The Darkest Hour
Chapter 5
Grief

It was to the sound of whetstone dragging across metal that Zeus awoke this time, feeling that some of his old strength had returned to his limbs while he slept, probably generously aided by the nectar he'd consumed. His head felt clearer than it had for a long time, no longer clouded by the constant pain of being eaten alive or the fever of healing wounds without the magic of the rock healing him overnight.

It was daytime, judging by the light permeating through the waterfall at the cave entrance, enough to allow him to see most of the space without having to strain.

Persephone Jackson was seated at the other end of the rounded space, probably in an effort not to disturb him, attention focused entirely on the sword laid across her lap, whetstone gliding along the edge with the precision of a seasoned warrior. She hadn't noticed he was awake yet and the Olympian used the moment to study her in a way he hadn't had the chance to earlier, too shocked that she was alive at all.

The last time Zeus had seen Percy Jackson, she'd been fourteen, hovering on the fine edge between a child and a young woman, filled with optimistic innocence and righteous anger. She'd faced the council of the gods with her head held high, sea-colored eyes storming as she defended the Ophiotaurus. She'd looked so much like her father in that moment, young and idealistic, filled with passion and drive, that even the king of the gods had found himself softening, seeds of respect planting themselves despite his annoyance. Despite her youth - a childhood really - despite the dirt and blood covering her torn clothes and the wight of exhaustion heavy on her shoulders, Percy Jackson had stood up to them with the confidence of a queen and basically commanded them to be better than their predecessors.

Unapologetic, loyal to a fault and fiercely protective of those she cared about, Percy Jackson had carved her place in their world with the subtlety of a raging volcano. Her blatant disrespect had made half of the gods ready to eviscerate her on the spot, while her undeniable charisma had drawn in the other half to protect her. And Poseidon, the damned fool, was so enamored with her that he'd been willing to risk his reputation and their lives on her loyalty.

Looking at her now, Zeus had hard time reconciling the two images of Percy Jackson in his head.

He had little knowledge of how much time had passed since the war, what with being completely separated from the rest of the world, but it must have been longer than he'd hoped for. The years – for it must have been years - had left their mark on the demigod in the lack of baby fat on her face, in the old pale scar that bisected her left eye, giving her a somewhat sinister appearance in the dim lighting. But the most tangible difference was not physical. It was her eyes that paid homage to the passage of time, for they no longer shone like the sunlit sea. Long ago Poseidon had assured them that Percy Jackson was a child of his kindest nature, a fruit of peaceful waters and bountiful oceans, more likely to save lost ships rather than destroy them. The sight of her now make Zeus doubt it. For her eyes had grown dark and threatening, a barely leashed storm rather than a peaceful voyage.

Whether that bode well for him, well only time could show.

He was, after all, not blind to the fact that he was entirely at her mercy at the moment. With his powers bound and knowledge of the current world closer to none, his chances of survival without her were rather non-existent. It grated, terribly so. The king of Olympus, one of the most powerful gods in the Hellenic pantheon, having to rely on a mortal hero for something as basic as survival. It brought memories he'd rather forget, of having to sneak into his father's palace, to degrade himself as the titan's plaything just so they would trust him.

He dispelled the thoughts with a shake of his head, even if it alerted the demigod that he was awake. Hurricane eyes focused on him with the speed of a war-veteran, startled, before scanning him with the calculating gaze a healer, taking note of his posture and the color of his skin, sword forgotten in her lap.

"I thought Anaklusmos never got dull," Zeus broke the silence, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was used to people looking at him in awe or in fear, not like was a science subject in the middle of an experiment. It was enough to shake the demigoddess out of her inspection and she glanced down at the weapon, giving the god enough time to drag himself into a sitting position, without having to reveal his weakness. The bandages at his chest pulled and burned as he moved but it was a bearable sting rather then the breathtaking agony from before. Moirai, he wished for his healing back.

There was a slight disapproval in Percy's eyes when she returned her attention to him but she said nothing, instead choosing to stand up, twirling the sword once before offering him the handle. Curious, Zeus reached for it, fingers wrapping around the leather-bound grip with practiced ease. It'd been millennia since the last time he'd handled a sword, but muscle memory was there still, the weight familiar in his hand.

It was not a beautiful weapon, not in the way Anaklusmos had been. There was no ornamentation, no inscriptions, only a simple leather-wrapped grip and four-foot long leaf shaped, double colored blade, with one side made of tempered steel and the other of Celestial bronze. It was not magical, not like Luke Castellan's infamous sword had been, but it was made by blood and magic – the only way to bind the two metals together. It glinted menacingly in the dim light, as if thirsty.

"There are more than monsters in Kronos' army." Her voice was dark as she interrupted his musings. "After Riptide was… lost I needed a weapon which could kill more than demigods. Its name is λύπη."

Sorrow, His mind translated automatically.

It was not hard to read between the lines what she was carefully avoiding saying. The way she was looking at the sword was a clue in itself, the loathing in her gaze as she beheld a weapon capable of killing anything that stood in its path. How the times must have changed, to have the same person who'd risked their life to defend a monster, in possession of a sword capable of wounding mortals and immortals alike.

"The Mist?"

"It fell as soon as the titans came into power." Jackson explained, as she accepted the sword back and spun it once, watching darkly as it sliced through the air before returning it to the leather scabbard at her waist. "It took a while for the panic to settle but once it did there were more than enough mortals willing to work for their new overlords if only for a chance of more power."

Zeus scoffed. Of course, there were. If there was something that humanity was good at, it was scrambling for every scrap of power and influence over their fellow man. Thousands of years of progress and growth – he might have disagreed with Prometheus' love for the human kind, but he'd learned to be proud of their accomplishments, aware that the driving force behind most of them was divine of nature – gone in a blink. He had no need for the demigod to tell him what had happened to the Western Civilization after the gods fell. He could see it in the quality of her clothes – linen and leather, rough, handmade; in the medicine she used to heal him – herbs and teas, rather than the more effective tablets and pills that the humans had started using. Sadness and anger waged war inside him.

"The other gods?" He dared ask, voice rougher than he wished. He refused to meet her eyes, not when he could feel her pity sliding like tar on his skin.

"Imprisoned, most of them, at least the once who sided against the titans." Jackson told him with a sigh. "There were some that didn't… make it."

The words hit like a fist in the stomach, leaving him breathless. Logically, he knew that it shouldn't be surprising, not with the torture Kronos had put them through before assigning them to their individual prisons. They might be technically immortal, but even they were not safe from fading as their domains were weakened or their physical forms severely injured. The destruction of their thrones was enough of a blow to start the process for the weaker of the Olympians. The shift in the world afterwards must have been enough to finish it.

He knew all that, had known it even before Jackson had sprung him from his prison. And yet it hurt, the grief stealing his breath as it settled into his chest. For all the disagreements and punishments and betrayals even, they were after all family. A weird, messed up family for sure, but one none the less. Beneath the insults and the wars and the petty arguments, the Olympians cared about each other. It was the glue that had kept them together for millennia where other pantheons had ripped themselves apart.

Ruthlessly, he squished down the part of himself that felt like curling up somewhere and putting his hands over his ears. He might be weak, powerless, almost mortal, but he was still a king. And a king was not allowed weakness. "Who?" He forced himself to ask, to sound somewhat steady despite the inner turmoil.

The demigod hesitated. She might not be able to see his expression clearly, but he was not foolish enough to believe she couldn't sense at least some of his emotional turmoil. "I don't know everything." She cautioned. "What I know I've learned mostly through rumor and intercepted correspondence-"

"Who?"

She sighed. "Dionysus."

His breath escaped him. His son had been weakened, wounded by the battle with Typhon. The destruction of Olympus must have been enough to- to-

Jackson was still speaking. "A couple of minor gods as well, though I cannot give you names. Demeter. And-" She paused and he could feel her gaze burning into him. "And Hera." He'd been prepared for it and it still felt like knife in the gut. Three Olympians and who knows how many other immortals were gone, disappeared into the wind. His wife, his sisters, his son. Just gone, returned to the nothing as if they had never been. No souls, no Underworld, no chance to see them again. Grief bubbled into his veins, shifting, changing into another emotion until he found himself shaking with uncontrollable rage.

Before he had made the conscious decision to move, he was on his feet, despite the complaints of his still weakened body. Not that he could even feel them through the red haze which had fallen over him. She was watching him silently, wary but unafraid in the face of his wrath, sword sheathed at her side. It only served to make him angrier, earlier gratefulness swept away by the river of liquid lava in his veins. "It's your fault." He hissed at her, too furious to shout. "It's all because of you! Because you couldn't make one damned correct choice!" He watched for a reaction, a shift, a particle of his own pain mirrored in her but she gave him none, looking at him with the same stony expression from earlier. He wanted to make her hurt and cry and scream, to make her feel the same helplessness he'd felt hanging for years on that damned rock, not knowing that his family had fallen apart, had died-

He reached for her, wherever to push her away or wrap his hand around her neck and choke the very life out of her, he was not sure, but it was what finally managed to draw a reaction out of her even if it was the opposite of what he'd wanted. Her eyes flashed for a brief moment only and then she was moving, sidestepping his strike with the grace of a true warrior, a foot wrapping around his ankle. Already unsteady, grieved and wounded, it was enough to throw him off balance. He couldn't stop his pained cry as he crashed face first on the floor of the cave, the pain of his wounds finally piercing through the fury. It wasn't made better when she pressed her knee between his shoulder blades, pushing him slightly into the ground, causing his chest to sting even more. She was not leaning on it, he knew that. It was a warning more than anything, not meant to cause more pain but to keep him still.

Her breath brushed against the back of his neck as she leant down to whisper in his ear. "Let me make something very clear, Lord Zeus," She said his title mockingly, making him very aware how far from lordly he currently was. "You will never again try to strike me. I don't care if you are the King of the gods or the lowest mortal, I am the one that saved you – nothing stops me from dragging your ass back to your jailors." With that the weight on his back disappeared, but Zeus did not move, cheek pressed against the dusty ground as he gathered his breath. He could hear her rummaging around the cave before her shadow fell over him again as she deposited something next to his head.

"I will leave you to cool off." The demigod told him, tone back to that neutral place from before, any trace of her previous anger and spite gone. "I encourage you to take the time to bath. Eight years of dirt have not done you kindness." She was gone with the mere whisper of boots along gravel, leaving the god to wallow in his own misery.

Percy sighed as she dropped the unconscious body on the ground, shoulders throbbing in relied. It had been a stroke of uncharacteristic luck on her part – or maybe just her usual ability to make positives out of bad fortune – that she'd stumbled upon a lone, mortal hunter miles deep into the forest. He hadn't seen her, hadn't had the chance, his loud, booted feet announcing his presence from afar. No wonder had hadn't caught anything before Percy had knocked him out with a well-aimed swing of the pommel of her hunting knife.

She'd searched him once he'd dropped, coming up with nothing other than a bow, a couple of arrows, half a silver coin with a sickle emblazoned on the side and a photo of a little girl from the times before the titans. An unexperienced hunter if the lack of any survival equipment meant anything. Probably had been something normal like an accountant or a sales agent of some kind before the world suddenly ended and he'd had to find a way to feed the girl from the photo.

Wordlessly, Percy had returned the coin and the photo to the pouch around his neck, choosing instead to take his clothes – worn and faded but not in a terrible condition – after eyeballing their size. Zeus would need some clothes other than the rags he'd worn before.

Briefly she'd considered leaving the hunter there to become food for the wild beasts, a sure way to hide any evidence of her presence. He would be mourned probably, but people no longer had the resources they once did and there was no way the titans would be interested in investigating the disappearance of a single mortal. With all the monsters roaming the wild hunting had become a dangerous business, taken up only by the desperate.

Still, it was the thought of the little girl in that photo that halted her retreating feet and with a curse at her own foolishness, the demigoddess had swung the unconscious man over her shoulder, starting the long trek through the woods.

And here she was, having dumped his body as close to the road she dared to get, hopefully visible to any passers-by. She'd long ago stopped believing into the good of people, but maybe someone would take pity on him and take him to the closest village. She left the pouch and his weapons with him, as well as one of the rabbits she'd shot, in some form of an apology. Hopefully, it would be enough to feed his family for a couple of days.

A quick glance at the sky assured her that it had been a couple hours since she'd left Zeus sprawled on the floor, shaking with anger and grief.

She was not angry at him, not truly. She'd been there before, that place where pain shifts into anger and leaves you looking for anyone to blame, as if someone else's pain would in some way take away your own. She knew that place intimately. That anger had once been the only thing that had kept her alive, the thirst for revenge the only reason she had not dragged her blade across her own neck. It still lived inside her, that anger, perhaps dulled by time but still smoldering, needing only the right kindling to ignite.

The lake was empty when Percy returned to the cave, though the wet steps leading into the cave showed that Zeus must have taken her advice after all. She found him inside, sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket trying to dry himself with a scrap of cloth he must have found in her storages. He looked up as she entered and the solitude seemed to have cooled some of his anger off, because there was none of that desperate, grieved hatred as his eyes met hers.

"Here," She kept her voice neutral as she tossed the bundle of clothes in his direction, a proverbial olive branch as it were. "They're not the best quality, but should fit." She didn't wait for his response, instead busying herself with dealing with the freshly caught rabbits to give him some privacy. Still, she kept her ears on him, even if the waterfall made it nearly impossible to hear anything. There was rustling of cloth and movement and a barely suppressed groan as his movements probably pulled at the tender skin on his chest. Still, he didn't ask for help and she did not offer, well aware how it would only further grate on his already wounded pride.

Percy turned only once she was sure he was dressed, surprised to find him trying to cut his hair with a random hunting knife she had lying around the cave – only his wounds were too fresh to allow him to lift his arms high enough and keep the up long enough to be able to do anything other than swipe at the ends of it.

Feeling a pang of pity at the sight, the demigoddess sighed.

"Would you like some help?" Their eyes met and she could see him weight the offer in his mind, before with a nod he dropped his arms. Somewhat surprised – it must really bother him if he were able to swallow his pride enough to agree – or maybe his time under the titans' tender care had beaten it out of him, Percy crossed over to the wooden box that held most of her sewing supplies, drawing out a rusty pair of shears – sharp despite their otherwise poor condition. She waited for his permission before moving to stand behind his back, well aware what a vulnerable position it was for someone who'd been through what they'd been through. Because she might not know exactly what had happened to him, but knew enough about how Kronos operated to know Zeus would not have been let easy even before being tied to that rock.

He hissed when she tried to comb her fingers through some of the knots in his hair, matted with ichor and dust and gods knew what else, that no amount of washing would be able to get out. "I'll have to cut it short." She told him somewhat regretfully. He hummed his agreement, leaning back to give her better access as she started cutting. It surprised her, to feel him relax as she snipped at his black tresses, trying to give his hair some shape, despite her lack of experience at hair dressing. She was not blind to the expression of trust it was, to let her behind his back with sharp scissors so close to his neck. Gods knew she didn't know if she could have done it, not after everything that had happened to her.

"There," She stepped back as she was done, watching him run his fingers through it. It was indeed much shorter than before and surprisingly kinky, black strands curling around the tops of his ears.

Leaning over the edge of the lake, Zeus frowned at his reflection. "Do you happen to have a razor?"

Percy raised her eyebrows in surprise, but voiced in the affirmative, passing him an old fashioned razorblade she scourged from somewhere a long time ago. He obviously had little idea what to do with it – being a god who could change his appearance with a thought – his movements clumsy as he tried to scrape years' worth of hair of his face.

"Give that here before you slice your throat open." The demigoddess sighed, ripping the sharp blade out his grip. By the way that it had been going he would have looked like he'd had another run-in with the vultures before he managed to get his beard off. With practiced hands, she made him lean forward so she could wet and soap his beard, ignoring his sharp intake of breath as she laid the blade against his neck.

"How do you know how to do this?" He asked quietly, eyes shifting between hers curiously. "I was under the impression that nowadays men performed such tasks themselves." There was a moment of silence between them as Percy contemplated if she should answer at all. She'd always disliked sharing tidbits of her personal life with people, now even more so, after she'd learned to clutch her memories – good and bad – close to her heart so they wouldn't be used against her. But he'd shown some vulnerability by letting her do this, it would be only fair that she extended the olive branch as well. And if everything went to plan, or at least the bare-bones of a plan she had forming in her mind, they would spent a while together. It would be impossible to do so in silence.

"They do." Percy admitted finally, titling his head back with steady fingers so she could reach underneath his jaw. "But my first step-father would only shave with a straight razor and he demanded I do it for him."

Whatever her expression had given away, Zeus must have picked up on her displeasure at the memory. "You didn't like him?" He guessed and the demigod had to suppress the instinctive urge to change the topic. Either the time spent away from any other sentient creature had made her easier to read, or Zeus was simply a good judge of character, because his guess was more spot on than she thought it would be. But the Pandora's box was proverbially open and there was little she could do to shut it again.

"He was a dirty, foul excuse of man, who cared more about his beer and poker party than he did about anything else in his life." A somewhat bitter snort escaped her. "His death is the only reason I'm grateful for meeting Medusa."

"Medusa?" She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing she was, when she'd sent the gods, him included, the head of Medusa in retaliation for making her first quest difficult. Her lips twitched at the memory.

"Yeah, her. Dad sent the head back to my apartment." Bittersweet pride swirled in her chest. "Mom used it to get rid of Gabe."

Zeus startled at her words and she had to pull the razor back quickly before he cut himself, scolding him until he shifted back into position. "Your mother turned her husband to stone?" His eyebrows basically rose off his forehead. She could see the surprise and appreciation in his eyes. It must not be often he heard about humans walking the border between the mortal and godly world in such away, especially back then when the Mist had been still in place. "Why did she marry him then? If he was so horrible?"

It was the wrong thing to ask, skirting too close to wounds Percy had little desire to poke at. Her face darkened as she swept the razor over the last few missed spots on his face, hands growing unwittingly firmer as she twisted his head to make sure she was finished. It was hardly his fault, in truth. Any conversation about her past was a minefield – he couldn't have known how to navigate that. Still, that didn't stop the unreasonable stab of anger she felt at his questioning.

Wordlessly, she passed him a clean piece of cloth so he could wipe the remaining soap and stray hairs off his face while she busied herself with rinsing the supplies she'd used, her back turned to him. Her brief anger drained at the routine work, leaving her strangely empty. She could hear Zeus shifting behind her, possibly sensing the tenseness of the air. "Because of me." The demigoddess spoke finally, voice hardly above a whisper. She could feel the Olympian freeze. "She married him because of me. Because his stench was strong enough to conceal my godly blood."

"Smart woman." He remarked and wherever it was only to soothe her temper or because of genuine feeling, Percy was too tired to decipher.

A strange sound escaped her, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "She was."

AN: Well, no excuse why I haven't updated for so long but I do hope you like this chapter and hopefully the next one will be here soon. Reviews are, as always, very welcome!