At the End of All Things
The Age of Heroes had come to an end. It passed into the annals of history with the passing of Percy Jackson, and as the Hero of Olympus had ventured forth to accept his eternal reward, the world was left uncertain how to proceed.
Many among the demigod population pondered how the legendary Percy Jackson would meet his end. At the age of 53, he had outlived nearly all of his friends, and so it had been speculated, theorized, scrutinized even, how the greatest hero of the age would pass to legend. As morbid as it sounded, some romanticized the idea that he would die in a blaze of glory, fighting a million monsters and sending half of them back to oblivion before being overwhelmed. After all, he had survived Tartarus, what in this world could ever defeat him.
Others under that very same idea had thought the only way death could ever claim him was to sneak up on him, take him in his sleep. Perhaps they felt that after all he had accomplished, the fates owed him that much. To live quietly to a ripe old age and to go peacefully in the night.
But they were all wrong. Because for Percy, when his end had come, it arrived not in a blaze of glory, nor a whisper in the night. It had come in silence.
And the world was left with the weight of his passing
–-0-
Percy Jackson sat upon his couch in a stoic vigil of the singular photo clutched within his hand. His body was slumped forward, arms resting heavily upon his knees as his fingers clutched the frame of the picture that had consumed his entire attention. The wedding photo that had drawn his entire focus was, of all the pictures of him and Annabeth, his favorite among them. It was a candid photo taken at their wedding, Percy holding her in his arms, cradled in a traditional bridal pose as if preparing to walk over the threshold. The picture had been posed by the photographer, but this specific shot was taken by Percy's mother. After the photographer had taken their photo, the pair had turned towards each other, lost in each others presence, their expressions mirroring a soft smile that encompassed a love as wide as creation itself. A look of such love and devotion upon their faces as they stared lovingly into the eyes of their partner, forever immortalized within the frame he held. It was a photo that had always brought a smile to his face, yet now, he struggled to see it through the clouding of his eyes that were drowning under the blinding tears that seemed forever fixed within his irises; tears that left him shattered to all around him save for the grief that clawed at the very fabric of his heart.
It happened six days ago, the event that ruined him. It had happened on her birthday, July 12. Though longstanding residents of New Rome, the pair had decided that on this day they would venture out from the protection of the city and spend the day together in the mortal realm. They had rarely given much time in doing so in recent years. The sanctity and safety of their home was all the reason they needed to stay where they were, yet it had been agreed upon to visit her father and then have a picnic at a nearby park.
So it was that they had tempted, or perhaps challenged Fate, and were ruined for their dismissal of those damnable old women.
The visit with Fredrick had been a very cathartic. Annabeth's stepmother Helen had passed away four years prior, and Fredrick rarely got visitors these day. However, in the thralls of his oncoming age, was in ever increasingly poor health, and Annabeth did not want to be left with regrets should his time come. So the couple had visited for breakfast with him before venturing to the park, a visit filled with news of what was happening since their last visit and memories they shared of times past and joys rarely ever replicated. But above all, was the laughter shared between the happy couple that brought a charmed smile to the face of the elderly scholar who seemed to be simply pleased to have them brighten his otherwise drab day.
And so as their visit with Fredrick concluded, they ventured to the park and traversed one of the many walking trails that led to the picnic area. Hand in hand, they smiled and bantered in much the way that defined their relationship, their conversation halting to steal a kiss or simply treasure each others company. In all their years together, their love only grew to a crescendo that would drown out the noise and struggles of their life and make even the gods envious. And as they continued through the park, Percy would swear that in that moment, the sun reflecting through the break in the treeline had made Annabeth glow in such radiance that it stole his breath. Even after all these years, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
However their peace was short-lived as they approached the clearing and were met with the silence that sent both veteran demigods on edge. No sounds emanated through the foliage, no birds singing or crickets chirping. There was simply a quiet as though the earth held its breath; preparing, waiting...watching. Hands gripped tightly as they surveyed the area, they quickly changed course and redoubled their pace, moving back towards the walking trail that would lead them from the park.
Trained as they were, it was a reminder of so many times from their youth; the silence, the waiting, the presence of something malevolent lingering beyond their line of sight that sent their battle-hardened senses on alert and caused a swelling of anxiety to pepper their otherwise peaceful day. As they continued to hasten their pace, their eyes scanned the treeline in constant vigil for any signs of threat.
They were being stalked. They knew it, could feel it, they simply had no way of knowing what or where the danger lurked.
It had all happened so suddenly that Percy had no item to react. They had just come to the edge of the woods, well in sight of the parking lot when Annabeth shoved him aside with a shout of "Percy!"
Stumbling a few feet before righting his balance, he turned, sword in hand, to see the vision that would haunt his mind until the day he died. Standing before him was his beautiful, precious wife, the great love of life who gazed upon him with a look a relief on her face, her eyes drinking him in as if his survival of the attack was all she had hoped for.
But Percy's eyes were drawn to the black, needle point dart that protruded from her left breast, as a blossom of crimson bloomed over the fabric of her shirt as evidence of the injury. "N-no," he gasped as he took a step towards her, the fear of what he was witnessing choking any further words from his throat. Yet Annabeth offered him a small, sad smile before reaching her hand out to him, as if her only desire was to touch his face once more to prove he was still alive. However, before her fingers could find him, the piercing was swiftly extracted from her and she fell bodily to the ground.
"NO!" he had screamed, rushing to her side and lifting her into his arms, "A-Annabeth, no...no no no," he said, words tumbling from his lips in a clumsy delivery as though he could undo what had happened, all the while his finger frantically darted over her face, her lips, seeking her throat in some blind hope of finding the pulse of her beating heart, only to be left with nothing. "No, baby, no, please don't..." he choked out the words as he looked at her beautiful gray eyes that held so much life and joy and hope, only for them to stare dimly back at him. "Don't do this to me...Annabeth, please," he pleaded, the words slipping from his lips in a choked sob that ripped the air from his lungs, "don't leave...please baby, please don't leave me alone...please..." his words hitched over the waves of loss and pain that had consumed his life as he pulled her close to him, holding her, clutching her as his sobs broke the silence of a single beating heart that had crumbled to ash.
For several minutes he waited, praying, hoping that whatever monster had attacked her would strike him as well, let him join her in Elysium. But nothing came. Slowly, he scanned the area, only to be met with the yellow eyes of the manticore that initiated the attack. He knew those eyes. It had been decades since he had seen them, but he knew full well the eyes of monster that had kidnapped Annabeth, taken her cross-country to hold up the sky. He knew this beast, but he never thought he'd go so far to seek revenge in this way.
But in the end it didn't matter who or what had done the deed, it was done, and Percy could do nothing but bury his face into the crook of Annabeth's shoulder and weep and wail at the passing of the most beautiful person this would had ever known. All he could do, all he had the strength to accomplish was to hold her body to his, rock the pair of them back and forth as the shattered sobs of a broken soul had filled the air.
It had been Frank and Hazel who had found him. He had no way of knowing how long he had stayed there, cradling her body to him when they arrived. The couple had expected their return some time earlier as Percy and Annabeth were planning to cap off their day by meeting them for dinner. So when they had not arrived as planned, when the minutes stretched into an hour, they had grown worried as a search was immediately called. An entire cohort of legionnaires had volunteered to help, and that was how they had found him; broken and shattered, and in a state of inconsolable agony. His voice barely audible as he whispered pleas to the gods he had long since stopped speaking to spare her. But like always, the gods had remained silent. And he was left to suffer for their inaction.
Hazel was the only one who could get Percy to relinquish his hold on her, and even then it took much coaxing and effort to get him to loosen his hold, as though releasing her would confirm what he knew and what he hated to admit. The moment he did however, his grief splintered his heart in an acceptance that buried him in agony once more as he collapsed against Hazel and wept as through there was no end to the tears. It didn't seem possible, didn't seem real how one moment they could be laughing and sharing the joy of their life and love together, and the next she was ripped away from him. There was no justice in this. The world of fiction had it wrong. In so many scenes of movies and television, lovers would so often share their last sentiments of devotion to each other before they would slip away. And yet, for the couple who had done so much for the world, there were no final words of love shared between them, no promises to meet again on the other side...just an omnipresent silence that had driven Percy deaf with grief.
–-0-
After shrouding her body and carrying her in an honor march back to New Rome, news had traveled quickly of the passing of Annabeth Jackson. The legendary strategist, warrior, the architect of Olympus, the trailblazer of Tartarus was dead. And the demigod world mourned her passing as they had not mourned in a hundred years. Ceremonies were planned in her honor, monuments were being prepared, plays and stories scribed to recount the legacy of her life while statues and works or art were being commissioned.
It was a token gesture at best, as she would have wanted none of that. Yet there was no one to correct the notion that Annabeth would have laughed at the very idea of being immortalized in the works of others. She had chosen to build something permanent in her life for herself, to carve her own name in history. All she had achieved was for her own accomplishments, not for others to elevate their own glory by canonizing her name.
Those who knew her best could picture the sardonic smirk twisting at her lips while commenting in her dismissive way at how her story would be told by people who had never known her. She would have found the irony amusing if not a touch insulting.
For Percy and Annabeth's children, the moment the news had reached them, they had immediately rushed to their father's side. They knew all too well how broken he would be at the loss of their mother, and in this time of mourning, they made every effort to share in his pain and to mourn their own heartbreak; yet for Percy was simply catatonic in his grief.
Years ago, when he had bathed in the River Styx, she was the one who pulled him out, was his anchor, his reason to want to remain mortal. Though the curse had long since washed away, that underlining salvation of she had meant for him had never diminished. And thus, now that she was gone, she had taken that reason with her.
Therefore it fell to their oldest child, Maya to arrange the ceremony to honor their mother. It was agreed upon that both Camp Half-Blood and New Rome would each prepare funeral rites and a period of mourning for her death, and a celebration of the legacy of her life. This was to honor one of the greatest demigods of the age.
Yet none among the family truly felt satisfied with these efforts. How could a simple ceremony be sufficient to celebrate the passing of someone so great, who had given so much to save the world? It was the same mindset as the artists and sculptors and scribes and poets who sought to immortalize her in art. Few were alive who ever witnessed her triumphs, fewer still ever knew her; how could such superficial adoration encompass the greatness of Annabeth Jackson? The simple answer was, it could not. Though in retrospect, this was the best the demigod would could offer. They simply knew no other way to honor, to mourn...to grieve her passing.
The world mourned her loss, not because of the passing of a brilliant leader and hero among demigods, but because her death signaled the twilight of the Age of Heroes.
Regardless, time marches ever forward, and with great effort, preparations for her funeral were made, and the three Jackson siblings somehow, someway had managed to coax their father to attend the ceremony at Camp Half-Blood. It was a beautiful offering as the entire demigod world came together to mourn. And in the midst of it all, Percy stood front and center to watch the final rites be given to his beloved wife, his most treasured Wise Girl.
He had not even bothered to see who was in attendance; he would have recognized none of the demigods present. So many of his generation had already passed before him, to the point he could literally count on one hand the number of his friends still living. Nor did he pay any mind to Chiron's speech as he delivered the eulogy, commemorating Annabeth's life while bestowing her spirit to the fates so that she may find her peace.
For Chiron, his words were beautifully crafted, recalling stories of Annabeth's youth, her desire to prove herself until she at became the legend all other demigods were measured against. It was a beautiful telling of her life, and the life she shared with Percy.
And yet, in his immortal life, Chiron had presided over more funerals than he could ever recall. He had mourned over every hero that had passed under his tutelage, yet in all of his ageless life, he had only been brought to tears three times at the passing of one of his students.
Annabeth would make the fourth.
As for the Olympians, save for Hestia who had remained inconspicuous among the crowd, none of the gods came to pay their respect to the hero who had saved their lives many times over. It was to be expected however, the gods were arrogant and prideful and easily dismissive of what their mortal children did for their survival, regardless of the cost levied upon those same children of the gods.
But it mattered little to Percy; he simply could not bring himself to care. His attention had rested fully upon the gray shroud that covered her body. And as the ceremonial flame was set to the material, he watched in stoic grief against the blurring of his vision as the fire consumed not only the body of his wife, but the remnants of his heart.
It wasn't until the last thread of the shroud had burned away and carried by the wind that Percy's strength gave out, collapsing to his knees and burying his face in his hands as his pain and grief ripped itself from his throat in a howl of untethered misery that echoed the breaking of a man's soul. His breath hitched in rapid, shallow fits of agony as his whole body shook at the finality of the one thing he loved most in this world. A wail of incalculable grief that tore its way from his throat and froze the blood of all in attendance as they watched this man, this hero...this legend, shatter before them all into pieces that could never be put back together.
For the world, they had collected together to grieve the loss of one of the greatest heroes in history, yet for Percy, he was left with the hollow desolation of his life. Annabeth was gone, and that realization had driven a spike of agony through the center of his being and left him in ruins.
As the ceremony continued, as demigods of later generations would gather and discuss the stories and legends of Annabeth's legacy, Percy remained rooted, kneeling in the dirt, his eyes bleeding with tears as he stared at the ashes that remained of her shroud and body. Rachel, so much older than he remembered her, had come up to him and wrapped her arms around in a hug, as did Grover, but Percy had ignored them both, could not bring himself to find comfort in their sympathy and compassion. He knew they had both loved Annabeth, it was impossible not to, yet he was so deeply trapped within his own pain, that he could not acknowledge anyone else.
She was dead, and the fact that he was still alive was the greatest injustice in his life.
-0-
After the burning of Annabeth's shroud, Percy had become inconsolable, a shattered husk of who he was and through great effort his children had somehow managed to get him home. Yet upon entering the now quiet residence, Percy had merely walked to the curio cabinet, extracted his wedding photo, and sat on the couch.
The next several days were something of a blur. Visitors to the estate were an ever-present nuisance. A constant parade of people who would often come and go, many arriving to offer condolences to the Hero of Olympus, while others would arrive to prepare meals or bring already prepared food for the grieving widower, to which he had touched none of it. Some however took advantage of the events to tour the house that Annabeth had designed, and in some cases, would even attempt to swipe a souvenir from the home of the legendary duo. It had gotten so bad that Maya had banned all visitors save Frank and Hazel, who, after several trips could no longer bring themselves to see the willfully powerful Percy Jackson collapse in upon himself, and thus visited less frequently.
But he was blind to it all and paid no mind to anyone who had arrived to his house.
And still, his children would come daily, lingering in the silence of the home they had grown up in that had become little more than a mausoleum since their mother's passing. It was a tomb of memories and ghosts of laughter and love that had trapped this great hero in his own mind with no means to navigate his way out. Annabeth was his compass, and without her, he was left adrift.
His children however had spent their time desperately trying to reach him, to get some reaction from him, yet he had not moved from his place on the couch, his eyes ever fixed upon the portrait in his hands as slow, lazy tears traced their way along the plain of his cheeks.
In the days that followed, it wasn't long before that concern turned to fear. The food that had been prepared or brought for him had been left untouched on the kitchen counter, and if the three siblings did not know better, they would have suspected Percy had not moved from his seat since he returned from the funeral. By this point, it had been nearly a week, and Percy's appearance had grown gaunt and shallow. He had not eaten, nor slept but a few scant hours when his body would simply shut down, had not even moved since his return. It was as though Medusa herself had cast her gaze upon him, for he had become a statue, forever fixed in this singular moment of grief and agony that he could not escape, if for no other reason than he did not wish to.
Upon the fifth day after the funeral, Maya came to sit beside him, her hand resting upon his arm in an effort to reach him. "Dad," she said, her voice brittle and frightened. The truth of the matter was, as the siblings had discussed, if things did not change, and soon, they were very well facing a second funeral for their father. "Dad, please," she begged again, her voice whispered in a quiet desperation as her hand slid up his arm to grip his hand and draw his attention to her. "Mom wouldn't want this for you."
'No', the thought pierced his pain, if only momentarily, as he considered his daughter's words, 'Annabeth would have wanted to sit right where she was, leaning against him and reading a book while he simply held her to him.' It was at that moment that his heart shuddered in the cold absence of her presence, of how much he missed feeling her lean against him, and his grief was reborn anew.
But as Percy turned his eyes to her, he could only focus on the parts of her she had inherited from her mother. Her stunning, blonde hair, the gentle curve of her nose, the plump lips that would often share many of Annabeth's mannerisms. And as he turned his moistened eyes upon her, he took a shuddering breath of acceptance that he would never escape this pain.
For Maya, her breath caught in her throat as she stared at her father, her hand fixing itself over her mouth as if to keep the sob from breathing into life. She did not see pain or anguish. There was no grief or despair reflecting from his expressive eyes. No...without Annabeth, he was lost, and he had no way with which to bring himself back.
As he turned his attention back to the photo, Maya stood up and brushed her way past her brothers before leaving the house. Damon and Alex stood only a moment, their eyes falling on the shell of the man who was their father, before following their sister outside.
Upon leaving the home, Maya had buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably over the situation. Not only had they just buried their mother, but their father had given up. It was too much to absorb for them. As the two brothers joined their sister however, Jacob, Maya's husband, stood before her and wrapped his arms around around his wife, allowing her to cry against his shoulder while he stroked her back.
Likewise, Damon's girlfriend Sarah had remained outside during the siblings attempted intervention as well, and moved to his side to wrap her arm around his waist as he turned his attention to the house.
"I can't do this," Maya mumbled against her husband's shoulder as her body shook and the tears fell from her eyes. "I can't keep coming here and watching him slowly wither and die."
"So then what?" Alex, the youngest asked, fixing his siblings with a grim glare. Among Annabeth and Percy's children, Maya was the most empathetic, and Damon was the most logical. As such, Alex was the most emotional of the three, and his fear of what he had witnessed within his childhood home terrified him; that though they had just buried their mother, they had lost both of their parents.
"What can we do?" Damon asked, his voice slipping in a hitch as the statement poured into the open air. "He's given up..."
"And we can't give up on him!" Alex spoke, his eyes flashing in anger at the suggestion, yet his words were delivered in a choked response as he glared at his older brother. "He'd never give up on us."
"What do you think would happen?" Damon said, his own voice grating across his vocal cords as if unused for so long. "If, and that's a monumental if, we managed to get him to a hospital, have him strapped to a bed and intravenously fed nutrients to keep him alive, he's trapped in his own head. He won't even talk to us. And honestly, I don't even think its a matter that he won't, I don't think he can. You've seen it since mom died. He's lost without her.
"And lets say, even if we do decide on the direct route and drag him to the hospital, who could even get him to there to be treated? The entire Fifth Cohort couldn't move him if he didn't want to go."
"I know," Alex said, his words coming in a gasp as his eyes flooded with the tears he tried to restrain. "I know damn it, its just...mom and dad, they used to always joke about how they'd go to together. When their time came, they'd leave this world hand in hand. I just...I always thought it was some morbid joke but...gods almighty, I just...its just hard to deal with, okay?"
Damon's eyes shimmered with his own fears as he untangled his arm from his girlfriend and clapped his hand at the scruff of Alex's neck, bringing his forehead to rest against his younger brother. "I know...I'm sorry Alex, I didn't mean it to come out like that, I just...I'm scared too, you know. And I just don't know if there's anything we can do."
Nothing more needed to be said as Maya joined her brothers, wrapping her arms around them as the tears slid beyond her lashes and trailed along the course of her cheeks. She had tried so very hard to keep things together, to keep her family functioning the way her mother had that it was a terrible, damning truth to see it all still fall to pieces.
She remembered when grandma Sally had passed away, her father was a broken mess. Yet Annabeth had managed to keep him stable, to keeping him standing upright and moving forward. But now, this was infinitely worse, for Annabeth was the cornerstone of Percy's life, and without her, it all crumbled. And no matter how hard she tried, Maya could not do what her mother had done, to save her father from his own grief. And she had never felt as weak in her life as she did right now.
Turning to her husband, she reached one arm to him. She needed his support in the same way Percy had needed Annabeth's when his mother passed away. There was no hesitation as he stepped into the cluster of embracing legacies, offering his own support, not just to his wife, but to Damon and Alex as well. They were his family, and in this moment they needed him among them. Sarah had remained uncertainly on the outside of the circle before Damon reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to their collective. While they had only been dating a few months, but she had become a part of his life, and was as much a part of this support circle as any of them.
As the five of them shared their tears and grief and fear over the situation, they began slowly untangling themselves from the makeshift circle, wiping away tears and choking back sobs before realizing belatedly that they were not alone. A solitary figure had stood in the distance, watching the display with heavy heart.
"Thalia," Maya said, her voice coming breathless and exhausted to see the immortal hunter standing some feet away, a silent vigil on the family's grief.
Eyes softening at the scene before her, the daughter of Zeus pursed her lips as though not knowing what to say. She had been away on a mission for Artemis during the shroud burning, and she likely knew the state Percy would be in, but it wasn't until she witnessed these children, children whom she had watched grow and mature, that she understood how deeply smothered in his devastated grief Percy truly was.
"Maya," Thalia offered, before nodding to each of the boys. She did not say any more, did not know what to really say in fact, but simply stepped around them and made her way to the entry of the home, pausing momentarily as if stalling the inevitable before she entered the house.
Maya watched the hunter depart, not knowing what her reason for showing up was but hoping she might, in some way, pull their father out from his mire of grief. Yet despite that small ember of hope, there was a greater anxiety that had settled itself within her at the arrival of the hunter. She could not help the looming dread that affixed itself within her at what was to come for all of them. But she was determined to do what she could to save her family.
With great effort, she forced those concerns from her mind for the time being and turned back to her family. "Come on," she said, her eyes settling upon Jacob who squeezed her hand and offered a supportive nod. "Let's all go to our house. It's getting late...we'll…have dinner and then, I don't know...let's just talk and try to come up with something."
Silently the five young adults seemed to accept the suggestion and with heavy hearts and slowed steps they all turned from the house and made their way to Maya and Jacob's home. Despite the hopeful offer, none of them could deny the doubt that seemed just beyond their reach, the doubt that things were about to get worse...and the waiting was the hardest part.
–-0-
Thalia had entered the house and felt suffocated, as if she had entered a tomb. The windows were shut and the air had felt stale, yet she pushed those thoughts aside as she looked at her last surviving friend, and was heartbroken by his empty and hollow countenance. Missing Annabeth's shroud burning had been one of the greatest regrets of her life. To her it felt as a betrayal to the young girl she had saved so many years ago, the young girl she had watched grow and pine for and fall in love with the greatest hero of the age. She was so proud to have witnessed Annabeth walk down the isle and marry the love of her life, and she was so bitter she could not be there when her last rites were given. But for now, she had to put that aside, because it was Percy she was hoping to save, she only wished she had the foresight to know if she was doing the right thing.
Regardless, she knew what she had to do, and she hated herself for it, but there was no other way. She had wished there was, prayed for days that this would work, but ever fearful of the outcome she was about to present.
Straightening her posture and squaring her shoulders, she marched to where he sat, and took her seat beside him. Hesitantly, as if uncertain if he would accept her gesture, she laid one hand on his forearm, much as his daughter and done and spoke his name to break the silence. "Perce," she said, swallowing the doubt that this was the right decision. Pushing that idea aside, she whispered three little words to him, three simple syllables that would change everything.
"We found him."
Nothing could have penetrated the veil of disassociation like that singular statement. For a moment, he contemplated letting it go. Ignore it. Just remain in this place until his body at last surrendered and he rotted. After all, in his mind, he died the moment Annabeth breathed her last, his body just refused to give up the ghost. But as he fixed his eyes once more on the photo in his hands, focusing on the heart-achingly beautiful smile of his wife and the lifetime of joy filled memories she blessed him with, he turned his attention to Thalia, his eyes locking upon hers in a clarity he had not had since her death.
"Where?" the simple word was the first spoken since the funeral, and his voice was rough and grating as though strained from lack of use.
Immediately Thalia was kicking herself. This was a stupid errand she undertook, but she had heard of Annabeth's passing, and she wasn't there to mourn her, but she could be there to help Percy, give him some direction to his life. 'If only,' she thought bitterly at the cruel twist of fate she was confronted with.
"Golden Gate Park, about half a day's march south of here," she answered, surprised in her own way that Thorn had not made further effort to put more distance between himself and New Rome. Regardless of his arrogance, or lack of judgment however, Thalia and her hunters had tracked him and were keeping him corralled. Percy took this moment to look once more at the picture in his hands before setting it to the side and rose to stand on unsteady legs.
Looking to the immortal, he nodded in thanks before he turned his attention to his own clothes, wrinkled and well-worn from days of constant wear. "Give me an hour to get ready. In the meantime, have your hunters keep an eye on him. No one kills him but me."
An involuntary shiver coursed through her as Percy made his way to his bedroom to prepare. Wishing to spend no more time in this lonely, miserable home than necessary, Thalia walked outside and waited. She took the time waiting for him to join her to pray for guidance, to ask if this was the right path. She could at least hope she was doing what was best, because hope was all she had left in her life.
True to his word, Percy had taken only an hour to prepare for the journey, having showered and changed his close, he walked out of the house in a slow and unsteady pace and came to stand by Thalia as Blackjack had rounded the perimeter of the home and ventured forth to joint the pair, nickered in greeting.
"Yeah buddy, once more," Percy said, stroking his muzzle affectionately before climbing onto his back and holding his hand out for Thalia to take. Swallowing her fear and knowing this would be the quickest course to their destination, she clambered on behind Percy and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist before closing her eyes so she would not have to see how high they would be flying. In years past the hero of Olympus may have teased his cousin on her ironic anxiety of heights, but nothing passed between them as he urged Blackjack forward. In the aftermath, Thalia would recall this lack of banter as a particularly poignant memory, as though evidence that Percy could find no more humor or joy within the world. It was a small insight into his state of mind, small, but damning.
As they took flight, Percy was surprised to learn Thorn had never left the park. The arrogant bastard had remained where he was, having never left the sight of the attack. Yet, if he were to consider all of what he had known about past dealings with the manticore, he should have expected nothing less. He was smart, but arrogant, and that failing would cost him everything.
As the pair glided through the skies, Percy fixed his attention forward, his eyes driven in a singular objective that compelled him to finish what had started so many years ago. Twice now Dr. Thorn had taken Annabeth away from him, only this last time had been by a permanent means. Now, Percy was hellbent on unleashing all of his pain and grief and rage that his life had hampered him with, and he would unleash all the repressed feelings from a lifetime of war and death and fear on this singular creature, and he would show no pity.
The journey had been quick on the back of Blackjack as the pegasus landed firmly on the ground, the pair dismounted near the camp of the hunters who parted for the arrival of Percy and Thalia. From the corner of his eye Percy saw Reyna, her attention drawn in a look of sorrow for the hero and his plight, and she had taken a step towards him, but stopped herself as he walked with purpose towards his prey. Percy however had paid her little more than a passing glance. Rather he looked to the clearing where the manticore was sitting lazily upon the grass and watching the hunters, as though he were looking either for an escape, or some means to entertain himself. As he turned his attention to the newest arrivals however, a grim mockery of a smile crossed his maul.
Before any words could be exchanged between the pair, an exploded from the earth as a geyser of water torn from the underground water main and surrounding the monster in a ring that encased him in the watery prison. The hunters, some of whom staggered at the explosion, seemed stunned by the display of power, yet Percy continued his pace, never faltering or slowing as he walked through the prison and confronted his soon to be victim.
"Well, well, I'm so pleased you could make it Percy Jackson," Dr. Thorn taunted, as he mockingly genuflected to the hero. "So good to see you again. Though I must confess a certain giddiness over the knowledge that not only have I taken the love of your life, but I shall soon take your life as well," he laughed in his cold and humorless way. "I will be honored among all my brethren, my name spoken in the same awed reverence as Medusa, or Arachne." A laugh, cold and cruel escaped his lips. "I will be remembered as history's greatest hero killer."
Percy however had not taken the bait, he simply stared back at him with a detached yet cold calculation smoldering within his eyes. Only briefly was he aware of the hunters pounding on the watery dome of this prison as if seeking entrance, yet he paid them no mind. His full attention fixed was upon this monster. As the minutes stretched and Percy refused to speak, refused to be baited by Thorn, the manticore opened his mouth to speak again, only for a tide of water to be pulled from the already crafted dome and wrap around Thorn in a cocoon of water that compressed upon his body and held him captive.
Instantly, Thorn lashed his tail, the attack deflecting from Percy's armor as the hero retaliated by hardening the water with blade-like precision and locking the creature in place.
Tilting his head in curiosity, the son of Poseidon considered what to do with his prisoner. He had stolen everything from him, and no amount of pain inflicted upon him would repay the injustice of that act. But it was a start. Leaning close, Percy spoke in his quiet, raspy voice a sentence that would seal Thorn's fate when he said, "Scream for me."
The words, much to the manticore's dismay, were spoken without venom or anger. Were not spoken with malice, but rather were delivered in a cold, emotionless tone, and for the first time in his existence, Dr. Thorn had understood fear.
Percy was systematic and meticulous in his dismantling of Thorn. He started with his tail, the weapon he had used to kill Annabeth, and the instrument of Percy's misery. Hardening the water and creating a current within it, he snapped the tip of the stinger from the tail before using the water to create enough pressure to smash, crush and grind the tail into dust. Segment by segment he worked on breaking the accursed appendage, and each time he worked on severing part of the tail, Thorn would scream and curse Percy Jackson, declare he would have revenge for the insult of being humiliated by a mere human, to which the demigod gave no attention.
He continued his work, slowly, methodically, with cold surgical precision as he took his time snapping the tail bit by bit, and each time Thorn screamed in agony upon the assault levied upon him. Percy was slow in his delivery, drawing out the torture he inflicted upon this beast. And yet, he felt no satisfaction, no resolute closure upon the pain he himself suffered, but rather felt ever-present numbness since Annabeth's death. To his great frustration, he took no joy in this.
When he had finished with the tail, Percy had begun on the more significant part of his revenge. For hours he spent torturing the creature. Pealing the skin from his flesh, causing the water within his prison to break a limb, crack a rib, explode the fat cells in a given portion of his body. Drawing the cries of pain from Thorn's lips. And yet through it all, there was no hate or vengeance in his actions. Percy merely conducted the act with clinical precision and cold, calculated disinterest.
He felt no joy in what he was doing, in truth he had hoped this would give him some closure, yet his life had been devoid of all emotion and love and hope since he had lost Annabeth, and this bastard was to blame. But he couldn't even find joy in having his revenge, because without her, there was nothing. There was no justice in this, it was simply an act of destroying the one thing that had ripped his heart to shreds.
Yet Percy's intention went beyond killing Thorn, it was his complete erasure from existence. As he tore the parts of his body from his flesh, the water that held him captive also restrained the yellow particles of dust that fell from his body, keeping them from fading only to reform the beast sometime later. Rather, that same watery prison began churning violently, slicing, crushing, smashing the particles of Thorn's essence until a single grain of dust was split an infinite quantity, so even if Thorn could pull enough consciousness together to reform, it would take an age to pull himself back together.
But Percy would not let that happen. The agony he inflicted upon the manticore was merciless and cold, and brutal and without end. Minutes turned to hours as he unleashed his savagery upon him, brutally butchering him until at last he held no intelligence within his yellow orbs. No one had ever thought it possible to drive a monster insane under the pain inflicted upon them, but Percy had done it. Even if, by some miracle this bastard had managed to reform himself under the infinite residue of his body, he would scream for death, and more than likely throw himself into the void of Chaos to escape the memory of what Percy had done.
At this point, the hero of Olympus had pulled away, allowing the shell of water that encased Thorn to swallow the monster whole as he forced the pressure to slowly crush what remained of his physical form. With a final whimper of suffering, Thorn's body collapsed into a field of yellow dust, at which the water that restrained him had churned and worked to violently shred the particles of his being until they were little more than microscopic fragments. He then commanded the temperature of the water to rise until the floating orb boiled, cauterizing every molecule before the sphere turned to steam and carried with it the pieces of Thorn's essence in the wind, and the last of Percy's will was carried with it.
When the deed was finished, Percy allowed the outer dome to collapse before falling to his knees, partly due to exhaustion, but mostly because this act brought him no comfort. If anything, he was only left more hollow and broken when faced with the truth that Annabeth would not be here to hold him and comfort him.
As for Thorn, he had been correct. He would be remembered. But not as the creature who had snuffed out the most famous heroes of the age, but as a cautionary tale of what happens when one's ambition outweighs their talent.
Thalia rushed forward, followed closely by Reyna and came to Percy's side, draping one of his arms over her shoulder as she hoisted him to his feet. Reyna had taken his other side, and he grunted in pain as the pair moved to walk him back to his waiting steed. No one said anything, no one spoke of the display of ruthless power had left a chill in the air that terrified all who had witnessed it.
For her part, Thalia had cursed herself. He was in no condition to face that monster, expended too much energy, and what he had done had taken what little energy he had left. But despite his arrogance, Thorn had never stood a chance, and she hoped, maybe, possibly this would give him closure. At least she could see him home, let him rest and, gods willing, begin moving on with his life.
Giving orders to stay at camp, she once more regrettably clamored onto the back of Blackjack as the pair again made their way to New Rome. The journey was made in silence as they flew into the city, the sun just beginning to rise and as Percy slid from his pegasus, his legs crumpled under the strain of the last week. Thalia immediately went to him and again helped him to his feet, yet a nagging fear had taken root. How much energy did he expend to obliterate Thorn?
Despite her fears she convinced herself he would be okay. He just needed rest. As she began walking him towards the house, he paused in his trek to look upon Blackjack who seemed to lower his head as if not willing to look at him. Percy seemed to smirk at the action before moving to stand before him, his forehead resting against the muzzle of the black steed, "It's okay buddy, it'll be alright. Yeah, I know, I love you to pal." Curious at the exchange, Thalia watched as the black pegasus backed away, turned and cantered towards the edge of the property before spreading his wings and taking flight.
She thought only briefly to ask Percy where Blackjack was going, but the aged hero merely pointed to his house. Thalia complied with the request as she opened the door. She grew increasingly worried at the weight she was shouldering, as if she were supporting his entire body during the few steps into the home.
Guiding him to his chair, she felt the relief of his body's weight leave her support as he flopped bodily against the cushions. Immediately Thalia rushed to open the windows, to provide some much need air movement into the home before heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water. His father's element always had given him strength and she hoped it would serve the same purpose, to rejuvenate him.
"Thalia," he said halting her progress before she crossed the threshold of the kitchen. Turning back to him she felt another sense of anxiety as his body was slumped against the chair. "Can you help me take my armor off...I can't breathe with this thing on."
"Yeah...yeah sure," she said, moving to his side as her fingers working deftly to undo the straps. Again she cursed herself for bringing him on this mission when he was not physically prepared. How long had he been without food or sleep? Still, despite that she had offered a teasing smile. "You really overdid it Kelp Head. You of all people should know your limits. I mean, gods, that was horrifying to witness. Just don't...don't ever do that again, okay?"
"I won't," he said with finality as Thalia pulled his body forward, allowing her enough room to lift the cuirass up and over his head.
"Yeah, well..." her words dying in her throat as she lowered the armor and got a good look at him, the plating dropping to the floor as her eyes settled upon the spreading red stain on his shirt. "Of fuck, no..." she said, immediately pulling the hunting knife from her belt and cutting away the fabric, revealing the star-shaped puncture on his chest. Yet what horrified her most were the tendrils of black and green that radiated from the epicenter of the wound.
The strike that they all had seen through the shimmery veil of water had struck home, piercing him beneath the armor and puncturing his skin. Fury mixed with horror as Thalia turned her eyes towards him. "Gods fucking damn it Percy, why didn't you say anything? We had nectar and treatment at the camp. Why gods dammit?"
Percy merely fixed her with a look of acceptance before she ran her hand nervously through her hair, her mind trying to resolve this before it was too late. Instantly she rushed into the kitchen. She knew Annabeth would have been prepared, would have have nectar on standby. For a moment she considered using water as she opened up cabinet after cabinet looking for the godly elixir, but she knew water would not be enough for this. She remember the story of Percy being stung by the pit scorpion when he was 12, and how water did not heal him. Thorn's poison was far more potent than that.
At last Thalia had opened up the pantry cupboard and found it, blue canisters of nectar. As she grabbed the first one, she turned only to pause at feeling the light weight of the container and the lack of shifting balance of the swirling liquid within. Dropping the thermos that echoed with a hollow din as it hit the floor, she reached for the next with the same results. Desperation began crushing hope as canister after canister was removed and discard to the ground with the same effects. It was only then that she looked to the sink, seeing the glowing ring of yellow fluid that rimmed the drain.
Choking back the anger at everything before her, she mapped the city in her mind and calculated the distance between Percy's house and the nearest apothecary, praying that if she hurried she'd have enough time. But as soon as she rushed back into the living room, her feet halted their course.
"Nico?" she asked, her eyes settling upon the son of Hades as he stood motionless, attention fixed solely on the dying hero. It had been decades since he had shown his face, decades since a botched robbery had led to the death of Will, decades since Nico had abandoned the world for the realm of Hades. And yet, here he stood, frown marring his pale features as he looked upon Percy with an expression of regret and sorrow. "Nico, tell me you have nectar or something...we have to hurry."
But he had not spoken, only turned to look at Thalia with knowing eyes before returning his attention to Percy. The son of Poseidon however smiled briefly before a spasm overtook him and he slumped sideways against the chair.
"You stupid idiot, why?" Thalia demanded, her eyes burning with the realization that he had not only accepted his death, but sought it out. It was a foolish question, she knew why, but still refused to accept that his life held no more meaning without Annabeth by his side. Yet some part of her also acknowledged how true that sentiment was. They simply could not function without each other. Between the wars, Tartarus, a lifetime spent within the minutes they shared, Percy and Annabeth were simply one soul shared between two bodies. One could not exist without that other, nor did either have any desire to do so.
"She didn't give her life for you to throw yours away," Nico stated simply, his face the ever stoic visage of acceptance. "She's going to be so pissed at you. Even now she's yelling at me not to let this happen."
Offering a weak, if not teasing chuckle, Percy looked to his cousin. "Ask her if our places were reversed, would she have done any different?"
Nico shook his head mournfully as he looked away for a moment to collect himself, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips. But there were no words shared between them, there was no reason to voice what they both knew, that Percy was right; Annabeth would have done no less if the situation was switched.
Nodding his head at the understanding that he would soon be reunited with her, he allowed his head to loll to the side and focus on the daughter of Zeus. "Thalia," his words came at a bare whisper, as though he no longer had the strength to speak any louder. For a moment his tongue slipped from his mouth to moisten his lips, but it was a slow, lazy action. "I need you to do me a favor."
"Fuck you!" she all but screamed, her face screwed up against the grief she felt bubbling at the need to watch him die, and the knowledge of her unknowing part in all of it.
"Please," he said, his voice quivering at the thought of his last request not being met. For the moment Thalia's eyes roamed the contents of the room, looking anywhere but her dying cousin as she settled her attention on the three envelopes sitting on the dining room table addressed to his children. She understood in his moment of thoughtless devotion to his wife, he had planned not to return from his confrontation with Thorn, if for no other reason than to join her in the afterlife.
She cursed herself for being so stupid, for not seeing it play itself out in this way. But unlike most, Percy had at least gotten the opportunity to choose his end. There was something disturbingly comforting in that sentiment.
"What is it?" She said at last, finally fixing her eyes upon him as he offered a reassuring smile that this was what he had wanted.
Taking a shuddering breath, he fixed his dimming irises upon her. "When they tell our story. In fifty or a hundred years," he paused as a tortured sob slipped past his lips at all the anguish he buried since her death. Taking several shaky breaths, he gathered up his will once more and pushed forward. "A thousand or two thousand years from now. Remind them. Remind them for us that it was never about Kronos or Gaea, It was never the wars to save the world or falling into Tartarus and clawing our way out.
"Our story was never for the glory of the gods or to ensure Olympus still stood or that the world kept spinning. All the pain and blood and heartache we suffered was for one reason alone. We did it all for each other. All that we accomplished was because of our love, no other reason than that.
"Remind them of that Thalia...you tell our story as it should be told. Not for glory or salvation, but for our love. First, foremost and only. You tell them..."
The tears had clouded her eyes as she turned her attention upon the ceiling, trying to reign in her emotions and all that this request carried with it. For several minutes she fought against the pain and loss of her own life, of all the lives she had seen ruined and decimated in the service of the gods, and she fought back the most bitter of feelings before she said simply, "I will," her attention focusing on Percy once more. But he would never hear her words, his spirit had already stepped beyond the veil, and she was left feeling the same bitter, cold, hollowness that had consumed him in his time of grief and loss.
The sob tumbled from her lips in an uncharacteristic purging of emotion born from the lifetimes of loss she suffered. She had cursed him for his foolishness, for his acceptance of his death, and yet she lingered in life and mourned the deaths of all she had ever cared about. Maybe she was the fool in all of this.
But in this moment a solemn truth settled upon the pair who had witnessed the passing of Percy.
Annabeth and Percy Jackson were the greatest demigods the world may have ever known, and they had passed from this world for the sake of each other. There was some hope-filled resolution in that sentiment. But for now, she could not see it.
Nico had stepped forward, placing his hand upon the crown of Percy's head and uttering a prayer for his spirit as his other hand moved to close his eyes. As he turned, Thalia called out to him, causing the son of Hades to pause in his departure.
"She waited for him you know, in Charon's waiting room. She wouldn't venture forth without him," turning slightly to fully face her, he offered a small smile in support of the fact they were at least together. "I'm going to carry them to the other side of the Styx. It's the least I can do."
"Elysium," Thalia declared as she fixed her eyes upon him, "You damn well better see to it."
But Nico only shook his head as he addressed the immortal. "Not for them. Isles of the Blessed."
Confusion crossed her features as she considered how this was possible, only for Nico to give her a knowing smile. "What makes you think this was their first life?" With that said, he turned and walked into the shadows, leaving Thalia to consider how to proceed. All of her closest friends had abandoned her in death, save for the hunters, and how long before they would join so many before them. Yet, she had made a promise to tell their story, to explain to the world that Percy and Annabeth were the greatest love story this world would ever know.
But for the immediate future, she had other news to disclose. It would fall upon her to let the world know that Percy Jackson was dead, and with his passing, so would end the Age of Heroes. Before departing, she walked to his side, her fingers threading his hair before she lowered her face to press her lips against his forehead. Offering her own silent blessing, she turned and left the house, and carried with her the burden of their legacy.
A/N: So this was an itch I had to scratch. I've read so many stories of one of the golden duo dying and the other just moving on, getting married or living their life like nothing happened. I can't see it. Percy and Annabeth in my mind is the greatest fictional couple, and yes, between the 1,000 + novels and short stories, and the movies and television shows, I've never seen a couple complete each other as thoroughly as these two do. So when it comes to the end of their journey, I see them going together, because I can't see it any other way. As for the gods not showing up at Annabeth's funeral, I've never believed they really care about demigods, they treat them as tools for their own ambition, bragging rights really to what they've accomplished. I also had intended to write up how so many of the other demigods had met their fate, but felt it would distract from the core of the story so I left that out.
Still, I hope I had portrayed this story with enough emotion to convey what I intended.
Anyway, I worked really hard to tell this tale, and I hope you enjoyed. If so, please leave a comment, favorite, follow. Whatever. I just like knowing that my stories had an impact or were enjoyed. Thank you for reading.