Chapter Text
As the world slowly came into focus around the pair, Percy inhaled deeply to quell the nausea battling in her insides. Desperately hoping to distract herself, she scanned their surroundings, wondering distantly where they were.
They were somewhere rural, she could tell that much, the ground grassy and stretching for miles all around her. She frowned, nausea forgotten as she glanced at the sun dipping into the west, then to her and Apollo’s warped shadows faintly sprawling toward north across the grass.
It had been a quarter to five when they left England, she remembered, eying the sunset contemplatively. A country ahead of Britain time-wise, and one in the Northern Hemisphere, she mused.
She snorted when it came to her, turning and wilfully ignoring the careful way he watched her.
“Of course you’d choose Greece.”
He smiled when she didn’t seem too upset at their cross-country absconding.
“Ah, well, it seemed appropriate.” He held his hand out for hers to slip in, tucking her into his side and pulling her into a brisk stroll. “Nice little trick you have there, I saw you eying our shadows. Your godfather’s work, I presume?”
“Yeah,” she smiled fondly. “Sirius hated his mother, of course, but even still - no one escapes being a Black.”
“And Gods forbid a Black loses their way under the heavens.”
”Yeah.” She huffed out a laugh. “I’ll admit, though, I am better with the stars.”
She grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop and pointing upward.
“If it were night, Lyra would be right there.” She moved her finger to her south, sketching a rough shape with her hand. “That’d be the Argo Naxis, see? The Carina, the Puppis, and the Vela.”
“I must confess, Constellations have always been more of Artemis’ forte than mine. One of the reasons she agreed to bless those Blacks of yours. They worship the stars, don’t they?”
“The skies, really. The sun, the moon, the stars, the galaxies. They believed that the very matter erupting from Chaos himself would be the only thing strong enough to protect their bloodline.”
It still wasn’t strong enough to protect Percy, is what went unsaid between them.
Apollo hummed in lieu of a response, and a stilted silence settled between them for a moment.
Eventually, though: “Percy?”
“Yeah?”
“You do know why I’m here, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she repeated. “I do.”
~
(After all, Olympus may have won the war with Luke’s death, but the dust of war really only settles when more than enough blood has been spilt. Grief pervades the air more staunchly then any facsimile of celebration the demigods can muster - there is no reason to rejoice, after all, when it had been their own they had slain.
The streets of Olympus herald Percy as their champion, as their prophesied hero.
But she has not come to celebrate, or even mourn.
The Gods have summoned her.
They have deliberated.
And she finds out they have not been as fair to her as they were in another lifetime.)
~
“This is why Father sent you, then?” she asked quietly, the bone-deep rage and the sense of utter injustice that had roared in her blood only weeks ago having long drained away, leaving nothing but plain exhaustion behind.
“I would have come regardless.” He made an aborted motion to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, drawing his hand back to his side when she just scoffed and refused to look at him. “This isn’t anything particularly personal, Percy.”
“Isn’t it?” She laughed humorlessly and gestured between them forcefully. “Because this feels a whole lot personal to me.”
~
(The Gods do not offer her immortality, do not offer her lifetimes upon lifetimes of serving at her father’s side.
Instead, they see her wand a mere flick of her wrist away and Riptide sheathed and know that they weren’t made to withstand magic like hers. They see her gaze, once heady with triumph and victory, sharpen into grim weariness and remember she is a general who had led their children into a seemingly impossible battle and had come out victorious.
They realise that she is more than willing to sacrifice pawns upon pawns to corner a king into a checkmate, that she had unflinchingly ordered Poseidon to leave a city in ruins for the sake of her victory.
She is more like them than anyone will admit.
They are terrified, and want nothing more than to control her before she becomes another threat they cannot neutralise.
So they do not offer her immortality.
They try to force it upon her.)
~
“This isn’t personal,” he insisted, helpless when she just turned away in exasperation. “Truly, Percilla, I didn’t come because I thought I had the best chance of convincing you or anything as ridiculous as that, I just-”
He trailed off when she made no signs of wanting to listen, forcing himself to inhale deeply before he lashed out.
He didn’t particularly want to fight, and he knew she didn’t want to either.
He just didn’t quite know why.
~
(Because in the end Apollo had not been the one to stop them.
Percy is.
All Zeus wants is for Percy to be bound to the Ancient Laws, for her to be trapped by a cage none of them can break.
He accounts for the Hero of Olympus, her fatal flaw of loyalty, and the fact that she had fought on their side.
He does not account for Heiress Jackson, eyes narrowed and refusing to yield, whose loyalty to herself far outweighs her loyalty to Olympus.
“I’ll revolt,” she threatens immediately. “Oh, you can kill me if you want, but if you think for a moment that Annabeth would not- that Grover and Katie and Travis and Pollux and every single one of your forgotten children would not fight long after my death, would not travel to the ends of this world for me, you’d be wrong.”
Zeus sneers.
“Let them try,” he declares. “I’ll kill them all,”
“Sure,” she agrees readily. “You’d kill them all. But let me ask you, almighty Lord Zeus, what happens when not a single person knows of the existence of the beloved Gods of Ancient Greece? What happens when you truly fade into nothing more than a myth, a long forgotten God of an empire whose ruins now litter the Earth, nothing more than a remnant of the past? What happens when there is no one left who truly believes?”
He does not reply, and her triumphant laugh fills the hollow space.
“So, perhaps, Lord Zeus, you’re right. We’d lose. But at least we’d bring you down with us.”)
~
He spun her around when he thought she’d cooled down sufficiently.
He brought her close to him, ignoring the tautness of her frame, and murmured an apology into her hair.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. He gentled his voice and squeezed her arm, feeling her soften into him as the tension drained away. “I should’ve come find you weeks ago. I shouldn’t have waited until Poseidon asked.”
~
(Poseidon would love for his daughter to be immortal, at his side for millenia, but he also very much loves his daughter alive.
Poseidon placates Zeus with soothing words, promising that Percy is simply too defensive and too on edge after the war and all that she lost, still unprepared for any major changes.
Apollo points out the truth in his words, reminds Zeus that some soldiers simply never go back to their everyday lives, too used to expecting danger at any corner no matter all of Apollo’s healing.
She’s still young, declares Apollo with a sharp finality that has Aphrodite eying him contemplatively, let her live a little.
Percy does not bother refusing their words, no matter how much they smart.
She knows when to cut her losses, knows that Zeus will accept their promises, hollow as they are. Both she and him know the truth, and that’s all that matters when she bows mockingly and leaves the throne room, sheathing Riptide and showing her back without a care.
After all, in the end, the Gods had tried forcing immortality upon her.
They had failed.)
~
When it felt like eternity had passed in his embrace, Percy shook her hand loose from his and stepped away.
“Darling,” he began, his words delicate like a prayer. “I know you don’t want to talk about it-“
“So don’t.” She cut across sharply, and Gods above, it had been centuries since someone had dared to speak to him with such blatant impudence.
It hadn’t been a request, no, it had been a command, downright imperial in the way it rolled off her tongue. The syllables, so carefully cradled in her mouth as if they were something precious (how could they not be, Apollo couldn’t help but think, when it was her lips they spilled from), carried the same delicate lilt of her ancestors, of the wealthy and educated and powerful of the past.
He wondered if she knew of the careful precision in her voice that no common mortal could hope to replicate, one that spoke of centuries of good breeding and years upon years of strict education.
If she knew that she would have been considered nothing short of a princess just a few millennia ago, the kind of woman the Gods themselves would have brought countries to ruin over just, warring for the honour of having her hand in a conflict that would have made the Trojan War look like child’s play.
If Apollo had happened across her in Ancient Greece all those years ago he would have made her his high priestess, he knows, would have given her every drop of his power until it was as good as her own. He would have seen her worshipped by the masses, would have had Kings and Emperors and Conquerors travel the lands just for the chance to kneel at her feet and offer her the finest of golds and silks.
In another lifetime he would have had her as his, but Apollo was no longer the foolhardy God he had been in Ancient Greece. In this lifetime, he was keenly aware of who she was, Poseidon’s daughter and the Hero of Olympus, so he refused to speak what he hoped she knew anyways and just continued to watch her carefully.
“People have killed to be offered what you have,” he said softly. “Just tell me why you don’t want it so badly.” He laced his fingers with hers. “I’m on your side, darling, no matter what you say. I’ll always have your back. Just tell me why.”
“It’s meant to be a cage for me and my powers. You can hardly blame me for not wanting that.”
Her words were sharp, but he just shrugged.
“There are worse cages to be in. Years pass in the blink of an eye, you watch empires rise and fall, you meet people who burn like the brightest of stars and see them fizzle out - there’s nothing like it. Besides, you, my dear, may just be the one person I know who couldn’t care less about their power. I’d rather you just not tell me than lie to my face, if I’m being honest.”
“And I am,” he added, in the ensuing silence. “God of truth, in case you forgot.”
The silence dragged on and he was half about to just flounce off and come back another day when she spoke.
“I want to grow old with someone and live life like I don’t know when it’ll end,” she admitted quietly. “I want to graduate Hogwarts and become a curse breaker, or a duelling champion. I want to go down to Camp every month and see Annabeth and Grover and go on dates and go to parties and when my friends start growing gray hairs and lose their minds - I want to do all that with them.”
“I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of fighting and surviving just to be thrown into another war, and I’m glad it’ll come to an end one day.” She laughed a little, earnest and trying to make him understand. “I’m rather looking forward to it, actually.”
“You can do that,” he replied, ignoring the choking realisation that he did not fit anywhere in this future she wanted for herself. “Being an immortal doesn’t mean you have to intervene in every conflict, darling. In fact, I daresay you’ll get more peace as one than you do now.”
“And what, I just watch children fight and die before they reach their majority? Just stand by and let dozens get killed?”
At his confused expression she just sighed.
“Poseidon’s children have always been monstrous,” she said to him, looking more tired than he had ever seen her. “Becoming an immortal would just mean becoming the biggest monster of them all.”
And she had been plenty monstrous in that throne room.
She had been lying, of course, but in another life Percy Jackson wouldn’t have taken the chance, would have conceded to the wishes of the Gods for her friends without another word.
In this, Heiress Jackson is a little too jaded, a little too desperate and a little too willing to have someone call her bluff.
They didn’t. Why would they have, when they know they’ve done nothing to deserve the loyalty of their children?
She may not have extracted an oath for them to claim their children, but she reminded them of the untapped power their offspring hold, reminded them that their children must be kept firmly on their side and makes it unthinkable for them to do anything but.
She’d always been better with words than her peers would give her credit for, been more Slytherin than she herself would like to admit. She knew how the God felt for her, knew that he was fonder of her than she lets herself think about.
She knew what strings she had to pull to fix this situation, and she tugged on them with both hands, hating herself more with every passing second.
“I’d kill myself before they made me immortal.”
She forced the words out, and they weren’t really even a lie. It didn’t stop her from feeling like she wanted to vomit.
He turned white and immediately pulled her to him.
“That is,” he got out tightly. “That is not an option.” He tugs her chin up and makes her face him. He smooths her hair down, his actions mechanical.
“Perish the thought,” he told her. “It won’t come to that, darling, I swear. I’ll fix this, alright? I’ll talk to Poseidon. We’ll hide you- fuck, I’d go to war for you.”
She laughed, a little hysterical. “‘Pollo - you’d cause World War Three.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah. I promise,” he vowed. “No immortality, alright?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and when her eyes watered and she buried herself in his embrace again she let him think her tears were out of relief.
She had won that day in Olympus, but she had known her victory wasn’t permanent. The power that roiled under her skin - she felt it grow by the day, and she knew it was only a matter of time until her powers grew too great for the rest of the council to ignore.
It’s why she had sought out allies of her own - Hecate, who promised that as long as Percy helped Harry Potter defeat Voldemort, as long as Percy remained in the magical world and kept magic well and stable, Percy would be all but hidden from the Gods.
They’d remember she exists, but they’d forget that she had ever been a threat for them to worry about. She’d still be their niece or their daughter, but it would mean nothing to them, and she’d fade into the background as some nameless demigod who preferred magic to her godly powers.
She traded one prison for another, took comfort in the fact that at least this new prison is one of her choosing, one that is gilded in gold and filled with all the family she could ask for.
Sure, she would give up Camp, but Annabeth and Grover will understand. Sure, she’d give ever using her powers again, lest the Gods sense something awry and disrupts Hecate’s spell, but at least she’ll be mortal. At least she’ll be normal.
Eighteen, Hecate promised her. When Percy turns eighteen, when Percy’s godly side reaches its majority, Hecate will make good on her promise. She just has to hold Zeus off for two more years.
And that’s where Apollo comes in.
Apollo, who promised he’ll stop Zeus and his plans of forced immortality. But for how long?
How long until Apollo grows bored of protecting a mere demigod from the wrath of his father and his Lord? How long until his favour of her fades?
Sure, she knew he liked her well enough, but in the end, what was a mortal’s lifespan to a God who’d lived for eons? What could Percy be to a God who wants for nothing?
When she had drawn Riptide in the throne room that day, wand at the ready, nothing but her desperation to back her up, there was no sign of the person she had grown to care for on his face.
He liked her, but not nearly anywhere enough to choose her. Not forever, anyway.
So she hedged her bets.
She trusted that Hecate would have the power to hide her when she turned eighteen, and until then, she trusted that Apollo would keep his promise.
Maybe she was a liar. Maybe this made her the worst person in the world. Maybe all the affection he harboured for her is toward the girl he thought she was rather than a woman who just desperately wanted to survive.
And that’s fine.
She’ll win.
(She ignored the hollowness of her victory.)
(She’ll be normal. She’ll be fine.)