Prized Possession

5: In Principle

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." - Seneca

"Count a couple of stray hopes out loud. May their numbers one day be increased." - John Darnielle (Yes, him again)

Percy wakes slowly, easily stretched over a soft bed where the fluffy sheets make him feel like he's floating. His eyes slip open and adjust quickly to the gentle light cast across the walls, giving even the oppressive black colour scheme a kind of serenity.

As seems to happen every time he wakes up these days, the rush of memories from recent days does much to dampen his spirits. Nevertheless, he's a little disconcerted to find that he is so comfy, so well-rested, that it barely seems to matter. He struggles to care, but the bed feels so good, and the pillows are so plump…

He wakes again in a while when Perses comes and bangs on the door.

"Wake," says the titan, and Perses' voice is so overwhelming that for a moment, Percy can focus on nothing else. Though not as deep as Atlas', it reverberates with power, putting the demigod immediately on edge. It takes a moment to readjust, before, stepping inside the room, Perses continues. "Breakfast ends soon. Get ready."

Percy showers while the titan waits outside. He takes the opportunity to study the cuffs on his wrists: two bejewelled vambrace-style pieces of some kind of metal – he suspects that to drain his energy as it does, it may be some form of Stygian Iron, for which it is both cold enough and black enough – and, most intriguingly, some ancient Greek lettering spiralling across them. He feels foolish for not having looked closely earlier, to form some kind of escape attempt, but the letters refuse to come into focus, to arrange themselves into any kind of sense. He worries that the cuffs are restricting his ability to translate Greek. Relievingly, a few blinks later, his brain finally grasps the message: blood is thicker than water.

It's a disappointingly cryptic statement, which offers no practical advice for the situation at hand. Percy has no time to dwell on it, though, as a terse "Faster," comes from the titan on the other side of the door. He dries himself hastily with the unfamiliar towel, dresses in the fresh black clothes provided, and sets off for the banqueting hall. He's relieved that the clothes are without obvious slogans this time, with only a number of small golden scythe designs on his shirt.

Perses is something of a one-note companion – both in the sense that his responses to Percy's small talk are both monotone and monosyllabic (Question: "So what do you do for fun around here, my lord?" Answer: "Silence.") and in that he does little but glower and stalk along the halls. Percy is unable to bring out the fun-loving prankster he just knows is deep down there somewhere, nor the hopeless romantic. The moody, Twilght-y teen-heartthrob look is all the titan is focused on doing, and it's a touch dull.

Still, Percy could have worse companions. Though boring, Perses doesn't complain about Percy talking too much, even when the demigod starts dropping the 'my lords' from his speech. There are no angry threats, as though the titan considers him not even worth the time it would take to crush him. It's as though Perses finds him boring, and, though he's not so proud (or stupid) as to complain aloud, Percy is actually a little offended. Fortunately, the journey through the winding black hallways seems to go a little faster this time – is Perses' stride brisker or longer than Atlas'? - and they arrive before the food is all gone; though not, unfortunately, before Kronos was.

Menoetius looks up from where he crouches by Kronos' side. He scowls, and storms out.

The titan king, though, just smiles. "Perseus, Percy," he says. "Come, join me."

The two of them head to the head of the table, where Kronos appears to be digging into a bowl of cereal. It's not what Percy would have expected the most feared being in America to be eating, and it makes for an odd sight, especially when he notices just what cereal the box is: Trix. It's not a box he recognises, but maybe they've changed the design in the time since he last saw one.

Kronos sees him looking. "Trix?" asks the titan king, pushing them, a bowl and a jug of milk towards the son of Poseidon.

"No thanks - "

"They're the original Nineteen-Fifty-Five version. Forty-sixpercent sugar," he says, as though that should be some form of major encouragement.

"No thanks," says Percy. "My lord."

"Your loss."

"What can I get for you today, sirs?" asks a waitress, coming up to the table.

"Nothing," says Perses.

Percy's mind goes blank, and he opts for the first thing he can think of. "Pancakes. Please."

Kronos raises an eyebrow. "You had pancakes yesterday morning, Perseus."

"Er, yeah. I like pancakes, I guess. My lord."

"Have you ever had a full English breakfast, Perseus?"

"Um. No."

Kronos' eyebrow goes up another half-inch. "My lord," finishes Percy.

"I'd recommend you try one. They really are quite delicious."

"Right. Thanks." And, turning to the waitress: "I'll have one of those then, please. If that's alright."

"Of course, my lord," she says, and heads off to where Percy assumes the kitchens are.

"Excellent," says Kronos. "I've been trying to get Percy to eat one ever since the things were invented, but, alas..." He shrugs, as if unable to fathom why one would resist a super-powerful titan trying to force them to try sausages, bacon and fried egg for breakfast. To be honest, Percy isn't sure that's a battle worth fighting either, though if Kronos calls Perses 'Percy' one more time, it might become one.

The food arrives impossibly quickly again, and Percy sets to it with his knife and fork, just as Kronos is finishing his bowl of cereal. The golden-eyed titan swallows the dregs of milk from his bowl, sighs in satisfaction, and talks as Percy eats.

"I thought I'd give you a tour of the grounds today," he says. "Get you acquainted with the people around, and such. It would be a bore to have to keep introducing you to new people all the time, so I thought I'd get the bulk of it over with today. Besides, its always good for the subjects and slaves to see who their new master is – and for you to know that you're no kind of master at all."

So that's it. This tour is just another move calculated to smear Percy's reputation. It might be a long day. Still, he thinks, wolfing down another mouthful, at least it would be a day that began with bacon.

The doors to the hall swing open, and two titans come in. Percy immediately recognises one, gently glowing, as Hyperion, and after another moment, recalls the other's name as Eos. Hyperion strides up to the table, and plants himself in his seat. Eos seems to glide to her place. Yesterday, Percy chose to skip lunch and ate dinner out on the arena balcony with Kronos, but he notices that the five of them in the room are all in the same chairs as the day before.

"My lord," says Hyperion, and, coldly to Percy, "Jackson," before asking Perses "Was he any trouble?"

Perses glances briefly at Percy. "None," he says.

Eos also greets Kronos and Perses, but when she turns to Percy, it's with a more mellow, less accusatory eye. "Perseus," she says.

"My lady. My lord," he responds.

Eos smiles as though genuinely pleased. Hyperion grunts. Perses is silent. Kronos just clears his throat and starts speaking again.

"I believe that two of your friends should be arriving today," he says. "I'm sure they were awfully grateful to you for saving their miserable little lives back in New York."

Percy's throat clams up, his mouth dry.

Kronos frowns. "Weren't they? My, after all that effort you went to – how cruel, how unfair! Maybe you ought to be careful about your choice of friends in the future..."

They eat in silence for some time, Percy silently stabbing at his food, which is cooked to perfection and one of the best things he's ever tasted. He detests every mouthful.

"So, Perseus," says Eos. "My family tell me that you've been quite the troublemaker recently. How do you do it?"

"Uh..." Percy, mouth full, looks at Kronos for guidance, but the titan king is paying no attention, being far too preoccupied pouring himself another bowl of Trix. Percy swallows, and, assuming a bad answer was better than none, said "I guess I've got a talent."

Eos breaks into peals of laughter, an irritating, high-pitched sound. Percy likes hearing it though: it means he's probably not about to get obliterated from the face of the earth.

"A talent!" the titaness screams. "A talent! Oh, boy oh boy. You make me laugh, Perseus. I suppose it is a talent of sorts, in fact!"

Percy, uncertain that the joke was really that funny, or even a joke, goes down the path of non-committal agreement. "Mm-hm," he says, and it seems to satisfy Eos, who leans back in her chair and giggles to herself of "talent."

Then Hyperion speaks up. "I've an idea. Why don't we give Jackson his sword back and we can duel."

Kronos chuckles gently. Then he stops abruptly. "You're not… serious, are you?"

Hyperion nods.

Kronos sighs. "Idiot. We're not giving Jackson a sword. He's not trustworthy, and, as we've just heard, he has a talent for making trouble."

"It'll be entertaining. The people will be happy to see one of their leaders beat up the leader of the resistance."

Kronos' smile disappears completely. "No."

"But - "

"Do not test me, Hyperion. The half-blood does not get a weapon, because a weapon is a chance for him to fight us again. He does not get a chance to fight us again, even in an arena fight, because he might win. And if he wins, then the army is discouraged, and he may even escape. The. Fight. Does. Not. Happen."

Hyperion nods, and Percy can see his neck cords tense and bulging. "My lord." Then he leaves, stalking out.

Eos giggles again. "It appears Perseus' talent remains undiminished," she exclaims, gleefully.

Perses just snorts, and Kronos' only response is to stand and stretch. "Well, Perseus. It appears to be time for your tour."

"No," protests Eos, "surely Perseus can stay here a while longer. I'm fascinated by his exploits – surely you wouldn't stop me hearing about them, would you Kronos? Besides, he's still eating."

Percy, anticipating the tour of Othrys with what must be named as an acute sense of dread, made a point of stuffing his mouth full of bacon to back the titaness up.

"Very well," said Kronos, though he seems unimpressed by this reasoning. "You may stay a little longer. Find me once you're done interrogating the boy." And with that, he leaves Perses, Percy and Eos alone in the room.

Eos leans forward conspiratorially, twining her fingers together and resting her elbows on her table. "So," she says. "Tell me all about it."

Percy shrugs uncomfortably. "There's not really a lot to tell, I guess. We fought Kronos. We lost. We carried on fighting anyway. We lost again."

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm sure there's a lot more to it than that, Perseus. Kronos doesn't hate anyone quite as much as he hates you just because they lost to him twice."

"I like to think it was a close thing."

Eos giggles again. "Oh, no – nononono. It wasn't a close thing, Perseus. I very much doubt you were ever in any danger of winning. But still, you have somehow given him the sulk of a century – and I want to know how!" She rests a conspiratorial hand on his biceps, and speaks playfully. "Come on, tell me."

"I don't know – maybe he's just sore I wouldn't join him."

"Oh, Perseus. We don't have time now, but I intend to get the information out of you, sooner or later. You enjoy your tour." Then she leans in, unnervingly close to him, and whispers: "I'll be back." Then the titaness of dawn leaves, and the room without her seems a little duller – if less creepy.

"Kronos," says Perses, and Percy stuffs as much food from his plate into his mouth as he can, before setting off to find the titan king.

When they arrive in the throne room, Kronos dismisses Perses, and sits, contemplating Percy, for over a minute. The silence feels, as any silence in the presence of the titan lord of time is prone to, pregnant with the potential for explosive violence, its unpredictability almost tangible.

Then Kronos speaks. "Look at this room, Perseus."

Percy's eyes flit over the scenery, the carved columns, ornate thrones, and polished floor.

"No. Look," Kronos commands. "Look all around. Tell me what you see."

Percy does so. He begins with the thrones. "There are twelve thrones. I guess for a titan council. They're all black, but it looks like they might have pictures to do with that titan's domain. The one furthest to my left looks like it might be Krios' - "

"Enough on the thrones. The rest of the room now."

Percy looks. "The floor - "

"Forget the floor. You can move. Look closely."

Percy swallows. "The columns are, uh.." he strains to remember what Annabeth tried to drill into him, "Corinthian?"

"Are you asking?"

"No. They're Corinthian. My lord." He looks the richly engraved capital, and is certain. "It looks like they've got designs on them – I can't quite make them out..."

"Be patient."

Percy's eyes strain at the figures atop the columns. "There's a figure up there. He's got a spear – I think it might be Iapetus."

"Look at the others."

Percy moves on. "This one… this is Koios? He has a book, and looks like it might be thinking. This one could be Oceanus. Looks like he's holding a snake – but it might just be a whip or something." He pulls up short. "This is you. My lord."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You're holding the scythe - "

"No."

"What?"

"Not a scythe." The titan holds out his hand, and something glows, gradually taking form. It looks sort of like a scythe, but smaller, one-handed and short, hooked blade. "A sickle. Look up."

Percy looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. Across the ceiling is a painting to rival the Sistine Chapel. It shows Ouranus, the sky, draped over the earth, a limb reaching out to four of the columns in the room. At each one of these, a titan – Krios, Koios, Iapetus and Hyperion – holds him down, while Oceanus grasps his head, and though the picture is so vivid that Percy imagines he can see the primordial struggling, he can never break free. From the sixth and final column in the room, the one beneath which Percy now stands, Kronos reaches out with his sickle, preparing to castrate his father. The weapon glints as realistically as the one which now vanishes from the titan's hand.

"Strictly speaking," says the titan in question, "Oceanus shouldn't be there. He wouldn't help out when we chopped father up. But he agreed to help with my troublesome children this time, so we decided it was time the picture was updated. Take a look at the walls, now."

Percy walks around the room, and sees an array of mosaics and carvings come to life, a vast frieze of titan mythology coming to life before his eyes. "It's beautiful," he says before he can stop himself.

"I'm glad you think so. But do you understand it?"

"How do you mean, my lord?"

"Why is this important, Jackson?"

"I don't know, my lord."

"Exactly. You mortals cannot understand us. This is the distillation of millenia, a monument to all that the West ever has been or will be. You're arrogant enough to assume that you control the flow of time, that it is your decisions, your lives, that make history. Not so."

The mad glint is back in the king's eyes, but Percy can't tear his gaze away from the golden orbs. He is pinned, as Ouranus was before him.

"The world is mine, Jackson. Every success, every failure, every idea and invention, every birth and every death, all passing within the passage of time. I. Am. The. West."

With the gleaming eyes boring into his soul, Percy can't help but ask: "Why are you telling me this, my lord?"

Sighing, Kronos rests a palm on each of Percy's cheeks. It's an unnerving, patronising gesture, and the demigod recoils reflexively, but is kept in place by the titan's grip. The hands are cold, but unexpectedly sweaty, as though Kronos is nervous. "Perseus," he says. "You'd lost this war before you even started fighting it. You can see that, can't you?"

Percy, head gripped and powers unavailable, has little choice but to agree. "I suppose," he says, through gritted teeth.

Kronos cares less about the grinding of molars than he does the words uttered, though, and he smiles condescendingly. His teeth look like a dead man's. "That's right. So, you now have a choice. You can make the rest of your life difficult, or easy. You - and your friends - can spend your days in chains or in comfort, and which it is lies entirely with you. You'll do your best to help us, won't you?"

The hands on Percy's cheeks feel disturbingly like they're preparing to snap his neck, and he doesn't much want to find out if the Achilles curse would prevent that. "Alright," he says.

Kronos pats him on the cheek. "Good. Now, the tour. We'll begin from the top, and go down.

They emerge onto the small plateau at the top of the mountain, where Percy fought Atlas. It's only been two and a half years, but it feels like an age has passed since. In a manner of speaking, it has: the age of the gods has come to an end, and the second age of the titans is here, with Percy caught between the two. He's a relic of the old regime.

Percy's struck with an odd feeling of nostalgia as he steps into the cool morning air. So much happened here. This was the place when he first understood the true magnitude of the titan threat, where Ares' curse struck, where Zoe Nightshade died and where they rescued a goddess. A goddess now chained to the same spot in which she'd stood last time.

Artemis was bent almost double under the weight of the sky, her clothes tattered and torn, and muck smeared on her face and arms. Her silver eyes seemed joyless, as though the moon itself had been dulled and overwhelmed by the night around it.

"Artemis," said Kronos, pleasantly.

"Grandfather," she grunted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, spitting out the last word to make clear that it was anything but.

"I'm giving Perseus here the tour," he smiled. "He's agreed to help us now, and was eager to see our base of operations."

It's close enough to the truth that Percy doesn't bother to contradict him. Although he avoids meeting Artemis' questioning gaze, he can feel it on his face. "It's… very impressive, my lord." He's just filling the silence, uncertain as to what he's even talking about, and from the satisfied smirk Kronos gives him, he can tell the titan knows.

"Glad you think so, Perseus. It's a view that will last for many millennia more. I hope you'll enjoy them with us. Artemis here is, of course, lucky enough to be guaranteed that much. I'm sure she's grateful for it every day."

They turn away to go, but Artemis spits at Percy. The eyes are still without any real hope, but there's an angry silver fire burning in them now. The glob of saliva lands on his shoe, but has barely landed before Kronos is in front of him, his arm swinging forwards to Artemis -

The sound of the smack seems to echo over the mountaintop. The goddess collapses under the sky, the seething mass of clouds on her back pressing down, crushing her. Percy sees how intangible, unsubstantial they look, but remembers the very real weight that had pushed down on him when he held the sky. He stops himself from looking at her, though he's not sure if it's for her sake or his.

Instead, he focuses on the titan next to them. Kronos' shoulders heave up and down; he's angry. "Never," he says, pointing at Artemis, "never do that again. Of you disrespect Perseus, you disrespect me. And if you disrespect me, I will make you plead for me to give you back the privilege of holding the sky. Do I make myself clear?"

She doesn't reply.

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" he bellows. Spittle flies from his lips.

"Yes," she grunts, in a small voice.

"Good. Get up off the ground. Perseus, come."

Like a dog to heel, Percy follows Kronos back inside.

Just inside, they tour the guard towers, and Kronos shows him the various views down the mountainside. Any attacking force would be seen long before it reached the mountain, and be met with resistance at each of three fortress gates even before reaching the main palace-cum-castle.

The floor below, Kronos shows him around an assortment of lounges, halls, living quarters and temples as well as a large barrack area where the monster legions that guard the titan palace rest. The floor below that is the main living area of Othrys: there are more hall, bedrooms, temples and recreation areas – Percy's particularly taken with the swimming pool, which Kronos promises he can use, with the cuffs on – but there are also dining rooms; kitchens full of bustling servants, where they stop to eat; warehouse sized storerooms stocked with every imaginable convenience; and, of course, the throne room. Kronos gestures carelessly to one small door at the end of a similarly small corridor, and mentions that there's a garden through there. They don't go through it, though.

Then, finally, they are on the bottom floor, the partially underground section of the palace. Here, aside from a few more cellars and pantries, the only important thing is the prison quarters.

Percy is surprised to see that the cell he woke up in two days ago was not an exception: on the whole, the dungeons are much less – well, dungeon-y – than the description suggests. There is no slime dripping from the ceiling, no torches flickering on the walls. Instead, the corridors are bare and dry, lit by expansive windows facing out to the mountainside.

The cells themselves are carved into the side of Mount Tam, so looking out through the bars of the small windows inside can give a stunning view, along with a sense of vertigo for the weak-stomached.

It's when Percy actually looks inside the cells that he's reminded why the titans inspire such fear in their enemies.

"This is where we put the traitors, the rebels, the criminals," says Kronos.

The cells they walk past seem crammed to breaking point with people who look no more capable of undermining the titan regime than Percy is of winning an arm wrestle with Atlas. They're starving masses, thin and gaunt, often stuffed in ten to a cell, each living their life in a space roughly six feet by one. Some have injuries which look like they've been inflicted by monstrous teeth or claws. Percy wonders what happens if they get infected.

They stop in front of a cell with only two occupants: one, a woman chained to the walls, and two, a telekhine sharpening knives and holding tongs and a brand over a flame until they glowed.

"She's suspected of hiding a demigod," says Kronos, conversationally. "That, ah…" He clicked his fingers and tongue, making a show of thinking and keeping Percy on edge, waiting for the name. "Oh, Mason, was it? Jack Mason, maybe? A son of Hephaestus, at any rate."

"Jake," says Percy. "Jake Mason." His lips are dry and leaden as they move up and down. "Did you catch him?"

"Now then, Perseus, we wouldn't be torturing her if we had. We're not monsters. At least, some of us aren't. Although, of course, having harboured one demigod, she might have information on the whereabouts of others..."

They move on just before the woman starts to scream.

It's with dismay that Percy sees them coming to cells which hold demigods. "Be strong, now," Kronos whispers to him. "I know these were your friends, but you'll only make it worse for them if you do anything stupid."

Percy did know them, that's true. He's not sure he does anymore. As they walk past, he sees their expressions shift between shock, anger, betrayal, sorrow, and confusion. He doesn't know the words to calm them, to explain and excuse himself to them. It's like Nico and Clarisse all over again. Mark, from the Ares cabin screams that he's a traitor. Nyssa and Drew, children of Hephaestus and Aphrodite respectively, seem confused. When they go past Kayla's cell, she seems devastated to see him by Kronos' side.

It's only a little way off that they come across the cell Percy had been kept in before. Now, though, it is Malcolm's.

The son of Athena is lying on a stone bed, a thin blanket between him and the hard surface beneath. His grey eyes roll up to meet Percy's gaze as they come to the bars, and the son of Poseidon's breath catches in his throat. Honestly, Percy's surprised that Malcolm is still alive, but can't help but wonder if that's even a good thing. Chunks of his skin and flesh have been stripped away, he's bloody all over, and those eyes are the only part moving.

"He needs medical help," Percy murmurs to Kronos.

"We've given him enough ambrosia to keep him alive. We'll make sure he heals, never fear: he has to fight again, you know."

But they won't give him any more of their resources than absolutely necessary. There's a deep sorrow in Malcolm's eyes, and he looks far older than he is. There are bloodstains on the floor that Percy doesn't remember being there.

"Come," says Kronos, and again, Percy follows him on his way out.

Over the last couple of days, Percy has got use to eyes watching his back. From the crowds at the Empire State Building to Nico and Clarisse as Atlas took him to Othrys. The people living on the mountainside and the slave girl pleading for her brother's life, the titans at the breakfast table, the crowds in the arena, and Artemis, trapped beneath the sky atop of Mount Tam. They all make his skin prickle, the inquisitive gazes and the furious, but none hurt quite as much, none have the same uncomfortable power, as Malcolm's silent watch. The blood is too obvious a reminder of the suffering Percy has caused. Maybe Malcolm isn't the person whom Percy most loves or fears, but now he's the one he's most responsible for. It stings.

Down a corridor and through a door, the floor is iron grating. The room has a block in the centre, with a boy about a year or two younger than Percy being forced down onto it, and his neck lain flat across it.

"He stole from us," says Kronos. "Some thieves we give a choice between imprisonment and losing a hand, but this boy stole food meant for my table. So he dies."

The boy is skinny, obviously malnourished, and Percy can understand why he took the risk of stealing from the titans.

"For the crime of stealing my bread," announces Kronos, "I sentence you, Stephen Prosperus, to death." Then, to the men and monsters standing by, "Execute him."

A switch flicks in Percy's brain. Enough, he thinks. He connects the boy here with the girl pleading yesterday. He has influence here. Kronos is working hard to maintain the illusion of Percy's willing cooperation with the titans.

"The first to touch him dies."

And, like magic, they freeze. The axe in the cyclops' hand drops, blade clanging and sparking against the floor. The humans shuffle backwards, none wanting to be the closest to him.

"My lord?" asks one of them. His question is directed at Kronos.

The pause is just quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It's also just long enough for Percy to realise that the titan lord is absolutely furious.

Then he speaks. "Of, course, as Perseus wishes. The boy can go free. And if he chooses to steal again, to prove himself so ungrateful to his new lord's mercy – well, then I'm sure Perseus will be only too happy to tear his thankless head from his miserable neck. Boy, you'll begin serving lord Perseus in the morning. Get back to your quarters." That mad glint is back in Kronos' eye again, and Percy's in no doubt that he'll have to kill the boy for any further indiscretion. But the boy is safe. He's pushed against the boundaries of his imprisonment, and, implausibly, they've moved.

He follows Kronos out of the room and on the way back up the stairs. They follow the winding corridors, some of which Percy now recognises, but most of which remain a baffling enigma to him. Eventually, though, they reach the throne room. It's still empty, and Percy's wondering if the other titans ever use it, when he's seized by the throat and slammed against the wall.

"If you ever," hisses Kronos, "ever do that again, I will go through the cells and kill three others, do you understand?"

Percy's breath comes ragged. He nods.

"You're here to help us, Jackson. Don't forget it."

Kronos throws him, like a ragdoll, across the floor. Percy skids, landing at the foot of Atlas' throne.

"Look after him. Or get Atlas to. I don't care." says Kronos. Percy rolls over to see Eos appear from the shadows.

"Of course, sire," she says, and Kronos leaves.

"My lady," says Percy.

"Perseus," she says. "Or do you prefer Percy? I know that Kronos doesn't really want us to call you that, but I don't mind. I'm sure there's room for two Percys in my life."

He hesitates. "Don't be embarrassed," she says. Then she pouts. "You're not embarrassed, are you? I'd hate to think I was making you uncomfortable." Her hand goes to his arm again, and she sit beside him. Her touch is cool but calming, and she's close enough for Percy to smell her breath. It reminds him of a fresh Spring morning. Though she glows gently, like the dawn itself, she would be beautiful even without that aiding her.

It occurs to Percy all of a sudden that he's breathing more heavily than usual.

"You know," she says, conversationally, "I could have any man I want. Any man in the whole world. I had Ares, Cephalus, Orion, Tithonus, Cleitus... and now I want you." Most of the names mean little to Percy; he's too preoccupied with the fact that her hands are moving from his arms to his waist, that she's pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, and that now one of her legs has come around to rest between his.

"Come back to my rooms," she says. "You won't regret it. I'm sure I could do a few things for you in return. Put in a good word with Kronos, help some of your friends... if you need any encouragement, that is."

"No thanks." Percy feels like his brain's about to short-circuit. He just turned down that offer? He knows it's the right decision - a literal case of sleeping with the enemy could only end badly - but his body's still telling him he should take the words back.

Eos looks like she can barely believe it either. She glowers, and pulls away from him. "No thanks?" she hisses. She's so small that the level of intimidating-titaness she manages to reach is both impressive and laughable.

Percy is neither impressed nor laughing. He's still trying to process the whole situation. "I mean, I appreciate it. I'm flattered. But. Er."

She storms off before he can say anything else. Percy lies there for a while, until Atlas appears before him.

The titan is definitely trying not to laugh. "Fun time without me, Jackson?"

"You saw all that?"

"Oh, no. But it's not difficult to guess what happened."

"Really?"

"Really. You probably made the right choice. It would have ended badly for both of you."

"Right."

"Aphrodite cursed her after she slept with Ares. Now she's always a bit frisky, if you catch my meaning. She sometimes abducts handsome young men, but, the curse being a curse, none of them quite satisfy her properly. Cephalus accidentally killed his wife and then himself, Tithonos got turned into a grasshopper. You'd have spent a week trying to please her, and the rest of your life paying for not being able to."

"Oh."

"Still, you might regret turning her down as well. I'd be careful of her from now on. Kronos wouldn't let you come to any harm, of course, but I'm sure she could cause trouble if she tried."

Atlas sits on his throne, while Percy lies there for a while longer. He feels drained. He wonders if he'll be asked to move at any point.

"Your friends are arriving in a moment," says Atlas.

And just like that, Percy's focus shifts. Ah. He voices the thought. "Ah."

"Not pleased?"

"When are they getting here?"

"Five minutes or so."

Percy swallows. "Do I have to see them?" He knows it's cowardly, but he isn't sure that he can take another encounter. What does he say? He's working with the titans now but it's all for the best so don't worry?

"Not if you don't want to. We can tell them you don't want to speak."

Atlas is more cunning than Percy's realised. He can hide away if he wants, but it will be given – and taken – as evidence of his guilt. In a way, he supposes it is.

"I'll talk to them."

"I thought you didn't want to?"

"I changed my mind, didn't I?"

"Clearly."

Percy stands, and it's only a few moments before those great double doors are swinging open, and Nico and Clarisse are being ushered in by a guard of dracaenae. It's strange that they're not considered enough of a threat to have a titan guard, but supposes that that's less to do with physical power – especially with the cuffs on – and more to do with political power. Nico and Clarisse are two of the most dangerous demigods he knows, but not many would follow them into battle. Not that anyone's going to be following him anymore, either. It's amazing they did for so long, to be honest.

"Hi," he says, in a small voice.

"You bastard," spits Clarisse. Nico stands by her, sullen and silent.

"You'll respect him." That's Atlas. He's moving already, and Percy's barely registered what's happening before he strikes her, palm open. The daughter of Ares is knocked over by the force of the blow. The titan raises his hand again.

"Atlas. That's enough."

He's relieved to see the titan obey him, standing off from Clarisse, and letting her get back to her feet. He's even more relieved that she doesn't say anything else stupid.

Neither of them says anything else, so he does. "How are you?"

It's Nico who responds. "As well as can be expected."

Percy nods. That could mean anything. Atlas' presence makes things difficult. They can't talk here. And since he's not allowed anywhere without a titan, they can't talk anywhere.

"Do you know what you're in for here?"

Nico frowns. "Nothing good."

"Right. Fair enough. I'll see if I can do anything for you."

Nico's suspicious expression doesn't shift. 'Doing anything' for them could be taken as a threat just as easily as an offer of help. Neither he nor Clarisse says anything, and the air between them and Percy grows thick and heavy with the palpable awkwardness of the moment, before Percy realises he's probably supposed to either give them one of Kronos' rambling speeches or dismiss them.

"You can go," he says, and the guards close in to escort them away. They're probably going to the dungeons, and he can only hope at this point that they'll be better treated than most down there.

"You handled that well," says Atlas. The doors make a booming sound as they slam together.

"Thanks," says Percy, knowing that their definitions of 'well' differ hugely. "So where are we going now?"

"Where would you like to go?"

"Well something must be happening."

"Things are happening all over the world, Jackson."

"You know what I mean."

"It's still up to you."

"Haven't I got, like… appointments or something?"

"Not as far as I am aware."

"Oh. And Kronos doesn't want me to… whatever…?"

"I'm sure Kronos would like you to do a great many things, but he isn't asking for any of them right now."

"So I can do anything?"

"More or less."

"I can go wherever I want?"

"Within reason."

"The summit?"

"The summit?" Atlas asks.

"I'd like to go up," says Percy. "To the top." His stomach rumbles. "Maybe stop off in the kitchens on the way."

"Then," says Atlas, with a smile that on anyone but a titan might suggest a mischievous mindset, "up we shall go. Possibly via the kitchens."

The staff are bustling around, white chefs' and cooks' clothing contrasting starkly with the black tiled floor and walls, but they all drop whatever they're doing when Percy and Atlas arrive, and stand to attention.

It's a strange feeling, that all these people are afraid of him and his power. They believe he could end their lives with a word, and, to tell the truth, he probably could.

They're all attentive, and when he says he'd like a pizza, they fall over themselves to make one for him. It seems to take only moments for a large one to emerge from the ovens room next door, edges drooping over the rim of the not-quite-big-enough plate, edges crispy but not burned and base thin but still chewy enough to give substance. It's one of the most perfect things Percy has ever seen.

"Stop," says Atlas.

The kitchen, which for a moment had busied itself again, falls silent once more. Atlas' voice is low and menacing, his fists are clenched, and his jaw is jutting out further than should be possible.

"Who made this abomination?" asks the titan.

The room holds its breath. Percy holds his pizza. A senior chef sends an apprentice through to the next room to find out.

The man who is sent for is extraordinarily fat. He has to turn sideways to fit through the door, and is out of breath when he arrives. His bow to the two of them is hurried, and he can barely bend at the waist, where his girth is almost at its thickest. There's sweat running down his brow, and he flinches as he sees how angry Atlas looks.

Percy wonders if Kronos would hear about it if he stepped in to save the man. Was it worth risking three lives to save another from certain doom?

"There's a problem with your pizza," says Atlas. "And because your pizza is now lord Perseus' pizza, that means that your problem is now a bigger problem."

"M-my – my lord?" stammers the man. His brow furrows, and his eyes squint at the offending dish. He looks as perplexed as Percy feels, but Percy isn't the one about to die for it.

"You heard me. What did you think you were doing?"

"We – we did our, our b-best my lord, to, er, ah, make the order we were given, my, my lord."

"Don't try to tell me he ordered that filth, now."

The sweat coming off the man could have powered a hydroelectric dam. He gambled desperately on the problem. "If it's a little… ah, overdone, my lords, we could make another?..."

His offer hangs, untaken, by Atlas.

"That sounds alright," offers Percy, hoping to spare the poor man and avert Atlas' wrath.

"Overdone?" asks Atlas, and Percy knows that the chef's gamble has failed. "Overdone?" The titan seizes a slice of pizza from Percy's plate, and dangles it before the man's nose.

The other staff seem to have taken on the personality of yesterday's arena crowd. They sense blood, and are simply waiting for the excitement of the killing blow. They're ready to get drunk on murder.

"Tell me, chef, if that's what they call shit-merchants these days, does this look overdone to you?"

"Um." The noise of the man's hesitation leaves his body as though it took his life force with it. "No?"

"No. Correct. So. What. Is. Wrong. With. This. Pizza?"

"Um."

Atlas takes in a deep breath. He puts the slice carefully back on Percy's plate. He picks up a chunk of pineapple from it. He holds the pineapple under the chef's nose, and wafts it, left to right to left again.

"Tell me, chef," says Atlas, his tone caustic and dripping sarcasm all over the job title. "What do you think this is?"

"Pineapple?"

"Pineapple. Correct. And you have the temerity, the sheer cheek, to come in here and say you're worthy of cooking for lord Kronos himself?"

"...My lord?"

"Incompetent fool. Pineapple does not, I repeat, does not go on pizza. Next time this happens I'll have your head."

Atlas stands before the baffled crowd for a moment. "AHAHAHAHAHAHA!" he bellows.

The crowd, apparently well pleased by the joke, also laugh. So does Percy, mostly from relief.

"Come, Perseus," says Atlas. "Upwards."

So Percy sinks his teeth into the pizza, thoroughly enjoying the sweet, moist tang of pineapple against the dryer, more savoury dough and cheese. He doesn't care what people say: this is the stuff. It's a little bit of everything. With pizza, he can imagine the long black halls as being someplace else, away from here, with no war or death or suffering.

The flight of fancy crashes to ground as soon as they step outside, though. The wind's picked up a bit since he was up here a few hours ago, and he's buffeted around as he walks towards the peak, where Artemis stands burdened by the sky.

Ouranos must be restless today: in the faint light, Percy can make out clouds overhead, and storms down in the San Francisco bay. He remembers, belatedly, that Annabeth's mortal family live in the city, and hopes that they're okay. Even the titans haven't gone after half-bloods' families. Yet.

Atlas waits a little further down, as though conscious that Percy needs some space. For all the tastelessness and awkwardness of the pineapple joke, it's made Percy even more comfortable around him. And so, unguarded and careless, the son of Poseidon finds himself rambling to the stars that have appeared in the early evening. If the moon goddess happened to be close enough to hear his every word – well, that was just chance, wasn't it?

"It's funny to think that no-one ever really has control, isn't it?" he muses.

There is no response, either from the sky or Artemis.

"You look up there, at the stars, the planets, the moon. They look so important, so in control. But they're just things. They have their places and their paths, and that's it. There's nothing else. They don't actually matter; they don't change anything. All they do is react to the others.

He tries to remember, from the dim and distant science classes of yesteryear, something useful about the cosmos. Nothing reveals itself to him, so he changes tack.

"It's like fish." Here's somewhere he's comfortable. "You get these massive ones, like sharks, or whales - not technically fish, but that's not important right now. They look so impressive, totally incredible. You think, 'if I was a shark', or a whale, or whatever - maybe an octopus, I dunno."

Percy knows what he wants to say, but not how to say it in a way the titans will allow. He's fairly certain he's not really allowed to be talking here at all, but Atlas must be letting him, for some reason. This way seems good enough, anyway. At least he's making some sort of sense.

"Anyway, you'd have the world at your fingertips. Or tentacletips or fintips or whatever. You could do anything you wanted. Except you couldn't because you'd be an animal. Just some dumb thing, going on instinct. I mean, they have some consciousness, but they're a lot more interested in, say, krill, than making the world a better place."

He can feel his hands, cold from the moment he stepped outside, begin to go numb, losing dexterity and sensation. The wind is even more vicious now, and rain is beginning to drizzle down. The metaphors he's been using are clumsy, he knows, but they're all he has to communicate in. He hopes they get the point across. He has one more thing to say, one more point to make: his plea that he's doing the best he can. And Artemis is to hear it because she's the only person he can speak to who he trusts to hear it.

"And if you were to try something different, it might not work out. Sharks weren't meant to give us world peace. Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? But say, just for a second, that they tried: they'd suffocate on land, or starve from lack of food, because believe me, sharks need a lot of food. And they don't eat people either, or at least not intentionally. I've seen Jaws, and it's all bull- well, not really important now, I guess."

He's rambling now, he realises this. He needs to focus. So where is Percy Jackson in the food chain here? Is he the great white or the goldfish?

"But they do their best. They try and survive, and, uh, maybe sometimes they try and help the other fish." Okay, so now he's really taking a risk. But Atlas hasn't stopped him yet, so he carries on. "But maybe helping the other fish doesn't exactly work out. Maybe it even makes things worse."

The palace staff are afraid of him as much as most of the other titans. So much that his word can make them hesitate to obey even Kronos' orders.

"So instead of helping, the fish just tries not to make things worse. Maybe... maybe it makes a deal with some kind of predator. There's a type of louse, I think, that just replaces a fish's tongue. It helps the fish, in a way, and in return it gets to survive. For the louse, that's enough."

So that means that the staff think that he's working with the titans of his own free will. Indeed, Kronos' inner circle are the only ones who really know he's not their loyal friend and ally.

"I get that it's not ideal. Nobody wants to live their life at somebody else's mercy, especially someone that might not be pleased that you're there. But the louse doesn't have a choice about it. It has to be live with the fish, or it dies."

In fact, Kronos was willing to spare the life of a thief simply to keep the illusion of Percy's co-operation alive. The veil must be thin indeed. And that in front of his own guards and executioners.

"Then again, lice can probably change. They could adapt, or evolve. So maybe they won't always have to live for that someone else. Sometimes, hope that the fututre will be better is enough. It's the light in the darkness. Maybe someday, somehow, you'll be the fish, even if for now, you're just the tongue If things can get better, that's the most valuable thing in the world.

But why would Kronos need to keep the pretence up in front of his own men, unless he wasn't truly certain that they were his?

And so, Percy realises, for all Kronos' declarations of ruling the country with an iron fist, he isn't even confident in control of his own palace.

He can't tell Artemis all that. Atlas might be lax about his rambling dissent, but outright plotting would be stopped immediately. He can eat his pizza though, and he finishes it off happily.

Pineapple never tasted so good.

That's chapter five, and that's also one quarter of the way through the story! What a time to be alive...

Thanks very much to AnnaUnicorn and the guest who reviewed. All reviews are hugely appreciated, and thanks also to those who've favourited and followed so far.

In other news, this story's rating will be moving up to M in a couple of chapters' time. There won't be anything massively more graphic than there already has been, but I feel it's enough of a change to warrant the step up.

Happy Easter!