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Percy feels like maybe, he should be more afraid of this quest than he is.
Zeus is furious, even without the knowledge that he is Hestia’s child. He knows when the truth comes out, and it will come out, things will be messy. It will be dangerous.
Percy will be lucky if he’s the only one Zeus kills for this, more likely is the death of Sally alongside him, Hestia thrown in Tartarus to suffer for millennia.
He has to find the bolt. It’s the only option.
Chiron doesn’t love giving a quest to a child claimed by a nameless god. Percy can tell by the way that he looks at him, at Annabeth and Grover, that it would be easier for him if he was unclaimed. The way he looks between the three of them, Percy knows that he’s considering giving the quest to Annabeth, no matter what the oracle's prophesy may say.
“I won’t take it,” Annabeth says, “I will lead my quest, not Percy’s. You cannot make me.”
Percy knows how much Annabeth wants a quest, how she feels trapped here in the beautiful camp full of machines to take apart. It’s not because she doesn’t love it here (Camp Half-Blood is the best home she’s ever known) but because she wants to build something beautiful, memorable, powerful. This is not the place where she will find her inspiration.
Hephaestus loves his children and he lets them know, no matter how awkward he may be. Annabeth is not searching for his approval. She wants to do this for herself.
Denying the quest is an act of loyalty and love that makes Percy feel brave and powerful beside her.
“Very well,” Chiron sighs, “You leave at dawn tomorrow.”
“Annabeth,” Percy says as they climb away from the remains of a burning bus, “I am going to write something down for you and Grover to read, and then one of us will have to burn it.”
“Why don’t you just tell us?” Grover asks absently, looking at the path forwards in the woods. They’ll need to find shelter soon, and he’s their best scout, focused on his task.
Annabeth looks uncharacteristically solemn as she watches Percy pull a scrap of crumpled paper out of his backpack and cap Riptide backward, scribbling confident, messy Ancient Greek on the page.
“Grover,” Annabeth says quietly, “You know names have power.”
Grover freezes. “Oh.”
“How’s your Greek?” Percy asks Grover, “Satyrs don’t have it innate like demigods, right? Should I write this in English too?”
“He’s better than any other Satyr I’ve known,” Annabeth interrupts loudly as Grover tries to say Passable, “Better than most demigods too. Don’t undersell yourself.” Percy hands Grover the piece of paper and watches as he pales, the flush from Annabeth’s complement disappearing in an instant. He passes it to Annabeth, who only has a second to read it before the page bursts into flames in her fingertips.
“Percy,” Annabeth whispers.
You shouldn’t be alive.
“Yeah,” Percy says.
I know.
“We should get some sleep,” Grover says, “It’s going to be a long week.”
“I didn’t realize we weren’t normal when I was little,” Percy says in the back of a truck they’ve snuck into, wedged close next to Annabeth and Grover alongside animal feed and metal cages. “I lived with my parents in our apartment, above Mama’s bakery and down the street from Mom’s school. There were some monsters, but usually just at school. I was always safe at home.”
“It sounds nice,” Annabeth says, a little wistfully, “I’m glad you were safe.”
“I’m really sorry you weren’t.”
At a campground, not too far from Los Angeles, Percy lights a fire.
They don’t have much food left, but in a few hours they’ll be in the Underworld trying to retrieve the bolt, so they’ll either succeed or fail. They scrape what remains of their food into the fire. With Grover keeping watch, Annabeth and Percy both place their hands in the flames.
Percy doesn’t expect to pull anything back. It’s an embrace from his mother, a comfort before he wades into the belly of the beast with the best friends he’s ever had. There is no expectation of additional support from Hestia, Percy knows that she’s doing the best she can.
The flames curl around Percy’s hand, gently guiding his fingers into a fist. When he pulls his hand from the fire, he’s holding a pendant in his hand.
He’s seen Hestia wear it, has clipped the bronze capped leather cord around her neck himself when her hands were busy with flour and sugar and the clasp slipped. It’s her favorite, a drop of amber blown glass.
“Percy,” Hestia says, a whisper in the wind, “You are always welcome at home.”
Percy clips the cord around his neck with shaking hands and looks at Annabeth. She’s holding a baseball cap, smoking but not singed, with a smile on her face.
“Okay,” Annabeth says, sounding so much more sure of herself than Percy feels right now, “You ready?”
No, the answer is of course not. This is stupid and probably a good way to get them all killed, but there’s no other way.
“Let’s go.”
Hades is waiting for them, as they descend into the Underworld.
He doesn’t look scary, which means nothing, but there is a table set for them as they enter the realm of the undead. It’s a circular table, with five chairs. Hades and Persephone sit side by side, watching as they carefully walk through the stone hall.
“Please sit,” Hades says. His voice is smooth, gentle, comforting.
They sit, Percy with Annabeth on his right side, Grover on his left.
“Sorry I killed your fury,” Percy says, “She was trying to kill me, but still.”
“She strayed from outside my domain,” Hades says as he takes Persephone’s hand, “It was deserved. Love, if you would?”
Persephone knocks one knuckle against the table, and suddenly Percy can’t breathe.
S’mores cookies, with toasted marshmallows and crisp graham cracker add-ins. They’re warm, the chocolate still shining. Beside them are three tall glasses filled with frosted lemonade, the glass swirled red from crushed cherries.
Percy doesn’t do Christmas or Easter like his classmates at school, but he celebrates the Solstice. Mama looks forward to them, and Percy knows when they fall. Today is the Summer Solstice. They always have s’more cookies and lemonade on the Summer Solstice.Grover grips Percy’s wrist, keeping him from reaching.
“Percy,” He says firmly, “Not from here.”
“Grover Underwood,” Persephone says, “Child of the Wild, I swear upon the River Styx that this food is safe to eat. You will not be kept here against your will, before your time.”
“It’s not from here,” Percy says. “It’s from my house, they just summoned it.”
“Yes,” Hades says, “My brother Poseidon and I do not agree on much, but Hestia is our favorite sister.”
“Why do you think I have the bolt, Perseus Jackson?” Hades asks.
“I don’t think you do,” Percy says, “You’re just as tired with Zeus as my mother is. Why would you steal from him and piss him off? “
“Then why would you come here,” Hades asks, “If neither of us have the bolt and Zeus demands it of you, why come to me?”
Percy traces the condensation on his glass of lemonade. “The prophecy said that we’d have to ‘go west and face the god who has turned.’ Chiron suggested we come here, to you, but I know who turned away from Zeus. My mother broke a vow. She swore.”
“Not on the River,” Hades says, “Only to Zeus.”
“Only to Zeus,” Percy agrees, “Lord Hades, my mother is not the only god to break their vows. A war is coming, and I’ve come to ask for your aid.”