Chapter Text
Amphitrite never wanted to know what would have happened had she not given into the urge to check in on her daughter that day.
A god watching their mortal children too closely was dangerous. Ignorance was often the only true defense a young demigod had against monsters, and their godly parents watching them could unintentionally increase their divinity enough for even that to not matter. And Rhea, her beloved youngest daughter, the first born from her and her husband's essences in decades? Oh, she had far more divinity in her body than the average demigod simply by birth. To their regret, they couldn't watch her as closely as they wished. As closely as they could, were she told of her heritage and brought to camp, as she should have been years ago.
And yet, their daughter was thirteen. Had been thirteen for seven months. And Sally refused to bring her to camp, preferring instead to let that despicable creature near their precious pearl.
Perhaps she was being unfair. They had informed Sally of the dangers as soon as they realized that despite their best efforts their daughter had Poseidon's essence in her, not just Amphitrite's. As this was before Poseidon discovered that the Oath he had made was rendered invalid once his children had been slaughtered despite their protection being guaranteed in exchange for his word, Sally no doubt worried what would happen should certain gods discover her exact parentage.
And yet they had also told her their plan, for only Amphitrite to publicly claim their daughter, to inform her of her father in private, to give her as much of a shield as possible.
Leaving their daughter in ignorance would not work forever. Not with the divinity that sang in her blood- far more than the mortal children the king and queen of the sea had sired before.
(Neither of them dared to hope that it meant what they secretly longed for.)
Amphitrite longed to hold her daughter in her arms. Two brief visits when her pearl was less than a year old were not enough, would never be enough.
And yet all she could do was briefly watch from afar.
Why could the Greeks not have another city of their own once more? They were far more deserving of one than those despicable pretenders in the west. Why had the plans to rebuild fallen to the wayside after the upheaval of the past century? If they had a city once more, their beloved pearl could have grown up safe and happy, with full knowledge of her heritage and that her parents adored her and would do anything for her. Sally would not have refused a city where their child would be safe like she had refused a palace under the sea.
They had reassured each other and the rest of their children that surely Sally would tell them if their daughter was in danger. She knew what they would do to protect her, so surely she would pray to them if that despicable creature was as horrid as they feared, would she not?
They were wrong.
When Amphitrite checked in on her daughter that day in March, she was just in time to see that despicable creature shout something and lunge over the center console of the car they were in at Sally, causing the car to go out of control and crash.
With her daughter screaming in the backseat.
Poseidon's rage was well recorded in his myths. Rage that could topple cities, could damn those that dared harm what was his, could bring the world to it's knees if his demands were not met.
None spoke of Amphitrite's rage, for once she was appeased, there were none left to record it.
That creature had signed it's death warrant the moment it dared endanger her child, and nothing would remain of it once she was done.
She teleported to the scene just in time to watch that creature drag her injured daughter from the wreckage, throwing her into a nearby puddle as it screamed abuse no one would ever record, for recording it's last words would mean acknowledging it's existence.
The nearby waters rose at the Queen of the Sea's command, ready to destroy that vile creature.
Yet even her rage was slower than that of her daughter.
Instead of laying there in pain, Rhea's sea green eyes snapped open, seeming to glow in the dim light of dusk. An arm shot out, and the water surrounding her answered.
That creature's screams abruptly cut off, turning to pained gurgles and gasps as the water was forced down it's throat.
It took less time for the creature to die than Amphitrite would wish, but she cared not.
Not when she watched in pride as her daughter avenged herself.
Oh, if their daughter was this powerful now, unaware of her heritage and with no training, imagine her strength as she grew.
(Maybe their secret hopes were more than just hopes.)
The world itself seemed to still once that vile creature fell to the ground, it's soul already having been claimed by the Underworld, awaiting it's eternal punishment for it's crimes.
Rhea stared at the body with wide eyes, breaths slowly coming in and out as if she were in a trance. There was no regret nor remorse in those eyes, only slight shock at what had just happened.
And there would never be any regret or remorse if Amphitrite had anything to say about it.
"Rhea?" she called out, slowly walking towards her daughter. "My beloved pearl?"
Rhea's head whipped towards her, the remaining water around her briefly lifting up to protect her before she saw who it was. Somehow, despite the forced distance between them, her eyes widened in recognition. "Mitéra?" she whispered.
Mother.
"My daughter," Amphitrite whispered, kneeling in front of Rhea, eyes greedily taking her in now that she was finally physically in front of her. She had that same richly tanned skin Sally did, inherited Amphitrite's own hair, the locks that curled like the ocean's waves even if she inherited her father's color, had her own face shape, nose, lips, and also her eye shape even if that sea green was all her father's, and even now she could sense that she would inherit her height once she reached her full growth.
She was perfect.
"You… you visited me when I was a baby, didn't you?" Rhea whispered, eyes filled with longing that nearly tore Amphitrite's heart in two. "You and-" she cut herself off, eyes darting around as if searching for someone else.
Amphitrite reached out and cupped her daughter's cheek. "We did," she breathed, smiling at her. "I am so sorry we were not able to be here before. But I know I speak for both of us when I say that you are here now, and you are ours. The sea protects it's own."
The desperate hope in her daughter's eyes broke her heart.
It was mended by the way Rhea threw herself at her, and she was finally able to embrace her daughter.
Amphitrite hummed an Atlantian lullaby as she led her precious pearl away from the scene and into the sea, where at least for this night she could protect her. She would send one of her other children to take care of the wreckage, ensuring that no one would trace anything back to the newest princess of the sea.
She would have to explain everything to Rhea, introduce her to a world full of far too much danger, would have to send her daughter off in the morning to make her own way to camp for fear of that one noticing and accusing her of something she could not and would not have done in his paranoia.
But for now, she relished the fact that she finally held her daughter in her arms.
Hospitals always looked so similar to her eyes. Artemis, the Goddess of the Hunt and Childbirth, Protector of Children, had been in countless before and would be in countless more. Appearances would differ, yes, but the similarities had always shone far more. One would think they would blur together, and she would not deny that most of them did.
This one was different.
This was where she met her nephew for the first time. The first to hold him, in fact, after her twin desperately begged her to save the life of his son after his mother's premature death. (He would never have to beg, and he knew it, but desperation could on occasion cloud the eyes of even one with the domain of logic.)
This was where she looked at her nephew, recognized the sheer power he held- power she had not seen in her twin's newborn children since Aristaeus and Asclepius themselves- and chose to stake a silent claim on him with her twin's approval.
(What was his was hers, and what was hers was his, after all.)
And this was where Artemis found her nephew over thirteen years later, sitting on one of those terrible chairs in the waiting room, head in his hands.
"Lee," was all she said as she knelt in front of her nephew, waiting for him to look up.
And he did, those bright blue eyes- so different from the gold of her twin's that he never allowed his mortal children to inherit for fear of what the reactions would be, and yet oh so familiar at the same time- locking onto hers. "It's time to go, isn't it?" Lee asked, tone completely drained of any emotion. Not because there was none, she knew, but because of the exhaustion.
Watching his uncle nearly die in front of him would cause it… as would the beams of light he had summoned to destroy the hellhounds attacking them. A strength that even the Divine Twins had not expected, especially only six months after unlocking that power (that domain, her mind whispered, before she forced the thought away, not daring to hope quite yet).
"It is," Artemis said simply, saying nothing more. Apollo had been here before the sun set, after all. He had been the one to take Joseph Fletcher to the hospital after stabilizing him. He had been the one to speak to his son and assure him that his uncle would live. He had been the one to reassure his son that what he had done had saved both of their lives.
Not only was Apollo the God of Truth, he was Lee's father. No matter what her place was in her nephew's life, his father would always be the one he looked to for reassurance first, something she would never deny her twin. Especially as those so-called "ancient laws" prevented him from raising his children himself as he often had back when they were in their true homeland.
Instead of saying anything more, she took her nephew's hands. She squeezed them once, the only comfort she knew he would accept from her at the moment, before standing, taking him with her. Wryly, she noted the fact that he was now barely shorter than her in her preferred adult form and he still had at least three more years of growth to come as a demigod. Perhaps a height change was in order, even if she rarely used this form these days.
Artemis did not comment on Lee letting go of one of her hands to grab the duffel bag next to him, even though she knew that he knew the plan was for them to send that to camp as soon as he arrived, rather than he have to hike with it. Nor did she comment on how he kept his other hand in hers, nor on how hard he clutched it.
She would never deny one of her twin's children whatever comfort they needed, no matter how old they were.
Neither of them spoke until they were out of the building and had gotten settled in the Moon Chariot. Even after the day he had, Lee still snorted a bit when he saw that it was currently a sled pulled by deer. A common reaction at this point, and one Artemis chose to tolerate. The only ones who saw her Chariot were those she cared for, after all.
"I shall drop you off in that state they call New Jersey," Artemis said as soon as they were seated. Unsurprisingly, her nephew lifted an eyebrow at that statement, so she continued, "Your father told me to bring you there instead of closer."
That did not lift the confusion from his expression, but all Lee did was nod.
He was his father's son. He instinctively knew that the only thing that could fully overcome Apollo's protective nature was his domain of prophecy. If he thought his son needed to take a longer route to camp instead of the shortest possible one they could get away with, there was a reason for it.
"It will give him something that he will need in the future," was all Apollo said when she questioned him, and after so many millennia she knew that nothing would make him elaborate until it came to pass.
Lee fell asleep soon after they took off. Even with her silent claim on him, he was still and would always be a child of the sun, and he had only recently begun to unlock his powers of light. Sleeping during the night was natural, especially after the day he had.
Her nephew's head leaned against her shoulder, using it as an impromptu pillow rather than the comfortable seating beneath them.
She made no move to dislodge him, instead directing her moonlight to surround him to ensure no nightmares would arise after the day he had experienced.
She could not bring him to camp herself, but she would never take away these fleeting moments.