Chapter Text
The world was at peace in a way Apollo was not.
Apollo had chosen a scenic spot by the Eridanos River for their date this week. Poplar trees lined the river banks, flowers littered the fields, and the air was crisp and clear. He liked to think that his gardens in Hyperborea could outshine Elysium itself. The paradise for the dead was nothing but a cheap imitation of life itself, and nothing brought life into the world more than the sun itself.
Percy certainly seemed to agree. Not that he had ever been to Elysium, but the awe that struck Percy’s face made him want to coo and keep him in Hyperborea forever. Alas, some things weren’t meant to be. Apollo had to settle for treating Percy to the best picnic of his life. The afternoon passed by quickly. Joyous hours were spent swimming in the river, followed by talking and eating by the picnic blanket.
It was perfect.
Yet he couldn’t help the anticipation creeping in his gut. He wasn’t listening to Percy’s story—something about his Estelle’s latest dance recital? It didn’t matter right now. Everything had gone well today, but he needed the next few minutes to go perfectly.
“You there, man?”
Apollo blinked. “Sorry, I was marveling at your sister’s talent,” he said. “I’m glad the recital was successful!”
Percy’s lips quirked. “Babe, she pushed Annie Rosario off the stage.”
“And I’m sure she pushed her gracefully, like a true dancer.”
Percy snorted. “Don’t tell her that, she’ll try to do it again. I don’t want her to be expelled.”
“Like you?” Apollo teased.
“Bullshit. I was a model student. I have eleven schools that’ll agree with me.”
Apollo laughed. Gods, did he love this man.
Percy rested his hand on Apollo’s. He looked concerned. “Seriously though. You haven’t been listening and you haven’t touched my mom’s cookies. What’s up?”
Apollo hesitated. He snatched a blue cookie from the Tupperware and shoved it into his mouth before he could say something rash. How would he ask him? Chewing slowly, he considered his words, swallowed the cookie, before opening his mouth to say—
“The garden is beautiful.”
Percy raised an eyebrow. “It is.”
“They’re my personal gardens. Here. In Hyperborea.”
“Right.”
Apollo cursed. Some god of poetry he was. This was not how he wanted to broach the topic. He pushed on, regardless. “It’s one of the few places in nature untouched by modern woes,” he said. “They’re private, and only family is allowed but I…well, they will always be open to you.”
Percy smiled softly. “Thank you. Really. I know how much this place means to you.”
“Not just this,” Apollo added. “Me, as well. Everything I am, I offer it up to you for eternity. Do you understand?”
Percy’s mouth went dry. “Apollo…I—”
How wonderful Percy Jackson was, to render the god of poetry speechless. Yet, the way Percy was looking at him just left him with the eloquence of a drowning man. He needed Percy to understand. He could still salvage this conversation.
“Since we’re discussing my gardens, how do you like them?”
Percy blinked at the change in topic. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked around. “Everything's so clean . Mom would be jealous of all the flowers.”
Apollo felt pride in his chest at the praise. “Wilderness like this used to be widespread. Now, they’re confined to little pockets of the world.” Apollo thought of his old hunting grounds, and how they were turned into subdivisions. “Just shows that you mortals have more power than you realize.”
“Really?”
“Yes, though we loathe to admit it. What you do under domains inspire us to change in turn.” He picked a grape from its container, hand-feeding it to Percy. “Take your father for example, Percy. He used to be a crabby old man. I mean, he still is, but he also wears Hawaiian shirts now. Like a tourist . All because Hawaiian shirts are associated with the beach, and therefore him.”
Percy swallowed. “Dad’s not so crabby,” he protested.
“Well, not in front of you.” Apollo paused. “Actually, he has been better over the past few years. Now that , I believe, is because of you.”
Percy looked doubtful. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Who else?” Honestly, his boyfriend doubted himself too much. “You are the greatest of the mortals. By your very nature, you inspire change in everyone you meet.” He remembered the Winter Solstice after Artemis was rescued. They had debated killing the Ophiotaurus, but Percy had convinced them otherwise. What were twelve all-powerful gods in the face of an impassioned Percy Jackson?
“You’ve brought the gods to do better by their children,” he continued. “You’ve united the Greeks and Romans. You’ve turned the tides of war by convincing your old man to defend Olympus. Gods and mortals have fallen to your sheer force of will. And I…”
Apollo took a deep breath. It was now or never.
“I have fallen for your charms. Isn’t that a feat? Everyday I see you and am in awe of your glory. I may be the sun but you are the true light of this world.”
Percy’s face softened. “Apollo—”
Apollo knelt on one knee. He summoned a Golden Apple to his hand. Percy’s eyes widened, Apollo hoped that was a good thing. “I once said I would never marry, yet you have inspired a change in me, simply by being your wonderful self. I want to share, not just these gardens, but an eternity with you. Perseus Jackson, will you give me the greatest honor of marrying you?”
Percy’s mouth fell open. He stared. First at the apple, then to Apollo himself.
The silence stretched for a moment, then two, then three. From anywhere between a second to a lifetime, Apollo’s heart clenched as he waited for Percy’s answer. Just as he was about to say something, tears welled up in Percy’s eyes. “You— you really—”
Oh.
Oh no. He knew it. This was a disaster. It was always meant to be a disaster. Apollo’s lips started to wobble. “Percy? If you say no, I won’t…I—I just thought that we were…well we—”
Apollo was cut off by the weight of two arms wrapping around him. Stunned, he fell backwards. The two of them rolled over onto the grass. The apple tumbled to Styx-knows-where.
What was going on? Was this really happening?
The sound of Percy’s laughter jolted him back to reality.
He looked up and found himself gazing into Percy’s eyes. His beloved was kneeling on top of him, a hand on either side of his head, pinning him down, which—okay, this was a first. Percy’s eyes were full of mirth. “Did you think I would say no?”
Apollo could not help but smile back at him. “Well, for a moment, I was worried.”
Percy laughed. “Gods, Phoebus. Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”
Apollo grinned. He cupped Percy’s cheek, brushing his thumb over his freckles, pausing at the corner of his lips. The millennia-held fear of being an unlovable tragedy was quickly evaporating with each second. Percy looked down, adoringly. Apollo’s heart melted for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
“May I?” he asked.
Percy smiled at him and nodded.
Apollo wrapped his arms around Percy’s neck, pulling him down. Their lips pressed together. The sudden weight of Percy on him knocked some of the air out of Apollo’s lungs. Percy’s lips stole whatever air was left. Warmth bloomed in Apollo’s chest, spreading to his fingertips and down to his toes. The two of them lay there on the ground, kissing, their bodies pressed against each other, the happiest people in the world.
For the first time in his life, Apollo prayed. He prayed as hard as he could to the Fates that this would last.
For a moment, everything was perfect.
Without breaking his stride, Alabaster looked behind. The trucks, the food stalls. So many places for a monster to hide. No sign of her—that was good. He saw the yellow sign up ahead, the one marking the alley between the diner and the old dress shop. You haven’t seen her for blocks, he reminded himself. It’s safe to go back.
He turned right at the sign.
It had been only a few years since he had last seen Lamia. Why was she reappearing now? Shouldn’t monsters take longer to reform? He gripped his knife tighter, as if the motion could hide the tremor in his hands. Deep breaths, he thought desperately. He passed by the bodega, by the barbeque grill, by a pair of glowing green eyes—
He turned sharply. Oh. It was a window display. A children’s cartoon character holding a sign labeled ENTRANCE, one he didn’t recognize. How could he? The Olympians hardly left him with a childhood. The glowing LED lights seemed to be taunting him. She’s back. Coming for you. You will never escape. He shuddered and began walking faster.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
At last, the Kodak shop was in view. The sight of dirty yellow paint and window panes covered with flyers made Alabaster sigh with relief. Years ago, Manon, a daughter of Ekecheiria, had set up a safe house in her father’s photography shop. She and her father were dead now, and the shop had long shut down, but the safe house was still running.
Alabaster pushed open the door. The bell jingled, signaling his arrival. A face peered at him from the counter.
“Alabaster!”
Alabaster gave a shaky smile. “Jerry, hey. There’s a monster following me.”
Jerry hastily put down his phone. “Is it outside?” he asked.
Alabaster shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he said, setting down his bag. “Haven’t seen her the past three blocks.”
Jerry let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good then.” He waved his hand at the counter. “We’ve got some Snickers and there’s a first-aid kit in the drawer. Help yourself, I’ll tell Mel you’re here.” With a nod, he ran to the backrooms.
“Don’t tell her about the monster!”
Jerry didn’t seem to hear him. Alabaster sighed. He sprawled himself on the couch. The safehouse had gone through some renovations after Mel started taking care of it. The glass display cases were replaced with couches and communal dining tables. The tables were cluttered with newspapers and magazines from the mortal world, Olympus, even New Rome.
The biggest change, however, was the memorial walls. Pictures of fallen demigods cluttered every inch of the walls. Manon loved to take pictures. Alabaster could remember her flitting around the Titan camp, snapping pictures of scenery and armor, of every demigod who allowed her, and a few more of those who didn’t. After the Titan War—after Manon died—Mel printed her photos of every demigod who had died and stuck them on the walls. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, she prayed.
Alabaster spied a few of his siblings’ pictures on the wall. His heart clenched. They had only wanted a better future, liberation from the Olympians. Yet for the crime of fighting against tyranny, they were probably sent to the Fields of Punishment. The lucky ones were those that never received a burial. They would never face judgment from Hades, simply doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Even in death, there was no fairness.
Mel stepped out from the backrooms. “Hey, loser. I thought you wouldn’t be returning until next month?”
Alabaster shrugged. “Plans change,” he said. “Where’s Jerry?”
“I sent him to buy us beer. I thought we could use some time alone.”
Alabaster smiled, until Mel spoke again. “Jerry said you were being followed.”
He was no longer smiling. “Did he, now?” He picked up a copy of the New Rome News, avoiding her gaze.
“Are you in trouble again?”
Flip. An editorial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be a little bitch. What happened?”
Flip. A feature article on some café. “Nothing unusual for a demigod.”
Alabaster felt Mel sit beside him. He could feel her eyes drill holes into him. His throat felt dry. Maybe if he read harder, she would drop it. Would you look at that? The Beanery apparently had blonde roasts that were to die for. He wondered if his exile from Camp Half-Blood applied to Camp Jupiter as well.
A hand squeezed his arm. “Alabaster. Please.”
“I can handle myself,” he snapped.
“I know you can. Just.” Mel rested her head on his shoulder. “Let me help you. Please.”
Alabaster’s heart melted. How could he say no to that? He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I just don’t want you to worry.” He exhaled deeply. Okay, here goes. “Lamia escaped Tartarus.”
Mel cursed. “And she’s after you again?”
“Mmhmm. The bitch.”
“How is she back so soon?”
“Because the gods conspire to make my life miserable,” he declared. “Either them or the Fates.”
Mel snorted. “Any plans on how to kill her again?”
“Not yet,” he admitted. “Perhaps if I kill her brutally, she won’t be able to reform in this lifetime.”
“I’ll go look up some spells which might help you,” she offered.
“Or you could kick her ass. That would be as effective.”
“Hmmm, or that.”
Mel leaned further into him. Alabaster felt himself relax. Lamia couldn’t break through the safehouse without great difficulty, and couldn’t rip him from Mel’s grasp without facing her wrath. For the first time in days, he was at peace.
He flipped the magazine page. Paused and stared at its pages. The magazine spread showed a paparazzi photo of Percy Jackson and Apollo attending a festival in New Rome. The headline sprawled offensively on top: APOLLO AND PERCY JACKSON ANNOUNCE THEIR ENGAGEMENT.
Alabaster felt annoyance rise within his throat. “What is this?”
Mel leaned over. Upon seeing the article, she grimaced. “Oh, that . Yeah, Jackson is getting hitched to an Olympian. It was a few months ago actually. This issue is the Summer Solstice Special.”
“What?”
“I know, right?”
He stared at the magazine. Jackson looked offensively happy, for someone who was engaged to an Olympian. “When did they start dating?” Alabaster demanded.
Mel shrugged. “I dunno. Few years ago.”
“So he’s not just the gods’ lapdog. Turns out he’s a whore as well. Gods…fucking Jackson.”
Mel grimaced. “Don’t say that so loud. Some spirit might overhear you and snitch. I like staying alive.”
Alabaster clenched the magazine. “I thought we only had to worry about invoking the gods’ names, not his too.”
“Rumor says he’ll be made a god after he marries.”
“Isn’t that just typical?” he sneered. “Jackson gets special treatment again. The Olympians only ever care about those that uphold their regime. The rest of us get treated like trash.”
“Alabaster, I’m with you, but please use a codename for him.”
He threw the magazine across the table. “Fine. What do you think fits him best? ‘ Sellout’ ? Maybe ‘ Nepotism Personified’? After all, Jackson would never have gotten this far if Poseidon weren’t his father.” Anyone else who tried even half of what Jackson has done would have been smited by now. Alabaster knew about Polyphemus and Halirrhothius. Poseidon would defend all of his children, no matter how despicable. “He gets a cabin and all the recognition he wants, while the rest of us have to beg to be treated with dignity. He even gets rewarded for his crimes!”
“Like destroying my home, ” Mel muttered.
Alabaster winced. Ah yes, Circe’s Island. Mel was one of the girls who studied under Circe. The day Jackson and Chase released dozens of vengeful pirates on the island, Mel’s home burned down and she had to flee the island lest be captured by pirates and be killed, or worse. It was a sensitive topic for Mel.
He glanced at Mel. She was glaring at the magazine intensely, he wouldn’t be surprised if she learned to shoot lasers from her eyes. He squeezed her hand. “Hey. We can stop talking about this, if you want,” he said softly.
Mel shuddered. “No. I want to get this off my chest too. You’re right. Look at all the people he’s hurt,” she gestured. “My sisters. Circe. “Our comrades too. Manon. Ethan. Luke. How many died in the war, thanks to him?”
Alabaster could remember digging one of his sister’s bodies from underneath the rubble. How many demigods were killed by the earthquakes which Jackson caused? By his hand? How many bodies had they never recovered?
“Everything he’s done,” Mel ranted, “and he’s treated like a hero. Everyone’s like ‘ohhh, Percy Jackson! Look at how he made things better for the minor gods and their children!’ What about us?! What were we trying to do, then?”
Alabaster nodded. “If he truly wanted to make things better, he would have helped us overthrow the Olympians. But the system benefits him, so why would he bother?” He huffed. “Honestly, someone should do something about him.”
Mel rested her head on his shoulder. “Well clearly, it’s not going to be any of the gods. Our parents are happy with the scraps he’s given them.”
A lightbulb went over Alabaster’s head. “What if I did something about it?”
Mel looked taken aback. “Are you fucking serious?”
It was embarrassing how he hadn’t thought of this before. “Don’t you remember what Luke used to say to us? Be the change you want to see in the world? If the gods won’t bring him to justice, then why not me?”
Mel scoffed. “Because he’s a better fighter? He's insanely powerful? How would we even go against him?”
Alabaster untangled himself from Mel’s arms. He summoned a pen and paper, and began writing down ideas. “So I’ll try guerilla tactics!”
“Seriously?”
Alabaster's mind was whizzing with plans and possibilities. “It’s risky—we have to sneak through the legion and a couple of gods, but I think a surprise attack is the most effective way to strike him.”
Mel rested her hand on his pen. “And where do I fit in these plans of yours?”
Alabaster froze. “Mel, no.” He turned to her, hoping to find humor in her face. She looked dead serious. “Do you realize how serious this is? We’ll be hunted down by more people if we’re caught. I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.”
“Tough-fucking-luck.” Mel jabbed her finger at him. “I know you can handle yourself, but you don’t get to take this choice away from me.” At Alabaster’s protests, she held up her hand. “You said it yourself. This is risky, which means you’ll need help. Why not accept it? I said I’d always stand by you, and I meant it.”
Alabaster stared at her. “Fine. But we’re going to be extra careful.”
Mel rolled her eyes. “Naturally,” she said. She jabbed a thumb behind her. “I have more spell books at the back. Wanna plan there?”
Alabaster nodded. “Let’s go.” He grabbed his bag and his papers. As the two made their way to the backrooms, he couldn’t help the thrill that went through him. After the war, he had sworn to himself that he would never let their allies’ sacrifices go to waste. It was time he made good on that promise.
Jackson wouldn’t know what was coming for him.