A/N—So, this is the final chapter of this arc. I hope you enjoy it. I'll decide where and how I want this story to end before I upload the next chapter (probably some time late next year). Leave a few reviews if you can! Have a great 2024 guys! ❤️
HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW LONG they had been fighting for. Perseus' heart was thundering, and around him the wind was roaring as power surged and slammed into the two armies which had met at sunrise. The fighting was going on in earnest, and he had lost count of how many people he had killed now. His sword and his hands were stained with blood. His armour was dented and he had lost his helmet a long while ago. He was battered, bruised and bleeding ichor in several places where the Greek soldiers had somehow managed to land a few hits.
But he gritted his teeth and fought through the pain. Around him the soldiers clashed, the armies sliding at each other, hacking and rearing, each man fighting furiously to survive till nightfall. Around him Perseus felt another spike of power and swore, glancing up and tearing his sword out of the chest of another soldier.
The gods would destroy them all.
Above them, the deities which ruled the world collided, flashes of power and their overbearing presence making the air stifling. He saw Artemis, in a silver chariot drawn by deer, soaring through the sky and releasing arrows with dead accuracy into the fighting mass of men, leaving craters and ashes wherever they landed. Another chariot crossed her path, this one golden and drawn by bright brown horses with fiery manes. The steeds belched fire as they careened through the sky. Apollo released his golden arrows of death into the Greek lines, decimating their forces and leaving piles of the dead wherever his projectile hit.
They were trying to help, Perseus realised, raising his shield to block a strike and whirling himself around to slice at his assailant's chest. But if they didn't get a hold of their powers, they would kill them all.
His gaze drifted across the terrain, where Aeneas fought with unimaginable prowess and speed. He felled men as he moved, almost too fast for Perseus to see, like a machine made by Hephaestus. Behind him, Perseus could see the goddess Aphrodite, red hair flowing in the sky, guiding Aeneas' hand and flicking her wrists to draw the life out of any who her son's blade missed. There was an increase in the screaming to his left, where a river winded throughout the plain. A giant brown boar was charging through the lines of men, tusks piercing any who were close enough, spears and arrows bouncing off its hide. Perseus felt his negative feelings swell inside him to the point of bursting, but quelled them almost immediately, ducking under a wild slash and cutting off a man's head in the process.
The god Ares rampaged in boar form, tearing down men, whether Greek or Trojan, and leaving a path of damaged bodies in his wake. There was another loud scream from somewhere to his left, and Perseus swore as Aegis-bearing Athena swooped down, her shield causing all the men around her to turn and bolt. But as they ran, the goddess hurled a spear and it sailed towards Agenor, one of the Trojan Generals. The man wouldn't have enough time to duck. Perseus parried a strike which was coming for his right flank and twisted, disarming his attacker and smashing his shield into his nose. In a fluid movement, he drove the blade through the gut of the Greek soldier, whirling around to check on his companion at the other side of the battle.
Agenor was still standing, but around him men fell like flies into screaming messes of death as two immortals in two blood red chariots circled the goddess Athena. Perseus glanced around, catching the look of desperation several of the men wore. He felt a foreign emotion spike inside him—fear. And Perseus raised his arm to deflect another blow when the second feeling ripped through him, clawing at his insides and making him stumble back. The blow went wide, but as the panic engulfed him, Perseus' attacker launched himself forward—a simple soldier, really—and slapped the weapon out of his hand.
Perseus swore, backtracking and cursing Phobos and Deimos, both of whom were now circling the wisdom goddess. The soldier's eyes were alight with surprise. He hadn't expected to disarm Perseus that quickly, or easily. The man charged.
Perseus' head swivelled up when the sky ripped open once more and another figure streaked downwards.
Poseidon landed in a crater behind the Greek soldier and thrusted his trident forward. Perseus watched in mild shock as the three prongs of the godly weapon ripped through skin and bone in the man's neck. The soldier's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped onto the ground. The green eyed man eyed the sea god before him. Poseidon looked exactly the same as he had when they'd last met. And then he laughed under his breath. Poseidon had looked the same for nearly three thousand years.
"You said you're pulling out of the war," He tilted his head in acknowledgement. It was an odd feeling, viewing the god in front of him and not being overcome by rage and sorrow and bloodlust. He supposed it would take some getting used to.
"I was watching from the heavens," Poseidon smiled, tentatively. His fingers were drumming on the trident he now leaned on, as though he didn't quite know what to do with them. He was nervous. "I came to help."
"I can handle myself," Perseus said, shortly. The immortal before him grimaced and the Trojan rolled his eyes. A sour taste filled his mouth, but he managed to force the words out, like he was ripping a disease out of his core. "Thanks, though."
Poseidon's eyes lighted, and he shifted on his feet. Like their previous meeting, they were encased in swirling wind as the battle raged around them, keeping them from interfering gods and mortals. "I…" Perseus had never seen a god stumble over his words. He smirked to himself. The sight was a welcome one. Even if he had let go of his anger, that didn't mean he was going to make things easy for the god of the seas. But then again, he had also never seen a god trying as hard as Poseidon was to win another's favour. A demigod child, at that. From the old stories, that was unheard of.
"I brought you a gift," Poseidon managed.
"Oh?" He arched a brow.
Accepting a gift from Poseidon meant accepting Poseidon himself. He steeled his nerves. Maybe this was going too fast. Maybe he had forgiven the elder god too easily. He had to let him work for it.
Poseidon cleared his throat and then, with his free hand, flicked his wrist. A small round blue thing appeared between his fingers. It looked simple, ancient and battered. It seemed to be a coin.
"You want to fix your relationship with me by buying your way through it?" Perseus asked dryly. "I'm flattered, but that doesn't look like much and I'm sure I'm worth more than a rock, Poseidon." Said god coughed, and it looked like he was suppressing a laugh. The brother of Zeus stretched out his hand and motioned for him to take it. "It's the currency we use down in my kingdom under the sea."
Perseus swallowed. This…this was a big step, even if it was just a rock-coin thing. He thought back, to the events of the last few weeks. He thought back to Selene's words, about listening to his heart.
Exhaling, Perseus reached out and took the coin. On one side was a laurel wreath fashioned from kelp. Beneath it were inscriptions in a language Perseus didn't bother to try to understand. He turned it over. A side profile of Poseidon. The demigod snorted. Poseidon was trying to hide a small smile. "I think you'll like this. Toss it." His brow creased, but he didn't question it. He flicked the coin upwards. As it came down, the switch happened, and a look of surprise overcame his wariness as a sword landed in his grip. Perseus felt his hackles going down at the sight. It was beautiful. Intricately crafted, hewn from celestial bronze.
A weapon fit for gods.
Perseus held a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a leather-wrapped grip, and a flat hilt riveted with gold and coral blue studs. It felt balanced…it felt right.
"The sword has a long and tragic history," Poseidon told him. "It belonged to one of Artemis' handmaidens. Her name is Zoë Nightshade, a daughter of the Titan Atlas. She joined the hunt after being wronged by Heracles and tossed it into the sea, unable to look at it without being reminded of the life she left behind. It made its way to me." The god eyed him as he turned the sword in his grasp, totally enraptured by its simple beauty. "It's name is Anaklusmos."
"Riptide," He said, slowly.
"The sword is celestial bronze. Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creature from the Underworld, provided they don't kill you first, which they cannot. It will destroy any mortal it touches, rip their souls from the bodies which anchor them to this world." Perseus nodded, appreciatively.
"Now, flip it again." He did so, and the coin landed in his palm.
"Thank you," The demigod looked at his…father, with genuine gratitude in his eyes. Poseidon nodded. "But what if I lose it?" He cocked his head to the side. "I can't very well keep track of this little thing forever."
"You can't," The god shrugged. "It is enchanted. It will always appear whenever you need it. If you lose the coin, it will reappear on your finger. Try it."
He was wary, but he threw the grey coin as far as he could, into the mass of men around him. He watched it disappear, swallowed by the screaming men and bloodied bodies.
"It may take a few moments," Poseidon glanced around, then back at him. "Now check your hands." Perseus glanced down, and started in surprise when he spotted the golden ring forming onto the index finger of his left hand. Where a stone or jewel should have sat was the pebble-like Atlantean coin.
"Okay, that's cool," He admitted, using a finger to dislodge the coin and toss it into the air. He grabbed the sword before it fell.
"I'm…glad you like it," The sea god began to turn away.
"Hey," Perseus called. He swallowed. "You…you can…you can come by tonight. You know where to find me?"
The corners of his lips pulled up in a grin and smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. Poseidon nodded, and then vanished in a spray of mist.
~ • ~
PERSEUS darted towards where the screaming was loudest.
It was where Achilles would be, after all. Hector had gotten lost somewhere in the fray, and he had lost sight of Aeneas too. But Perseus cut a path through the soldiers to get to the river which winded across the terrain and down the hills. He spotted the fair haired warrior then, glowing, roaring and cutting down men like they were fish. Achilles' sword moved like a scythe through fields of rice, and Perseus swore. The demigod was angry, and in his anger, he was decimating their forces. He had to stop him.
The Prince of Phthia let out a primal roar of rage and leaped out of his chariot and into the Skamandros river beneath them. Men charged him, but Achilles was too fast. He spun in the water, a whirlwind of death and destruction, and around him, men fell like flies. Perseus twisted his new sword in his hand and studied the scene before him. Achilles had filled the river with bodies. The water was tinted red, and Perseus felt a deep anger thrum through him—his and the river's—at the desecration. As he made to step into the flowing water, Achilles grabbed hold of one Trojan by the neck and drove his sword into his chest. And then, eyes blazing, he hurled the screaming man away.
The soldier landed in the water with a thud, and just as Perseus himself fell into the water, he felt the river rushing to a particular spot in front of Achilles and then condense and whirl into a figure. A surge of power rushed into him at contact with the water, and he felt his cuts and bruises close, healing themselves. That was new.
The newcomer was blue, and almost eight feet tall. He had bull horns and a ring through his nostrils and he wore nothing but a simple loincloth. A full beard framed his face. Perseus stared. The river spirit.
Skamandros growled and said, "You defile my river with your machinations, godling." His voice was like the rushing waves of the river. "You dare to violate me with blood from lowly mortals?" Around him, the Trojans who had surrounded Achilles in the river stilled and then bolted away in fear. The river was almost bursting with bodies and full of blood.
Achilles' lips curled at the interference, "This is war, river god. Things like this happen."
Skamandros' nostrils flared. "Then your death will be another mishap in this endless war of you foolish mortals." He flicked his wrists and Perseus felt the river, more powerful than ever, rise. And then it shot towards a wide eyed Achilles, whirling and whipping as it went, tanged red and wanting revenge against the man who had befouled it. Just before the water touched the son of Thetis, a whirlwind of flames swarmed into existence in front of it and Achilles let out a cry of surprise, stumbling back as the water was absorbed by the flames of Hephaestus.
The god appeared in a chariot above them as steam shot into the air. His chariot, golden, intricate and huge, was pulled by five flying metal pegasi, and the god which occupied it waved another hand and the fiery tornado hurled itself at Skamandros. The river god snarled, raising a fist and the water rose to absorb the flames.
"Olympian," Skamandros greeted. "You protect this mortal. You interfere and break the ancient laws. I am within my rights to strike him down."
The smoke cleared and Perseus had a chance to view the god. He had long black hair tangled in knots. His face was full of soot but his eyes shone with intelligence. He had a crooked, ugly nose and his skin looked like it had been assaulted with hot water. His chin was shifted slightly and one jaw was larger than the other. He was hunched in his seat, a hump resting on his back and as Hephaestus smiled, Perseus caught sight of mismatched teeth.
The stories hadn't done Hephaestus' looks justice. Perseus fought the urge to recoil.
"Not if I have anything to say about it." The god pulled the reins of his chariot, his voice crawling over Perseus' skin, hard and heavy like a hammer slamming into metal. Without wasting much time, he charged the river.
Perseus leaped into action then, ignoring the smell of blood in the air, jumping over bodies and diving out of the way of Hephaestus' chariot. He made a beeline for Achilles, who was coughing behind the steam, catching a breath. Perseus grinned to himself. Even if the water was polluted and nearly destroyed, he still had the upper hand. Inside here, he was in charge. With that, Perseus swung Anaklusmos and dove for the warrior Prince of Phthia, ichor roaring inside him.
~ • ~
THEY WERE LOSING. Perseus had been so absorbed in his fight with Achilles that he hadn't realised that they were losing. He didn't know what surge of valour had suddenly gone through the Greek lines but they fought, furiously, until the Trojans turned tail and ran. The call for retreat sailed through the lines and men bolted back for the city gates like all the demons of Hades were coming for them. Perseus stood on dry ground now, the lines of Greek and Trojans hauling him away, thundering up the terrain and towards the city.
When Achilles had figured out that he couldn't beat him in the water, the demigod had hopped out instantly, and Perseus hadn't bothered to follow when he darted away from the fight in his chariot. He'd entered the fray once more, and had crossed blades with Ajax and Menestheus. He'd seen a dark haired goddess—Eris—tearing through the Greek lines and laughing maniacally. He'd seen gods hurling each other into the ground and into the sky and fragments of their power breaking the minds and bodies of the fighting men around them.
It was horrendous.
Perseus stood behind the lines of fleeing Trojan soldiers. He saw the gates being hurled open to receive the men. He saw Aeneas appear on the ramparts next to Andromache and Creusa. He couldn't see Hector, but he prayed his friend was safe. He had to cover their retreat. The son of Poseidon dove into the oncoming Greek lines, his sword tearing through tendons and armour like they were water. Anaklusmos felt like an extension of his own body and his vision blurred, air roaring around him as he skewered any enemy soldier that dared to cross his path. He glanced around, dodging a strike to his flank and slicing off the wrist of his attacker. He parried another blow and twisted, disarming the Greek and dragging his sword across his throat. Amidst the screams coming from him, Perseus heard a roar from the Greek lines.
He ducked low under a blow and drove his sword through a man's gut. Panting with exertion, Perseus rose and looked around him wildly. The men had almost made it inside.
The son of Poseidon's eyes caught the golden haired warrior hurtling forward, after the running lines of Trojan men. Achilles screamed Hector's name again and Perseus winced. Hearing his friend's name from the lips of this bloodthirsty prince…it didn't bode well with him. But Hector had killed Patroclus. And Achilles was in grief. Grief usually made men go mad and scream other Prince's names. Perseus didn't think much of it. He darted away from the converging soldiers around him and towards the Achaean prince.
He spotted Apollo before either of them saw him. The god materialised somewhere in front of him and dove for Achilles. Perseus' eyes widened. Apollo was dressed in the standard and armour of a Trojan general.
He was buying them time.
The god's golden hair was a mousy brown now. He looked shorter and bulkier, but Perseus had been around that power for some twenty something odd years. He would recognise it anywhere.
Achilles spotted the disguised god before Apollo got to him and launched himself forward, no doubt unaware of who he faced. Apollo's golden sword slammed into Achilles'. Perseus swore, spinning Anaklusmos in his grasp as he ran for them. Achilles reared away from Apollo and attacked again, in a series of strikes and well aimed slices. But Apollo was fast. He dodged and parried and blocked and his hair whipped around him as he defended against Achilles' attacks. None of them were giving ground, and none of them were overpowering the other.
In his mortal disguise, Apollo was limited. But the god tried. He pushed back Achilles with strength which should have been impossible, and the demigod was sent flying. Achilles landed on his feet and his head whipped up in rage. He leaped off the ground and that was when Perseus acted.
He intercepted the son of Thetis, their swords meeting in a furious blow. Perseus gritted his teeth. Achilles was sweating, but he didn't look tired. His still burning anger was fuelling him, and he bared his teeth and snarled as he tried to dislodge Perseus and throw him back. When it seemed that none could do so, they both reared away from each other. And then spinning, clashed once more. This time it was more fluid, as Achilles dove for Perseus' right flank. He rose Anaklusmos to parry the blow and sent his free hand flying in a fist. It connected with Achilles' jaw, sending the other man stumbling.
And then Perseus launched himself forward, striking quickly and fluidly, hacking and slashing and parrying blows. Achilles fought with equal ferocity, ducking and stabbing and trying to slice off his limbs. Perseus pulled back a bit but the man attacked again, only to be blocked by a golden sword.
Apollo hurled him away again.
Perseus eyed the god. His face was hard, his eyes glowing. He nodded at the demigod and pulled back. Behind them, the Greeks were still giving chase and his people were still flooding through the gates. They would make it, but only if Achilles wasn't able to get to the Trojans in time.
It didn't require much thinking, and Perseus nodded back, a silent agreement. For this, for Troy, he was willing to let go. He was willing to set aside his conflicted feelings about Apollo. They would work together, as they had been doing since he was four. They would fight side by side once more.
Apollo had taught him everything he knew.
Apollo had been a brother to him.
And maybe, if he had managed to find it in him to forgive Poseidon…maybe Apollo was worth exonerating too.
But not today. Not yet. Today they were just comrades; they were just partners. Perseus reached out and grabbed Apollo's free hand. The god's eyes softened and he squeezed. Perseus squeezed back and turned to the now panting Phthian stalking for them.
They attacked as one, swords whirling, power flashing and light engulfing them. Achilles swung for Perseus' head with a yell and the demigod parried, twisting his sword. The other man spun and drawing a knife, slashed at Apollo's neck. Apollo dodged the blow and slashed at Achilles' side. His strike bounced off, sending him stumbling. But then Perseus was there, slicing at Achilles' arm. The blow glanced off, the force behind it making him backtrack a few steps. Instantly Apollo was there, leaping off the ground and bringing his weapon down in an overhead strike. Achilles raised a hand to block with a grunt and Perseus moved, sliding his foot in the earth and knocking Achilles off balance. The demigod hit the ground and rolled before Apollo's sword collided with the earth.
Before Achilles could recover, they shot at him.
The next few minutes were indescribable. They fought, three beings of immense power, swords whirling and clashing, limbs moving, in a dance of death. The wind was roaring as they spun around each other, whirling and blocking and striking and trying to run each other through. If it hadn't been for Achilles' iron skin, he would have been dead already. And if it hadn't been for Apollo, Perseus would have had a sword in his chest three times already. They watched each other's back, fighting like a well oiled machine, communicating with their eyes and reading each other's movements before the other made it.
Even after these ten years of silence, Apollo knew him well.
Achilles didn't stand a chance, iron skin or no.
The fight could have lasted for hours. They could have gone on, wrecking havoc on the battlefield until Achilles tired out. Apollo struck at Achilles' side but the prince sidestepped, and Perseus launched himself at the Greek, his sword whipping in an arc towards the blond's chest. Achilles snarled and raised a hand to parry to blow. With a burst of strength, he hurled Perseus back and threw the knife in his free hand towards him. The green eyed man felt the blade sink into his flesh a second later and pain ripped through his shoulder. He let out a small yell of surprise as Achilles parried a few blows from Apollo and drove his sword into the god's gut.
Apollo grunted.
And then he laughed. Achilles' eyes widened as the god's disguised burned through. Then a small grin spread on his face. He looked like a madman. "I should've known," The Phthian shook his head.
"You should've," Apollo shrugged. He flicked his wrist and Achilles went flying into the sand. The god grimaced as he drew the sword from his chest. With a look of disdain, he hurled the weapon away and glanced towards the injured son of Anchises. Perseus clenched his jaw. Achilles hadn't resurfaced, and his hand went to the knife in his shoulder. Pain laced through his body, travelling down his chest and arm as he wrapped his fingers around the blade. He wrenched it out with a small cry. Ichor spurted out.
Apollo winced, and then said, "Guess I should fix that." Behind him, the panting warrior prince was standing. Perseus released a breath. His eyes flickered over the the city walls. The last of the Trojans dove inside and the city gates began closing. The Greeks were too close.
"Fix that first," He motioned to the racing army of Achaeans. Apollo looked towards them in interest. "I can do both," He shrugged. Achilles was stalking towards them, his hands shaking in barely controlled rage.
Apollo snapped his fingers. Perseus felt his wound seal. Warmth spread through his shoulders. At the other side of the plain, the first line of Greek soldiers slammed into an invisible wall—a barrier. The Trojan Gates slammed shut. Apollo waved his hands and Perseus felt himself beginning to unravel. The god was transporting him away. "Perseus!" Achilles called. "When I'm done with your friend Hector—when I pluck out his eyes and deliver his head to your doorstep—I will find a way to kill you! I will kill you!" It was a promise. Perseus' ichor chilled at the threat to Hector, and Apollo frowned. He didn't have time to retort, though. He felt his form burst into dust and Achilles faded from view.
~ • ~
"WHERE'S HECTOR?" Aeneas inquired, some of the fear in him dissipating when Perseus appeared a few feet away on the battlements. His brother looked knackered and was turning a bit green from the godly transport. Speaking of gods…Aeneas' eyes flickered around the battlefield. This level of death and destruction…in all the ten years they'd been fighting, today was the worst. But thankfully, the gods had gone, Apollo being the last of them. He didn't know when, or how, but maybe Zeus had called them back and now they were on equal footing once more.
"What?" Perseus coughed, coming to stand next to him. "I thought he entered the city with you and the men." Aeneas felt something in him plummet. Worry gnawed at his gut. The son of Aphrodite was saved from answering by his wife, who shook her head. "He didn't. No one's seen him since the battle."
Astyanax let out a small gurgle from Andromache's arms. The new mother looked anxious, as she faced them. "Something is wrong. Something has been wrong with him for a few days. He won't tell me what it is."
"You noticed it too?" Aeneas frowned. He'd been meaning to ask Hector. But with these back to back battles and always strategising, he hadn't gotten the time.
"So did I," Perseus murmured. "He promised to tell me later." Their gazes went back to the terrain beneath them, where the Greeks had stopped a good distance from the gates. Achilles was moving to the front lines, easily identified by his glowing imperial gold armour. Aeneas felt his unease grow.
"I…" Andromache trailed off, squeezing her son. Her bottom lip wobbled. "He made it, though, didn't he? He's alive. Maybe he went back to the palace."
Aeneas shook his head. The first thing he had done while watching Perseus and Apollo distract Achilles had been to send a page to find the Prince in the city. Hector wasn't inside. They remained silent. The line of nobles stretched from one end of the city walls to another, and a few were visible from the balconies of the palace. Watching, waiting to see what the Greeks did next. It wasn't nightfall, and this was the first time the Trojans had been defeated before the sun dipped. The Achaeans could still attack if they wanted. Breach the walls with siege towers if they could construct them in time. Destroy the gates. Priam's hand shook in Hecuba's.
"Shit," Perseus swore, eyes widening. Aeneas' heart stopped as he followed Perseus' line of sight.
Achilles held a sword in his hand, and was stalking forward, a look of fury etched on his face. Aeneas' eyes slid down, and Andromache let out a small gasp as Hector stepped out of the shadows of the gate, sword drawn. Aeneas blinked in alarm and Creusa swore colourfully. Perseus made a choking sound, a look of realisation dawning on his face.
The city gates were shut. Hector stood alone, against the entirety of Greece. Against Iron-skinned Achilles of Phthia, who had been calling for his death since he has sliced open Patroclus' neck.
~ • ~
PERSEUS had never felt so stupid. Not as much as Hector was being right now, but stupid nonetheless. His voice ripped out of his throat as he yelled at his friend. "Hector! Get back in here! Don't do anything foolish!" Below them, his best friend stiffened. Hecuba let out a small cry and Priam shook.
"Hector!" His mother called. "Hector, please!"
But the curly haired Prince didn't turn. He marched forward, filled with purpose and determination. Marching straight for Achilles.
"He'll kill him," Aeneas sounded frantic. "For Patroclus. He'll kill Hector!" Astyanax let out a loud wail which pierced through the air.
"I'm going down there," Perseus swore. He drew his sword, ready to hurl himself off the wall to help his friend. Aeneas drew a knife, more than ready to join him. Astyanax let out another wail.
This time, Hector stopped. The Prince turned. Perseus' heart clenched. He whirled around, but…he couldn't move. He gritted his teeth, struggling against the invisible bonds which held him in place. Gods. The gods were interfering. He was locked in place.
Hector's eyes shone with tears. But he smiled. Andromache let out a wrecked sound from beside them. Achilles screamed Hector's name, and Perseus' feet wobbled as he tried to break free. Cursed gods. What was the meaning of this? Why were they so meddlesome? He gritted his teeth, his eyes burning. He hated how the gods could control him with a flick of their wrists. It shouldn't have been possible. He was immortal. He was half a god. They should not be able to dictate whatever he wanted to do with his own body. Perseus snarled.
But it was possible, his mind argued. He was an anomaly, like Athena had said. A shadow of a god. An immortal without domains. That was why he was still able to fight in this war. The ancient laws didn't apply to him; no laws governing the other gods did. It made sense that other immortal deities were able to control him. He wasn't one of them. He wasn't one of the mortals either. He was somewhere in between, an inconsistency. He could walk among the immortals, but he was just a human with ichor in his veins, to them. He just had the curse of living forever, but everything else about him and his life was as mortal as his brother beside him.
He had to…he had to help. But Hector met his gaze. The Prince shook his head, the plea burning in his eyes. Hector glanced down the line of nobles once more and Perseus realised he was watching and allowing their images to burn themselves into his mind. His parents. His best friends. His siblings. His wife and son. The Prince smiled wider. "I'm sorry," he mouthed.
Perseus' heart broke. A goodbye.
This was a goodbye.
Tears burned in Perseus' eyes.
Hector was going to die. And he had known for a while.
~ • ~
HECTOR WASN'T SURE if his heart was still beating. It definitely wasn't whole. He felt shattered. The look he had seen in Perseus and Aeneas' eyes…Andromache's broken expression…
The Prince bit his lip and drew his sword. He felt the fear filling him as Achilles drew closer. This was stupid. He was stupid.
But he was going to die anyway. The seer had seen it. And he would rather face Thanatos head on than allow him to pluck him from the battlefield unawares. He swallowed, feeling the thrum in his veins, the agony ripping through his body as his son let out another wail behind him. He didn't want Astyanax to see this. He didn't want any of them to see this.
But if they had to, he would make sure his son only remembered a hero. He would make sure he died with honour, and with dignity. He couldn't change it. Not if the fates had already spun the threads. Hector felt blood in his mouth. He'd bitten too hard, and now he watched, stiff, as Achilles stopped a few feet away from him.
He was scared.
He was fucking scared of dying. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. He wanted to go home. He wanted to hold his son. He wanted to kiss his wife and drink with his best friends. Emotions coiled through him and Hector blinked back his tears. He felt fury at the Fates for cutting his life short just when everything seemed to be looking up. Despair as he watched the fair haired warrior take him in. Sorrow, that he was leaving all that mattered behind. But he stamped them down. He couldn't cry. Not in front of Achilles. He needed to hold on. He needed to keep the Greeks busy until nightfall.
Hector hated Polydamas then, for telling him what was to come. No man should ever know their fate.
He had thought he was dauntless.
But he was afraid. He was afraid of death. He wanted to drop his sword and run.
But he wasn't a coward. Now, more than ever, Hector knew he had to be brave.
For his parents and siblings, who would watch him be cut down. For his brothers, Perseus and Aeneas, more blood than his own family. For the woman he loved more than his own self and the son she had given him.
Achilles spoke. "Prince Hector. Come to die at last?" He said it more as a statement than a question. And that scared him. But Hector pushed his fear back to the deepest recess of his mind and scoffed. Achilles shook his head. "You killed my best friend."
"This is war, Achilles," The Prince held his head high. But his voice was soft. "It happens. People die."
The blond man barked out a laugh. "I guess you're right. And you're next in line." With that, he launched himself off the ground.
Achilles swung his sword in a powerful blow for Hector's head. The Prince reacted instantly, raising his sword to parry the blow. The iron skinned warrior leaped aside as Hector twisted and attempted to stab him. In a heartbeat, they clashed once more, gold against bronze, the sound of metal colliding ringing in Hector's ears. His blood was roaring as the reared away and attacked once more. Hector dodged a blow and spun on his feet, swinging for Achilles' neck. Achilles raised his arm and Hector's strike bounced off his vambrace, then he sliced upwards with his weapon.
The curly haired Prince sidestepped the blow and gritting his teeth, pushed Achilles back. Without waiting another second, the son of Thetis leaped for him. Hector heard a gasp from the ramparts, as he spun away from the swinging blade. He brought his own sword in an arc to slash at Achilles' chest, and his weapon collided with the breastplate. Instantly he pulled back and they clashed once more, in a whirlwind of limbs and sword.
The wind whistled in his ears and he let out a loud roar. Sparks flew where their sword met, then Hector backtracked, panting. He couldn't keep this up. Not if he couldn't find a way to kill the demigod. Achilles snarled and jumped off the ground for him. He swung his sword midair and brought it down in an overhead strike, intending to cut the Prince of Troy in two. Hector swore, then blocked his strike. Achilles landed on the ground, eyes alight with fury. He yelled again and collided with the Prince.
Sparks exploded from the meeting of their swords. Achilles gritted his teeth, trying to push him back, but Hector was desperate. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to fucking die. He bared his teeth and pushed Achilles back with all his might. The son of Thetis stumbled back, surprise on his face.
Hector lashed at him again, and they met, slashing, stabbing at each other. He parried a strike and returned one of his own, but although his sword connected with the man's skin, it didn't have an impact. Achilles grinned and they continued battling. Soldiers stopped around them, and people watched as the two forces clashed. They slammed into each other, dancing around one another, trading blows and stabs. They continued spinning around each other, dodging hacks and slashing, battling with the force of thousand men.
Hector sidestepped a thrust to his side and slammed his fist in Achilles' face. The man grunted and glared at him, eyes lighting with anger. With a roar they met once again. Achilles avoided most of his strikes and as they continued fighting, they both tried desperately to land a hit. The son of Thetis couldn't get past his guard, and Hector couldn't penetrate his skin. He exhaled furiously, his head swimming. Just a bit more. Just a bit more time till nightfall. Achilles dove at Hector's throat and the son of Priam moved to block but the blow didn't come. It was a feint. Hector's eyes widened when suddenly the son of Thetis bent and slashed forward with swiftness and harshness. He was too slow. As he cried out, he felt mild pain flash across his torso—Achilles' sword cut a gash in his skin through his armour.
The wind was howling now, whistling, like bells. Hector suddenly felt very dizzy and he shook his head, gritting his teeth to fight back the pain. He heard a cry from the ramparts and looked up, instinctively. Andromache had tears streaming down her face and Hector's heart broke.
He barely recovered his wits enough to duck as Achilles struck again with a mad laugh. Blood streamed down his breastplate. His chest was burning, but Hector spun, trying to sweep the Phthian off his feet. Achilles danced away from him and struck at his neck but Hector raised his sword and hurled him away. His arm was wobbling. His head was matted with sweat and he was panting heavily. Achilles barely looked winded. He grinned at Hector, maniacally. "I hope you said your goodbyes."
Hector didn't bother to answer. He slid into a stance, but then Achilles didn't attack. The blond haired man swept his foot in the sand and Hector let out a yelp as the dust swam into his face and eyes, clouding his vision. Swearing, he stumbled back. He couldn't see. He couldn't see, he couldn't see and he was going to die. Panic surged in him. He couldn't see but he heard Achilles dart forward as he tried to blink the sand out of the eyes. He heard cries and screams from battlements.
A sharp pain wracked his body as a blade was dug into his side. His sword was knocked out of his hand. A slice at his back. He was pushed to his knees. All in less than three seconds. Hector felt the dust clear from his eyes. He was panting hard.
Achilles stood before him, a sword at his throat.
The Prince's eyes flickered to his family. Gods keep them safe. Hades take his spirit.
His eyes flickered back to Achilles. "You cheated."
"All's fair in war," Achilles grunted.
Hector sighed. He didn't know which breath would be his last. "Get it over with."
"I will," The Prince stepped in closer. "This is for Patroclus."
"Perseus and Aeneas will find a way to kill you," His eyes burned bright. He felt the emotions welling up inside him. His time had come. There was no escaping this now.
He was glad he had met them.
He had lived a good life. Not a full one, but a good life nonetheless.
"They've been trying for ten years," Achilles sneered.
Hector looked the Prince dead in the eyes. "Grief makes men do stupid things. My brothers will kill you." He felt the blade draw blood in his throat. His eyes moved back to the ramparts. His gaze locked on his parents. He would miss them. He loved them. He loved them all. He felt the sharp pain of a sword sliding across his throat. He felt his breath stutter and blood spill down his throat. His vision swam and his head pounded. He swore he could see a black cloaked figure diving for him from atop the ramparts.
Hector took in his family once more. His Kingdom. His son. He had to be brave. He needed to remember, where he was going. He hoped he made Elysium.
He was the son of Hecuba and Priam.
He was brother to Perseus and Aeneas and Creusa and Cassandra and all his many siblings.
He had fought alongside and against gods and men.
He had protected his Kingdom for ten years.
He had travelled far and wide to keep those he loved safe.
He was a father.
He was a husband.
He was the Heir Apparent to the Throne.
He had made mistakes and enemies.
He had made friends.
But he was ready to go.
His name was Hector. He was a Prince. And he would not be afraid.
His eyes met that of Perseus, and then moved to Aeneas. Blood was swimming in his lungs, his throat, his mouth. But his lips moved, although not a sound came out. "I love you—"
His eyes flickered shut.
And then everything went black.
~ • ~
AENEAS had thought he knew grief. He'd seen people die. He'd seen people succumb to illness. He'd managed all that really well. But he couldn't describe the feeling which ripped through him now, as Achilles let out a roar of victory. As Hector's eyes shut for the last time. He couldn't watch as the body slumped to the side and hit the ground. As Andromache screamed his name and his son wailed, although he couldn't possible know what was going on.
Aeneas sank onto his knees. Andromache sobbed. He felt the tears coming, and he did nothing to stop them. He felt a sob wrench itself out of his throat. He felt his chest constrict, his breaths coming short as he put his head in his hands. He watched Achilles tie Hector's body to the back of his chariot. Aeneas had watched a piece of him get torn away. A piece he could never get back. The tears came again, his eyes latched on Hector's body, and this time, pain came with them, hot and sharp in his chest. He clutched the hilt of his knife in his fist, desperate for the relief it offered, the protection from the pain of every memory clawing inside him like an animal.
Creusa put her arms around his shoulders, but her embrace only made the pain worse, and he couldn't look at her, because she had Hector's eyes and Hector was dead. He was gone, he was gone, he was dead and he wasn't coming back. She hugged him like her brother used to do, when they first became friends, uncertain at first, but then stronger, more confident, more sure of himself and of Aeneas. It reminded him that no embrace will ever feel the same again, because no one would ever be like him again, because Hector was gone. It couldn't be true. Hector was gone. He was gone and another sob wrenched itself out of his throat at the thought. They had promised. They had promised to never leave anyone behind. But he was gone and he—he was dead and Aeneas felt so broken and his best friend was dead.
He was gone, and crying felt so useless, so stupid, but it was all he could do. He didn't bother to wipe the tears away. Creusa held him upright and didn't say a word for a long time, lost in her own sorrow. Lost, like her brother was.
~ • ~
HE WAS TOO NUMB, TOO DISTRACTED to stop him as Achilles rode away on his chariot, dragging Hector's body behind him.
Apollo once taught him how to identify it when a god created an illusion in front of him. He taught him, as the god of truth, how to identify and manoeuvre himself out of a web of lies which looked so real it would deceive any other person. And this had to be a lie, an illusion, because Hector was still alive, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed with laughter and wine, somewhere in the palace. His large and solid body was full of power and strength, waiting for them at the doors to the palace.
Hector was still alive, he wouldn't leave Perseus here alone. Hector was smart. He wouldn't stand outside the gates alone to face a warrior he knew he couldn't beat. Not without backup.
Hector was their best friend, and he wouldn't walk to his death when it meant leaving behind this wife and his son. He wouldn't leave his brothers, and he wouldn't not tell them he knew he was going to die and it had been wrecking him for days.
"No," Perseus said, shaking his head. His bottom lip wobbled. His head was swimming. Maybe he was just dizzy. Where was Hector? He had to find him. He would take Perseus to a physician. "No, there's got to be some mistake." Andromache cried harder from beside him. Hecuba had buried her head in Priam's arms, unable to look away as Achilles drove past the wall for the second time, dragging that body—that imposter—behind him. Desecrating and destroying the corpse of the man who had been posing as Perseus' own best friend.
He felt his eyes well up with tears and he blinked furiously, slamming his fist against the stone. He was free again, the force of Olympus' powers gone from his body. He was dreaming. He was dreaming and if he pinched himself hard enough he would wake up and Hector would be in his chambers, Aeneas wouldn't be crying and he would begin preparing to meet Selene in front of the beach.
But then another thought hit him, and he clenched his jaw to keep from screaming. He should have known. He should have known what was eating up Hector. He should have bullied him until he told. He should have gotten it out of him right there on the battlefield two days prior. It was his fault. It was always his fault. His best friend was dead and he didn't know what to do. He wanted to hurl himself off the city walls.
Of course Hector would stay behind to fight Achilles.
Of course he would.
Selfish bastard, waiting behind so he could fight Achilles all by himself. If Hector had known he was going to die he would have accepted it and faced it head on. He wouldn't cower unless in the privacy of his chambers, and he wouldn't tell them, selfless fool that he was, only so they wouldn't be burdened and worried for him. Perseus' chest ached.
From beside him, Helenus and Paris yelled something, probably to stop Achilles, who had gone round the city wall three times already and was circling for a fourth. The body behind him was dusty and unrecognisable and bloodied and just couldn't be Hector. To Perseus, their voices sounded muffled, like he had submerged his head underwater. The details of Achilles' face had also become difficult to see, the world smearing together into dull colours. Everything was numb, and he didn't know what feeling was roiling in him then. He couldn't see and Hector was dead.
All he could do was stand still. He felt like if he just stood still, he could stop it from being true. He could pretend that everything was all right, tune out everyone and go see Hector at the palace. Deiphobus hunched over, unable to support his own grief, and Cassandra embraced him, and all Perseus was doing was standing still. Andromache was clutching to their son. Perseus' godson. She was wailing, but he couldn't hear, he couldn't see what colour her skin was, only smell the tears in the air.
He blinked away his tears and sat down on the ground, right in the middle of the ramparts. His breaths were coming in short, his chest heaving, remembering Achilles' threat not an hour ago. He couldn't breath. He couldn't breath, he couldn't breath and his friend was dead and he was felt like a whale had slammed itself onto his chest as he placed his head in his hands.
He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes like he could push his tears back into his skull. No crying, he chastised himself. There was no need to cry. Hector wasn't…Hector was dead. His thoughts waged a war in his head, the hopeful side of him still clinging to the thought that his brother was safe. But he knew it wasn't true. A sob escaped from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle it. Perseus knew that if he let a little of the emotion out, all of it would come free, and it would never end.
And so he sat, everything a blur around him, as Achilles rode by, dragging Hector's body behind him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
~ • ~
WHEN HECTOR HAD first bumped into Aeneas that day in the markets, Perseus had thought he was a right git for throwing his brother off his feet and then expecting him to apologise for it. But Hector had been chasing after a thief, noble and selfless at even such a young age, and there was a fire which had burned in his eyes when he'd told them to discard his royal status and call him just by his name.
That was when Perseus had realised he was someone worthy of the throne which had been handed to him at birth.
Hector had stood before them, narrowed eyes and gangly limbs and an upturned mouth.
He had looked stern, and friendly, the only person Perseus had ever met who could combine the two and still manage to look good and scary and likeable.
He had looked like someone Perseus wouldn't mind befriending.
He hadn't realised how much it would hurt when it was all taken away.
~ • ~
BUT THAT HADN'T BEEN the first time he'd ever set eyes on the Prince of Troy. He'd seen Hector several times, at city gatherings, and a few times through the streets. He had seen him, but not really, because even though Anchises was a royal, his father had pulled away from the royal family after his injury and they had lived rather secluded lives.
But he'd seen Hector fully, that day he'd saved Aeneas from Anchises.
He'd seen all the good that made him stand up for others, and the bad that allowed him to lord his post over the bullies and threaten their leader. He had seen the hardness in his eyes as Achates and the boys had ran, and the flames dancing in his gaze as he and Perseus laughed at Aeneas' expense afterwards.
He supposed a fire which burned that bright was not meant to last.
~ • ~
THEY RODE IN A SIMPLE little wagon, pulled by two simple donkeys. Perseus knew it was Hermes who sat in the driver's seat, and Priam, head in his hands opposite him. The King looked sombre, but he hadn't argued when they had said they would come along. He didn't seem to have much fight left in him anyways. Perseus also didn't bother to question how Priam had gotten a favour from the travelling god. But Hector deserved it. As much as he hated Olympus for stopping him from saving his friend, he didn't have it in him to attack the messenger god.
Beside him Aeneas held his hands, so tight Perseus was sure there was no ichor flowing there. But his brother's face was streaked with tears. His eyes were red and Perseus didn't know what to say; he didn't want to lie because it wouldn't be alright and Hector was dead.
He glanced outside, barely reacting when he realised they had crossed into the Greek encampment. He knew Hermes had worked some magic, but even his senses were dulled and he couldn't tell what exactly made them go unnoticed. But they wound across the beach, through tents and men and soldiers and animals, making their way to the far side of the camp, where Achilles' men were.
Hermes drew the wagon to a stop in front of the largest tent and Perseus stood. He pulled Aeneas upward gently, and Priam hobbled out. Slowly, they walked. His skin felt cold, his heart beating mechanically in his chest. Aeneas clutched onto him like a vice. They followed the god and the king into the tent. Perseus didn't look around. His mind wouldn't register it anyway.
But he spotted Briseis, seated on the bed, and she started when she saw him.
And he saw Achilles, in a simple tunic beside her, his head in his hands.
Priam stepped forward and Achilles raised his head when he heard the sound. He looked desolate and lost.
Perseus wanted to crush his skull in.
"How did you get in?" Achilles rasped.
"They had a little help," Hermes waved his caduceus in his hands, a serious expression plastered on his face. Perseus hadn't interacted with the god before but he didn't particularly want to.
"Lord Hermes," Achilles stood. His eyes flickered to Perseus and Aeneas in the background.
Priam's voice was hoarse from crying as he said, "My Lord Achilles, favoured by all the gods in heaven, son of the divine Thetis," Priam sank to his knees. No one made a move to stop him. "I have come for my son. I…Please," His voice broke, "Please let me have his body, so we may honour him and he may pass on from this world."
Achilles inclined his head. He looked pained. His voice was soft as he said, "Why would I do that? Hector killed my best friend."
Aeneas stepped forward. "And you have killed ours. Your camp celebrates his death and my city mourns. You have taken everything from us," His voice was hard and sharp like glass. "Let us send Hector away. The right way. You've tarnished his body already." Perseus stiffened at the spike of power. It seemed to be coming from his brother. Perseus blinked. His voice. There was something in Aeneas' voice. "Bring his body out from wherever you dumped it after your rampage. Let us bury him." His voice broke. "Please."
Charm-speak. Apollo had mentioned this in passing to him once.
Perseus watched Achilles' eyes glaze over. A vein thrummed in his head. Aeneas was charm-speaking Achilles.
The Prince's voice was still soft as he bent and pulled Priam to his feet slowly. "I didn't dump his body. I mourn for Hector too. I mourn Patroclus. I mourn for us all. In another life, I feel we would have all been good friends."
Perseus didn't care about another life. He wanted to tear Achilles' throat out. But he couldn't speak. Was this how Achilles had felt when he'd lost Patroclus?
The Prince nodded, still in whatever daze Aeneas' voice had placed him in. "But very well. Give me a minute."
He marched out of the tent, throwing Perseus a glance as he went. Briseis stood when he had exited the tent. "You have to take me with you," She said hurriedly. "I heard about cousin Hector." Perseus started. He hadn't known they were cousins. And he had to admit, in the chaos of the past few weeks he had forgotten Briseis. The girl took Priam's hands and squeezed. Then she whispered, "Please take me with you." Her eyes darted to the flap of the tent as she whispered, "I—I know how you can kill him." Perseus perked. He exchanged a glance with Aeneas, words about to tumble out of his lips when Achilles marched inside once more.
He was followed by an older looking man, carrying Hector like a groom carried a bride. Aeneas let out a wrecked sound. Priam sobbed and Perseus felt his heart constrict in his chest.
Hector…
Where his friend had had curly black hair, there were only tufts left. His face and body were marred and bloody with cuts. His jaw was broken, his skin looking cold. His lips were chapped and his eyes were shut. Dust clouded his body; he'd been dragged seven times around the city walls. He was…mutilated. Destroyed. Unrecognisable. He wore no armour, only a simple brown tunic. His wrist went bent in an odd way and through the dirt stuck to his form, Perseus could see his kneecap was broken. His shoulder was dislocated and his face…Perseus saw nothing of his best friend.
But it was Hector.
Even Hermes let out a disgusted sound.
"Thank you," Priam sobbed. "Thank you, Achilles." The prince waved him off, looking muddled.
Aeneas' throat bobbed. "We want Briseis too."
That snapped him out of his stupor. Achilles straightened and said, "No—"
"She comes with us," Aeneas put more force in his words and Perseus felt the power coiling around them in the room. "Briseis comes with us." Did his brother know what he was doing? He'd spent an awful lot of time with Aphrodite this past week, after all. Maybe she had taught him some tricks?
Achilles' eyes glazed over and he nodded, blinking slightly.
"Okay. Okay, you can have her." The girl let out a small heave.
Perseus' eyes latched on to the corpse. He stepped forward tentatively, reaching out. The man passed the dead warrior into Perseus' outstretched arms. He wrapped his hands around Hector's cold, cold body. He would never see the warmth in his gaze. He would never feel his solid hand against his, squeezing, and he would never find reassurance in Hector's eyes again.
He held his best friend close to his chest and blinked back tears, swallowing to keep his breathing in check.
Hermes shook his head in pity. Perseus watched as the god waved his hands and linen wrappings sheathed themselves around Hector's body. The last line covered his closed eyelids.
Something in Perseus broke for the millionth time. It was final. It was real. Hector was really dead.
"Come on," Aeneas murmured. He had to hold the raven haired man by the elbow, leading Perseus outside, back to their wagon. He didn't bother to look behind to see Achilles' reaction.
Priam hobbled into the wagon first, and then Briseis. His brother was next, and then Aeneas helped Perseus gently lift Hector inside, before he jumped in. Hermes took the reins once more and they were off.
Perseus and Aeneas held Hector across each other, and he felt his brother wrap an arm around his shoulders. His chest heaved and he leaned downwards, placing his head on Aeneas' shoulder. He felt tears drop into his hair. His own tears slid out of his eyes. He didn't stop them. Instead, he reached out and took Aeneas' hand. They had lost a friend. They had lost a brother. But they had each other, and Hector would be put to rest. Hector would be at peace, and that was all that really mattered.
Perseus wept.
~ • ~
LATER THAT NIGHT, Perseus stood at the city walls, alone. The moon shone overhead, and his heart was aching. Below, the city mourned Hector, and fires were burning. Aeneas had long since retired with Creusa, still mad with grief. He didn't know where Briseis had gone. His mind was too muddled to care. Perseus' face was marred with dried tears.
He felt her before he saw her, and the son of Poseidon turned to face the Titaness of the moon. Her face was soft, and her eyes full of pity. He didn't mind. She was there. She was there and that was all that mattered.
"I came as soon as I heard," Selene drew close, placing a hand on his shoulder. Perseus' shoulders shook as she drew him close. He placed his head in the crook of her neck. But he had ran out of tears. He had none left to cry. The raven haired general wrapped his arms around Selene, sniffing. She smelt like cinnamon and moon lace, and he inhaled, her scent calming his frayed nerves.
Selene pulled away and took his face in her hands. "Achilles?" He nodded numbly. He loved how she didn't ask if he was okay. He wasn't. He didn't think he would ever really be. She was just there. She was there and her presence was comfort enough.
"I'm sorry," She murmured. She pulled him into an embrace once more. "Hector was a good man." Selene rested her head on his chest, and his arms slid over her waist.
"I'm sorry too," He shook his head. "He was. He was a better man than I could ever hope to be."
She squeezed his sides. His voice was hoarse and scratchy from crying. Perseus gazed towards the horizon, where he could see the Greek fires burning. They were mourning their dead, too. But they were also celebrating.
Celebrating the fact that Hector was gone.
It made him furious.
"The Achaeans," he swallowed. "Because of them I lost my mortality. Their war destroyed whatever relationship Apollo and I were trying to salvage." He sounded broken, but he didn't mind. Selene had seen all parts of him already, both broken and whole. "Ten years ago, Achilles killed a brother I never even knew I had. The Greeks have brought so much misery and pain to my people…my city." His eyes blurred with tears and his voice wobbled as he said, "And now they've taken away my best friend. They've handed my brother over to Thanatos."
Selene turned him so he was facing her. Her hands slid up to his face and her smooth warm fingers wiped his tears away. Her silver eyes burned bright as they met his. "What are you going to do about it?"
Perseus reached out and took her hands. He squeezed. Her expression incensed him and his voice turned hard. Selene was right. He couldn't just talk. He couldn't let them get away with this. He couldn't let Hector's murderers go scot free.
"I'm going to make them pay," Perseus murmured, pulling away from her. He looked back towards the horizon. He hated them. He hated them all.
He felt a familiar tug in his gut. He raised a hand, calling the water from across the terrain. He felt it answer him, and with a flick of his wrist, the sea rose in the largest wave he had ever seen. Selene let out a small sound of approval. Perseus' eyes burned when he heard the horrified screams from the Greek camp.
This was for Hector.
He snapped his fingers, and the water surged forward, and the sea swallowed the Greek camp whole.
LONG ASS A/N UPCOMING—
Damn, that's a lot of words. Most of you probably won't read this. I hope you liked it. Leave a review, please. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning any of my stories, and this one is top priority for now.
So, we see Perseus, finally getting Riptide from Poseidon. They're getting somewhere, no matter how hard or slow they may be going. Poseidon's love for Sally drives him to look out for their son, and Perseus is trying to get past his anger and accept the olive branch his father is offering. The first step was accepting the sword, and I promise their relationship is going to progress from here. Again, we get a look at Apollo and Perseus working together to distract Achilles, setting aside all their complicated feelings for each other. Perseus has forgiven Poseidon somehow, and maybe it's time he stopped giving the sun god the cold shoulder too. We'll see how it goes. Next, we see how Perseus handles Hector's death. There's a whole lot of denial. Perseus blames himself for not recognising the signs sooner. He's in shock for most of it, and then the grief sets in but we see our resident son of Poseidon reining in his emotions until they get Hector's body back. Next, we see his anger and his quick action against the Achaeans. How will Perseus cope with Hector's death? How will he get past blaming himself? How murderous will he get in his quest for revenge? I also don't know the answers to any of that lol.
I also want to delve deeper into his immortality and his growing hatred for the Olympians and their meddling, which is something I hinted at in a few scenes. I'll explore this more in the coming arc, I promise.
Next, there's Hector. Our prince is out of the story for now, I guess. Hector knew he was going to die. He was afraid. He was fucking terrified. But he was too selfless and it killed him. Because if he'd told his friends, they could have found a way to beat Achilles together. They could have helped him escape. They could have delayed his death, even. Hector stood tall even in the face of death. He went to meet his demise on his own terms, even though he was scared out of his mind. I think that shows how brave he was, even if it was suicidal. Hector was wrecked, knowing he was going to die, and although all his friends saw his silent cry for help, none of them acted on it. He had his faults. He kept secrets. But I wanted to show how knowing one's fate destroyed a person, like it did to Hector, eating him up and ruining him until he drove himself into Achilles' hands. I hope these few chapters portrayed that well enough. Hector's friends didn't come to his aid even when they saw the sign something was wrong, which shows how people get so wrapped up in their own lives they don't see when someone close to them is hurting.
Again, there was Aeneas. This arc really didn't do him much favours. He didn't really get a lot of POVs, and I'm going to change that in the next arc. There are a lot of questions about Aeneas. How does he suddenly know charm-speak? How much time exactly has he been spending with Aphrodite and how's that going to affect things in the coming chapters? Why is the goddess suddenly so interested in him? We'll see, soon enough. Aeneas couldn't keep his emotions in check. As a son of Aphrodite, Hector's death hit him hard. Emotions hit him harder than everyone else, I suppose. How will Aeneas cope? What part will he play in Achilles' definitely coming death?
So, Apollo. Next arc will answer a few burning questions we all have. Will Perseus and Apollo reconcile again? Why is Apollo so interested in Troy? We don't see Athena jumping to fight in any of Athens' battles in the old stories. Why is Apollo so interested in Perseus? What did he see all those years ago about what Perseus would accomplish? Why did he give Perseus the golden apple? Why did he and Leto and Artemis hide Perseus from Poseidon? Why did he allow Hector to kill Patroclus? I promise, your questions will be answered. Feel free to PM me any more that you have.
Last, there's Selene. So Selene threw caution to the wind and kissed Perseus a few chapters back. They have feelings for each other. They're in a relationship now, I suppose. She's his rock, she's his confidant, his saviour in battle, but I want to expand on her character more, flesh her out a bit and make her more than just his therapist, and that means giving Selene a few more POVs in the coming arcs. We'll see how she'll manage Perseus' anger and grief, how she'll deal with the Fall of Troy, the oncoming creation of Rome (which spells doom for her and Helios), and how exactly Zeus feels about a Titan interfering in the mortal lives, even though the Olympians are essentially doing the same.
Over the few months I'll be away I'll be thinking over where I want this story to go and sorting out how to continue and tie up all the loose ends. I hope I can create something beautiful enough for all of us.
Happy new year, everyone! ❤️
-TripleHomicide