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Artemis is out hunting when she steps into the aptly named café. She cannot imagine who else Perseus Jackson, the man who has always surprised her, would name his establishment after but the apple of his eye, his younger sister.
Gods can have a hard time changing but Artemis is determined to eventually stop expecting the worse of every man, has realised that perhaps there are some with more decency than the rest and that she simply has not found them yet. It is optimistic, naïve even.
Yet perhaps she should allow herself to be. Is that not what wrought change in the first place?
Regardless, she is not here to debate. The art on the walls catches her eye as she moves through, steps refined but the bow on her back hidden by the Mist. It would not do to alarm any poor mortals that may visit. She wonders, if briefly, what they must perceive of the events around them.
“Rachel.”
Artemis turns to see the daughter of Athena she knows best, would be unable to forgot with that lock of grey hair. Annabeth Chase. The girl is not looking at her so she follows her gaze to the wall. Some goddesses like to pretend that they do not know who the demigods, satyrs, nymphs and naiads and all other denizens of Camp Halfblood and Camp Jupiter are.
She is not one of them.
Rachel is a name she knows well, knows because of her friendship with the demigods, knows because of her bravery against Kronos (Perseus really does like to brag and immortals are terrible gossips. Artemis would find it off-putting if it weren’t always about those he respects, those he admires.), knows because the spirit of the Oracle of Delphi dwells in her, knows because Apollo talks about her sometimes.
She has a great deal of respect herself for Rachel Elizabeth Dare though they have not yet met. An Oracle, an artist, an environmentalist, a clear-sighted mortal and a young woman.
Nevertheless, she is not here for Rachel or Annabeth. Artemis is here to talk to Hestia.
The blonde next to her does not stir. Her mind must be moving incredibly fast but there is nothing in the way she stands that seems to indicate it save her eyes. The goddess does not mind silence but it occurs to her that it would be a wasted opportunity if nothing more was said.
“Tell me, Annabeth Chase, what do you regret?”
Annabeth laughs bitterly and that is an answer in itself. “Lots of things.” she confesses. She does not address Artemis, formally or informally and she is surprised to feel unaffected.
“Pride, stubbornness, love, foolishness, adoration, anger.”
”There many things to regret.” Artemis contributes. “Just as there are many things to appreciate. I have not done enough of the latter. It is why I am here.”
Annabeth eyes her shrewdly, is probably realising why she is here but she says nothing on the matter, simply bids her to follow her behind the bar.
The goddess’ breath does not catch but if she were mortal it would. There, in front of her, lay far more names than she could ever recognise, all carefully arranged. Her gaze is automatically drawn to a familiar constellation.
There is a name beneath it that makes her pause though, unsure.
Iapetus. Bob.
Both names are equal in size but close together, the spacing unusual in comparison to the other names.
“Bob.”
The name is said with grieving, the way Artemis hears the name 'Zoë'.
”Percy wonders if he knew in the end. I didn’t read the same depth into it, not when you can’t see the sky down there but maybe he’s right. They didn’t mention the moon.”
”They?”
”Bob - Iapetus - and Damasen.”
Artemis knows those names. They remind her of him, of Orion but she quickly moves away. Damasen’s fate is known to her and she makes the connections swiftly. Perseus and Annabeth have never talked about their time in Tartarus but all of the gods know it happened.
They are terrible gossips, this large, messy family. Immortality does not change that.
“Zoë was my devotee at first. Then she became my friend. It was difficult, the first few years.” Artemis was used to devotees not friends and you cannot be someone’s devotee and friend at the same time. “I am not foolish enough to believe that she would have stayed with me forever but I…”
Rarely is a goddess, especially this goddess, speechless. Artemis is acting strangely now, is revealing things to this daughter of Athena that she did not expect to. It is too painful to continue now and her companion seems to realise that.
”Almond croissant, I think.” Annabeth’s lip quirks up on one side. “They look a little like bows sometimes.”
She may be a goddess and Annabeth may not expect payment but she presses a drachma into her hand anyways. Artemis has no mortal money with her. It would be a simple task to retrieve it but she feels strangely reluctant to use her godly powers here.
Perhaps this moment of understanding, of them simply being two grieving souls in each other’s presence will be broken by the reminder.
Artemis should know better than to tempt the Fates. Hestia arrives in that moment and the customary happiness she always gets from seeing her is smaller than usual.
Annabeth inclines her head ever so slightly, a gesture of understanding rather than obeisance. Artemis mirrors her.
Then the blonde is gone.
“Hestia.” she greets once she has gotten a handle on her emotions.
”Artemis.” Hestia greets happily. It should not make her frown but her aunt is far too much like a child sometimes and she cannot help but suspect that the reason she is so excited is because Artemis has not visited for some time. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
”I was talking to your employer.”
Hestia laughs here, laughs beautifully and the small flames of the candle flicker higher. Artemis smiles wryly.
”We all need something to do.”
This is my domain, she does not say. This is my home, my hearth, the place where my family heals.
“You do it well.”
Artemis feels her cracked heart more than ever, feels the pain but this time she does not hide away from it, cannot hide away from it. Her talk with Annabeth has loosened her clumsy stitches, has left her heart wide open. It doesn’t hurt the same way now, seems to have been cleansed by their talk.
“I do. How are you finding your croissant? That’s one of mine - I’ve just learned how to make them from scratch.”
Even her aunt seems to avoid using godly powers here, for all that it is her domain.
”I’m becoming accustomed to the taste. It’s nicer than I expected.”
”I thought that might be the case.”