Artemis' moon, though dull in mourning, exiles from the arena the little darkness that wasn't already scared away by the raging fire in the center. The shroud is a faint source of light on its own too, indicating that the Hecate cabin had had something to do with it: Chiron's idea of having the children of Magic spell each camper to return to camp upon their demise worked a bit too brilliantly at times.
But it is that very idea that permits Annabeth's funeral at all.
The crowd starts to thin out soon. The veterans realise the importance of crying yourself halfway to Hades in private while grieving, so they depart first. Cabin 6 leaves next, knowing that she'd want them to keep the camp on its feet while the real leaders mourn the Heroine of Olympus. Chiron herds the rest out soon after, his heart heavy but unyielding to even the loss of the little girl he raised, for he knows from his torturous centuries that Thanatos loves demigods.
And thus the trio of cousins is all that is left: the huntress orphaned but for the ones standing by her, the king of ghosts weeping for the only one who could fuss over him and get away with it, and her Seaweed Brain with yet dry eyes.
Thalia's wails of agony, of despair, echo into the night, with inaudible sobs from Nico accompanying them. Percy quietly lets them celebrate their sorrow while trying to contain his rage.
The lieutenant of Artemis finds her way into Percy's embrace somehow through flooded eyes, but the presence of a co-sufferer isn't much comfort: she knows this is the last they'll see of her, for a demigod's death doesn't allow a grave to cry at.
Hence, through sad, blue, water-filled eyes, she watches the gray-eyed brat in her fiery resting place, as she burns to Ouranos and Erebus simultaneously.
Percy knows he'll never love again. She'd said that she'd recovered—that his company had helped. She'd told him she'd be alright—that they would go on that trip to Alaska in a week. She had lied.
Daybreak stings the son of the Underworld and he ushers the others to his cabin to mourn in peace: Thalia's hyper-joy on hearing of Annabeth's death had caused the destruction of cabins one through four.
The daughter of Zeus removes her head from where it was buried in Percy's chest, shifting a little so that they can get a bit more comfortable on the short bunk beds which haven't seen residents since their manufacture, "Is she—," she tries to speak without breaking down, "Is she waiting?"
"What kind of question is that?" Percy snaps, the most emotion he has shown all night, "You know she promised she'd wait! Wise Girl promised me she'd—"
"Percy," Nico cuts him off, gentle yet full of fear, "she isn't waiting."
Perseus wakes up groggier than ever. Or rather, groggier than all the states of grogginess he can remember. And those are few, even though his lifestyle produces many.
He has dreamt that nightmare so many times that he's forgotten to suffer when reliving his girlfriend's funeral. He rubs his eyes open and yawns leisurely—he would have once called it a privilege to wake up at your own time, but then again, that was Percy, not Perseus.
The slant, weak rays of the autumnal sun of dawn collide with the freezing floor in a small area, but reverberate through the room and serve to light it up enough to let him locate the bottle on his bedside table—one of the few things that he had inherited from his teenage self—and drain it in one go.
The flavor of his mother's signature chocolate-chip cookies (blue, of course) and the liquid magic soothes his body. It reduces his tiredness better than sleep could and destroys his mental state a little worse than the nightmares could. Of course, one could say there was no need to be nostalgic, since he could have the cookies in real form whenever he desired: Hestia, being the cruel goddess she is, had blessed him with a projection of his mother to tail him and act exactly like Sally Jackson. But what the witch didn't realise was that the gift continually reaffirmed his mother's death, and thus made the tears harder to restrain.
He gets off the bed, cursing its comfortability that always lulls him into a false sense of joy, and walks to the full size mirror nearby. He looks at his reflection for a few seconds, frowning at how tired and old he seems—he almost looks like a zombie. He taps the mirror's amber edge twice and waits for the blessing to clean and dress him up perfectly. It had been so long since Aphrodite had gifted him that he wonders for a moment if she's forgotten him. But no, his father had arranged very carefully that the goddess of Love forever remembers him as the cause of her eternal misery.
Perseus goes to the kitchen and picks up the plate of enticing blue pancakes that Not Sally had baked and dumps them into the sacrificial fire for his father. Then he takes a sip of the water by it to aid his body, which was very much mortal and hence needed to have sustenance beyond ambrosia and nectar.
As he walks down the unnecessarily long hallway, the demigod wonders where Hestia's gift was: he hasn't seen it in any room he's passed, and those were the most probable rooms she could be right now. He shrugs it off, not really caring if Hestia had finally taken pity on him.
The blank pale walls really need a more indulging and active owner; As it was, the house is more 'empty mental institution' than 'home'. Sometimes he doesn't understand why even is he trying to live in it, since the sole reason he had for a home had abandoned him years ago.
Reaching the room he likes to call Study, he plops down in a seat, and reclines it a little. He's already liking the idea of lazy-reading a graphic novel that had gotten him hooked.
However, he glances at the tiny table standing proudly a little ways off, and dismisses the idea. He reaches out to pull the stand closer to himself. The air pockets in his back pop—the girl last night was quite the bender, and had expected him to follow her strange forms as well—but he persists and dragged it to beside him. Uncapping the container, he pours himself some, relishing the soft sound of the brown fluid as it fell to the glass.
As the liquid burns his throat lightly, he thinks of how the lives of mortals are wasted on petty arguments and pleasures: all a mortal's life ever resulted in was exactly zero in the long run. A demigod's, on the other hand, contributed in more tangible and drastic ways. That, he realises, was probably why the gods had done such a splendid job in ensuring that half-bloods had neither the means nor the desire to help them out. Jason would probably have had a speech to give about that—about how the gods were correct in mysterious ways and how sons of Poseidon having any sense of self-preservation should keep their words (or thoughts) restricted when reaching the subject.
But Jason wasn't exactly in the health to orate his cute prepared speech, seeing as he was Hades' property now, and that was why Perseus didn't give it more thought.
The doorbell sounds. It's weird to hear, because he hasn't had many visitors. Probably because he made sure to choose a home in a secluded part of the city and framed the front do that mortals wouldn't exactly love to approach it.
He gets up slowly, half-attempting to impress upon the person that he was antisocial, and lumbers to the front door, not betraying a single hint to his presence to The One At The Door.
He opens the door to find a beautiful women at his doorstep. He rarely got any unplanned, uninvited visitors, and he got none of the kind currently in front of him. So and therefore, this could only mean one thing.
"Look, I clearly told you when we met that it was a one-night stand," Perseus recites his unused rehearsed speech, "If you want to have the kid—though I strongly advise against it—just check your bank account once: I've already made you wealthy enough to convince you to leave me alone. Otherwise," he readied his fingers behind his back, prepared to use the Mist if she did not cooperate, "I have more convincing arguments."
"I have no interest in how you use the the Mist to make rich the potential bearers of your seed, Perseus," the female speaks in a quiet yet on-edge voice, "Nor do I think Hecate hates her queen enough to let me be manipulated by that stupid parlor trick of hers."
Perseus is dumbfounded, but only for a moment. "I thought my father convinced Zeus to leave me alone."
"When our world is untouched by you, yes."
"What did I do wrong, Hera?" He cuts to the point. "I've always kept my distance. I didn't even help heroes on quests!"
"I am not Hera, Percy Jackson." The lady's expression turns slightly sour, as if being compared to the queen of the gods isn't to her liking.
Nobody can blame her for feeling like that, though. "Perseus," he corrects stiffly and somewhat automatically, while trying to figure out who she could be.
If it wasn't Hera... The other 'queens' who could walk without getting in trouble and command a Titaness could only be either Amphitrite or Persephone. And neither of them seem right, since he's touched neither Pontus nor Erebus in the last gods-know-how-many years. In fact, he's not touched a single aspect of the Greek world since he's left Camp.
"Why, I clearly remember a time when you'd rather not be called by your Greek name, Destroyer."
Perseus does not like that she'd drawn him into those memories. "It's what my mother named me, is it not? Who are you?"
"I heard of what happened through Hestia. Poseidon wasn't overjoyed, as I remember."
"Answer the damn question." Patience isn't his strong suit anyway. He uses the whiskey in his abandoned glass to draw it to himself, steps out, and closes the door behind himself, hopefully clearly showing that she wasn't welcome.
"Insolent as always, Perseus. Ask yourself, would your stepmother have any patience with you after you attaining the title of heir?"
"First, Triton is heir apparent. And I don't think there are many scenarios where I get control over the seas. Second, almost all immortals are as stuck up. Third, what is your business here, Persephone?"
"You would not mind if I beat around the bush a bit, though, would you?"
Of course I will. "Is that meant to be a soft imperative, milady? 'Cause I'm not nearly naive enough." He takes a long drink out of the glass, thanking Poseidon for his powers.
Persephone smiles slightly, "Another imperative of the kind then: won't you invite me inside?"
"Received this from your father, did you?" Persephone asks as soon as they are seated.
Perseus nods in reply, but seeing that the lady of Spring is looking at the desolate walls and the ultra-clean floor, he verbalises his answer. "Yes I did. I decided to finally reap at least some of the rewards of a life of pain."
"Of two lives, you mean."
His expression turns guarded, and his voice hardens. "Yes. Though I know as a fact that you cannot in forever repay her."
"Your hostility towards me is unrequited. It wasn't me who was by her side the night before she died."
Perseus is angry now, and his hand reachs his pocket out of habit, just to find it empty. He trys to pass it off as a movement to hide his clenching fist, and fails.
"Ah, yes," she nods at his failed attempt at drawing a sword, "I heard that you melted away your sword in the Olympian Hearth. I never heard the reason, though."
"I sacrificed it to Zoë Nightshade. It was hers."
The goddess is inspecting his belongings now. Perseus is thinking where the hell is Not Mom. "I infer that you no longer deem demigod and mortal lives worth saving: you could've as easily given Poseidon or Chiron Anaklusmos back for another great hero to wield it. Do you really think the half-bloods will survive without someone to take your place?"
"Why, though? Kronos is spread far apart to never be able to reform. Leo took down Gaia permanently. The only force demigods will ever need a great hero against is you and yours."
Thunder rumbles loudly at that. "Zeus is, I fear, quite resentful of that assessment." At his small shrug, she questions, "Why don't you fear? Why do you not allay your speech a bit?"
"Because I am telling the truth. And I don't really care about pleasing him, only myself."
"Is that the reason why you have a track record comparable to Aphrodite in bedding mortals?"
"Probably," Perseus says, "But enough sidetracking. What are you here for?"
"Have you forgotten yet? You allowed me to discuss other topics first."
Perseus just sighs in defeat.
"So, tell me," the goddess continues, "what have you been doing these days?"
He senses hidden motives behind the question. He wonders if this was the Olympian version of 'good cop, bad cop'. Persephone does have the looks to draw out answers (Aphrodite had lost access to her love magic for a few millennia as punishment for toying with the love lives of four of the Seven, including her daughter, so she couldn't possibly seduce the truth out of him.) but lacked the attitude required to act seductress. There was also the fact that his father can easily testify to his good behavior—there is no need for Olympus to conduct an investigation.
"Living like a mortal. An extremely rich mortal, I suppose."
"Without a spouse."
The Hero of Olympus nods. "Without a spouse," he agrees without emotion, "I fear that I won't ever be able to love someone other than my Wise Girl. And I don't wish to have a pseudo-detainee or gold-digger," he paused, "This is getting really personal, though. Should I be scared that Olympus is getting so interested in me. Or is it just your interest?"
"I just desire to know if you have the resources and temperament to handle the task I'll be assigning you."
Finally, some business talk. "A quest? What did I do to receive a death sentence?"
"No, not a quest," the child of Demeter takes a deep breath, probably considering whether to reveal her motives yet, then continues, "First, tell me of your incomplete romance with the girl? Keyword being 'incomplete'."
It is more a demand than request by the tone of it. Perseus, therefore, says, "We both thought we were prepared for the incomplete factor: Annabeth had calculated the chances of having a normal life quite early on, and they weren't exactlyexactly like Tyche smiling at us. Even with our godly parents looking out for us, the mortal and immortal dangers that danced around us were many, so we knew it wasn't to last. But then she died. And I was unprepared. It was one thing if it had been a mortal or a quest or a monster—"
"But it was a Titan that took her. And very violently, I remember well."
"No you don't. You don't remember, and you won't in forever remember, because you gods are too great to care about what happens to one lowly demigod. Because you don't have the guts to take responsibility of your children. It wasn't Hyperion's torture and brutality that took her, Persephone!" His voice drops to a cold whisper. "It was Athena's curse upon her, which was Olympus' to take back, or Dionysius' to get rid of. What killed her, my lady, was her own damned mind."
"We didn't kn—"
"You knew! You all knew! Artemis knew as soon as she was first touched by him—it was her Domain for Olympus' sake!—and yet she didn't even try to help my Wise Girl—the Heroine of Olympus—the one who saved ALL YOUR LIVES! No god told me where she was! No god helped her come home even after she escaped!"
The house and the nearby buildings are all shaking violently by now. "Athena knew what she was going through, knew that it was destroying her. Apollo knew. Hades knew she was about to kill herself. Nobody told me! NOBODY TOLD ME!" He is screaming most of it now, "And Annabeth, she betrayed me! She told me she was fine! That there weren't any nightmares! That being with me helped!"
Perseus composes himself, painfully, slowly, "Of course, it turned out to be a lie. She was so broken that she wouldn't even stay in Hades. The Judges told her it was her third virtuous life, but she rejected the Isles of the Blest for the Lethe and rebirth." His voice dropped to be inaudible to her, "So much for 'together forever'."
Persephone lets his words die down before changing the topic, "Tell me, how have you healed?"
"I was never wounded, goddess. Her death jolted me for a while, sure, and I wasn't able to feel emotions clearly enough to identify them for a while. But now I know—I feel no pain. I feel angry, yes, but no sorrow. At least not because of her leaving me."
"Contradictory to your behavior, that statement. You probably mean you think you don't feel sad."
"Something like that. I am healed... I just have a permanent dagger sticking inside me ready to open the wound again. And it's free for use by anyone! I see the stars to be reminded of the anxiety I had for her health while I was enjoying at Calypso's. I see flowers to be reminded of our dates. I see—well, I see the world as if it exists to tribute the love we had. She once told me love is a rampage of hearts. I now conclude my love was a little too much for her heart."
He glares at her as if to say 'That enough for you?' and Persephone nods, finally satisfied. She snaps her fingers and, with a bright flash, a crib seemingly completely made of dark flowers and silver appears next to the couch Persephone is seated in. The daughter of Zeus nods towards Perseus. "I've named her Kori, meaning 'daughter' in our godly tongue. I've kept her as long as I could, but it's time she meets her father."
And that is when Perseus sees that he is holding an infant in his arms, almost buried in a brightly colored cloth.
"Keep her safe, will you?" Her voice breaks with unprecedented and sudden grief and worry, and the goddess flashs away, leaving the demigod and her daughter alone.
And Perseus is dumbfounded.
After seeing aside his questions, he looks at his daughter, scanning her features. "Kori...?" he says, simultaneously tasting the name and calling out hesitantly, not willing to wake her up.
Looking at the baby, Perseus, for the first time in his life, truly understands how Poseidon had felt seeing him: he hates himself for cursing his child to the life and death of a half-blood...
The demigoddess does wake up. She opens her eyes in the slightest, her purple irises shining through the narrow slits.
...and he knows she will be the love of his life.
If you liked this, you may like Ashes, Roses, Secrets, my other detailed, well-written, maturing, angst-with-happy-ending fanfic. Or you may like Miss Jackson, which is the sequel to this one, but way more goofy and demigod-y, and is an homage the original five books.