a hero who understands the value of leadership."
Percy could almost hear Phoebe rolling her eyes at the comment, and found himself grinning, at ease for the first time in the presence of an Olympian deity.

"Now then," Ares continued, clapping his hands emphatically and leaning forwards to change the topic, "As much as I would love to keep such pleasantries going, I am aware of our time constraints. After all, there is only so long that the girl will be able to stand Aphrodite before she goes insane.
Percy's eyes widened, and the God snickered for a moment before continuing.
"Your quest takes you, as you may well know, to Tamalpais, or as we should truly begin referring to it, Othrys."
All three questers took a sharp intake of breath. It was well enough known that the mountain in the Bay Area represented the mountain atop which the Titan Palace had once sat, and yet the truth of the matter put into words was all the more damning.
"Once you cross Hephaestus' junkyard, you will find a vehicle. It will have a full tank of petrol, and should be enough to ferry you to Las Vegas. I wager you will be able to enlist more help from there," he explained. "Athena and I have worked to clear your path ourselves, and as such as long as time is not lost for reasons within your control, you should be close to the Mountain of Despair by this time tomorrow."
Percy couldn't help but be grateful for the God's help, and he saw that his companions were much the same.
That was, of course, when the door to the limousine burst open, a figure stumbling out, unseeing, unhearing.


"Ah, yes," Aphrodite intoned, each syllable flowing off the tongue as though coated in honey, "Thalia Grace."
Thalia flinched briefly, her mother's surname still feeling foreign to her, the link to the horrible woman that Beryl Grace had been leaving a sour taste in the Daughter of Zeus' mouth.
The Goddess, however, continued as though no such infringement on her mental state had been made, eyes closed in some kind of state of bliss, hair as black as ebony and skin tanned in the same ethereal bronze as was the norm for those of Mediterranean descent.
"Tell me, Thalia," the Goddess asked, voice serene like the coolest of spring breezes, "Have you heard of the Tale of Helen?"
Thalia nodded mutely, not knowing the reason for the Goddess' question and yet simultaneously in terror of somehow offending the deity.
"The face that launched a thousand warships," Aphrodite continued. Had Thalia not been watching, she might've assumed that it was said with a dreamy smile, such was the quality of the Goddess' voice. What she saw, however, was a grimace which most certainly did not belong on features as beautiful, as perfect as those of the Lady of Doves. "Remembered for her stunning beauty, for her angelic laugh, for the romance of her tale."
Thalia was enraptured, hanging on to every syllable the Goddess saw fit to utter. This was not the lecture on her feelings that she had expected, no. She was being given the rarest of rare opportunities, to hear the words of a Goddess, and there would indubitably be a lesson learned at the end.

"She was like you, you know," The Goddess continued, "A daughter of Zeus, and yet with a beauty that my own offspring could only hope to aspire to."
The words flattered her, and yet Thalia could sense an underlying bitterness, no, a hatred that immediately put her on edge. In that moment, she was made painfully aware that, despite everything, her service to Olympus and the Gods that ruled it, she was most certainly not safe.
"It is not, however, the beauty of the girl of which I wish to tell you, Thalia Grace."
Thalia paused, struck dumb by the admission.
"It is what she did to us all."

The Goddess' eyes opened, and at that instance all seemed to be at ease. The eyes that were revealed behind those thick black lashes were the most beautiful sea green she could have ever thought of. In fact, no.
That was wrong.
They could never be, for in every pair of eyes that were not his there would be some slight imperfection.
The realisation stunned her, though not as much as it might have a few weeks ago. She knew that the Goddess would personify the one she loved, and yet the words she spoke were so much more jarring than the revelation of her feelings as bluntly as it had been.
"Can you imagine, Hero, the weight of a million curses upon your soul?" the Goddess asked, voice sharp like the hiss of a serpent. "Can you even think to comprehend it? Husbands, wives, children, parents, siblings, all lamenting your existence, wishing that you and only you are subjected to the darkest corners of Tartarus?"
Thalia was struck dumb, tongue feeling like lead in her mouth as she stared up dumbly at the raging Goddess before her, the eyes of Percy Jackson alight with a fire that could only be present in the most heated of battles, and yet here it was, boring into her heart and soul as Aphrodite spoke.
"I have felt this pain, child," the Goddess snarled, "For the story of Helen was attributed not to the girl herself and the greed of your kind, but to me. My promise was made in a moment of selfishness, and yet Paris, fool that he was, chose it. Mortals in their infinite wisdom choose to ignore the selfish greed and lust of a mortal man, and instead glorify him. The most romantic of men."

The Goddess paused, eyes alight with fury.

"I have felt this pain, Thalia Grace, and so too shall you."
Thalia's eyes leaked salty tears of sadness, for she knew it. She knew that this would be the case. She would lead an army one day, and the lives of those soldiers, those children of the Gods who served in Olympus' name, were her responsibility.
"There was a war in the age of Achilles and Hektor, for a war needed to be fought. The world was filled by the greatest group of heroes since the Argonauts sailed through the clashing rocks, since Theseus and Heracles and the great Hippolyta of the mighty Amazons. Now, too, is such a time. Wars shall be fought, Thalia Grace Daughter of Zeus, and heroes shall die, fighting under your banner."
Thalia could take it no more, and she found herself crumbling under the weight of the Goddess' power, falling apart in the ferocity of her gaze, disintegrating in the pressure of the realisation of what her life truly was and would one day be.

She tried the door, vision blurry from the tears that escaped her eyes, cursing violently in frustration when it didn't open and forcing her power into the walls of Ares' chariot, not caring for the God's feelings or for her own safety, wishing only to leave this accursed spot, to find refuge in a place where she would not be subjected to the harsh glares of the Goddess, to those eyes, that distinctly fake imitation of the eyes that gave her reason to be calm even in the darkest of times.
She fell out of the limousine, stumbling across loose sand in the New Mexican night, consciousness fading as she made a beeline to safety.
She didn't notice as the conversation around her stopped, a few exclamations of panic and alarm being made, and she didn't see as a figure made his way towards her. She only felt the warmth of his embrace, the familiarity of his presence, the safety of his arms and the perfection of his gaze as she drifted off into the realm of Morpheus.


A/N
No Spartoi, and hence no Cloudcroft, I know. To me, the Spartoi existed to foreshadow Nico and Bianca's parentage. We don't care about that yet and so I don't need to write them.
Equally, no Erymanthian Boar, because I couldn't be bothered to put Grover in the quest. I love his characterisation in canon, but in the universe I'm trying to build up a Satyr isn't exactly going to cut it on a quest to save a goddess. There isn't the pettiness of the Hunters that we saw in Canon which originally denied Percy, because once more, I'm going off the idea of Gods and Titans that aren't whiny kids or quite as Egotistical as Riordan makes them.
The segment with Aphrodite was possibly the most impulsive thing I've ever written, but it felt like a fun idea, so there it is.
That Nemean Lion pelt lark looks useful too, doesn't it? I wonder how Percy's going to deal with sacrificing it to get the Ophiotaurus back to Olympus…
Until next time,
Sol