Chapter Text
It was the end of it all. The end, and Luke was dead and the minor gods were given cabins, and everyone was alright. Everyone who had not been lost was alright.
Everyone was alright, and so was the 16 year old son of Posideon.
Percy Jackson was alright, was more than alright. He was.
So why was he milling about in the throne room of Olympus, waiting for something to happen?
Why, now that everything was calm, now that the Great Prophecy was no longer hanging over his head, did his chest feel tight?
Why did a feeling of utter wrongness sit in his heart, in his gut, and why was he so scared about it?
He was Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, bearer of the Achilles curse, son of Posideon. He— he should not be scared.
"Perseus Jackson."
Ah, shit. Had he offended Artemis somehow? He had done his best to— to make sure Thalia and her other Hunters didn't die. He tried.
He really did try to make sure everyone was safe. He tried. Oh, he had tried, but he thinks he's offended the goddess somehow, with how she is staring at him.
"Yes?" He is exhausted. He wants to go back down, wants to make sure his mom and Paul are okay, wants get back to camp and make sure Annabeth is okay and pass out—
He's exhausted, and sort of doesn't want to think about the whole of today.
"Come," it's not a question. Not really, not when the goddess is beckoning him. Usually, he's quick with a joke, or snarky comment, but something sits heavy his chest. He does not feel up to it. Not today. Not tonight. "This way, Percy Jackson."
"Listen," he says as he follows, tugging his fingers through his hair. "If you're like— going to turn me into a jackalope over losing so many of your Hunters, I— I tried to keep them safe."
"Oh, Percy Jackson, while I am deeply sad over losing my Hunters— for how could I not be? They are mine and in turn, I am their patron and protectress. I have lost those of my inner circle, my personal retinue. For that, I grieve, I mourn. However, I have many Hunters all over the world. My girls, my hunters, are so very brave, child of the sea. They will get a hero's welcome in Elysium. All of them, no matter when or where or how they die."
She turns a corner, and Percy follows, because— because it seems as if Artemis has something important to say, and Percy is curious, and Percy wants to know what she is going to say.
They emerge into a garden, near a temple, one that must be Artemis' because it's decorated with statues of her, of her symbols. Percy Jackson may be slow, but he is not an idiot.
"So, why are you talking to me? Uh, I mean—" He blinks. She has handed him a pamphlet, folded his hands over it carefully, as if she wants him to hold it close to his chest. "What…?"
"You can if you'd like, dear one."
He pulls away, looks down at the pamphlet. It is emblazoned with those same words that had been on the brochure in Annabeth's bag when he and the Hunters had first met.
"I don't understand." That's the truth. He is a boy. He's a boy, and Artemis is handing him a pamphlet for her Hunters. "I'm a boy."
She stares at him for a very long time. One minute passes. Then two, then three, then, what Percy is pretty sure, five.
It is five minutes of the goddess just staring at him, as if willing him to understand. Then, she speaks.
"Dear one, brave one, the Hunt is not only for those born as girls. It is for those who are girls in their soul, their hearts, indeed for any who are not boys. I had not given you that same offer I did Bianca, for I knew you had not realized. It was not my place, in that moment, to force it. But I am no fool, and it is why I am forcing your realization now. You will wither away in that camp. My brother may be that great god of prophecy, but I am protector of young girls."
Percy blinks, tightening his grip on the pamphlet. "That is," he says, and he is sure his hands are shaking. "That's what I'm feeling? What I have—"
He's not sure if that is right. He's not sure if the goddess is right, not at all.
But what if it was?
What if it was? Was that why he had felt a twinge of annoyance when anyone had called him Posideon's son? Was that why he'd—
Was that it? Was that why this feeling sat in his chest, day after day, getting heavier and heavier as the days passed? As people called his name?
He staggers back, still holding tight to the pamphlet. What does it mean, that he still holds onto what Artemis has given him?
"Brave one," Artemis is kneeling now, next to him, because at some point, he'd ended up on the ground. "I apologize, for causing you distress. I knew, of course, you would feel some, but had thought it was worth it. I had not known you would feel this level of distress. I simply did not want you to wither away in that camp."
"No," he blinks, tries to clear his throat, because it comes out as a little croak. "No god has actually ever apologized to me. Dad apologized to me for my birth, but no—"
"And for that, you have been done a great disservice. For that," Artemis moves closer to hold his face in her hands. It is sort of like when his mom would hold him after an awful dream. "Dear one, brave one, you are a child. All of you are. If I could, I would spirit away all of you, all the ones I allow to follow me. You would all join my Hunt. But alas, my dear one," she shakes her head, thumb brushing against his cheek, and Percy cannot help but lean into the touch, eyes slipping closed. "I cannot. The others would rage, my sweet one, and even with my father being weak to me, with my brother always upon my side— with rest of the Olympians against it, I can only offer. Can only leave it open until they choose, one way or the other."
He peeks at her, Artemis. There is a real look of regret upon her face. A look of sorrow, in those great moon-silver eyes. No god has ever looked at him like that.
"Can I— I'd like to think about it. Your offer, I mean."
"Of course, my brave one." She pulls her hands away then, and Percy misses, suddenly, the cool-warmth of her fingers, of her hands. "You may think about it for as long as you wish."
"And, if— when I finish thinking about it—"
"When you finish thinking about it, dear one, you need only call my name, or travel to my Hunt. We will, I suspect, be lingering in New York for a while. Pelham Bay Park, perhaps."
"In the Bronx?"
"Dear one, it is a rather massive park. Us of the Hunt will not be easily found if we do not wish it."
"Right," he says, shaky as he stands. "Right. Uhm. Thank you, for the offer. For…for telling me—" Percy swallows, unsure of how to say it. He sort of doesn't want to say it out loud, because then, that would make it real. "I'll think on it. But I— my mom. She's worried, I bet. I can't…"
"Of course, brave one. Go— there is no need to worry her more than I am sure she already is."
Percy nods, slipping away from the goddess, from her temple, from Olympus.
He is holding the pamphlet tight in his hands still.