Archive of Our Own ^beta

When your furies identify the one who stole your helm, your first thought is that he is Bianca's age. You know that mortals live fleeting and ephemeral lives, having to achieve their greatest feats in years so small that it would make a god laugh, but it is still a surprise to hear just how young the would-be thief is.

Not nearly as much of a surprise as it is when they tell you that he is Poseidon’s son. You know better than to ask if they are sure—Alecto’s got more finely-tuned senses than some minor gods you know—but you can’t help yourself. To hear that Poseidon has also broken his oath is less than a shock, to be frank. But to hear that he was careless enough to let the child run around where Zeus could get wind of his existence... Even he would never make a mistake like that.

No, he would’ve tried to protect the boy—and the mother, too. There could only be one reason that his son was cavorting around on Mount Olympus and not at the bottom of the sea somewhere, safe from Zeus’ wrath. (The same reason that Maria and your children were living in a villa in Italy and not with you and Persephone.) The mother must have refused him.

As little as you want to admire the woman who raised such an enterprising little thief, you can’t help but be impressed at her audacity. To raise a child of the Earthshaker alone, turning down the divine protection of her lover... Well, you almost wished for the chance to meet this formidable woman. It’s a shame that your interests lie in opposition to one another; under different circumstances it might have made for an entertaining conversation.

But of course, you’ll get that chance eventually. (There isn’t anyone you don’t get to meet, eventually.) In the meantime, you need your helm back. You summon your furies into the room, order Alecto to keep a watch on the boy. You’re a patient man, and you have time to decide when to strike.

You, of course, inform no one else of the theft—broadcasting such a weakness is an exceedingly unwise thing to do, especially when it can be remedied without ever coming to light. Your brothers, however, have never been the wisest of men.

News travels slowly to the underworld, so it isn’t until after you send Alecto away that you hear that your helm was only the first item to be taken. You raise an eyebrow, almost impressed. To steal from you is a bold move, if exceedingly foolhardy, but to steal from Zeus is nothing less than suicidal.

Your brother’s ego is maintained through equal measures of arrogance and pride, and a volatile temper that will do whatever it takes to maintain them. (You suspect that he’s never quite been able to forget that he only has his position because you didn’t challenge him for it, and part of him will always be driven to compensate for that lingering uncertainty.) He broadcasts his power and influence in a performance that reassures himself of his might and commands the respect of others. So when something happens to threaten that power... Suffice to say that it does not end well for the perceived threats.

You’re not sure whether Poseidon’s son was oblivious to that fact (foolish) or merely didn’t take it into consideration (doubly so), but if he’d thought about it for even a fraction of a second, he never would have dared to make such a mistake. Whatever his motivation was—be it greed, lust for power, bragging rights, or the simple thrill of the deed—Zeus will interpret it as nothing less than a direct attack on his sovereignty. Such humiliation at being outmatched—and by a mortal of all things—can only be repaid in blood.

The boy is Bianca’s age, and Zeus would see him and his mother dead. You’ve always had excellent self-control, so you do not allow the thought to stir any emotions within you. (You’ve also never been good at lying to yourself.)

It is only a few days later that you allow Alecto to confront the bold little demigod. When a pile of ash pours down in front of you, you don't quite manage to hold back your surprise. By the time Alecto has reformed, growling and shaking the last dregs of dust off of her shoulders, you've settled on a new plan of approach. With Zeus gunning for him, the boy and his mother will soon enough encounter a danger that they can't escape. And when they do, you'll be ready.

You keep an eye on the pair of them as they approach the camp. You watch as his mother faces off against the minotaur itself, a powerless mortal sprinting toward the foe that had made Theseus tremble.

You need collateral; that is why you’re waiting, and why you’re going to take her. But in that brief moment, as she faces death in the name of her son, the helm is in the back of your mind as all you can think is how that’s something Maria would have done. By the time the minotaur has grabbed her you are already reaching out to the clearing, twining your essence through space and plucking her from the fabric of reality to bring her to you.

As the minotaur clenches his fist around a handful of dust and roars, you look into the face that Poseidon had risked a war for. Her expression holds fear, but you know it isn’t for herself.

You sigh. You’ve always hated it when things got messy.

You feel it the moment the boy and his retinue crossed your threshold. Their souls burn bright against the shades around them, impossible to miss even if you hadn’t been expecting them.

You’d thought about whether to instruct Charon to allow them passage, but in the end you’d decided against it. It will be good for the boy to get a taste of your realm, to make him realize just whom he is dealing with. Just how out of his depth he is now.

When he took the bolt and your helm, he was standing at the summit of Olympus, where a heady thrill of power runs through everyone’s veins. What would normally be a foolish impulse turns into a daring plan, and the fear of consequences turns into the anticipation of glory.

It is little wonder that your relatives act as they do, with the world of mortals tiny at their feet.
(It is little wonder that you’ve always hated it up there.)

In your domain, however, the power of the living means nothing. No wealth, no glory, no conviction that could move mountains above is anything more than a fleeting memory. It must be a sobering realization for the child who thought he could steal from the gods.

A few minutes after they enter the fields, the presence of the other demigod vanishes, disappearing in a swirl of energy that is unmistakably Poseidon’s handiwork. You raise an eyebrow. It is exceedingly bold of your brother to interfere here, in your land where he dares not tread. For him to go from entirely apathetic toward mortals towards interceding on behalf of a demigod he has no attachment to...

Well, it speaks volumes as to just how well he values this son of his. It’s almost sweet. (If not for the fact that the reason he’s able to care for his son is because his son is still alive, along with his mother, both untouched by Zeus’ wrath despite the fact that his very existence betrayed the most binding of oaths. You think that if you were even a little more resentful, if you loved your siblings even a little bit less, you would hate him for that. As it stands, you’re still not sure that you don’t.)

You continue to keep track of the remaining two as they draw nearer. They make a steady pace, and soon enough, your palace doors open and the elevator groans to life. It is time to meet this enterprising little thief face-to-face.

As you stride towards them, you project a casual, affable demeanor, affecting a welcoming smile. Blatant threats and intimidation only serve to make one look weak, to say that they’re so insecure that they feel the need to resort to shows of force in order to be respected. Warm civility, on the other hand, throws opponents off their guard, says you pose so little threat to me that I’m not bothering to treat you as one. The implication of power is always more effective than an overt display (something that your relatives have never learned).

Once you draw close enough, you finally get a good look at the pair of them. The satyr is nearly vibrating out of his skin with nerves, but still angles himself in front of his charge. It’s an impressive display of bravery and you wonder if Poseidon’s son knows how lucky he is to be afforded that kind of loyalty. You hope he does.

He doesn’t even glance at his protector, unwilling to take his eyes off of you. For a child who dared to steal two of the oldest gods’ most prized possessions, he looks small and afraid. That doesn’t stop him from affecting a determined expression and cutting through the pleasantries to get to the heart of the matter, the reason that you’re all here.

You’re inwardly amused at his brashness, aware that most of your fellow gods would incinerate a demigod on the spot if they dared to be so presumptuous, to refuse offers of hospitality and immediately direct the conversation to their own desires.

You’d wondered what kind of woman could make your brother forsake his oath. Now you look at her son, the child who walked into your domain—the land where the living do not tread, where even your siblings do not visit—to demand that you return her to him, and you realize that if his mother were anything like him, Poseidon had never stood a chance.

This time when you smile it’s even genuine.

The conversation isn’t going the way you thought it would—you're not sure what Ares has to do with anything, and his conviction that you want the bolt is puzzling to say the least—but you’re willing to humor him.

And then he mentions your father and time stands still.

The silence of your realm, normally peaceful, suddenly sticks in your throat and pushes under your skin like an oppressive weight you can’t shake.

He can’t be coming back. He’s in a million pieces at the bottom of the endless pit and he has been for millenia and he can’t be coming back.

(But the boy’s words ring true.)

Still, you can turn this around. You abhor the games and grabs for power that your relatives crave, but that doesn’t mean you can’t play with the best of them. You have the advantage. You have the knowledge, you have the leverage, and with the bolt, you have the most defensible position in all of creation.

You look at the boy who told you this, whom Poseidon loves, whom Zeus wants dead, whom your father calls for from the pit.

Ask me for sanctuary, you say.

You need the bolt, that’s what you tell yourself. That’s why you made the offer. And it is true.

But what is also true is that this boy is Bianca’s age and his mother had Maria’s fire and you couldn’t save your family but you have a chance here.

Ask me, you repeat.

His mother didn’t accept. Maria didn’t accept. But this child has seen the cruelty your siblings can wreak, and maybe that will change things. You can hope.
(But unlike your brothers, you’ve never been one to delude yourself.)

Hold fast, Mom, he says.

(The pearl breaks.)