A/N: Here's another chapter. If things go as planned, I should be able to complete this arc before January. Leave a few reviews if you can 3
PERSEUS slowed his horse to a small trot as he neared Diomedes, his heart rate slowing. He was tired, battered and bloody. The blood which coated him wasn't his though, and Perseus had been more worried for his brother. He had sensed the godly presence almost immediately, and then from across the battlefield he had seen Aeneas and Diomedes fighting, and then seen the appearance of the goddess of love. He'd gotten there just as Aeneas had been taken away with his mother.
Now, he slowly approached Diomedes, who had picked up his fallen swords. The man whirled on his feet to join the fray once more, and then stilled, stumbling back in surprise. On top of his horse, Perseus imitated the enemy king, stiffening as the air condensed in front of the other man. The other immortal, golden clad, and fair haired, flicked a wrist and Diomedes went flying into the sand.
Apollo barely spared Perseus a glance, but then the air beside him contorted once more and a bulky strong-looking man appeared. He wore blood red armour, a helmet in the shape of a boar and an assortment of weapons hung from his belt. His cloak was red too, and Perseus could hear screams from the battle rising, as though the fighting had been turned up by several hundred thousand notches. Blood red eyes landed on him and the god Ares gave him a blood curdling smile of greeting.
Perseus was stuck in his seat. He didn't dare speak.
He'd only seen this god once, and even then he'd been too drunk on anger at Poseidon's presence on Ida to fully take note of him. Ares' power was oppressive, and even now Perseus felt like he was choking. His eyes blurred and beneath his skin his ichor boiled and roared. Anger shot through his spine, at the presence of the two gods, at the interference, at Pandarus, and Paris, and all the gods-dammed men in this sea of death and carnage trying to destroy his city.
He shook his head, tightening his grip on his sword. It was the power of Ares. Influencing his thoughts and emotions. He was an immortal. He needed to learn how to tune out the effect of the gods.
Perseus sent a nod of recognition to the god, and Ares' gaze slid off him back to Diomedes, a glare settling on his face. Apollo waved his hand once more and an unseen force jerked Diomedes back to his feet.
"Bold of you to injure an Olympian goddess," The son of Zeus looked scornful, his expression thunderous. "You are lucky Aphrodite did not smite you where you stand."
"What, you've come to fight her battles for her?" Diomedes bared his teeth at them. He glanced at Perseus, then back to the two gods.
"I will cut out your tongue," Ares' voice was like nails across stone. "And then I will cut off your head and present it to Aphrodite myself."
Diomedes straightened, and Perseus leaned forward in his saddle. Behind the Greek, the air was shimmering, and then with an ear-splitting sound which made Perseus wince, the goddess Athena appeared hovering behind him. She looked regal, godly. And as those piercing grey eyes locked on him, Perseus straightened, feeling her looking at him—into him—gaze roving across his figure, and goosebumps spread on his skin. It felt as though a thousand little spiders were crawling across his body. Apollo's lips curled.
The pressure in the air was overwhelming. Perseus felt his vision blacken, and he shook his head again to focus.
"Sister, why do you stand against us?"
"The mortal has my favour," Athena's voice sounded like a thousand horses racing to battle. "I stand behind him."
"Then you shall watch him die," Apollo's heavy voice made him cringe. The golden god turned to Ares. "End this."
"Gladly," Ares grinned and stretched out his hand. A sword, golden, and intricate and inlaid with jewels appeared in his hand. It was huge, larger than even Perseus, but the god held it with ease. Blood seeped from the hilt across the blade. Athena's eyes glowed from beneath the face guard of her helmet and beneath her Diomedes straightened, whatever power that was holding him being torn away. The mortal slipped into a stance, ready for the god of war. Across the terrain, Perseus met Apollo's eyes. "Good luck," The sun god spun on his heels, and slowly rose off the ground. His bow appeared in his hand and Perseus watched his fire into the sea of men.
A battleground of gods.
This place wasn't safe for anyone now. Not if the Olympians got involved.
Perseus' head snapped down just as Ares and Diomedes collided. Just in time to see the goddess Athena spearing towards him, a savage expression on her face, her shield Aegis right in front of her. Beneath him his horse reared, fear rippling through it at the face of Medusa, and Perseus felt the same fear shoot through his spine. He heard screaming, then one word, over and over again, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK,FUCK! And it sounded like it was coming from his horse.
Surprise replaced his fear, even as he felt himself slip from the saddle. Perseus felt the breath knocked out of him as he collapsed on the ground and the horse bolted away. He scrambled onto the heel of his palms, swearing as Athena let out a roar and raised her spear to impale him. A curse left his lips.
The clang with resounded in front of him sent a shockwave searing across the battlefield. The god who had appeared before him twisted his weapon—a blue trident, and Athena's spear cracked into half. The goddess roared in outrage, hovering back. Perseus scrambled to his feet, backtracking a bit too. The battle seemed to fade around him. His heart stuttered, and his head swam. He could see Apollo, firing craters into the enemy, Ares and Diomedes, still doing battle, a man with a grey travellers cloak and angular features clutching a caduceus and tearing down Trojans—Hermes. Above him, he heard a roar, and Perseus felt his chest stop as a giant dragon—a bronze giant dragon appeared from thin air and belched fire on the fighting warriors. He heard a laugh from the heavens, the hairs on his arms rising as Hephaestus' beast let out another roar. Apollo shot upwards, a blur of gold, a volley of arrows accompanying him.
"You don't touch my son, Athena," Poseidon's voice made his blood curl—it sounded just like the roaring wind and raging seas that had consumed his old life when he was four summers.
The goddess glowed. "He's an anomaly. He must not exist."
"You're not perfect, goddess," Poseidon whirled his trident in his hand. "You shouldn't expect everyone else to be."
Perseus snarled. "I can fight my own battles."
The goddess laughed. "See, Poseidon. He does not acknowledge you. You called for the destruction of Troy at today's council meeting. Why change your tongue now?"
"Just because I want this blasted city gone doesn't mean I want my son gone along with it," Poseidon thundered. He spared Perseus a glance and the demigod glared at him. He could see it. The resemblance. The god was young looking, with sea green eyes, windswept raven black hair and a cleanly shaved beard. He looked exactly like his father—if he preferred blue coral armour and radiated obscene amounts of power.
"Fuck you," Perseus panted.
"We need to talk," Poseidon's voice turned pained. "Please."
"Take your talk and shove it up your—"
"Enough," Athena boomed. "Stand aside, Poseidon." The sea god slipped into a stance. Athena flicked her wrist and a new spear appeared in her hand. "Very well." Poseidon shot him another glance as Athena charged. And then he launched himself off the ground and collided with the daughter of Jove in a blast of power.
Perseus stood, stock-still, as he watched the battle go to chaos around him.
He heard a roar, and then started as Diomedes plunged a sword into Ares chest. With a cry, the god exploded into red and vanished. The mortal was panting, and weaponless, and before Perseus could attack the man was running, away from the battling gods. Perseus heard another scream them, and he made to turn, but then beneath him a vine sprouted, and his foot caught in it, sending him off balance.
Perseus swore, cursing Dionysus' name, and then suddenly the scream was cut short. He freed his foot and turned, to find Selene, her hair being swept by the roaring wind as she flicked her wrist and three oncoming Greek soldiers turned to dust. Perseus saw Hector appear, on foot, locked in battle with Odysseus, Ajax and Menestheus. Without turning, Selene barked at him. "Get your head into the game, Perseus. Your friend needs your help."
Around him the gods continued their skirmishes, burning mortals and creating craters in the earth wherever their powers landed. Apollo had the dragon distracted, and Perseus spared a glance at Athena and Poseidon, still at it, uncaring for any around them.
"Okay," He spurned his feet into action. Hector needed him. "Let's go."
~ • ~
HECTOR was panting when he finally managed to injure Odysseus and sent the man stumbling aside. Before he could attack to end him, the King of Ithaca was swallowed by the mass of soldiers. Ajax had disappeared into the throng of warriors, right after the Titaness Selene had come with Perseus, ripping up his side with a sword longer than Hector's arm. He heard a boom, and Hector glanced up as Athena threw Poseidon into the intermixed armies.
Hector didn't understand Athena's fixation on taking Perseus off the board. Maybe because he was too powerful—too unpredictable—to be a pawn. Perseus and the King of Athens were fighting, and somewhere to Hector's left Selene cut through Greek soldiers who dared to come close to any of them, a blur of silver and white.
The gods would destroy them all. Hector swore as debris rained down on them, loud explosions ringing in his ears. Their powers ran unchecked, raging, swallowing everything whole. He couldn't even tell who was winning. He didn't even know if everyone could see the immortal beings destroying the plain. Not everyone had the sight.
Hector breathed out and slashed at a man coming at him, his sword tearing through the man's neck.
"FALL BACK!" The call rang through the shattered Trojan lines as Hephaestus' dragon belched another ball of fire. As a silver arrow from below—Artemis— and a golden arrow from above tore through the metal, throwing the god out of the sky and blasting the dragon to shrapnel. Above them, Poseidon grabbed Athena by the horsehair on her helmet and they burst into light and vanished. Far across the terrain, battle raging around them, Diomedes and one of Hector's allies Glaukos, sat on the bloodied ground. They seemed to be speaking about something.
Hector frowned, then raised his sword to parry another strike and kill his assailant. "FALL BACK!" He whirled around in a circle, dodging a stray arrow and trying to find out where the call was coming from. Anger pulsed through his veins when he saw his own men, turning, fleeing, pivoting and bolting for the gates.
They couldn't escape. Not now. The Greeks would chase them down and that would be end of it.
"STOP!" His voice rang out across the battlefield. He saw Perseus spin and hurl a knife which sailed true and tore through the neck of a man coming up behind Hector. Even as the man died, the Prince turned and met another sword midair, twisting and driving his sword through another Greek. His voice was too low. No one could hear him over the loud din of the battlefield. Panic flared through him as Hector continued fighting, and he heard Perseus call, "What are they doing?"
Hector swore in response, trying to get closer to his friend. He didn't know where Aeneas was, but he hoped his friend was still alive. "We can't surrender!" Hector boomed. "We have to stop the rout!"
He was back to back with Perseus now, and together they danced around each other, skewering any soldiers coming close. Perseus cursed, and a cheer ran up through the Greek lines as several Trojans ran.
"Selene!" The immortal behind him called. Hector cut through a man before he could raise his spear. He risked a glance behind him to catch the Titaness bolting through the armies towards them. Wherever she passed, Greeks collapsed, dead, no doubt by the ancient power emanating from her. She came to a stop next to them, barely looking out of breath, her face hard and mortal blood staining her blade.
Perseus spoke rapidly and quickly. "Our forces are fleeing. Do you think you could somehow amplify Hector's voice so he can stop them?" The silver eyed woman raised an eyebrow. But then she nodded, gaze shifting to Hector. It felt like a thousand tiny nails had pricked his eyes and pain shot into Hector's head, making him gasp. Selene's power, barely controlled, roiling, arched through him, winding around his mind and his body like a coiling serpent. And then it lunged, sinking phantom fangs into him.
Hector's eyes turned blurry and he gritted his teeth. He was barely aware of Perseus watching his back as he pushed through the pain. His head pounded, and with a small groan, Hector straightened. Gods, how could Perseus always stand to be around so many immortal beings all the time? Perseus was immortal, he reminded him. But he was not. Hector's lips parted and then he spoke, the volume of his voice shocking even him. "TROJANS!" The sound was foreign, even though it was his own, but Hector ignored the ringing bells in his mind and forged on. "STAND AND FIGHT! PUSH AGAINST THE ACHAEANS. YOU LEAVE AND WE LOSE THIS WAR." He paused, even as the pain got searing, looking around to see his men standing their ground, clashing with the Greek lines once more. "ANY MAN WHO RUNS IS A DESERTER AND HIS LIFE IS FORFEIT!" Hector plunged his sword into an oncoming Greek soldier and roared, "FOR TROY!" There was an answering roar from around him as the Trojans fought with increased ferocity.
Hector felt Selene pull away from him, her power uncoiling, her presence wrenching itself out of his mind. He fell to his knees, panting, exerted, his hair matted with sweat beneath his helmet.
Around him the battle raged, the sun steadily moving across the sky. The fight seemed to have taken forever.
Hector heard Perseus make a surprised sound and glanced up, still panting, like a fish out of water. Selene and his friend were still around him, moving in circles and destroying anything that dared to come close. "Artemis," Perseus' voice made Hector's eyes flicker around the terrain until he spotted the auburn haired goddess, darting towards them and cleaving through men as she went. She skidded to a stop in front of Selene, her knives bloodied, but her appearance immaculate like her Titan counterpart, and Hector dipped his head in acknowledgement. Artemis' presence was possibly more sharp and powerful than Selene's, and it made him feel like he was in a small box, being squeezed around all sides. The goddess inclined her head at him, lips curling. Hector tried not to feel offended, remembering that she was man-hating.
Then she turned back to the two immortals before her. "Father bids us to leave the battlefield to the mortals, Selene. The effect of our power is too great and the repercussions for interfering will be heavy. We continue to fight, and there will be no Trojan or Achaean by nightfall." Selene nodded knowingly, and the goddess' eyes flickered over to him. "Prince Hector. I think you'd want to leave the battlefield for a bit."
He couldn't stop the question from falling from his lips. "Why? I can fight. I'm not seriously injured—"
"It's not about you, boy," Artemis snapped. "Your wife has gone into labour." Hector stilled. The noise of the battle died down.
And then roaring, in his ears. He blinked, furiously, struggling to his feet, as Selene turned to Perseus and placed a hand on his cheek, telling him to stay safe. The Titaness and the goddess, an odd pair, melted into silver dust and ashes, vanishing from view. He saw another flash from within the battle, and then one from the skies, and then a few more, and then the battle was one of mortals once more.
Hector's vision was clouded, and he glanced around him in a panic, eyes transfixed to the city walls. So far away. He dodged a strike coming for him and Perseus cleaved the man's head off. Hector looked around him, conflicted. His men—
But his wife. He turned to Perseus. "I have to—"
"Don't worry, brother," Perseus released a sharp and heavy breath. "I'll hold the fort here. Go to her." Relief flooded his veins and he crushed his best friend into a hug. Perseus patted his back and then shoved him off, dashing to join the fray again. The Trojan Prince whirled on his feet and with newfound vigour, began killing his way back to the city.
When he got to the city gates he passed through hurriedly, through past the squadron of guards they'd had behind the heavy doors in case everything went to shit. Hector flew through the streets, urging his feet to go faster and faster. Andromache was supposed to have at least two full months more. The baby coming this early…he wasn't exactly sure what that meant for either of them. Andromache's worry and panic for him, probably from watching the battle, had broken her water, and now the baby was coming! Hector bolted through the market, through the city square. The back lines of his armies had been carting the dead into the city, and he winced at the piling hill of death he passed.
But Hector didn't stop. He plucked his helmet off his head and ran, panting, cursing his stupid armour for weighing him down. He passed temples, the market, shops, roads, and as he went he saw people offering sacrifices, slaughtering bulls, women and children offering prayers to the same gods who had almost decimated them on the battlefield. But Hector called at them to continue, encouraging the sacrifices, patting them on the back as he went. But his goal still burned in his mind, and when he got to the palace gates, the Prince bolted through without a word to the guards.
He heard it almost immediately. The screaming, the shouting and cursing. Hector pounced on a servant and ordered her to lead him to the chambers where he knew his wife was, the sound of her suffering resonating throughout the entire palace. They hurriedly walked through passages and pathways, and Hector felt his anger and panic surging, when it seemed to take forever to get to Andromache. As they turned a corner, the hairs on his arms rose, and Hector's nose wrinkled—the air was sticky with blood. He deserted his companion servant and dashed forward, bursting through the doorway.
Andromache, legs spread, tears running down her face, in a simple tunic, let out a loud cry and sobbed, pushing. Hector's heart shattered. Her eyes found his, and his name fell off her lips like a prayer, and he moved to her as she let out another push. His wife was drenched in blood, the white sheets turned red and the room was a whirlwind of activity. She was surrounded by midwives and servants, and physicians, and his mother, looking frayed, stood behind Andromache, hands on her shoulders, bent and muttering words of encouragement to the future Queen. Creusa knelt in the blood beside her sister-in-law, worry on her face, clutching one of Andromache's hands as the woman sobbed. He saw Cassandra, muttering to herself beside the open window, and going totally ignored. Several of his sisters were around too, helping out the servants, and as Hector slid to the ground beside Andromache, his eyes latched on to Aeneas, who was kneeling beside him, his wife clutching Aeneas' hand like a vice. The son of Aphrodite nodded to him and Hector sent him an answering bob.
Hector felt gratitude engulf him—at least Aeneas had been here, even if he hadn't. At least his family was here, and Andromache had someone. His wife uttered his name again, her eyes fluttering, face filled with sweat. The dark haired man nodded, a cry bubbling in his throat as he leaned forward, placing a hand on Andromache's arm. He kissed her forehead, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm here, I came as soon as I heard." She made to answer, but then let out another sharp cry of pain. Blood pooled beneath her and Hector winced, continuing to whisper. "You can do this. I'm here, I'm here, Andromache." His eyes roved across the room—he could see a shimmering form behind the head midwife, and Hector sent a small prayer of supplication to Eilytheia, the goddess of childbirth.
Andromache sobbed.
"I see a head!" The midwife yelled. "The baby's coming!"
Hector cried out in ecstasy, saying, "You can do this, Andromache."
"We're here," Aeneas echoed. "Push." She cried as her chest heaved, and the future Queen pushed with all her might. A cry filled the air—a baby's cry—and a smile broke out on Andromache's face as the midwives went to work, getting the baby out, cleaning it up. Her head fell back in the pillow, and tears leaked out of her face. Hector sniffed, his eyes blurring, and he placed his head across her chest, his own tears falling as he squeezed. "You did it. I love you. I love you." He continued to murmur his words like a mantra, even Aeneas let go of her hands and they found his.
Hector's wife smiled and he turned to his best friend, mouthing a thanks to him, and then, laughing, turned to Andromache, running his hand across her face and hair, squeezing her hand. And across the city walls, on the large plain, the battle continued.
~ • ~
HECTOR kissed the baby on the head, before looking up at Aeneas, waiting for him in the doorway. Astyanax was a cute little bubbly thing, even though he was early, and he'd given Hector such a giant jump scare. Andromache was sleeping, and Hector smiled at her as he passed his heir to the midwife beside him. They were safe. They would make it.
He thanked all the gods that both his wife and son had survived their ordeal, and he thanked Lady Artemis for giving him the heads up.
When he got closer to Aeneas, his friend clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations." Hector gave him a ghost of a smile and nodded as they meandered through the passageways and towards the palace gates. The battle was still raging, although the sun was about to dip.
"How did you know she was in labour?" Hector cocked his head to the side in question. And so Aeneas recounted what had happened, with Diomedes and Aphrodite, and them reappearing in the palace. He told Hector about the conversation they'd had, about how much she cared for him no matter how little she showed it. Well, she had showed it plenty today, Hector told him. Aphrodite had sensed it when Andromache had gone into labour and Aeneas had gone to her.
As they walked, Hector groaned, placing his head on Aeneas' shoulder. He was tired. He was hungry, and he wanted to curl up beside Andromache and their baby and sleep till the world ended. But they had a battle to win. He just had to survive till nightfall. Aeneas' arm came up around his shoulder, and for a second Hector wondered how his friend had become so tall. He smiled silently to himself, in the crook of Aeneas' neck. "I can feel you smiling like a garden statue, Hector," His friend rumbled, and he barked out a laugh, pulling himself away.
"How's Perseus?" The son of Aphrodite asked.
"Managing," Hector shrugged. "Rattled. A couple more gods showed up after you left." They continued to walk and this time Hector supplied Anchises' biological son with information on what he had missed. His bones were itching to join the fray again. As they neared the palace entrance, Hector caught sight of his brother turning the corner towards them, in a golden robe which suggested he'd been in bed. His mood shifted.
Anger flared inside him and Hector bared his teeth at Paris and snarled. "You coward."
Paris started in surprise, then looked down. Hector stalked towards the other man, Aeneas on his heels. When he got near him he poked the prince in his chest with his finger. "Can you hear what you've done, Paris?" His brother didn't answer, refusing to meet his eyes, and Hector's anger increased tenfold. "First you steal Helen and bring an entire continent on our heels to destroy us all. And then you turn your back on your word and run from a battle. A battle which YOU suggested!"
Paris' head snapped up in outrage. "What, would you have preferred I died out there?"
Hector recoiled, and only Aeneas' solid arm on his shoulder steadied him. "You," he hissed. "Are the most selfish, ball-less human being I've ever had the misfortune to meet." He scoffed. "Today you made me feel embarrassed to be related to you." He turned to the oxen eyed man at his side. "Come on. Let's get back to it."
Aeneas nodded, and they moved towards the palace doors once more. As they made to slip through, Paris spoke up, voice shaking. "What can I do to help? How can I atone for my sins?"
Hector studied him, disgust coiling inside him. But Paris looked genuine, and he sighed, shaking his head. "You can start by actually helping us win this thing."
~ • ~
THEY HAD WON the battle only about an hour later, with the notable absence of the interfering gods. Ajax had made a reappearance, and he and Hector had still been locked in battle when the sun had set. They had parted then, a promise in each of their eyes. But not tonight. Aeneas and Hector had entered the skirmish together, and upon their arrival, the Trojans had roared and fought as one, reforming lines, with Perseus at the forefront, pushing and pushing until the Greeks had conceded the plain.
Paris had arrived when they'd backed the Achaeans towards the beach, firing arrow after arrow with surprisingly deadly accuracy from atop a brown horse from the palace stables. Menelaus had been making a beeline for him when darkness set in and the two armies fell back.
Now, Hector and his friends sat in a seemingly endless meeting where they debated what should be done. Priam's advisors and the war council argued and shouted at each other, and Hector rolled his eyes from his spot beside his father. The amount of times they had had this conversation was uncountable. And nothing ever came of it. Perseus was tapping the ground impatiently with his foot as he sat, and Hector made a mental note to inquire about his friend's secretive excursions to the woods whenever he was free. It was funny how Perseus thought Hector didn't notice.
Aeneas was dozing slightly, his eyelids fluttering. Hector's brothers and Generals seemed like they would follow any second now as they watched the older court argue and dispel any suggestions before they could be properly thought into. Paris had the sense to guiltily stare hard into the table, as the noise raised to a crescendo.
"After what happened today, I don't think Menelaus and Agamemnon would be just satisfied with taking Helen and her dowry and leaving," One of the advisors pointed out. His eyes burned into Paris. "Not when the Oathbreaker—"
"The Oathbreaker is dead," Perseus barked. "Diomedes made short work of Pandarus at the start of the battle."
"Be that as it may, the Prince was the reason the Oath was made, and the reason the oath was broken—" At last, his brother pounded his fist into the table.
"I know this is my fault," Paris hissed. "I don't need a reminder every twenty seconds, thank you." He glared at the man, but the advisor held his ground. Hector was impressed. Paris forged on. "I am ready to give back all the wealth I took along with my wife from Sparta. I will even give everything I have. All my lands and cattle and riches. But not Helen…I love her, and I am not prepared to let her go."
Hector shook his head, but he knew that if their roles were reversed, he wouldn't have been able to give up Andromache either. Not when he was in love with her.
But Helen's spell had been broken. Priam had told Hector alone that Helen had begged to be returned to her true husband, to end all the madness. Paris needed to learn that the best way to show someone you loved them was to let them go.
"Then do not bother to speak at all, then, princeling," the advisor stated. "This war cannot end now. Not how we hoped. It can only end in bloodshed and carnage, like all wars do." He looked Paris deep in the eye. "Your blind love will bring destruction upon us all."
~ • ~
PERSEUS shivered at her breath on her neck, and relaxed, breathing out when Galateia pulled away. He swallowed as she grinned at him again, showing those teeth which looked like they could tear his throat out in one fluid movement. The nereid shook her head. "You're doing it all wrong."
"I'm trying my best," Perseus gritted his teeth.
"Before we started this morning, I told you you must listen," she snarled at him. "And I did not mean to me."
"The water can't talk, Galateia," He arched a brow.
"No," she shook her head. "You refuse to hear."
Perseus held back his urge to roll his eyes. They had been in the forest beside the lake for about three hours now, with the nereid teaching Perseus how to control the water. Or at least, attempting to. All he had to do was conjure a whirling ball of water.
That was what Galateia referred to as the basics. He scoffed underneath his breath, wishing Selene was nearby so she could distract him, even a little bit. Perseus flushed. He wasn't a child anymore. He knew when he liked someone, and yes, he definitely had to address his growing feelings for the Titaness. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he focused on the still waters beneath him. "Let the lake communicate with you," His instructor said. "You managed a ribbon of water this morning. What's stopping you now?"
Perseus grounded out, "I don't know." It was like his mind was hitting a blockade, repeatedly, whenever he tried to conjure up more water. He felt like he was slamming against a wall over and over again. He clenched his jaw, concentrating, willing the lake to rise. Anything. Just a bloody water sphere. Sweat lined his brow.
Gods, he couldn't do it.
"Perhaps nothing can come of this," The nereid mused. "Perhaps this is a fruitless effort."
"No," He snapped. And then relaxed. "Please."
"Then listen," She barked.
Perseus inhaled. The lake was silent, still. As though waiting for something. He needed to do this. He couldn't fail. As much as he hated it, he had the sea in his veins. And the sea didn't like to be restrained.
The raven haired man shut his eyes. Around him he felt the forest go silent. The moonlight shone down upon them, a sign that Artemis watched from above. He felt warm. The light was encouraging. And then Perseus reached out. He felt around for any sign of the water, like Galateia had instructed. He could feel it, in the air around him, deep in the ground, in the lake stretching before him. His ichor roared in his veins, and he released another breath. Listen, she had said.
And so he did. The water was straining. The lake writhing internally beneath it's still surface. It wanted freedom. And he could offer it.
He knew this lake. It was his. He was part of it. He had spent almost all this youth submerged beneath the surface. He just needed the lake the lake to remember.
Perseus tilted his head to the side, reaching out to the water and willing it to listen to him too. Salt water was more of Poseidon's forte, but clearwater worked too. Perseus felt the power coiling in him, tentatively, seeping through, bit by bit. Eyes still closed, he reached out with invisible phantom hands and dipped them into the water, cupping them into his palms, shaping the water, forming a ball, a sphere. And then he breathed out, and relaxed.
Galateia let out a small cry of surprise and approval, and his eyes flickered open. Perseus stared.
Before him, the entire lake had risen, and formed next to a thousand spheres of water. Galateia laughed out loud, but even that couldn't drown the ringing in his ears. He had done it.
"Good," His teacher grinned. "Now, I want to see you merge them into one." He turned to her and nodded, determination and—was that hope?—filling him.
He could do this.
A/N—Another one, whew. I think I'm actually getting back into this story thing. Tell me what you think. Happy Holidays!
~TripleHomicide.