Chapter Text
Artemis
While she appreciated father revealing that he hadn’t blamed Apollo for the Gigantomachy, she wished, oh so wished, that he had gone another route for their “education”. While she preferred a youthful form, having the appropriate youthful muscles was nothing but frustration. Glaring at the bow she had just spent hours trying to draw to its full weight, knowing she didn’t have the muscle or the magic she granted her hunters to build that muscle, she was unsure of how she felt about father having dumped her back with her girls after making her mortal.
While Artemis appreciated not being forcibly separated from her hunters again, she would admit, at least to herself, it was humiliating being stuck in this mortal body, without any of her powers. Sighing to herself, she picked up the bow again, preparing to resume her practice. Thalia had, after her first suggestion had been met with a glare, stopped offering to get a bow with a lower draw weight, instead leaving Artemis to her practice. Tensing her body against muscles that had never truly trembled before, she grit her teeth, pulling the bow back, and taking aim at the stump she had chosen for this… menial relearning, and- Agh!
For the third time in 10 minutes, her grip on the bowstring faltered, and it snapped back, almost smacking her arm where the her bracer protected it. The pain of it wouldn’t have smarted near as much as her pride did. Over 5000 years, and she had never faltered with drawing a bow before. She would wield her bow as she was supposed to. She would!
The crossbow still felt unwieldy in her hands, still felt wrong compared to her bow. But time would not wait for her to build her muscles back. The children could not wait. Checking over the edge of the windowsill, she saw the cruel woman calling herself a “mother” to the children Artemis was guarding stalking ever closer. 20 bolts. That was all Artemis had remaining to deal with this immortal. Idly, she heard the bloodied nymph trying to soothe the infant’s cries behind her. Collateral. Always collateral where her family was concerned. There would be no collateral here. No matter where Artemis had to strike, she would make certain that every single shot hit her target. Her hunters were far from here, their duty to hunt monsters more important than their mistress’s circumstances, as she had ordered. It did not matter. Perhaps Artemis would die here, staring up at the eyes that reminded her of her captor at Othrys. But even if she did, she would tear her throat out with her teeth if she needed to, buying enough time that the nymph and the children could escape.
It was a moonless night, a “new moon” as the mortals called it, her brother not pulling double duty this evening. Even so, she could almost hear her brother teasing her for being “so stubborn, Artie”. Quietly, she gave a quick prayer to father, that the winds would not interfere with her shots, as she raised her weapon.
Her domains felt like an old friend that she had been away from for too long. Sighing, she rested on the grass, feeling her connection to the wild world that she had so missed. Reaching out with her other domains, Artemis felt her girls setting up their tents, perfectly happy with the more relaxed pace. And some of them were enjoying helping the nymph with her new wards. It did not matter that one of them was a boy. The cuteness of very young children could not be denied. They would grow up safely, learning how to interact with the world, and living their lives. Perhaps one of the girls would decide to join her hunters once she reached an age for it. Perhaps not. But they would grow up happy regardless.
Ares
The city was familiar. He knew it in the back of his mind. He’d been wandering around for a few hours now. At least dad had kept him as an adult in this mortal body. Winding up a kid like Apollo or Artemis would have been miserable. Looking around, Ares once again wondered why he’d ended up in the Middle East. So far from Camp Half-Blood, where he could at least be with his kids. Maybe this was a punishment for the mess he’d made of the city a few years ago while fighting that sea brat.
Crossing a street, Ares stopped as something moved out of the corner of his eye in an alley. No, not something. Someone. Ragged clothes, belongings all wrapped up in bags and blankets, damn that was a sad looking someone. The person looked up, and memories flashed. Images and memories that Ares had repressed countless times in this modern era of warfare, because the slaughter and constant killing of innocents was maddening at the best of times. It wasn’t pillage, it wasn’t victors claiming spoils. It was just destruction. Slaughtering because they could.
Slowly approaching the old man, Ares felt his mind go back. War was never kind. It was brutal, always. But, when the Flame had been in England, for all those centuries, Ares had loved the tenets of chivalry. Of warriors holding themselves to a code of honor. War was a place of brutality. He knew that all too well. But people didn’t have to be. Warriors and soldiers could keep their humanity, as difficult as it was.
It was difficult. Backbreaking work. Dangerous, too. But every drop of sweat and blood felt like he was being cleansed, as if he could breathe for the first time in decades. And when children played in the yards he’d cleared of rubble, and families slept safely in homes he had fixed and rebuilt, Ares felt another fire, different from the ones he knew all too well, warming his heart.
It had started with just him. Stubbornly sticking to it, even as this mortal body had demanded rest and food. Slowly, though, others joined. All of them soldiers, current or past, putting their lives to fixing things, not just more war. Under a peace enforced by Ares’ willingness to crack heads when fighting started (he couldn’t match his kids in this state, but he was good enough to handle mortals), the city was healing. Reaching a point after war. After. Taking a brief glimpse up at the sky, Ares wondered if that storm maker had known what he was doing when he’d tossed him here. Or maybe he’d allowed the Moirai to dictate where he’d ended up. Either way, Ares felt like he understood his primary domain better than he had in so long. He was the God of War. Which included the aftermath of it. For so long, that had just been pain of loss and celebrations of the victors. But. It could be about healing from it, too. Before he turned back to get to work, he murmured a quiet “Thanks, pops” to the sky, as the wind blew.
Taking up his domains again felt tiring. But more than that, it felt like a challenge. Ares was God of War, and it was time for him to define what that meant again, rather than letting mortals dictate what war was. Grasping onto his domain and trying to actively shift it felt like he was trying to lift a mountain. But as he felt his favor settle into protesters and refugees and veterans, trying to recover from the violence and push for the world to change for something better, he grinned. He’d been yearning for a true challenge.
Hermes
The first thing he did with his mortality was sleep. Frankly, Hermes felt like he could’ve slept for a week. But the second thing was waiting, and for the first time in far too long, he had time for it. Racing with his kids, trying to steal from them without getting caught, spending time with them, every minute of it caused the hole in his heart from Pan and Luke to feel like it was healing. He spent almost a month stealing materials from home improvement stores and helping fix up his cabin. Paint got everywhere from overly enthusiastic kids, he had to dunk himself to get wood dust out of his hair, and it was great. No messages, no endlessly waiting deliveries.
Honestly, the only thing Hermes was missing were George and Martha. He’d have to get them some really nice rats and treats after this whole thing was done. But that was okay, because right now he was showing his littlest how to slip things from unwary police officers, and her excited giggles were everything.
No. Not again NOT AGAIN. Angrily, he continued on, carrying Chris’s unconscious body through the hallways. Twice, he had lost this son. Once to his own inattentiveness causing him to overlook the boy with more psychopomp traits than any of his children in living memory. Once to the madness Minos inflicted him with. Both times, others had saved him. Clarisse la Rue already had the blessing of never missing a message, never losing anything of hers. And he’d stolen and passed wine to Dionysus. This time, Hermes wouldn’t fail his son again. Not like he had failed him before, not like he had failed so many of his siblings.
Finding an out of the way room, he set Chris down. Hurriedly, he examined the boy (the man, he was a grown man now), making certain that the bandages hadn’t soaked through. Grasping onto the sword, and barricading the doorway, Hermes knew his best hope was to hold out until Clarisse found them. And never was he more thankful for his brother’s stubborn willfulness, and her inheriting it. Chris would live. He would live for decades longer, just like all his living siblings. Hermes swore it as he checked his bandages for the fourth time. Hearing footsteps approaching, Hermes gave a quick kiss to his son’s feverish forehead. “I’m here, my boy. This time, I’m here.” Turning and rising, Hermes took his stance. His child’s life would not be stolen this day.
It was a beautiful autumn day. Apollo was shining, father was releasing a smooth breeze, and the marrying couple were glowing. And Hermes had the time to be there for the full ceremony. His divine children had fully forced him to share duties, Iris and her dear Fleecy were at full power, and a certain cousin had had the idea of giving his mortal children some of his less strenuous messenger duties. And considering that meant Hermes had to communicate with them to pass those messages and deliveries on, he was extra happy with his current favorite cousin.
The traditions that Chris and Clarisse had gone with for their wedding had wound up a mixture of Hispanic and Hellenic, and the result was a beautiful mixture. And it was all the more beautiful because Hermes could see it personally. Never again would any of his children feel like they were anything less than loved. Even if it was only moments in passing, he would always be present for them. And when the eventual last day came, he would personally carry them to Elysium. Even if he had to sneak them in past the judges.
Athena
Crying again. Grumbling as she got up, she blinked bleary eyes, before slowly getting up and picking up the squealing infant from the crib at the foot of her bed. Quietly holding the baby in the proper position, Athena did her customary check. Diaper was dry. She had been fed recently, and the cries weren’t matching the hunger cries that she had identified. What was it, then. What.
Tiredly, Athena walked around the small apartment. No reason to be inefficient by simply standing there while trying to solve this puzzle. It was a studio apartment, with only a bathroom and a closet for separate rooms. And she was only able to afford this through clever online tricks of multiple markets, and… charity. Styx, it still burned to have to rely upon other people’s pity. Catching sight of her reflection in the bathroom, she had to grit her teeth to keep from cursing at the face looking back at her. Eyebags, overly thin, physically an adult, but only just barely. Her mortal form looked like what the charity givers believed her to be, a single teenage mother, with an infant daughter whose father hadn’t wanted her.
What burned even more was that they were right. Athena had been dropped right outside an orphanage with papers as to her mortal identity, and a familiar basket containing the child she had gifted most recently. A blessing she had given to a brilliant man, and he had turned it down, refused it. The insults still rankled. It didn’t matter that she was truly Athena, Goddess of Wisdom. Until father came to his senses from this… farce, she was a single mortal mother. And she would remain such. Assured that everything was in its place, she looked down, and blinked. Her daughter’s eyes, as grey as her own, blinked slowly up at her. She had stopped crying at some point while Athena was lost in her thoughts, and now, she seemed to slowly be falling asleep again, curling closer in her arms. The girl always seemed to want closeness of that kind. Happiest when she was in Athena’s arms. What an unusual concept. The instinct of mortal young to seek out their parents was a fascinating survival mechanism. Sighing, Athena moved to put the baby down, only for noises to interrupt her. Well, it seemed she would be sleeping with her daughter in her arms. Again.
Every temple she had, every library and training ground and personal quarter, had always been perfectly organized. Everything set up exactly how Athena liked it. Silently grumbling as she pulled another block out from under the couch where her daughter had tossed them, and going down her mental list of cleanings and chores to be done, she groaned inwardly as she recognized that the apartment was going to be disorganized for another day. There were too many more important tasks to tend to.
The thump of a small body against her back caused her to exit her thoughts instantly. “Mama!!”
The cry was at a specific pitch, one that her daughter only ever emitted in one scenario. “Where is it?”
One spider crushed later, and the four year old was happily eating her snack again. Books in Ancient Greek were near impossible to find, and certainly impossible to obtain, and Athena’s laptop was needed for work. Besides, that mortal eye doctor who had made her daughter’s glasses had mentioned that too much exposure to electric screens was unhealthy for children. Another thing to keep track of. So, the goddess in a mortal’s body had written down her own lessons for the girl to learn her language in, once it was clear that her daughter possessed that hardwiring. And then proceeded to scrap them three separate times, watering things down even more as it became clear that her plans were too advanced for the toddler. A more frustrating challenge than anything Athena had handled in her centuries of life. But every time the little girl smiled at getting it right, her face splitting from the joy overtaking it, all that aggravation seemed to melt away.
Her youngest was at Camp Half-Blood now. As she had grown older, more monsters had shown up, drawn by her scent. And now, at 11, they had grown more aggressive. And Athena could not fight them. Not as well as her daughter had the potential to. Combat was in her blood, after all. And yet. Picturing her wide grey eyes staring down at a dissolving monster, picturing her hands that were always wrapped around her knitting needles for her latest project wrapped around a spear shaft instead, something in Athena… broke. And so she had fled, taking her child across the multiple states it took to reach Half-Blood Hill. Running to sanctuary, praying to father for her daughter’s protection as the monster approached, and being answered by the flooding of power. The relief she had felt had near moved her to tears.
She had remained at the camp for a few days afterwards. Making sure that her daughter was settled, meeting several of her older children for the first time in over a decade, evaluating the curriculum. It had taken Dionysus grabbing her and sitting her down before she admitted she was trying to delay her departure. The revelation of the changes to the ancient laws in the past few years had been the only thing that finally got her to leave, knowing that she could now have more contact with her children.
Looking around, Athena stared at a temple she had not seen in years with new eyes. Everything where it was supposed to be. Perfectly organized. Perfectly… sterile. Hollow. Quiet. Empty. Athena turned, staring at the door to Olympus. One of her children had accepted Perseus’ offer to ascend. Her son. She had ignored him for a long time, always seeming less… impressive, than his sister. And now. He was her first child to have true immortality, not just Daedalus’ clever workaround. She had never had a godly child before. She would need to speak with him. And her other children. Yes. That sounded like the wisest course.