Nothing to make a song about but kings

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/24807616.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: Gen
Fandoms: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the
Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Relationships: Amphitrite & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Poseidon
Characters: Percy Jackson, Amphitrite (Percy Jackson), Poseidon (Percy Jackson)
Additional Tags: King!Percy, Undersea politcs, Merpeople, Atlantis, My boy truly has no
idea what he's doing, Do I? We shall never know, Powerful Percy
Jackson
Language: English
Collections: perseus jackson, fanfics that i keep coming back to read, Lane's PJO
Faves, holy shit fanfics, Percy Jackson Deliciousness!, Amazing fics to
reread, All Riordenverse fics, percussion jackson being a bamf, Our
prince Percy Jackson, The Reasons For My Insomnia, Pomarac's All
Time Faves<3, Best of PJO+ crossovers
Stats: Published: 2020-06-19 Completed: 2022-12-04 Words: 201,212
Chapters: 59/59
 Nothing to make a song about but kings
by iwillpassthis

Summary

Percy knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through his veins
in an uncoordinated dance.

You are the sea now, it whispered, and the sea is you.

A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head.

Long live the king. Long live the king.

It’s a fortune that Poseidon has a mortal son, because when an ancient curse hits his kingdom
and all the sea gods disappear… well, someone must rule.

Notes

So... here I am again. I have a LOT of aestethics for this story... and very little in terms of
plot, so we'll see where this goes! In the meantime, I really didin't manage to keep it inside
my head so... Enjoy!

Now with a playlist made by dear lilithdcclxxvii !

Go check it out here Nothing to make a song about but kings on Spotify

And another one made by lovely F2cbrn!

Check it out here, Nothing to make a song about but kings Vol.2 on Spotify

See the end of the work for more notes

 Year I, July I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Kronos knelt in what had once been his throne room, his three sons around him, weapons in
hand and the same anger in their golden eyes.

“This will be the last time you will act together,” he rasped, panting, and when he saw his
youngest grip his scythe harder, he allowed himself a laugh.

The chains around him tightened.

He laughed harder.

“We are brothers,” his eldest said, “we shall care for each other.”

“And we will rule fairly,” the youngest proclaimed, “and our kingdoms will be great and we
will be worshipped a thousand times more than you ever were.”

Kronos laughed again, and the chains glowed faintly.

“Your kingdom will refuse you one day,” he answered, then shifted his body to face his
middle child, another curse on his lips. “You and your line will disappear when you will be
more needed and you-” he started, looking at his eldest ready to utter some other horrible
words, when Zeus swung the scythe at his throat.

His head fell on the rich marbles, and then there was silence.

His three sons drew lots and shared the Earth and what is above and what is below.

“We shall rule in peace,” they declared, and went their own ways, not a worry in their mind.

Young and arrogant gods never care about curses, nor predictions.

It’s not on them that will fall the price after all.

Percy sat in his bed in Cabin Three, lazily skimming through the pages of one of his
extremely expensive college books. He had no idea how on earth he had been convinced to
attend, after all the troubles that school had given him in the past, and it was even more of a
miracle the fact that he had actually been accepted into one, considering his past record.

Hadn’t Athena hated him so much he would have said she had had something to do with it,
but even Annabeth believed the theory to be unrealistic: “I’m sure they just liked your essay,”
she had told him when he had first brought it up, incredulous.
And now here he was, ruining his own summer learning about the fundamentals of biology.
Or trying to, at least: he had been stuck on the same page for hours, since his mind kept
wandering and he couldn’t focus to save his life. He was about to just launch the book against
the wall and move somewhere far, far away before calling Annabeth and telling her he
wouldn’t attend college, when there was a loud pop in the living room.

Just grateful for an interruption, Percy put away the book and looked for his slippers for a
half a minute before giving up and just walking barefoot towards the sound. At least if the
cold marble made him get a cold he could avoid studying for a couple of days.

When he reached the room, he was surprised to find a tall mermaid sitting on his sofa, her
posture rigid, and her muscled arms tensed as if she was expecting to be attacked at any
moment.

“Hello?” Percy said, and the mermaid jumped up, and dropped to a low bow, before facing
him again, her expression still tense.

Percy could not avoid staring at her with a confused expression on his face. He was quite
certain that mermaids and mermen were his father’s subjects, but the ones he had met had
never bowed to him before, being a demigod and all of that.

“My Lord,” the mermaid started, “forgive my intrusion, but we could not risk the message
getting intercepted and we needed to act quickly.”

She looked at him expectantly, but Percy had still no idea what she was talking about.

“Ehm, what- what is going on?”

The mermaid squared her shoulders, her green skin glittering in the soft light. “Poseidon and
his godly children have disappeared without a trace. We believe that…” she stopped.

“That?” he pressed, but she ignored him.

“Queen Amphitrite of course wished to lead the search parties, but she will remain at the
palace long enough to instruct you.”

“Instruct me?” Percy repeated, feeling like he was missing the most important part of the
puzzle. Maybe trying to study biology had truly given the fatal blow to his brain.

“Your brothers and sisters have disappeared. Someone must rule, and you’re next in the line
of succession, the only of Poseidon’s children to still roam the Earth. You shall come with me
to Atlantis,“ she then continued when Percy only kept staring at her, “it’s not safe here.”

Percy blinked once, then again, hoping this was just a terrible dream he could wake up from.
But had it been a dream probably his feet wouldn’t be so cold.

“I can’t be a king,” he found himself saying, “I know nothing about ruling. And I’ve been to
Atlantis like, twice. Don’t you have better people?”
The mermaid frowned. “The next in succession after you is the Duke of the Southern Sea.
And I assure you your mortal world would not appreciate having him in charge of the
oceans.”

Then she strode forward, and gripped his arm tightly. “I am sorry my Lord but we must reach
Atlantis quickly. Lady Amphitrite will explain later.”

Percy only had a moment to worry about his stepmother, when in another loud pop they were
gone.

Atlantis was just as beautiful and crowded as he remembered.

They had appeared on a busy corner just outside the city gates, where three other equally buff
mermen were awaiting them. They did not bow, but inclined their heads in salute, and handed
him a dark and heavy cloak.

“Put this on,” one of them said, “there is unrest in the city and we must reach the Palace
before you get recognized.”

“The Duke’s supporters have arrived already?” the mermaid who had accompanied him
asked, and swore colourfully when one of the others nodded.

“Charis,” the taller man reprimanded, eyes darting towards Percy while he fumbled with the
cloak and covered himself fully with it.

“Apologies, my Lord,” she said then, and Percy had no idea what she was talking about so he
just nodded. “Thank you for taking me here safely,” he answered, feeling bad about not
having asked for her name before.

“Enough pleasantries,” the shorter of the mermen exclaimed, “I’m sorry my Lord but this is a
question of the ultimate delicacy and speed. Kleitos,” he said pointing to the guard that had
given him the cloak, “will be in front of you, and will open the way towards the palace. Me
and Nikon will stay at the sides. Charis will stay behind you. We shall march quickly.”

Everyone nodded and they started swimming through the streets, quickly indeed, and not
even the dire situation, which Percy was sure his brain had not even processed yet, could stop
him from feeling overwhelmed by the beauty and the life of the lower city. He had always
liked it more than the palace, and he tried to enjoy it as much as he could, guessing that for a
while he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the castle.

His thoughts darted over Charis’ words about his father, about the kingdom, but he stopped
them in their tracks. It really wasn’t the best of times to delve into anguish, so he just would
have to wait until he was alone somewhere before cursing every damn being that was
apparently having fun in making his life miserable.
Or maybe Amphitrite would just tell him she had changed her mind and that southern guy
was the best option after all.
Kleitos suddenly made an abrupt turn, and Percy almost lost sight of him. He had no idea
how he managed to move this quickly amongst the hundreds of sea creatures that filled the
streets, many screaming and chanting, some crying. But louder than all of them, louder
enough to be heard even in the higher city, were the drums, and the two ichthyocentaurs
playing them.

“The King has died!” they shouted, and Percy shuddered. Nikon grabbed him on the arm and
forcefully led him forwards.

“Duke Bythus will lead our kingdom to freedom!” They continued, and the crowd cheered.

“Long live King Bythus!” they intoned, and Percy felt coldness in all his bones. What was he
doing here? The people didn’t want him as their king, understandably. He didn’t know them,
didn't know their customs, their fears. Didn’t know anything about politics.

He heard an explosion just to his left, and when he turned one of the shops slowly collapsed
to the ground. The sea people screamed, and then there was the distinct sound of children
crying, and in all of that the drums never stopped their constant vibrating.

Charis was immediately behind them. “We must bring him out of here quickly,” she said, “no
more stops until the Palace.”

“But we need to do something,” Percy interjected, “these people are in danger, we need to-”

“The army will take care of it,” the other guard said. Kleitos was nowhere to be seen.
“Forgive my bluntness my Lord, but at the moment you’re the only thing between the Duke
and the throne. They’d all murder you in a second, and then more people will die. We are
going now. No more stops, no more questions. Clear?”

The protest died on Percy’s lips, and he nodded. They were all risking their lives for him, and
as a thank you he was making things even more difficult.

Nikon took what had been Kleitos’ position, and paved the way for the others to follow. They
stepped into a smaller, emptier alley, and Percy felt himself relax slightly, now that he was
away from all the noise and the people. He could see the faint outline of the Palace at the
horizon, and a glimmer of hope blossomed in his chest: he would be safe there, his father
would-

Fuck.

If he got to the Palace… he would be king. It would be his job to bring order again, to make
the people trust in him and in exchange to learn how to listen to them and respond
appropriately to their requests. He hoped his father had good advisors, because he surely
would need all their help.

“Yeah there was one of those royal guards,” they heard a voice mutter, but none of them
slowed down. “Don’t worry we got him,” he continued, “no he didn’t contact anyone no- I
am sure! I said he didn’t get the time we-”
They turned another corner, and the merman’s discourse was lost in the current. “Was he
talking about Kleitos?” Percy asked, remembering only later the no question thing.
No one answered him, but Nikon started swimming even quicker, if that was even possible,
and Percy found himself struggling to keep the pace.

The closer they got to the palace, the more the crowd thinned, and the shops were richer, the
buildings decorated, the gardens well manicured, until they reached the feet of Palace’s Hill.
All the tunnels that usually allowed the people to move quicker in and out of the palace were
closed, and guarded by heavily armoured soldiers.

The stairs that led to the main entrance, usually full of mermaids and nereids and delegates
from all around the world, were empty, their white marble creating an anxious atmosphere of
unnatural stillness. The Palace didn’t look like he remembered it at all.

Percy shivered slightly, and pulled his cloak closer to him, a sudden desire to just slip into his
bed covers and pretend nothing of this was happening suddenly overwhelmed him, and he
felt young, immensely young and scared and-

He swallowed harshly, and moved towards the stairs. Guards in full armour immediately
flanked him, and the ones who had brought him there unsheathed their weapons. But Percy
only slightly lowered his cloak, showing his face to the closest guard, whose surprise was
written in every line of her face.

“Let him pass!” she barked to the others, who all lowered their weapons, even if Charis
seemed very reluctant. Which was… weird. Weren’t all the guards on the same side?
“Welcome home Prince,” said the guard, “and good luck.”

Luck. Percy was good with luck.

He climbed the first step, and then noticed that none of the guards were following him.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asked, looking at Nikon, who shook his head.

“This is something you must do by yourself, my Lord. There are trials to become King of
Atlantis. This is the first one: the Palace must accept you as its ruler.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Percy asked, eyeing the long stairs with renewed nervousness. It truly
looked ominous, as all places usually full of people do when they’re empty.

“It will,” Charis answered after a short silence, “you are the King's son by blood, even if
you’re a demigod…” she paused, “it will accept you, I’m sure.” But she didn’t sound very
sure, not at all.

Oh well. Not like he had a choice.

He climbed another step, then another. He felt watched, but didn't dare to tell them off.
Probably if the President of the United States had had to do something similar to be elected
he would have watched too.

Not like he knew if the two positions were even remotely similar though.
Every step he took, his feet felt heavier and heavier, and the stairs seemed to continue
infinitely. But Percy had climbed them before, so he knew they ended in front of the Palace.
He just needed to resist, and keep going.

After a few more steps his legs were trembling, and he was panting. He took off his heavy
cloak, and for a while he managed to get his breathing under control. He didn't dare to stop:
the guards had said it was a trial after all, so it was possible that he had a timing to respect.
And who knew what would happen if he were to fail? Probably he'd die, and then there
would be war for Bythus’ place as the rightful heir.

He gritted his teeth, and lamented the lack of a handrail, which he could have used to sustain
the majority of his body weight. To distract himself from the burning ache in his legs and
chest he looked up, towards the open sea. The Palace was very deep down the ocean, and
none of the Sun's light managed to infiltrate there, but the artificial illumination was fantastic:
just translucid, pearly white orbs shining with light above the Hill and a sea of smaller ones
all through the city.

It was truly beautiful.

His feet seemed lighter for a while, but then it was like moving cement all over again. If
only…

He stilled for a second, regaining his breath, before trying to force the water to push him
from behind, to aid him in his climbing, but it was to no avail, and Percy felt desperation
settle into his bones.

It was the first time that water hadn't answered him. Had he lost his powers? No, he was still
breathing, he realised much later than he should have. It must have been part of the trial. Not
like he hadn't fatigued enough anyway.

He kept climbing, and slowly the Palace seemed to be getting closer. But it was still not close
enough, and he felt like there was not enough air, that his lungs were collapsing and he would
drown and-

They weren't his lungs that collapsed at the end, but his legs. He fell to his knees, hitting the
hard marble with a cry of pain. His whole body was trembling, and he still couldn't breathe
enough, but he had to go on. He started crawling, but after a few steps his arms were aching
as much as his legs, and frequent, violent spasms moved his hands against his will.

He felt hopeless. The castle was still too far away. He wouldn't make it.

Sweat dropped into his eyes, and Percy banished it without a thought. Then he stopped, his
overtired brain trying to form a coherent thought. He could control his sweat. He could
control his sweat. Almost feeling like laughing aloud, but knowing he didn't have the
necessary energy for it, Percy concentrated on all the little molecules of water that were his,
and created a wide enough circular shape.

Then he climbed on it, his muscles trembling all the way, and sat down, fearing for a second
that it wouldn't work, and that he would fall at the start of the stairs again. If that were to
happen he truly hoped he would die during the fall, because if he didn't the guards would
probably make him try the climbing thing again and he was sure his heart couldn't take it.

But the circle resisted, and Percy felt a little bit like Aladdin on the flying carpet. He would
have to thank his little sister for the inspiration when he came back. If he came back. No,
better not to think of that right now, now that he might have found a solution to the stairs
problem.

He willed his makeshift flying carpet to fly towards the castle, and for an horrible, eternal
second the water just trembled, and almost felt like it was evaporating below him, but then it
shoot up towards the entrance of the Palace, hovering just above the steps and Percy laughed,
a visceral sound that hurt his distressed muscles.

He put on his cape again, trying to keep his balance and almost failing. The temperature had
dropped significantly, which was quite unexpected: he was climbing up, so the closer he went
to the surface, the more the temperature should increase, shouldn't it? But apparently the
inverse was happening, because the closer to the Palace he got, the more he felt cold, and
exposed, and vulnerable.

He didn’t like it at all.

Percy looked at the Palace getting closer and closer, and he felt almost giddy. He had made it!
And even if these weren’t really the circumstances he would have ever imagined he would
return to the Palace for, a part of him was just excited to be there, between his father’s people,
immersed in the customs of a part of his identity which he had never known much about,
which had been negated from his since the start.

When he arrived in front of the Palace, there was no one. He stepped down from his flying
circle, and dispersed the water into the open sea with a hand. As soon as his feet touched the
marble floor, the bells of the high towers chimed twice, then paused, then chimed again three
times. Soldiers came out from the sides of the castle, their spears and tridents around them,
but they weren’t going to attack: not yet at least. A horn was played once, its sound long and
solemn, and quicker than Percy ever thought possible, the soldiers moved to the sides,
leaving a wide path from which a woman advanced towards him.

She stopped a dozen feet away from him, and Percy took off the hood of his cape, while
looking at the soldiers. As soon as his face was visible, there was what he was looking for: a
slight cadence on the shoulders, their grip on the weapons loosening a little. They were
relieved to see it was him and not Bythus then. That was good.

He then shifted his attention to Amphitrite, who had been staring at him intently, not saying a
word. Maybe he was supposed to say something first?

“I am here to claim the throne of Atlantis,” he said, letting his gaze wander between all the
soldiers as they had taught him to do in New Rome when he had to speak in the Senatus.
“The throne who is mine by birth, as the only-” he swallowed harshly. He didn’t want to say
it. He didn’t. But he knew he couldn’t show weakness now, so he continued.

“-as the only surviving son of the late King.”

 Amphitrite shuddered slightly at his words, and Percy was aware that he had only noticed
because all of his attention was focused on her, and that none of the soldiers had been able to
see anything even if they too were looking at Amphitrite, probably in search of directions.

“Welcome, Prince Perseus of the Seven Seas,” she stated, every word seemingly hurting her
own core, every syllable dragged away from her lips with a considerable effort to obtain a
neutral tone of voice.

Percy didn’t even have the time to be too surprised by the title though, because then
something even weirder happened.

Amphitrite knelt to the ground, and so did all of the soldiers, leaving Percy the only one
standing on the cold ocean’s floor.

He had never felt this alone.

Chapter End Notes

Hi! Hope you've enjoyed!

As of June 2021, I'm editing grammar mistakes that have escaped my first editings... so
if you see changes that's why!
 Year I, July II
Chapter Notes

This chapter is a bit more descriptive than I would like, but we know almost nothing of
Atlantis from canon, so I had to set the scene. Let me know if you find it too heavy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Amphitrite stared at him for a good five minutes after all the soldiers had returned to their
training. Percy had never felt this uncomfortable, with her piercing gaze all over him like she
was trying to read his soul. Or his mind. Oh man he really hoped she couldn’t read his mind
because he had been thinking only of how much he wanted to go to bed and never wake up,
and that probably wasn’t proper for a king.

Fidgeting probably wasn’t good either, but Percy had never liked being the centre of
attention, and he wouldn’t start now. So he kept playing with the ring he always kept on his
right index, the one Annabeth had gifted him for his last birthday, feeling self conscious
about his bare feet, his shabby clothes that looked even worse when compared to the elegant
dress of the Queen of the Seas. Or former Queen? He knew nothing about proper titles but…

He chuckled under his breath. Surely she wouldn’t want to be called Queen Mother.

“Do you find this situation ludicrous?” she asked then, raising an eyebrow in a perfect arch,
her expression creepingly similar to Chiron’s one when he caught him in an obvious lie.

Percy shook his head. “Sorry my lady,” he started, hoping it was appropriate, “the guards
who brought me here said you would explain what happened and-”

“Not here,” she hissed, stepping forward. “Come with me.”

There was just the same amount of contempt in her voice as before, so probably whatever she
had been staring at him for hadn’t raised her opinion of him. It seemed like it hadn’t lowered
it either, so Percy took it as a win, and started following her inside the Palace.

“Wow,” he muttered as soon as he stepped into the Great Hall. It was majestic: the floor was
decorated with mosaics of sea animals and plants, seashells and creatures he had never seen
before. Corals made up a great part of the walls, and even if they seemed delicate Percy knew
that they would be almost impossible to pass through.

He then raised his eyes to the ceiling, and had to stop walking. It seemed like it was made up
of golden sea foam, moving and changing with the currents, so bright that it was almost
blinding, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Not even Olympus had been this beautiful,
this entrancing. It felt like being in one of these throne rooms from fables and fairytales,
where everything was perfect and mesmerising.
“Perseus,” the goddess called, already at the end of the room, and he swam faster to reach
her, snapping himself out of his awe. Not a tourist right now, he would have to remember
that.

She led him through wide rooms and halls, the servants and the soldiers bowing when they
passed. To him or Amphitrite, he had no idea. Maybe to both. She stopped in front of stairs
made of nacre, reflecting a thousand shades of light and just as finely made as all the rest of
the rooms he had seen. But they were still stairs, and Percy could feel his muscles tremble
just at the thought of it. He was still exhausted from before, only kept up by adrenaline and
surprise and a billion different fears he couldn’t shove in the back of his mind fast enough.

“Your quarters will be on the second floor,” she started, “that part of the Palace was damaged
during the war, but I’m sure you’ll manage. You are used to more…” she paused, her eyes
travelling from his bare feet to his bed hair, “...insalubrious surroundings after all.”

She turned and started climbing the stairs before Percy could even find the insult in her
words, and he wondered for the thousandth time how on earth he was going to be able to
keep up with her. Why couldn’t she rule? She was obviously the best suited for the role.

After having passed the first floor, with enormous fatigue in Percy’s case, the fact that the
Palace had been partly destroyed became evident. The nacre of the stairs stopped abruptly,
and the steps continued in what seemed to be a temporary stone structure, grey and simple.
The walls too were made of stone, undecorated but still imposing, and when they reached the
second floor he could see scaffolds high as the ceiling, and a window still in the first stages of
construction.

“Why is no one working here?” he asked then. He had thought the Palace would be fixed up
in a hurry, employing as many as possible.

“They were,” Amphitrite answered, “before the disorders began.”

She turned a corner and opened the first door with a green, small and frail looking key, then
stepped inside motioning at him to follow her.

The rooms were inelaborate, light-bluish walls and random pieces of furniture clustered
around the room as if the one who had placed them didn’t really know what their function
was. The parlour they had stepped in had a dark green, comfortable-looking sofa, but it was
placed towards the wall, the library had no books in it and was placed in the middle of the
room, the fireplace was empty.

Percy could not help but be glad for it though. It was still bigger than he was used to, and he
was sure he wouldn’t have felt at ease in a room draped in gold and jewels, or too richly
decorated. His room in his house could not be defined rustic or frugal, but he still was used to
simple things and cheap furniture, so finding them here could give him a semblance of
normalcy in a situation that wasn’t normal at all.

“Thank you,” he said looking at the sea goddess, “this is perfect.”

If she had expected any other reaction from him, she didn’t show it. “That door over there,”
she answered instead, pointing on her left, “leads to the bedroom. It has a bathroom
attached.”

Percy nodded and made to walk over there, but Amphitrite stopped him. “I’ll show you the
office where you’ll work until my husband returns. We’re already behind on the paperwork.”

Percy swallowed audibly. Oh, how much he hated paperwork. Even at Camp, he had always
postponed it to the last moment, or had bribed others to do it for him. His hatred for it was so
well-known that in the last months Chiron had taken pity on him and had even stopped
asking for him to read long and boring documents. It appeared he wouldn’t be so lucky here.

Poseidon’s office was, apparently, on the third floor, where he guessed his and Amphitrite
rooms were too. Unlike the second floor, the third one seemed to have never sustained any
damage, even if the signs of a recent restoration were clear to the eye that knew what to look
for.

The goddess stopped in front of a wooden and heavily decorated door, the key gripped tightly
in her hand. Percy realised, suddenly, how difficult all of this must be for her.
She had ruled for thousand of years with her husband, had bore children and prepared them
for a throne it was unlikely they would ever inherit, and in the bat of an eye all of them had
just… disappeared, and she had found herself in the middle of a succession crisis, the bastard
son of her husband her only hope to maintain control on the kingdom.

He did not blame her for her contempt.

She finally turned the key, and the heavy door opened with an ominous sound. But the office
was amazing: scrolls and books filled the libraries that were on every wall of the large room,
starting at the floor and ending at the ceiling and containing what were probably decades of
records and reports about the kingdom. Records he would probably have to study.

The desk was made of a wood so dark it seemed almost black, and the chair looked austere
but also comfortable, padded in green and gold.

“Sit,” she commanded, and when he had she continued, seemingly unfazed, “I assume you
have questions. You may ask them now. If it’s something you need to know, I’ll answer them,
if it’s not, don’t even bother formulating them.”

Not a bad offer. “Hm,” he started, looking for the right words, then decided to be as broad as
he could, “what happened exactly?” he asked.

Amphitrite seemed unimpressed with his question, and sighed. “When the titan Cronus was
disposed of the first time, he cursed Poseidon and his line to disappear when the kingdom
needed them the most. Apparently, this is the moment.”

Lucky me, he thought. Of course it had to be during his lifetime. “Need most? What do you
mean ‘need most’? I know nothing about ruling, I’ll make a disaster.”
The goddess waved her hand impatiently, and another chair appeared in front of where Percy
sat. “Perseus,” she started, tone serious and eyes deadly, “I approve of these circumstances
even less than you do. But right now it stands as follows: you will finish the trials, you will
succeed in them and you will become King. Then, tutors will teach you the history of our
kingdom, our customs and traditions, they will teach you how to dance, how to stand, how to
talk.”

“While you learn all of this, I will also teach you how to attend to the daily needs of a
kingdom. There are papers to read, study and sign, delegates from all the seven seas will
want to meet the new king. You will need to hold court, and listen to the problems of the
people.”

She paused, and Percy looked at her horrified. He would never manage to do all of these
things. Never. Never.

“I don’t-” he tried to protest, but Amphitrite stopped him. “None of us has a choice in this,
Perseus. The Fates have decided this is what ought to happen, and so shall be it. As soon as
you’ve become familiar with the basis, I will leave and try to find what happened to my
family. It will be a few years at most, I am certain.”

“A few years?” Percy shrieked, horror clear in his voice, “I can’t stay down here for years!”

Amphitrite stared at him for a couple of seconds, and when she spoke her voice was a little
softer than before.

“The sea made you, Perseus. Do not forsake it in his time of need.”

Slowly, he nodded. It wasn’t the right time to argue. “Can I send letters from here?” he asked.
There was no sun to start an Iris-message, but his friends at Camp, Annabeth, needed to know
that he was fine. Well, uninjured more than fine, but the gist was that.

“I’ll leave you to it. Familiarise yourself with the room. Servants will come to lead you to
dinner, where I shall help you plan the following days.”

She didn’t wait for his answer to that, and with the swish of a dress, she was gone.

Chiron, he wrote at first, but then crossed it out. He would be the one to tell her, and if she
left him for good he wouldn’t blame her.

Dear Annabeth, he started.

I am in Atlantis. Things are complicated - Father and my siblings have disappeared and I am
apparently next in line to the throne. There is some kind of succession crisis, so I can’t leave
the Palace and we can’t meet.

He stopped. He didn’t want to alarm her but… he needed to tell someone, he needed to tell
her how he felt or he would go crazy.
I am scared I’ll ruin everything here. I know nothing about this place. I am so sorry
Annabeth, so sorry to leave you again. Please inform my mother and Chiron of my
whereabouts, but I don’t think it would be safe for it to be public knowledge yet.

Love you,

Percy

He reread it once, then again. He was too tired to do any better right now, so it would have to
do. He fumbled around in a couple of drawers, then finally found a couple of drachmas,
folded the parchment and wrote Annabeth’s name on it.

“To Annabeth Chase,” he said just to be sure, placing the drachmas over his unept words.

The letter disappeared instantly.

The following morning, Amphitrite led him to the Great Hall again, and stopped in front of
his father’s throne.

“Look at it,” she said, and Percy did. He walked from one side to another, not daring to touch
but letting his gaze settle on the small imperfections and the dents that declared it had been
used for a very long period of time. He stared at the decorations, but soon found out they
weren’t decorations at all: there were images and words carved on the marble yes, but they
didn’t follow a pattern, nor they formed a greater symbol.

They seemed random. Even the dents, now that he analysed them better, were in places where
usually dents aren’t: in the middle of the back, low close to the ground and- why would a god
like Poseidon have a ruined throne?

“What are these…” he gestured to the throne, “there are things carved on it. Do they mean
something?”

The goddess didn’t smile, but her expression was a little less strict than before. “We call them
Emblems,” she started, staring at the throne with a sorrowful expression, “everytime
something meaningful or significant happens, one of these… impressions appear. So that we
may remember, and plead to do better in the future.”

“They usually come one at a time,” she continued, “but… when my husband and my children
disappeared, all of the dents appeared. Every dent is a god or a goddess we have lost.”

Percy shuddered, the weight of the situation finally starting to sink in. “Is making an emblem
appear here my second trial?”, he asked, not knowing for which answer to hope for.

But the goddess shook her head, her dark curls moving in the still water. “I hope for the sake
of the kingdom that no new emblem will appear in the next century. Their magic is
complicated, but they only seem to follow… negative ordeals.”
He nodded, and looked at the small images more carefully. They were beautiful, and they
were numerous. Of course, bad things were bound to happen when you ruled for over four
thousand years, but the immensity of it was almost inconceivable. How could he, a nineteen
year old demigod, be expected to fill in his father’s shoes?

“What is my next trial then?” he asked, trying to distract himself with something tangible.

Amphitrite sighed. “The army” she said, then elaborated, “You must acquire the confidence
of the army, and the soldiers and the generals must accept you as their leader.”

“What has it to do with this throne then?”

The goddess locked her eyes with his, and a sudden feeling of dread and desperation filled
him from head to toe: it felt like drowning, like he was suffocating in his own body and then-

It stopped.

“You insolent child,” she hissed, her anger barely controlled, “you stand before the throne of
the Seven Seas and you doubt it pertains to the kingdom?”

“I- I just…”

“I should not be astounded by this,” she then seemed to say to herself, her tone the ugliest
shade of derogatory Percy had ever heard, “you are but a savage, come to take a kingdom you
know nothing about and-”

“I didn’t even want to come here!” he screamed, his temper flailing up. How dare she? How
dare she accuse him of even remotely wanting to be in this horrendous situation?

“And it’s not like I ever had the opportunity to learn something about this place, did I? It’s
not like I could just come here without you-” he stopped, suddenly aware of his situation, of
him being in the throne room of Atlantis, screaming at the former queen, the goddess who
could kill him without uttering a word.

“Without me doing what?” she pressed, unwavering, “Are you really as arrogant as to believe
I would find your presence, here in the heart of my home, elating?”

She wasn’t yelling, but it was almost worse. They were alone in the room, and the room was
too big, and the air wasn’t enough, and he just wanted to get back in his bed in Cabin Three
and pretend none of this had ever happened.

He took a big breath, and tried to steady himself. Amphitrite was tense, her body ready to
settle into an offensive stance, her gaze piercing. But she also looked tired, her dark skin not
fully covering the purple bags under her eyes, her nails clipped short and her hair wilder than
he had ever seen her wear when she was with his father.

He suddenly didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Look,” he started, trying to sound sensible, “I already admitted I know nothing of this place,
but I’m willing to learn, for you and for my father. But-” he looked at her, overwhelmingly
 tired and pressed on, “I need your help, and I need you to understand that- that I’m going to
make mistakes. And say the wrong thing and…” he gestured to the throne, at loss for words,
but the goddess seemed to understand anyway.

After a long pause, the internal struggle of the goddess seemed to have come to an end.

“Three is an important number even under the ocean,” she started, voice rough, but her body
relaxed once again, “the first trial was to be accepted by the Palace. The second one is to
obtain the trust of the army. The third one will be to be recognized as King by this throne, and
for that to happen you must be familiar with it, with its history and the one of our kingdom.”

“I showed this to you now, so that you may start to familiarise yourself with it while you plan
how to successfully conclude the second trial. I can't help you with them, but I can tell you
this,” she paused, and stared intently at him, “a King is nothing without a kingdom.”

Percy nodded, and shifted his gaze to stare at the throne once again. He needed to start
studying the records, and he needed to meet the tutors that would teach him all he needed to
know to at least start trying to be a King. And he needed the army, and soon, because Bythus’
supporters were already in Atlantis, and he would probably try to wage war before Percy
could settle himself in his new position. What would the soldiers do if he didn’t manage to
win their trust? Would they join the Duke?

He wanted to express his concerns to Amphitrite, but when he turned towards the spot she
had been in before, she was already gone.

Slowly, he returned to his father’s study, plucked a couple of thick books about the
foundation of the kingdom, and brought them with him to his room.

It was time to study, no matter how tired his body felt, no matter how heavy his heart seemed
to have become. The sooner he mastered the basis in fact, the sooner Amphitrite would be
able to go looking for answers, for a solution, and the sooner he would be able to return back
home.

Because he would not spend years down under the sea, away from his family.

He wouldn’t.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading and see you in two weeks!

Edited (just grammar!): June 2021

 Year I, July III, August I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

His first weeks in Atlantis were horrendous. In the morning, he had history and dance
lessons, followed by a meagre hour-long pause to then start again with lessons on accounting,
economics, diplomacy and, worst of all, etiquette.

The time he didn’t spend with his tutors, he spent training with the soldiers to come to know
them and their way of fighting, but mostly what it was that they valued most, so that he could
adapt his speech for the second trial. Amphitrite was getting impatient, and the disorders in
the city were worsening, Bythus’ supporters claiming he was only a few days from Atlantis at
most. He needed the fealty of the army, and quickly, so that he could also be given personal
guards: probably the ones who had brought him to the feet of Palace Hill minus Kleitos, who
had been confirmed as ‘missing’.

He wasn’t looking forward to it at all, but he understood it was necessary, even if only to
calm down Amphitrite and reassure her he wasn’t going to get murdered anytime soon.

In the glorious hours when he didn't have training and he didn’t have lessons, he took care of
all the paperwork that didn’t need a king’s signature: mostly small issues, about inheritances
or the division of land and small finance aides to the ones living in zones where the pollution
had become stronger. It wasn’t relaxing by any means, but Percy found himself enjoying
most of it: it was a way to come to know the most domestic aspects of the kingdom and to be
able to learn how to make decisions knowing that even the wrong one wouldn’t bring too
much harm to the people. His father’s advisors had been taking care of the biggest issues
apparently, but Percy still hadn’t met them.

“They can’t help you until you become King,” Amphitrite had explained, “you must succeed
by yourself, or you won’t succeed at all.”

Which made sense but still, would have been nice to have a little help.

On the sixth day of this massacrating schedule, Percy was already exhausted. Annabeth still
hadn’t replied to him and his thoughts alternated between being sure that she now hated him
for leaving again or just that mail coming from the outer world couldn’t reach Atlantis. He
would wait a couple of days, he decided, and then he would write to Chiron and ask him
explicitly to answer back: at least in a way or another, he would know.

“You know,” Percy started, taking a break from revising documents with Amphitrite, “in the
mortal world we have a thing called coffee that we drink when we are tired but still need to
work. Do you have something similar here?” he asked.
The goddess stared at him, raising one of her perfect eyebrows in the expression Percy had
started to categorise as ‘are you being an idiot on purpose?’

“No,” she answered, turning the page of the report she had been skimming, “Atlantis’
paperwork is usually handled by immortal gods who don’t really need sleep, and it’s been
thousands of years since we’ve had a prince that needed to be educated on so many basic
subjects.”

Percy sighed, and slumped further back into his chair. The goddess made a funny expression
with her face, like she was trying to stop herself from smiling, but of course that couldn’t
have been possible, so Percy must have been more tired than he thought and actually
hallucinating things.

“However,” she continued, this time not taking her eyes off the report, “considering you
currently are the heir to the throne and will soon be the king- if you so desire this coffee you
talk about, you only have to ask one of the servants. The kitchen will procure it and serve it
to you whenever you ask them to.”

Percy paused, and looked to the goddess as to see if she was joking. “Even if it’s not from the
sea?” he asked, not finding anything suspicious in what he could see of her expression.

“If you paid a greater attention in your lessons, you would know that our kingdom has many
successful deals with people of the land to acquire things we cannot produce,” she
reprimanded.

“We didn’t reach that part yet!” Percy exclaimed, offended. He had been paying attention to
the lessons! Even if they were ridiculous and boring and sometimes downright awful. “It’s
not my fault that the tutor goes so slo-”

This time the corners of Amphitrite’s mouth pulled up in a quick smile and there was no
mistaking it for something else. They had been getting more along since their mh, talk, in the
throne room, but Percy just now realised that the goddess had been - teasing him. And had
been finding it entertaining. But two could play this game.

“So I would also be able to tell them to only cook cheeseburgers from now on,” he stated,
and was rewarded by one of Amphitrite’s deadliest gazes.

“Don’t push it,” she said, but there was no real malice in her eyes.

Percy smiled.

Two weeks from then, a load of coffee seeds arrived in Atlantis for the first time in all of its
history.

Chiron - he wrote one evening, tired to the bones.

I am safe in Atlantis, don’t worry for me. I don’t know how long I will have to stay here, but
things are kind of messy right now and I can’t say more.
I tried writing to Annabeth but she didn’t answer. Is she okay? Please inform my mom that
I’m alright, and answer me if you receive this letter, so that I know if I can actually send
things.

See you soon,

Percy

It didn’t seem enough. It sounded cold and distant and excessively formal, but he didn’t know
what else to write. How worried would Chiron become if he told him the extent of the
situation he found himself in? No, he already had too many things to worry about.

He placed a drachma on the letter and watched it disappear in front of his eyes.

After nine days of observing the soldiers, Percy arrived at the long-awaited conclusion that
he wasn’t going to be able to come to know them in the short time he had at his disposal.

In the lower city there were talks that the Duke was being hosted by some of his supporters
and that he was gathering the necessary strength to assault the Palace or, according to others,
to actually start the first trial and try to climb the stairs.

Percy couldn’t lose his advantage, and he knew that the sooner people recognized him as
King, the sooner the word spread that the succession crisis was over, the less people would
join Bythus’ side and the easier it would be to re-establish order all around the kingdom.
Atlantis hadn’t been the only city hit by protests and attacks, even if it had been the most
damaged, and the kingdom had just started to recover after the war with the titans: the lower
classes couldn’t afford another war.

It was with that thought that Percy had called the soldiers and the generals for an assembly in
the Arena, hoping to give a convincing enough speech. Many of them had kneeled to him
once already after all, when he had succeeded in the first trial, so it wasn’t unlikely that they
would be willing to swear fealty to him. But some of the higher ranking officials were
dubious: about his young age, about his inexperience, his unsuitable upbringing.

“Thank you for being here,” Percy started, trying to let his eyes wander all around the crowd
as he had been taught. There were some merpeople and ichthyocentaurs, but most of the
soldiers were a bit of both: the history of the kingdom was long and complicated, but it
hadn’t taken long to understand that the coming together of the two species was frowned
upon and the resulting children discriminated in public and private, leaving the army as
basically their only option of employment in adulthood.

He hoped to be able to change that in the future, if he managed to become King.

“Your kingdom, your home, is in danger. Duke Bythus wants war, wants to destroy and we’re
not yet ready for another conflict,” he stated, staring at the generals almost daring them to
interrupt him. “Many were lost against the titans, many young lives that-”
“They died because of you!”, a merman yelled, one Percy hadn’t met yet. A tenant
apparently, from the decorations on his uniform.

“I did not kill them,” he answered, trying and failing to keep his voice level, “nor I asked the
titans to attack.”

“You convinced Poseidon to abandon us! He came to you, and left us here with a war we
couldn’t win without him. And now you dare come here and speak of the ones we have lost
as if it has nothing to do with you?”

It had been someone else to talk now, and Percy swallowed harshly. No one had informed
him they resented him like this in the army, or he would have tried a different approach. But
he should have thought about it, shouldn’t he? Instead, he had been worried about fancy
words and promises he might not be able to keep. He was already failing as a King without
having even started.

“I understand your anger,” he resumed faintly, looking in the direction the last voice came
from, “but it was necessary for Poseidon to defeat Typhon. If he hadn’t- if he hadn’t none of
us would be here now.”

They still seemed unhappy, but no one interrupted again, so Percy continued, “I’m not asking
you to pretend it never happened. I’m just here to say that- “ he paused, letting his eyes move
between the soldiers to judge their reaction, “-that I understand you want things to change.
But the change Duke Bythus promises will not be for the best. You have seen the destruction
he has caused just here in this city, while in hiding and with little resources.”

“What more do you think he would be willing to destroy once he is actually in a position of
power? Villages that are in lands he wants to use for profit? How many of your, of our,
people will have to die before even his supporters understand that his desire for bloodshed
will never be satiated?”

Silence reigned in the assembly. No one spoke a word, no one moved, and he couldn’t
understand if it was a good sign or a bad one. He stared the closest general to him in the eyes,
and felt immensely young, and insignificant.

In the deep sea, creatures could live for centuries. Who was him to rule them? What power
did he hold to make these war veterans follow his orders?

“Swear fealty to me,” he concluded, “and help me become the leader you would like to
have.”

No one moved, and Percy felt terror settle deep into his bones. He had failed, and the
kingdom would collapse. Amphitrite would never forgive him, and he would never be able to
return to the sea again. It was over and he would have to walk back to the Palace in shame,
with the bitter taste of failure on his tongue and-

Someone spoke. A familiar voice. Oh, how could he have forgotten him?
“Poseidon trusted you,” Dolphin stated, his voice ringing loud and clear in the courtyard, “I
have obeyed him for eons, and I will in this too. Me and the dolphins are yours to command,
Prince Perseus.”

He kneeled down, and the soldiers around him did too. Dolphin was the oldest general, the
closest commander to the god of the sea: he had an enormous influence over the rest of the
army, and to see it in first person was almost scary.

One after another, all the soldiers swore fealty to him, but Percy knew it wasn’t really a
victory. They had listened to Dolphin and trusted him, not Percy, and if he wanted the army
to actually be on his side, he needed them to be faithful to him as Percy and not as the son of
the late King.

He didn’t have any power to make them listen to him, he realised, returning back to the
Palace with the horn to call the army in one hand and the signed papers in the other. He didn’t
have any power, he just had his father’s blood in his veins. And it wouldn’t guarantee loyalty
for very long.

“There are currently sixteen duchies in the kingdom,” his history tutor, a short and fat
ichthyocentaur explained, “every duchy is then divided into counties: the biggest duchy, the
one of the of the Northern Sea, has eight counties, but generally their number varies from two
to four.”

“How many counties does Duke Bythos have?” Percy asked. He didn’t really know how the
system worked, but it seemed like an important thing to understand.

His tutor, Lydos, sighed. “The one of the Southern Sea is the second biggest duchy in the
kingdom, and it’s divided into five counties, all exceptionally productive and prosperous if
we exclude the one of the Davis Sea, where there was a terrible epidemic almost two-hundred
years ago.”

“So as King I would be in charge of the dukes, and then the dukes in charge of the earls?”

“Directly yes,” Lydos answered, “but you must not forget about the lesser nobility like barons
and viscounts. Even if they don’t usually have much land of their own, they control great
parts of the earls' and dukes’ one: their support could change the course of an eventual war.”

Percy nodded, and let the old ichthyocentaur continue with his lesson about the different
duchies, while he took notes of the most important points. Every duchy had the same basic
laws that applied in all the kingdom, and then ones that had been made by the duke or voted
by the people, always with the King’s permission but without his direct involvement. The
various seas in fact had different needs and different customs, so it made sense for many of
the laws to be different too.

“All of the dukes will have to be invited here for your coronation, and for the banquet
afterwards, so that you may know them and especially so that they may know you. It’s
imperative that you acquire the support of at least half of them and especially of the duke of
the Northern Sea.”

“I understand,” Percy answered, looking at Lydos with a serious expression, “I need their
support so that the commerce may continue, the deals hold and so that in case of attack I’d
have the dukes’ armies in addition to my own.”

“And-” Lydos added, “-if they are on your side they won’t be on Duke Bythus’, which means
he’ll have less resources and less supporters and might not be able to actually push his claim
to the throne of Atlantis.”

“Do you really think he’ll wage war?”

The ichthyocentaur sighed, starting to put his books away, “Yes,” he answered, “but not soon.
He doesn’t have the means right now, and Bythus has never been the one to take uncalculated
risks.”

“You know him?” Percy pressed, surprised.

Lydos flinched slightly. “He has been a duke for about fifty years,” he answered, “it’s a long
enough time to have an idea of someone.”

But it wasn’t the full truth, Percy could see that. Lydos had hesitated a moment too long, and
his answer had been quite vague.

“We have been here long enough already my Lord,” the ichthyocentaur added then, before
Percy could request further information, “go now, or you’ll be late for dance practice and
punctuality-”

“- is a form of respect, yes I know Lydos,” Percy concluded. He had heard that phrase a
thousand of times, after he had arrived at his last lesson of the day two minutes late: wasn’t a
king supposed to just do what he wanted anyway?

Lydos left the classroom quickly, and Percy sighed. He would press the matter one day, and if
his tutor refused to answer… well he could just ask Amphitrite, he was sure she knew
everything that had ever happened in the Palace.

Or most of it, anyway.

Who knew if she was aware that he sneaked down into the kitchens to make himself coffee
and eat forbidden snacks almost every night.

He surely wouldn’t tell her.

Percy sat on the floor in front of the throne, the last ten years’ accounts on the health of the
coral reef spread around him while he scribbled notes on the major changes that had
occurred. Fortunately, all the documents were written in Ancient Greek, so he could read
them without issues and without the words dancing around in front of his eyes like it
happened when he tried to read English. Unfortunately, there were thousands of pages to
study, and he wasn’t even halfway through it.

Servants passed quickly behind him, and he could feel their questioning gazes on his back:
but it had been the queen to tell him he needed to familiarise himself with the throne, so that
was just what he was doing. It’s not like he could chat with it after all. Or maybe he could? It
was a magic throne after all.

“Good morning throne,” he tried, speaking in hushed tones, “I don’t bother you sitting here
doing my homework right?”

The throne didn’t answer. Maybe Percy hadn’t had enough coffee for that just yet.

He shook his head, disappointed, and started to study the documents again, his fingers
tapping quickly on the beautiful mosaic on the floor. Coral reefs were wonderful, but reading
about the hundreds of threats they were subjected to and having to learn them, less so.
Humans truly had done a number on them, and if Percy had had a few more hours of sleep he
probably would be very angry right now.

Considering he had spent the last week reading, studying and trying to learn how to be
diplomatic all shouldered by a good couple of hours of rest every night… he was already
quite proud of himself for being still able to stand. The ocean was probably helping, yes, but
he was still managing. Annabeth would be proud, he was sure of it.

Neither her nor Chiron had replied to his letters, so Percy had concluded they had never
received them, even if Amphitrite had assured him it was possible to send letters to the
surface. His father had even sent one to him, Percy remembered, but believing in this was
better than thinking they weren’t replying to him on purpose.

A month had passed since he had arrived in Atlantis, and he still wasn’t King.

“Time under the sea is perceived differently,” Amphitrite had reassured him one night, when
she had found him having a breakdown in Poseidon’s office, “creatures live so long here that
when they say ‘soon’ it could mean a couple of years. Don’t worry too much about it right
now.”

And Percy had nodded, and had felt the sudden urge to hug her and sob on her shoulder as if
she were his mother. He hadn’t of course, but the lack of any kind of physical contact was
really starting to take its toll: he had options of course, being a prince and all, but he had no
intention of cheating on his girlfriend-that-maybe-now-hated-him. Why wasn’t she
answering?

He felt angry again, and hurt. Was it so bad of him to want someone to lean on while he was
in an unfamiliar, scary and dangerous situation? And it had been a month. Surely they had
noticed that he was missing.

“Do you think they don’t care anymore?” he asked the throne, almost expecting an answer.
 But he was met with cold, defying silence, and with a pained sigh he let servants take the
books back to his office, while he retired in his chambers.

It would be a long night, and a short sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Percy is slowly being introduced to Atlantis... but he still has a very long way to go!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always thank you to all who read, gave kudos,
bookmarked and commented- hearing from you makes my day!
 Year I, August II
Chapter Notes

A lot of important things explained in this chapter... enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“- yes but it’s imperative that he remains…”

“-hope to gain? Nothing but-”

“-healers and architects now or…”

Percy opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the still unfamiliar bluish light, his neck pulsing
with the strain of the uncomfortable position he had slept in. He rolled back his shoulders,
willing the water to massage his sore muscles, before yawning slightly and raising his eyes-
just to meet the exasperated face of his stepmother and her most trusted advisor.

In his office. In front of his desk. At some unholy hour in the morning.

He blinked once, then twice. The atmosphere in the room was tense, Amphitrite’s expression
closed off and unreadable, her advisor’s knuckles white from the grip he had on the
documents in his hand.

“What happened?” he inquired, his voice still rough but sleepiness quickly clearing out of his
mind. “Does it have to do with the Duke?”

Amphitrite sighed. “It is still uncertain,” she started, while the merman scoffed next to her.
She glared at him, and resumed, “the lowest part of the city has been blown out during the
night. We don’t have a census of that area but- many lived there.”

“It was surely an attack from Bythus,” the merman interjected, “a ploy to make you or the
Prince leave the palace or leave it unguarded, so that he may more easily claim the crown.”

“It could also be someone trying to make us think it’s been Bythus,” Amphitrite added, “I’ve
known you for centuries and you’ve never been this blinded by your first impression.”

“You mean like a third party?” Percy asked, wanting to interrupt the uncomfortable exchange
of glares between the two, “who would benefit from a war between us and the Duke?”

The goddess stared at him, once again as if she was looking right into him. “It’s a good
question, without a clear answer. After you and all of Bythus’ line the next in succession is
the Duke of the Northern Sea. But Bythus has many sons and many grandsons- it’s unlikely
that even in the event of a war they would all perish.”
Percy nodded, carding a hand through his wild hair. He had come to Atlantis knowing
nothing about its politics, and even after a month of studying them they still seemed
extremely complicated. And he still hadn’t even held court yet, nor had a formal banquet
where he needed to pretend to like a lot of people who had terrible morals.

“I think we should pay for the restoration of the lower city. And maybe make it a bit nicer.
And we need to take records of that area too, with the census and everything. The fact that
they’re poor doesn’t make them any less.”

Amphitrite’s expression didn’t falter. “Could you leave us alone?” she asked her advisor after
a minute of uncomfortable silence, and he nodded slightly and bowed, first to her and then to
Percy too, before heading for the door and closing it behind him.

“Perseus,” she started, and her tone was so serious that he didn’t even correct her on his
name, “they’re not just poor. I know Lydos has been teaching you history but… maybe we
need to focus your education more on how our society is composed.”

She sighed. “The majority of the cities’ population is made up of ichthyocentaurs and
merpeople. In Atlantis they are present more or less in even numbers, but the more south you
travel, the more difficult it is to find merpeople, and the more north, the less ichthyocentaurs
there are.”

“Is this because Bythus is an ichthyocentaur and the Duke of the Northern Sea is a merman?”
he asked, interested.

“It’s more like the contrary. Since those areas have historically been populated by only one
species, the old nobility has never changed. The same family hasn’t been ruling for thousands
of years,” she added, seeing Percy’s confused expression, “but when the power shifted, it
always happened in favour of a family of the same species.”

“So the Duke of the Northern Sea is a mermaid because that area has always been populated
more by them, and the same thing but with the ichthyocentaurs happened in the South” Percy
summed up, pleased to have understood.

The goddess smiled slightly, and nodded. “Getting to the point of this conversation,” she
resumed, “since the two populations are anatomically extremely different, they don’t marry
between themselves because their progene most often wouldn't survive the first year, and
surely wouldn’t reach old age.”

“The ones I met said they could only find work in the Army,” Percy interrupted, “isn’t it
unfair though?”

“Their existence is-”

“It’s not their fault they were born!” Percy exclaimed, almost shouting, and suddenly it
wasn’t about sea creatures anymore. It was about him, and Poseidon, and the prophecy and
the thousandth of times he had been told that he should never have been born, and it was
about how much it hurt, still after so many years.
Amphitrite pressed her thin hands on her thighs, a tinge of… something like sadness in her
dark eyes.

“What I meant,” she started, voice soft and measured, “is that their lives are plagued by rare
illnesses and anomalies and most of all- many of them are just a little more than animals.”

Percy looked at her, wanting to still be angry but not having the energy for it. “What do you
mean?” he finally asked, trying to read the goddess’ face.

“As I said, the inhabitants of the lower part of the city are not just poor. They are less
sentient, more beast than folk, who maybe have a merman or an ichthyocentaur far up in their
genealogy tree and who once lived here in the city, probably centuries ago.”

“So you keep a census of them like you do for like, tunas and flounders and basses, about the
general populace and not with names and occupations” Percy concluded, and Amphitrite
nodded, her curls free in the water.

“But the ones in the Army seem… fine,” Percy said, tentatively. Amphitrite had been
extremely patient with him today, he couldn’t deny that and he had no intention of angering
her.

“You will be King soon,” she answered, staring at him, “you will choose what to do then. For
now,” she concluded, gracefully standing up from the highly ornate chair, “study what Lydos
tells you to, and practice the dances. You’ll need to open your coronation ceremony after all.”

“What?” he asked, but she was out of the door already.

Soon.

Dear mom,

He wrote one evening, while in his head resounded the names of all the Dukes and their
spouses and their heirs.

I don’t think you will receive this letter, but it just feels good to write it. I miss you all so
much, but I don’t want to endanger any of you by coming there. Don’t worry though, I am
safe for now. You won’t read this, so I can write it - mom I’m scared and I’m not capable of
doing all the things they ask me to, of memorising all these facts and names and dates. Mom I
just want to come home and-

The pen slipped from his hand, blue ink staining the letter and the table, and Percy cursed,
quickly moving the records out of the way and knocking down his coffee in the process.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, slumping into the chair and laying his head on the table, tiredness
eating away his bones.

He didn’t want to keep living like this.

.

Percy was three days away from his last trial when the poisonings started.

Two kitchen-boys and one of his personal servants were found dead in the span of two days,
and the already tense atmosphere of the Palace became even more suffocating. Percy could
hear the whispers of the court when they thought he was out of reach, he could feel the
phantom fingers of the soldiers pointing at him and calling him murderer, traitor.

The toxins in the body of the three servants were analysed, but none of the doctors had ever
seen anything similar. “It’s not a poison of the Sea,” one of them had explained, “it could
come from the Underworld, and might have been aimed to kill you, my Prince.”

Percy had nodded and thanked the man, but it seemed weird to think Hades would try to kill
him this way, since he had never bothered before when he was more… reachable.

“Duke Bythus might have allies between Hades’ servants,” Amphitrite had commented when
he had explained his doubts, “I agree with you that it’s highly unlikely to be a direct attack
from Hades. He would gain nothing from your death”

“Let’s not rule anything out though,” her advisor had answered, “it’s a chaotic time already
and this will worsen things, so we must be even more careful. Only the most trusted of our
cooks will be allowed to make your meals from now on, and you will be escorted by your
guards at all times.”

“What about the celebration for my last trial? Will it be safe to hold?” he asked, worried. It
was basically a buffet after all, not the ideal when you had a poisoning problem at court.

“We have already invited all the most important dignitaries and many members of the most
important families of the kingdom,” Amphitrite started, her tone tired but looking as
collected as ever, “we are already in a frail position, we can’t afford this to fail. We need
more allies.”

Her advisor nodded in agreement. “I will arrange for the events to be kept a secret. And let’s
hope we manage to find the culprit before the feast.”

Percy swallowed harshly. He didn’t like this plan. While the Dukes and the Duchesses would
only come to the eventual Coronation, many of their heirs or most trusted ambassadors would
be attending his investiture. What if one of them ended up dead too? Could they risk a war
against another important family? It would truly be a mess.

Charis and Nikon, two of the guards who had first brought him to the Palace, escorted him
back to his diplomacy lesson. Instead of leaving as they always did when he started the
lesson however, this time they placed themselves at the two sides of the door, inside the
room, their spears raised towards the ceiling.

Lydos cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It appears I have two new pupils today,” he joked,
“but let’s not make it distract us, Perseus. Today, I shall teach you how to graciously refuse a
request for aid, be it financial or militar. First of all…”
He started to talk, and Percy tried to keep up with his notes, but his heart wasn’t in it and he
kept slipping back to the thought of the trial, and the poisonings. Of the people who had died
he only knew the one who had been his personal servant once or twice, but he couldn’t recall
if he had ever brought him food or not. Did it make him a bad Prince, not to know the names
of his own servants?

“...then of course, the second most important thing is to know how a similar request was
handled in the past. It’s very unlikely that you will encounter a completely unprecedented
situation in your first years as king, since it’s been thousand of years that-”

“Have there ever been poisonings like this before?” Percy interrupted, and Lydos stopped
abruptly.

“Well,” he stammered, blushing a little, “well no, not in recent enough times to still have
records of it but-”

“So this is something unprecedented, and it happened before I was even King. Cool, I’m
apparently as unlucky as that.”

“Do not despair, my Prince,” Lydos tried to reassure him, “we have sections of the army only
concerned with this kind of delicate work. I am certain they will find the cause, and all will
be resolved in time for the feast.”

Percy sighed, and his tutor pointed one of his fat, short fingers at him.

“The same one feast that will be a political disaster if you don’t start to pay more attention to
my lessons. Let’s start again. Diplomacy is…”

Percy hit the back of the chair with his head, and took the pen again in his hand.
It was going to be a long afternoon.

The following morning, Amphitrite reached him in his quarters, where breakfast was already
waiting for them when he awoke.

“Any news?” he asked, his unruly hair sticking up in all directions a stark contrast with the
careful braids on the goddess’ head.

“There has been another death,” she said in a deadpanned tone, “one of the maids was found
unconscious in one of the lower corridors, and was immediately brought to a healer, but it
was too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, and Amphitrite raised an eyebrow at him. Of course the life of one of
the servants didn’t really matter to her, but Percy was still human enough to care, and he
hoped that part of him wouldn’t change.

“Same poison?” he then asked, just to wipe off the curious look from the goddess’ eyes.
“This time in lower quantities,“ she answered, “she probably had a stronger reaction to it than
the others, maybe for her younger age.”

Percy nodded, not knowing what he was supposed to say, and he started eating, Amphitrite
following suit. The silence between them was uncomfortable, tense with unspoken worries
and their complicated relationship that Percy was aware could deteriorate at any moment.

“This has been cooked by my personal chef,” Amphitrite broke the silence, “she has been
working for me for the past seventy years, so she is to be trusted. From now on she will take
care only of your meals and mine, while the other cooks will handle the rest.”

“She’s very good,” Percy commented awkwardly, self-conscious about the dishevelled attire
the goddess always seemed to find him in. Maybe he should try to braid his hair too?

“Is the tailor coming this afternoon?” he asked then, already knowing the answer but just
wanting to fill the silence.

Amphitrite looked at him as if she knew what he was trying to do, but she didn’t comment on
it. “Yes,” she answered, “it’s time for you to start wearing the Atlantis traditional clothing for
a man soon to be king, and she will also take the measurements for your Coronation robe and
the clothes you will wear once you’re King.”

“You seem sure of it,” he commented, and the goddess smiled.

“You spent the last weeks literally chatting with the throne. Not the route I would have ever
taken, but it seems to be working for you: you’re surely becoming more familiar with it. The
throne will accept you, or you probably wouldn’t even have come this far.”

“Do you think an emblem will appear when I become King?” he asked, thinking back to all
the dents caused by the disappeared gods and the images he had found nothing about.

She sighed. “Do you remember what I told you in the throne room? They usually follow
negative ordeals. Let’s hope for the sake of the Kingdom, that your rule will not be as
disastrous as to form an emblem in the throne before it even starts.”

He nodded, but he knew that disaster tended to follow him. It would surely be a good laugh
for the Fates if his bad luck were to cause the fall of the oldest kingdom still in existence.

He ate a few more bites, even if it had been days since the last time he had been truly hungry:
was it because he was in the sea, was it because he was stressed, his appetite was basically
nonexistent. The poisoning problem then hadn’t helped matters.

“Has the rebuilding of the houses in the lower city started yet?” he asked, for once interested
in the answer.

Amphitrite nodded, carefully laying her small dish of food back on the table. “The architects
have already fixed that couple of issues you pointed out in the blueprints, and now the
necessary materials are being brought there from the various warehouses. We employed from
those who had lost their livelihood in the explosion and from the lower classes as you asked.”
“I hope it won’t be too difficult for them to clear out the debris of their own houses,” Percy
pointed out, the flaws in his decision appearing clearer than ever. He had not put into account
the fact that it could be an emotionally taxing experience for those who had been involved. It
seemed like he couldn’t consider more than one aspect at the time: how could he ever be a
good king?

The goddess sighed, standing from her chair. “At least their children will have something to
eat. It was a good idea, don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even their king yet.”

“But I will be,” Percy stated, looking her straight into the eyes, “I will be, and I need to learn
how to be better.”

The tailor was a tall, greenish mermaid with glasses so thick Percy could barely see her eyes.
As soon as he stepped into the room she bowed profusely and literally beamed at him.

“My Lord it’s an immense honour to be able to design your new wardrobe and… oh the
Coronation attire!” she exclaimed, while Percy blushed slightly, “what an honour, what an
honour!”

She kept moving around the room, looking at him and then at the various fabrics, choosing
them by some criteria Percy couldn’t understand, sometimes commenting on how good and
regal they would look on him, and what a good stance he had, and his eyes!

All of it was extremely embarrassing, and Percy found himself fighting the urge of crossing
his arms over his stomach, trying instead to keep them steady at his sides. He couldn’t avoid
shuffling on his feet every now and then though, especially after she made him strip down to
his underwear, ‘to take measurements’.

“What are your thoughts on purple my dear?” she asked, balancing in one hand four different
shades of it. Was one of them velvet? It was too warm for velvet.

“Mmh,” he started, taken by surprise by the question, “I like green and blue better?”

The tailor sighed, and placed only a couple of the purple fabrics on what Percy had come to
call “the yes pile”.

“Your wardrobe can’t be of clothes all of the same colour,” she stated, this time showing him
two fabrics in different shades of black, “different occasions call for different colours, and as
a King you will have to maintain the tradition. For example, black is used for funerals or late
evening posh parties. Which one of these?”

The two fabrics looked identical: one was just a shade less dark. Was there a right answer?

“The left one,” he tried, and the mermaid looked pleased. “I haven’t had the opportunity to
work with Audouinella in so long! But I know how, worry not,” she added, looking suddenly
panicked.
Percy just smiled. He had no idea what that… thing was. Good thing he didn’t have to make
his own clothes, or he would become king in cargo shorts and a faded t-shirt. Unless
Amphitrite murdered him before he could be crowned, which would probably happen if he
dared to show himself dressed like that.

“So, for your last trial you will wear the Army uniform, same shapes as the one of the
soldiers unfortunately, but I have a couple of colours we can choose from, and I can add little
decorations to make it shine just a little bit more.”

“They haven’t given me any uniform,” Percy interrupted, confused. He had studied of course
that the King was also at the top of the hierarchical structure of the Army, but for now he had
done nothing more than train and chat with the soldiers. They hadn’t even consulted him on
the poisonings’ investigation, and the only things he knew about it were the ones Amphitrite
had told him.

“You won’t be given a used uniform!” she said, surprised, “I’ll design you a new one of
course, and then me and my team will sew it in no time at all. The Coronation robes will take
a bit more time of course- we’ll not sway much from the traditional for now but it will still be
a very complex work of embroidery and…Oh don’t let an old lady bore you with this, young
Prince,” she added suddenly, and Percy would have liked to tell her that it was better than the
awkward comments of before, but even if he was bad at etiquette he understood that it would
have been considered impolite.

That didn't mean he was going to just stay silent.

“Have you been a tailor for long?” he asked, letting the mermaid swirl around him, with a
long flowing tape measuring the same bright red of corals.

“Oh yes!” she answered with the same chippy tone she had said everything until then, “I’ve
only been working for the Palace for the last couple of decades though, since Her Royal
Highness Amphitrite employed me for an evening dress. What an honour it was, to enter
these sacred halls for the first time!”

Percy could definitely understand her awe: the Palace was truly magnificent, even if he
hadn’t seen probably even a quarter of it. The restructuration had started again on the area
where his room was and it was now nearly finished, but there were entire zones that still
looked as if they had been bombed the day before. Talks of employing citizens in need after a
brief training were entertained, but now with the issue of the poisonings and the organisation
of the last trial’s celebration, everything had been put on hold.

“Alright dear, raise your arms for a second and then we’ll be done,” she chirped, writing
down something in a weirdly structured block note “Perfect, perfect! You may dress again.”

“The uniform for your last trial will be ready two mornings from now, just in time for your
trial. Oh what a magnificent feast is going to be, are you excited young Lord?”

Percy thought about the constant threats of being poisoned or murdered that would only
increase during a celebration with hundreds of friendly and not-so-friendly nobles.
 “Extremely,” he answered, smiling pleasantly at the woman.

It was time to think of a plan.

Chapter End Notes

I'm FINALLY going on vacation, but I should manage to stick to the schedule and post
again in two weeks' time.

Hope you liked this chapter, and let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from all of
you :)
 Year I, September I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Percy couldn’t sleep.

He turned and turned into his bed, accidentally throwing a couple of the decorative pillows
onto the floor. The room was unfamiliar, the shape of the furniture barely recognizable in the
darkness, and the more Percy concentrated on seeing the less it seemed he was able to.
Something in the room unnerved him and his heart started to beat so fast that he could hear it
in his ears, its rhythmic thumping like the one of hooves on a marble pavement. Like the
sound Grover made on Olympus, when he was there smiling, victorious and then- he turned
and there was blood on his legs, and a shadow above him and he was screaming and-

His eye caught movement next to his desk.

“Guards!” he yelled, furiously calling the lights to him and before he could move out of bed
Nikon had barged in, spear in his hand while another two guards encircled Percy’s bed, all
ready to fight.

But there was no intruder.

“I saw something moving,” Percy explained, his breaths still short and rigged, “I woke up
and it was dark but I’m sure there was… there was…” he gestured to the room.

The guards exchanged glances. “We have been in front of the door all evening,” Nikon
stated, “if something managed to enter here it wasn’t from there. Search the room,” he
ordered to the other two guards, “we’re not taking risks.”

The guards started looking around, while Percy shakily got out of the bed, deliberately
planting his feet on the floor hoping that the coldness of it could calm him down. Why had he
had such a strong reaction to his nightmare? It surely wasn’t the first he had had since he had
arrived in Atlantis.

“The Queen is in the main library,” Nikon supplied, staring at him with… sympathy? pity? “I
will escort you there if you wish not to return to sleep when they’re done,” he said, gesturing
to the two guards, who were now inside the bathroom.

Percy stared down at himself, his oversized t-shirt and old pair of shorts, and felt like a little
kid looking for his mother after a nightmare.

But Amphitrite wasn’t his mother, and he was to become King in the morning.

“It’s alright,” he answered, smiling at the merman, “sorry to have disturbed you. It’s probably
just the nerves for tomorrow.”
Nikon nodded, but he didn’t smile back, and Percy had the impression that his answer had
disappointed him. Was it because he thought he was lying? Or maybe he wanted to look for
something in his room, to see if he was behind the poisonings like many in the Army
believed. Or, most likely, he was just tired of playing babysitter to him and Percy was
becoming paranoid.

The guards finished their search, returning empty-handed. “The room is clear my Lord,” they
announced, and Percy thanked them and let them return to their post outside. Then he rose
from the bed and swam around the room, mimicking the soldiers’ earlier actions and
personally controlling every surface, every niche in the walls.

There was nothing, and even his documents were just as he had left them on the desk, next to
the lamp and- he stopped.

There was a letter to his desk that hadn’t been there before, and Percy hurriedly reached for it
and tried to feel what was inside. The paper was ivory, and on the back For Percy was written
in a curly, elegant calligraphy that didn’t belong to Annabeth, nor to Chiron or even to his
mother. He swallowed harshly, sat back on his bed and sliced it open, revealing a short letter.

The Palace has been warded against any letters coming from the mortal world, it said, and
Percy could not avoid feeling a bit relieved that his friends hadn't been ignoring him. But the
Queen had said that he could exchange mail with them: had Bythus done something?

Your friends have been informed of the situation, and are looking for a solution, but they
won’t be able to communicate with you. Delivering this in person was too great of a risk
already.

Hermes, he thought. Hermes had been in his room. Good thing he wasn’t becoming crazy,
even if he wasn’t too happy that a god could just… appear into his chambers. Probably it was
just Hermes who had a pass for Atlantis though, considering his duty was to deliver messages
there too.

Be careful, the letter concluded, there is currently only one person in Atlantis who could have
put on such wards.

It wasn’t signed, but there was no need for it to be.

Only one person. Maybe the Duke? But he wasn’t in Atlantis and to be able to put wards on
the Palace he should have been authorised by- by the Queen. Amphitrite, Hermes referred to
her. But why would she block his correspondence, after explicitly telling him he could write?

He put the letter away in a locked drawer of his desk, ready to use it as proof in case
Amphitrite denied having ever done something. He felt exhausted, and dawn was only a
couple of hours away, bringing with her one of the most stressful days he’d have: the last
trial. He couldn’t confront the Queen before it of course, he would need to wait and do so
after the celebrations or, if he wanted to act wisely, even after the Coronation, when he would
be officially King and therefore legally above her.
It would be a couple of months yes, but Hermes had assured him his friends were working on
a solution and he believed them: Zeus and Hades had been there when Poseidon had been
cursed and he didn’t doubt that Nico had probably annoyed his father until he had given a
satisfactory explanation for Percy’s disappearance.

He laid down back on the bed, a small smile playing on his lips: Amphitrite’ actions hurt,
especially when she had pretended to get along with him, but they weren’t totally
unexpected. He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop since their first encounter, and
coming to know that for now this was the only length she dared to go was comforting in
some horribly twisted way.

He felt, for the first time since he had arrived, that the light at the end of the tunnel might be
closer than he had imagined.

The full dress uniform the tailor had made him was, for Percy’s delight, very comfortable.
While the breeches’ only decoration were the golden lampasses on the sides, the jacket had
medals pinned on it: for his victory against the Titans and the Giants, for having survived
Tartarus and for many of the monsters he had killed, and he spent almost half an hour just
looking at them. How had they been done so quickly?

Under the jacket his valet forced him to wear a padded undershirt, with a thin chain mail
above it that fortunately wasn’t as heavy as a normal armour: or maybe he just didn’t feel it
because he was underwater.

“Wonderful,” Amphitrite stated entering the room, and Percy couldn’t avoid stiffening for a
minute. The goddess noticed, her eyes confused for a second, but she didn’t press, handing
instead a golden aiguillette to his valet..

“Now you truly look like a Prince of the Sea,” she said when it was pinned across his chest,
ending just below his right shoulder. Percy could only stare at himself in the mirror, and
wonder who the hell was that man that looked back at him. He seemed so much… older and
as if he had just come out of one of those paintings about a late nineteenth century King.

Was that really what he looked like?

He almost felt like crying, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. Here he
was, dressed like a soldier when he had never truly been one, behaving like a prince when he
had never been trained to do so and about to reclaim a throne that had only ever known one
King. He swallowed harshly, trying to suppress the desire to have his father there, to look at
him wearing his colours and… he didn’t really even know what he wanted.

Liar, his mind screamed. Coward.

Because yes, he wanted Poseidon to look at him with pride in eyes. To recognize how
difficult the situation had been and to tell him he had handled it well, that he would be
allowed to visit him in Atlantis more, that he would… be part of the family. Above all, he
wanted to be told he belonged.
“Ready?” Amphitrite asked, snapping him out of his thoughts with her gentle voice. Percy
looked at her, trying to decipher if she had understood where his thoughts had led him, but
her expression was completely closed off, as if she were already holding court, so he nodded
and followed the guards outside of the room.

Percy entered the empty throne room, and breathed in relief.

Him and the guards had passed through the hundreds and hundreds of minor nobles and
ambassadors that would be awaiting for the end of the trial in what Amphitrite had defined
‘the ballroom of daytime events’: a beautiful veranda with walls made of shimmering crystal
and big enough to comfortably fit thousands, housed in one of the Palace gardens.

Percy hoped he would be able to enter there victorious.

He advanced slowly towards the throne, swimming just above the mosaics of the pavement:
he had been in the room dozens of times, but it still took his breath away as it had done at
first, even now that it was empty and… slightly cold.

No one had told him what exactly he needed to do, for probably no one knew since Atlantis
had ever had only one king and an immortal one at that: the protocol for succession had
probably been written to reassure the nobles of the stability of the kingdom, something that
Percy had found in his studies to be of the utmost importance.

Slowly, he let his knees touch the ground in front of the throne, and lowered his head until his
eyes stared straight at the ground.

“I am Perseus, son of Poseidon,” he declared with a hint of nervousness in his voice, “and I
kneel here to claim the kingdom mine by birthright and the throne mine by hardship and
effort.”

He paused, listening for any changes, but nothing happened. How was he to know whether he
had succeeded or not? Lydos believed the signal would be obvious, but now Percy regretted
not having insisted more in coming to know what it could be.

“The Palace has welcomed my presence,” he continued, panicking for something to say, “and
the Army has put itself under my leadership. I swear to always do my best for the people and
all animals and plants who live in the waters, salt or shallow may they be.”

His chest tightened painfully, and he allowed himself a couple of deep breaths. Then,
tentatively, he raised his head towards the seat of the throne.

“Will you accept me as your ruler?” he asked, and the stone trembled almost as much as he
did when something burned on his back and his chest and his legs and then inside him, and
all around and it hurt and hurt and-

A horrible sound escaped from his lips, a ragged scream that upset him more than the pain
that made his fingers tingle and his toes curl, while he tried futilly to breathe through his
flaming nose. He wouldn’t be able to handle that much pain for very long, he knew that in the
only remaining working part of his brain, the one terrified, the one aware that he was burning
alive.

He slumped over the throne, and found it blissfully cold under his touch. Groaning, he tried
to stand up but his legs couldn’t sustain his weight and he had to crawl on its steps, the pain
slightly less intense in the places where his skin touched the marble. Another scream opened
his way through his mouth and he bit his lip until he felt blood dripping from his chin and
unto his clothes. Amphitrite will not be pleased I dirtied them, he thought, and then
everything went black.

“There is going to be war,” a voice said somewhere on his right and Percy opened his eyes,
only to find himself seated… around the kitchen table of his mother’s house.

“What?” he answered, confused. There was a reason why he couldn’t be in New York.
Monsters? Perhaps he was on a quest. He tried to stand up, placing his feet on the old-worn
floor, but he lacked the strength to raise himself up and unceremoniously slumped back on
the chair. Wait- someone had talked. There was someone with him in the room.

He turned quickly, his neck straining painfully from the movement, and his gaze met a pair of
eyes identical to his own.

“You’re back,” he breathed, relief dripping from every syllable, while the memories of the
past days reached his mind again. But Poseidon shook his head, a sad look on his face.

“There is going to be a war,” he repeated, “the worst the kingdom has ever faced, for this is
its moment of greatest need. Do not despair, my son, even if the way is difficult: you will
have someone to share the burden with.”

“So you can’t-” Percy started, voice breaking, “-you can’t help?”

All of his body was burning again, but he forced his eyes to remain open and swallowed
down a scream. He would not show weakness in front of his father. He could- handle it.

“Trust her,” his father ordered, coming closer to him, “I would have never wished this upon
you but you mu-”

Suddenly it was like the flames had been lit anew on him and Percy screamed, his skin
burning and burning, all of him engulfed by pain until the world became black again,
Poseidon’s words swimming in his mind: you must do your best.

Tattoos.

The throne had given him tattoos.

Percy stared down at his chest in shock. It was the only part of his body that had still felt on
fire when he had regained consciousness, so he had stripped down the jacket, the chain mail
and the padded undershirt, expecting a burn wound and only finding a dark blue tattoo
instead, just below his collarbone.

He traced his fingers above it as delicately as he could, amazed after all about how detailed it
was: the symbols of all the sixteen duchies coming to form a circle around a small trident, the
words προετοιμαστείτε written in small letters below it.

Brace yourself, the same words his father had written to him in that letter so many years ago.

He swallowed the harsh nostalgia that had formed in his throat and quickly buttoned up the
jacket again, leaving the chainmail and the padded shirt on the floor where one of the
servants would find it and bring it to his room again, then walked off the throne room
towards the veranda.

He had done it. He was king. He thought he would feel relieved to have passed the trial, or
even happy that he had managed a difficult task, but his stomach was in turmoil, a sense of
imminent doom settling itself comfortably at the bottom of it, lulled to sleep by a terrible
feeling of dread.

And when he opened the doors of the veranda and the nobles turned silent, scrutinising him
with incredulous eyes until he opened up the jacket and showed them the symbol of his
kingship, he realised that the real work still needed to start.

Long live King Perseus, they chanted then, but it was like he was hearing it from another
body, in another plane of existence: everything seemed distant, every sound, every smell, like
he was looking at his body from the outside.

Someone patted his shoulder and he flinched, turning around quickly to smile at the startled
mermen, who slightly bowed.

“Your Majesty, I am Kolons, Earl of the Caspian Sea,” he started and Percy noted that his
tunic was decorated with whitish gulls, the symbol of his duchy. He inclined his head
politely: there was no sense in presenting himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am certain you will do great things, as your father did before
you.”

“I thank you, Lord Kolons,” Percy answered as he had been told to, trying to place some sort
of interest in his voice. He still felt so detached from the outside world that even the sounds
seemed to take longer to arrive in his ears.

“May I introduce you to my family?” the merman asked, “I travelled with my wife and my
eldest daughter, and they’re eager to meet their new king.”

A nereid next to him snickered, and turned away. “Of course,” Percy answered, sticking to
the polite answer. He wasn’t confident enough yet to risk being considered too arrogant, and
with his young age it would only have been seen as rude and unprofessional, and not as a
sign of strong character. Not that he considered himself to have a strong character, nor to be
arrogant, but he couldn’t deny that he spoke his mind perhaps too much often and in the
company of the wrong people.

He gently let the two mermaids introduce themselves and listened to their chats with half an
ear before excusing himself towards the food table. He had been prohibited to eat for fear of
poison, since the one behind the deaths in the Palace still hadn’t been caught nor the poison
identified. Percy seriously hoped nothing bad would happen at this celebration, or his reign
would be marked as cursed before it even began.

Some were already saying it after all, and too many servants knew the truth for it not being
about to come out. But Amphitrite had decided secrecy was the best course of action and
even if the fact that she had blocked his correspondence and made him believe to have been
abandoned hurt, it’s not like he wasn’t expecting something like it and even his father had
told him to trust her. And he never said you were doing a good job, his mind reminded him,
but Percy shoved the thought back with all the other unpleasant things he ignored.

It wasn’t the right time, and he already had half an idea on a different method to
communicate with his friends anyway.

Many different people introduced himself to him, and Percy found his first real opportunity to
practice what he had learned about the customs of the different duchies, discussing with the
ambassadors or the minor nobles about the products they exported, the festivities that were
coming in a few months.

“I think most of them like you,” Amphitrite whispered to him when he retired into a corner to
watch the room, “even if you haven’t really tried. I expect better for your Coronation
ceremony: there will be allies to make there, and you won’t be allowed to fail.”

“I know,” he answered, and then “I’m sorry,” he added quietly.

The goddess stared at him, her dark skin shiny under the soft lights of the room. “What ails
you?” she asked after a minute, and Percy sagged his shoulders slightly against the wall.

“Just a bit disoriented since after the trial,” he murmured, “it hurt” he specified at
Amphitrite’s pointed glare, in even a softer voice and noted a bit of tension leaving her body.

“You have not consumed any sustenance?”

He shook his head. “I ate nothing,” he confirmed, “how much longer is this going to last?”

She sighed. “No more than a couple of days. They all need to return to their work and their
lords. It will be a quick feast.”

“A couple of days?” Percy almost yelled, and the goddess gestured for him to lower his
voice, her eyes piercing and angry. “Yes Perseus,” she answered through gritted teeth,
smiling at a couple of ichthyocentaurs that passed in front of them “the kingdom found itself
with a new king when it never expected, nor desired one. However, since we have not
 proclaimed the state of mourning for Poseidon or the other sea gods, the celebrations must be
carried on labelled only as happy occurrences.”

“And the protocol for them are days of celebration,” he sighed dramatically. Then, a part of
his brain that had been buried by the terrible pain of the trial turned on again.

“How long am I expected to remain for this celebration?” he asked, and the goddess smirked,
an evil glint in her eyes.

“You could have left after the first round of introductions,” she answered with a calm voice,
but Percy could still hear the smirk in her words.

What a bastard.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you guys enjoyed this, I surely did have fun writing it.
As always, looking forward to hearing from you!
 Year I, September II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

None of the guests was poisoned during the feast.

The chef and two other servants were.

Percy felt very conflicted about the news: on one hand he was extremely relieved that he
wouldn’t have to handle angry nobles and that the issue for now remained a secret, but on the
other hand he also felt guilty about feeling relieved that the only ones who died had been
servants. They were people too, their life held the same value as the one of the nobles.

Even if underwater society really didn’t work that way. It was a bit like being stuck in a
middle ages realm with only a few more rights for women: they could join the army, study
and get a well-paying job, but their options were more limited and if they belonged to a noble
family then their marriage would most often be more of a political alliance with another
family.

The more Percy studied and came to know about it the more he wanted to change things,
starting from the mercentaur that could apparently only work as soldiers and then slowly
reforming the society into a more modern structure.
It was an extremely ambitious project however, and he was well aware that not even his
entire lifetime would be enough to convince the nobles of the necessity of it: adding that he
hoped not to have to remain in Atlantis for more than a year or so, it truly seemed impossible.

But he could start trying. Maybe a little change in the right direction would be better than no
change at all. And if he managed to get Amphitrite on his side… well perhaps when his
father returned to his throne he would be willing to keep some of the changes or continue his
programs of modernization.

It was a nice dream. It was a necessary dream, in the hectic mess his life had turned into after
he had unofficially become king. Duke Bythus still hadn’t given any direct statement on the
situation and while disorders continued in the lower city, nothing had turned into violent
riots. Some of the generals Percy had consulted agreed on the fact that Atlantis found himself
in the calm before the storm: Bythus was probably assessing his strength, buying himself
allies and preparing for a war.

And he would have to do the same soon

The Coronation had been planned for three months away, as to give the nobles from all
around the globe the time to set dispositions in order for their quite-long absence: apart from
the time of the journey, the feast itself would probably last around a week or two with various
activities and outings that had to be planned to satisfy every taste.
Percy was really glad that he didn’t have to plan any of it: he basically just had to look pretty,
say the right words to the right people and make allies for possibly the worst civil war the
kingdom had ever gone through. And dance- he had to learn all the traditional sea formal
dances, that were long and complicated and required a precision that he just didn’t have.

But no pressure. Amphitrite and Lydos only reminded him about thrice a day. So there was
absolutely no need to panic over it. No need at all.

And yet here he was, huddled into the most secluded corner of the garden with the battle
plans of the last civil war, wondering how on earth would he ever manage to handle such a
heavy load of work. He had fought the Titans and the Giants yes, but they had been battles
not full out wars: all the political aspects had been irrelevant and there hadn’t been a real
army of actual, paid soldiers to obey his orders and possibly die for a slight mistake of his.

Dolphin and the other generals would help of course- but they still didn’t like him nor trusted
him enough to actually listen to his ideas, so he would need to change that before it could
lead to a betrayal on the battlefield.

Educating himself on the strategies of the previous battles had seemed a good place to start,
but now Percy was starting to regret it. It had been days since the last time he had had the
opportunity to stretch his muscles with a good training and his mood was starting to be
affected: thus why he had secluded himself in the garden. He didn’t want to be approached by
curious nereids or overbearing servants. Or Amphitrite, who with her steady gaze and soft
tone would manage to coax him into doing something ridiculous like agreeing to a formal
banquet or holding a public speech in the main square.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid responsibilities forever and a couple of hours later his new
manservant, a young merman named Flustra, came to lead him back into the Palace.

“Lady Amphitrite has arranged for a meeting with the Council,” he explained while he
dressed him into more formal clothes, “remember that they’ve been handling the most serious
issues for you since Ki- sorry, since Lord Poseidon… left.” he cleared his throat sheepishly,
fixing the collar of the undershirt.

“So I guess I’ll have to thank them,” Percy joked, aiming to make the boy relax a little. But
he just tensed more, and stared at his eyes from the reflection in the mirror.

“They’re all very old,” his manservant started, “really old and really conservative. They’re
not going to be pleased that you became King. Be careful about their advice- they might not
have your best interests at heart.”

Percy nodded: he was glad for the advice, even if it just had made him more worried than he
already was. Which was a lot.

“But surely, if not mine, they must have at least the kingdom’s best interests at heart. And
from what I understood Bythus’ reign would not bring prosperity nor stability, and most of all
wouldn’t allow for a peaceful transition of power when my father gets back.”
“No,” Flustra agreed, “but it would bring them power. Just be careful alright?” he asked,
grabbing Percy’s right hand between his.

Unconsciously it seemed, because as soon as Percy’s surprised gaze stopped itself on their
joined hands he took it away and stepped back, throwing a glance towards the door and his
azure skin blushing slightly.

“I am-” he started, but Percy interrupted him with a shrug. It had been so long since he had
experienced another person touch outside of the arena that no part of him had minded the
boy’s concern. It happened to everyone, Percy reasoned, to get so carried away while talking
that you just lost control of the way your body moved. It had probably been just a way to
make him listen better, and even if he was king he wasn’t truly expected to stick to etiquette
manners with his manservant. He had binge watched Merlin with his mother after all, and
they seemed to be quite close: maybe they could become like that, for he would surely enjoy
having a trusted friend at court, where every relationship seemed instead to be calculated to
obtain the maximum political gain.

When all of his clothes were in order and his hair combed, he and Flustra passed through the
nacre staircase and reached a well-lit oval room, with every wall made of grey stone and a
rectangular table in the middle, with maps and papers draped all over it.

As soon as Percy stepped in all of the seven councillors raised to their feets and bowed their
heads. Flustra slightly nudged Percy forward, and he self consciously made his way to the
chair at the head of the table. Was he supposed to tell them to sit down? Or would they sit
when he did?

At the end, he opted for a comb of the two options. “Please, let’s start the meeting,” he said
and then proceeded to sit down, all of the councillors doing the same.

Every one of them represented one of the Seven Seas, and they were all specialised in
different sciences useful for a balanced reign: war, politics, economy and all of the such.
Flustra had been right in saying they were truly old: some of them looked so frail that they
would just disintegrate with a little push.

“As I was told you’ve been handling the most serious issues of the kingdom in these weeks, I
thank you for your hard work and I hope that from now on we will manage to work together
efficiently,” Percy stated, liking the way he had managed to not make his voice tremble. He
had made a lot of progress since the first time he had spoken in public, and he was proud of
it.

“To work efficiently, you should first be acquainted with what we’re actually working on,”
one of the mermen on his right rebutted, but Percy had no intention of allowing him to rile
him up.

Amphitrite had prepared him for this.

“That is a reasonable request, Lord Nilmus. As the expert on trade and land-ocean commerce
deals, perhaps you could inform me of the most pressing issues that we are facing right now. I
presume my request for coffee seeds has met your approval?”
“Of course your Grace,” the merman said, raising to his full height, “it has been most
relieving to know that our new king would have the help he needs to be able to care of the
realm’s issues.”

Some of the councillors snickered, and Percy’s hands twitched. Nilmus was mocking him, he
knew. Should he ignore him? Answer with strength so that it wouldn’t happen again? No, it
was too soon for that. It would just help the people label him as a tyrant, or as unfit to rule
and the crisis would start again.

He opened his mouth with a dry reply ready on his tongue, but then decided that antagonising
his own Council wouldn’t bring any good things. Better they thought him dense than
arrogant, at least for now.

“Of course I take the wellbeing of the Kingdom very seriously, Lord Nilmus,” he answered
and then, addressing the rest of the men he continued, “since I am certain this is a topic we all
agree to be of the utmost importance.”

There were a few murmured affirmatives and a couple of heads nodding, which wasn’t really
what Percy was expecting. If they weren’t even able to agree with him that the safety of the
same own kingdom they lived in was important, he had no idea how he would manage to
press on the most important topics.

When everyone had turned silent again, the ichthyocentaur on his right cleared his throat and
at Percy’s nod stood up, planting his hands on the table for support.

“Your Grace, please allow me to introduce myself before we proceed,” he said glaring
daggers at Nilmus as if reprimanding him of his childish behaviour, “As the representative of
the Southern Pacific Ocean I have served your father for many centuries in matters of social
issues and urban living. I have heard you have had… questions about the topic.” he
concluded, now staring at him.

And thinking that Percy had thought him on his side.

“Yes,” he started carefully thinking on how to better word himself a way out of this scrutiny:
it was still to early for a direct approach of the topic, for he still hadn’t a clear idea on how
things worked and, most of all, had the certainty that he would have no allies yet in the rest of
the council members.

“I come from land, where things are different,” he started ignoring the scoffs of some of the
oldest councillors, “and while I have been studying most diligently, there are aspects of this
realm that have left me perplexed,” he smiled, “I thank you for making yourself available to
answer any question I might have though. I believe I will soon take you up on your kind
offer.”

An offer they both knew hadn’t been implied in his words, but that wasn’t Percy’s problem.
For now he just contented himself that none of the other councillors seemed about to create
anymore problems.

At least for this session.

.

Hermes had written that the outer world could not communicate with him, but nothing
implied that they couldn’t receive his letters.

So, one evening after his tutor had been exceptionally harsh he decided to take a pause from
the incessant study on warfare and sat in front of his wooden desk with a blank parchment
and a pot of dark blue ink.

Dear Annabeth, he began, a small smile spreading from his lips.

I hope this letter finds you well. Here the situation is quite stable for now, even if all of my
days are hectic and busy and I’m not totally sure of what I am doing. When have I ever been
after all? I know you must be over yourself trying to find a solution but Annabeth, my love- I
think the only way to overcome this will be to let the curse do its course and wait

He grimaced at the play of words. Why had he written that? He wasn’t even sure he believed
it, and it was far, far away from the tone he wanted his letter to have. But maybe Annabeth
needed to hear it, a reassurance that she didn’t have to dedicate all of her time searching for a
solution, that she could live, that she should live.

Annabeth, he wrote again.

Please live the life I have always wished for you. I promised we would never be apart again
and look, look how I didn’t keep my word. Annabeth you deserve better than me, you deserve
someone that can be at your side, Annabeth I could be stuck here for years and years and I
don’t want to-

Tears welled up in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand, even
if no one was there to see him. He leaned back on the chair until his neck hit the hard wood,
almost taking pleasure from the pain it caused.

Percy took a breath, then another and slowly crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand. So
many unnamed emotions were swirling through him, pressing from every side until it seemed
like his heart was being squeezed out of his chest.

It had just been a tiring day, he repeated to himself, a night of sleep and then in the morning
he would feel better and manage to write a letter void of all the nonsense his hand had just
written and in which he didn’t believe.

It had been two months since he had arrived in Atlantis.

He was just tired.

“Duke Bythus is two hours away from the Palace,” Amphitrite’s advisor announced, barging
into the room and startling Percy out of the comfortable silence him and the goddess had
fallen into.
“Reliable sources?” he asked, snapping his head up from the table to stare at the hard set of
Amphitrite’s mouth, at the panic flushing on the man’s face.

“Our own scouts, your Grace,” he answered, and Percy swore under his breath.

“Is he coming with an army?” Amphitrite gracefully asked, standing up and clearing non-
existent dust from her robes.

“No,” he said, and Percy relaxed slightly. “He seems to be leading only about two dozen of
his men. Will say they’re his party, but are surely trained soldiers.”

“Then we’ll be careful,” Percy decided, “tell the servants to prepare the west quarters on the
second floor for the Duke, and lead his men to the rooms downstairs. We’ll throw a small
feast when they arrive, as a sign of prosperity.”

Amphitrite nodded. “Tell the maids to move the King’s belongings to the empty bedroom
upstairs,” she added and seeing that Percy was about to protest she glared at him with one of
her famous stares.

“You’re not staying on the second floor next to an ichthyocentaur who wants you dead and
that’s final.”

Percy swallowed down his protest. He liked his rooms here, but he wasn’t particularly tied to
them as to risk being murdered in his sleep just to keep them for a couple of nights more.

“You should change into more formal clothes,” Amphitrite said, calling Flustra into the room,
“nothing too fancy, but we need to show that we’re not weak, nor desperate.”

“And we are?”

Amphitrite stared hard at him, her dark eyes unflinching.

“Not until you think we are.”

While the soldiers escorted Bythus into the throne room, Percy had made sure to make
himself be found draped over the throne, skimming through unimportant documents almost
lazingly.

As a way to say fuck you, this Palace, this army and this throne have chosen me over you.

In reality though, under his arrogant facade his heart was beating so fast Percy was half sure
that at one point it would just tear apart his chest and get out of his expensive robes and into
the floor, while the Duke laughed and laughed at his fear and inexperience.

Amphitrite placed a thin hand on his shoulder, giving a small squeeze and stepping back as
soon as the doors opened. It had been brief but Percy could not but be grateful for the
comfort, even if it came from the goddess who had been isolating him from his friends.

The Duke’s entrance shooed Percy away from his thoughts, and he stared at the
ichthyocentaur while he swimmed the long way to the throne without even raising his eyes
up to the shimmering sea foam. He had clearly been in the room at least once already, Percy
theorised, maybe to swear fealty to his father?

Bythus reached the foot of the throne, and a deep silence fell into the room. All the court was
holding its breath: the next few seconds would decide if there were to be an imminent war or
not, and Percy didn’t dare to take his eyes off the Duke’s ones.

Was he going to kneel and accept his rule? Or had he come to declare war protected by
ancient laws, just to return in a couple of months with thousands in his following?

The coral walls shimmered brightly, reflecting in their reds the golden hue of the ceiling and
painting the room in the most wonderful of lights. Ballads could be sung of this day, Percy
found himself thinking, his body tense in seeming relaxed.

But from which side would they come?

Interminable seconds passed, then the grating sound of metal touching metal could be heard
all through the room, framing the picture of the Duke of the Southern Sea kneeling in front of
a nineteen years old boy.

“I believe we may be able to accomplish great things together, King Perseus, first of His
name. My sword is yours to use. My soldiers are yours to command.”

The silence in the room turned from tense to relieved, and even Percy relaxed slightly.

“Thank you, Duke Bythus,” he started, “my servants will lead you to your rooms. I’m sure
you must be tired from the harsh journey. We will discuss on the morrow.”

Another sound of metal grating uncomfortably, a small bow and a gesture with his hand and
then the Duke was out of the room and the court returning to their occupations.

“It was too easy,” Percy said, slumping on the hard marble.

“We need to keep our eyes wide open still,” Amphtrite agreed, “he has never been this
complacent, not even the first time he had to swear fealty, when Poseidon had just returned
victorious and powerful from a war.”

“He must be plotting something then,” Percy concluded, and the goddess gave him a tense
smile.

“Of course he is,” she stated, “there are no friends here and nothing is given freely. Maybe he
will do nothing now- but he wants you dead and he won’t stop trying. Don’t let his fake
friendliness lower your defences, for he will strike then.”

Percy nodded, exhausted, and marched towards his new rooms. Lydos had advised him to
keep track of possible escape routes in case he found himself attacked in his quarters and in
 need of a way out, and Percy thought that doing something practical like this would help him
take his mind off the dangerous dinner that awaited him.

There are no friends here, Amphitrite had said, but Percy had never been good at doing
things on his own, and had been lonely too long to find in it any source of comfort.

“Flustra?” he called, and when the boy appeared into his rooms, Percy explained his plan.

“You know the castle better than me,” he started, “I'll take the blueprints and you’ll help me
find the fastest routes to the garde, to Amphitrite’s rooms, to the kitchens and to the arena.”

He took a big breath. “Ready?” he then asked, and at the mermen’s nod they started working,
ignoring the slow approaching of the evening.

He hoped Amphitrite would do the most of the talking anyway.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry guys I'm a day late but writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I just got the
worse case of writer's block in the middle of it and it took me days to recover. It
happens!
Hope you enjoyed this and have a nice Sunday! As always thank you to all the ones who
read my ramblings- looking forward to hering your thoughts on this!
 Year I, October I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“The Duke and the visiting party must not become aware of the poisonings,” Amphitrite’s
advisor declared, sitting in Percy’s favourite chair. “He would surely imply you have a hand
in that- seeing that they only started a couple of weeks after your arrival.”

“And you don't, right?” Lydos asked, raising one of his short fingers in the air.

Amphitrite glared at him and Percy snorted. “Of course not!” he answered, “why would I
even want to poison servants and thus jeopardise my own position and safety of the entire
kingdom?”

“The timings are somewhat suspicious,” Lydos justified, “and I don’t think Bythus is behind
them. Poison isn’t his style.”

“How do you know so much about him?” Percy finally asked. The question had reigned
freely into his mind for days, since the old tutor had taught him the history of the various
duchies.

“He has been Duke for fifty years,” Lydos repeated again, and as last time Percy had the
feeling that there was something that he was hiding. He looked at Amphitrite for support, but
she was staring at her advisor instead.

“The investigation for now has given no results,” the merman continued, “we have excluded
poisons from the sea and from the underworld, and we are now testing the toxins of various
poisons from the mortal world, but...”

“But?” Percy pressed after the silence had dragged on too long. The merman sighed.

“It seems to have a completely different composition from all the toxins we have analysed
until now. So, either we are considering the wrong thing, or it’s actually a pretty rare and
unique poison.”

“And if it’s from land,” Lydos interjected, “as soon as the news gets out you will be blamed,
Perseus. As King you might be able to avoid being persecuted, but the people’s opinion of
you will be the one of a man who murders his own servants.”

“The consequences would be disastrous,” Amphitrite summarised, “the people might take
Bythus’ side still after all, and the throne’s approval will mean nothing when sixteen duchies
send their armies here to proclaim him King.”

“Alright,” Percy said in a tight voice, “then what should we do? The meals are already
controlled and only the most trusted servants are still allowed anywhere near the kitchens.
Should we put up surveillance cameras?”
“Surv- what?” Lydos asked, grasping the armchair in his hand.

“It’s a mortal thing,” Percy explained, “it records what happens in a room and then you can
watch it later to see if something that should not have happened has, indeed, happened.
They’re usually used to find thieves and such.”

“It’s an idea worth considering,” Amphitrite’s advisor admitted, resting on the comfortable
chair Percy was eyeing with envy, “but you must absolutely discuss the problem with your
Council first.”

Percy sighed. He hated his old, stuffy councillors who thought they were oh so well-versed
and better than him, but he couldn’t say so in front of Lydos. He didn’t trust him at all. As
soon as they deigned to leave though, he would express his concerns to Amphitrite: for how
much she could still not be overly fond of him, he wouldn’t give him to the wolves. Her only
aim was to keep the Kingdom safe and whole until her family returned, and Percy could trust
her to do everything in her power to keep faith to it.

The two men didn’t seem to be inclined to leave, and Percy slumped in his second-best chair
with a resigned sigh. Then he remembered. He was King.

He stood up. “Thank you gentlemen,” he started, “I have a couple of matters to discuss with
Lady Amphitrite, so we will continue this meeting in another moment,” he concluded,
gesturing towards the door to them.

The merman and the ichthyocentaur stood up at once and awkwardly bowed to him and to the
goddess, glancing to her as a last appeal and then leaving defeated once she made no move to
stop them from leaving.

“I hate them,” he said, stealing back the good chair as soon as the door closed.

Amphitrite chuckled. “The councillors?” she asked, her smile all-knowing.

Percy nodded. “They’re just so… conservative, so tied up with tradition. We’ve met like four
or five times and I think in none of them they have listened to a word I said.”

“Given time you might be able to change a few of them without causing a backlash or
offending any of their families. But for now… just try to get as many as you can on your side,
or passing any kind of law will be a nightmare.”

“I don’t think any of them wants to be on my side,” Percy complained, “and now that Bythus
is there I don’t even have time to plan something.”

“Talk to them outside the council room,” Amphitrite advised, “corner them one to one. I’m
sure that without all the pressure from their peers they might be more inclined to accept your
branch of friendliness.”

Percy nodded again, and before he could ask anything else the goddess had squeezed his
shoulder again and left the room in a swirl of yellow robes.

.
The dinner with the Duke the following evening was stuffy and uncomfortable.

Amphitrite tried to make polite conversation, but Bythus rebuffed her every attempt,
answering with short sentences and curt words only barely appropriate.
It was clear that he resented having to play the good subject, so clear that Percy realised that
whatever was the Duke’s plan, he wasn’t the mastermind behind it. But whose bidding was
he playing with? Apart from Percy and the former Queen there was no one who outranked
him in the entire kingdom, which means he had no logical reason to obey someone else.

“I am disappointed I wasn’t able to meet your family on this friendly occasion, Duke
Bythus,” Percy said, waving at a servant to clear the plates away, “is there a reason they were
unable to make the journey?”

He could see from the corner of his eye that the goddess was staring at him with a tight
expression. Behave, her gaze ordered, but Percy refused to take his eyes off the Duke, who
calmly folded his napkin before answering.

“My wife had other obligations to attend to,” he stated, not offering any kind of ulterior
information. Would it be disastrous if Percy pushed for more? He was not this patient.

“Well,” he answered, voice silky, “I assume she shall be free of her obligations for my
Coronation in two months' time,” he concluded, smiling.

Bythus was harsh but he wasn’t a fool and could recognize an order when it was given to
him.

“Of course Your Majesty,” he answered, his tone not as mild as Percy would have preferred
it, but he would make do.

Dessert arrived shortly after, and then the dinner finally came to an end and Percy holed
himself up in his new room that, albeit bigger and better decorated, had been set up exactly
like the first he had been given.

Flustra joined him soon after and started working on disentangling the careful braids he had
made before: Percy’s hair were now long enough that they bounced on his shoulders, and he
had taken to style them in many of the most complex Atlantian’s styles thanks to his
manservant expert fingers.

Percy closed his eyes, enjoying the methodical movement and the merman’s soft humming.

“Bad day?” he asked, and Percy snorted.

“Aren’t they all?” he asked, and Flustra chuckled slightly.

“At least you’re almost on par with history,” he tried to comfort him, “and I think last time
you managed the opening dance without an itch.”

“Amphitrite was doing all the work with that one,” he admitted without shame, “but I don’t
think I’ll dance it with her on my Coronation.”
Flustra’s hands stilled for a second, then they resumed.

“Ah no?” he asked, his tone carefully controlled, “and who with?”

Percy shrugged, not knowing what to make of the boy's behaviour. Was he afraid that he
would make a fool of himself in front of his most important subjects?

“I guess I’ll find out,” he answered, thinking of the way Amphitrite had surely already
planned everything in minimal detail. Lydos had not failed to instruct him on all of his duties
as King, and he had reacted harshly to them the first time around. A part of him still wished
for rebellion, for refusal- but would he truly be willing to sacrifice a kingdom to his desires?

He thought of home, of permanency. He thought about his mother when he was lying in his
bed at night, wishing for sleep that wouldn't come. He thought about her with tenderness, and
about his friends with affection.

And when he thought about Annabeth, the only feeling that pervaded him was an intense
sense of loss, and longing for something long lost. She had awaited him for nine months,
never losing hope: and here he was, only two months and half away and already ready to
move on.

Had he not loved her? He had fallen into Tartarus for her. He had killed for her, and it had
torn a hole into their relationship, it had lacerated the heavy set trust between them.

Percy swallowed down the harsh realisation, and cried silently through the night.

Maybe good things weren’t supposed to happen to him, the unwanted son, the child cursed
before he was even born.

Maybe he had just never done anything to deserve them at all.

Percy approached the councillor from the Arctic Ocean the following morning.
He had been the most silent during meetings, and on a couple of occasions Percy believed to
have seen him sneer at the other councillor’s proposal. He had never stood up against them
though, which wasn’t ideal: it meant that or he knew he wasn’t strong enough, or that he just
didn’t have the support to be listened to, and so even if in agreement with the king, he
wouldn’t push for his ideas.

Percy believed it to be a perfect starting point: an ally is still better than none, and if he
fucked up and the men started hating him even more it wouldn’t be a great disaster.

He found Lord Damali in the library, surrounded by great tomes: unsurprising considering he
was basically the ancient version of a minister of education, spending his days visiting the
most prominent academies of the kingdom and battling for funds.

“Good morning,” Percy saluted when he realised that the merman hadn’t heard him come in,
and the man raised his head with a scowl on his face, before realising that he was in front of
his King.
“Your Majesty,” he said hurryingly, standing up at once and slightly bowing his head. A
prominent start, in Percy’s opinion.

He smiled, and sat down in front of the worried councillor.

“The atmosphere in my Council is tense,” he started, “but I have noted that you refrain from
speaking your own mind. Have you received threats?” he asked without preamble, knowing
full well that he hadn’t.

“Of course not my Lord,” Damali brusquely answered, “it is my opinion that it will just take
a while for them to be able to accept you as their monarch. We have been governed by your
father for very long, you know and-”

“I am perfectly aware that Poseidon has been in power for a long time, yes,” Percy
interjected, “and curious about your saying that it would take them a while. Does it mean that
you have already come to terms with my rule?”

Damali winced, clearly not having expected the blunt question. He opened his mouth, then
closed it again.

“I believe of course that with the correct advice you will be able to rule this kingdom in
prosperity,” he answered, with one hand tightly gripping one of his books and the other close
to his side. Was he expecting a fight?

Percy would hardly give it to him, but the discussion wasn’t over yet.

“So,” Percy dragged on, “you would be… able to assist in my receiving of this correct advice
you speak about, I believe. Maybe even in the next session?”

Damali lowered his eyes to the desk. “Of course, your Grace”, he answered.

Percy smiled, and swam back towards the door to the library.

“I await hearing your opinion with great anticipation,” he said, and then he was out.

Duke Bythus sat on the green padded sofa of the veranda, lazingly drinking one the many
undersea typical beverages.

Non-alcoholic, Percy had unfortunately discovered.

Amphitrite sat in front of him, pretending to drink the same thing and turning the pages of the
book in her lap every now and then. Percy had been supposed to be with them, but he wasn't
really looking forward to an afternoon of awkwardness, so he had told the goddess to excuse
him and had instead closed himself in the study.

After about half an hour though, his curiosity had taken the best of him and so here he was,
basically spying on a meeting he had been invited to.
"I have heard the most peculiar rumour here," the Duke started with an air of carelessness,
"some believe a sickness is unknowingly spreading in the Palace. A very fatal one, at that."

Amphitrite was good at her job, Percy had to give her that, because she didn't react to his
words in any way, and barely raised her eyes.

"There are many people in close quarters one to another, and we have many delegates from
all over the seas. It is likely that some of them may be sick," she answered, immediately
returning to her book.

Bythus leaned forward in his seat, and opened his mouth to talk again.

Amphitrite was quicker however, and raised her head to smile at him condescendingly.

"However, as much as your concern for your men is heartwarming, you must not be worried
my Lord," she continued, "as you are aware we have a most equipped infirmary," she
smirked.

The Duke seemed taken aback and Percy wondered on which occasion he had had to visit the
infirmary. A visit gone wrong? A battle? A fight with his father?

"Of course," Bythus swiftly answered, "as it is an unknown illness, I fear what it would do to
my people, that's all," he pressed on, "and as such I would like my doctor to be informed of
its symptoms and of which cures have been tried. I wouldn't want my court to be decimated
after all."

Amphitrite remained impassable. "The healers are very busy," she answered in what Percy
knew was a strategy to take a few more time to think of an appropriate response, "but please,
do send your doctor to them. They might be able to find a few hours to explain what we have
understood until now," she smiled, "they have been in contact with the sick everyday after all,
so I am sure they know best."

The meaning of the goddess' words did not pass above his head, Percy noted, by the way the
Duke sat back in his chair almost ungracefully.

Bythus might believe that the unknown illness was a cover up for something- but would he
risk his people by sending his doctors between the ones who had been with the victims, and
then take them back to the Southern Sea?

Amphitrite was betting on the fact that his suspicion would be weaker than his wish to not
put his family in danger, but from the stories he had been told about the man Percy wasn't so
sure it would work.

And what if Amphitrite hadn't spoken to the Palace's doctors and was just bluffing?

He quickly and silently came out of his hiding spot, and used the servant's corridors to arrive
at the infirmary unseen, where he asked to talk with the doctor in charge.

"Are you the one who… analysed the bodies of the recently deceased in this Palace?"
Percy asked, not wanting to give anything up in case the doctor knew nothing about the
poisonings.

"Yes your Majesty," she answered, slightly bowing her head, and Percy's body relaxed a bit.

"You are aware then, that they have died of a rare and unknown illness, of which many of
ours are sick at the moment"

The doctor looked at him with a perplexed expression, and opened her mouth to disagree.
Then, seemingly changing her mind, she nodded.

Percy smiled, hoping that the doctor would soon overcome her confusion.

"The visiting Duke's healers might wish to come here to know more about it," he started, "I
believe it would be wise to build a sickroom so to isolate the patients and make sure the
foreign doctors do not get ill."

"The patients, my Lord?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

Percy slumped into his chair. He may need to be a bit more direct than he thought.

He stared at her hard.

"Are you aware of the delicacy of the situation?" He asked, and smiled as the way realisation
appeared in her eyes.

"Of course your Majesty," she answered with half a smirk, "we will isolate the patients
immediately and warn all the doctors that they might be contagious. We have neglected to
compile a list of the sickness' symptoms, but we shall do it at once. It's not something the
Duke would ever wish to take South with him, after all."

Percy expressed his thanks, and returned to his rooms passing first from the gardens and then
from the library, checking his surroundings to see if he had been followed.

Amphitrite and Bythus were probably still in the veranda, but Percy had risked enough by
listening to them before and couldn't afford to do it again.

He would just have to trust that she would tell him what had been said afterwards, that his
plan in the infirmary had worked and that the next council session would be easier, with at
least one ally.

There were many matters to discuss, since Lydos insisted the councillors needed to know
about the poisonings. A plan Percy thought would backfire, but he knew that he didn't really
have the experience and the knowledge to dispute him.

So he would have to listen and follow their advice, hoping that Flustra was wrong and that
they might actually care about the kingdom.

A dangerous bet, and one he could not afford to fail.

Chapter End Notes

Many things happening this chapter... Let me know what you think and if you enjoyed
it! The plot will move forward soon...

In the meantime, I am leaving for a two weeks holiday, so next update will be in three
weeks time instead of two. Sorry about it but I need time to make it good!
 Year I, November I
Chapter Notes

My muse told me to write a chapter full of angst, so I did. Be prepared.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The following weeks passed quickly, between banquets and meetings with various nobles
from all over the Kingdom. Bythus’ healers visited the fake sickroom and returned to him
with parchments upon parchments of contagious and invented symptoms, until the Duke
excused himself from the Palace expressing concern for a large monster hunting in his duchy,
leaving Atlantis in great hurry.

Percy had never been more pleased.

Amphitrite too, was content with how the situation had developed, but she didn’t trust
Bythus’ quick departure in the same way she had been perplexed by his earlier compliance in
swearing fealty to the new king: it seemed too much of a cover up and a distraction from a
plot that was progressing unnoticed by her eyes.

With the Coronation about two weeks away then, the Palace was hectic with the preparations:
all the invites had already been sent and in a few days the first guests would start to arrive
and expect all their needs to be catered for, the afternoon activities already planned and the
evening entertainment always different and new.

Percy did not envy the Palace staff at all, nor Amphitrite who had to approve of everything
and suggest new things when no one else could come up with new ideas.

His workload though, wasn’t much lighter: between training with the soldiers and discussing
with the generals with the aim of making them like him, he had to learn the steps of dozens of
dances, the customs of the various duchies and which of them he had to ingratiate.

If that wasn’t enough, the reunions with the Council weren’t going much better even with
Lord Damali’s silent support. Lord Nilmus never lost any time in belittling every single one
of his achievements, comparing how much it took to him to how much it took to his father,
calling most of his ideas for a reform of society ridiculous and impossible to apply.

And the worst thing of that was that none of the other councillors ever went against him, so
much that Percy was truly convincing himself that he was a terrible ruler and that he would
never amount to anything or bring any real change.

That was the mood Amphitrite found him in, returning from one of her decorating sessions of
the gardens while he was huddled on the floor of his study, eyes unmoving from the page of
the book lazily set on his legs.
“Everything's coming up nicely,” she started, sitting elegantly on the green padded chair, “the
guest’s quarters have almost all been prepared, the gardens have been taken care of and we
only have a couple of days of activities to plan.”

“That’s good,” Percy forced himself to say, the words sounding distant even to his own ears.

Amphitrite sighed and Percy spared a glance at her, entranced by the way the candlelight
reflected on her dark skin.

“I know it’s difficult, Perseus. But you need to try. Your father-”

“I am not my father!” Percy said, violently slamming the book on the floor. “I am not him,
I’m not as good as he was and I will never be! Is that what you wanted to say too? Well I
know it already!”

Percy was half-screaming by that point, but the goddess didn’t move a muscle.

“What I meant,” she resumed, never taking her eyes off Percy’s fatigued expression, “is that
your father had the privilege of never having to rule alone. He could share the burden.”

Percy stared at her. “You’re still here,” he said, not grasping her point.

“But I am not Queen. I don’t have the powers nor liberties I once had. Poseidon was never
alone while you-”

A new surge of fury passed through him, thinking of Hermes’ note, of the way she had
isolated him from all of his friends, from his mother and the outside world.

“You made me alone!” he screamed, getting up from the floor, “do you think I don’t know?
That all my letters can’t pass through the Palace’s borders and that you are behind it?”

He was breathing hard now, looking at the goddess and almost pleadingly asking for her to
deny his accusation, for someone else to have been responsible for his four months of
isolation.

But the goddess didn’t even blink, nor lowered her eyes. “What good would it have done to
you?” she asked.

“What good-”

“It would only have prolonged your suffering,” she interrupted, voice steady and unwavering,
“you can’t go to them. They can’t come here. You needed to be focused on learning how to
be a king and to do so you couldn’t spend your days thinking of ways to see them again.”

“And spending my days thinking they hated me was better instead?” Percy asked. Every will
to fight was being drained out of him and he felt exhausted, and uncaring. He had decided to
wait until after the Coronation to confront her on the subject, but as always his plan hadn’t
worked out as he would have wished it to.
Amphitrite winced. “That wasn’t my aim,” she said, almost apologetic, “I believed your first
conclusion would be that someone was intercepting your mail or a problem in Hermes’ aim,
not the thought that the friends you went to war with had suddenly decided not to care about
you anymore.”

Percy swallowed, and felt tears pickling at the corners of his eyes. Damn, she was right. Why
had his first thought been that his friends had abandoned him? That Annabeth had done so?

Because you would deserve it, his brain answered.

He swallowed again. “I have to go,” he muttered, and almost ran to the door trying to hide his
pained expression from the goddess’ vigilant eyes.

“Perseus wait,” she called, standing up from the chair and moving towards the door too.

Percy didn’t.

Flustra braided his hair with the easiness of a movement repeated a million times, his
surprisingly deep humming almost rocking him to sleep. The days had become so exhausting,
and he felt old. Being King of Atlantis wasn’t and had never been a job for mortals, and he
was finding that out the hard way.

“Do you think I should try to contact my friends again?” Percy asked, closing his eyes and
leaning back against the merman’s lean torso.

“I am sure they are very worried about you,” the boy answered, “and from what you've told
me about your mother, it would seem she does care about you. A lot.”

“So I should write again,” Percy sighed, blinking in the soft and warm light.

Flustra secured the braids with an elegant, deep blue pin and stepped back, not quite knowing
what to do with his hands.

“You should just do what you feel like,” he tentatively answered.

Percy shook his head, turning to look at the young boy. “There are obligations I have towards
other people. They say no man’s an island.”

“But the other people in your life are supposed to make you feel better,” Flustra said, coming
closer to him, “and yet when you talk of them there is only sadness in you.”

How could he explain to the merman the deep, aching wound that had substituted his heart?
His childhood had been filled with loneliness and boys who asked him to be their friend only
to mock him when he accepted. He had never known friendship before then, and while he
had still screamed with need, now that he knew what it was like to have other people around
it was even worse.

“I just miss them,” he ended up saying, the closest thing to the truth he could admit out loud.
Flustra came even closer and hesitantly grasped Percy’s fingers in his hand, worn by years of
labour. Percy didn’t move, and the merman stepped forward again.

“What do you miss about them?” he asked with a soft voice, and Percy closed his eyes again
and let himself soak in the warmth of the light, in the reassuring weight on his hand.

“We… we did many things together. I could share everything with them. And Annabeth… I
loved- I love her. She’s the reason I survived the quests, and the wars. She’s just…”

Flustra sighed, but he didn’t move away. “Maybe she can come visit, when the situation has
calmed down. Even mortals have come here a couple of times, and you are King. She could
live here if you so wished.”

Percy swallowed. “She deserves better,” he whispered, and admitting it out loud felt like it
was becoming reality just beneath his eyes. “I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay here.
What if it’s years? She can’t spend her life waiting for me. It’s not right of me to ask her
that.”

Flustra gently let go of his hand, and grasped his chin between two of his fingers instead,
staring at him with such an intensity that Percy was forced to open his eyes.

He couldn’t pretend not to know what Flustra was doing anymore. He had ignored his first,
light touches because he didn’t know how to deal with them. The merman was a servant, and
him the King: it wasn’t fair, it could never be appropriate for them to have any kind of
relationship above the grade of content companionship. And yet his hands were soft, and
warm and all of his body had missed the casual intimacy of staying with people he loved.

“Relax,” Flustra chuckled, leaning forward, and Percy closed his eyes again “I can hear you
thinking from here,” he whispered above his nose, and slowly, painstakingly gently, he
pressed his lips to Percy’s forehead with the lightest touch he had ever felt.

Then he moved back again, and softly wiped a couple of tears from Percy’ cheeks. He hadn’t
even noticed he had started crying.

“Think about it,” he whispered, and when Percy felt brave enough to open his eyes again, he
was alone in his room, the light still there but the warmth all gone.

Dear mom,

he wrote that evening, with his skin still tingling and shivering in a room that had never felt
colder,

I miss you. I miss you so much.

Sorry for disappearing again. Many things are happening and it’s just difficult to remember
that there is an entire world outside of these walls.
Mom, please, make sure Annabeth’s okay. Give her the strength to move on. I- I might not
come back. Please tell her it’s okay to live her life.
Mom, I am looking for affection where I shouldn’t. Please love me still, but let her hate me if
she must. I want her to live. I want her to live happily.
Yours,
Percy

He burned the letter in a fire that had nothing holy.

The flames ate it greedily.
.

It took him three days to gather the courage to speak to Amphitrite again, and two other
servants ended up poisoned in the meantime.

“They were trusted and allowed into the kitchens,” she was saying to her advisor when he
stepped into the room, “this looks more and more as a ploy to discredit the king, or to
eliminate all his allies.”

“Is it not possible for it to truly be a sickness?”, the merman asked, and Amphitrite shook her
head.

“It’s definitely poison,” she said, noting that Percy had come into the room and gesturing at
him to sit down, “unknown and from land. Our emissaries are now trying to find out what the
mortals call it, but their libraries are scattered and unorganised.”

Percy didn’t comment, and Amphitrite sighed. “That will be all for now,” she said to the
merman. He bowed to the both of them, first to the goddess even if it was against protocol,
and then he scattered away.

Amphitrite turned towards him. “If you are here to inquire about the wards against your mail,
yes they have not been removed. I believe it would be counterproductive.”

“I need to speak to my girlfriend,” Percy insisted, “and I will, whether you allow it or not. I
am just here to inform you it will happen.”

“You can’t leave the Palace,” Amphitrite hastily answered, “it’s too dangerous. Have you
learned nothing in all the months you’ve been here?”

Percy gritted his teeth, and the goddess pressed “Why now then?”

He opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. Could he tell her the truth or would
she use it against him? She already saw you at your worst, he thought, and she already said
you need to get married.

“If I stay here for years...” he finally said, “I don’t want her to waste her life waiting for a me
that will never be the one she last saw. I… I am not the boy that first came here.”

Amphitrite stayed silent, her dark gaze seemingly looking straight into him. “You still love
her,” she said, her voice blank of emotion.
Percy hesitated. “Yes,” he said, and the ammission healed something in the mess that had
become of his heart. “But love also means wanting the best for the other person- and I’m not
that.”

“So you’re choosing for her,” she deadpanned, and Percy frustratingly slammed himself into
a sofa.

“You told me I needed to get married and have heirs for the throne. Why aren’t you happy
about this? You knew Annabeth was an obstacle to this plan of yours.”

The goddess shrugged. “Not really,” she answered, “I was proposing a marriage of
convenience, of merely political purposes. There was no reason you would have had to give
up your girlfriend. Wives from noble families hardly expect fidelity from their husbands.”

Anger rushed through him again, and he felt the water around him respond to it, the currents
reading themselves to be pressed and twisted.

“I don’t-” he started, “I’m not like that,” he choked, “I couldn’t.”

He forced himself to take a big breath, and met the goddess’ hard gaze. There must have been
something in his expression, because her eyes softened immediately.

“There is a small cave, close to Long Island. It’s above the sea, but part of your domain. Meet
her there, do not stay longer than an hour and do not tell anyone where and when you go.
Clear?”

Percy nodded, feeling both relief and dread at the same time. Would he be able to find the
right words? Would he break her heart? A part of him wished she would tell him that she had
already moved on, but he couldn’t bring himself to even believe it.
Athena was correct when she had advised him to stay away from her daughter: he had only
caused her harm, and placed her in risky situations.

The rustle of fabrics of Amphitrite's long dress snapped him out of his thoughts, and when he
raised his head again the goddess was sitting right in front of him.

“I think I should go to the Winter’s Council at your place,” she stated, “you are still mortal
and the other gods won’t care to remember it when they’re arguing.”

Percy nodded again, not quite trusting himself to speak. “Are there particular topics you
would like to bring to their attention?” she asked, “you have a considerably larger influence
now that you are King of two thirds of the world.”

“I want the demigods to be fine,” he muttered, and Amphitrite clasped her hands on her
thighs, and sighed.

“And about the sea?”

“Tell Zeus to stop crashing airplanes when their tanks are full,” he answered, “the petrol is
polluting the water. If he refuses, tell him I’ll send him the bills for all the doctors needed
after the fishes have been injured by the plane’s parts crashing through their roofs.”
Amphitrite smiled. “I’ll also try to ingratiate myself to Ares,” she added, “who knows if we’ll
have to go to war soon.”

Percy felt like they were already in the middle of it, but he said nothing.

Annabeth,
meet me in the place we discovered last summer, at dawn. Be careful, you might be followed.
Please come and-

don’t hate me, he wanted to write, but he would survive her hate. He would accept it, if it
meant she could live freely the rest of her life.

-and bring no one else with you.

He sent the letter, without signing it. Annabeth would know it came from him, but he wanted
the possibility of denying having ever written anything. Who knows what story his
councillors would wave out of a meeting with a land demigod.

In the morning, he dressed with the plainest clothes he owned and pulled a thick and worn
cloak above his head, before silently moving through the servants’ corridors and passing
through the barracks before leaving the Palace.

When he arrived in the little cave the sun was barely shining above the water, but Annabeth
was already there. And she looked so beautiful, her golden hair bouncing upon her shoulders,
her face breaking in a big smile as soon as she set her eyes on him.

“Percy!” she yelled, and threw herself at him, tightening her arms around her neck when he
hugged her so tightly that he raised her from the ground.

She still smelled like lemons, like home, like family.

Percy swallowed. “Annabeth,” he started, putting her down, “Annabeth,” he repeated, his
voice breaking.

She took a step back. “What happened to you?” she asked, staring at him, “you seem…”

“I am King now,” he answered, “a king in the middle of a soon to be civil war.”

He could see the wheels turning inside Annabeth’s head, and stepped closer to her.

“I might never be able to come back,” he admitted, tears pickling at the corners of his eyes,
“you deserve better.”

Annabeth swallowed, and never looked away from his eyes. “I-” she started, a nervous laugh
building up in her stomach, “I knew why we were meeting as soon as I opened your note. But
I couldn’t… couldn’t bring myself to truly believe it.”

“I’m-”
“Don’t say sorry,” she interrupted, “Percy. Oh Percy, come here,” she said looking at his tear-
stained face, and hugged him tightly while he trembled in her arms. He had prepared himself
to be the one who needed to give comfort, but apparently she was stronger than he was.

“I love you,” she murmured, “and you love me. But we can’t be together,” she said, her voice
breaking too, “not because I deserve better. Not because we’re too far apart. Not because
you’re King.”

“Why then?” Percy cried in her shirt, “why couldn’t we just be happy?”

“There are many kinds of love,” she whispered in his ear, “I think Tartarus changed us, in
different ways. I had time to think and- things weren’t going fine even before you
disappeared.”

“We argued less when we were just friends,” Percy agreed, “but you waited nine months for
me and I-”

“And you didn’t need to”

Percy swallowed. “So we...broke up?”

“Yes, Seaweed Brain. But you’re still my best friend”

“So you don’t- hate me?” he asked in a small voice, and she caressed his cheeks gently.

“You deserve nothing but good things, Percy. And I- I do too. We’re good to each other, but
not like this. Like this we only…”

“Hurt each other more,” he concluded for her, and she nodded.

Percy wiped the tears from her face. “We would have stayed together if I hadn’t left,” he
added.

“And after a couple of months we would have been miserable but too stubborn to ever give
up.”

Percy chuckled. “You’re my best friend too,” he said, “please don’t forget it. Don’t forget
me,” he murmured, and Annabeth shook her head.

“Never,” she answered, and tightened her hold on his hand, before letting go and stepping
back.

The sun was almost out of the water. He would have to leave soon.

“Tell my mother I love her,” he asked, “tell the others I miss them, and think of them often.
Stop looking for a way to break the curse. There isn’t one.”

Annabeth opened her mouth to protest, but Percy stopped her.

“Just- just stay safe. Try to be happy. I’ll do my best to- visit again.”
 Annabeth was crying again, and Percy too felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

The sun was all the way out of the sea.

Percy gave Annabeth a small smile, and stepped back into the water before she could return
it.

Annabeth sobbed the rest of the day, comforted by Sally’s strong arms and soft words.

Percy cried silently, muffling the sobs in his arm while pretending to be studying, alone in his
room.

It would be a hard day.

It would be a hard life.

Chapter End Notes

Sooo... I can say nothing more than I'm sorry. All this angst just came out from me.
I can't say I'm really used to writing like this so I would love to hear what you thought of
it, good or bad that it was! I always considered Percy and Annabeth's relationship to be
rock-solid, so this is far, far away from everything I ever read.

On an happier note, I just got accepted into my top-choice medical school, so now I'll be
busier than ever! I have no intention of abandoning this story, so if you I don't update
regularly just put all my studying at fault.
 Year I, December I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Percy’s Coronation robes were of a deep, rich green, slightly lighter than the evergreen leaves
of a spruce. Every inch of them was embroidered with a thin thread of gold that drew an
intricate sequence of corals, tridents and shells all around his shoulders, his torso, his legs.
They were heavy, made of layer upon layer of soft fabric and gold, and they fit him perfectly,
closing around his body like a second skin.

He had been hesitant at first, when the tailor had made him try them on the first time. They
were so much, so much more than he was used to, and probably one of the most expensive he
would ever wear. If he had thought he looked sharp with a suit during homecoming, he was a
fool. This was what he had been born to be wearing.

The tailor, the greenish mermaid who had made his third task attire, led him in front of a
mirror and squared him up and down.

“Wonderful,” she commented, “but you still haven’t seen the best part.”

Percy looked at her with a curious expression. What could there be to add? He already felt
overdressed, and had needed constant reassurance that everyone was going to be dressed to
the nines, and that as the king he just couldn't not be the best dressed.

The mermaid came closer to him, and slowly draped a thick, heavy cape on his shoulders,
clasping it on his collarbones with a solid gold clip. As the robes underneath, it was skillfully
embroidered, with pearls and precious stones positioned in between the gold, reflecting the
light and making it impossible for other people to look at anything else but him.

Unlike the robes however the cape had nothing of green and the cloth was the deepest shade
of royal purple he had ever seen. It should have clashed with the green- two such rich colours
together would have never been worn on the mortal world, but here in Atlantis the bluish
light of the water harmonised them in the best of ways.

I wish Annabeth could see me in this, was Percy’s first thought after looking at himself in the
mirror. His second was the sudden and desperate realisation that in a couple of hours he
would be crowned King of the Seven Seas.

Just that was enough to make his legs tremble, but he also saw the following weeks of
celebration as his worst enemy. He’d have to make allies and-

“All set up, your Majesty,” the tailor interrupted, and Percy wiped invisible crinkles on his
trousers, and took a big breath.

“Is it time to go?” he asked the guard at the door, and the ichthyocentaur nodded.
“Everyone is already in the hall. The orchestra will start soon, and then we will escort you to
the entrance.”

Percy smiled at the guard, appreciating the fact that he had tried to calm him down by
repeating the steps of the plan, which Amphitrite had drilled into him in the past weeks.

He thanked the tailor for her hard work, just to pass the time waiting for the music to start,
and she beamed up at him, going on and on about how it was such an honour to work for the
Palace and the Royal Family and…

A faint melody started to be heard coming from the thick walls, and Percy swallowed down
his agitation and clasped his sweaty hands together. The guard opened the door, and sooner
than he could think about what was happening, they were already outside and walking
towards the hall, stopping in front of the tall, wooden door.

He knew what it was awaiting inside, and that helped calm him down a bit. There would be
rows and rows of the most noble and powerful families in the kingdom, and he’d pass in
between them until he reached the throne. He could do that. Totally.

He took a big breath, and signalled at the guards to open the door, then he stepped inside.

The music was much more intense than it had been, seemingly coming from every corner in
the room, while the golden sea foam of the ceiling made all the guests’ jewels shine even
more.

Don’t look around, focus on walking, focus on walking, he repeated in his head, while putting
every step in front of the other with a certainty he didn’t have. He felt everyone’s eyes on
him, judging and evaluating, and he had never been more self-conscious about his mortality
until then.

There were powerful people there, old nobles and old names, and he was just a boy from
Manhattan. How could he lead them?

The rows of seats ended before Percy was ready for them to, and he felt Amphitrite’s
reassuring presence close to his back. With the only thought in mind that she’d kill him if he
fucked it up, he approached the marble throne as he had done three months prior for the third
task.

This time though, he had an audience, and not a kind one.

So Percy took a big breath, and with his legs shaking under the weight of heavy robes and a
kingdom, he knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through
his veins in an uncoordinated dance.

His blood seemed to start boiling, moving through him at an impossible pace. It hurt, it hurt
like few things had done until then, but Percy forced himself to remain unmoving, and to just
let the power flow in him, without trying to hold it down. It soon stopped being painful, but
Percy could tell that it was still there, just waiting, just listening.
You are the sea now, it whispered, and the sea is you.

Will you accept the responsibility of it?, it asked, and Percy could do nothing but give his
consent.

Yes, he murmured, not knowing if he had said it loud enough for anyone to hear him.

A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head, and Percy didn’t even feel the weight
of it, too busy listening to the people, to his people chanting his name and calling for his
health to be preserved.

Long live the king. Long live the king, they sang, and it gave Percy enough strength and
enough courage to stand up and face the crowd. Amphitrite was in the first row, her glittering
white and gold dress flowing around her while she chanted with the others and stared proudly
at him.

Her mesmerising smile would be the only thing he’d end up remembering of the whole
ceremony.

Once all the party had moved to the lavishly decorated ballroom, food started to be served
and Percy tried not to show how nervous he was about the whole thing. Kitchen servants kept
dying and the ones who had been sent to the surface to investigate hadn’t reported back at all
in the last three days, when before they had done so every morning.

Amphitrite had tried to keep him focused only on the Coronation, but he had been forced to
explain the situation to his councillors, and they hadn’t been nearly as kind, or understanding.
As predicted they had of course accused him of organising the whole thing, of trying to
sabotage the monarchy, of it being a ploy to discredit Bythus. The representative of the Indian
Ocean, who occupied himself with matters of social health, had also called him “the worst
thing to happen to the kingdom in the last four thousand years”, and Percy had cried his heart
out after that one.

He had been assured then by the goddess’ advisor that they were sworn to secrecy in such
matters, but the threat of it possibly coming out still haunted him. What would it mean for the
Kingdom if an old noble or a powerful heir was to die at his coronation?

War, most likely. It seemed to be an inevitable outcome of every issue he was faced with.

“Your Majesty,” a young ichthyocentaur interrupted his thoughts, “may I present to you the
Count of Fladen Ground and his wife, the youngest sister of the Duke of the Northern Sea”

He gestured to two poshly dressed merpeople, who bowed respectfully to him.

Percy smiled, almost genuinely: they looked like kind people, but he was hesitant in giving
too much confidence to anybody. Amphitrite had told him that the Duke of the Northern Sea
was a powerful ally to have though, and his most respected vassals were an acceptable place
to start ingratiating himself.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he started with a warm tone, looking at the Count, “I
am a great admirer of your work, especially your theories on the education of mercentaurs,”
he smiled, and the Count’s expression turned interested, but also a bit wary.

Percy got the message: it wasn’t the right time to discuss it. “Let's celebrate today, and save
the discussion for later,” Percy suggested then, and the merman nodded, pleased.

“My lady, the tales of your beauty proceed you,” he then said addressing the Countess, taking
her right hand in his as he had been told to do, even if she was at least thirty years his senior
and looking desperately plain even in her lavish dress.

She laughed, while her husband tried to force his smile back, “Always the charmers, you and
your father both,” she said still smiling, “I know I am no beauty, but I still gave my husband
seven healthy children, and a working mind”

“And I shall cherish you for that forever,” the Count answered, taking her hand and
mimicking Percy’s earlier gesture. It was his time to laugh now, taking three glasses from one
of the servants and starting a pleasant small talk with them.

It was surprisingly enjoyable, even if Percy could feel Amphitrite’s eyes on him from across
the room, where he had seen her talk with the heir to the duchy of the Mediterranean Sea, the
third most powerful after the Southern and the Northern.

“I think you would get along with my brother,” the Countess interjected when it was time for
him to move on with the introductions, “my nephew is here in his stead right now, but I shall
speak greatly of you on my return,” she promised, and Percy inclined his head in salute as
they swam away into the dances.

“Your Majesty!” another voice rang from behind him, and he turned to find himself face to
face with a brightly-red dressed ichthyocentaur, his skin the same green as olives.

“He’s the Duke of the Arabian Sea,” the man who had introduced the Counts whispered, and
Percy nodded gratefully, smiling at the Duke and his young son.

“Pleased to meet you, Your Grace,” Percy started, inclining his head forward while the
ichthyocentaur bowed, “is he your young heir I’ve heard loads about?”

The Duke beamed, pressing his son closer to his legs. “My pride and joy!” he exclaimed,
loudly enough that the closer guests shot him disapproving glares. Percy chuckled slightly,
and the duke grimaced, stepping closer to the king than it was appropriate.

“I must admit, Your Majesty, that I am not yet good at this protocol stuff you know,” he said
with a cospiratory glance, “as the sixth son of the late Duke I was never expected to inherit
anything but…” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your brothers”, Percy answered, recalling the fact that he had
studied some kind of revolt happening in the Arabian duchy that had killed most of the ducal
family, “let me reassure you that your not following protocol is just…barely noticeable.”
Percy was sure that Amphitrite would be proud of him at the end of the night, because he had
never been this diplomatic in his entire life, not even in the Senatus: the Duke was a disaster,
starting from having brought his two years old son to a formal reception and arriving to his
tentative to pat the King on the shoulder.

He had been Duke for four years, and had learned a quarter of what Percy had in five months:
he couldn’t deny that the knowledge that he could have done worse did raise his spirits of
quite a bit, and the rest of the evening passed not pleasantly and not even quickly, but it was
more tolerable than it had been, and Percy knew that sometimes you just have to be grateful
for the little things.

The following morning started for Percy with a terrible headache.

He had retired some time after midnight, using his never-ending work and his human nature
as an excuse to Amphitrite, the only one who probably even noticed he was gone or at least
the only one who dared to question him about his departure. He had hoped that the party
would have quieted down by the time he awoke again, but apparently the goddess’ claims
that celebrations would last for weeks, weren’t exaggerated.

He groaned into his pillow, burying himself further into the covers, wishing and failing to fall
asleep again. He still could hear the music from the day before in his ears, the slow drums
and the acute voices, the faint tremble of the water where the sound had passed.

A soft knock at the door quieted his thoughts a bit, and Percy quickly rose to a sitting
position when Flustra entered the room.

He bowed, as protocol dictated, but there was a smirk on his face that even the Duke of the
Arabian Sea would have deemed inappropriate.

“How were the dances?” he asked, moving towards the heavy curtains, “did Amphitrite find
you a wife yet?”

Percy chuckled, unsure of what his position with the boy was after his breakdown two weeks
prior. Flustra had given him space, maintaining a cheerful demeanour and friendly
expressions, without implying that something more Percy wasn’t even sure he wanted.

“I think that will take quite a long time,” he finally answered, passing a hand through his
already too wild hair, “you know it’s going to be political, most of all. I don’t think she’ll
value much whether we’ve met each other or not.”

Flustra let go of the curtains, and came closer to Percy’s bed, who forced himself to stay still.
This is inappropriate, his brain was screaming at him, you must end this now.

“Don’t you ever wish you could stay with someone you...?” he gestured around, his
expression turning insecure.
Percy thought of Annabeth, of how glorious those first weeks with her had been, before all
had turned to shit again. He had loved her, but it hadn’t been immediate. Maybe it meant that
one day he could come to love someone else, maybe a person more fit for him that even
Annabeth was.

No. Scratch that. How had he come to think like this?

“Is everything alright?” Flustra asked, stepping closer, but Percy could not even find the
words to answer him, as if all the oxygen in the ocean had suddenly disappeared.

When he had first come to Atlantis he would have never accepted an arranged marriage. He
would have never broken up with Annabeth. Had he been manipulated into Amphitrite’s idea
of what a King ought to be? But Annabeth had said that their break up had been the best
option. How long would they have kept hurting each other if he hadn’t left?

“Percy you need to breathe,” Flustra whispered somewhere around him, his voice sounding
far away. “Come on,” and then there was something cold on his cheeks, keeping his head
upright and were they...? Hands, his mind supplied, someone is holding your head and you’re
not breathing.

“I’m calling a doctor,” the boy said, and as soon as Percy registered his words he gripped the
boy’s wrists thightly in his hands and shook his head.

“What if it’s the poison?” he insisted, sounding panicked, “just breathe. Just breathe and I
will stay here.”

Percy tried, raspy,choking sounds coming out of his hurting throat, everything fuzzy around
him apart from the coldness of Flustra’s hands on him and the warmth of another body where
for months he had been alone, and lonely, and empty.

“Good,” he was saying, “good Percy, good. Just keep it up, yeah? All is good. I’m here. All
right.”

Percy nodded, his breaths coming easier even if he was feeling as exhausted as after hours of
harsh training. He knew that his hands were still around the boy’s wrists, holding so hard that
he would probably end up bruising his pale skin, but he couldn’t find himself able to let go.

He didn’t love Flustra. But he was nice and pretty and warm under his hands, the only thing
that kept him rooted into his body, the only comfort after months of cold nights.

But he didn’t love him. Was it right? Was it right for him to-

The boy joined his foreheads together, still holding his face. “Want me to stay for a while?”
he whispered above his nose, tracing his cheekbone with his rough thumb.

“I don’t-” Percy choked out, aware of how close their faces were, “I can’t- we…”

“I know,” Flustra murmured, “but would you like to?”

He opened his mouth to answer again, and found the boy’s lips on his, soft and worn and
warm.

“Yes,” he whispered, and Flustra stayed.

The first days of festivities passed relatively quickly: Bythus had come with his wife, but had
refused to reside in the Palace. A worry less for Percy, even if Amphitrite wasn’t too sure it
was a positive thing.

“His allies and his vassals will see it as a distancing from the Crown,” she had explained,
“this is basically an elegant and legal way to refuse you his support.”

“Why even come then?” Percy asked, drinking his third cup of coffee of the day, “he could
have invented some excuse.”

Amphitrite sighed. “That would have been too explicit, and it would have given us grounds
to declare war.”

“Isn’t it what he wishes for?”

“Maybe he’s not ready yet, or your mingling has convinced some of his less convinced
supporters to abandon his plan,” she paused, “what did your councillors say?”

“Lord Nilmus believes I am becoming paranoid,” he answered, “and that Bythus is no danger
to us or the monarchy, since he swore fealty and none of the raids in the cities could be traced
back to him.”

“No, he’s too smart for that,” she agreed, “but I don’t like this situation.”

“I don’t think he’s behind the poisonings though,” Percy added, lazingly filling his mug
again, “he seemed to truly believe it was some kind of contagious illness last time.”

Amphitrite sighed again, and gracefully sat down in front of him.

“I’ll be on Olympus on the Solstice,” she reminded him, “it’s not going to be an easy day out
at sea. Will you be able to handle it?”

“Why? What happens on the Solstice?” he asked, rummaging through his brain searching for
some custom or tradition he had missed.

The goddess looked sad, but also a bit puzzled. “It’s the Haloea,” she answered, “or at least, it
was until last year. The Festival of Poseidon,” she added, seeing his confused expression,
“didn’t Lydos talk to you about it?”

Percy shook his head. He had never heard of anything of the sort.

“In ancient times it was a very… hedonistic celebration. Recently, your father spent the time
he wasn’t at the Council and the following days holding court to hear the pleas of the poor
 and pardoning lesser criminals.”

“Oh,” Percy said, feeling as ignorant as the day Charis had brought him into the Palace,
“I’ll… I’ll ask Lydos to discuss the procedures with me in detail later. I think I’ll need it.”

Amphitrite nodded, and rose from her chair. “Don’t forget to participate in at least one of the
afternoon's activities,” she admonished, “you still have many nobles to greet, and voices
travel fast.”

“Voices? What do you mean?”

The goddess gave him a long look.

“Just be careful when I’ll be away, will you?”

Percy nodded, feeling like he was getting scolded for something: there was no way that she
knew about Flustra though, and he hadn’t done anything else differently. He thought for a
second that she might just truly be worried for him, but laughed it off almost immediately.

Her first priority would always be the kingdom, the sea, the Solstice. Not him, the boy she
found herself saddled with, the constant reminder of her missing husband’s infidelity.

The worst thing, he couldn’t even blame her for it.

Chapter End Notes

As always, I hope you enjoyed it and if you have a spare minute to tell me your
impressions I'd love to hear them! All of your lovely comments always bright up my
day.
Have a nice week!
 Year I, December II
Chapter Notes

Bit of a shorter chapter today... but I think you'll understand why I ended it where I did.
Brace yourselves.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Three days before the Winter Solstice Lord Nilmus’ greatest supporter , the councillor
coming from the Southern Pacific Ocean, was seen walking with Duke Bythus just outside
the Palace’s walls.

One of Dolphin’s men was the one to make the discovery and immediately communicate it to
Amphitrite, who proceeded with a blown out interrogation in which it was found out that the
dolphin was there just as a substitute for another ill soldier, as it wasn’t his regular shift.

This brought out terrible news.

“None of the other guards admitted to having seen them together,” Amphitrite’s advisor was
saying, pacing all around the room, “even if the dolphin swore to have seen them next the
purple corals on the eastern side, which is not a blind spot for any of the guards.”

“Dolphin doesn’t think he lied,” Amphitrite interjected, “he trains and knows all of his
soldiers, and mostly chooses them for their fealty to the Crown.”

“To the Crown or to Poseidon?” Percy questioned, tired of people forgetting they were no
longer the same thing.

“But would he have gained from lying?” the goddess asked him instead of answering, and for
how much Percy still wasn’t sure where they stood, he couldn’t avoid but think she was right.

This, though, meant that all the other soldiers were lying and that they weren’t loyal to him,
that they had probably never been, from when he had spoken to them in his disastrous second
task to his Coronation, or maybe even from before.

He had noted on his first arrival to Atlantis, how Charis had been reluctant in lowering her
weapons in front of the Palace’s guards, but then he had ignored the issue in favour of more
pressing problems. But the more he thought about it, the more feelings of unease he had
repressed came to light, like Nikon’s weird behaviour when Percy had called the guards in his
rooms, awoken from Hermes’ arrival. Had he truly wished to snoop around?

Percy took his head in his hands, no longer knowing where the line between caution and
paranoia stood. He had blamed Zeus for always thinking people wished to dethrone him, but
now that he was king he was sure that if left to it for millennia he would become the same.
And was that a nice thought.

“This could also mean that it’s not the first time they have met,” Amphitrite suggested, “and
that the soldiers have just always neglected to report it as a suspicious activity.”

“Wouldn’t it have been safer for them to meet in a more secluded space instead of in front of
the Palace? They were doing nothing illegal but…”

“It was a perfect plan, I believe,” the goddess’ advisor stated, “by discussing in full sight of
the guards, if caught like in this case, they can’t be accused of secretly meeting. All the fault
of this goes to the soldiers who have never reported, even if obviously they are just pawns in
this plan of theirs.”

“So our hands are tied,” Percy sighed, “while suspicious and probably rightly so, it’s not
forbidden for a councillor and a visiting Duke to walk together and talk, especially since they
are both southerners. They would defend themselves saying they were discussing their far
away land, and no one could disprove them.”

Amphitrite stared hard at him. “I’m not sure it’s the right moment for me to leave,” she said,
“between this, the poisonings, all the visiting nobles and the Haloea...your position is still
very fragile, and there are so many things that could go wrong.”

“You know we can’t skip the Council,” Percy sighed, “it’s already bad enough that the other
gods know that Poseidon is no longer here. If none of the Sea goes, they’ll just take
advantage.”

“I shall make sure that the King is protected, my Lady,” her advisor bowed, “asking Dolphin
to always make sure his soldiers are the closest to him. The details of his personal guard will
also be reconsidered.”

Percy groaned, but Amphitrite seemed pleased. He truly hoped it would be enough.

The Duke of the Coral Sea was a tall, pearled skinned ichthyocentaur rumoured to have
successfully wrestled Charybdis in his youth. Servants who had spoken with his servants,
told horror stories about the embalmed bodies of various cetaceans and fishes he held in his
gigantic castle near the coast of Southern Australia.

Percy hated him.

From his boisterous behaviour to his awe of violence, he was just in perfect opposition to
everything Percy valued in a commander and a vassal. The only reason he had been
interacting with him at all, was that Amphitrite had basically forced him to, expressing
concern that the Duke would take his being excluded from the King’s personal presence as a
mortal offence.

A hard and generous use of diplomacy became necessary then, so the day before the Haloea
Percy found himself involved in a chess match against him in one of the Palace’s crowded
game rooms.

“I have once gifted my wife a cape made from the skin of a lion’s mane jellyfish,” he was
saying while Percy desperately looked for a way to lose quickly and end his suffering, “one I
killed personally of course,” he continued, “by strangling it with his own tentacles. You
should have seen how beautifully it screamed!” he laughed, finally moving a bishop.

“And did your wife appreciate the gift?” Percy asked, not really interested in the answer,
moving a rook forward.

“That bitch wouldn’t appreciate a thing even if it came from Poseidon himself,” the Duke
blurted out, his eyes scanning the game, “not like her approval means anything to me,” he
laughed, “she’s pretty and young and that’s all that matters, don’t you think?”

Percy felt sick. Were all the relationships like this, in the nobility? Would a wife of his expect
a behaviour like this from him? Most of all though, Percy felt angry at his father. There was
no way he had never noticed the blatant sexism of his society, and he had never cared to do
anything.

“I doubt I will choose my own wife,” Percy settled on answering, not looking at the Duke for
fear of just exploding into an anger he couldn’t afford, and the man nodded in agreement.

“A shame I have no fit daughters,” he commented, and moved a knight to eat one of Percy’s
pawns.

A true shame indeed.

The morning of the Winter Solstice, Flustra woke him up with coffee and a sea version of
croissants, and not bothering with protocol he then just sat directly at the feet of his bed.

“Today’s gonna be a long day,” he stated, nibbling at a piece of algae, “but I’ll be on the
sidelines all the ceremony, in case you were to need something while holding court.”

“Thanks,” Percy answered, his voice flat. Flustra stared at him a moment longer, then
scooped even closer.

“Are you worried?” he asked, and Percy shook his head.

“Not about holding court,” he answered, “but I don’t like the fact that all my councillors will
have to stay behind the throne while I counsel my people.”

“Will have to stay there and judge,” Flustra stressed.

“And judge every single one of my decisions, yes,” he sighed, “so that tomorrow they may
berate me of not being my father.”

The boy moved closer again, now almost sitting on Percy’s legs, “Maybe it’ll be your only
Haloea,” he whispered, “maybe next year you’ll be…”
Percy raised a hand, interrupting him. “Don’t,” he murmured, the words stuck in his throat,
“let’s just take a day at the time.”

He eyed the croissants, then decided against them. His stomach was all in knots, and the very
idea of eating something disgusted him.

“What is the dress code for today?” he asked, rising from the bed, ignoring Flustra’s hurt
expression. He had told him that their relationship could never evolve further, that as King he
should have never even gone that far, but the merman hadn’t listened, hadn’t reconsidered.

Percy hoped he would never have to break the boy’s heart.

“White,” Flustra answered, regaining his composure, “to express purity of intent and distance
from the horrors the people will present you with.”

What a lovely premise, Percy thought, and directed himself towards the bathroom.

The throne room never lost his charm, no matter how many times Percy stepped in it.

This time though, it wasn’t lavishly decorated, and there weren’t any places to sit down for
the guests: the visiting nobles in fact could only stay on the sides, between the wall and the
row of guards that went from the door to the throne. Amphitrite’s advisor hadn’t joked when
he had announced that his security detail would be revisited, for there must have been almost
fifty guards, half just from Dolphin’s army.

Percy passed on the carpet that had been placed between the two rows, and raised his eyes
towards the throne, grimacing slightly at seeing all of his councillors disposed in two
semicircles, one per side, dressed with the traditional clothing of the Ocean they came from
to show the people that the King cared for all equally.

He truly wished Amphitrite could have been there.

The Council had probably already started though, and Percy wondered how the other
Olympians had taken to Poseidon’s disappearance. Amphitrite was an expert politician and
he hadn’t actually made any great disaster, but the absence of one of the Big Three was sure
to bring about a shift in the delicately maintained balance of gods’ politics. He would surely
find himself forced to make an appearance before them sooner or later and he let his thoughts
wander on the unpleasantness of it all while he scanned the room.

Lord Nilmus was the closest to him on his right, and his suspicious friend was at his left, just
probably to make sure to be able to mutter insults that only Percy could hear. For being a
King, he had very few actual powers over his councillors: traditions and customs allowed
him zero leeway in many matters that hadn’t been relevant in Poseidon’s reign, for everyone
feared and respected him already.

Hadn’t he already thrown Kronos into Tartarus he would have done that just as repayment for
this horrible curse. The kingdom had been fine for thousands of years and of course, its
moment of greatest need would have to fall during Percy’s lifetime.

He nodded to his councillors, the sound of the trumpets bringing him out of his thoughts, and
sat down on the marble throne, its Emblems contrasting even more in the stark light of the
morning and against his pure white robes.

Percy swallowed down a sigh, acutely aware that every single one of his movements was
scrutinised by all the visiting nobles, dukes, counts and heirs. He looked for Bythus, but
could not recognize him in the crowd. It was likely he had remained in his quarters, for the
nobles were there to test his behaviour when faced with ordinary problems, to test his mercy
and his anger, and he had probably decided not to follow Percy on principle.

“My Lords, my Ladies,” he announced, “may the Haloea festivities start.”

The doors to the outside opened, and a row of poorly dressed peasants stepped in, reaching
more or less till about half of the room. It was evident they had never seen anything as grand
and lavish, nothing as spectacular as the golden seafoam of the ceiling, as the corals of the
walls and as the intricate mosaics of the floor, for their eyes wandered and their mouths hung
open.

Percy found himself smiling, remembering the similar reaction he’d had the first time he had
seen the room. The soldiers held no regard for their awe though, and they pushed the people
into a neat line, quietly barking orders and threats until they all fell silent, and the first one
stepped forward.

“Your Majesty,” he whispered, bowing so love his nose almost touched the floor, “I am here
today in this...sacred day to ask for a pardon for my son’s crime.”

“What crime has your son committed?” Percy asked. This was one of the typical questions
Lydos had prepared him for, showing him which crimes his father usually forgave and which
he didn’t, so he was fairly certain he’d get it right.

“He has…” the man paused, swallowing harshly, “he has stolen, my Lord, from the tuna
farming in eastern Japan.”

“And what punishment has your son already received?” he questioned further, mostly just to
show that, even if he would be pardoned, he hadn’t gotten away with it completely.

“He has been in the Count’s dungeons for over a month, your Majesty,” he answered, “and I
haven’t been permitted to visit him.”

Percy swallowed down a sigh. That wasn’t the correct punishment, nor the correct way to
handle the crime: he would have to speak with the Count, possibly even to the Duke if he had
been the one to implement the laws.

He mentally added check the legal system and think of a possible reform, to his to-do list and
pardoned the boy while his father thanked him profusely.
None of the councillors behind him made any kind of comment, and Percy had a short lived
bout of optimism: maybe the day wouldn’t go as bad as he had thought he would.

After the next four requests he heard, he was then forced to reconsider. Lord Nilmus had
snickered and chuckled during his last judgement, murmuring a ridiculous he was sure
everyone had heard, while his suspicious friend had shook his head and sighed when Percy
had refused to pardon a man who had beaten his wife.

The other councillors mostly stood silently, or whispered with each other about how
Poseidon would have handled the issue, about how the decisions he took were only because
of his young age and his inexperience. It hurt to hear, even if he already knew that none of
them was actually on his side.

So maybe Percy should have been more careful, when a hoodied man stepped forward,
holding his ratted cape tightly around him. He would have noticed how the guards left him
alone maybe, hadn’t he been worrying about what Amphitrite was doing at the Council and
about his own councillors.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“What brings you in front of your King?” he asked, when the man kept silently staring at the
ground. “If you are mute, there are interpreters at your disposal. Haven’t you been
informed?” Percy looked at the guards questioningly, but most of them refused to meet his
gaze.

Maybe, maybe, maybe, had he kept attention....

He was about to order the man to be brought outside, when he shifted under his ripped cloak
and moved forward, hitting the ground with his knees and swiftly lowering his hood to show
his-

Percy’s brain short circuited. Duke Bythus was kneeling in front of him, in ratty robes and a
dirty cloak and-

“You’re no true King!” Bythus yelled, while Dolphin’s guards moved forward and Percy’s
panicked and surprised brain made him try to stand up and-

Maybe, maybe, maybe, had he been more careful…

An arm shoot from behind him, taking his shoulder and forcing him back into the throne,
while Dolphin’s trusted men had started fighting the other guards, while Bythus was yelling
about his own claim to the throne, and Percy was so surprised and overwhelmed that he
complied, turning his head to the side just to see Lord Nilmus hovering above him.

Lord Nilmus with angry, shining eyes and golden dagger in his hand, Lord Nilmus so close to
him that he could smell the perfume on his robes. Battle panic was something he was used to.
It was something he was prepared to handle: the water would respond to his fear, to his panic,
and everything would be alright.
 Maybe, maybe, maybe, hadn’t he heard Flustra screaming from the other side of the hall it
would have happened.

But he did. And it stopped him. And…

And there was no time left for the ocean to save his king.

Lord Nilmus planted the knife straight into his throat, blood spilling freely onto his white
robes. Percy heard people screaming, he heard his soldiers fight each other. He did not feel
pain until his too green eyes met the councillor’s power hungry ones. He tasted blood, it
gurgled from his mouth and his throat until it was the only thing he could smell, and taste,
and think about.

Apart from betrayal, and treason and a knife that had hit his throat but that seemed to have
also been planted in his back, in that small spot his humanity had rested two years before.

He wanted to yell, he wanted to cry and scream, but he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe
and his mind panicked again, because this couldn’t be how he died, he wasn’t ready for this
to be the end. He hadn’t said goodbye to his mother, he hadn’t… And Amphitrite had been
right about him not being able to handle the fragile situation, but now he would never be able
to see her again and tell her-

“Take the King away!” he heard someone scream in the haze of the room, “-doctor! Take
the-”

The voice disappeared, while his vision blurred at the edges. With the last of his strength he
tried to press his hands to his wound, its bleeding increasing tenfold when Nilmus removed
the knife sharply and laughed.

There was so much blood. There was so much red, on his clothes, on his hands, on the marble
throne.

The nobles were running away terrified for their power and their heirs, the guards were
battling even if Percy could not say whose side was winning. They all had the same uniform,
they all wore the same colours, had the same weapons.

There were hands on him then, but he had no left strength to fight them off. This is how it
ends, he was left to think, and then the sounds faded, his mind stopped, and his vision turned
dark.

The sea didn’t though. The sea didn’t. There was so much blood.

It would remain red for quite a long time.

Chapter End Notes

I did say this story would turn angst didn't I? I'm so excited about next chapters...

Hope you enjoyed it and let me know your thoughts!

 Year II, January I
Chapter Notes

There are decades where nothing happens and weeks where decades happens... and this
is true even for fics! Enjoy a chapter full of... explanations, let's say.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

.
.
.

Poseidon was sitting on his mother’s washed purple sofa, his hands placed on the worn fabric
while he looked at him intensely.

Percy blinked, realising that he was sitting down on the half broken chair they kept out of
sentiment, and looked around at his own living room as if he hadn’t seen it in ages.

But he hadn’t, had he?

He couldn’t remember why, though. His father was there, so something important must have
happened. Or was it his birthday? He had visited for his birthday, once, even if he couldn’t
remember how old he had been.

There were quite many things he couldn’t remember at the moment. He looked at his father
again then, as if he held the answer to all of his questions, and pretended not to be ashamed
of the clear panic in his eyes that Poseidon must be seeing.

“Peace, my son”, he finally rumbled, and the smell of the sea filled the room, almost lulling
Percy back where he had come from.

He kept staring at him then, eyes sad and tired, so Percy sat up straighter. He wasn’t a child.

“What happened?” he pressed, “is it my birthday again?”

Poseidon sighed, and rose from the sofa, coming closer to where Percy was sitting. A part of
him screamed that he ought to be afraid, that he was a powerful god and Percy wasn’t in a
condition to fight, but the sound of waves in his ears was gentle, and unthreatening.

Percy found himself relaxing against his better judgement, while one of Poseidon’s strong
hands slowly lifted his chin.

“You are dying,” his father murmured, never taking his eyes off his own, “you are dying, my
son, and this is the only way I can make it more comfortable for you.”
Dying? His father must have confused him with someone else. He was perfectly fine. He
wasn’t even on a quest, just in his mother’s house. He opened his mouth to say just that, but
coldness suddenly engulfed him and he trembled, chills running down his spine.

Poseidon was still looking at him, almost desperate. “I..” he started, and grasped his father’s
wrist with his own trembling hand, “I don’t want to die” he whispered, and felt the god’s
shudder against his body.

“I know, Percy,” he answered, lightly stroking his hair. Had they always been this sweaty? He
hitched a breath, and launched his arms forward, desperate for contact, desperate for the
comfort of his father’s strong arms.

“What happened?” he asked again, “why can’t I remember?”

The god sighed again. “I think you just don’t want to,” he answered, “but it doesn’t matter.
You were asked too much.”

“So I failed you,” Percy muttered against his father's torso, seeking an escape from the
terrible coldness that had spread in his bones. What had he asked him, so difficult that Percy
hadn’t managed?

Poseidon didn’t answer, but his hand never stopped caressing his back. Percy swallowed
down his shame, and willed himself to remember where he had been before coming back
home and-

But his mother would have been there if he had truly been home. So if she wasn’t...the smell
of the sea became even more poignant and an image of Atlantis appeared in Percy’s mind,
even if he only had been there once when- no that wasn’t right, was it?

“You left,” he finally whispered, stepping back, “you left and the kingdom was given to me.”

“Yes,” Poseidon confirmed, not letting him step away too far, “there was a curse, from my
father. My other godly children have been hit too, but I know not where they are.”

His eyes still looked sad. “Could you see me? Being there at your place?”

The god shook his head. “I can only feel that you’re dying. I don’t know why, nor by whose
hand. Tell me,” he then added fervently, “tell me and I’ll make them pay at my return.”

“You may never,” Percy whispered, “you may never return if Duke Bythus takes the
Kingdom for good. He’ll destroy it.”

Poseidon swallowed harshly. “Bythus? I knew he was trouble,” he swore, and the peace of
the room turned into anger, then despair and then calm again when the god felt Percy tremble
against his hands.

He held on tighter. “Amphitrite was at the Winter Solstice,” he added, disliking the
uncomfortable silence, “the councillors plotted against me,” he confessed, “maybe I was
being horrible or arrogant or-”
“Shh,” his father gently silenced, touching his cheek with a calloused hand, “I don’t believe
you capable of being cruel on purpose. The promise of power made them greedy for what
wasn’t theirs to take.”

“Me?” Percy asked, confused. It was all so cold, and he was so tired of keeping his eyes
open. Maybe he could just rest for a while…

“The kingdom,” Poseidon specified, his voice rich and almost trembling, “they will never
have you, Perseus. You are the ocean now, and all of its seas. They shall not possess you.”

“But I’m dying,” he insisted, staring at his father’s dark green eyes, so similar and so
different from his own, “they will crown-”

Poseidon’s eyes hardened even more, and Percy paused, trying and failing to move away. “I
thought…” he started, looking as uncertain as he had never seen a god, “but you’d already be
gone. The limbo doesn’t last this long, not even with my power and your crown.”

Another kind of fear chilled Percy’s body and he pushed against his father’s hands again,
hugging his own torso like a wounded animal might do.

“I can’t die?” he whispered, fear wide in his eyes.

Poseidon stepped closer again. “A part of you is still alive,” he said, his skin regaining some
of its colour, “find it,” he then instructed, radiating relief. For him or for the Kingdom, Percy
couldn’t say, but he wasn’t going to argue.

He was so tired, and everything was so cold.

“Anchor yourself to it, Perseus,” he heard his father say, “you are the sea. You will know
when to land.”

Percy closed his eyes, focusing on the deep rumble of the waves, trying to listen to his own
heartbeat, trying to follow it into his body again. The smell of the sea was getting stronger
and stronger, but the cold was still there, chilling his soul. He opened his eyes again, but
everything was dark around him, Poseidon and his living room no longer there.

He sobbed, panicked and alone. But he didn't want to die. He didn’t.

There were hands on him. Warm, delicate hands, just on the other side of the darkness, so
close and so out of reach and- Percy didn’t want to die.

He closed his eyes again, and let himself fall into the void.

.
.
.
“-you know where-”

“we must...Lady Amphitrite is-”

“maybe from the back we-”

It was a confusion of shrill, panicked voices that finally made Percy regain consciousness.
There was so much noise, all around him, and he couldn’t recognize even one of the people
who were speaking.

“Silence!” a powerful voice intoned then, and the chatter died instantly. “I think he’s awake.
Can you hear me, Your Majesty?” the man asked, and Percy could hear him move closer.

He tried to open his eyes, to nod at his question, but his body refused to obey. Everything hurt
so much, and the coldness was still hard set into his bones. Where was he? What had
happened after his collapse in the throne room?

Was he still King?

Something must have changed then, in his breathing, for fear or pain he could not say,
because the man stepped forward again- and his voice was familiar, but damn he couldn’t
place it- and pressed a hand just above his heart.

“In case you can hear me,” he started, “the doctor is positive you will make, in time, a full
recovery. We believe the ocean must have healed the worst of it, even if…”

He cleared his throat, and Percy had a passing thought on how he was probably hiding
something, before the pain took hold of all of his senses again.

.
.
.

When he awoke again, it was to a white, empty room.

Percy blinked, groaning at the intensity of the light, and tried to sit up on the bed, just to feel
like thousands of sharp needles had been placed in every inch of his body.

How long had he spent in bed?

He looked around the room, but there was nothing interesting: a small wardrobe that had seen
better days, a desk with a dozen bottles on it and no chair, and a pair of slippers at the foot of
his bed. Nothing in the setting of the room was familiar, and all of the furniture seemed to be
shabbier than the one in the Palace.

At least, though, he was still underwater.

He tried to get up again, balancing himself on the soft mattress, just to realise he was no
longer wearing the white robes of the Haloea, but loose pants and an ever looser blouse. So
maybe if someone had been taking care of him, Bythus hadn’t managed to take possession of
Atlantis. Because if he had, Percy would be dead.

Or maybe it was him, who was no longer in Atlantis.

He was about to take a deep breath and stand up, when the door opened and his eyes met
Amphitrite’s dark ones, widened in surprise.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, frozen on the doorstep, and before Percy could answer she
had already yelled for a doctor somewhere behind her and had then stepped closer to his bed
with a guarded expression.

“What happened?” he asked then, when she seemed unable to stop staring at him, “how long
have I been unconscious? Where are we?” he pressed.

The goddess made a chair of algae and coral, and elegantly sat next to his bed. She looked
exhausted, Percy noted, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks and weeks, as if she had truly been
worried.

“Nothing too unusual happened at the Council,” she started, still staring right into him,
“everyone had many questions about your role as King and… not everyone agreed it was a
wise decision to let you rule.”

“But they can’t do anything about it, right?” Percy asked, suddenly worried about Bythus
receiving even more help.

Amphitrite shook her head. “The sea is not theirs to govern,” she explained, “and it never
will be.”

“Is it still mine though?”

The goddess sighed, and laid back against the chair. “When you came here in July,” she
started, “me and Dolphin had matching rings made, so that we might send each other distress
signals in case of emergency. You’re the first, you must understand,” she explained, “the first
mortal to grace Atlantis in such an important way. We needed to keep you safe.”

Percy swallowed the indignation that was coming up in his throat. I can take care of myself,
he wanted to say, but he hadn’t been able to, had he?

“I got back to the Palace as soon as I could, but everything was already in disarray. Most of
the guards mutinied, passing on Bythus’ side and leading his men to the strategic points of
defence of the Palace so that they could neutralise the rest of our army.”

“Dolphin’s men?” Percy asked, thinking back on the way they had been hauled as the most
loyal.

“Dead in dozens,” Amphitrite answered, “but he’s the one who managed to carry you out of
the throne room, away from the treacherous councillors and from the battle. I tried to join,”
she then added after a small pause, “but Bythus declared you dead and I needed to be certain
that you weren’t.”

His head hurt already, and he could tell from the goddess’ stiff shoulders that the worst was
yet to come.
“You were urgently brought to the infirmary, but you had lost a lot of blood and the water
wasn’t healing you quick enough. You died,” Amphitrite stated, her voice the firmest tone he
had ever heard from her, “and then you breathed again.”

“Father said a part of me was still alive,” Percy murmured, ashamed of his weakness, of
letting himself be stabbed.

Amphitrite looked up so fast her neck made a straining sound. “Poseidon? You saw him?”

Percy nodded. “We were…” he cleared his throat, “in my house. He said that he could feel
that I was dying and nothing else. And that I needed to find the part of me that was still alive
and anchor myself to it.”

The goddess looked almost envious for a moment, but then her expression cleared up, and
there was only sadness in her dark eyes.

“Anyway,” she resumed, “we had barricaded all the entrances to the infirmary, but the
soldiers were trying to come through, Bythus with all of his ducal army and the ones of his
counts and of his allies. Me and the doctor smuggled you out from a secret passage, while
Dolphin kept them busy.”

“So we’re no longer in Atlantis?” Percy asked, panicked. How could the Palace be in Bythus’
hands? Nothing he had done to prevent it had worked, all of his effort wasted, all the hours
studying diplomacy and reading history thrown away in an afternoon.

Would the Duke destroy all of Poseidon’s possessions? Would he steal from the Treasure
Room? What damage could he do to the ancient papers from the study and the libraries?

“We’re not in the Palace,” she confirmed, slowly, maybe unaware of his inner turmoil, “but
we’re still in the city, hidden in an empty house. There are rewards for all our heads,” she
explained, “but all the doors in and out of the city are heavily controlled and we couldn’t
leave, not with you unable to move.”

He nodded. “So Bythus took possession of the Palace and the army and the city. But he’s still
not King, because I’m still alive?”

Amphitrite sighed, and took her head in her hands. Percy had never seen her this devastated,
this out of control. Her always prim clothes were full of tears and stains (was it blood? Was it
his blood?) and her hair were no longer tied in careful braids, but loose and wild on her
shoulders. She looked young. Young and scared.

“It’s not that easy,” she explained, “he’s declared you dead. Many saw you get stabbed and
lose consciousness, and these kinds of news travel fast. The reward is literally on your head.
He probably wants to parade your dead body around.”

“That’s gross,” Percy commented, feeling his head lighter and lighter. It was all so much. It
was all too much, but he also needed to know how bad the situation was.
“He already reached the Palace through the stairs, and won the loyalty of the army,” she then
continued, “the first two trials. Now he wants to make sure you’re dead before trying to
obtain the throne, and then…”

“And then he’ll be King,” Percy whispered, “and it’d be the end.”

Amphitrite sighed, “He’ll rule even before officially having the title,” she explained, “I
believe he’s actually already doing that. He’ll declare himself a liberator from tyranny, your
tyranny, and use his considerable army to force the obedience of the duchies that haven’t
betrayed us yet.”

“We need to fight him then,” Percy advocated, “if we kill him his army will collapse and-”

“Not now,” the goddess interrupted, “we only have a handful of soldiers, and you’re still
recovering. We need to reassess our strengths, find allies and plan a war to take back what’s
ours. We’ll fight,” she asserted, staring right into him, “but not now.”

“So we do nothing? We hide like criminals? We let the people believe I’m dead?”

“The people aren’t fighting him,” she said through gritted teeth, “because, right now, they
truly believe him to be their saviour,” she scoffed.

Percy’s heart stopped in his chest. “Was I...was I that bad?” he whispered, not even looking
Amphitrite in the eyes. The doctor had come and gone, giving him a couple of days of
bedrest, but he felt like he’d be exhausted forever by merely existing.

The goddess scooped forward, taking Percy’s cold hands in hers. “When Bythus came in
visit, we thought he had believed the story of the mysterious illness spreading around. We
were too cocky, and didn’t think too much of the mermen we had sent on land to investigate
not coming back.”

“He took them?” Percy asked, feeling worse and worse by the minute. So Bythus had found
out about the poisonings, had declared him behind them, and now the people believed him.

All he had been relentlessly working to avoid, all the worst case scenarios he had run in his
head at night- they had all come true together, while he was injured and vulnerable.

“Perseus,” Amphitrite sighed, her voice soft, “they had understood what the poison was.”

“And?”

“The servants had been stealing,” she carefully answered, “from your private stocks.”

“I never had any poison!” he exclaimed, trying and failing to stand up again, “I would have
never brought-”

She held out her hand, and her exhausted expression made him pause. But how could she
even imply that he would willingly cause harm to his people?
“When you first arrived here,” she carefully worded, “the workload was much more than you
were used to. You asked for… help, in the form of a beverage.”

She paused, leaving him time to understand, and then she took his hands again, and stared
him in the eyes.

“Coffee seeds are poisonous to merpeople and ichthyocentaurs alike,” she softly explained,
“we had no idea, no one was familiar with its composition and we couldn’t identify it because
we were comparing it to mortal poisons...and for you it’s just not- not harmful.”

“What?” Percy asked, feeling detached, feeling like his body wasn’t touching anything solid
but just levitating somewhere, “I… I killed them?”

“You didn’t,” the goddess stated, her voice firm and sure, “you couldn’t know. No one did.
And you never gave it to them- they just took it. Hadn’t they stolen…”

He shook his head. “It’s not their fault. They didn’t know that-”

“You didn’t know either” she repeated, and Percy pressed his eyes closed. It was all too
much. It was all so much, all together, and he had no idea how to cope with it.

Hold tight, hold tight, he had tattooed on his chest. He swallowed harshly.

“So Bythus’ been saying I did it on purpose?”

“That you were killing the servants that you thought were opposing you,” she clarified.

“Gods,” Percy murmured, exhausted behind any point of recovery. “Is there more I need to
know?” he asked, and Amphitrite tentatively shook her head, and stood up from her
makeshift chair.

“Rest,” she instructed, “we’ll think on how to handle this when you’ll be feeling better.”

“I’m never going to feel good again,” he confessed, falling back into bed again, feeling the
goddess come closer to him.

“We’ll get through this, Perseus,” she murmured, “sons of the sea are famous for their
unwavering stubbornness. Don’t be the first to give up, mh?”

Her hand came forward, and gently moved a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“You need to recover your strength,” she added then, ”so sleep well,” she whispered again,
and left him alone in the empty, white room.

If only had he been younger, if only had he been a child, maybe her words would have been
enough. But he was almost a man now, a king and a murderer and a tyrant, and his night was
only made of pain, and nightmares.
Chapter End Notes

First of all, congratulations to Karmalex, who had understood what the poison was back
in chapter nine! I'm glad that the trail of breadcrumps I left in the previous chapters
worked.

Please let me know your thoughts on this new developments! All your comments and
kudos fill me with joy ;)
 Year II, January II
Chapter Notes

Sorry for the late update! Life got in the way.

I'm still not very sure about the ending, but I don't think I will anytime soon and I
wanted to give you something.
Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Dolphin has managed to contact some of his men still in the Palace,” Amphitrite told him
the next morning, while she was changing the bandages to his almost-healed wound, “they
have pretended to betray him, but are still on our side. They’ll try to let us leave the city.”

“Do they know some sort of secret passage?” Percy asked, perplexed, “what part of the city
are we even in?”

“Not as far away from the Palace as we should,” she answered quietly, “but we couldn’t risk
swimming further away, with you in those conditions”

She swallowed harshly, and gently continued to bandage his neck. “We’ll pass from the main
gate to the city,” she announced, her voice firm. Percy’s eyes shot to hers, but she raised a
hand to silence him, “there are thousands of people passing through. We’ll go during rush
hour, and I’m sure we’ll manage to blend in well enough.”

“How can we blend in when I literally look different than all of the inhabitants of the sea? I
have no tail, and my skin is surely not blue!”

Amphitrite’s hands stilled. “Mine either,” she whispered, “but we’ll be wearing rags, and the
guard for the inspection should be one of our spies. We’ll pass through.”
“I am healthy enough to fight now,” Percy added, “if they don’t let us pass, we’ll fight the
guards. Or we could go to the Palace and fight Bythus directly-”

“You won’t take this kingdom back by force, Perseus.The sea and its people don’t like to be
forced. And could you imagine what would happen if you were to truly die? Bythus would
destroy the Kingdom before Poseidon would ever manage to come back.”

“Couldn’t you fight him then?”

Amphitrite tied up his bandage, and stepped away. “My powers work with your father’s,” she
answered, already turning away, “and you will ask nothing more about this.”

.
Dolphin shrugged him by the shoulder, and Percy slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the
unexpected light.

“It’s late afternoon, Your Majesty,” he quietly spoke, “time to leave.”

Percy quickly dressed himself with the smelly, torn rags he had been handed, covering
himself from head to toe with the worn fabric, that in a far away time had probably been
vibrantly blue. Amphitrite appeared through the door, dressed in similar clothes but still
managing to seem elegant.

“Don’t speak if not necessary,” she instructed, “you still have a bit of an accent. Dolphin will
speak for us. If pressed, our cover story is that we’re returning home from the New Year’s
festivities and-”

“New Year?”, Percy interrupted, “isn’t it still December?”

He was met with silence. “You were between life and death for almost a week, Perseus,” the
goddess finally answered, after glancing at Dolphin, “and still unconscious when your…
condition had stabilised.”

“It’s the middle of January, Your Majesty,” Dolphin explained, “Bythus has not rushed his
instauraton as Atlantis’ de facto sovereign. His power isn’t yet solidified but-”

“That’s not necessary now, Dolphin,” Amphitrite interrupted, “we need to leave.”

“No, no wait,” Percy pressed, still confused. He had lost almost three weeks. How could he
have been unconscious for so long? The sea had healed him when he was nothing more than
a child, and now that he was King… wasn’t it supposed to heal him faster?

“Why-” he finally managed to whisper to the goddess while they were quickly swimming to
the main gate, “why hasn’t the sea healed me faster? Why was I even almost dead if-” he
swallowed, half panicking. Was it the sea itself that didn’t want him as King? Was the sea
itself that had concurred in getting rid of him?

Amphitrite seemed about to tell him to be silent again, but her expression changed when she
actually looked at him, at his big, pained green eyes almost completely hidden by the ragged
hood.

“The blade had been dirtied,” she answered, just as quietly, “which caused an infection that
made your healing more difficult and-” she paused, looking around to check that no one was
paying them attention, “and the blade was also coated with a slow acting poison.”

That someone had tried so hard to murder him shouldn’t have been a relief, but it was. So the
sea had healed him. The wound just hadn’t been a priority.

“Oh,” he commented, “so that’s why it took so long?”

Amphitrite bit her lip, and looked away. She looked like she very much didn’t want to be
having this conversation: had they been in the Palace, Percy was sure she’d have left long
ago, but now that they were in queue for the gates between hundreds of others, there was
nowhere she could run to.

Percy would have felt bad at pressing, had it been anyone else, had it been on something that
didn’t weigh on him as much.

“Amphitrite?” he repeated, trying to see her eyes under the heavy hood. “Is that the reason?”

The queue moved forward, and Dolphin threw them a glance from his place a couple of
mermen before them. Everything alright? he seemed to mean, so Percy nodded, even if he
had probably never felt worse, now that he knew the poisonings had been his fault, now that
he knew that the people and the army had rebelled against him.

“Did you truly want it to?” Amphitrite asked suddenly, so long after Percy had asked that he
wasn’t even expecting an answer anymore. “The sea,” she punctualized, “answers to you
now. You could have healed faster,” she continued, “if you had let yourself. But you didn’t.”
she swallowed, “I… I’m sorry that- that you felt like-”

“Don’t,” Percy managed to say, almost in trance. “Just-”, he breathed deeply, his hands
shaking, “-give me a minute. I didn't- I didn’t want to-”

“Of course not,” Amphitrite was quick to answer, “only a couple of bad thoughts in the
wrong moment, right?” She looked so awkward, even if her face was half covered, like she
truly had no idea how to handle that kind of conversation.

An immortal between immortals doesn’t think of death, after all.

And it’s not like Percy felt in any way inclined to have this kind of conversation with her. He
wasn’t even sure if she had stopped hating him. Maybe if Flustra had been with him, he
would have listened: Amphitrite had assured him that he wasn’t dead when she had arrived,
so that scream Percy had heard… could have been in fear, or maybe he had been non-fatally
hit.

Or maybe he had seen the blade coming towards his neck.

He nodded to Amphitrite’s almost rhetorical question. But he truly hadn’t wanted to die, had
he? It hadn’t been a good year alright, and he had just broken up with Annabeth, but she
hadn’t hated him. And his nightmares weren’t even as bad as when he had just returned from
Tartarus.

So, alright, he wasn’t happy. Now especially, that he had lost that little that he had had being
King of Atlantis, now that he had basically become a murderer… he shivered at the idea of it,
and Dolphin glanced back again. It was almost their turn, and Percy could hardly think
straight. But he wasn’t suicidal. He hadn’t been. Not since…

Well, the sea had healed him at the end. So that must have been a sign that he hadn’t truly
wanted to die. Because if he had wanted it, he would have managed. Yes, he nodded to
himself, yes he was just fine. Just fine.
“Next!” the guard at the gate called, and Amphitrite moved forward, Dolphin right beside
them again.

“Going back home too?” he asked them in the hearing range of the guards and then, with a
perfect southern accent, “Didn’t know you were here or we could have celebrated together!”

He walked brusquely to the tired and pissed ichthyocentaur on guard, barely raising his chin
towards the dolphin sitting next to him. “We’re all together, me and my neighbours. Going
back home south to continue with the celebrations, now that we can do it openly,” he
accentuated, winking at the guard, who snickered lightly and gestured at the dolphin next to
him.

One of Dolphin’s own men. Just according to plan. It’s going too smoothly, Percy thought,
but then also, why not? He had already been stabbed, and dethroned. Just for probability, now
something could also go right.

The dolphin quickly checked the general false documents and gestured at him to leave. Percy
went forward, handling the papers with an incredibly steady hand. He wasn't a stranger to
lies, and he had survived less favourable plans, but all of his instincts were still on alert since
his almost death and the awful conversation he had had with Amphitrite.

The dolphin gestured at him to pass too after a slight glance, and Percy breathed out in relief,
his muscles relaxing a stress he didn’t know he was holding. Dolphin immediately pushed
him out of the gate, while Amphitrite handed her own fake documents.

The dolphin took them as he had had with the others, but this time the ichthyocentaur on
guard walked right beside him, and Percy could see the soldier tensing and Amphitrite’s eyes
shoot to his. Go, they said, but Percy had no intention of leaving her here: if she got taken
back to Bythus, they both wouldn’t survive a week.

Dolphin stepped forward, hand on his hidden dagger.

“You have a pretty neighbour my friend,” the ichthyocentaur laughed, moving towards her, “I
wonder how she looks under these ugly rags, don’t you?” he addressed the soldier, who
swallowed visibly. The guard laughed again, and Percy moved forward, shadowing Dolphin’s
earlier actions.

“Take off your hood,” he ordered, stepping right in front of her, trapping the goddess between
him and the queuing peasants, “brighten up a bit my boring day, and then maybe I’ll let you
go,” he laughed again, looking at Dolphin as if to obtain his approval.

Percy growled, and the water tensed all around them, stilling the currents, quieting the
animals, preparing itself for turmoil: if the guard attacked Amphitrite, Percy would kill him
first, then they’d think about running away. Most of the other people wouldn’t try to stop
them, Percy reasoned, and they would swim away fast, far away from the city, into the depth
where he had never been, and they’d be safe for long enough to plan how to proceed.

Amphitrite slowly moved her gloved hands to her hood, and lowered it down, never raising
her eyes from the ground.
Dolphin’s hand shot on Percy’s arm, stilling him. The goddess looked nothing like she had
always been: her dark skin was now as green as pines, her curly hair straightened and cut
short.

She looked like a normal, average mermaid.

Percy stared at her, releasing the currents from his grasp. If she could change her appearance,
why even bother with the whole facade? Why even bother with running away from the city?
If she still had her powers, they could have even fought Bythus together, they could have
found a way to subdue the army.

Why were they leaving like cowards?

The soldier handed her her documents back, and Amphitrite reached him and the Dolphin
under the door.

“Let’s get away,” she murmured, but Percy hesitated, giving a last look towards the city.
Smuggling out had been easy, but he wasn’t sure they’d ever manage to set foot in it again,
when the mess of the passage of power cleared away and the festivities ended, Percy was sure
Bythus would enact much stricter controls. It was already weird that a couple of soldiers were
all that stood between Atlantis and the outside, even now.

Bythus might have believed him dead, but he was too smart to be sure of it. And even if he
had been, Amphitrite would have still been alive, and sincerely Percy believed she posed a
much bigger threat than him, powers or no powers.

Or just a bit of them, apparently.

He raised his eyes towards her, who was looking at him with a questioning expression.
“Come,” she repeated, and Dolphin gently grabbed his arm to move him forward.

Percy shrugged off his arm as soon as they exited the gate, distancing himself from the both
of them. It had been too easy. It had all been too easy, too convenient to have one of
Dolphin’s soldiers on guard. He couldn’t believe anymore that Bythus had accepted that the
soldiers from the King’s personal guard, chosen from their loyalty, had betrayed him. None in
his right mind would.

He felt his mind clear up. It was a ploy, it must have been a ploy, to get him… to get him
somewhere else, maybe where Bythus was waiting for him. It must have been planned, to
make him feel safe and then take away the carpet from under his feet.

“You’re not Amphitrite,” he stated, eyes wild, “and you…” he said, looking at Dolphin, “do
you know? Are you part of the plan, or have you been deceived too? Look at her!” he
screamed, when Dolphin kept staring at him in confusion.

Little riptides formed at his feet. “So what was the plan? Mh? You can show me who you
really are now,” he walked forward, “you don’t have to keep hiding. I know you’re not her.”
“Perseus,” the goddess hissed, “this is not the right moment for this shenanigans. What is the
meaning of this? We must get away from the city before-”

“Stop this!” he growled, “you can change your face, what tells me you haven’t done it
before? If you have powers, why are we running away? Why was I truly unconscious for so
long?”

Dolphin placed himself between him and the goddess. “There is no ploy,” he stated, “regain
your mind and swim. We can’t afford to stay here any longer.”

He tried to grab his arm again, but Percy shoved him back, and unsheathed his sword, the
celestial bronze glimmering in the soft, blue light of the sea.

He raised Anaklusmos, and placed the tip of the blade just under Amphitrite’s raised chin.
The people around them were pointing, and pacing away, some were probably calling the
guards, but Percy didn’t care: he was already in Bythus’ hands anyway.

“Who are you?” he asked, anger swelling up inside him. He held back the rage the sea would
answer to. Even if they had hauled Bythus as saviour, the people didn’t deserve to die. Only
the impostor in front of him did.

“I am Amphitrite,” the woman quietly said, her eyes hard as metal, “daughter of Nereus and
Doris, mother of monsters, wife of Poseidon, dowager Queen of the Seven Seas, ” she
paused, “and you, Perseus, a mortal bastard between thousands who have already lived and
died, you will step away and sheath your weapon now.”

Percy hesitated. She sounded like Amphitrite did all the times she had gotten angry at him:
only more serious, maybe this time actually ready for a fight. His whole body tensed in
anticipation, pervaded by an urge to let go, to unleash all the strength of the currents that
pulsed around him

“The guards are coming,” Dolphin interrupted, not daring to step between them, “Perseus
lower your sword. We haven’t dragged your unconscious body through the chaos of a Palace
in full revolt for you to destroy our attempts at saving your neck by behaving like a toddler
throwing a tantrum.”

“I have a right to know where we’re going!” he exclaimed, but he put Anaklusmos down, and
returned it into his pocket after a slight glance at the incoming guards.

Amphitrite stepped closer to him. “Do not ever dare to do something like that again,” she
threatened, and swam away towards Dolphin, who threw a hard glance at him and went after
her.

They were still his best chance to figure out what was going on. And if she wasn’t
Amphitrite… he’d fight her. He had fought worse.

He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and followed.

.
They swam in silence for hours, avoiding the main roads and sticking to the less trafficked
ones, trying to adapt to a non-suspicious pace but still moving quite fastly.

They were going North, Percy could feel that, could have even known the coordinates of the
exact place they were in, if he so wished. But there was no point in it: wherever they were
going, it had been clear that he had no choice but to follow them there.

The tense silence had become unbearable hours before, and Percy held still on his tongue
millions of words. If that woman wasn’t Amphitrite, who could she be? And if the general
wasn’t Dolphin, then who? And where were they?

She wouldn’t have left him alone in the Palace after Bythus’ uprising, so maybe she had
come to Atlantis, and had been imprisoned. But could the southern duke and his army,
unorganised and still half-faithful to the Crown, really beat her in a fight?

But also if they couldn’t- why had she run?

He thought back about her words, about how her powers worked with the ones of his father.
He had no idea of what it could mean: he knew she had been a nereid before her marriage,
and he knew that Poseidon had told him to trust her, and he knew what she liked for breakfast
and most of her day to day schedule. Was it enough? Would it be enough?

The water was turning colder, and Percy cherished the shivers that passed through him. They
were surely going North, on the opposite of where Bythus’ duchy stood, where he still had
faithful nobles. If they had been enemies, surely they would have tried to take him South
instead?

After another hour or so, Percy started to feel the weight of the day on him, the stress, the
tensions of the journey and the swirls of emotion he had been through. The others were tired
too, he could see it, but they were more used to swimming for long periods and long
distances, while Percy had never even been taught how to.

And for how much he had been, and maybe half still was, King of the sea, he had never been
the god of it: the sea is, was, had been his, but not all of him had been of the sea, and it never
would be.

Dolphin glanced back at him when he started slowing down, and murmured something to
Amphitrite, who hesitantly nodded.

“Take your hood up again,” Dolphin instructed, his first words after hours of silence, “next
village we reach we’ll stop at the inn to rest for the night.”

Percy nodded, taking the ruined fabric above his head, awaiting the well-deserved rest and
dreading a night in Amphitrite and Dolphin’s silent company.

But he had survived a well-planned assassination attempt: he could survive an apology, and
he could survive an awkward conversation. He would.
Chapter End Notes

A bit of a transitory chapter, but I hope you still enjoyed it!

I am taking quite the creative license with Amphitrite's character: her parentage is the
same than in the myths, and that's it.
The rest will come out... soon.

I hope I'll manage to update again before Christmas, but in case I don't manage, happy
holidays!
 Year II, January III
Chapter Notes

A lot of explanations, a bit of angst... and a new mystery!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The inn was a dark, decaying building in an equally ratty little village. Percy tried looking
around, to see if it had at least a redeeming quality, but everything seemed to be just seconds
away from falling apart, and there were handfuls of mercentaurs just sitting aimlessly at the
corners of the main street, probably criminals or beggars.

He instinctively swam closer to his two companions, remembering only later that maybe they
were the most dangerous of them all, trying to make him trust them just to betray him at the
last second. He would have to be careful, especially during the night.

Dolphin knocked at the dirty door, and Percy could have sworn that the entire building
trembled. He exchanged a glance with Amphitrite, and Percy felt completely excluded from
any kind of decision making again: if he was to stay with them, to trust them… he would
need good reasons.

A lucky escape and then having to follow a plan he had not seen made himself just convinced
him more of the contrary. His hand fell to his pockets, and his worry eased a bit when he felt
Anaklusmos’ familiar shape under his touch. Whatever happened- he was ready to fight,
against impostors and spies and soldiers.

No one came at the door, and after the goddess’ nod Dolphin pushed it open, his hand steady
on the dagger, and they all walked inside the dimly-lit hall, with dozens of tables and people
drinking and yelling and cheering at a couple of mercentaurs that were dancing in the further
corner from the entrance.

With their ratty clothes on, no one even spared them a glance, but Percy’s instincts were all
screaming about a nearby danger. He swallowed, and pressed the water a bit closer around
himself, trying to calm down: nothing had happened earlier, so maybe he was just stressed
and tired, but he wasn’t gonna take any chances.

“We’ll need rooms for tonight,” Dolphin then addresses a fat, old merman, pointing at the
goddess and at him.

The merman snorted. “Only got one ‘ere upstairs. Busy, the others you know,” he winked,
throwing a glance at the half-dressed dancers on the corner.

Dolphin placed a couple of little coins into his hand. “We’ll take it, and supper if you will.”
“That will be another coin,” the merman stated, squaring them up and down.

Dolphin hesitated. “Two more in the morning, if we don’t get disturbed tonight.”

The old merman laughed, an ugly sound easily shut by the yells of the crowd. “upstairs, first
door,” he answered, then turned his head and shouted at a young mermaid to bring them food
in the room.

Percy harshly swallowed again. The horror of working customer service seemed to be
universal.

Amphitrite looked at him for the first time since they had left Atlantis, but Percy refused to
meet her gaze. What if whoever she was, could also read his thoughts? Something was going
to go wrong soon, he could feel it: it was too strong for it to be just the tiredness.

They moved upstairs, and Percy hesitantly followed. The floor was dirty and creaking, the
walls were falling apart, and from the feel of the currents he was also positive that there must
have been a couple of holes in the roof.

Good thing that there was no rain underwater and that he was capable of warming the water,
or it would have been a really atrocious night, out in the northern January air.

“Go in, I’ll wait here for the food,” Dolphin declared, setting himself against the wall next to
the door.

Percy’s breath stopped. He didn’t want to get in there with just her. “You need to rest too,” he
tried, but Dolphin only gave him a tight smile.

“I will,” he answered, “but you two need to talk first.”

Amphitrite sighed, but she gestured at him to enter and when he hesitantly did, she gently
closed the door behind them and went to sit on a small stool while Percy awkwardly hovered
by the door.

"Sit," she instructed, but Percy didn't move, nor did he leave his eyes off her for a second.
Just a moment of distraction would be fatal, he had figured it out already.

"I don't trust you," he answered, "I don't… we weren't supposed to escape that easily. And
your face…"

"You know I am a goddess," she interrupted, "why does it surprise you that I can change my
appearance?"

Percy flinched. "Why bother with all the rags then? And if you have powers, why bother with
running away? Do you not have enough?"

Amphitrite stared harshly at him, her jaw set straight. "The state of my powers does not-"

"It does concern me!" He yelled, then quieted down when he remembered where they were,
"I left everything behind. Everything to come to Atlantis, and everything again now that we
are on the run."

"I hate running away," he continued when Amphitrite still stayed silent, "I feel horrible for
leaving the people with Bythus, for not having been able to apologise for my role in the
poisonings and I will never come to terms with this failing of mine until I know, for certain,
that I could have done nothing but escape from Atlantis."

The goddess sighed. "Sit down," she repeated, her voice exhausted, and Percy obeyed more
for abitudine than anything else, and sat on the small, uncomfortable bed.

"I was born as a nereid, thousands and thousands of years ago,” she paused, “Have you ever
met one?" she asked then, raising her eyes, and Percy nodded.

"Then you've seen that the powers they have on the sea are limited, if they're there at all. I
was… more powerful than my sisters’. Less interested in romance," she chuckled sadly, and
Percy looked at her with a questioning expression.

"Your father looked at me and liked what he saw. He was young, full of ideals, full of energy
and I… he promised me power, and freedom, and the chance to be queen. Love wasn't a
priority of mine. I accepted."

"Even if you knew that…"

"I didn't know. But I could imagine. It has never bothered me like it bothers Hera."

"Or I'd be dead."

She gave him a small smile. "When you became King of the Sea, you became the sea. I don't
think you realised this until recently. Maybe disaster could have been avoided if you had.
Maybe not. I don't know but- being the sea has increased your powers, your control."

"My powers?" He asked, thinking back on Poseidon's words, "not a god though, right? I can
still die. Right?" he repeated, horror slowly creeping into him.

"Not a god no, Percy. But the difference- when you truly were king, was only in your
mortality, in your mortal body. In all else…"

"In power I was like a sea god," Percy concluded, astonished. Everything had come easier,
but he had thought it had only been the fact that he was underwater was to blame. And not an
actual increase of his powers. Not that he had had much time to test them, but still…

Amphitrite nodded. "That's what happened to me when I became Queen. My powers

increased, and Poseidon granted me immortality. When he disappeared… I returned to the
powers I had had thousands of years ago. It took time to readjust."

"So now you had the powers you had as a nereid," Percy understood, "but you're still
immortal right?"

The goddess nodded. "I don't think that can be truly taken away," she answered, seemingly
exhausted.
But Percy wasn't done with the questions.

"This still doesn't answer why we run. Even if you had no powers- I could have fought
Bythus. As king I-"

"But you weren't king anymore, Perseus. Bythus dethroned you and took control of the city,
of the palace, of the army. Only the throne's approval was missing, and with you between life
and death we couldn't be sure he hadn't acquired it too."

She sighed. "When you woke up, Bythus was de facto more king than you were, in the eyes
of the ancient laws. Even without a crown."

"Because he had the Palace, and the army?"

"And the approval of the people, who believed you a murderer when the news of the
poisonings came out."

Percy was so tired he felt like crying. He didn't know what to think anymore. Amphitrite
seemed sincere, and her story made sense. But his instincts were rarely wrong and they had
screamed of danger so incessantly in the last hours. Was he truly just becoming paranoid?

"As I said before, your only limit as King of the Sea was your mortality, the short life span of
humans. It limited the exploring of your powers. But ichthyocentaurs live so very long,
Perseus, and Bythus has had time to come to know his own powers."

Percy swallowed. Bythus was a tyrant, and he had handed the kingdom to him on a silver
platter.

"His power increased again when he took control of the city, while yours decreased since you
weren't fully the king anymore. So a fight between you… We couldn't risk it, not with me
unable to truly help."

"But it will always be like this. He will always be more powerful and more- more king,
especially now that I'm on the run."

She shook her head. "Not if we play our cards well. Me and Dolphin made up a plan when
you were recovering."

Percy snapped his head up again, when a delicious smell of meat filled the small room, and
his stomach rumbled in hunger.

Dolphin knocked on the door, and entered with a steaming plate, throwing a glance at him
half sprawled on the bed and at the goddess sitting composedly on the stool.

"Made peace?" He asked, closing the door behind him. "I checked all the adjacent rooms in
the meantime: empty but it won't last. If you haven't finished, it'll have to wait until
tomorrow."

Percy nodded. He was too exhausted to listen to anything more for today anyway, and
gratefully took the plate Dolphin handed him, almost reassured by the certainty that
something would go wrong pretty soon.

“So he is away from the city now,” a deep voice rumbled, “good. It shall make the passing
less worrisome.”

Percy was standing in the hall in front of his father’s office, his ear pressed to the wooden
door. Another ichthyocentaur spoke then, more softly than Bythus, and Percy tried
desperately to understand.

“-soon. It had only-,” a pause then, and the Duke's strong voice echoing through the
darkness, “they won’t even remember him,” then the sound of people laughing.

Percy tried to hear more, but the floor was fading from under his feet, and when he tried to
grasp the door his hands passed through the wood, and he was no longer standing in the
third floor hall, but in the dimly lit veranda.

“Flustra!” he called, seeing the boy scrubbing the glass. But the merman couldn’t hear him,
and so Percy tried to move forward, to check that he was alright.

A woman entered, one Percy had never seen, and he stopped. She handed a letter to his old
manservant, who quickly hid it under his tunic.

“Hail King Bythus,” she said then, and Percy’s heart stopped.

“Hail King Bythus,” Flustra repeated, his voice monotone.

The scene around him changed again, but Percy didn’t have the energy to care about it. Had
he always been a spy? Had he always lied?

Had he truly trusted him?

Amphitrite stood in front of him, tall and powerful and almost glowing, Poseidon next to her
standing proud in front of a younger Atlantis.

“We’ll build a Kingdom from here,” he stated, and his voice seemed to reverberate all
around them, sending shivers in the water. Just how much power had Percy given away?

The goddess laughed, and touched her belly. “We’ll build a family first,” she answered, her
voice clean and limpid like a mountain’s fall.

Cities rose, and empires fell. Dynasties were wiped out, languages forgotten.

Percy heard the desperate prayers of drowning seamen, falling one after one in the water
next to him, while their ship sank lower and lower. He swam towards a man close to him,
trying to haul him out, to bring at least one of them to safety.

His hands passed through the man’s body. “No,” Percy begged, “please, no”. But the man
kept falling, and flaring, and trying to breathe an air that wasn’t there anymore. He opened
his eyes, and locked them with Percy’s for a moment.

They filled with fear, then they closed again, and Percy screamed.

And screamed. And screamed, until his throat was raw, and he was kneeling on a cold
linoleum floor.

Blue like-

A baby was crying. Percy heaved, and raised himself from the ground just to see a small cot
slightly rocking in front of him. He walked towards it.

The baby kept crying, but no one was coming for him. “They left you all alone, little boy?”
Percy asked, tentatively trying to caress the child but knowing his hand would pass through
him as it had done before.

His fingers gently grazed the baby’s cheek. Warm, and tear-wet, Percy noted with surprise.
He could touch the baby. Why could he-

The child opened his eyes. Percy’s eyes. There was a small octopus peluche next to him, and
his hand was glowing gold.

“The golden light I remembered,” he murmured, looking at himself and at the room he had
never lived in. Maybe his mum's old house?

The baby opened his mouth, but didn’t cry. “He will not last long,” Bythus’ deep voice
echoed in the small room, and Percy abruptly distanced himself from the cot.

Had the baby spoken? Had he spoken?

The words kept echoing, louder and louder. Percy tried to leave, but the room had no door.

The baby started crying again.

“Let me out!” Percy screamed, “Let me out!”

Bythus’ voice was loud, so loud the words barely made any sense anymore.

No one came for the baby. No one was there to listen to Percy’s screams of terror.
No one came. No one had ever come.

It had always been just him.

He awoke with a silent gasp, out of breath. The room was dark, but he still could make out
Dolphin and Amphitrite’s silhouettes from where they had fallen into a deep slumber. They
had left him the bed, he noted with surprise. And they hadn’t attacked him as soon as he had
fallen asleep.
Did it mean that they truly meant him no harm? Percy couldn’t be sure, not after the horrible
nightmare he had had, but his talk with Amphitrite had eased his fears a bit.

He got up on the bed, giving up on sleeping more for that night. The dream had upset him
greatly: Flustra’s alleged betrayal, then Bythus’ words coming out of his younger self, the
man dying in his arms and him unable to… to…

He swallowed harshly, and silently got out of the bed. He could run away, he suddenly
thought. He could leave, leave all of this behind, and hide in the mortal world. He could
disappear.

He threw a glance at where the goddess was resting. She had said they had a plan. Would it
work? Would the risk be worth it?

He was her only hope to regain her family, he knew that, and he felt ashamed of his own
desire to not care about it at all. How could he abandon the ones that had hauled him as King,
even for a little while?

He could feel the crispy currents gently splash against the inn’s wall. Just a taste then, he
decided, a minute of fresh air and then he’d be back

He softly walked towards the door, and opened it with a last glance at his two companions.
There wasn’t time to hesitate. He gently closed the door behind him, and stepped into the
dirty hallway, which seemed even creepier without the lights.

One of the doors was slightly ajar, but Percy ignored it, and moved towards the stairs, down
to the inn’s main hall where he could hear the soft murmur of voices.

He moved towards them, almost in trance, then stopped. He was human. He was human
looking. He couldn’t mingle with them: they would recognize him immediately, and there
was no way to know if they were on Bythus’ side or his.

A shiver ran through him. Poor people, with nothing to lose- they wouldn’t care about
politics. They would be on the side of money, and he had quite a big ransom on his head.
Why had he come out at all? He should get back into the room before anyone noticed him, he
thought.

There was a backdoor though, next to him, and he could feel the sea calling him from the
outside. There didn’t seem to be any danger nearby- all of his instincts were silent, and even
the inn didn’t seem that creepy anymore.

He moved towards the door. Why had he been so worried before? There was nothing to be
anxious about. The currents were gentle and calm, and they rocked him like a mother would
do to her child.

There was a soft light coming from the outside: Percy pushed the ajar door open, and froze in
surprise. “Wow,” he muttered, and fully stepped out, planting his feet firmly on the deep sea
floor.
Jellyfishes, of all colours and sizes were roaming around him and above him, enlightening
the dark and gloomy sea of purples and yellows and greens.

It was like stepping into an illustration of a fantastical world. “Wow,” Percy repeated, unable
to take his eyes off the trail of the lights. A purple jellyfish moved towards him, and Percy
raised his hand in a caress.

The animal was bursting with dormant power.

“They’re beautiful, are they not?” a voice spoke behind him, and Percy quickly turned around
and came face to face with the owner of the inn, who looked straight at him.

He swallowed his fear. He had surely been recognized- but the merman didn’t seem hostile.
Not yet, at least. And if he attacked, he always had Anaklusmos with him.

“Yes,” he answered softly, “I had never seen anything like them.”

The man nodded, and moved forward. A couple of jellyfishes reached him immediately, but
he ignored them. “They are only here,” he answered, “not to be found anywhere else.”

“Why?” Percy asked, before he could stop himself.

The merman shook his head. “There is a legend,” he answered, “an old tale that has been
passed down from generation to generation. My family's most guarded secret, kept safe for
thousands of years.”

He sighed, and looked Percy straight into the eyes. “I know who you are,” he continued, “the
sea is big, but news travels fast. You look like-” he paused.

“Like?” Percy pressed, feeling himself drawn to the man. The merman shook his head, his
expression pained.

“I knew you’d come here. They all stop here.”

“All whom?” Percy asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. Dolphin had chosen a
random village, hadn’t him? Or maybe not, and it was all a ploy: if this man knew he’d be
here… had he told anybody? Were Bythus’ guards coming for their heads?

“This is an ancient village, you know,” the merman went on, still not touching the jellyfishes,
“it was one of the firsts ever. My forefathers founded this inn.”

Percy remained silent, even if he was bursting with the desire to press for more information.
The innkeeper had seemed a drunkie old man at first, but now in the sea of lights he looked
noble. He looked royal, and wise.

“You should get back into your room,” the merman advised, “your… companions will not
sleep much longer. You had no choice but to come here- but the inn’s other guests would call
for the Duke without a moment’s hesitation.”
 Percy’s first thought was one of relief: the innkeeper was on his side. The second… “I had no
choice in coming here?” he asked, panicked.

He truly, truly didn’t like this complete lack of control he had on the whole situation.

The merman eyed the glowing animals. “Didn’t you follow their call?” he asked, “have you
not found yourself here, relaxed as you hadn’t been before?”

Percy’s panicked expression answered for him. “How did-”

“I hope you won’t see them again,” the merman stated, moving towards the door again.

“But they all did?”

The merman didn’t even turn towards him. “Go back up,” he instructed, and gestured at
Percy to cross the threshold again.

He threw another glance at the glittering lights, and stepped back into the inn. The merman
closed the door behind them, then slightly opened it again, leaving it ajar as Percy had found
it.

His eyes were drawn to the outside again. But where there had been lights- he could only see
darkness.

The merman smiled. “What is of the sea always returns to it, and is forever kept.”

Percy nodded, almost in trance again, and found himself alone in the silent hallway with
more questions than ever before.

It would be time to leave soon- and he still didn’t know where to place his trust. Amphitrite
had confided in him earlier though, had given an explanation and a promise to include him
more in the planning of things: maybe it was time to give her another chance.

Yes, Percy thought, but the last one.

Chapter End Notes

One day late but I'm here!

This will be the last chapter of 2020, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I hope
it will be a joyous period for all of you, even in this difficult year.
As always, thank you for reading! If you feel like it- let me know what you thought of
the chapter: reading your comments always fills me with joy, and it motivates me to
continue writing! <3
 Year II, January IV
Chapter Notes

I'm really excited about this chapter... enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They moved out of the inn in the early morning, in those soft hours when people are either
sleeping or too tired to distinguish between dreams and reality.

The currents were still cold around him, but Percy welcomed the sensation as a distraction
from his recurring thoughts about the events of the previous day. Amphitrite’s explanations,
his decision to give her the benefit of the doubt, the mysterious meeting with the innkeeper:
all concurred in making him jumpy, and exhausted.

His instincts had screamed of danger for hours- but nothing had happened. Were they failing
him too?

They swam in silence far from the main roads. Dolphin threw side glances at him and
Amphitrite every now and then, and the goddess looked worried, but always slightly shook
her head at the general.

Percy didn’t care. He wished to return to the inn’s backyard to be surrounded by the colourful
jellyfishes again: he hadn’t felt that peace, that calm in a very long time and now he had been
forced to leave it behind, as he had done with all the things he had loved.

His home, his mother, his friends, Annabeth. Atlantis even, with her complicated
passageways and beautifully decorated rooms, with the cold, marble throne and his ancient
Emblems. Flustra, and the soft hands that had unbuttoned his jacket and his shirt, the warmth
of his breath close to his own and the tenderness of his laugh when they had fallen between
thousands of cushions.

Flustra, who was a liar and a traitor, and who had used him to gain information. Flustra, who
now bowed to Bythus and called him King. Did he rouse the Duke with the same tone he had
once used with him? Did he reassure him with the same words?

The currents around him tethered, and Percy felt the deep waters of the open sea call to him.
There were sharks nearby, and a little village a few miles on the west surrounded by
anemones.

He had never been in that part of the sea, but he actually had been to very few places: in his
time as King they had kept him between the safe walls of the city, and before he had never
known how far, how deep he was allowed to go, how long he could stay without his half-
siblings attacking him.
There was no Poseidon now, no gods who could tell him what to do. It should have brought
him freedom, but it only felt lonely instead.

“Where are we going, exactly?” he asked Dolphin, just to break the uncomfortable silence.
There was only one logical place to go to, so far up North, where they would be safe for a
little while.

“We’ll ask for asylum at the court of the Duke of the Northern Sea,” the general answered,
“Duke Phaidros. I believe you’ve met his sister? She spoke favourably of you to him.”

“The Countess of Fladen Ground, yes,” Percy recalled, “we spoke at my Coronation. The
works of her husband were extremely enlightening, especially considering how young he
actually wrote them.”

“The ones on the treatment of mercentaurs?” Amphitrite asked, swimming closer to him so
that she could speak quietly.

Percy nodded. “He spoke of greater opportunities in the job field, of a better education for
those who can sustain one and of a program of monetary help for those who can’t either live
in the wild or work. It’s impressive.”

Amphitrite smiled, and it seemed almost real. “It’s not a bad topic to be passionate about,”
she commented, “even if quite a complicated one. When you’ll return back on the throne,”
she stressed, “we’ll set down a plan for it, what do you think?”

Percy turned towards her, surprised by her total support. “Why would you help me?” he
asked, thinking about how it had been impossible to change anything in the months he had
been here. Surely this chance wouldn’t be free.

She stared right into him. “When have I not helped you?” she questioned, and Percy tore his
eyes away, regretting the harsh way his words had come out.

“I didn’t mean-” he started, but the goddess just shook her head and distanced herself, ending
their conversation.

Percy swallowed down a sigh. She had helped him navigate court and protocol, yes, but he
still felt hurt by her hand in his months-long isolation from his friends and family. It wasn’t
her fault that he and Annabeth had broken up, but some nights he could do nothing but
wonder how things would have gone if they had had the chance to exchange letters during his
stay in Atlantis.

He would have found strength in her words, in her reassurances. He would have written I
love you at the bottom of them, not even questioning if he meant it or not, he would have
read of her attempts at breaking the curse.

He would have never been strong enough to let go and let her have her life.

Dolphin swam closer to him. “This situation is stressful for everyone,” he admonished, “and I
know that you’re just a boy and this may seem like one of your other quests- but there are
three quarters of the planet at stake.”

“I know,” Percy hastily answered, “it’s just that you- you all keep treating me as a child. I’m
not. I’ve been into Tartarus. If I had even a shred of innocence left, that surely took it away.
You don’t have to shield me from the fact that we’re on the run, without allies and without an
army.”

Dolphin sighed. “There is more to war than battles,” he started, “but I shall do my best to
include you more in our plans. You are the King I have pledged my allegiance to, after all.
We’re on your side.”

Percy nodded. It always reassured something in him to actually hear approval instead of just
assuming it, to have a vocal reminder that he had people in his corner. When those people
were your father’s wife and his most trusted general then…

“Do you really think Duke Phaidros will help us?” he asked.

Dolphin’s expression was tight. “He won’t sell us out to Bythus. But whether he’ll actively
help or remain neutral… the Northern Duchy has always wished for greater independence
from the Kingdom. Phaidros could use this opportunity to bargain for it with Bythus and
avoid a war, or maybe he won’t trust him to create stability and help us.”

Percy thought about it. If they wanted to have any hope of receiving support, they couldn’t go
there as beggars.

“Would we have something to offer him in exchange for his aid?” he asked Dolphin, but it
was Amphitrite who answered, from the other side of the general.

“There are no more counties we can give, not when he already has eight. Maybe we could
discuss giving them autonomy in the handling of certain issues when you’ll be back on the
throne, but it’s likely they would want something more immediate.”

“A permanent alliance would be the best solution,” Dolphin interjected, with the tone of
someone who had repeated it a million times.

Amphitrite glared at him. “We’ll see when we get there,” she said, and closed off the topic.

They met Bythus’ royal guards on their third day on the run.

It had started off quite like the other days- they had slept outside, covered by the sea flora and
by faithful fishes who had continued their routine and ignored them.

Percy’s back had ached all morning from the uncomfortable position he had been stuck into,
and even if in the sea he had more energy, he was starting to feel exhausted by the fast and
constant swimming. He had never travelled for so long underwater, and his muscles were
untrained for such a strain.
The others, obviously, faced much better, having lived in the sea all their lives, but Percy had
had no intention of admitting he was finding the pace of the journey too tiring: he would have
just gritted his teeth and continued, as he had always done.

Body aching and all of that.

But then, of course, things hadn’t gone according to plan.

No one had, apparently, thought of a plan on how to pass the border to the Northern Duchy,
controlled by Bythus’s soldiers strategically placed near a heavily populated area, so that
Percy could leave ideas of mass destruction out of his mind.

The only way to cross into the Northern Duchy was to pass unrecognised through the city
gates, then across the city itself, then out of the city gates and then through the heavily
controlled border: they had noticed the guards too late in the entrance queue for them to be
able to get out of it without drawing attention to themselves.

“Wasn’t the border like this before?” Percy quietly asked, and he felt Amphitrite shook her
head.

“People generally passed from the city before crossing it, but it wasn’t mandatory.” she
paused, turning to look at him, “Think of this city as your mortal airports' malls- there are
shops selling typical foods, gifts to bring relatives in other duchies, or even just shops where
to buy warmer clothes for the cold northern climate. It was kind of...as you say, a tourist
stop?”

Percy nodded. It made sense. “I understand. But if now all must pass from here…” he looked
around himself, searching for the right words, “there aren’t as many people as I would
expect.”

“It’s a very unstable period, Percy,” Dolphin interjected, “folks know that civil war is not a
very distant possibility. They’re scared. They’re not really in the mood for holidays.”

“And there are other cities like this,” Amphitrite added, “the border is quite wide.”

“Alright,” he started, trying to quiet down his anxiety, “ideas on how to get past it?”

Dolphin squared his shoulders. “We’ll try to pass without raising suspicions. And if we
can’t…there shouldn’t be too many guards, and we’ll be out of their reach as soon as we
manage to cross.”

“So we’ll fight,” Percy concluded, “good. I haven’t trained all that time to just observe.”

“You’re still far from good at fighting underwater though,” Amphitrite observed quietly,
“don’t take offence,” she then added, “but you’ve been here just six months, and you have yet
to be used to the difference from land.”

“So don’t be cocky,” Dolphin commanded, “we’ll all fight, but at the first sign of trouble, you
run to the Duke’s Palace.”
“I won’t leave you here!”

“You will, if necessary,” Amphitrite ordered, her tone made of steel. “Promise us you will.”

“Or?” Percy challenged, staring at them. What cards did they have against him?

“Or I will knock you out cold just here, just now and carry you across the border in a sack of
flour,” Dolphin threatened, placing his hand on top of where Percy knew his dagger was.

“I’d fight you,” he answered.

“A fight in the entrance queue,” Amphitrite deadpanned, “who would ever notice it?”

Percy crossed his arms, and Dolphin sighed.

“You need to understand that your life is not just yours now, Perseus. It’s of the entire
Kingdom, and it needs to be preserved with the utmost care. You can not be taken by Bythus.
If you are, he'll kill you, and he’ll make a show of it, don’t doubt it, then he will destroy what
your father has worked for millennia to build.”

“And neither Poseidon, nor my children will ever be able to come back. Do you want Bythus
and his line to sit in your father’s throne on Olympus for the rest of eternity?”

Percy flinched. He hated how big the whole situation looked when put on those terms. He
had managed to cope thinking of a day at the time, but this… this was more than he could
comprehend, and make his. How many times had they repeated it to him? How many times
he still wouldn’t grasp the fact that his life now was their number one priority?

“I promise I’ll run away, if necessary,” he mumbled, and saw the goddess nod next to him.

In the meantime, they had almost arrived at the city’s door, and the queue was thinning in
front of them.

“There doesn’t seem to be guards,” Percy noted, looking at both sides of the giant entrance.

“They’re not at ground level,” Dolphin answered, “look in the turrets. They’re marching all
around the walls.”

“Archers,” Percy concluded, and Amphitrite nodded. “They’ll ask for the documents at the
exit, for sure. Let’s just be ready.”

The queue went on again, and Percy’s instincts were on fire.

They moved forward. They reached the door.

The guards didn’t shoot. Didn’t even seem to notice they were there.

They passed through the door, and were swiftly engulfed in the chaos of the city, full of
people and merchants.
Percy let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It won’t be too difficult to pass
unnoticed, with all these people,” he whispered, and Dolphin smiled tightly.

“The worst part is yet to come,” he answered.

Way to raise morals, Percy thought, but he didn’t protest when Amphitrite grabbed his arm to
swim with him and make sure they didn’t get separated in the crowd: the last thing he needed
was to find himself alone to handle the whole situation.

The square in front of the entrance door was enormous, and it bursted with life, and colours.
Percy was loving it, despite everything: it looked like the neighbourhoods of Atlantis he had
never been allowed to visit, those with real people living in it, not posh nobles.

Percy had grown up in a poor part of Manhattan. For how many crowns and titles they could
style on him, he would never truly be one of them. Or at least, a part of him hoped so. Hoped
that he would not let himself be changed too much.

He was going to ask Amphitrite how many actually lived in that city, when a horrible
screeching sound interrupted him. He turned around, but he couldn’t see anything: people had
started to push, and yell, and curse, and he looked questioningly at Dolphin.

The screeching sound continued.

“They’re closing the doors,” Amphitrite’s panicked voice cut through the noise, “they’re
closing us inside.”

“We need to get out of here before we get trampled,” she then hissed, tightening her hold on
his arm and pushing towards the main street out of the square and turning left, and then right,
and then left again.

“Do you think they recognized us?” Percy turned to ask Dolphin, who was stuck between
strangers pressing against him from all sides.

He didn’t answer him. “Amphitrite where are we going?” he asked instead, freeing himself
from the two mermen, “it’s not safe to stay between the mob, the guards-”

“I know it’s not safe,” she interrupted, “I’m trying to find some kind of back alley but I’ve
only passed from here once, and with high honours. Surely not in the middle of-”

“Just follow me then,” Percy interjected, “I know how to distinguish a good part of the city
from a bad one. I’ll find an empty corner where we can stay until the situation calms down.”

“You’ve never been here,” Dolphin accused, at the same moment that Amphitrite answered
“Alright.”

They looked at each other, but Percy didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed both of their
arms.

The people were running wildly around. “They closed the exit too!”, someone yelled, while
others were closing himself in their houses, doubly locking the doors.
Dolphin swore, while Percy quickly tried to move them away from the main streets.

“They can’t do that,” Amphitrite murmured, looking up, “it’s illegal. We made it illegal.”

“Your laws have no power anymore,” Dolphin answered. “Bythus is a tyrant. You know how
he has ruled the South all these years.”

“Yes but this-,” she swallowed harshly, “Dolphin there must be thousands of his own people
here, and the guards can’t even have been sure it was really us and-”

“I know,” Dolphin said, and he sounded scared, “maybe Percy will be able to keep it out of
the bubble”

“The bubble?” he asked, only half-listening. Moving through the hordes of people and trying
to find a quieter spot was an all-consuming activity. He couldn’t afford distractions.

“But he can’t!” Amphitrite exclaimed, “they’d know he’s here immediately, and they’d call
for reinforcements. We can’t know how long he’d be able to hold it, or even if he can at all,
and while fighting, even!”

“He could just do it for us then,” Dolphin proposed, and Amphitrite sighed.

“You think he would?” she asked, and Dolphin stomped his tail in frustration.

“Then we die,” he said, just as Percy turned into a dimly-lit alley, full of algae and plastic but
empty of people.

He stopped there, and let go of their arms. He was exhausted, and while the alley was empty,
it was not quiet: the screams and yells of the people could still be heard, and even the sound
of smashing windows.

“What’s the bubble?” he repeated.

“Sea cities are enclosed also from above, having just perimetral walls would not make sense
when you can safely bypass them by not swimming at ground level,” Dolphin answered, and
Percy remembered suddenly to have read it in his studies.

“Ah yes, and to protect the city from the harsher currents,” he added, and the general nodded,
but didn’t go on.

Percy looked at Amphitrite. “They’re sealing all of us inside. The guards might have been
waiting for us. Maybe we had been followed, or recognized without us noticing. It doesn’t
matter,” she then added, “it’s too late.”

“But they’ll reopen them eventually, no? Or we can just fight the guards as we had said.”

“The guards will have stayed outside,” Dolphin answered, “do you remember how the war in
Mar de Grau ended in the thirteenth century?”
 Percy’s mind went blank. He didn’t even remember having studied such a war. He shook his
head, and Dolphin’s shoulders slumped even more.

“With a siege of the main fortress,” he explained, “the inhabitants had resources, and they
were stubborn. The besieging army was getting restless, the… the generals knew the men
wouldn’t remain obediently for long”

His voice trembled. “The bubble worked, and still works, as a way to filter the fresh water
that is entering the city and expel the old one, to make sure there is always enough oxygen to
breathe in comfortably,” he paused and Percy nodded at his explanation, urging him on.

Amphitrite placed a hand on his arm as a gesture of comfort, and the old general hesitantly
continued.

“We-” he flinched, “they put poison in the bubble’s filters. The clean water was all expelled
and substituted with the toxic one in the matter of an hour or so. All the inhabitants died...the
women, the children- they all drowned slowly, with agonising screams, begging for mercy.”

Dolphin was now basically hugging himself. “You were there?” Percy asked, but his pained
expression was answer enough. It had been centuries, and he still carried heavy with him the
weight of what he had done, of what he had seen.

“There was no law against it at the time,” Amphitrite gently added, “but your father made it
illegal for his army to ever do such a thing again. No matter how badly we were losing- it
never happened again.”

Percy nodded. For how much his morals told him he should feel at least a little hate for the
old general… he only felt pity, and hated the fact that he understood, that he didn’t think it
was something he would ever do but… he wasn’t even naive enough to think that the sea was
a stranger to slaughters, and genocides.

“And you’re sure this is what they’re doing now?” he asked, still not fully grasping the
seriety of the situation, “maybe they’ll just send the guards in to look for us, and have closed
everything not to let us escape.”

Amphitrite looked hopeful at Dolphin, but he just shook his head in defeat. “The screeching
sound-” he stated, “the screeching sound of before weren’t the doors closing. I still have it
impressed in my mind from-” he paused, “-it was the sound of the filters being tempered
with.”

Percy slumped to the ground, and between the chaos of a dying city, he closed his eyes and
prayed.

Chapter End Notes

So the plot goes on...

Thank you as always for all your kudos and your lovely comments! Reading your words
is always one of the best parts of my day. I hope you all had a good festive period, and
that all your loved ones stayed safe!
 Year II, January V, March I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“I think I’ll be able to keep the poison out of the water,” Percy declared, resisting the urge to
hug his knees to his chest, “I’ve controlled poison before. It’s a bit tiring, but I’ll manage.”

“They will know we’re here,” Amphitrite opposed, but there was no real conviction in it.

Dolphin shook his head anyway. “They already do,” he answered, “the most important thing
is to find a way to open the doors quickly now: you can keep the poison out but there still
will be no fresh water and with this many people…”

Amphitrite sighed. “I think we’ll need to risk it, and try to rally the people to us. Dolphin,
we’ll go back to the main square, and we’ll drop all these rags. I am the former Queen of
Atlantis, and you are its greatest general.”

“What if they’re on Bythus’s side?” Percy asked.

“Bythus, the one who is currently trying to kill them and their families?” she shook her head,
“even if they liked him better than you… they won’t betray me. I was loved once, as more
than Poseidon’s wife.”

“You need to go towards the exit doors,” Dolphin added then, “and do your best to keep the
poison out of the way. As soon as we open the doors then, you run.”

Percy stood up, a protest dying on his lips. He had promised he would save himself, but only
if strictly necessary. If he had a way he would…

“You’re not coming inside to check on us, you’re not going to look for us in the crowd.
Across the border, you’ll be safe from Bythus’ laws but not from those loyal to him. Run
straight to the Duke’s palace. Alright?”

He nodded. There was no time to argue.

“If we don’t see each other again,” he said while giving a last look at Amphitrite, now
looking again as she did as a goddess, “thank you.”

Dolphin grabbed his arm, and squeezed. Amphitrite smiled.

“Go,” she murmured, and Percy did.

The filters hadn’t been poisoned for long enough for the water to be already polluted, but the
people were already screaming, and despairing.
Percy swam as fast as he could between them, trying to ignore their cries and their prayers.
He would be able to help them, he would be able to save all of them.

He needed to convince himself of that.

The sound of waves hitting the shore rang through his ears while he tried to concentrate
himself on the poison, trying to sense it in the water.

He was King, once. He was the sea, he was of the sea. Molded by currents, shaped by
hurricanes, trained by the best the waters could offer.

The people seemed to quiet down around him, while he kneeled in an alley close to where the
border was. He concentrated on the burning feeling he had felt when he had touched his
father’s throne on Olympus and then his throne in Atlantis, on the flames that had run
through his veins.

Power, he thought, he needed more.

(The ocean is more than a hundred million square miles wide. The ocean is thousands of
leagues deep, and cold, and unforgiving. What it wants, it takes. What it takes, it keeps)

(The ocean has forgotten how to be young, but Percy was a child not so long ago and there is
a wilderness in youth, a wilderness that can never be tamed.)

The world stopped.

Percy felt everything. Dozens, dozens of currents crushing against the walls of the city, clean,
vibrant water opposed to the sickly one that was spreading inside the bubble. Thousands of
fishes, thousands of merpeople and ichthyocentaurs and everything in between, breathing,
crying, living.

His body felt on fire, every inch on it bursting with light. He hadn’t used his powers on such
a massive scale since the Mount Saint Helena disaster. He hadn’t dared to but now… the
poison had no place there.

What the sea takes, it keeps, the innkeeper had said.

(but what happens to what is not wanted?)

People were chanting something. It seemed like a song, it felt like a prayer. Percy hoped that
Amphitrite and Dolphin were succeeding in their plan, that the doors would open soon and
they all could be safe and that he could stop and-.

He breathed.

The soldiers kept pouring poison in the screeching filters, but Percy tried to focus only on the
sound of his heart, beating at the rhythm of the crashing waves on the beach of Montauk. He
thought of the calm he felt there, and in his memories it’s always sunset, and his mother is
always laughing, her long, curly hair dancing freely in the golden light, and he’s running and
grinning and he feels invincible.
Time passes. Minutes, hours, he could not say.

The doors rattled, the people sang.

The poison remained high, high on the bubble’s top, creating the effect of a threatening black
cloud all above the city. Percy’s body was on fire, but he felt unbound, without limits.

Children of the sea are born in storms and annealed in tempests. What can a cloud do against
a hurricane?

He felt like laughing, like he bore the curse of Achilles all over again.

The chant changed. They were trying to throw down the doors, to destroy the walls
surrounding the city, all of the people working together.

Amphitrite and Dolphin had succeeded, or so it seemed, to rally the crowd, but there wasn’t
enough oxygen in the water for all of those people, not when they fatigued and yelled and
sang.

They needed to hurry in destroying-

What had Chiron told him, when he had been claimed?

Poseidon. Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus, Son of the Sea God.

Earthshaker.

The walls were tall and wide, their building strong and well made had resisted against the
harsher currents for centuries.

Percy concentrated on the space where the foundations end, where there is only sand, and
rocks. Where the bottom of the ocean touches the Earth.

Shake, he commanded,I am your lord. I am you. Quiver before me.

His body burned so prettily, it was almost a shame that it needed to stop. The outer walls
tumbled down, the turrets with them, and the bubble cracked with a horrible sound.

People were cheering.

Who had said that he needed to stop?

The walls crashed down, and the houses were next, all around him they buried folk and
ground alike, while the currents rampaged through the rooms of abandoned shops now that
the outer bubble no longer stopped them.

There is always beauty in destruction and he was-

-unbound.
The cheers turned to terror, the chants into screams of fear. He had saved them, he had
stopped them from drowning and destroyed their sieging army, so why were they not happy?
Why were they not thanking him?

All of the sea was at his disposal, all of its strength was in his fingertips and he felt drunk and
giddy with it. Even the burning was nice, even if it hurt, even if it reminded him of-

“Foolish boy,” a woman said somewhere above him, “foolish, desperate boy”

A cold hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes, but there was only whiteness around him, and
he panicked, the sound of waves in his ears becoming louder and louder.

“You need to stop,” the voice continued, “if you burn through it all there will be no going
back, Perseus, do you understand?”

He didn’t. He was the sea, and the sea didn’t want to stop, the currents wanted destruction
and the earth wanted to quake and how could he say no to them if he too was of them?

“Let it go, now. Let it go, son of Sally Jackson.”

Whiteness. And then-

Sally- mother. His mother. Human. Not of the sea.

Not for the sea to be controlled.

“Just focus on my hands, just breathe,” the voice repeated, and Percy slowly tried to return to
his forgotten body, feeling his knees painfully pushing on the scratching ground and-

Silence, silence, silence.

Whiteness, and not even the memory of the comforting dark.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A pirate! I’ll take a boat and go to see the whole world!”

“Oh, and what about your mother? You’d leave her alone?”

“She can come with me! We’ll always stay together, and we’ll have fun”

“That’s mine”

“There isn’t your name on it”

“It’s still mine!”

“If there isn’t your name in it, then it’s of everyone”

“You could just have asked”

“Come on, you can have half.”

“Did you see her?”

“Of course I did, everyone was staring”

“She’s pretty, is she not?”

“If you say so”

“You’re blushing!”

“I’m not. Shut up.”

“Ohhh, you totally are!”

“Have you tried the new pizza place?”

“The one next to the hairdresser?”

“Mh, yeah I think there is a hairdresser there somewhere. They say it’s good anyway.”

“We can try it tonight”

“Good. Don’t really feel like cooking, you know? The metro smelled of onions”

“Who’s desperate enough to eat onions in the metro?”

He opened his eyes expecting to find himself staring at the white ceiling of his room, the
image of his mother wishing him good night still impressed behind his eyelids.

He felt very, very young, but his body was on a stranger’s bed.

He blinked, the memories of the last months crushing into him again and leaving him dizzy
and aching. He hated not knowing where he was, and it had been happening quite too often in
the last weeks.

“So it is true that you destroyed Hallmer?” a female voice asked somewhere next to him, and
Percy turned his head and met the eyes of a beautiful, long haired mermaid.

She looked young, too.

“What?” he asked groggily, still disoriented, “where am I? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” she laughed, “my father did say you were a noisy one.”

“Your father?”

“Just sleep a little more, you’ll feel better.”

She led him back down, and took his hair out of his face. Her hands were cold, but in a
comforting way, like a lotion on a sunburn.

Percy slept, and dreamt of her.

“Duke Phaidros has been exceptionally kind,” Amphitrite was saying, “his help in this
moment of need will not be forgotten.”

A male voice answered something he didn’t grasp, and the goddess took his hand in hers, and
squeezed. Percy tried to do the same but- his body didn’t move. Not even a little bit. He
panicked, and forced his eyes open to see-

-his body, laying still on a bed, Amphitrite next to it and him, him above all of that,
somewhere near the ceiling of the room.

What the fuck?

He looked at his hands, translucent in the white light of the room. He could see behind them,
as if they were made of nothing, as if he were...a ghost.

Fear filled the body he no longer had but still felt. But he couldn’t be dead. They would have
noticed, he reasoned, they wouldn’t keep his dead body on display hoping for a miracle,
Amphitrite wouldn’t be squeezing his hand, and he wouldn’t be able to feel it.

So his body was still alive but he was out of it. His soul? Or was he just a different projection
of the self, like gods who are in different places at the same time?

Like gods. Was that a thought. He had felt like one, he admitted shakily to himself while he
stared at his scarred body, he had felt power run through his veins and he hadn’t been able to
not enjoy it.

And so he hadn’t stopped, and he had destroyed… how the mermaid had called the city?
Hallmer, his brain supplied, you slaughtered an army, killed some of your own people,
destroyed the livelihoods of the others and sent Bythus a giant note with written “I am in the
Northern Duchy” highlighted in bright yellow.

He swallowed, moving towards his body. Would it truly be so bad if he died now?

You made a promise, he reminded himself, and he owed Amphitrite to at least try to fix things
in the kingdom, even if he felt crushed by guilt and shame, by the failure of not being even
able to control himself.

He never wanted to wield that much power anymore.

The other merman had left the room, and now only him and Amphitrite remained.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, but she kept staring at his empty body, at the constant rise and
fall of his chest.

She touched his face, and he felt warm fingers on his cheek, so tender that it almost moved
him to tears.

“Foolish boy,” she repeated, “we had it handled,” she murmured, and then softly chuckled,
“You’ve made an impression on the Duke with your stunt,” she said, accentuating her last
word, “he has made us a good deal. The end of this mess might be nearer than we thought.”

A pause, a heartbeat.

“So please wake up,” she added, her voice breaking. There was a single tear rolling down her
face, and Percy couldn’t handle the sudden anguish that took hold of his heart.

He reached for his body, and tried to enter in it again, concentrating on feeling the soft covers
and his steady heart and the comfortable cushions.

He closed his eyes with the sensation of flying, but when he opened them he was still
standing beside the bed, staring at himself.

“It’s not that easy,” a deep voice rumbled behind him, and Percy turned in an instant and
found himself staring right into the King of the Underworld's eyes.

“Uncle,” Percy called, the old fear letting itself be felt again. How could he have entered his
domain?

His expression was tight, but if the title had bothered him he didn’t let it show. “You have
made quite a mess of things, as always,” he accused, without any real malice.

“Is this my soul?” Percy asked, gesturing at his translucent body, and Hades stared at him as
if he knew exactly what Percy was actually asking.

“Mortals,” he slowly started, “become gods by burning their mortality. Gods don’t have
souls.”

That explains much, he wanted to say, but he didn’t think he could afford it in the situation he
was in.

“But I’m not a god,” Percy punctualized, when Hades didn’t seem intentioned to continue
talking.

He snorted. “Could have fooled me,” he said, “hadn’t you slaughtered a city.”
Percy’s heart sank. “I lost control. I… all of them? I wanted to- I wanted to help them.”

There must have been too much anguish in his face for the god to bear, because he sighed and
brought his hands to his temples, slowly massaging them.

“No. Most of the guards, half a dozen of civilians.” he looked at him again, and added “that’s
not the point though. The point is that you could have. That in the moment you decided that
you wanted more power, you were able to just acquire it.”

“It’s because I’m in the sea, because I still officially have the Crown and-”

“-and that has made you less human than you were before.”

Percy swallowed, his hands trembling. He looked at his broken body on the white bed, at his
peaceful, childish face, and he felt Hades’ eyes follow his ones on his unconscious form.

“So what happens now?”

“Now you can choose,” Hades stated, “there are actually no precedents for this, as is always
with you,” he added under his breath, “you can die. Meet your friends in Elysium and leave
this mess behind for someone else to clear up.”

“Or?” Percy asked, and Hades sighed.

“If you had kept using that much power, you would have died or you would have turned into
a god. There is no telling until it happens. So if you don’t choose to die now...”

“I become a god?” Percy asked, feeling sick in his stomach.

Hades stared straight into him. “I don’t think so,” he explained, “the process was interrupted.
You’re half dead now,” he said gesturing to the bed, “and half god,” he finished, gesturing at
him.

He wasn’t making any sense to Percy’s overworked brain. “What’s my other choice then?
Apart from dying, I mean.”

“You can live,” the god answered, “but you cannot live as a mortal. You’re not a demigod,
you’re not a god,” he sighed, “you’ve burned enough that if you leave the centre of your
power you will die, and enough that if you remain in it, you might just never do.”

He closed and opened his hands again, trying to regain control of himself and not burst into
tears in front of the king of the underworld. He opened his mouth to ask, what exactly it
meant, but the words didn’t come out, only a guttural sound that resembled a sob too much
for his liking.

Hades squared him up and down, his obsidian eyes reminding him of Nico’s ones.

“If you remain where your power is stronger, in your domain,” he explained softly, “you will
probably age really slowly or not at all, and it’s likely you wouldn’t be able to die, unless
killed. But-” he continued, taking note of Percy’s short breaths, “if you leave,” he paused
again, “if you leave you will die, as mortals do.”

A heartbeat passed. Then two, and three, and four, until… “So I can die? I will, one day?”

“Someone will smither you one day, I guess,” Hades answered, lazily drawing out his words,
“even if I’m not half as hopeful as you that you will one day start creating messes in my
realm.”

Percy gave him a small smile. Hades had been helpful, he had to admit it, probably much
more than any god, apart from Amphitrite, had ever been. More than his father, who had
given him ambiguous answers and an impossible job.

Maybe he just felt sorry that Percy would never again see the real, human world. Hades was
allowed into the mortal world, but never truly accepted: their exiles were different but
brought out the same result, a life in the shadows, a life hidden from view underground and
under the sea.

Percy thought of the vibrant green of trees, of that particular shade that in the sea just didn’t
exist. He thought about the glittering of stars in the night, about the warmth of the sun on his
skin and the feeling of soft grass under his feet, of the college experiences he would never get
to have and the friends he would never see again.

He thought about the life he had been forced to give up, and tears swelled up in his eyes and
fell slowly across his cheeks. He forced himself to meet Hades’s stare, refusing to wipe his
weakness away.

“I have made a promise,” he started, “that I would try to save this Kingdom. I will do what is
necessary.”

Hades nodded, his expression serious. “I don’t think we’ll meet again soon then,” he said,
and gestured at Percy to get closer to his prone body.

Percy hesitated. “Just…” he took a deep breath, “are my friends alright? My mom? Nico?”

Hades grimaced. “I’m not your news reporter,” he said brusquely, and Percy nodded. He had
expected such an answer, and the god had been kind enough that he didn’t even feel like
insisting, or complaining.

He moved next to his body, complying to his earlier instructions, and gave it a last look
before tearing his eyes away.

“Now don’t move. You’ll wake up disoriented,” he informed, “it’s been quite a long time
after all, for your standards,” he added, and Percy panickingly looked at him, but the god
shooed away his unasked question, and Percy came to peace with the fact that he would find
out soon enough anyway.

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said instead, because it felt right. It felt earned, and sincere in a way
that he had scarcely ever said it.
 Hades flinched slightly, then nodded, and moved forwards until both of his hands were
pressed on Percy’s shoulders. He could feel power radiating from them and entering him,
tethering him to his body, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel fear. Hades’ power was calm,
steady, sure: it was reassuring, the acceptance of a certainty that couldn’t be avoided, and
Percy felt himself relax under his hands.

Their eyes met.

“They’re fine, nephew”, the god murmured, and Percy gave up on his consciousness.

This time- nothingness felt like the warm embrace of darkness.

Chapter End Notes

One day late but it's here!

I really enjoyed writing this one (also because the fact that Hades is never the villain in
any of the PJO books is still one of my favorites things in the series), so I hope you've
also liked it!

Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on Percy's situation... were you expecting it?

Have a lovely week and thank you for reading!

 Year II, March II, April I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

When he awoke, it was late March.

His unused muscles hurt at every small movement, and the army of doctors that followed his
recovery never even let him out of the infirmary for the first week after he had come back to
consciousness.

Amphitrite hovered around him at every visit, at every step forward she looked like she was
ready to see him shatter like glass. Percy would have gotten angry at her for it, had he not
seen how worried she had been. And there was no pity in her eyes when he had to stop after
just a couple of steps, just a silent determination.

Dolphin had spent the last months keeping up with the news from Atlantis and Bythus’ plans
for the future, and had apparently been discussing war strategies with the Duke, a mysterious
figure that Percy had yet to meet.

Even if he lived in his own Palace.

“It’s a sign of respect from him,” Amphitrite had explained, “he’s not going to meet you
when you’re vulnerable and hurt. And when you’ll appear before the court…” she sighed,
“you’ll have to convince them to go to war for you. You must be at your best.”

Percy had nodded in understatement, but he still didn’t like being so unsure of his position.
Bythus’ still hadn’t received the approval of the throne, and thus wasn’t officially King yet,
but he had been governing the kingdom unrivalled.

“He’s going to cause a famine in Southern Mexico, if he keeps up his slaughtering policy,”
Dolphin explained to him in their weekly adjournment sessions, “everyone who opposes his
rule in favour of you is being killed without trial.”

“Can he truly do that? Won’t the council stop it?” Percy asked. The councillors had rioted
against him for the smallest thing, and it seemed incredible that they were now supporting
such extreme measures.

Dolphin sighed. “Bythus has been slowly taking the power out of their hands, exploiting their
rebellion against you. But you must also remember,” he paused, looking for the right words,
“that they’re the ones who planned to dethrone you in his favour. Bythus had ruled for many
years already, they knew of his plans and agreed to them.”

“My tutor- Lydos- he knew him well too. Did he pass on to his side?”

“I know you’ve been suspicious of him for a long time,” Amphitrite answered, “but Lydos’
only crime was to have been the Duke’s teacher when he was but a small child. He lived in
the Southern court from the time Bythus’ grandfather was young, and remained there until
Bythus himself became Duke.”

“Why did he leave then, after all that time?”

She sat down, pressing her knuckles to her tights. “He was forced to. His ideas were too
liberal for what had become of the southern court, and he came to us for asylum. He has been
teaching the children of nobles ever since, and then you when you arrived.”

“Oh,” Percy said, suddenly feeling guilty about all the times he had believed him to be a spy
and all the silent accusations he had glared at him.

“He hadn’t told me,” he added, even if the excuse felt empty and useless even to his own
ears.

Amphitrite shook her head, and Dolphin placed a hand on his shoulder, a comforting touch
that felt unfamiliar just as much as it was needed. Percy closed his eyes- if he concentrated on
it he could almost pretend to be back on Olympus, after the war, if he focused on the strong
hand on his shoulder he could almost imagine his father’s strong arms around him.

But Poseidon wasn’t there. There was no given home for him in the sea, no place to be safe in
if not the ones he could make for himself, no gentle current to rock him to sleep when he was
too tired to do it himself.

He swallowed down the sudden urge to cry, and opened his eyes again. Dolphin took away
his hand, and Amphitrite kept staring at him with her dark, delicate eyes.

“You must have heard in the last days,” she started, gracefully leaning forward, “that me and
Dolphin were discussing how a permanent alliance with Duke Phaidros would… well, solve
things. If we were to be allies,” she punctualized, “then there would be no questioning his
help in the war we must face.”

“That’s a good thing no?” Percy asked, confused, “the duchy of the Northern Sea is the wider
and most powerful there is. With his army and me fully recovered, we could truly manage to
get Atlantis back.”

Hope blossomed into his chest, warm and more alluring than nectar. “How long would it take
then? We sign the papers, get the armies and march to the capital and send Bythus back
where he came from, all in time for summer.”

Amphitrite grimaced, and her eyes darted to Dolphin, who cleared his throat.

“Percy,” he started, “do you know how permanent alliances are forged?”

He turned back to look at him. “Well,” he started, “we make a contract, and then both parties
sign it and it’s done?”

Amphitrite and Dolphin looked at each other.

“I told you it was too early,” the goddess repeated, but Dolphin disagreed. “I was right in
Hallmer and I’m right now. It’s the only solution. You’ve seen how-” he gestured around.

Amphitrite closed her eyes a moment too long, and nodded.

“Marriage,” she announced, “permanent alliances are formed by marriage.”

Percy felt his heart stop beating. His ribcage was empty, cold and unflattering.

“Your marriage, in this case,” she insisted, but he could do nothing but keep staring at her, at
the way her lips made words that no longer made any sense.

“Duke Phaidros has a young daughter. He has kept her safe and guarded for years but- you
are King. If you convince him of the necessity of an alliance, he’ll likely offer her hand to
you.”

Percy kept staring at the goddess. The room was so silent that he could feel his own blood
run through his veins. Ages seemed to pass, then Percy nodded.

“I’ll think about it,” he promised, and that was it.

War was brewing, and the fumes risked killing him before the heat could.

That night, when he was finally allowed to stay in an actual room and not in the infirmary, his
thoughts were plagued by the idea of his imminent meeting with the Duke.

He had given up on sleeping, and was now sitting on a sturdy chair, paper and ink spread out
in front of him, a trembling candle the only light in the entire room.

He had thought of marriage once. In the depths of Tartarus, where he could only believe in
himself and Annabeth, he had imagined a life with her by his side. It had kept him going. It
had kept him sane enough to keep on walking.

He had never even taken in consideration that he would marry a stranger though. Not even
for a second, not even when he had had doubts about his and Annabeth’s relationship.
Arranged marriages were a thing of the past, or so he thought.

If he was honest with himself, Percy knew that he functioned better when he wasn’t alone.
All of him craved companionship, intimacy, the reassurance of having someone by his side,
the silent promise that not all of his nights would be filled with dread and loneliness.

He had sacrificed everything for Atlantis. His life, his future, his personal desires. Was this
truly so out of the blue as he thought it was? He had known how things worked in the sea,
and Amphitrite had been telling him of his duties since day one.

He just hadn’t expected the moment to come so soon.

And even if he agreed- would Phaidros’ daughter be forced into it? Had she grown up to
think of marriage as her duty, would she resent him even before their first meeting?

Would they grow to love each other?

Dear mom, he scribbled down,

I’m no longer a child but I feel I have forgotten how to make choices. Can you choose for me,
mother? Can you put on a basketball show on the telly and let me complain about it?
I’ll beg Apollo tonight, and I’ll pray to Morpheus. Please meet me in my dreams. I’m not a
child any longer- but I don’t think my body knows it yet, for it only wants to be held.

I might get married soon, mother. I wish you could be here. I wish you could see.

I wish I could cry.

He put the pen down, staring back at his words, and placed a drachma on the letter before he
could change his mind. There was no block to the letters from the surface, here in the
northern duchy. Amphitrite hadn’t touched the barriers.

He was free to write, and to be written to, and it felt scary, terrifying to no longer be alone to
handle everything that he was put through. He sighed, and went back to bed, thinking of his
mother and praying for a happy dream he knew couldn’t be granted to him.

The sun rose, the morning came.

Sally didn’t.
His mother didn’t.

His heart didn’t break as much as he thought it would.

Duke Phaidros met him in his study just after breakfast.

Percy had nervously picked at it, while imagining every possible scenario in his head. Would
the Duke be kind? Would he be efficient, would he be short sighted and arrogant? Dolphin,
who had talked to him the most, had tried to reassure him that he wasn’t anything more than
Percy could handle.

Amphitrite’s eyes told a different story though. Her hands clenched when his name came up
in conversations, and she had spent almost all of her time in the infirmary with him instead of
attending the war meetings.

“They’re just useless chatter for now,” she had justified herself, “Percy you are the one the
throne belongs to. They can talk but it’s all hypothetical: you decide and Phaidros has yet to
agree to an alliance. I’ll attend when you will,” she had said, and he had found nothing to say
back to it.
Shuffling his feet, he took a big breath and knocked at Phaidros’ door, two short, fast beats
that still remained slower than the beating of his heart.

“Enter,” a deep voice rumbled from the inside, and with one last glance at the hall he opened
the heavily decorated door and stepped inside the room.

He was met with an amount of books and bookshelves that would make any child of Athena
envious: they were scattered all around, in piles on the floors, on the walls and on the solid
looking desk the Duke was sitting at.

The merman slightly raised his eyes and pretended to keep reading his paper, in a technique
that Percy knew very well: he had used it himself against Bythus after all, and he would not
fall victim to it.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he saluted with a slight inclination of his head, courteous but
not deep enough to be considered a bow.

The merman gestured at him to sit down, but didn’t say another word, and Percy took the
occasion to look a bit around himself. There wasn’t much else in the room apart from the
hundreds of books: the ceiling was undecorated and the walls were so dark that Percy
couldn’t even say if they were blue or black.

It smelled of melted wax, and even if the light was the wrong one for a moment he felt
brought back to his father’s office in Atlantis, to that room that he didn’t think he would
actually ever manage to consider his.

Phaidros cleared his throat, and Percy’s eyes shot back to his, blue like a mountain’s stream.
“I’m glad you have recovered well from your hardships,” the Duke started, and Percy tried
not to show surprise at how young his voice sounded, “for you have quite a strenuous path in
front of you, I won’t lie.”

“I am aware,” Percy answered, keeping his tone steady, “I’ve paid the price of Bythus’
arrogance on my person once already.”

Phaidros’ eyes shot to his neck, to that scar that had now faded into a thin, white line.

“This is why,” Percy continued, “I believe that an alliance between us would be the fastest
resolution to this war. You have the armies, but you need a cause. Bythus is showing his true
colours, and his tyranny is slowly taking place.”

He paused for a second, measuring Phaidros’ reaction. “His way of ruling is killing thousands
of his own subjects, not counting the villages he has destroyed just to increase the profit of
the lands. And this is only the start: he desires absolute power and I don’t think we have
much longer till he makes a move for the other duchies.”

“You are convinced about this?” the Duke asked, “My deals are going well, my people are
prospering. A war…” he paused, “I’m not in need of one.”
“You are far from the capital now, and far from the Southern Duchy. But Bythus is already
allied with the Mediterranean Duchy, the third biggest one after yours and his, and the Duke
of the Coral Sea will not hesitate long in officially passing on his side.”

He leaned back on his chair. “The Caribbeans passed laws similar to Bythus’ policies only a
few years ago. The Duke of the Japanese Sea has been ignoring the Crown’s directives on
imprisonment since I’ve been King, and in the Black Sea there have been insurrections and
destructions of royal property for the last months.”

“It’s coming up North, Phaidros,” he concluded, “Hallmer was literally a step out of your
door, and yet they poured poison inside the filters without a second thought. Your name
won’t keep them settled for long.”

The Duke remained silent for a while, moving some papers around while he thought. “And
yet these are all previsions, the ones you make. His only real alliance is not even a permanent
one, and his power is not solid enough for the other dukes to risk so much with so little
assurance.”

“Little assurance?” Percy pressed, “Bythus holds Atlantis, holds Poseidon’s riches and
belongings, holds more than four thousand years of history and records in his hands. Do you
really trust the other dukes not to fall victim to such promises?”

Phaidros opened his mouth to answer, but Percy didn’t let him.

“And not only that,” he pressed on, “there are unresolved matters, ugly skeletons in the closet
of every Duchy. Even if they don’t entirely agree with Bythus’ ideas, he has enough material
to blackmail them into signing an alliance. You know him. Do you think he is above all this?”

Phaidros’ hands clenched. “You say the other duchies are on his side. Why should I join you
then? Why should I not give you to him and take my prize?”

Percy swallowed harshly. He had feared this question.

“Under your rule and the one of your father and of his father before him,” he slowly started,
“the Northern Duchy has been the symbol of enlightenment, of new ideas, of prestigious
academies and source of the greatest intellectuals of the last centuries.”

He looked into his young eyes. “Would you turn your back to this legacy? Would you be
willing to bend your knee to despoty and cruelty, just for riches and gold?”

Phaidros shook his head, a new determination in his expression. a fire in his eyes that hadn’t
been there before. “My people are prideful and arrogant at traits. They won’t bow to tyranny,
but they won’t bow to a stranger either.”

“I have been here almost a year,” Percy interjected, and instantly regretted it. A year against
the width of lives in the sea was nothing, a blink of an eye for most, but Phaidros didn’t call
him out on it.
 “There are still many duchies who have not taken a side yet, and some who would be on our
side for certain, if we could convince them we have a chance of actually winning this war,”
he passionately went on.

“Between me, your armies and their armies…” Percy started, but Phaidros interrupted him.

“Our alliance must be a certainty they can rely upon,” he solemnly stated, standing from his
chair and looking at him from above, “Perseus, King of Atlantis, Emperor of the Oceans,
accept the hand of my daughter and seal the permanent alliance between our forces, against
the tyranny of the Southern Duke.”

Percy rose up from his chair too, its legs making a striding sound on the rich marble floor. He
felt his heart beat so fast that it seemed on the verge of explosion, while adrenaline run
through his veins, together with fear and the thrill of success- he had convinced the Duke to
go to war with him. For him.

“I accept,” he firmly pronounced, and with those two words he forever changed the course of
his life, the shape of Atlantis’ whole future.

Millennia, millions of lives. Their destiny had rested on a choice that Percy had thought he
would find impossible to make. And yet here he was-

-saying yes and getting married to a stranger.

Chapter End Notes

Sorry for the late chapter! I'm in med school and exams got in the way.

Were you expecting this development? They were hinting at it for a while... and now
Percy is getting married soon! I'm excited about writing about it but I hope I'll manage
to keep his character intact.

Let me know what you think and thank you to all the ones who give kudos, bookmark
and comment! Reading your words brightens my days <3 <3
 Year II, April II
Chapter Notes

Some chapter four explanation will make a comeback!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“There is no other way,” Amphitrite repeated, pacing in front of Percy’s bed and staring at
the boy sitting cross-legged above it.

“You have agreed to the marriage, you have made a deal with Duke Phaidros. You have
already started on the war plans, the armies are already being trained to listen to you. There is
no going back.”

“But I thought I would at least get to meet her first! Not that I would just go blind into-”

“What does it matter?” Amphitrite pressed on, “even if you met her and didn’t aesthetically
find her pleasing it’s not like you could have broken up the engagement for that, not without
compromising our already delicate-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Percy murmured, feeling self-conscious about his insecurity, about
his need for reassurement, “just let it go,” he went on, but it only managed to make
Amphitrite more curious.

She inclined her head, studying him with an unreadable expression and such an intensity that
Percy was forced to take his eyes away.

“You’re afraid she won’t like you,” the goddess suddenly said, her voice filled with disbelief.
“You would have broken it off if she hadn’t… been okay with it.”

Percy blushed, and tightened his shoulders, heavy under Amphitrite’s attentive eyes. “Duke
Phaidros said he had a young daughter. I don’t know how… how young she truly is. If she’s a
child obviously the whole thing is going to-”

Amphitrite snorted, and Percy stopped, looking at her questioningly. “Lives are long in the
ocean, Perseus,” she softly stated, “she’s young for our standards, but you’re even younger.
She’s probably a decade older than you.”

“Oh” Percy answered, blushing even more, an Amphitrite placed a hand on his chin,
caressing him gently.

“I would not have led you towards an inappropriate match,” she explained, “and I would have
not even proposed this one to you if I thought you would have been unable to find a modicum
of contentment in it.”
“So it wasn’t the only solution?”

She sighed. “It was if we wanted the Northern Duchy on our side, or any kind of allies at this
point. But maybe in a few decades we would have managed to win the war by ourselves.”

“We didn’t have decades though,” Percy accepted, “and we didn’t have any more risks to
take.”

“You are ready for this, Percy,” she encouraged, “it won’t change that much in your daily life
at first, and you’ll get used to each other in time. Companionship will do you good, and
Phaidros couldn’t have gotten a better match for his daughter.”

Percy chuckled, shaking his head. “Must have been desperate, if a demigod raised on land
was the better thing he could find.”

“A King with Poseidon’s blood in his veins,” she insisted, “whether you wish it or not,
legacies and titles mean everything here. And the fact that he’s giving you his last daughter…
it means that the Duke is certain Bythus won’t last long.”

“So we could go back to Atlantis.”

“And the rest of my family maybe would be able to come back.”

The rest of.

The rest of.

Percy smiled stupidly about it for the rest of the day.

Percy, my dear son

the letter recited,

I can’t begin to imagine how difficult all of this has been for you. I have prayed to whichever
god would listen to have news of you, and all have returned empty handed. I miss you like a
limb that’s been cut off. We didn’t deserve this darling. You didn’t.

Percy my baby, you know what the right choice is. You always do, you always did. I’m old
and grey, and there is nothing new I can teach you. Just remember that I love you, that I
always carry you in my heart and in my thoughts and wherever you may fit.

But it’s not your fault. Don’t ever think that. I carry you in my mind as a smiling half-toothed
toddler, as an adventurous child, as my good hearted son. We’ll see each other again, and it
will be like no time has passed at all.

You were always of the sea, darling. I knew that when I loved your father, I knew that from
when I first held you.
Just remember to breathe, every now and then.

With immeasurable love,

Your mom

Percy read the letter again and again, tracing the words with his finger. She had answered.
Finally, after almost a year, he had managed to get something from his mother.

He felt like crying, but good tears this time. Tears of relief, of release, of acceptance. She
loved him. She loved him still, she forgave him of the pain he had caused. Better, she had
refused to blame him, she had taken her suffering and had carved love out of it with
trembling fingers and an aching heart.

He could do the same. How many times had his mother fallen and then got back up again?
How many times had she been hurt, had she felt like she wasn’t enough, in an abusive
marriage and with a special needs child, how many times had she cried?

And yet. And yet- she stood proud. Safe, unbroken. He could find the strength in her, when
he felt like he had none more. He could, he could.

A silly river hadn’t washed away her blessing.

“Percy,” Amphitrite called, shaking him awake, “you must come, we have troubling news
from Atlantis.”

“What?” Percy groggily asked, his mother’s letter still crushed in his fist, “Atlantis?”

“Phaidros is waiting for us in the council room. Come on, hurry up,” she pressed, drawing
back all the curtains and dragging Percy to his feet.

“One of Dolphin’s spies is here,” the goddess murmured while they quickly swam to the
Duke, surrounded by half a dozen guards, “he says he has important news but that will only
speak in your presence.”

“Could it be a trick?” Percy asked, “just to know if I’m really here, and alive?”

“He has nothing on him to send messages, and he has been stripped of all his weapons. But
your point stands. He will not be returning to Bythus.”

“How will-” Percy started, but Amphitrite just glared at him.

“It’s war,” she stated, “we won’t take risks. Here we’ve arrived,” she changed the topic, and
Percy let her lead him into the imponent room.

The Duke and his advisors were standing in front of a giant, rectangular table with a map of
all the realm drawn on it as a beautifully intricate mosaic, but Percy knew it wasn’t the right
time to comment on it.
They reached Dolphin, who was standing in front of the man who had once been his faithful
soldier and who now maybe still was, or maybe not: they couldn’t know. They could never
truly know, and the uncertainty swam bitterly in Percy’s stomach. What if he was innocent?

“The King stands in front of you,” Duke Phaidros started, and Percy flinched at the use of the
name, “now bow and talk.”

The dolphin did, a sour expression on his face that could have been tiredness or something
much more dangerous. Don’t get paranoid, Percy reminded himself, but it sounded
impossible when he felt the world against him.

“Your Majesty,” the man started, voice trembling, “after months of careful work, Duke
Bythus finally considered me as his loyal subject, and I was able to enter the throne room-”

“Was the entrance unallowed before?” one of Phaidros’ advisors rumbled with a deep voice.

“Only his men were allowed in,” the dolphin waveringly answered, “the official reason was
that Bythus was going forward with the third task, and wanted no interruptance, nor to risk
being somehow sabotaged.”

Amphitrite snorted. “The throne is sculpted with complex magic,” she scoffed, “it can’t be
sabotaged.”

“You said the official reason,” Dolphin went on, “what was the real one then?”

The man swallowed audibly. “The Emblems, your Majesty,” he answered, turning his head to
Percy, “there is a new one.”

Percy’s throat dried up, and he looked panickingly at Amphitrite, not caring about seeming
lost. “Another?” she answered, “apart from the dents from my family’s… departure?”

“Yes, my lady,” he repeated, “I believe it’s the reason Bythus has still not managed to get the
throne’s approval.”

“What you believe is irrelevant,” Phaidros thundered, while Percy thought back on
Amphitrite’s explanation of the Emblems. They follow negative ordeals, she had said, ones
that have a big impact on our Kingdom, so that we may do better in the future.

“What is it then?” he asked, forcing his voice to be level, “what is so noticeable to have upset
you in such a manner?”

And the unasked question, that could be read in everyone’s eyes. What has happened so
horrible, what nightmare will we have to face?

The dolphin hesisted, raising his eyes and then lowering them again. The tension was
palpable in the crowded room, the mermen's breathing the only noise that could be heard.

Percy’s heart beated like it was its last chance.

“Your blood, my Lord,” the dolphin finally answered, staring right into his eyes “your blood
has been impossible to remove from the marble.”

Silence reigned in the room.

“My...blood?” Percy asked, incredulous, after a beat “how is that possible?”

“Percy if your-” Amphitrite started, but then she stopped and looked at the Duke in a silent
request.

“Council dismissed,” the merman ordered, “take the spy away. We’ll adjourn on the morrow.
Dolphin, make sure your man has nothing else to say.”

He nodded, glancing at Amphitrite to see if she was going to ask him to remain there instead,
but she refused to even look at him, and as soon as they were the only three in the room,
Percy slumped unceremoniously on one of the soft chairs.

“Is that so truly bad?” he asked, “if it had stopped Bythus from getting the throne then-”

“-then it could also stop Poseidon from doing so, once he returns,” Amphitrite continued,
pacing in front of the desk, “at least as long as you live.”

Phaidros stared at him, an indecipherable expression behind his eyes, “Could he even?” he
casually asked, “if his blood, the symbol of his mortality, is tied to something as powerful and
magical-”

“I can die,” Percy interrupted, still in shock, “Hades said so. I can-”

“Hades?” Amphitrite turned instantly, “when did you speak to him?”

Percy shook his head. “After Hallmer. He told me I could choose to die or to live, but that I
would only remain alive as long as I was at the centre of my power, and that I still could be
killed. So I can die,” he concluded, “the blood was already on the throne when we spoke.”

Amphitrite stared at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise, but Phaidros didn’t seem
shaken by the news. “Well that’s less of a problem,” he commented, “and could also be a
good thing. We all wish for your husband to come back soon of course,” he reassured the
goddess, “but in the meantime, if Perseus is literally tied to the throne, then more people will
be convinced of the weight of his claim to the Kingdom.”

Amphitrite nodded, taking her eyes away from him. “Let’s just think about getting Atlantis
back,” she sighed, “we’ll handle the other problems in due time. We can’t do anything about
the throne’s Emblems right now.”

“It’s good to know, though,” Percy said, catching their attention, “that the throne hasn’t
forgotten me. I would have gotten offended, after all my conversations with it,” he joked,
trying to ease the situation.

Amphitrite chuckled, and some of the tension melted away from the room. Percy smiled back
at her, and the Duke shook his head in fake exasperation.
“A shame I wasn’t there,” he answered, picking some papers up, “I was told you happily and
joyfully participated in all the afternoon activities.”

The goddess snorted, and Percy looked at her with a betrayed expression. “You must know,
Duke Phaidros,“ he started, “that as Amphitrite can confirm from the many conversations we
have had about the topic, that there is nothing I love more than diplomatic encounters.”

“And dancing,” she added, “he loves that too.”

The Duke smiled. “Leave us please, your Majesty. Me and Lady Amphitrite have nuptials to
plan.”

“Can’t I stay for that?” Percy asked. He hadn’t understood whether the Duke and Amphitrite
had been teasing him or if they’d been serious about the activities thing. So much time away
from Camp had apparently taken away his ability to get sarcasm.

“You will know soon enough anyway,” the goddess answered, and he was left with nothing
else to do but leave.

He felt light, though, lighter than he had in ages, with a small smile that risked escaping from
his lips. Maybe good things were coming. Maybe it was the right time for… contentment, at
least.

Another tailor came to him in the afternoon.

“We’re not going to sew anything as complicated as what you were wearing for your
Coronation,” the mermaid started, “we really don’t have the time for anything too elaborate.”

“It’s alright,” Percy answered when she stared at him expecting an answer, “I’m not a fan of
heavy decoration”

“Mh,” she murmured, “raise your hands above your head and stare in front of you”

Percy wondered whether it was truly necessary. Were all clothes handmade there? He would
have gladly worn something just ready to be put on without all this fuss.

“What colour will it be?” Percy asked, curious about undersea wedding traditions. Amphitrite
had told him barely anything, and he could only vaguely remember to have covered the topic
in his studies.

The tailor raised her eyebrows, and stared down at him. “You are a King,” she slowly drew
out, “what colour would you wear if not gold?”

Percy nodded, pretending it had been obvious. “Of course,” he answered, “and what about
the bride?”

The tailor stopped again, and sighed. “The bride will wear the colours of the family she
marries into. In this case, the Royal House.”
“So gold too?”

“Of course not,” the tailor answered, almost flinching in disgust, “that would be horrible
luck.”

Percy had no idea what she was talking about. He nodded, and the session progressed in
complete silence.

He almost missed Atlantis’ chatty tailor, with her coral red ruler and her constant awe of
everything golden and shiny. He wondered if she had passed on Bythus’ side, or if she had
remained loyal to him. Had she been between the murdered, had she managed to escape the
Palace, was she still in hiding?

Not for the first time, he wished he had never left the Palace.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “We’re not finished yet!” the tailor yelled, still
turning around him taking notes, “legs are just so weird,” she commented under her breath.

The door opened anyway, and one of Phaidros’ senior servants came into the room, dressed
in ceremonial clothes.

“Duke Phaidros and Lady Amphitrite are pleased to announce that they have come to an
agreement about the marriage arrangements.”

“Oh lovely,” the tailor commented, “will they expect a miracle or I’ll have time to finish all
of this?” she asked, gesturing to her fabrics.

The servant smiled. “The wedding will take place tomorrow afternoon,” he announced, “after
having followed the traditional customs of the morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Percy asked with a high pitched voice, then cleared his throat. “Isn’t it a bit
soon?”

“The sooner you get an heir the better it is,” the tailor brusquely answered, “now hurry up,
turn around, that this needs to be ready by midday.”

“Not by the morning?” he asked, perplexed. The servant had said something about morning
things, hadn’t he?

“These are the wedding clothes,” she answered, dumbfounded, looking at him as if he had
grown a third head.

Percy stared at her in silence. “What about the others?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not making clothes for all the guests?” she answered, posing it
like a question.

“No, I meant-” Percy started, but she looked so weirded out that he just gave up.

He would find out soon enough anyway.

.

A storm was coming.

The sky, impossibly dark, trembled in restraint under Percy’s eyes, while the waves raised to
meet it, untamable and unchecked.

Percy shivered in the cold air, feeling the raw power of the two gods dancing all around him.

He walked towards the sea, placing both of his feet in the water. “Dad?” he called, but no
one answered. He moved forwards again.

The waves were singing, and Percy wanted to see the jellyfishes again. He was waist-deep
into the raging water now, and he could feel the cold settle into his bones.

What the sea takes, it keeps.

Hands grabbed at his ankles and Percy went down, down-

-down.

The sun shone brightly on the grass. Percy was smiling up at Grover, eating an apple around
a missing tooth.

“We are tied you know,” he was saying, “you and me, and then you and everything else”

“Everything else?” Percy asked, while the sun kept getting brighter and brighter.

Grover nodded. “Doesn’t it call you?”

Percy was on the throne of Atlantis, blood red and grotesque, dead bodies all amassed on the
floor around him. Had the war been fought?

There was a woman in front of him, her hands golden.

“This mustn’t happen,” her voice echoed in the room, “this can’t be.”

Amphitrite was laying next to him, her skin grey and her eyes too white. His own dead body
was beside her, a sword deep into his chest.

Percy shut his eyes in disgust.

“Where does it go wrong?” he asked the golden woman.

“Soon,” she answered, and the dream faded into nothingness.

A knock at the door, a servant coming with breakfast and clothes. The longest day of his life
would start as soon as he felt brave enough to open his eyes, and he was going to let the
moment drag as much as he could.
 He remembered flashes of a nightmare. Had he screamed?

The servant moved out and about inside the room, silent and respectful as Flustra had never
been. He thought back at the smell of his skin, the warmth of his hands all over him, and
missed the boy terribly, even if there was a chance he was a traitor now.

The bed’s curtains were drawn open. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” the servant chirped,
“ready for your wedding day?”

Percy groaned into the pillow, the image of his own decaying body suddenly impressed
behind his eyelids.

He shuddered, and hoped marrying had been the right choice.

Chapter End Notes

Hi!
A couple of days late but I made it! Hope you've been enjoying how things are
developing... I'm really excited about writing next chapter, and as always let me know
what you think <3
Have a lovely week!
 Year II, April III
Chapter Notes

IMPORTANT: look at your favourite childhood photo before reading this for maximum
angst effect (bonus point if your mother/ mother figure is in it)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He was not served breakfast.

Instead, his servant forced him into a simple, old style white tunic that reached just above his
knees and that, in Percy’s humble opinion, looked just like a sheet with a hole for the head.

He felt uncomfortable, and horribly exposed: for the first time, he found himself longing for
the elaborate outfit of his Coronation, for at least they had been real clothes and not just…
whatever this thing was.

“The Duke and Lady Amphitrite are awaiting you in the temple,” the servant announced with
a solemn tone as soon as he was dressed, and Percy nodded, not daring to ask about the
possibility of wearing any kind of shoes: it was more out of habit than anything else anyway
that he wore them. They were not needed to swim.

Five guards escorted him out of his room and into the dimly lit halls, through stairs and
rooms and gardens. Their serious faces reflected the anxious turmoil in Percy’s own stomach,
and the heaviness of the atmosphere covered the entire palace.

Everything was silent, and dead.

Poseidon’s temple was a small but imposing building made of grey stone. Percy had visited it
almost daily since he had been able to leave the infirmary, trying and failing to talk to his
father again, or to receive any kind of counsel. The stone had echoed his prayers though, and
between the flames of the heart he had felt like a small grain of sand in the entire universe.

He wondered whether the wedding would be celebrated inside. Would he feel it, wherever he
was? Would he be in agreement?

“Perseus,” Phaidros greeted him at the foot of the temple, while Amphitrite gently smiled,
“the rituals will commence as soon as you’re ready.”

The Duke was dressed in shimmery sky blue, his cape embroidered in silver with delicate
figures of waves and sea animals while his tunic had buttons all on the front, made of the
purest nacre Percy had ever seen. Amphitrite, with her flowy baby pink gown looked equally
mesmerising, her hair tied in elaborate braids with strings of gold that ran across her
shoulders and into the back of her dress.
Percy stood barefoot and almost naked in front of them, his hair wild, his eyes sleepy.

“What are-” he started, but he was immediately interrupted by the goddess.

“I’ll walk with you until the door,” she stated, and took him by the arm after Phaidros’ nod,
leading him closer to the temple without much care.

“You never told me about rituals,” Percy whispered when they were out of hearing range,
and Amphitrite scoffed.

“I thought you would inform yourself, considering you knew you were about to get married,”
she started, climbing on the first step, “but there isn’t the time now, I’ll make it short.”

She took a breath and they climbed another step. “This part is easy. You’re staying in the
temple praying or meditating or whatever for a couple of hours. Then a priest will come, and
give you a blessing,” they climbed again, “he’ll probably ask questions. Just be sincere.”

“Then?” Percy asked, reaching the top of the stairs. Phaidros’ eyes were on them, and
Amphitrite leaned closer as to kiss his cheek.

“You’ll be dressed for the ceremony, and led in the main garden. The Duke will marry you
and his daughter,” she moved on his other cheek, “then there will be a banquet. You’ll be
expected to leave with your bride around midnight,” she whispered into his ear, before
moving away and taking his hands in hers.

Percy nodded, surprised by the unshed tears he could feel at the corners of his eyes. He
pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to hold it together, and let go of
Amphitrite’s hands, swimming towards the front of the temple.

He laid his hand on the doors, and they opened under his touch to reveal the dark inside of
that sacred place where people had prayed for thousands of years, revealing their darkest
secrets and their deepest desires.

He moved forwards, and forced himself not to look back as the doors clasped shut again
behind him.

The temple was exactly as Percy had last seen it.

He didn’t know why he had expected it to be different, but a part of his unease calmed down
at the sight of the familiar walls around him, of that fire that burned wildly even underwater.

Home, Percy thought, and slowly, so slowly that his legs trembled in the effort, he knelt down
next to it, so close that the tips of his hair were just inches away from the flames.

Would Hestia come there if he called for her? Could a goddess enter another god’s temple?

His knees touched the sterile ground, and he exhaled. Everything was silent and still, apart
from the fire, apart from Percy’s own shadows, apart from his beating heart and his running
blood, red, red so red that it had tainted the own spirit of the sea.

The floor was uneven under Percy’s knees. Mortals hands had made it, mortals hands had
sculpted the stone and carved the marble, and yet there was no place for them inside of the
temple, no space for their tears in the giant vastity of Poseidon’s domain.

Holy fire would burn him from the inside. First his soul then, patiently, his body. And yet-
and yet it only felt welcoming, like a warm shelter after a snowstorm, as if only a touch could
take away the ice from his bones and make him young again, turn him back to those summer
nights with his mother watching their old telly and outside, the orange light pouring into the
room and the buzzing of flies and the eternity of time at his fingertips.

Percy had taken his first steps on the beach of Montauk. He would not take there his last.

He placed his hands on the cold floor, away from temptation. He didn’t know to whom he
was supposed to pray to, nor for what. Did it even matter? Screams cannot be heard
underwater: would anyone know, if he clawed out his throat, if he jumped into the fire?

He scooted away from the flames in fear. The dark walls had stopped being comforting, and
instead they pushed down on him like the top of a casket. He felt his thoughts amplified,
reverberating around him as if he would never know anything else.

Had he been breathing?

Percy’s hands had never killed people, but they weren’t clean. His blood was on them, his
own, his own blood on his own hands and-

He fell on his knees again.

Are you proud of me? he wanted to ask, he wanted to scream, had he done enough to be
considered good? Could he belong now that he had bled for the sea, now that his pain was
engraved into the throne, would he just let be.

“Can you love me now?” his mouth said instead, and Percy felt shame rise hot on his cheeks,
even if there wasn’t anyone else around to hear what he spoke, to hear just how much he was
in need of reassurance.

The stone remained silent under Percy’s accusing glare, and he moved closer to the fire again.
His hand was close enough to burn, but he didn’t touch the flame.

“Can you?” he whispered again, closing his eyes and pretending the crinkle of the fire was
the sound of the half broken refrigerator they had once had, pretending to feel on his skin the
tenderness of childhood.

He traced his own bare arms with his fingers, reverently, as you would caress a scared animal
until all his hair stood up in anticipation and he could imagine Flustra’s gentle hands carding
through his hair and Annabeth’s soft promises on his neck.

He breathed deeply, staring into the fire, and had the sudden, urgent realisation that a life
wouldn’t be enough.
.

The priest was old, and fading.

He had come from the back of the temple with the slow pace of those who know that every
step might just be their last and had found Percy curled up on himself in the most secluded
corner of the room.

He hadn’t commented, nor given any indication that the situation was nothing more than
what it was supposed to be. He had offered his arm instead, the last remains of what had once
been muscle and that now was only decaying skin.

Percy had accepted it in gratitude, and had let himself be led carefully towards the centre of
the temple and then deeper inside of it, where Percy had never thought he was allowed to
venture, until they had reached another small room with an imposing statue of his father right
in the middle.

Percy stared at it while the priest sat down his tired limbs, but he found no compassion in the
god’s eyes, no sign of benevolence in his armed hand, in the rough way in which he held the
trident.

The priest’s eyes followed his gaze, and after a few seconds he finally broke the silence.

“Do you think mercy should always be present?” he asked, his frail voice loud in the quiet of
the world around them.

Percy didn’t take his eyes away from his father’s. “Yes,” he answered.

“Even when it might not be deserved?”

“Who am I to choose when people are too far away from salvation?”

The priest remained in silence for a while, and Percy took the occasion to turn towards him
and hold his gaze as if they were equals, as if he wasn’t in the room with the kingdom’s
eldest servant, the pillar of Poseidon’s adoration

“A King must choose,” the man softly spoke, “often between two wrong options. Not
everyone can be saved.”

Percy flinched. How many times had he been told this? And how many times he had agreed
and argued and yelled about the unfairness of it all?

“Maybe mercy is not about saving everyone,” he answered stepping closer to the statue,
“maybe mercy is just being willing to do it, when it's possible.”

The priest stared hard at him, but Percy’s insecurities seemed to have been removed from him
like all his possessions, at least for a moment.

“War is coming,” the old voice of the man rasped, “do you not wish to fight?”
Percy placed his hand on the marble base of the statue, trying to feel something, some spark
of power, or recognition. “I will,” he answered, “because so it must be.”

The priest swam lazily towards him, placing his callous hand above Percy’s battle ready one.

“You won’t find him there,” he whispered, “Poseidon’s not in that statue.”

“Do you know where he is then?”

His other hand touched Percy’s heart above his tunic. He shivered. “What is of the sea always
returns to it,” he repeated, “but Poseidon has never been of the sea.”

“What?” Percy asked, failing to move away from the old man.

“He was not born from it,” the man explained, “the sea existed before him and continued to
do so after him. Poseidon laid his claim, and the ocean accepted it and thus the sea he
became.”

“You though...” he said slowly moving his hand away and looking in Percy’s mesmerised
eyes, “you have had it in your veins since the moment you took your first breath, painfully
and with a body that had to adapt itself to land.”

Percy remained silent, unable to tore his gaze away. He couldn’t comprehend what the old
man was saying, couldn’t understand the hidden meaning of his words.

“Where is he then?” he asked again, but the priest just shook his head.

“I have not been shown,” he answered, “I only know what Fate allows me to.”

Percy nodded, taking his hand away from the marble. This part of the temple was colder,
further away from the light and comfort of the fire and safely tucked away from its call.

The priest exhaustingly moved towards him. “Kneel,” he ordered, and Percy fell down in
front of him, never taking his eyes away and uncaring about the pain of his knees crushing on
the hard ground.

The priest placed a trembling hand on the top of his head, quieting the wilderness of his hair.

“Perseus, brother to monsters and gods, son of the ocean and yet faithful to mortality,” he
started, “I bless you, and I bless your sons and your daughters, I bless the soil your feet touch
and the oxygen that you breathe. May it be kind, Perseus. May it be kind.”

A thunder rumbled.

Percy raised his head in confusion- how could it be heard so deep under the ocean, how
could-

The priest met his eyes and smiled, a mischievous expression that for an infinite second made
him young again. A blink and it was gone, his ancient eyes at their solemn place again, and
Percy found himself missing the man intensely, even if he had never known him, even if it
could have never been.

“You have received this old man’s blessing,” the priest said when the silence became too
much to bear, “now it’s time for you to keep living.”

Percy nodded, recognizing the goodbye for what it was: a man’s last grasp to life before the
immeasurable darkness.

He left the temple with the knowledge that he would never enter it again.

He was draped in golden until the shine of the fabric was enough to cover the gloom that had
settled into his spirit, until sadness had been made unrecognisable under the shimmering
gems.

Percy smiled and said his thanks, but his heart had gotten out of the temple heavy and
nostalgic and not even the cheerful buzzing of servants around him managed to fill the void
that he himself had created.

There would be no guests, no visiting nobles in this hastily arranged marriage, it wouldn't be
anything as fancy as his Coronation or even as his last trial. There was a war about to start,
and money couldn't be wasted on frivolous decorations.

Percy cared nothing for it, but as he walked across the Palace to reach the garden where he
would meet and marry his future wife- he wondered whether or not this would be one of the
things taken away from her.

Had she spent her childhood planning her wedding? Had she loved someone else, and been
forced to renounce it?

He hoped not. He hoped she’d find contentment.

There was no music, no solemn hymn nor prayer while Percy passed between the small
crowd of Phaidros’ family and foreign dignitaries, between the generals and the advisors that
stood in front of the Duke.

And Amphitrite smiling next to him, a bit to the side, dazzling in the afternoon light and in
front of them, with her back to him- a female figure.

Percy’s heart sped up, and he slowed his pace. His future wife stood just feet away from him,
dressed in rich purple from head to toe, an emerald green veil on her head that left the colour
of her hair up to his imagination.

Phaidros was looking proudly at her, and nodded with a small smile when Percy came to
stand next to her. She was wearing the same colours of his Coronation clothes, he realised
when the Duke started speaking, that’s what the tailor had meant.
Wedding customs dictated that he could not turn towards the bride until the rite was
completed, but Percy couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
The veil covered her face and her hair, but he could see the indigo of her hands, the thigh way
in which she held her bouquet of sea flowers that betrayed the pretended calm of her stillness.

She was nervous as he was, and it strangely calmed him down. She would be in much a more
vulnerable position than him, even if it was her house, even if she was with her family: he
still remained King, and her husband in a deeply patriarchal society.

He focused his attention on Phaidros’ words again, on the final blessing that would
pronounce them together for as long as they lived, and swore to himself that he would do
good by her, no matter his feelings.

No matter anything else but the young girl whose life was being put in his hands.

Phaidros made them take each other's hands, and Percy did so delicately, looking at her in the
eyes behind the veil. And when the Duke pronounced them husband and wife- he slowly and
deliberately lifted it up, still holding her hand.

The first thing he noted was that she had big, gentle eyes of a blue so dark it almost seemed
black and that fit perfectly on her indigo skin. Her hair was still mostly covered, but there
was no rush and Percy smiled at her with delicacy.

People were clapping and cheering around them, but he could barely hear them, lost in
holding his wife’s gaze. He felt like the entire day had been an out of body experience, as if it
wasn’t really his life, his body, him there in a Palace under the sea marrying the daughter of a
Duke.

Him, born in lower Manhattan and grown in poverty and abuse, him with his terrible school
track record, his failed quests and an infinite list of people he had disappointed and hurt and
left behind. The same Percy who had believed Annabeth would be the one and only, was now
married to a stranger who had held no more say in the matter than he had.

The party moved to the banquet hall, decorated with sea flowers and white roses in an
exquisite combination. Percy wanted to say something, wanted to at least ask for her name,
but he couldn’t find the right words.

He kept turning to her, opening his mouth and closing it again all the way to their seats at the
top of the room, in the most awkward walk of his entire life. The mermaid moved herself
gracefully, seemingly weightless in the water, as Amphitrite did when she was holding court.

He looked for her in the crowd, and when their eyes met she mouthed at him to talk, to
address her in any way, and Percy nodded, and squeezed his wife’s hand.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked her while the servants were leading them to their table,
“you probably know mine already, but anyway you can call me Percy.”

She raised her eyes to his. “Myrto,” she answered, “my name is Myrto”
 He smiled at her again as they sat down, and he kept staring as one of her servants gently
took the heavy veil away, showing her auburn hair braided tightly but still so very long like-

“I’ve seen you before,” Percy realised suddenly, trying and failing to recall when it had
happened, “I remember your hair.”

Myrto shooed the servant away, and turned to look at him right into the eyes. “I visited you,
in the infirmary, when you arrived from Hallmer,” she whispered, “but my father mustn’t
know.”

“Of course not,” Percy answered, chuckling, “you needed to ascertain yourself that I wasn’t
left horribly deformed from the explosion after all”

She snorted into her wine, splashing it all over the white tablecloth and pretending to be
coughing when everyone’s heads turned towards her. Percy barely managed to keep his
laughter in, and when her eyes darted to him he cleaned the cloth with a gesture and called a
servant for more wine.

The crowd conversation resumed as before, and Myrto glared at him. “I don’t usually spit all
over the table,” she announced, and Percy nodded at her with a serious expression.

“We have at least one thing in common then,” he answered, and maybe it was the nerves or
the weirdness of the situation or just the desire to seem happy, but they started laughing
together, and they could not stop.

Conversation came easily after that, when most of the tension had melted away and helped by
the food and the wine they spoke about small and everyday things, that kind of small talk that
is comforting rather than boring.

Percy found himself enjoying the meal and the company, even if he felt Amphitrite and the
Duke’s eyes on him and Myrto, even if he knew that his every move was being carefully
scrutinised. His wife was aware of that too, from the way she glanced at the guests every now
and then, but refused to comment on it, instead maintaining her friendly demeanour.

A cover up for her unease that Percy greatly appreciated. They’d have time to know each
other better later, in private, where they would be able to share their concerns: as a King he
could not afford to show vulnerability in public, and Myrto had been educated in such
matters.

Maybe it would work. Better, maybe it could actually be good, if he managed to quiet down
the heaviness that the visit in the temple had placed above his heart.

Maybe, maybe, there would just be the time.

Chapter End Notes

I had planned to fit the whole wedding in this chapter... but apparently I didn't manage
and at the end I didn't want to make it seem rushed.

Does the hopeful ending make up for the first part of the chapter? ;)

Thank you to all who took time to leave lovely comments on my previous chapter, your
words give me motivation to keep writing and I love all of your thoughts on my work!
❤
 Year II, April IV, May I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

After the rich and only barely awkward meal, it was time for the giving of gifts to the newly
married couple. Had it been a normal situation- had the daughter of the Northern Duke
married the King of the Sea in any other period- it would have been lavish and exotic and
enormously expensive, with nobles from all around the ocean trying to upstage one another
with the most extravagant gifts.

As things stood, however, between the fact that it had been an unplanned, rushed affair and
that every resource needed to be saved for the upcoming war, they had agreed that only the
Duke and Amphitrite would give them gifts, and symbolic ones: nothing too excessive.

The Duke came towards their table first, while a small orchestra was playing a low melody.
He held a box in his hand, carefully wrapped with satin, and after respectfully bowing to
Percy, he laid it where his plate had been.

“Thank you,” Percy commented, giving the Duke a small smile. He carefully took the fabric
away, revealing a dark, coral box carefully and strictly interwoven. He passed his fingers on
it in awe, loving the colour and how spectacularly marine it was, before opening it delicately,
not to ruin the decorations.

Inside, wrapped in dark blue silk, was the most beautiful dagger Percy had ever seen. “Wow,”
he said, taking it out to examine the silver scabbard, engraved with pictures of mermaids and
waves in a complicated design.

He unsheathed it carefully, noting that the blade was also decorated on the fuller, this time
more delicately: the slightly curved quillons formed the decorative shape of a trident with the
blade, and the handle was decorated as a mermaid’s tale.

It was the weapon of a sea prince. Of a sea king.

“It belonged to my father,” Phaidros explained, “who had inherited it from his father, who
had inherited it from his own father and so on for nine generations. My ancestor, Hor the
Great, had won it in hand-to-hand combat against your father.”

Percy tensed. “It belonged to Poseidon?” he asked, voice almost cracking.

The merman nodded. “And now it returns to the Royal Family,” he added, “after a thousand
years.”

Percy traced his fingers upon the blade again, feeling as when he had been given Anaklusmos
for the first time: as if it had always been destined to be in his hands. The dagger felt like
belonging, like tradition, like being given a family heirloom from your favourite grandparent.
“Thank you,” he repeated, looking at the Duke with tears in his eyes, and letting Myrto place
her delicate hand on his forearm. She squeezed lightly, and he turned towards her to smile,
looking at her kind, almond eyes, so blue that he could get lost in them.

Amphitrite came forward then, and Myrto straightened her back. Percy almost chuckled,
understanding that she wanted to make a good impression but also remembering all the times
the goddess had seen him slumped into various surfaces, with bed hair and oversized clothes.

She smiled at the both of them, placing a malachite box in front of her. Percy’s eyes darted to
Amphitrite in a silent question: had she really…

“As you know, we have been forced to flee the Palace quickly and without preparation.
However,” she gently explained, “I did manage to bring something very dear to me in my
journey, and I now give it to you with joy.”

Myrto’s hands trembled when she opened the precious box. Inside, as Percy had guessed, was
Amphitrite’s own wedding parure. A pearls and sapphire necklace, earrings and bracelets and
body jewellery made to match and to awe, made so that the wearer could be recognized as the
most important woman in the entire Ocean.

Myrto brought her hands to her mouth, staring at the jewels with her eyes shining just as
much as the precious stones.

“My Lady,” she started, clearly overwhelmed, “this is… are you certain that…” she glanced
at the goddess, who nodded kindly. Myrto cleared her throat. “Thank you then, Lady
Amphitrite. This is more than I ever expected. I will… I will be worthy of it.”

It was Percy’s time to squeeze her forearm now, and his wife turned towards him with a
watery smile, while the goddess returned to sit with the Duke.

“Would you mind putting the necklace on me, my Lord?” she asked then, and Percy nodded,
gesturing at her to turn around.

He carefully took the heavy jewellery out of the box, circling her neck and clasping it in the
back, brushing her skin with his hands- cold they must have been, for he could feel
goosebumps on the spot he had touched.

“Done,” he then whispered, ignoring the looks of the crowd, and when she turned around,
dazzling and mesmerising he forced himself to look at the pearls and sapphires contrasting
with the rich purple of her dress and not- not anywhere else.

“Beautiful,” he commented, and he could see in Myrto’s eyes the unasked question of
whether he was referring to her or to the necklace.

A single bell rang the arrival of midnight.

The end of the dinner, of the quick celebration, and the start of the married couple’s wedding
night. Myrto raised from her chair slowly, her eyes darting to her father while a group of
handmaids encircled her with giggles and flowers, leading her to their antechamber to be
bathed and undressed.

Percy swallowed down his nervousness. Medieval society, he reminded himself, but none of
them had to do anything they didn’t want to. They could come to know each other before, if
Myrto would feel more comfortable: he would follow her lead, even if he wasn’t sure about
the whole situation either.

Maybe he could ask Amphitrite for advice, in those precious minutes he could remain at the
feast while his wife was brought inside the Palace. He didn’t really want to think about her
and his father’s wedding night- but if the myths about him held any grain of truth, then they
surely had not waited.

He swam towards the goddess table, inclining his head to all the dignitaries who
congratulated him on his marriage, and when he reached her he lowered down to kiss her
cheek as she had done before he had entered the temple that same morning.

“Can we talk?” he whispered, and felt Amphitrite nod while she stood up and excused herself
from the table, following Percy in a more private section of the garden.

“I assume you do already have some kind of experience in the matter,” the goddess teased,
while Percy glared at her, “but please, do ask about my own wed-”

“How do I tell her it’s okay if it's not tonight?” he asked, rushed, cutting her speech. They
didn’t have time and he needed to know, he needed for it to at least start well, so that it
wouldn’t turn like his mother and Gabe marriage had been and-

“Perseus,” Amphitrite softly called, “I know that you grew up in a very different
environment, with very different values, but you need to understand that- that the own moral
code that was engraved in her, will not allow for any refusal on her part tonight.”

Percy blinked, taking a couple of seconds to understand what she had just explained. “But it’s
not fair,” he answered when his brain catched up with her words, “why have you never-”

“Just do what you think is better,” she cut him off, “you are a good person, Percy. It’ll be
alright.”

He breathed deeply, nodding to the valet who had come to take him to his, theirs, new rooms,
and followed the merman deep into the Palace and then up, up away from the guest rooms,
there where the rooms of the ducal family stood.

The valet led him in front of a wide, reddish door and bowed to him deeply before swimming
away and leaving him alone in what he hoped would not be a traumatic evening.

He knocked at the door before he could change his mind, and Myrto’s clear voice allowed
him to enter from the other side.

He stepped into the room hesitantly, closing the door behind him. Myrto was sitting on what
was going to become their bed, her long hair loose on her shoulders instead of carefully
braided. Her dress too, had been changed, and she was now wearing a flowy white tunic, long
to her ankles but also kind of transparent.

Percy moved towards her with a confidence he wasn’t feeling, and sat next to her on the soft
bed. Her eyes raised to his, but she didn’t move, nor flinch away.

“I enjoyed the dinner much more than I thought I would,” Percy started, “your family surely
knows how to organise one. Did you use to hold parties often, before the war?”

Myrto looked a bit confused by the question, but she didn’t falter. “We’ve always had some
kind of guests here,” she answered, “but mostly my father’s old friends and colleagues from
the Academy. Once a moon we invite scholars from the Duchy, and they keep us updated on
their findings and discoveries. Sometimes they read poetry.”

“That sounds like a really nice tradition,” he commented, voice low, “do you usually enjoy
poetry?”

A bit of panic flickered in her eyes, and Percy saw her grip the sheets with the hand further
away from him. “I like the epics better,” she answered, “and I also enjoy singing very much.”

Percy hummed. “I took piano lessons this last year. I’m far away from being good, but maybe
I could try to accompany you once.”

“It sounds lovely, my Lord,” she nodded.

“Percy,” he reprimanded.

She hesitated, and raised her eyes to meet his too green ones. “Percy,” she whispered, and he
smiled, nervously taking her hand in his and tracing her palm with his fingers.

“You know we have all the time in the world. We can wait for-”

Myrto pulled him forward with her hand, and Percy let himself be led so close to her that he
could smell the perfume her handmaids had put on her and see small freckles on her indigo
skin and- and then her mouth was on his and her hands were around his neck and Percy’s
own flew to her waist, not daring anything else.

The kiss was brief: Myrto didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing and Percy refused
to take the lead and moved his hand to her cheek instead, taking a lock away from her eyes
when the kiss ended.

“I think we’ll be good together,” Myrto murmured in his mouth and Percy nodded, inclining
his head to kiss her nose. She shivered, and opened her deep blue eyes to stare at him
intensely.

“I want it to be tonight,” she said, blushing all the way to her neck, “I want-” she faltered, and
Percy just smiled, just enjoying the warmth and the intimacy and that sense of belonging that
had nothing possessive.
“Just tell me if you want to stop,” he whispered in her ear, and then there was only skin and
kisses and… ease.

It felt like coming home, when they laughed as teenagers at their first experience, it felt like
being in the arms of someone you had known all your life, like being cradled by love itself,
even if… they weren’t in love. They had met that same night there was no way-

Myrto petted his wild hair, her other hand tracing his cheekbones. “Stay,” she begged, “stay
here.”

Percy looked at her in confusion. “Was I supposed to be leaving?”

She shook her head. “You’ll have to go to war, soon.”

He chuckled. “I’d stay here gladly if I could,” he whispered, and it felt like a betrayal.
Amphitrite and Dolphin had brought him there, saved his life and guided him and now he
was...admitting he would prefer not to do what he had promised to at least try.

“Sorry, I…” she continued, sensing his change of mood, “I wasn’t thinking. I know you have
a duty and that you’re King first and-”

“It’s alright,” Percy kissed her forehead, “don’t be afraid to ask for what you would like. I
can’t do much now but- but it’s good to ask. I want you to be comfortable with...expressing
your needs.”

She arched her neck below him, and Percy laughed softly, moving his mouth there while she
kept playing with his hair. “Like this?” she chuckled, and Percy grazed her skin with his teeth
as she laughed.

It was a good night. It was a very good night.

Morning always comes, though. Morning always comes.

Percy still hadn’t figured out whether it was a good thing or not.

The following days were hectic and tiring, and Percy and Myrto saw very little of each other:
with the beginning of May and the warmer season, travel could restart even in the colder
areas of the Northern Duchy and the plans for war started to become more of a certainty.

Troubling news kept arriving from all fronts: Bythus had closed all the Academies and had
answered with the army at the protests of the scholars, many of whom had been imprisoned
and sentenced. Atlantis’ borders had been totally closed and soldiers walked armed through
the streets, to discourage people from acting out or even thinking about harbouring known
rebels.

“He’s turning the Kingdom into a dictatorship,” Dolphin stated when he finished his report,
“ambassadors from the Flores Sea are asking for help against the attacks of their
neighbouring Duchy: the Solomon Sea declared their support for Bythus just a couple of
weeks ago.”
“It’s too far from here to help,” Phaidros answered, looking at Percy, “the army would take
too long and the losses wouldn’t be worth the men Indonesia could give us.”

“I could go,” Percy offered, “if I travel by myself it’s not going to take too long and-”

“No,” Amphitrite firmly stated, “coming here was difficult enough. You are the most wanted
person in the entire Ocean. Bythus has too many spies, too many men. It’s too dangerous.”

Percy grimaced, but one of Phaidros’ advisors didn’t give him time to speak. “You’d have to
travel through too many territories already loyal to Bythus. Too many things could go wrong
and you are the figurehead of the rebellion against him: we need you with the main army.”

He lounged back on his chair and sighed, gesturing at Dolphin to continue. He had had this
argument too many times to count, and he had learnt when it wasn’t the place or the time to
insist on the matter.

“The Argentine Sea has once again stated its alliance with us,” the general went on, “as the…
young Arabian Duke. The Red Sea also-”

“What about East China?” Amphitrite asked, “have we received any news from their
ambassadors?”

Phaidros gritted his teeth. “On Bythus’ side, like the sea of Japan, the Coral one and the
Mediterranean. Basically all the other biggest duchies have sided with him. Had it been a
normal war we’d already have lost.”

“Isn’t this worse than a normal war between duchies?” Percy asked, “Poseidon isn’t here and
the throne stands unoccupied. This lack of stability can’t have made the situation better in
any way.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Phaidros’ advisor confirmed, “but Poseidon never truly intervened in the…
dealing of matters between the duchies unless it started killing too many people.”

Percy looked at Amphitrite in confusion. Poseidon wasn’t there even now, so he couldn’t see
how the situation was any different: at least before he could always intervene if things got too
out of hand but now…

“He means that we’ve fought all our wars with just soldiers. Good soldiers and good
strategies, but still normal mermen and ichthyocentaurs and mercentaurs,” Phaidros
explained, “none of them, or of us, had any power over the waters.”

“And now…”

“And now we have you,” he concluded, “for better or for worse, you’ll be joining the fight.”

Percy’s heart missed a beat, but he nodded with a serious expression.

He was ready. He was even eager to fight, on some levels: he had been training with the
soldiers, yes, but he wasn’t used to spending all this time without battling a monster or
without the burning sensation of adrenaline that shot in his veins every time.
Gone was the blood lust from the curse of Achilles, but Percy still wasn’t just the gentle wave
that caresses a baby’s feet or the shallow waters of the bay, no matter how much he would
have liked to be perceived as safe from the people he loved.

He had been a child soldier, and you don’t get out of that without lingering issues.

“When will we be leaving?” he asked then, thinking on how he would manage to break the
news to Myrto, so soon after their wedding. And he’d have to write to his mother, to try to
receive a letter from her for what could be the last time.

Dolphin turned towards Phaidros’ generals, and the atmosphere in the room tensed in
anticipation. This moment- this moment could decide the course of the entire war.

Amphitrite placed a hand on his shoulder, and Percy found a part of him relaxing under the
warmth of her fingers. He turned towards her and smiled in reassurance, as to say I’m fine,
please don’t worry, but Amphitrite squeezed her eyes even more.

How many wars had she seen? How many soldiers and men had she seen die in them?
Sometimes Percy forgot how many demigod children his father had had during the eons.
More than Zeus, more than any other god, and Amphitrite had met some of them, liked a few
and hated others, and all of them she had seen die and suffer and fight.

Percy sometimes, when he was alone in the dark and in silence, thought of her as his mother.
Just for a second, he let himself entertain the thought of how his life could have been- had he
grown up in Atlantis, had he been raised as his father’s son, had he never had to deal with
Gabe. He felt terribly ashamed of it then, in the morning: his mother had given up so much
for him and here he was, disowning her.

But the fantasy was addicting, and grasping humanity came harder and harder the more he
spent time in chambers of gold that looked taken out of a fairytale.

Dolphin cleared his throat, and Percy focused his attention on him again. “The generals and I
believe it would be best to leave in a month’s time. The solstice of the twenty-first will keep
Bythus distracted right in the days we would be supposed to reach the border with his duchy,
and in the meantime we’ll have time to organise the troops.”

“The armies further away will not manage to reach us in so little time though,” Phaidros
objected, “I’m not sure it would be wise to start an attack while we’re not at our full
strength.”

“They won’t be at their full strength either though,” Percy stated, “I think it could be a good
idea not to show our numbers at the first move. Let them underestimate us. Let them think
they’ve already won.”

“In mid-June the chinese army will have reached the eastern border of the duchy, but should
not be able to assist Bythus’ men where we intend to fight them,”Dolphin pressed on,
pointing on a spot in the map, “this will just be a little ruffle with all probability. The real
battles will be on the way to Atlantis, when Bythus will put his best fighters.”
 Amphitrite nodded in agreement. “We must remember there are many sea deities that are not
part of Poseidon’s line and have thus not disappeared. We’re not on good terms- all of them
have tried to dethrone my husband at least once- so it is possible they might have allied
themselves with Bythus.”

“Do we know anything about their whereabouts?” Phaidros asked his council, and there were
a few sparse murmurs.

“We’ll seek information at once, your Grace,” one of his advisors answered, leaving the room
while the others fidgeted on the door.

Phaidros sighed. “If you have nothing to add, your Majesty, I think it would be wise to retreat
to dinner. We have tiring weeks in front of us.”

“Of course,” Percy answered, gesturing at the council in dismissal and rising from his chair.
“I’ll put in order some of my affairs to be ready to leave in time. But if I may ask-”

He paused, and Phaidros nodded at him to continue. “Will Myrto be staying here? Or will she
be coming with me to war?”

The Duke stared at him. “You are King, and her husband: it is ultimately your decision. But
keep in mind, she has left this palace barely and with high honours. She knows nothing of
physical labour, of the cruelty of war and the harshness of sleeping on the cold ground.”

Percy nodded. “She’s young,” he agreed, “but would she be safe here? They surely already
know we have married, for news of this kind travels fast. What if they try to take her as the
means for a bargain?”

“Some trusted guards will remain here of course, and the walls around the Palace are solid.
This is the hearth of my Duchy- if Bythus’ army manages to arrive here, it’ll mean we have
lost and are probably long dead.”

Amphitrite stepped forward between them, and Percy looked at her questioningly. “He will
make a decision in due time,” she started, “Myrto’s protection is in our family's hands now,
your Grace. We’ll try to do what’s best for everyone.”

Duke Phaidros didn’t look happy at all, but there was nothing he could do if they decided
against his advice.

And when Percy asked the goddess why she had intervened, later when he was a bit wine
drunk and braver, Amphitite looked at him raw and honest, and admitted that she feared what
loneliness and violence together could get out of him.

And there, Percy realised that maybe no one had ever been fooled into thinking him innocent.

Chapter End Notes

I have a love-hate relationship with this chapter, but well, the plot moves forward!

Thank you to all who are reading and wnjoying this story- I have loved and cherished
every single one of your commets, so if you have the time let me know yout thoughts on
this! ❤❤
 Year II, May II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The preparations for war went on uninterrupted, and the more they organised the more Percy
realised just how utterly unprepared they had been against the Titans. What had the gods been
thinking, when they had left the defence of the city, of their own home, in the hands of
teenagers with an improvised plan?

Phaidros’ generals were leaving nothing to chance, and Percy couldn’t avoid but feel out of
place: they asked him to approve of strategies, to give his opinions on war formations that he
barely grasped and the entire affair filled him with dread.

Myrto noticed his mood swings as if they had been her own, but they only had the nights to
spend together, between his training, the war council session and his wife’s own new duties
as Queen of the Seas, done under Amphitrite’s watchful gaze.

So if Percy felt like he was going to implode any day now, he was utterly justified.

“The administration of the Palace will be my responsibility,” Myrto was explaining one
evening, while she brushed her long hair, “and everything that has to do with restorations and
decorations and the whole. Parties too, if you are agreeable. Lady Amphitrite has admitted
that you aren’t a great fan of them.”

“I like parties. I just don’t like having to get out of my way to make conversation with people
I don’t care about.”

Myrto stared at him, raising her eyebrows. “That’s what parties are,” she stated, and Percy
sighed, unbuttoning his blouse.

“On land, parties are between friends,” he explained, “we have them just to have fun, to
laugh and drink with the people we love. There is nothing political in them.”

“That does sound lovely,” she answered, turning towards him with a small smile, “you never
told me anything about your friends. Are they-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Percy brusquely answered, regretting it immediately when
Myrto’s expression closed off in an instant.

“Of course, I-” she started, but Percy shook his head and stopped her.

“I apologise,” he started, “my tone was uncalled for. I am… I just-” he gestured around with
his hands, not daring to look at his wife, “they’ve been tiring days, and I… I miss them more
when I’m stressed.”

The admission felt like being stabbed, like all the loneliness he felt had taken the form of a
knife and now toyed in turning around inside his chest. Saying it out loud made it real, in a
way that was too scary to think about. It had been so long since he had seen a familiar face,
so long since he had met Annabeth, in that cave where his heart had broken in half.

Myrto’s expression was soft again, when he found the courage to glance at her. There was no
pity in her gaze though, just what seemed to be understanding.

“It might not be the right time to say this,” she started, rising from her chair and sitting on the
bed next to Percy, “but I doreally like your ability to be vulnerable. I know-” she interrupted
when he opened his mouth to object, “you don’t see anything out of the ordinary in sharing
your feelings with me but…”

“-but it’s not what you were raised to believe your husband would do?” Percy asked, letting
Myrto take his hand in hers. He squeezed back, and her other hand moved to his cheek in a
gentle caress.

“No,” she admitted, and maybe she would have stopped there, hadn’t she noticed just how
much Percy needed a distraction, a change of topic on something that didn’t regard him. “I
knew it would be up to my father to decide,” she went on, “and he loves me, so he would
have tried to find a good match to keep or raise my status, but I don’t think he would have
looked at much else.”

Percy nodded, letting her speak softly in his ear without interrupting. “So I’m glad that you
are a good person, with a good heart, even if that doesn’t make you a warmonger,” she
paused, “especially because you aren’t.”

He smiled, and while the knife in his chest was still there, some of the hope he had felt at
their wedding was coming back, warming his cold soul and pushing his heart to beat with
more feeling.

“I like you too,” he then whispered, softly moving her hair away from her ears, “I could not
have asked for a better match,” he said, and then flinched. “It doesn’t sound much, does it?”

Myrto chuckled. “You’re lucky I am a very forgiving person,” she teased, and kissed him
softly.

“Love will come,” she reassured him, and it was enough of a hope to pass the night without
nightmares.

Phaidros’ advisors returned in the middle of May with horrible news.

“The telchines have allied themselves with Bythus,” they announced in the extraordinary
meeting Percy had been called to attend in the middle of the night, "we had hoped that the
defeat they had suffered in the last war had decimated them enough not to be able to risk
another conflict, but…"

"I had also been told their numbers were extremely low," Amphitrite added, her nightgown
tightly closed in front of her, "between me and my husband's effort in the war and…" she
glanced at Percy.

"And me blowing up Mt. Saint Helena, yes," he sighed, "well apparently we were all too
hopeful. Do we know anything about the other sea gods instead?"

Dolphin flinched, shaking his head. "They've been all in hiding since before the war against
Oceanus, for they didn't wish to take a side"

"Maybe they won't even now," Phaidros interjected, "none of them would be King anyway,
even if they allied themselves against us."

"But the sea would need new nobility," Amphitrite continued, "if we were to lose, all the
duchies who are allied to us would need new people to lead them. It's more power than they
have now, at least in regards to politics."

"Can I count on your scouts to keep an eye on any sign of their possible whereabouts?" Percy
asked the Duke, sitting back against his chair, "It would be best not to be taken by surprise
during a battle."

Phaidros nodded, and turned to one of his generals. "You've heard the King's orders," he
addressed him, and the man bowed before leaving the room.

"Their army is now a week away from where we intended to ruffle Bythus at the border," the
advisor went on, "I believe he intends to use them to test the strength of our defences."

Percy looked at Amphitrite, a silent question in his eyes. Should they leave now? Should he
ask for Myrto to go with him? They had barely discussed it, and she was so innocent yet.

"It could be a trap," Dolphin proposed, "to make us send the most of our forces there just to
be found unprepared by Bythus' other armies somewhere else."

"We can't risk them entering the Duchy," Phaidros stated, "I shall not have soldiers
rampaging through my lands and my villages, wreaking havoc. An invasion would destroy
our reputation, and no duchy would want to keep his alliance if we can’t even stop an attack
at our own borders."

"I agree with the Duke," Percy answered at the goddess silent consent, "we could send part of
our forces to meet the telchines there," he pointed in the mosaic map, "and then send the rest
of the army into Bythus' territory, from here" he traced another route with his finger.

The generals stepped forward to see what he meant. "It'll be way longer to move from there
with an entire army," he answered, but his tone was contemplating, "there are mountains but
it surely would be unexpected."

Dolphin nodded. "Dividing the army could work, since some of our allies will be able to
assist us on both sides. I don't think we should half it though: most should go with the
telchines."

"Yes," Phaidros agreed, "the mountain route is risky but rewarding: a smaller force will be
more adept to the journey, and we'll avoid the risk of the telchines succeeding in their attack."
Amphitrite stared at Percy. "We shall pass from the mountain route," she stated, and when he
nodded she continued, "it's too early to make Percy show up, and Dolphin has fought against
the telchines before. He doesn't need our assistance."

Phaidros nodded, massaging his temples. "Shall you also take care of the division of our
forces?" He asked him, and Dolphin agreed, bowing to Percy and leaving the room with the
other generals.

"So you will be leaving as soon as Dolphin has reached an arrangement with the troops,"
Phaidros told them, "since the route is longer you can't afford to depart in June like us. Have
you made a decision about my daughter?"

He was taken by surprise. Had he? He was about to say that he still hadn't decided, when
Amphitrite cut in.

"She will be coming with us," she stated, "as Queen she must be aware of the reality of the
world she is ruling and the harshness of her duties."

Percy tried to look as if they had reached an agreement beforehand, but he had no idea if he
had succeeded, for Phaidros looked really unconvinced.

"What if she were to become with child?" He asked, and Percy shuddered at the thought. It
was way too soon, and he felt his heart start beating faster and his lungs close off just by
thinking about it. He wasn't ready, he couldn't-

Amphitrite draped a hand on his shoulder, grounding him in the present. "Then of course the
appropriate arrangements would be made for her to return to the safety of your house, and I
shall accompany her if necessary."

She smiled tightly. "They've been married barely a month," she then continued, "mermaids
and men… it's likely it will take much longer still."

Percy closed his eyes. Why had he not thought about it before? It’s not like he hadn’t known
it was possible. It just seemed… an adult thing to do, have a child, and he felt the furthest
thing from a responsible person that he could imagine. He was living a life full of dangers,
and even when he only needed to worry about himself he barely made it to the end of the day.

Amphitrite squeezed his shoulder again, and he opened his eyes to stare at the Duke. “I will
take care of your daughter, Phaidros,” he reassured, “she won’t be anywhere near the actual
battle.”

One of the advisors cleared his throat before the Duke could object, stepping forward when
everyone’s eyes landed on him. “I do not wish to be disrespectful, Your Grace,” he started,
“but our King’s position will remain precarious until he has an heir, and the promise of
stability could convince others to join us. I believe it is for the best for his wife to join him on
the journey.”

The other advisors started murmuring between themselves, and Percy felt his face flush deep
red. He so very much hoped his blushing wouldn’t be noticeable, but from the way Phaidros’
eyes slitted when they landed on him… who knew, medieval-like fathers liked to arrange
marriages for their daughters but still didn’t like to think of them engaging in those relations.
He felt almost sorry for Phaidros’ own wife.

“It appears the decision is out of my hands,” the Duke rumbled, clearly irritated, “but I shall
get over my displeasure if it brings the ocean a Prince.”

“Or a Princess,” Percy rebutted, and felt the goddess’ nails dig deep into his shoulder. He
smiled in challenge at the Duke and the earful Amphitrite would give him later would be
worth it if he managed to have a serious discussion with him on the topic.

“Of course,” Phaidros pacified instead, “we don’t get to choose, after all. I believe you also
had daughters before your son, Lady Amphitrite?”

“Yes,” she answered, “three of them whom I love dearly and who are now lost and alone,
away from me and my husband, who is also astray.”

The Duke swallowed visibly. “Yes,” he muttered, “well I believe our meeting can end, if you
are in agreement, Your Majesty?”

Percy nodded, and rose from his chair without hurry. “We’ll adjourn when Dolphin returns
then, for our last meeting before we’ll be separated by war. Do take the time to talk with your
daughter tonight, if you wish for a goodbye.”

Amphitrite sighed and led him towards the door, and he left without checking if the Duke
wished to answer. One of the advantages of being perceived as King, Percy had found, is that
most of the time he could talk with people only when he felt like it, and no one could force
him to do so when he didn’t. Apart from Amphitrite, and Dolphin, and… yes okay, it wasn’t
that great of an advantage but still. Better than before.

“Don’t start antagonising the Duke now,” Amphitrite reprimanded while they swam through
the hallways, “it was said badly, but it is true that until you have an heir your position is
precarious, and even your marriage. It’s not yet time to let the guard down.”

“Will it ever be though?” he asked, and it came out with more bitterness than he had intended
to put into his voice.

She stopped, and turned towards him. “It’ll be easier when you’ll be on the field,” she softly
answered, “the generals are politicians too but the soldiers aren’t. I’m sure you’ll manage to
befriend them,” she chuckled, and Percy raised his eyes in mock exasperation while she
laughed.

And for a moment- just for a moment- her laughter sounded just like his mother’s.

He wrote to her, that evening, lighting a small candle and huddling in the furthest corner of
the room from where Myrto was soundly sleeping.
 There were so many things to say, so many things he felt like not being able to explain, and
he hovered above the expensive paper with a pen full of ink and empty of words. How do
you tell your mother you are leaving for war? How do you tell her without breaking her
heart?

You don’t. But Percy knew she deserved better. She deserved to know, he couldn’t choose for
her. So he breathed deeply, and resigned himself to being a monster.

Mother, he wrote, and then scratched it.

Mom.
I got married and I’m trying to love. Can you believe it?
I know you’re gonna say yes. You knew it before I did- that I was going to try.
How are things going there? I don’t think I asked in my previous letter. How is Paul, how is
Annabeth? I’d wish to write to her but I don’t dare.

He paused, tasting the words on his tongue, rolling Annabeth’s name around his lips like a
prayer. He wasn’t in love with her anymore but what they had had… it couldn’t be erased,
nor forgotten in less than a year.

I told you that things were messy here, but it’s actually worse than that. Mom I’m leaving for
war, a real one with armies and sieges and cities. I’m ready for it though, he lied, lied, lied,
and at least in a way or in the other I’ll get closer to the end of this nightmare.
Think of me, he begged, but do not pray. It’s almost June already.

I’m not sure I’ll ever receive a reply to this, for I’ll be on march, so mama if you don’t hear
from me again- I love you and I miss you and I thank the Fates everyday that I had the
privilege of growing up with you.

Goodbye mama. Goodbye.

His hands trembled while he folded the letter, and the golden drachmas were wet with his
tears when he finally managed to send it. And it was sadness yes, but also the release of a
weight that he had felt heavy on his heart all day long. He knew Myrto would listen to him if
he were to wake her up, he knew she would have passed her hand through his hair until he
fell asleep, if he were to ask.

He wasn’t alone to bear it anymore, and it made all the difference.

Chapter End Notes

Bit of a shorter chapter this time- but I know I'm not going to have any time this week to
write anything else and I didn't want to make you wait so long for a transitory chapter.

Thank you for all the kudos and the lovely comments! They gave me the motivation to
write even when I was feeling brain dead, so I hope you'll have enjoyed this chapter
too!! <3
 Year II, May III
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

They left the Duke’s Palace like thieves, cold and silently in the middle of the crispy night:
summer was still too far away for the nights to be warm so up north, and Percy hid a shiver
while he passed between the lines of the soldiers he’d be in command of.

Twenty men they had given him, eighteen trained, war-ready soldiers, a general and a doctor,
each of them standing straight in the courtyard with their chin raised up and their eyes fierce.
The torches enlightened their sharp cheekbones and their young skin, drawing black shadow
over the marble walls of the Palace.

Percy felt like trembling, under the weight of the situation. It didn’t seem real- his presence
there seemed forced, staged, even when he reached Amphitrite at the front of the troop, even
when his wife smiled at him from the top of her lilac hippocampus- the men were waiting for
an order he wasn’t ready to give.

He mounted his own hippocampus, placing himself between Myrto and the goddess, and then
guiding it forward to address the men. He would give the animal to the general pretty soon,
he had decided, and walk between the soldiers: but for now, until Phaidros’ judging eyes
were set on him, it was better to uphold tradition.

“We stand here tonight,” he started, his voice solemn and his back forced straight, “for we
believe in an ocean that is free, unlimited and unrestricted. Duke Bythus has taken away this
right from us, from you and your families,” he paused, looking each of them in the eyes.

There was fire in them, their armors shining more than the torches.

“This is why we march in this long journey. This is why we will experience pain, and
tiredness. To reclaim our rights to safety, to freedom, to education. To be able to say, one day
when we’ll be old and grey, I was there and I did not stay silent.”

He glanced at his wife, holding the reins with trembling hands.

“When history will tell tales of us, when bards will sing of our journey,” he continued, “- we
shall be on the side of the victorious. We shall be on the side of the lion-hearted, the much-
enduring, the wide-seeing.”

He took a deep breath, and sat impossibly straighter, raising his torch up and tall towards
galleons of water above him.

“For freedom!” he yelled, and the soldiers followed suit, roaring and howling, excitement
clear in their loud voices. Long live the King, they cheered thrice, and Percy turned just in
time to see Amphitrite wipe away lonely tears from her cheeks.
He glanced at the soldiers' happy faces again, and wondered how many of them he would see
not return, how many of their smiles would be wiped out in a month’s time, in a year’s time.
In how long it would get them to reach an unreachable city.

Too many. There would be too many.

“That was a beautiful speech,” Myrto later told him, when the pace had been set and the
raucous had ended, “you’re better at this than you think.”

Percy shook his head. “As long as it’s just talking I don’t mind it,” he admitted, “but I need to
do more than just say pretty words and hold flaming torches,” he glanced at the soldiers
marching behind them and sighed. “I need to come to know them,” he explained, “what
they’re good at, what they’re bad at and what they’re the best at.”

“There is time, Perseus,” Amphitrite interrupted, “it’s only the first day, and it’s not even over
yet. The soldiers took well to your command. They’ll trust you, when the time is due, but…”

“But?”

“The military operates on a hierarchy,” she went on, “you are not their equal. You will never
be: you may have friends between them, but you remain their King. You need to establish a
boundary with them- they must understand when it’s time to treat you as their commander, or
it will cause problems in battle.”

Percy nodded. For how much he wanted to deny it, for how much it broke his heart… it made
sense. He couldn’t risk the soldiers not taking him seriously when he gave orders, or the
entire strategy would collapse so, once again, his power set him aside from all the others,
isolated him like it had done at Camp when he had first arrived.

He would never forget Chiron kneeling to him on the muddy forest floor, Chiron, trainer of
heroes, on his knees for a twelve year boy and all the campers, the children of Ares who had
attacked him, the Athena cabin who would despise him, all of them had dirtied their knees,
and he had been left alone, standing and confused.

He wondered what he would have said, at the time, had he known that the gesture would be
repeated six years later, at the top of Atlantis’ stairs, stairs he had climbed to proclaim
himself King of the Oceans.

It sounded so unbelievable that, on any other day, it would have been hilarious: on his first
day of campaign however, he felt it as so aggressively unfair that the currents tightened
around him, answering to his surge of anger.

Myrto made a motion to talk and then aborted it, but Amphitrite gave herself no such
restrictions. “Control yourself,” she hissed, “I know this isn’t easy, but there can be no
hesitation, no uncertainty, no weakness in front of the soldiers. We’re asking them to die for
us- the least we owe them is to be worth the sacrifice.”
He swallowed harshly, lettting the silence hang for a while. “How long till the mountains?”
he then asked, not bearing to handle it any longer. Amphitrite shook her head, but she didn’t
press, and he silently thanked her for it.

“We should reach them in a couple of days,” Myrto answered, “this side is still in my father’s
Duchy, so we shouldn’t find any issue. But the mountains are dangerous, full of dead-end
caves and violent currents: it could take weeks to cross them in safety.”

“And once crossed them we’ll find ourselves in enemy territory,” Percy added, “but not that
far from Atlantis.”

“Our allies from the Irish Sea and the Bering Sea will reach us there though,” Amphitrite
reassured, “we won’t be in twenty to fight off Bythus’ army, even if the majority of his forces
will be set against Phaidros’ attacks.”

Myrto flinched slightly, but she did not comment. “Are we going to siege Atlantis then?” she
asked, and Amphitrite darkly nodded, while Percy explained.

“Bythus won’t risk his own life nor the one of his heirs when he can cover behind the most
well-defended city in the entire Ocean. He’ll send his armies, yes, but I think he knows that it
won’t be enough to set us back.”

Amphitrite scoffed. “I’ve always thought Atlantis impenetrable. I hope I have been mistaken:
I also always thought of Poseidon as undefeatable, and yet here we are.”

“He hasn’t been defeated,” Percy found himself saying, “there is nothing that can be done
against curses.”

The goddess remained silent, but there was a strange look in her eyes, one that Percy did not
like at all.

He wanted to ask, to press for more information, but they were interrupted by the arrival of
the general, a tallish merman whose tail was the same colour as copper, a warm reddish
brown that inspired confidence.

“It’s midday, My Lord, My Ladies,” he addressed them, “may I suggest a stop? The soldiers
will become restless soon.”

“There is no need for so much formality, Cadmus,” Percy answered, “but yes, please tell the
men that we will stop for a meal at the next wide-enough clearing.”

“Thank you, sir”, the merman bowed, returning to the soldiers, and Percy sighed in defeat.

“We literally just talked about this,” Amphitrite unnervingly said, “Cadmus is a man of
tradition, well-known and respected, and yet he has agreed to be the mediator between you
and the soldiers. Be a little more-”

“A mediator?” Percy interrupted, “he’s not a mediator, he’s a general. Just because he
brought the soldiers’ needs to my attention doesn’t mean that he’s my errand boy.”
“I didn’t say that,” the goddess bit back, “but you can’t expect everyone to adhere to your…
impostor syndrome, your complex of-”

The currents came to a halt around them.

“Don’t speak of things you understand nothing about,” Percy threatened, holding the reins
with such a hard grip that his knuckles turned white, “don’t you dare,” he hissed, but
Amphitrite didn’t lower her gaze.

The entire army was still behind them, and not a breath could be heard. Fantastic, Percy
thought, the first day and they had already seen him lose it.

“We found the clearing!” Myrto shrill voice announced then, turning her hippocampus
towards the troops, and pointing to the ground around her, a bit smaller than what would have
been optimal, but still acceptable enough not to be questioned.

The soldiers cheered, dropping their bags and starting on the preparation of the meal with
cheerful chatter, unaware of the true reason the party had stopped.

Myrto glared at them. “We need to be a united front, or we have no chance to succeed in this
journey,” she stated firmly, “so solve…” she gestured around, “whatever is that got into both
of you today. I’ll be with Cadmus.”

Percy didn't even have time to nod that she was already gone, and when he turned back the
goddess was still staring at him.

“What is it now?” he asked, irritated and with still in mind the last time him and Amphitrite
had been in this position, in that run-down inn where Percy had seen mysterious jellyfishes
and where he had dreamt of Flustra’s apparent betrayal.

He had been so tired then, so vulnerable under the knowledge that he had brought poison into
the Palace, ashamed even to have been stabbed in his own throne room, to have needed to be
saved. And it hadn’t been that long, not even half a year and yet he felt stronger now: less
innocent maybe, but he had given up on that long ago.

The idea of an argument with Amphitrite still seemed unbearable though, the idea of crossing
her to the point of no return… he had placed a sword below her chin and it hadn’t made him
feel power, just disgust towards his own actions every time he thought back on it.

The goddess’ gaze changed slightly. “Let the past in the past,” she responded, “I can feel
you’re thinking about it. Don’t.”

Percy snorted. “Don’t, yeah. That solves it. Thanks.”

She sighed, and stopped him when he tried to dismount his hippocampus. “You sounded like
your father,” she admitted, and it got the entirety of Percy’s attention, “when you spoke to the
soldiers. It was like hearing Poseidon again- when we were young and he was in love and we
were building a kingdom.”
She paused, and Percy stared at her in surprise. She had never disclosed anything about her
personal life unless he had left her no choice before, and it made guilt surge liquid up into his
throat.

The goddess didn’t let him voice it. “I saw you, and the way Myrto looked at you. And I
remembered…” she swallowed, and in that moment she looked so shockingly human that
Percy just wanted to hug her, and whisper in her ear that everything would be alright.

“I remembered that I shall not have that again,” she smiled sadly, “not even when he’ll come
back because...it’s just gone. The way you look at each other… and it’s been weeks and…”

Percy felt sick. In all the years he had known to be a demigod he had never really given too
much thought to how it must have been, for Poseidon’s wife to be aware that he had stopped
having children because of a prophecy, but not for her.

Horrible, probably. And yet she had never acted against him.

“I’m sorry for…” he took a deep breath, “I didn’t think of anything but myself, and my
comforts. You know for me all this- show of respect, sounds antiquated, out of date. But
you’re right, it’s… not just the tradition right? It’s literally part of the culture.”

“I don’t know if culture cuts it,” she answered, “but people- they’re trying to treat you like
they treated my husband. They’re trying, how you mortals say it, to be nice. Poseidon was a
good king, but he was also known for his ire, and he is a ruthless god.”

She tied her dark eyes to his once again. “It is addicting, you know? To be adored, awed,
worshipped. You can never get enough of it. And when people do it because they want to,
and not because they’re forced to… it is very powerful indeed. I believe some gods may still
be surviving off what they once got.”

I’m not a god, though, Percy wanted to remark, but he knew that she was perfectly aware of
it. He wondered, for the first time, if people had ever made sacrifices in his name and he
shivered at the prospect. Enough had died for him already.

“-and I’m sure you will change something,” Amphitrite was continuing, “because the people
are more ready for it than we all thought if the curse declared this the time of the kingdom’s
greatest need. But you need to be patient.”

Percy nodded, feeling chastised as he always did even when he argued with his mother. “I
forget sometimes,” he explained, “just how old all of this is. Just how many millennia things
have been,” he gestured around, “like this. I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’ll do better,”

The goddess nodded, her expression returning the gentle one she had looked at him with for
the past months, “I forgive you,” she answered, “it’s wrong for me to place all the blame on
you anyway. Lydos and me, and even Dolphin… we should have made things clearer.”

“It’s not too late,” Percy chuckled, and Amphitrite raised her eyes to the surface in a mock
annoyance betrayed by her extended arm, an offer of support, and help, and love.
The soldiers were laughing around him while he accepted the goddess’ solid hand in his, and
when he saw Myrto softly smile at him in the clear, shimmering water, he realised he had
come too far to die.

He realised, unexpectedly, that he no longer wished for an escape from his life.

The afternoon was quiet and uneventful: Percy exchanged pleasant chatter with some of the
soldiers, but without any kind of real connection. They were friendly yes, but they had led
very different lives and still had nothing in common to actually talk about; so when Myrto
called for him at the head of the men, he didn’t mind going, not at all.

The sun was setting in the outer world when he reached her, turning the surface orange and
red, with rebellious rays that went deeper into the sea than they should have and that dyed the
water around them in the melancholic yellow of childhood.

Myrto smiled at him, her hair almost fire-red in the unusual light. “I wanted to talk to you
earlier but-” she started as he arrived next to her, a sheepish smile on her face, “didn’t seem
to be the right time.”

“Is something wrong?” Percy asked, turning to give her all of his attention and looking for
any sign of injury: had she fallen off when he had been busy with the soldiers?

“No, no,” she reassured, “I just… my father spoke to me before we left,” she started, “you
know about our...relations.”

“Our relations,” Percy repeated, remembering the conversation he too had had to have with
Phaidros, “alright. And…?”

She lowered her eyes towards her hands, refusing to look at him. “He said that if I were to
remain with child, I would have to return to the Palace,” she started, voice hesitant, “but I
don’t want to leave. I can be of help to you here, and to Amphitrite and she agrees that I
should learn how to be a Queen and I can only do that if I see things and I’m not going to if I
have to go back and then my father will-”

“Okay, okay, take a breath,” Percy said, interrupting Myrto’s panicked speech, “you don’t
have to convince me of anything. I do agree that it’s way too early for us to have a child, no
matter what the war council has to say about it.”

She raised her eyes to meet his for the first time, a perplexed expression betrayed by the
wrinkle of her eyebrows, “oh,” she answered, and then smiled. “That makes things quite
easier then.”

Percy chuckled. “I am sorry I should have discussed the topic with you earlier. There were
just so many things and… well, honestly I hadn’t given the possibility much thought.”

“I had,” Myrto answered, “but we’ve only known each other for a few weeks and I didn’t
know how… how to bring on the subject.”
 “Yes, I understand,” he acknowledged, clearing his throat. For how much they had liked each
other, and actually got on quite well, there was definitely still a lot of embarrassment and they
had had their awkward moments, as it was to be expected. They respected each other, which
was a good base, but still relationships take time to build and understatement even more: love
then… Percy believed his heart to be still too tender for it.

“Is there any possibility now that you may…” he asked, gesturing around without finishing
his sentence, blushing with no reason.

Myrto seemed ill at ease with the topic too, and it reassured Percy of the normalcy of what he
was feeling. They should have talked about this in the dark of their tent, he believed, for not
seeing each other would have probably made things easier to say.

But oh well. “No,” Myrto answered, averting her gaze again, “there isn’t.”

Percy nodded, not knowing what to say to disperse the tense atmosphere that had engulfed
them. “Would you like to sleep in a different tent or…?”

“I think we shouldn’t give the general reasons to be suspicious,” she answered, too fastly for
it to be something she hadn’t already wanted to say, “I have no doubt that he refers
everything to my father and the only reason I am here was- you know.”

“Yes,” he answered, clearing his throat again, “well of course it’s alright. You can- you can
trust me of course. If one of us changes their mind we’ll just have this conversation again.”

Myrto smiled softly. “Amphitrite had said you would answer something like that.”

“You spoke of this with her?” he asked, surprised. He hadn’t noticed they had become that
close, but he hadn’t really given it that much attention, too busy reigning back the bad
thoughts that had crossed his mind in the last days.

“She knows many things,” the mermaid answered, almost justifying herself, “and well- she’s
been a married woman for a long time.”

Percy snorted. “I’m not my father,” he defended, and Myrto’s hand reached for his own on
the hippocampus’ reins, touching him delicately.

“No,” she replied, “you aren’t at all.”

And Percy had always felt pride at being told he resembled Poseidon but this time-

-this time it was a good thing to be different.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading and of all your love on previous chapter! I wasn't sure I'd have
the time to write this one but you all motivated me to find it, so thank you ❤❤

You know, even if it's always been quite a long project from the start, I had planned to
write ten parts for every year... and now we're on part eleven and it's not even June yet! I
hope you won't mind if this gets massive...

Have a lovely week!

 Year II, May IV
Chapter Notes

An old... acquaintance comes back.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They reached the caves in good spirits. They had had plenty of food and plenty of rest, and
since they were still inside the Northern border nothing had dared to attack them, even if a
couple of sea serpents had swam in circles around them for a while. Amphitrite, unknowingly
repeating what his father had once told him, declared they were “small sea serpents” and thus
probably just over-excited puppies.

Percy still lived in fear of how big the big ones must have been, but he just smiled at Myrto’s
nod of agreement and kept as far from them as he could without drawing attention to himself.
He had Anaklusmos with him, he kept repeating in his head, he could literally shape the
currents and he had fought bigger and scarier monsters: and yet these bloody serpents
managed to run shivers across his spine in a way he wasn’t used to.

As they had gotten closer and closer to the caves though, every sign of life had disappeared
slowly at first, almost unnoticeably, and then all at once there was no longer any vegetation,
any curious bass or chatty shark, and even the hum of the fishes’ thoughts was just a
background in Percy’s mind in a way it hadn’t been in a long time.

If the soldiers noticed, they didn’t show it, continuing with their carefree pace while Percy
glanced at the murky water all around the caves’ entrance, a signal of danger so mundane and
expected that he was almost disappointed.

“It’s fake,” Myrto murmured to him when they breached it, “an illusion, placed by my father
to dissuade people from coming into the caves.”

“That’s why I can’t control it then,” Percy answered, relieved. He had never been good with
the Mist, and it had been a clear point of envy between him and Thalia. It felt so childish
now- as many things from his past life did- that he had gotten angry for such matters, that he
had blamed her so carelessly about something that she hadn’t chosen.

It was a question of minutes then, and there they were. Silence fell on the men, but it was all
very anticlimactic, not at all like Percy had expected it would be: they were marching into
war without knowing what war was, and it took away some of the fear, placing an unexpected
excitement in its place.

Amphitrite had been sure Percy would have enjoyed being on the move, but he kept rejecting
that thought. It was a war. People were going to die, citizens were already suffering- and yet
the thrill in his veins persisted, and the stronger it got the more he hated himself for it.
The general moved to stand in front of the troop when it became clear that Percy was too lost
in his thoughts to incite the soldiers again.

“We’re about to pass from very dangerous caves,” the old man started, “they are wide in
some places, tight in others. They play tricks on people’s minds, make them wander until
their tails give out,” he stressed, looking each soldier in the eyes.

“We have all heard the stories of the monsters that live in them, passed from generation to
generation of cautious mothers and disobeying sons. Most of them are probably true, or true
enough to force us to be careful. So I don’t want to hear any jokes, any games, any sounds
from any of you. Clear?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers said in unison, and it was enough to make Percy get a grip on reality.

Amphitrite had been staring at him, urging him with her eyes to fake the control he hadn’t
grasped fast enough. “Remember,” Percy intoned then, unintentionally pleased by the way all
gazes snapped on him, “outside these caves we’ll be in Duke Bythus’ territory. Our allies
may or may not have arrived yet: we might have to fight,” he paused, smiling as someone
who had already won.

“And if we fight, when we fight- know in your bones that you have conquered the most
dangerous caves in the Seven Seas. They hold no chance against us,” he yelled, and the entire
army gave one long, last cheer, before falling into their much practised positions.

Myrto reached his hand on the rein. “Ready?” she asked, and he nodded without looking at
her: his eyes were on the general, speaking to the goddess. He knew what they were saying,
and it was that Percy could not be allowed to be the first one to enter: too dangerous for his
position as heirless almost-King, too risky for morale if he were to be injured on the first day.

He had no intention of letting the soldiers think he could be manoeuvred though, and
Cadmus’ speech had already upset him. He should have been the one to talk, and if a part of
him was glad that the general had filled the silence, done his job, the other was angry at
himself for not having met expectations.

“General Cadmus,” he intoned, “me and you will be the first ones in. Ten men will follow,
then Lady Amphitrite and the Queen shall go then to hold the lines and organise an eventual
retreat or a change of path for the second half of the men, in case ours were to fail.”

He smiled at Myrto and marched to the entrance without waiting for any of their responses:
Cadmus’ expression was guarded when he reached him, but there was a fire in his eyes he
hadn't seen before, while Amphitrite didn’t seem in any way surprised by the turn of events.

She had known Poseidon too well maybe, to think that Percy would let other people decide
his actions for long. Or maybe - he thought deliriously- maybe she had just come to know
him in the months they had spent with only each other to confide in: maybe she no longer
thought about him as her husband’s son. Perhaps, at some time in his stay there- she had just
come to know him as Percy.
It comforted him just as much as it made him conscious of the weight of such a trust: if the
goddess thought of him as deserving, he needed to make her believe she was right, that she
hadn’t wasted her time. He ought to be better than he had been, so that she would keep
looking at him like… like a son, like someone to care for.

He swallowed harshly, lighting his torch with one last look behind him. His thoughts felt
desperate even to his own ears, but there was only one person in the world that he believed
could love him unconditionally- and she lived thousands and thousands of leagues away from
him.

“Let’s try to keep close to the left wall,” Cadmus advised, “until our eyes adapt to the
darkness at least. Then we’ll look for the safest passage.”

Percy nodded and swam closer to the entrance, his hippocampus already on the way back to
the Palace with the other ones: there had been no way to bring them into the caves. Phaidros
had assured them that the armies on the other side would bring the best they had in their
lands, and yet Percy missed already the weight of the reins in his hand, the pulsing, warm
body of the animal beneath him.

The general stepped into the entrance, and Percy followed suit, blinking rapidly to adjust his
eyes to the faint light, not helped by the dark rocks all around them.

“I think there is an opening there,” he pointed to the eastern wall, whose shadow fell distorted
enough to give the impression of a strict turn behind it. Cadmus nodded, but he remained
immobile, his eyes scanning the floor as if he could look underneath them.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything malicious here,” he admitted, still perplexed, glancing at
Percy as if waiting for a confirmation.

“It’s just the entrance,” he cautioned, “maybe the trouble will start when we’ll have been
lulled inside. Come on, let’s let the soldiers enter.”

They moved forward, walking carefully and listening intensely to every sound the stone
made when they stepped on it, but everything remained in its place. Percy’s heart was beating
fast, and his fingers twitched uselessly at his side when he heard the steps of the men set foot
into the cave.

How was he supposed to keep track of all of them? The entrance was probably one of the
widest chambers of the cave, and yet they could have fit at maximum a dozen of armed
soldiers, maybe fifteen without weapons.

“The soldiers will be alright,” Cadmus murmured, maybe reading his thoughts but most
likely used to the emotions of war, “and your wife is escorted by a goddess. They will be
fine.”

Percy had no gift of prophecy, but he was overwhelmed by a sudden certainty. “We’ll never
see all of them again,” he whispered, placing his calloused hand on the dark wall, trying and
failing to stop it from trembling.
Cadmus shifted the torch in his left hand, touching Percy on the shoulder with a vigorous pat.
“Don’t worry, my King,” he intoned, “we’ll have other men on the other side.”

Percy stopped the protest before it could come out of his mouth. That hadn’t been the issue,
that hadn’t been what he had been worried about- but he doubted the man would have ever
understood, and so he marched on. The journey was long, and no one could afford to waste a
breath, not even him.

The passage they found was strict, and they had to proceed one in front of the other, their left
hand always attached to the wall as they had told the soldiers to do, so that they may all take
the same route.

“We should turn off the torches,” Percy coughed after a while, “there isn’t enough oxygen
here to waste with the fire. I’ll unsheathe Anaklusmos, it glows a little.”

Cadmus nodded, and passed the order to the soldiers. There were a few murmurs of protest,
but some of them had already started coughing and feeling faint from the fumes that had
saturated the ancient water of the caves, so they all did as asked.

Percy prayed none of them would be afraid of the dark. If handling soldiers was difficult,
handling panicked ones was even worse and he felt slightly guilty about the fact that he had
left all the job in Myrto and Amphitrite’s hands.

“Careful there,” Cadmus admonished, stopping him with a hand, and Percy lowered the
sword to see what the general was pointing at, and his heart faltered for a second. He had
been about to step on a well-preserved ribcage, a very much human one.

“How did- how did this get here?” he asked, walking around it dead-set on never taking his
eyes off the floor again. The last thing he needed- that all of them needed- was some nasty
curse that came from the disturbance of old bones.

“Mortals taken by their ships, probably,” the general answered, “or heroes.”

Heroes. Heroes so deep into the sea could only mean one thing, and that they had been his
siblings, courageous sons and daughters of Poseidon, born in other eras and from other
customs, and who had died at the hands of the caves or of what they held hidden.

They hadn’t survived and Percy didn’t feel any more powerful than they had probably been,
even with the half crown on his head, his dubious mortality and an army: all felt like an
impediment over another, like obstacles to his risk-taking approach to life. Approach that had
brought him to destroy Hallmer, that had almost blown up their cover outside of Atlantis, that
had made him poison and murder most of his own servants, that had gotten him stabbed, and
dethroned and left on the run with nothing but his own name.

“What is of the sea always returns to it,” Percy found himself saying, tasting in his mouth the
words the old innkeeper had told him while on the route to the Northern Duchy.

Cadmus tensed in front of him. “You’ve passed from the village,” he commented, his tone
carefully light, “does she know?”
“Know what?” Percy asked, raising his sword a little to enlighten the general features, trying
to read his expression. But it was a failed attempt, for the man was turned with his back to
him, and his tail never stopped taking him further and further in the mouth of the darkness.

“Ah,” the general commented, “don’t worry about it then. We have more pressing matters.”

Percy groaned, pushing himself forward wondering why no one could ever give him a
straight answer on something. “If you know you should-” he started, but didn’t manage to
finish, stopping himself on his tracks instead.

The narrow passage had ended in front of them, giving space to a precipice, a bottomless pit
that reminded Percy of the entrance to Tartarus. And this abyss probably led there too, he
thought faintly, feeling the tried out panic back into his mind and the call of the darkness that
came with it.

They hadn’t fallen in it for the few inches of Cadmus that were still inside the passage
enough that the vortex coming from the hole hadn’t managed to pull him in. A stroke of luck,
that’s what it had been, and he swallowed harshly the acid in his mouth, tasting the fire of the
underworld’s river back on his tongue.

It wasn’t real, he managed to make his mind think, he hadn’t drank from the Phlegethon this
time, and never again he would.

“If we stay close to the wall and well attached to it we might manage to pass to the other side
without being drawn in,” Cadmus proposed, pointing at the tight stretch of rocks that
bordered the perimeter.

“Will it hold?” Percy asked, “If the vortex is controlled by Tartarus it’s likely I won’t manage
to keep us away from it if we were to lose our hold.”

The general small, calculating eyes swept across the badly enlightened stone of the chamber.
“Not all of us,” he yielded soon, “us and the first ten, if we’re lucky. The path is already
fraying at the edges.”

He nodded to himself and turned towards him. “The Queen and Lady Amphitrite are
probably still in the entrance chamber, or at least close enough to be able to go back a little. If
they follow the right wall of the tunnel they won’t have to pass from here.”

Percy closed his eyes, and kept them closed more than was proper. “We don’t know what’s on
the other path,” he started, “it could be even more dangerous.”

“But maybe there will be a path,” the general insisted, “if this gives away under our feet there
will be no safe passage to the other side.”

Percy knew Cadmus was right, but he hated the idea of not having everything under control,
of dividing the groups so early in their journey. Amphitrite was a goddess, but Myrto was
mortal. What if they found some other horrible monster? What if the soldiers lost their minds
and attacked them?
“We could all go back,” he proposed, but he knew it wouldn’t work even before the words
left his mouth. The truth was, that their mission was destined to fail, that the people they had
brought inside were too many for the strict passages and the traps they would need to avoid.

Cadmus threw him a pitious smile. “I’ll give the order,” he said, retreating a bit back into the
tunnel and leaving Percy alone on the edge of hell.

There was no prophecy to guide them, for it was war and not a quest that they were on, but
Percy felt like he was thirteen again, deep into the desert where he had seen a friend die for
the first time, stricken by a fate that had been decided for her. Two people had had to die and
so it had been, and he wondered this time, had they had a prophecy, how many would have
been destined to never return.

Maybe it wouldn’t have given a number. Maybe some of it would have been up to him and to
the general, to his wife and Amphitrite who would find themselves in charge of another
group of soldiers. Myrto had wanted to see what battle was like, had wanted to try out her
abilities as queen- and she had found her occasion. He just hoped it wouldn’t destroy all of
her left innocence, but a part of him knew that even praying for just her life to remain was
asking a lot- for the experience not to cause change in her was impossible.

Cadmus came back with the same worried expression. “The message is being passed on,” he
adjourned Percy, “the soldiers have been told of the pit, but they just think it goes deeper into
the Ocean, and not in Tartarus.”

He nodded. It would just bring them useless panic, make their grip less strong and their tails
too trembling to continue: they couldn’t afford anyone to stop in his own steps, unsure of
how long the rocks would remain firm under their own weight.

Percy took a deep breath. “I’ll go first,” he ordered, and Cadmus nodded with a serious
expression that made his already old face even more so. On the edge of the path, he wondered
whether it would be best to proceed with two hands but in almost total darkness, or with the
faint glow of Anaklusmos with him.

“Should we try to light the torches again, sir?” one of the soldiers asked from behind
Cadmus, who glanced at Percy before answering.

He asked nothing, but his eyes had been clear. “Two of you, the strongest ones, and only after
they’ve reached the border of the pit.”

Percy kept his sword. Gripping a protruding stone with his left hand, he let his right arm
balance him on the other side, and stepped outside of the protected tunnel, his heart beating
so fast that he could feel the taste of blood in his mouth.

Cadmus let him advance for three steps before following: they would go in pairs, with the
next two soldiers starting when they had covered half of the distance. They needed to be
quick, but without stepping with too much weight on the precarious path, or the strength of
Tartarus’ vortex would draw them in.
 Percy’s hand was sweaty on the stone, and his right arm was already trembling from the
effort of balancing himself with the glowing sword. The ocean was giving him no help,
relentlessly pulling and clashing against him, refusing to reinvigorate him as the water
usually did. He had been so used to the support from it, that now he could feel the heaviness
of his limbs towing him down, pushing him to give up.

Had he felt so weak on land? Had he truly lived with such fatigue for over eighteen years?
His breath started coming rapidly, as after a long run, but he felt the burning not only in his
lungs but on his entire body, felt patches of fire walking across his skin and blisters forming
on his arms.

When he looked at himself though, there was nothing on his skin.

“All right?” Cadmus asked, slightly behind him, and Percy nodded, forcing himself to move
forward again. The general voice had sounded strained too, even if he looked as collected as
ever. But he had never been in Tartarus- had never walked through it like Percy had done, had
never been tortured and starved like he had, had never feared for another person as he had
done with Annabeth.

He covered half the path in about a quarter, exhausted and panting and with no idea on how
he would manage to do it again. All of his limbs were trembling, and just looking at the dark
void filled him with dread and nausea, but he could not afford to stop or it was likely the path
would cede before all the soldiers had passed.

He stepped forward again, and again. As Cadmus reached the half, two other soldiers started
from the tunnel, with a series of imprecations. Percy closed his eyes, panting on the cool
stone and trying to press his flaming muscles to it as much as he could, in search of a small
relief: now that other soldiers had started the path, there was truly no way back.

And that’s when it happened- that’s when Tartarus started speaking to him.

Chapter End Notes

Hey! Sorry for the longer wait, I have been horribly busy with uni work.

Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, they keep me going! I hope you've all

🤩
ebjoyed this chapter, because we're finally going to get some action soon and I can't wait
for it

💛💛
So let me know your thoughts if you have some time to spare, and have a lovely
weekend!!

EDIT 29/05/21: If you see I've edited the chapter know that I have not changed
anything, just corrected some grammar mistakes that had apparently managed to survive
my first revisions!
 Year II, June I
Chapter Notes

TW: mentions of t*rture (nothing graphic)

Also, angst.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Perseus, the dark intoned below him, forming goosebumps on Percy’s arms and making his
legs quiver, in fear and in memory of how lucky he had been down there, how lucky to be
helped by Bob and Damasen and to have had Annabeth at his side.

He had no one to help him now, not even Cadmus: he had turned towards him looking for
solidarity, but the general was continuing unperturbed, strained from the fatigue but
otherwise unharmed and that’s when he realised that for how loud he had heard Tartarus'
voice…he had only spoken in his head.

He felt like crying, the tiredness and the stress coming together with the trauma of being
close again to a place that not even the gods dared to venture into, the literal, deepest part of
hell where there was only pain, torture and monsters.

Have you come here to take your friends back? Tartarus taunted, amusement clear in his
voice, I have punished them greatly for their betrayal, he laughed then, a horrible sound that
Percy was sure to hear in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

“Shut up,” he gritted, ignoring the pain and moving forward again. There was only a way to
stop him, to stop his influence on him, and it was to get on the other side of the cave.

I have tortured them so much that I don’t think there is much for you to take back, little god,
he continued, and now I’ll gladly do the same to you.

His voice tasted of promise in his mind, and Percy felt bile rise up from his stomach. His
head felt way too light, his breaths were coming uneven and more and more sporadic. There
wasn’t enough air: the fumes of hell were clogging up his throat, numbing his brain and
making him gasp for an air that wasn’t there.

He felt his hand loosening, and Cadmus yelling something far behind him, as if he was
screaming from the top of a mountain while Percy was deep into the valley, as if they were on
two different planets connected only by the desperate pull of gravity. Anaklusmos was
slipping out of his hand, but Percy was unable to stop it, as if he was seeing his life in third
person.
It looked like a movie with a predictable ending- the sword would fall into Tartarus, he would
realise too late and try to grab it without realising that in doing so he would have to let go of
his hold on the stone and the pull of the currents would draw him in, back where he wouldn’t
be able to return from, not this time.

More than a movie, Percy thought incoherently while Tartarus described in his head just how
he would be tortured for the rest of eternity- more than a movie it resembled a tragedy, a
hero’s tragedy, a myth like the ancient ones. There is no happy ending, they would say, even
when it seems possible demigods always have it out of reach and Percy Jackson was no
different, no more than any of the ones whose skeletons laid on the entrance floor of the
caves.

Ares’ curse had done his damage already, but maybe it hadn’t harmed him enough the first
time around: and now there was no longer any connection between his mind and his body,
just the arai voices in his head and the call of the Cocytus down below. Would it shield his
fall again? The son of Poseidon shall drown, the prophecy had said and maybe he had been
too naive in thinking it just meant in the dirt of Alaska.

Let go, little god, Tartarus continued, death is the kindest fate you will ever be given.

He thought of his mother, who would never know what had happened. He thought of Myrto
and Amphitrite, somewhere close to him and yet too far away to hear his desperation. There
was a war to fight and there were people to lose and yet he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want
to die, he didn’t… but he was too unbalanced, his grip not strong enough nor on the hilt
of the sword nor on the stone and he was going to fall, he was going to-

Cadmus’ arm was on him in an instant, grabbing his waist and pinning him to the rock with
an incredible amount of force, enough for Anaklasmus to fly out of his hand and stay
suspended in the vortex for an interminable second, before disappearing into the void.

“No!” Percy screamed, trying to launch himself forward and only managing to hit against
Cadmus’ solid body. “No!” he yelled again, pushing and clawing at him, trying to get free
while Tartarus mocked him in his mind.

What a nice gift, he was saying, shall I kill you with it?

“Stop fucking moving,” the general ordered, his voice firm but pained, “we’ll get out of here
and I’ll give you another hundred swords. Just fucking stop moving, the path won’t hold.”

“No,” Percy murmured again, his breaths now coming normally as a mock from the Fates,
“Anaklusmos,” he repeated, “I can’t… not without…”

“Think of the soldiers,” Cadmus pressed on when nothing else was working, “do you want
them to fall in Tartarus too?”

“No,” Percy answered, unable to formulate any other word, “can’t.”

“Then we’re gonna walk to the other side of this bloody cave. Come on, one step next to the
other,” he guided, “yes, yes, like that, come on,” he then praised when Percy’s feet started
moving out of his own volition while his mind was replaying his loss again and again.

With Tartarus less hungry and Cadmus constant encouragement it didn’t take long to walk the
rest of the precarious path and step into more stable ground again. A new tunnel seemed to
start but they had no torches and no glowing sword, so they couldn’t go too far, but the
general still pushed Percy into the darkness where the giant vortex was no longer visible.

Percy fell on the ground as soon as the merman’s hands released him, his legs shaking too
badly to hold him up. He heaved in the tunnel darkness, feeling his heart beat spasmodically
but still steadier than it had on the edge of Tartarus. He hated himself for his weakness, for
losing the only valuable thing he still had, his only tie to the life he had once lived.

I’m sorry, father, he prayed, ashamed and guilty, I’m sorry. Anaklusmos had been his first
gift, his first symbol of acceptance, of recognition, of belonging in and to the sea.

And now it was gone.

Cadmus kept glancing at him, moving his mouth in aborted movements as if trying to
comfort him but not quite knowing how: he seemed to settle on just wanting to pat Percy on
the shoulder then, but he shook his hand away.

“I need-” Percy started, wanting to say space, and quiet, and safety and also a hug, but not
from the merman.

He had said nothing, but the man still seemed to understand and just sat next to him, not
touching but close enough to feel the heat of his body and the laboured breath of someone
who is still recovering from a great fatigue. He concentrated on that sound, of the steps and
the curses of the soldiers that were crossing the void, trying to calm himself down.

He didn’t want Cadmus' pity, and when two other soldiers reached the entrance of the tunnel
he was the first to raise and go greet them, the empty congratulations forming easily on his
tongue. He had learnt- far younger than many- that sometimes there is no other solution than
powering through the bad times. He was no longer the desperate, anguished boy who had
first come to Atlantis: he had been King, had had a taste of the true meaning of responsibility
in both marriage and politics.

And what he had taken from it were not only fears and issues, but also an heartbreaking and
utterly necessary desire to fix a kingdom that so desperately needed it. Sword or no sword- he
wanted to live long enough to see Atlantis again.

He swallowed down his pain, taking a torch from one of the other soldiers that had arrived,
tired but proud and pleased with themselves. Cadmus was trying to reign their enthusiasm in,
to make sure their cockiness wouldn’t kill them in the next trial they’d have to face, but
Percy’s attention had been caught by some wobbly, wavering stones in the path across the
cave.

“Cadmus,” he called, his tone urgent. Four people were on it, the last of the bunch and then
they could leave, go away from that damned place.
The general followed the path of his eyes. The first soldier was about to step foot on the
unstable rocks, and Percy could feel the men who had understood the problem holding their
breath behind him.

“It won’t hold,” Cadmus commented, low enough that only Percy could hear him, “maybe
the first one will put his tail right. But the others… they will drag him down too.”

Percy gritted his teeth. “Is it too late for the others to go back?” he asked, and the general
nodded next to him.

“It’s only still up because it’s balanced on both sides, I’d say. And where would they go then?
The other group is probably too far away to reach by now. We had known,” he continued
after a small pause, after another step, “we had known it wouldn’t be enough for everybody.”

“Yes,” he murmured, “but I didn't think it would go this way.”

The stone collapsed under the second soldier’s weight, and in falling he brought down with
himself the other three, who disappeared in the mouth of Tartarus in the blink of an eye. None
of them screamed, none of them cried out, and now there was no longer any trace of them in
the world, not even bodies to burn.

It was like they had never existed.

The soldiers were looking in horror and shell-shock silence at the scene in front of them.
They probably had been friends, Percy realised, but his heart remained cold and unfeeling.
Would he recognize himself in the mirror if he looked now? His own grief had turned him
into a murderer, and he wondered what kind of dreams Rachel would have of him now. His
devilish face from the battle of Manhattan was sure to be nothing in comparison to this
madness: Annabeth had been right in fearing him.

“We were aware of the dangers that we were going to face,” Percy started, voice solemn,
“ours is a terrible loss, but they have died as heroes, as warriors worth their name. They never
shall be forgotten.”

Murmurs of assent swept through the remaining soldiers- six plus the general and they had
still quite a while to walk on- and Cadmus took word then, woving praise and
encouragement, trying to erase their grief more for fear of mutiny and anger than for an act of
goodwill.

He should have intervened, he thought when they stopped to rest in a small alcove after a
couple of hours of swimming, he should have intervened and stopped such an abhorrent,
manipulative behaviour. But he hadn’t, he hadn't even felt the urge, nor the desire to:
everything had seemed grey and equally unimportant.

Four of his soldiers had died. Four of the soldiers that had been under his responsibility, his to
protect, his to make sure they would one day reach their families again, and he had failed.

He saw their faces in all of his dreams, that night.

.
Percy was on a boat. Charon’s boat, he recognized, but the man wasn’t there to guide it: he
was alone and he was standing, looking at the hordes of people on the shore, all wearing the
same face, all cursing at him.

Transformed into translucid, monstrous figures, the soldiers were screaming at him from the
bank of the Underworld.They had legs where there should have been a tail, Percy noted,
before the boat toppled forward.

He fell on his knees, bruising his hands on the chipped wood, and when he turned around
half a dozen of them were standing there, violent expressions on their faces.

You have killed us, they repeated, you could have saved us. Were we worth less than your
sword? You shed more tears for it than for the death of your own kin.

Percy got up, trying to shove at them, but one grabbed his arms and pushed him down and he
fell, out of the boat and into the cold embrace of the Styx. Fire spread through his limbs in
seconds, as it had done once already, but there was no blessing on him this time. He would
die, he would burn his mortality till there was nothing left but ashes.

The pain stopped as quickly as it had come though, and when he opened his eyes again he
was sitting on the cold, marble floor of Olympus’ throne room.

“There must be a way,” a rumbling voice said above him. Zeus, and next to him, standing,
his brother Hades.

“The boy has waged war against the usurper, they say,” the god commented, “it might
work.”

Zeus shook his head. “It won’t be enough for the curse. Do you remember what Poseidon did
when he thought it was going to happen?”

“That was centuries ago, brother,” Hades was saying, while Percy’s brain was still stuck on
the implications of Zeus' words, “-cared more for this one.”

“Who is here, apparently,” he commented, sending a chill down Percy’s spine. “Has no one
told you not to eavesdrop on adults' conversations?”

And with that he darkness engulfed him once again.

In the morning, everyone’s mood was somehow brighter. Not loud, not cheerful by any
means- but now the soldiers looked well rested and fed, and their eyes had lost most of their
earlier desperation.

“It should be June now,” Percy commented to the general while they carefully moved inside
another suffocatingly narrow tunnel, “Duke Phaidros must have left with the rest of the
army.”
“They’ve probably already met the telchines at the border,” the general answered, “I hope
there hasn’t been any bad surprise.”

“Bad surprise?” the soldier next to Percy asked, a mermaid several decades older than Myrto,
“If they leave us alone at the border…”

“We’ll meet the armies from the Irish and the Bering Sea there, not the other part of our
army,” Cadmus reiterated, “no, I was more thinking about the rogue sea deities. It seems
suspicious that Bythus would send only an army of telchines to attack, knowing we have
defeated them many times already.”

“I had ordered the scouts to seek information on their whereabouts,” Percy commented, “but
they never got back to me. Did the Duke stop them?”

The general shook his head. “They didn’t come back at all, Your Majesty, that’s why I’m
worried. Both the Duke and Dolphin were aware of the possibility, though: I’m sure they had
made arrangements to fight an eventual deity.”

“Most of the water deities lost the majority of their power when Poseidon came,” the
mermaid added, “and many of them will probably remain neutral until the outcome of the
war will be obvious.”

Cadmus nodded. “You’ve done your research,” he praised, “good. I agree, for all but two:
Phorcys and Eurybia are easily swayed by empty promises and gold, all things Bythus has
probably offered in abundance.”

Phorcys, Percy remembered from his lessons with Lydos, was a primordial god, son of
Pontus and Gaea, husband of Ceto and father to the Gorgons, Echidna, and Lados, the dragon
of the Hesperides. Probably not a nice guy, and surely no one Percy was eager to fight
against. Eurybia on the other hand…

“A minor goddess,” the mermaid answered when he asked, “you may know her as the
grandmother of Hecate and Nike. She looks harmless but… she’s the goddess of the mastery
of the seas: she literally embodies the act of controlling the ocean.”

Percy swallowed. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good to lose in a fight,” he commented, thinking
that now that he didn’t even have Anaklusmos with him, the control of the ocean was the
only thing he had left to use as a weapon. If that were to be taken away too...

“They’ll handle it,” Cadmus reassured, “Phaidros’ army is experienced and he is a good
commander. Let’s focus on our own problems.”

Percy bit back the urge to say that he would prefer not to think about how fucked they were:
it would be unprofessional, probably, or as Amphitrite would say, improper and unworthy of
his position. Gods, how she missed her already.

“We’ve already covered quite a big distance,” he said instead, “we could be out of here in
less than a week if it all goes well.”
 “Can you feel any pull from the corrents outside?” the general asked, “Or just even the ocean,
to know if we’re actually moving towards the other side and not just horizontally.”

That was definitely a good point. Percy concentrated, tried to focus on the coming and goings
of the water, to the constant change that happened in every spot of the ocean. If he truly was
the sea- then he could find himself. He dug up the stone, passed through imaginary tunnels
and passages in his mind following the incessant pulling of power, of strength, that came
from the open sea.

He felt like he was everywhere, stretched between the cave and Atlantis, placed in between
continents and countries, stuck in embracing the whole world. It should have been
overwhelming, to feel such a thing unprepared and unexpectedly- but it mostly felt like being
home again.

“We should go a little more to the right when we have the chance,” he murmured when the
high had passed, “but we’re doing fine. Amphitrite and the others are more or less at our own
distance from the outside, but a couple of miles eastern from us.”

Cadmus didn’t question how he knew it, which was great because he didn’t know how he had
found that out. Just that it had been obvious and… slightly comforting, he accepted, finally
opening his eyes and noting that there were unshed tears stuck in his eyelashes.

He batted them away before anyone could notice, and wished for Myrto’s gentle hand in his.
He’d hug her when they got out of here, he swore silently, he’d hug Amphitrite too, if she let
him.

Just as long as they were alright, he’d even hug Phaidros.

Just as long as they were alright.

Chapter End Notes

I can only say that I'm sorry.

💙💙
Thank you for all your wondrous support in this journey of mine! Every comment, every
kudos- it makes me glad I've decided to embark in this long project
 Year II, June II
Chapter Notes

I'm really excited about this chapter (especially the second part) so I hope you'll enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Percy had suggested moving a bit more to the right, he hadn’t known that it would also
imply having to go down even more. He probably wouldn’t have suggested it all, had he
known, preferring a longer but less claustrophobic route, one that reminded him less of the
Labyrinth he had descended into when he was fourteen.

Ah, the good old days.

He felt the loss of Anaklusmos as a missing limb, as a part of him that was stripped away
brutally and unexpectedly. He should be grateful, he knows, for Cadmus’ quick reflexes and
for the strength of his arms, for the fact that they were the only things that stopped him from
following his sword down below.

There was a part of him though- bigger than he would ever admit- that sometimes felt like he
would have deserved to end up in Tartarus again, where he had left Bob and Damasen. And
when he found himself thinking that, he played on himself Annabeth’s old trick to make him
stop blaming himself: had I been in your position, she used to ask, would you condemn me as
you are condemning yourself?

The answer was always no.

Percy knew that he had always forgiven others far more easily than he forgave himself, and
he had started working on it before he had been forced into Atlantis, into a world of
responsibility and burdens that had led him into regaining all the bad habits he had tried to
leave behind: self-deprecation and insecurities included.

And if the total absolution from his faults was impossible, he could at least convince himself
of the fact that he was a necessary pawn in the game between Amphitrite and Bythus, and
that he would not break the promise he had made to her- and to do so he needed to be alive,
and if he needed to be alive then it was a good thing that he hadn’t fallen into Tartarus again.

He could find the faults in his train of thought, understood that a good therapist would tell
him exactly what was wrong about it- but it worked for now, and the comfort that feeling
himself as the ocean itself had given him, had quieted down some of his pain, had filled him
with enough renewed will to just try again.

As he ordered the soldiers around, as he rationed the food and calmed down their outbursts,
Percy realised though that he would never again be the person he used to be: he could regain
his calm, his easy-going attitude, maybe he could re-learn to delegate responsibilities- but
never would he be filled with boyish glee again, never would he return to be truly young.

But also, never would he be truly powerless again.

“Have you ever fought with one?” Cadmus asked him after a long silence, while they
carefully swam deeper and deeper into the Earth, pointing at the dagger Percy was playing
with.

“Not really,” he answered, passing his fingers on the curved quillons, “Duke Phaidros gifted
it to me as his wedding gift. I was told it belonged to my father?”

The general shrugged. “Could be,” he answered, “I only met Poseidon once, at a state dinner.
I don’t think I saw any weapons on him.”

“Well, it feels made for my hand. Like… like my sword does. Used to- used to do. I mean I
know the basics on how to fight with one,” he continued after a heavy pause, “even if it’s a
little closer range than I feel comfortable with.”

“It’s good for attacking a person of your own size,” Cadmus noted, gesturing at Percy to pass
it to him, “could also work in a duel, if you are skilled. But if you need to fight more than one
enemy at the time…”

“I’ll ask our allies for a sword when we get out of here,” Percy reassured, “this dagger is the
most beautiful I have ever seen, but kind of seems more cerimonial than made for battle.”

Cadmus chuckled, turning it into his hand. “Oh it can definitely handle battle,” he answered,
“the seas are always rougher than they seem. Very little things here are made to be delicate.”

Percy nodded, trying to understand if there was a hidden meaning to his carelessly said
words. Cadmus had also known something about the mysterious inn that he hadn’t wanted to
tell him, but for how much Percy wanted to press, there was something that just made him
sure it wasn’t the right moment to do so.

They had spent the last couple of days without incidents, passing through easily avoidable
traps and guiding themselves closer to the exit and to the rest of their group thanks to Percy’s
newfound power, but now the water was charged with anticipation.

“I think we’re close to something,” Percy announced loudly, so that the soldiers could hear
him, “a monster probably. Be careful.”

“What if it’s a deity?” someone called from the back, and murmurs arose between the men.
They had all heard about the dangers that Phorcys and Eurybia posed, and that no scout had
been able to locate them… or return alive from it.

“I’ve fought gods before,” Percy stated, “but I doubt we’ll find one here. I think I would
notice the aurea of power much sooner than this.”

Unless they have enchanted the water, he thought, restraining himself from saying it out loud:
there was no need to cause panic, since it wasn’t like they could change their path anymore.
They had swam too far to go back.

One of their torches had extinguished itself during the night, burning the wood to a useless
crisp under the impotent eyes of the soldier on watch. They had finished every piece of
inflammable material they had apart from their own clothes, but it was way too cold to be
able to afford destroying them for just a couple more hours of light: and so Cadmus held the
only small, flickering remains of their last torch in his hands.

Percy, next to him, could barely make out his surroundings: even if his eyes were much more
adept at seeing in the underwater darkness than the ones of a normal mortal, they were still
way less efficient than the ones of the merpeople who were born in it. And since they, too,
were struggling...he counted himself lucky that his rank allowed him to be the closest to the
fire.

They kept moving lower and lower, deep down into the sea bank. They hadn’t found trace of
any living being having ever been there since after they had passed Tartarus, but the place
had a sort of living creepiness in it: if truly there was no life to be found… then there should
have been silence, but Percy’s head rang with whispers.

“Do you hear anything?” he asked the mermaid behind him, “Like...a presence.”

“I don’t really have good instincts,” she answered, “but I think that we’ve had it way too
easy. I mean-” she corrected herself when Percy made a scoffing sound, “the giant pit thing
was bad, but all the dangers after it were kind of disappointing. Only the idiots got injured,
and only slightly.”

Percy nodded, unsure if she could see him. “Well,” he started, “I think you’ll have your fight
soon,” he continued, swimming to reach Cadmus where he had stopped dead in his tracks.

“Found something?” he asked, and the general pointed the weak flame towards, draping light
over… a wall?

“A door,” the general whispered, leading Percy forward with him, “and look at these.”

Percy could feel all the soldiers’ eyes on him while he stepped forward, getting close enough
to touch where Cadmus was pointing. There was something on the door, of a weird, long
shape that seemed to encircle the whole thing, like…

“They’re chains,” Percy realised, feeling more than seeing the general nod next to him.

“Who-” he started, confused, “-who the hell put them here? How?”

“No, Percy,” Cadmus corrected. “The question is not who, nor how. It’s what is behind this
door so tremendously dangerous to push someone to hide it in such a way?”

Terror waltzed in Percy’s veins, slowly and skilledly following a sluggish tune, familiar and
unsung at the same time.

He wasn’t a stranger to fear but this- this was ancient. This was a clear sign that someone in a
far away time had placed for any future dwellers, like a sea version of long time nuclear
waste warning messages: this is not a place of honour, no highly esteemed deed is
commemorated here, nothing valued is here.

We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.

“I think I can hear something breathing,” Percy tentatively said to the soldiers, “but it’s the
only way forward. We don’t really have enough rations for the way back but- but if some of
you would prefer to try,” he paused, steading his voice, “we’ll give you your share of food
and water and three hours of time to distance yourself from this door.”

“It’s a more generous offer than I would have ever made to any of my soldiers,” Cadmus
added, “but I also do not wish to have here dead weights that are more hindrance than help. If
you stay, you fight, and die fighting. If you leave, you may leave the caves and start a new
life: one of dishonour and vileness, but a life nonetheless.”

“So?” Percy asked, his dread making him anxious and short-tempered, “who is leaving?”

The chains seemed to glimmer at the corner of his eye, but no one dared to speak. From the
twenty soldiers they had started with, only six of his group remained, while Amphitrite and
Myrto had had who knows how many losses: certain was, they had not passed from here.

He hoped their journey had been somehow easier.

“Good,” Cadmus praised when the silence continued, “you are true soldiers of the sea.
Remember that you are fighting for freedom, for Atlantis, so that your children and your
grandchildren will be able to enjoy a life that is not under tyranny. For the King!” he then
yelled, and the soldiers' voices raised with his.

Percy could do nothing but watch while their expectations piled up on him, and for the first
time in a very long while, he prayed to his father: whether he was lost, vanished or simply
hidden didn’t matter. Praying, Percy had found, for him and for many mortals, was more
about comfort than it was about answers, even if a little help wouldn’t be minded.

Father, he prayed under his breath while he put his dagger to work in cutting away the chains
from the door, Father if you can hear me, please help. Give me the power, the strength to
fight whatever is beyond this door. I am so very scared, but I won’t disappoint you again. I
won’t.

“Wait, let me try with this,” one of the soldiers interrupted, his red body almost invisible in
the darkness. “I have a small axe that my brother gifted me as a good luck charm. ‘In case
you find any nice underwater forest’, he told me, the bastard. I plan on taking a piece of this
door and tell him to stuff it where-”

“If you manage to throw it down you can take the whole thing,” Percy interjected, “door and
chains, all included.”

Another soldier chuckled next to him. Terror had made most of them lightheaded and quick
to giggle with that kind of nervous laugh Percy was extremely familiar with: he himself after
all had used, and still used, humour as a way to cope with horrid situations like this one, but it
sounded very different coming from someone else. It sounded way more as what it was- a
desperate attempt to maintain some degree of sanity.

“Could be valuable, you know,” the soldier continued, “do you know what they are made
of?” he then asked him, struggling to dent them, but Percy shook his head.

“I can barely see them,” he answered, apologetic, “they seem dark, though. I thought it could
be celestial bronze at first, but it seems just normal stone at the touch.”

“Probably gabbro,” a mermaid next to him commented, holding Cadmus’ torch above their
heads, “I used to live close to a mid-oceanic ridge, and my house was made entirely of it.
This seems similar enough.”

“Cooled down magma then,” the other soldier sighed, “My Lord, I think it would be quicker
to just throw down the door and try to pass around the chains. We don’t have the instruments
to break igneous rocks, and whatever is beyond there…” he paused, swallowing audibly, “I
think we’ll need all our strength.”

“Yes,” Percy agreed, “the door seems made of wood? Cadmus, do you think we’d be able to
burn it down? We’d solve two problems in one go.”

The general placed his ear to the door, signalling to the soldiers not to make any noise. “I can
definitely hear something breathing,” he said after a while, “so it’s probably not that thick.
And if it’s as old as we think it is, not even self-preservation blessings will have stopped it
from starting to rot. It’ll burn.”

The mermaid hesitantly cleared her throat. “So I just… set fire to it?” she asked, and Cadmus
gave his assent, moving away from the door while she placed the torch next to it, waiting for
the flames to cover it while the water filled with smoke.

In hindsight, Percy could definitely see how bad of an idea that had been.

First of all, none of them had considered the fact that they were in the sea equivalent of an
underground tunnel, where the water was stagnant and already poor on oxygen, even without
counting the eight living, breathing people that had been consuming it for days, and
especially without counting an actual, honest-to-god explosion.

An explosion yes, because while they had spent days testing floors before stepping on them
and avoiding silly, action movie kind of traps, not him, nor Cadmus or one of the soldiers had
thought that this too, could in fact be one.

Maybe the idea of destroying the door instead of the chains had sounded the most logical one
even to whoever had designed the whole place: this time though, it seemed more like a last
attempt at protecting them from the inside, more than anything else.

The explosion in fact hadn’t happened until the fire had burned out the outer layer of the
wood, the one that faced towards them: so whatever inflammable liquid or object had caused
it, it had been specifically placed inside the room: none of them had gotten hurt from it then,
but the entirety of the ceiling had collapsed behind them with an horrible sound.

The good news was, the chains now lay uselessly on the ground, no longer anchored at any
support, so they could proceed without any further obstacle.

The bad news was though, that now they were locked there, with no way back since the
tunnel had crumpled, with a raging fire around the room and with a monster that might have
been sleeping until then- but who was now very awake.

Very awake, very angry, and very much enormous.

He had believed that it too, would be chained like the door: and while it screeched horribly,
trying to hit them with his thick tentacles, Percy saw that he had probably been, a long time
ago, for there were the remains of equally gigantic chains on the ground.

Some of the soldiers screamed, uselessly swinging their weapons around: even the ones who
had managed to graze his body hadn’t even scratched the monster’s skin.

“What the fuck is that?” Percy yelled at the general, giving up on using his dagger. He would
never get close enough and… even if he did, the monster wouldn’t even feel such a small
wound.

He raised his hands in front of him and sent the waters crashing against its body, managing to
make it retreat for a couple of feet before two of its tentacles managed to stick to the walls of
the cave, allowing it to launch itself forward again.

Someone screamed again, a short and guttural sound, but Percy couldn’t distract himself long
enough to turn his head around. He avoided another tentacle, circling it with water and then
pushing it away from him, but it wasn’t enough.

Percy had never fought completely without a weapon. He had never fully relied on his
powers, not even underwater, and he knew that his technique was lacking. There wasn’t even
that much water then: the room was big but closed, and the water that there was was… stale,
tired.

“Cetus,” Cadmus answered, reaching him behind a pillar while the monster crazily smashed
against the opposite wall, “your homonym Perseus defeated him by turning him to stone
with-”

A screech, and the ceiling started to collapse above them. “No!”, Percy yelled, stopping the
stone pushing the water to keep it still, “you fucking-”

Percy grunted, rapidly moving Cadmus around before he could be hit by one of the thick
tentacles, but he wasn’t as lucky and the blunt force of the attack sent him flying across the
room.

“Percy!” the general screamed, while he painfully got up, shooing his worry away. Not dead,
nothing broken. He would count himself lucky if he lived long enough to see a bruise
forming.

One of the soldiers charged towards one of Cetus’ tentacles, sword in hand and with a
horrible scream she jumped, or maybe swam upwards faster than she had ever been able to,
and with the force of her own body she cut it in half.

There was no time to cheer though: blood- black, darker than the abyss, gouged from the
wound and the monster made a heinous scream, grabbed her neck with another of his
tentacles and snapped it before Percy could even react to the scene.

“No!” he yelled again, but Cadmus stopped him from reaching out. “Wait, listen to me,” he
continued, “Perseus turned it to stone with Medusa’s head, because he couldn’t kill it. He
couldn’t kill it even if it wasn’t underwater. We need to find a way to leave.”

“Perseus was a son of Zeus,” Percy gritted, anger boiling in his veins, “I can kill this bloody
thing. I will kill this bloody thing. It won’t terrify my kingdom any longer.”

“The war-”

“I don’t care!” Percy yelled, forming a cyclone-sized tornado and directing it towards the
monster, who turned on him with frenzied eyes.

They both knew that he was lying- that if he hadn’t cared they wouldn’t even be here in the
first place. But what difference did it make? Cetus was angry and wild, but the same
adjectives could be used for him.

With the difference tha Percy had killed more of his own soldiers than this monster had.

He took the mermaid’s tail-shaped handle of his dagger in his hand again, and his heart
started beating way steadier than before: the feel of celestial bronze in his hand, the perfect
way in which his hand fit around it- all was comforting. Known, even familiar.

The tornado clashed on the monster’s body with its full strength, hurling it against one of the
pillars, which shattered from the impact. The ceiling tethered, and Percy pushed the water
against it again, keeping it in place.

Cadmus yelled orders and directions around him, but Percy’s only focus was on the battle
ahead: no one was trying to fight the monster any longer, apart from him- which meant that
the general had ordered the remaining soldier to find a way out of the place.

But even if they run away- Percy wouldn’t rest until the thing was dead. There had been
whispers in his head outside of the room, and now that he was in there they had increased,
becoming loud enough for him to understand.

There were animals trapped somewhere, if not even people: how had he not understood it
sooner?

Cetus hadn’t survived for millennia on an empty stomach.

Chapter End Notes

Hi!
I really tried not to end this on a cliffhanger but I didn't have time to write the whole
fight, and I thought that making you wait another week would be worse!
It's one of the first times that I'm actually trying to write an action-packed fight, so if
you find the time it'll be amazing to hear your thoughts on it!❤❤

I'll leave you with the full text of the long time nuclear waste warning message because
it's so ominous that I love it and I've been planning to put it somewhere in my story for
ages😂

This place is a message... and part of a system of messages... pay attention to it!

Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful

culture.

This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here...
nothing valued is here.

What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about
danger.

The danger is in a particular location... it increases towards a center... the center of

danger is here... of a particular size and shape, and below us.

The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.

The danger is to the body, and it can kill.

The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.

The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This
place is best shunned and left uninhabited.
 Year II, June III
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The fire was eating the room, stealing the oxygen away from Percy’s lungs, and making
every movement more difficult and tiring than it ought to be. The giant tornado he had made
was slowly decreasing, and soon Cetus would stop even being bothered by it: the fight
couldn’t be dragged on much longer.

“Cadmus!” he yelled, jumping below one of the monster’s tentacles, “there is something alive
here-” he panted, close to its body- just another step and- “find them! We need to-”

Cetus screeched, slamming his heavy body forward, where Percy was trying to come close
enough to hit him with his dagger: the water tried to solidify in front of him to shield his
body but it was nothing compared to the full force of the monster.

Percy raised his arms, and with a scream dying in his throat he threw the dagger towards
Cetus’ uncovered torso, idly wondering whether or not it had a name. Had his father cared
enough to place a blessing upon it? Would he answer his prayer?

The dagger hit the monster’s enormous body, but it made no sign of having even noticed, and
before Percy could process the failure of his attack one of Cetus’ tentacles had wrapped itself
around his waist and brought him up and up, like a rag doll that needed to be shown off.

He screamed, and Cadmus was on the monster in an instant, trying to distract it with useless
swings of his sword: two other soldiers were there, but the others… maybe they had taken
Percy’s order of trying to find out who was trapped there as a sacrifice- or maybe they lay
dead and mutilated somewhere on the filthy floor.

He tried everything to get out of the monster’s grasp: kicking it, pushing at what he could
reach of the tentacle (slimy and sticky, somehow at the same time) and he even tried to
command the water to open up its hold, or to lift him from above: all to no avail.

Panicking, he noted that Cadmus was dangerously close to cutting another of its tentacles-
but if he did, the monster would most certainly react violently, and the only thing that had
stopped it from breaking Percy’s spine instantly was probably the morbid curiosity with
which he was staring at him trying to get free.

But the general mustn’t have thought about it, and the realisation had come too slowly in his
oxygen-deprived brain for Percy to be able to utter a warning: Cadmus swung his sword
forward, tearing the clammy skin of the monster, and Cetus’ restraint snapped immediately.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened in those moments. It felt like being on a crazed
rollercoaster, without breaks nor seatbelts: Cetus moved his tentacles around and around,
slamming him to the ground, to the ceiling, to the inflamed walls more than once, while he
could do nothing but try not to lose his mind in the swirl of colours and figures that came
with it.

“Percy!” someone screamed, so very far away, and the monster roared again, hitting a
particularly frial part of the ceiling that tumbled down on it: tons and tons of rocks and
stones- a mountain’s worth of it- just right on its head.

Cetus’ hold on his waist didn’t relent, but the monster stilled just long enough for Percy to
get back into his mind: the world was still turning wildly behind his eyelids and he felt his
throat acid and hurt as if he had been screaming for all that time.

Only four of its tentacles were still attached to the monster’s body, while the others laid on
the ground of the cave, black blood oozing out of them. Cadmus looked exhausted, and the
whispers in Percy’s head had become stronger, even if his brain was refusing to register
them- he hoped that the soldiers had found them and brought them to safety, away from
there- very far away, because now he was very very angry.

Percy hated being used. He placed his hands around Cetus’ thick tentacles, while the general
kept it as still as he could, and he started squeezing.

Hercules had strangled a monster, once. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to do
the same, especially underwater.

The monster’s skin was slimy under his hands, and almost immediately it started contorcing
as if it wanted him to stop but not quite knowing how. Cadmus was yelling something,
throwing debris and stones, but Percy held him no attention, focused entirely on not letting
go of the monster, of cutting off its blood flow until it would be forced to release him.

The gods had used him as their paw, during the wars. They had told him the bare minimum of
information required for him to do what they wanted- and then they had left him alone to deal
with the aftermath and the trauma, the nightmares and the grief of losing so many people dear
to him.

And maybe this curse hadn’t been his father’s fault, but from what he had understood from
Zeus and Hades’ little talk on Olympus… he had been expecting it. Why had he been told
nothing of it? Even just some prior information, some lessons on how to run things just in
case, would have been appreciated.

But he had had nothing, he reminded himself, guiding all of his anger towards his hands,
around the fingers that dug deeply and painfully into Cetus’ flesh. He had been stabbed for
him, he had been forced to betray all of his principles and go on the run and marry a foreign
noble for political reasons- and yet he knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

No sacrifice would ever be enough, not to the gods, not even for his father if there was the
endurance of his Kingdom involved: maybe Percy would have questioned it once, but there
was no doubt in his mind now that if it was deemed necessary, he too would be sacrificed.

He felt the power of the ocean dance freely in his veins, reaching his fingertips. He wouldn’t
stand for it again, never again would someone manage to overpower him in strength and will
so easily. Not a god, and certainly not a forgotten monster.

He squeezed harder again, and finally felt the sticky skin give up below his hands, snapping
itself from the rest of his body, while the monster tumbled backwards, falling on the fire
covered perimeter, all of his body frizzing and fuming.

Percy fell on the ground, out of breath. Cadmus was next to him in an instant, helping him up
with concerned eyes: he must have looked horribly, he was aware, his face white and covered
in sweat, his body full of bruises that would heal but not soon enough to remain unnoticed.

“Two soldiers are digging a way out, they should almost be done. The others found an
opening that brought in some kind of tunnel. I sent them in. It’s probably from where you
were hearing the voices,” he filled him in quickly, his eyes darting to the severed tentacle
Percy still kept in his hands.

He let it go. “My dagger is still stuck in its body,” Percy commented, his tone coming out
more violent than he thought it would, “he shall not have it.”

Cadmus tightened his lips, but he refrained from trying to make him change his mind. “Do
you wish to use my sword?” he asked instead, while Cetus was slowly getting itself up again.

Percy shook his head, his eyes locked on the monster. “No,” he added, “I have a better idea.”

Three of the monster’s tentacles still survived, and unsymmetrically posed and injured as
they were, they seemed to be to it more of hindrance than of help, even if they surely made
Cetus appear even uglier than it had been at the start.

Not an easy feat by any means.

Away from them, on the other side of the room, Percy could hear some cheers, a small
applause, a nervous laughter. Had they found the folk trapped in and destined to be food? Or
had they finally managed to dig a way out, out from that chamber of nightmares?

They had left him to deal with the monster, that was clear: in fear or blind trust, he could not
say. Maybe a mixture of both, maybe the general had seen the anger behind his eyes and had
ushered the soldiers as far away from him as he could.

There, standing in front of the mutilated body of one of the most powerful sea monsters to
exist, he could find no blame in his actions. He had no weapon, and his body was tired and
overworked by his earlier massive display of power, with the tornadoes and the fact that he
was still keeping up the entirety of the cave’s ceiling using the pressure of the stale water
around him.

And yet- something had awoken in him. He could feel a fire, a spirit that he hadn’t possessed
before filling his body and feeding his soul of that kind of cockiness that he had always
rejected. I am insolent, he had admitted at twelve, fresh into his first quest, not even knowing
how true that would actually become. Maybe though, knowing more about his own powers,
allowing himself to admit his own strengths- maybe that was just growth. Maybe it just
meant that he was becoming his own person.

(It would be for historians to decide. It would be for bards, and for storytellers, for this is not
a story that the sea will ever allow to be forgotten. Will- Goddess, they’ll chant, sing the
unyielding will of Poseidon’s son Perseus)

Cetus stood in front of him, ready to attack at any sign of Percy’s movement. But he was
waiting, for the right moment was about to come: if the soldiers had managed to dig a hole
out of the chamber, then new, fresh, unbreathed water would quickly enter, and with it Percy
would kill the monster and put an end to their fight.

He stepped forward, trying to move the water away from Cetus’ face. Would he be able to
breathe, without it? He wished he had thought about it sooner: maybe he would have avoided
having to be thrown around like a discarded toy.

The water flowed to him after posing a weak resistance, but the monster still moved far too
quickly and unexpectedly for this idea to work without drying the entire cave- which he
could have tried to do, hadn’t he been worried about the soldiers and the animals' fate.

Cetus seemed unnerved by it though, which still counted as something. It lounged towards
him, blindly trying to hit him with what remained of his body: still deadly, still dangerous,
and still too much alive for Percy’s personal taste.

“Out!” someone screamed outside of Percy’s field of view, “we’re out of the cave!”

Being out of the caves meant being into enemy’s territory, but it also meant that Percy could
put his plan to work. Cadmus would handle the rest, and they had lost so much time that it
was likely that Amphitrite and Myrto were already waiting for them outside.

It was time to attack.

He screamed, letting the anger from before fill him again, and called to him all the fresh,
powerful water that came from the vast depth of the oceans. And as it encircled him, as it
swirled under his hands he could feel it, the power it held and the power he held: they were
one and the same.

His scream ceded the way to a laughter, the thrill of battle possessing him as it had seized
countless before- but Percy wasn’t even for the sea to control.

Cetus raised its tentacles above his head, ready to topple him down as soon as he got close
enough: it screeched, spitting and destroying more of the walls, moving wildly while Percy
ran towards him.

And when he was close enough- when he could see the monster’s thick tentacles about to
slam down right on top of his head- he thought of Anaklusmos, of the sword he had for so
long cherished and loved.
It was lost, he knew, it was lost for his hands: never would he touch it again. But it still
existed, loud and clear in his mind, and when all had been said and done Percy still remained
the brother of cyclops, blacksmiths and metal welders. He would not be able to make a sword
out of celestial bronze, but he had no need to.

The vigorous, healthy water coming from the outside solidified itself into Percy’s hand,
morphing into the worn and well-known handle of an exact copy of the sword that had once
been his, and that now belonged to the depths of Hell.

Cetus, maimed, wounded Cetus, stood no chance against him armed with the weapon that
had granted him victory in hundreds of fights. Percy thrust the blade forward, planting it right
above where his heart was, as surely as mother would plant a kiss on her toddler’s cheek.

The sword, shimmering and almost blinding, trapassed the monster’s body as if it was made
of jelly, until only the hilt remained out of it, held tightly by Percy’s hand. They locked eyes
for a moment, monster and demigod- and then, with one last, final shudder, Cetus dissolved
in a dust of golden light.

Percy’s dagger fell to the ground, clinking and slightly bouncing, while the sword he had
fashioned himself dissolved rapidly into nothingness.

He remained still for a moment, digesting his victory. There wasn’t a sound to be heard,
nowhere around him. Had the soldiers already left? He was tired, his limbs heavy and his
head ringing, but he needed to speak to them, and check his losses.

He bent down to retrieve his dagger, and all the world went black.

Someone was humming lightly beside him.

He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light: his body was resting on something soft. A
bed? But it couldn’t be, they were in a cave. Or had they got out? He couldn’t remember, but
there was a ceiling above him, and it wasn’t made of stone. Blankets? Were they blankets?

“Percy!” the voice exclaimed next to him, taking his hand in hers, “you’re awake,” she
beamed, delicately running her fingers on his skin, “how are you feeling?”

“Myrto,” he murmured, his throat dry and arid, “how- what- are you okay?” he asked, his
brain finally awoken: they had made it out of the caves. They were safe and they were- in a
tent?

His wife’s eyes were sunken, her face more tired than he had ever seen her, but she didn’t
seem injured, and he wondered if she’d ever tell him of what they had faced in the caves. He
doubted their journey had been any more pleasant.

“I’m okay,” she confirmed, her voice hesitant, “we’ve had some losses and… I didn’t take it
too well. I had never seen anyone die before,” she admitted, and Percy squeezed her hand
gently. First time’s always the hardest. She smiled tightly, “Amphitrite helped,” she
continued, “she’s been a great comfort.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he answered, “I should have been there with you.”

Myrto shook her head, her quick braids dissolving, “They’ve told me a bit about what
happened. That you kill- that you defeated Cetus,” she corrected herself, keeping her eyes
closed a moment too long, “and you were able to free the ones trapped below the cave.”

“Were there people?” he asked, sitting up in alarm. She seemed distressed already, and she
had been so innocent, so young: he didn’t want to press, but he didn’t manage to force
himself not to ask.

She hesitated, biting her lip and lowering her eyes. “Yes,” she finally answered, “and not just-
not just like people. I mean it would have been bad but-”

“What do you mean?” Percy asked gently, when she didn’t make any move to continue
speaking. “Were there children?”

She shook her head again. “Oceanids,” she then whispered, “oceanids who in some way or
another displeased their father were trapped there. Their task was to bring food, like fishes
and such to the monster, but sometimes it attacked them too. And they’re immortal but- they
can be killed. I mean-”

“I understand what you mean,” he interrupted, unwilling to hear it again. He closed his eyes,
digesting the new information. Cetus hadn’t died painfully enough, but this was only
remotely his fault: it lay with Oceanus who was a tyrannical father, and with Poseidon who
probably was aware of it and hadn’t cared.

Myrto was going on, not managing to stop talking now that she had started. “Amphitrite said
the monster was brought there petrified. She thought it would just remain like that but
apparently when- when Medusa reformed after Zeus’ son had killed her, all her creations
turned to flesh again.”

Panic flashed behind Percy’s eyes. “The people returned alive?” he asked, his thoughts
darting immediately to Gabe, whom he very much wished would stay dead, then to the array
of statues he had seen in Aunt M’s garden. He had accidentally destroyed some of them- was
he more times a murderer than he already believed to be?

“No,” Myrto declared though, sending a chill down his spine. “The people didn’t but- you
know how monsters are. Cetus was never dead, just stuck in stone. Now it will stay dead for
a while instead.”

Her tone was unflinching. Good, Percy thought, we’re not going to have too much time for
mercy when we take back Atlantis.

“Did my father know?” he asked, and Myrto shrugged. “I don’t know,” she answered,
“Amphitrite says that she didn’t though, and I believe her. They spoke a lot in the last days,
you know? I think they remind her of her sisters, and she’s been trying to comfort them.”
“I doubt they’ll be fine anytime soon,” he commented, then her words registered. “The last
days?” he asked, “how long have I been unconscious?”

“Not long,” she reassured, “you didn’t have any severe wounds, but you needed rest. The
healers gave you something to keep you asleep for a couple of days, so that you could restore
your powers.”

“You overworked yourself, again,” another voice stated at the other end of the room, and
Percy turned to see Amphitrite herself moving towards his bed.

He smiled, and she sighed. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice kind, and Percy
shrugged, repeating what he had told Myrto: he was fine, there was nothing to worry about,
how was she instead? Fine? That’s great.

When the pleasantries where over and the goddess had assured herself that he was, in fact,
alright (Percy had come to know her well enough to notice that she had been worried, despite
her reassurance that she had never doubted his abilities), Amphitrite looked over at Myrto,
then at Percy again.

“I have spoken to the oceanids you have saved from Cetus,” she slowly began, “they have
revealed to me the desire to express their gratitude by entering in the service of the royal
family.”

Percy nodded, sympathising with them. “I wouldn’t want to return to my family either, if I
were them. But do they not wish to be free?”

“They wish for protection, and safety, more than they wish for freedom. Where would they
go then? They’d have to be on the run from their father for the rest of eternity. But if they
were to become part of our household…”

“They’d be untouchable,” Myrto concluded.

Amphitrite smiled at her. “Yes,” she agreed. “And I believe, Myrto, that now that you are
Queen you are in dire need of ladies-in-waiting, to be your companions and your confidants.
What do you think?”

“Ladies-in-waiting?” Myrto repeated, “I… I’d love that. I only had one when I was in my
father’s palace, and she was a tattle-tale.”

Percy chuckled, but the goddess’ expression was serious again. “It is generally custom,” she
went on, “for the companions of the Queen to be daughters of nobles from the various
duchies. I believe your eldest sister has been with me for a while, before getting married, has
she not?”

Myrto nodded, and she continued, “But we are at war now, and marching towards battle. Not
only is it dangerous, but we also can’t afford to have traitors: those oceanids owe us, so they
will be loyal. Whatever you tell them- they won’t repeat it to anyone else, not without your
permission.”
 “Not even…”

“Not even to Percy here, no,” she confirmed, “my husband did make some of them divulge
what they knew, but I doubt this will be the case with you.”

Percy scoffed. “Of course not. It’d be the royal equivalent of snooping through her texts.”

“My what?” his wife asked, at the same time that Amphitrite intoned, “Her what?”

He chuckled, waving his hand, “Nothing, nothing. Bad similitude.”

Amphitrite looked perplexed, but she didn’t press. “Well, why don’t you go talk with them a
bit then Myrto?” she asked, “There are a few things me and your husband need to talk
about.”

“Of course,” she answered, throwing them a concerned smile. She raised, squeezing his hand
one last time, and as soon as she was out of the tent, the goddess’ smile disappeared from her
face.

“Perseus,” she started, and his blood chilled.

Full name? That meant nothing good was about to come.

Chapter End Notes

Hi! I hope you've loved this as much as I have enjoyed writing it!

Myrto and Amphitrite are finally back, and Cetus has been defeated... war is coming.

Let me know your thoughts if you have time! I enjoy all your comments gretaly <3
 Year II, June IV
Chapter Notes

I'm back!! Sorry for the long wait!

Look at the end notes for a full recap list of Percy's allies and enemies!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

To say he was alarmed would be quite the understatement.

“Phaidros’ advisors had been sure that they wouldn’t reach the Northern border in time,”
Percy slowly commented, trying to work out his thoughts in a coherent manner, “if it’s mid-
June the Chinese army can’t be anywhere near here. It would already be incredible if they had
managed to pass the Eastern border.”

Amphitrite sighed, her manicured hands tapping lightly on her thigh, “Not if they had help,”
she answered, “you know that gods can- how did you say, zap?- zap people from one place to
another.”

“But Phorcys, Eurybia, they are minor gods. Are they really powerful enough to move an
entire army?”

She shook her head, and Percy could see her tiredness in the lines on her face, in her tensed
muscle, in how her dark skin seemed to be even darker below her eyes.

“They shouldn’t be. But-” she gestured around, defeated, “you know that gods get… more
powerful when they are given sacrifices, when they are worshipped and honoured correctly.
The Count’s spies have reported that Bythus has forced their cult on the people.”

Percy’s head swirled with questions. “The Count?” he repeated, settling on the easier one.
Maybe he’d figure out why he was in a tent, at least.

“We found the Irish army waiting for us when we exited the caves. The Duke is old and he
has sent here one of his sons, the Count of Leinster,” she intoned, clearly thinking such a title
was above him, “I much preferred his elder brother, to be honest, but he died in the war
against the Titans. One of the last battles, if I recall correctly.”

“So he’s not gonna like me,” Percy sighed, and when Amphitrite looked confused, he
elaborated, “you know that I asked Poseidon to leave this place and come help defeat
Typhoon. Maybe had he been here…”

“You should know better by now, how most noble families work,” the goddess answered,
“the Count all but rejoiced at his brother’s death. He’s the Duke’s heir now, and will have a
prestige that he would have never achieved by remaining a second son.”

“Oh,” Percy commented, less turbed than he would have been a year before, “that wasn’t my
most pressing of questions, though.”

Amphitrite sighed, leaning forward to move his already perfectly positioned blankets. “We’ve
known that Bythus killed whoever dared to oppose him for a long time. It started with public
executions, yes, but it is likely that at a certain point people just started to be sacrificed to
those gods.”

Percy shuddered. “The sea equivalent of human sacrifice.”

She nodded, keeping her hands busy, “And for how minor deities they are… months of blood
sacrifices, constant prayer and offerings, cults and temples dedicated to them… think of just
Atlantis’ population, and then multiply it for all the cities in Bythus’ duchy and in all the
duchies allied to him. I don’t think they’re lacking power.”

“But we’re not sure of this, right? We know that the Chinese army is way closer to us than it
should be, and that Bythus’ is forcing our people into worshipping his godly allies, but it
could also just be the condition they had imposed. Like pray-to-me-or-I’m-not-helping.”

“We don’t have the certainty, no,” she admitted, “but it’s not a scenario we can afford to
ignore. I will be forwarding this possibility at our next war council this afternoon, and I
thought it better if the idea didn’t come to you as a novelty.”

“Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes a moment too long. He was exhausted, the last days of sleep
not enough to release him of the bone deep terror he had felt in the caves, trapped in Cetus’
horrible grip, of the voice of Tartarus in his head, of his sword falling where he could never
reach just in front of his eyes.

And all of this was without adding the joy, surely, of seeing Amphitrite and Myrto again, yes,
but also none of them had really greeted him with good news: not that he expected any
during such a time of political struggle but… understanding their words had taken more of a
toll on him that he would ever admit.

The goddess noticed, of course, as she always did.

“Rest a little more, I’ll wake you up for the council,” she gently suggested, her hand
smothering his black curls, her presence calming and unthreatening.

With the ghost of a caress on his cheek, Percy drifted away.

The Count of Leinster was definitely not what Percy expected after his talk with Amphitrite.

He was tall, way taller than most mermans he had met, and his skin was covered in scars,
some light and some that seemed indeed very painful. He tried not to stare, knowing too well
how annoying it was from his own experience with noisy people at the beach, but he wasn’t
sure he had managed to stop his eyes from darting to him every now and then.
He hadn’t expected a warrior, clear and simple. He had expected a social climber, all goals
and no plans, an ambitious politician or a naive strategist at most, but the Count? He spoke of
battle as if he breathed out of them, as if his own lifeforce was tied to the blood-stricken soil,
as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

From the mesmerising way in which he spoke, the cadence of his words, the gentle
alternation of paces, it surely seemed like there wasn’t. The Count was the kind of man that
with enough time would convince one to do whatever he wished, without one even realising.

A dangerous man, then. A deadly man, for someone with such a precarious seat of power as
Percy: the people had started to like him, to see him as theirs, but it all had been severed too
soon for it to be consolidated. The Count however, was of them. Born and raised. He
possessed enough charisma to draw the crowds to him, if he decided that the title of Duke
wasn’t going to be enough.

He was the kind of man that could challenge a king and win.

Percy could understand, then, why Amphitrite disliked him, but he couldn’t find it in himself
not to be captivated by him. There had been an underlined brilliance, a touch of just
something more in everything he had said, in his every comment during the council, that had
only made Percy yearn to understand him.

What kind of life had shaped this merman into brilliancy? How many battles, how many old
friends had been the sources of the scars he displayed so casually? Here, as in New Rome,
they were a sign of pride, of resilience, and Percy had started to bare them more and more,
showing even the tattoo that had resulted from the throne’s acceptance.

He should have been afraid. Paranoid, even, but when had he ever followed expectations? If
it was considered improper for him to befriend the soldiers, then a Count would be a good
compromise: Myrto, Amphitrite and Cadmus were good, and he knew he could count on
them, but their relationship was way more complicated than friendship.

Flustra had been his friend, once. And if his dream was anything to go by, he had now passed
on to Bythus’ side. Percy couldn’t even blame him for it: kind, gentle Flustra, left alone with
the enemy and the uncomfortable weight of having been his manservant. He had done what
was necessary for his survival.

As Percy had, in running away.

He sighed, leaning back on the chair with his neck on the wood. They had sent scouts to
check whether the rumours about the incoming army were true or not, and until their return
they could do nothing but wait, making up hypothetical battle plans one after the other.

A useless work, that he had mostly left to the generals. He would be busy meeting the new
troops, getting on the right side of the Duke and, most importantly, he needed to find a new
weapon that would work well for him.

He was starting to feel overwhelmed as the first days he had spent in Atlantis, when there had
been so many new things to learn and so little time, but he liked to believe that the past year
had made him stronger, and he now had a support system around him that he had once only
dreamed of. So he would manage. Definitely.

“Do you think we should go? Or send someone?” Amphitrite interrupted his thoughts,
leaning on the doorstep. She had changed into battle clothes, but there wasn’t the splendour
he was expecting: her armour was as plain and battered as the one of every other soldier.

“Go where?” he asked, craning his neck to look at her, before giving up and turning the chair
around with a pained sigh.

“To the Council”

“The Count asked for another one? We just finished and-”

“The gods’ Council, Perseus. The Summer’s Solstice is tomorrow.”

His breath stopped for a second. “The Solstice is tomorrow?”

The goddess sighed. “I should have realised that the caves had mucked your perception of
time. Have you even listened to the generals? They spoke of nothing but dates.”

“I… I just forgot. Not the date. The Council- I mean…” he gestured around, “it’s difficult to
remember that outside of here the world is going forward as always. That everyone is leading
perfectly normal lives.”

She raised an eyebrow, as to point out that this was in fact, not so very different from her
normal life, but she refrained from putting it into words.

“Do you think Bythus will try to go? Percy asked, embarrassed from his confession, “I
wouldn’t fancy seeing him there.”

“Bythus is neither a god nor a king. Just an usurper who wont’ last long enough to even be a
footnote in a history book. Do you think Zeus would lower himself to speak to him as he
spoke to Poseidon?”

Percy hesitated. “They don’t really get along, though.”

Amphitrite shook her head. “They respect each other,” she asserted, “you have seen them in a
time of doubt, betrayals and great conflict, with broken oaths and impending doom at their
threshold. It’s not always like that.”

Percy nodded, unconvinced. He could admit that Zeus had never tried too hard to kill him,
and had mostly left him to his own devices, but he was still sure that it had been just for his
father’s interference rather than for his uncle’s good will.

“He could have taken the sea, you know,” Amphitrite went on, “him or Hades, even if gods
know he doesn’t want any more work. When Poseidon disappeared Atlantis was undefended
for days, before you arrived. And even with you there…”
“I can’t believe it’s only been six months since we left the city,” Percy answered, unwilling to
stress himself thinking about his uncle when he already had so many problems, “it seems like
a lifetime ago.”

“Yes,” the goddess agreed, allowing him to change the subject, “last time I left you alone
here it didn’t end too well.”

He flinched. “I did fine in the caves.”

“You lost Anaklusmos.”

“Does this have a point?” he snapped, looking up at her, “I’m not in the mood to be reminded
of my many failings.”

Amphitrite sighed, moving to sit down on his bed. “Now that you are married and have a
Queen, I no longer have the authority I held last December, and now that you no longer have
Atlantis, you don’t either.”

“So you don’t think we should go,” Percy summarised, not knowing if he felt more
disappointed or relieved by the notion.

“I spoke of respect-” she went on, “- well I think the Pantheon will respect us enough not to
vote on decisions concerning the ocean in our absence. Going there will mean questions, will
mean having to bare how complicated the situation here really is. By not going instead…”

“You think it shows strength,” Percy concluded when she paused, “that we are so certain of
our position that we can afford to give them the illusion of being able to make decisions for
the ocean.”

She nodded tiredly. “You don’t agree, do you?”

Percy passed a hand through his hair, wilding up his curls even more, taking as much time as
he could in finding the right words. Did he have the power here? Or did she?

“Won’t they be thinking that we’re not going because the war is going so badly that we can’t
afford to leave? Which is also kind of true, by the way,” he continued after a beat of silence,
“since we’ve lost our allies from the Bering Sea.”

“The Mediterranean army was way too numerous for them to have any chance. We should
have foreseen that Bythus’ allies would try to stop our allies from reaching us without any
regard to the ancient laws. But the war isn’t going badly.”

Percy raised his eyebrows, and she continued. “I have seen hopeless wars, Percy. This is
hardly one. Phaidros’ army has crushed the telchines at the border, and they are now
marching south to reach our Arabians allies. I believe you’ve met their Duke?”

“The sixth son who brought his heir to the feast?”

“Him yes,” Amphitrite agreed, vaguely amused, “but do not let me remind you that you were
their King and much younger than a sixth son.”
“Yeah and we saw how that went,” he muttered, still unconvinced. They had all these plans,
all these ideas, all these cool fighting schemes, but it didn’t seem enough: against two sea
deities, Percy was sure his powers would seem like a child's first attempt at swimming.

Uncoordinated, ineffective, and fruitless.

“Could we gain nothing?” he asked, “from going to Olympus?”

“Problems,” the goddess retorted, “this war is ours to handle. I think the best we can expect
of them is just to stay out of it.”

“Hades was nice to me.”

She just stared at him, exasperated. “It’s summer.”

Percy lounged back on the chair, closing his eyes. “Alright,” he decided, “we’re not going to
the Council. Has Poseidon ever actually skipped one?”

“I think he didn’t go at all during the tenth century, if it makes you feel any better. Olympus
was in modern day France at the time, if I remember correctly, above some kind of church
that he could not bear to see.”

“Olympus was above a church?”

“Yes, but it used to be a Roman spa so the connection was easier to establish there than in
many other places. Aphrodite loved it, and she quite never let go of that capital of theirs.”

Percy was silent for a while, stunned. His brain had been filled with way too much
information in way too little time and he felt confused, out of place and about to be hit with
the headache of the century.

“When all of this is over,” he started, voice low, “we are going to sit down somewhere cozy
and you are going to tell me all the gossip of the past centuries.”

Amphitrite laughed, and for a moment it felt like being home again.

Home. Is that what he considered Atlantis to be now?

“A sword? That’s quite a peculiar request from a son of Poseidon,” the Count intoned, lazily
raising his eyes from his desk, and looking at him with a glint in his eyes.

“It’s not a request,” Percy answered, making his voice as firm as possible. He was in charge
here, and he could not afford to let such a dangerous man believe he possessed any kind of
control over him.

“It’s an order, from me to your men. Make one, find one- it doesn’t matter, as long as it is of
the right size, shape and weight.”
“Mmh,” the Count hummed, looking amused, “Well I guess that it’s an order then, I cannot
refuse.”

He clicked his fingers, and a servant, a young ichthyocentaur the same colour of seaweed,
came forward.

“Our King requires a sword. Fetch one from my array. One of the lighter ones, please-” he
added, squaring Percy up and down, “-mortals grow so very slowly after all.”

“Some mermen don’t grow at all instead, it appears,” Percy retorted, sitting down in front of
him, uninvited and unapologetic.

A corner of his mouth raised up. “Duke Phaidros would be very displeased to know that you
think such of him,” the Count answered, playing the game, “especially after he has given you
his so precious daughter.”

“Are you married yourself?” Percy asked, taking note to ask Myrto if he had given her any
trouble: because if he had, then the Irish Duke would find himself without an heir pretty
soon.

“I was,” the merman answered, “even if some say differently. But when my brother died… it
became disadvantageous.”

“Disadvantageous,” Percy deadpanned, trying to figure out if he had been wrong on all fronts
about him. Was Amphitrite right? Was he worse than just a political threat?

The Count hummed, waving the unasked question away, the swift steps of his servant
breaking the silence between them. “Oh, here it is,” he commented, lifting the sword from his
unadorned case, “here you go, Your Majesty.”

He handed him the sword, handle first, and Percy took it after just a second of hesitation,
moving it around between his hands to taste out whether it would be acceptable or not. It had
nothing of Anaklusmos- not her swift elegance, nor the way she had seemed to become one
with his hand, but it was balanced enough that he could have a chance to fight with it and
survive.

“You seem to know how to handle your swords,” the Count commented, nodding to his
servant, and Percy smiled at him as insincerely as he could.

“And yet this can barely be considered an acceptable one,” he answered, keeping his eyes on
him, “do you not possess good swords in your County?”

The merman smirked, leaning forward. “The area is historically known for its spears,
actually, are you aware? The best in the Seven Seas, they say. And I’m of the belief that one
should never forget where he comes from.”

“We agree on something, then, Lord of Leinster,” Percy countered, “I come from the sea
itself. Worry not that I shan’t forget it, and neither will anyone else.”
 He stood up to leave, not waiting for an answer, and while he swam back to the training area,
he realised just how much he had truly missed being able to be snarky. Nothing would ever
be as satisfactory as purposefully disrespecting gods but this… this was still more fun than he
had had in ages.

Oh, how he missed being young and in love.

Chapter End Notes

So, since we're getting into the more war/political stuff, I was wondering if you'd like
me to make like a list of all the allies/enemies? Some are mentioned in the course of the
story and some still have to be introduced, but I have so many notes and schemes on it
that I don't know if it's confusing or not while reading for the first time, so let me know
if you'd like that.

Thank you for reading and sorry for the long wait!

Okay here we are with the two sides. Let me know if I can make things clearer in any
other way!

Percy’s side:
--Amphitrite
--Dolphin
--Duchy of the Northern Sea (Duke Phaidros)
--Duchy of the Arabian Sea (Percy meets the Duke in Ch. 9)
--Duchy of the Irish Sea (Count of Leinster, from Ch. 26)
--Duchy of the Argentine Sea (Introduced in Ch. 19)
--Duchy of the Red Sea (Also in Ch. 19)
--Duchy of the Bering Sea (Crushed by the Mediterranean army in Ch. 26)
--Duchy of the Flores Sea (Was attacked by the Solomon Sea army in Ch. 19)

Revolt side:
--Phorcys (A primordial god of the sea, introduced in Ch. 23)
--Eurybia (Goddess of the mastery of the seas, introduced in Ch.23)
--Duchy of the Southern Sea (Duke Bythus, currently in Atlantis)
--Duchy of the Meditterean Sea (First mentioned in Ch.9, has beaten the Bering army)
--Duchy of the Coral Sea (Percy meets the Duke in Ch.10)
--Duchy of the Caribbean Sea (Mentioned in Ch. 16)
--Duchy of the Black Sea (Also mentioned in Ch. 16)
--Duchy of the Eastern Chinese Sea (Unknown location, introduced in Ch.19)
--Duchy of the Japanese Sea (First mentioned in Ch.16)
--Duchy of the Solomon Sea (Attacked the Flores Sea army in Ch.19)
--Duchy of the Celebes Sea (Will be introduced shortly)
 Year II, June V
Chapter Notes

TW: war

I love this chapter and I hope you will too <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The first explosion happened during the night.

Percy had been sleeping, uncomfortable in the bed he shared with Myrto, bothered by the
thickness of the blanket and by the distance between their bodies. Never would he admit it
out loud- but they were granted so little spare time to spend together that sometimes being
with her felt lonelier than being by himself.

Not that she was at fault, or that he was: a political marriage had been, and a political
marriage would remain for quite a long time, no matter how at ease they sometimes felt
around each other. Old issues, fears- they were bound to come back, before love could even
think about growing there.

So, when the ground shook and the greek fire started to burn wildly across their makeshift
camp, travelling easily through the bundled tents- the failing ceiling would not have
immortalised them as the Two Maidens of Pompeii, surprised and sculpted into an immortal
embrace.

Rather, had it collapsed just a moment earlier, just a second before Percy had managed to
drag their bodies out into the camp, half awake for a second and then horribly aware of what
had happened, people would have had difficulties at calling them married.

Not that it mattered, while scared, young soldiers tried to dress themselves in whatever piece
of armour they had managed to save from the flames, while the alarm bells rang fast and true,
sending their signal to every corner of the camp and then farther, to every ally that could
answer.

“Why did no one see this coming?” Percy almost screamed at Cadmus, unsheathing his new
sword, “We have guards, scouts, sentinels at every fucking corner and no one managed to
signal there was an attack on the way?”

“Phorcys is here,” Cadmus urged, dressing him in armour, twice as fast as Percy’s fingers
would have ever managed, “concentrate, and you’ll feel his presence. He must have hidden
the army’s true position from our sight.”
“Myrto, stay with the Oceanids,” he ordered, putting on the last pieces, “there will be
wounded. Help the healers if you can stomach it.”

She nodded, coming forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Be careful,” she whispered, inaudible
to a man’s ear but not to Percy’s, who heard the water carry the sound of her voice even
between the sounds of men reading themselves to fight and die, even through the constant
fires.

“Always,” he answered, and then he threw himself into the battle.

The soldiers he had come to know, both the ones he had started with and the allies from the
Irish Sea, had been eager for their first battle, keen to prove their worth to their family and to
bring glory to their names. He wondered, not for the first time, whether they would think the
pain was worth it.

“Phalanx!” he yelled, marching between the soldiers, who were quickly organising
themselves in formation, and placing himself as the dimœrites, the leader of the flank, with
Cadmus in the first line right behind him.

“We need to push them back away from our camp!” he yelled at the soldiers, tightly pushed
together in the phalanx he had ordered, “This is our land, our waters. The villages are ours to
protect, the food ours to eat- so we’re going to push them back, and we’re going to push them
back without mercy!”

His yells were followed by the war cries of the soldiers, coming from every angle of the
camp. How loud had he screamed? His throat was hoarse, but there was no time to worry
about it: the enemy phalanx was just feet away from them- there could be no time for
thinking.

Gone was Percy’s attempt at hitting with the back of his sword, as he had done in Manhattan,
and dozens of soldiers fell under his touch before he even fell into the step of the battle.
There was no technique, no order in the way he sliced through the flesh of the youths in front
of him, moving before he could even look at their faces.

It was better this way, he had convinced himself, if he refused to glance at them he would not
see their faces in his nightmares.

They broke into the enemy’s ranks easily, loosening their formation until the battle became a
mess of one to one combats, interrupted by the occasional explosion and by Percy’s control
of the currents. He didn’t dare to make hurricanes, not when his own forces could be so easily
confused for the enemy.

The Count of Leinster reached him in the midst of the enemy soldiers, killing a mermaid who
was aiming a blow to his back. “I’ll take it up here,” he said through gritted teeth, “Lady
Amphitrite has located the god, but she needs your help.”

“Where?” Percy asked, blindly adjusting his fighting style to match the Count’s, who
answered swiftly, pointing at the western side of the camp’s border. “They'll escort you,” he
added, pointing at two lightly armoured mermaids behind him, “they’re my best fighters.”
Percy nodded, letting the two soldiers open him the space to retreat into the ranks of his own
men, dirtying his blade in fresh blood in the process. Cadmus was fighting ferociously, and
he shouted at him to keep an eye on the Count, before falling into step with the two
mermaids, who were swimming fast towards the border of the still flaming camp.

The closer they got to it, the more the pressure of the water started to increase, until even his
ears started to ring and the two mermaids had to stop their mad race. “We can’t escort you
any further, Your Majesty” they apologised, “Phorcys’ power is too strong, but we’ll stop
anyone else from coming close to you.”

“Thank you,” Percy answered, feeling the god’s power rattle in his bones, together with
Aphitrite’s familiar aurea, safe but not less terrifying.

He steadied himself and looked at the red tingeing the blade of his sword.
Gold was going to look really pretty, mixed with it.

The sounds of battle rose, lowered and then rose again around him, while their fight dragged
on and on.

The original plan, Percy’s plan for every time he had had to fight a god, had been to keep it
short and simple. He was bound to feel exhausted, to become less and less coordinated much
sooner than his immortal opponent, so his higher chance at winning had always been at the
beginning.

But an hour had passed, maybe even more, and his muscles had started to tremble with the
weight of a sword that wasn’t Anaklusmos: the hurricanes he had crashed into the god were
dwindling and he was running out of attack ideas faster than he had ever done before.

Phorcys, as they had thought, was powerful. A primordial god, drunk on libations and in his
natural element, against a disgraced goddess and a demigod with untrained skills: in Atlanta
he had managed to take hold of the water, yes, but barely and Phorcys had been weak and
exiled. Of the god he had met only the crab-like features remained, and the horrible taste in
clothes if his silver leggings were anything to go by.

Amphitrite, hardly a stranger to battles and to gods, was leading the fight with unbound
ferocity, but her powers were limited: his marriage even more relegating her to her nature of
nereid and to the lack of powers that came from not being Queen any longer.

“Tired, little hero?” Phorcys called from behind him, appearing from nowhere and forcing
Percy to throw himself to the ground, “you could have rested, you know,” he continued, “Fate
would have been kinder to you if you had remained in my aquarium.”

“Aquarium?” Amphitrite questioned, sending a blow of green light towards the god, who
shooed it away with his trident without any effort.

“A long story,” Percy cut short, while Phorcys laughed. “I’ll kill you here,” he promised,
“and then I’ll parade your body for the whole Seven Seas to see. No one, no one, will ever be
able to call it unentertaining. Not even that old sot of Dionysus.”

“Thank you, I was very concerned about his opinion,” Percy rebuked, meeting the god’s
trident with his sword, grunting with the effort of keeping him in place.

He locked his eyes with Amphitrite. Now, he tried to communicate to her without speaking,
and maybe he managed or maybe she had already understood, but she charged at the god with
all her might, while Percy made algae sprung from the seafloor and tie around his ankles,
momentaneously locking him in place.

“What-” he tried to say, but this time the attack didn’t miss, even if it wasn’t nearly as strong
as Percy expected: Phorcys was thrown harshly against the sand, giving them both time to
breathe and plan the rest of the fight while he tried to disentangle himself from the algae.

Percy sent a tornado after him, just in case, while the goddess breathed in and out next to
him. Laboured breaths: something was wrong.

“What happened?” Percy asked, turning towards her, taking her forearms in his hands, “are
you injured?” he pressed, when he received no answer.

“He hit me with something,” she rasped out, “my head- my head feels numb. I can’t-”

There had been nereids in Atlanta, Percy remembered. Drugged and barely aware of their
surroundings, dazed and lethargic as he would have become by remaining in the tank.

“It’s the water,” Percy answered, “he can do something to it, turn people torpid. You’ve been
close to him longer than I have, it must have had more effect,” he started to explain, stopped
by the god’s loud triumphant cheer.

“Your stupid plants can do nothing against me!” he yelled, charging towards them, trident in
hand. Amphitrite was staring at him, immobilised, and he could do nothing but place himself
between the two bodies.

Solidify, he ordered the insentient water, protect your King, he ordered again, but the sea was
unresponsive around him, as the goddess was. Whatever Phorcys was doing- it was ten times
more powerful than it used to be.

He raised his sword too late, blocking the attack only in part, and the god’s trident sliced off
part of his arm, grazing at his tender flesh, spilling blood all over his already stained armour,
making the sand frizzle beneath him.

It wasn’t painful enough to make Percy even pause, and they continued their one to one fight
with Percy only defending, only answering to Phorcys’ attacks and never able to start one of
his own.

He needed to get him away from there, now. He needed to take him away from Amphitrite, to
give her enough space and enough fresh water that Phorcys’ powers would dwindle enough
for her to be able to rejoin the fight, for he wouldn’t be able to win on his own.
And how long did he even have, before he too became numb? He hadn’t arrived that later
than the goddess, and he was Phorcys’ main target: he couldn’t afford to stop fighting.

One of his tornadoes made the god lose his balance, and Percy took advantage, finally
managing to get a good hit at him, stabbing the side with half of his blade before the god
threw him back like a ragged doll.

It took him longer than it should have to get back up, mocked by the god’s laugh, but his
sword was covered in ichor now, and there was a different look in Phorcys’ eyes.
Percy was all of the sea. It didn’t matter if the water around him was deadened, listless: there
was so much water he could take from other places, he realised. He had brought the ocean’s
water on land, he had forced it into a volcano- why would he not be able to take it from
another part of the ocean?

“How are you so much more powerful?” he asked, trying to distract Phorcys for long enough
to find out how to call the seas to him, “You weren’t like this when we first met.”

“Always with the questions,” the god answered, “have you not gotten tired of useless
information?”

“It makes the spectacle more... enthralling,” Percy answered, “you know, people like things
better if they’re emotionally invested in them,” he continued, avoiding another blow. His
head had started to hurt, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything that wasn’t his imminent
survival.

“You have a point, yes,” Phorcys answered, pausing his rapid fire attacks, “well, the Duke
has been very generous to me. He freed me from my exile, and nursed my powers back to
what they had once been, before your father came to ruin the sea.”

“Nursed?” Percy asked, feeling his divinity burn inside of his veins. He was exaggerating,
Amphitrite would tell him, he was trying to use too much of his powers. The area of the god’s
influence was wider than he expected, stretching for miles and miles, and he wondered how
the soldiers were doing. Had they already lost the battle?

“Oh yes,” Phorcys repeated, “nursed. I was given many lovely sacrifices, like a mother would
give food to their baby. And now that I’ve grown strong once again, your silly young blood
will do nothing against me.”

Percy should have been scared, he knew that. But the god’s words meant nothing from where
he stood in the comfortable embrace of the Argentine waters: that was how far he had to
journey, but he had found allies at the end.

Their sea was clean, untouched by Phorcys’ powers, and its waters Percy was taking, moving
them around himself and Amphitrite, careful to not make the god notice.

But he needed a bit more time. “So you plan to kill me,” he went on, “didn’t Bythus want me
alive?”
There was a friendly army, moving through the Argentine waters: allies, on the move for
Atlantis. Could he speak to them? Did his powers stretch that far? No, not his powers, he
corrected himself- did he?

“He’ll come to terms with it,” the god answered, “the sight of your martiried body will make
him realise that mine was the best decision.”

“You don’t sound too certain,” Percy commented, feeling Amphitrite start to regain herself
behind him, “I don’t blame you. My father won’t be happy when he comes back.”

Phorcys laughed, an unkempt, disharmonic laugh that made Percy’s teeth chatter. “He’s not
going to come back,” he said with a wicked expression, “not from where he is.”

Percy’s blood chilled, and he had to force himself not to forget about his plan, to keep
moving the water. “You know where he is?”

“I have been here a long time,” he answered, moving forward with his trident raised. Percy
knew he should be moving away, but his feet were planted to the ground, unfeeling, while the
sound of the Argentine’s war cries resounded in his ears.

“You are not the first, you know,” Phorcys went on, “there was a girl, a long time ago, who
was prophesied to bring change to Atlantis.”

“A demigod?”

The god hummed. “Your darling father feared Kronos’ curse, feared that the prophecy could
refer to a change of… command. He too, knew he wouldn’t be able to return.”

Hades and Zeus had spoken about it, he remembered. In his dream, they had discussed an
episode that had happened centuries ago. They had said that Poseidon had cared less about…

“What happened to the girl?” Percy asked, almost losing control of all the power he was
wielding. He felt more energised already, and knew that the goddess was just waiting for the
right moment, while taking away more and more of Phorcys’ control on the water.

“Oh, he killed her,” the god answered, “his own daughter, butchered like an animal in secret,
left to die somewhere on your meaningless land,” he said slowly, moving forward and
measuring Percy’s reaction.

He tried not to give him the satisfaction of seeing him distressed, shaky and uncomfortable,
but Phorcys’ crazed smile confirmed to him that he had failed.

“You have never known your real father,” the god pressed, “you’ve never known the extent
gods can go and will go to when they are truly afraid. And yet- yet you gave your life for
him.”

Percy felt sick. He was right, in a way. Poseidon had done so many terrible things, so many
unexcusable things. But Phorcys wasn’t any better, nor was Bythus: both tyrants, both too
enthralled by power and gold to care for their people.
 I was better, Percy found himself thinking, but he shooed it away in an instant. Phorcys was
playing his cards well, adding doubts to his tethering patience, and maybe he was right and
maybe he wasn’t, but he could not lose himself in it now.

There were soldiers, out there, scared kids who longed to return to their families. All of the
sea was at war and no one was safe, not even in their own homes: soldiers could come in a
moment, and take everything away. He owed it to them, to win the war.

He owed it to them. Not to his father.

The bustling, lively water had now filled the space between them. “No,” Percy found himself
saying, “I didn’t give my life to him. I gave it to the sea.”

He opened his arms, widening them as much as he could, and thousands of thousands of
gallons of water filled the space, enraged and jittery from the forced confinement and ready
to shove themselves at the god.

The strain was messing with Percy’s head, but Amphitrite was there in an instant, giving him
her power, supplying the waves with her own strength until Phorcys could do nothing but
scream and bend under the immense weight of it, under the force of Percy’s command.

Phorcys was the god of the hidden dangers of the sea.

He should have foreseen Percy.

Chapter End Notes

Hi there!

This was a lot of fun to write, and also the plot is moving forwards! I had promised

reading 💙
more action, hadn't I? I hope it was satisfying for now!! As always, thank you all for
if you have time, know that i LOVE all your comments!
 Year II, July I
Chapter Notes

Answers? Questions? Maybe both. Maybe neither...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

With Amphitrite once again able to rejoin the battle and Percy pushing himself to the limit, it
only took a couple of hours for the fight to end.

Phorcys hadn’t proved himself a good ally in battle: while he surely had posed a threat, his
powers had affected both his soldiers and Percy’s ones, basically creating a sense of general
drowsiness that had stilled the fight until he had been defeated.

Not definitely- the goddess had specified, while Percy sat up plopped in his bed, an
overworked healer shuffling miserably around him: they would probably have to fight again,
but he wouldn’t be at the height of his power any longer.

Or so she hoped.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you alone to fight,” Amphitrite added later, in a brief moment of
privacy in between the chaos, “I knew the nature of Phorcys’ powers. I should have been
more careful.”

“It’s not your fault,” Percy tried to reassure her, “and you did help me at the end. We gave
him the final blow together.”

She shook her head, seeming more vulnerable than he thought a goddess could be. He wanted
to comfort her, to thank her for all that she had done for him, to tell her that it was okay that
he had protected her for once, and not the other way around.

But he wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t blind: he could see in the way she held herself just how
much the admission of hopelessness had cost her, her who used to be a Queen, powerful and
self-reliant, certainly unbothered by pathetic minor deities.

She would return as such, one day. Percy would make sure of it: with or without his father,
Amphitrite would take back for herself what should have been hers by right and not by
marriage.

“Have you seen Myrto?” Percy asked instead of voicing his thoughts, allowing her to change
the subject as she had let him many times.

“I have,” the goddess answered, giving him a delicate smile and coming to sit at the edge of
his bed, “she was with a couple of her ladies, talking with a general of the Irish army.”
“With a general?” Percy asked, curious, “is the Count injured?”

“Unfortunately not gravely,” she answered, scoffing at his disapproving expression, “he got
stabbed on his leg. Probably just so he could have a scar from the battle. I heard he collects
them.”

Percy laughed, the movement hurting his ribs and making him wince. He waved Amphitrite’s
concern away, choosing instead to go on a monologue on how not all stories should be
believed. She was a goddess with myths about her, so she should know better, should she
not?

“What’s wrong between the two of you?” Amphitrite interrupted him, clearly not having
listened to a word, “between you and Myrto, I mean.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Percy immediately answered, on the defensive. “Why should- has she
said anything?”

She sighed. “No,” she answered, calming him down, “but I can see that something is…
different. It’s like you’re not trying any longer. Not just you-” she swiftly added, “both of
you. I know it’s a stressful period but...I don’t want your marriage to go like-” she paused, the
mine, suspended between them, “Just know that you can always confide in me.”

Percy hesitated. “I think we should have a talk, me and her,” he admitted, “this is her first
experience of war, and I fear I haven’t been the support system she needed. It’s just that-” he
gestured around, not knowing how to express himself.

“Do you still love that girl on the surface?” she asked, and Percy flinched.

“Not like that, I think,” he answered, feeling himself honest. Maybe the admission should
have eased his burden, made him have a sudden realisation, but there was no epiphany to
accompany his words. He had known it for a while.

Which didn’t mean that the thought didn’t hurt anymore. His heart clenched every time as it
was the first, as when he had first returned from that small cave in Long Island where he had
last seen her.

“I don’t know,” Percy went on, “but I’ll make more of an effort. I want this to go well too, for
me and for her. But if you think that- that there is something important I’m missing you’re
going to tell me, right?”

“Of course, Percy,” Amphitrite answered, “it’s me and you here. Everything else comes after,
if it comes at all. Do not forget it,” she added, “you have promised me my other children
back.”

Other children. Other children.

His hand trembled while he wiped away his own tears.

.
Percy stood in a wheat field. It was almost summer- the breeze was crispy and promising, the
grain bright yellow under the golden rays of the sun.

He closed his eyes, inhaling as much as he could, trying to focus on the smell of the summers
of his youth: but it had been too long since he had last stepped foot into the earth, and he
could no longer remember the scent of nature.

A dream, he opened his eyes, he was in a dream.

The grain moved, and Percy’s eyes snapped towards the sound. Panting, sobs, the sound of
steps- quick, fast, and so very small.

“Help!” a girl yelled, in some weird accent Percy could not place, “Vader, help!” she yelled
again, anguished, her voice getting further away from him.

He was filled with an intense desperation. She had asked for help and maybe he- the steps
were running in the opposite direction though, interrupting his train of thought, and Percy
sprinted towards the sound: even if he was taller than the wheat he could see no other head in
the midst of them.

“Wait!” he yelled after her, but there was no sign that the sound had even left his throat.

Whoever was running was a child, shorter than a wheat plant, but Percy could not reach her
in her frenzied run, as if the very soil was getting wider and wider between them.

“Vader, alstublieft! Alstublieft,” the girl was saying again, and Percy had no idea what it
meant, but the pain in her voice was palpable: he cursed under his breath, trying to run faster,
but he could no longer hear the sound of her feet.

There was something else in the field now- something bigger.

Something monstrous.

Percy was in a village.

The houses, made of wood and stone, seemed to tether under the strength of the wind that
blew through them, hissing in between the holes in the roofs.

A child was standing in between the cattle, her grey, plain dress filled with mud and tearings,
badly patched over and over again.

“Who are you?” Percy asked, but the girl didn’t seem to be able to hear him. Was she the one
whom he had seen running in the field? Had she saved herself?

He heard hooves behind him- a sound he was too familiar with to be mistaken but- how was
it possible?

Chiron stood there, his eyes unseeing. He passed next to Percy as if he weren’t there,
stepping closer to the girl, and Percy tried his best to ignore the pang in his heart. His eyes
ravaged through the centaur’s face, insatiable. This wasn’t his Chiron but- how long had it
been since he had last seen him?

“Meisje,” he called, again in that language Percy could not understand, “we moeten
vertrekken,” he continued, and the child finally turned around.

Percy’s breath stopped in his throat. Eyes as green as his cut deep into his own, and there was
so much resemblance with this girl and the child he used to be that only one thing could be
possible. She was the one Phorcys had spoken about, the one his uncles had mentioned.

His sister.

...a shell she will throw to end,

an ancient kingdom to change,
out of her father’s skill to mend…

He was back in the wheat field, but this time the broken body of his sister was crouched
down at his feet, weak sobs causing her to whimper and cry.

A tall, merciless cyclop was swinging a bloodied club in his hands.

“Leave!” Percy screamed, lowering himself to his knees next to the child, trying to offer her
comfort or assistance: but once again his hands passed through her flesh, his presence
unallowed in the memory of what had once been.

Above, with merciless indifference, the sun reached the midday, covering the field in a
burning heat. Please, Percy tried begging, to him and whoever would listen. She was but a
child. She was-

There was no answer to his prayer and the monster lunged forward, leaving Percy with
nothing to do but offer her the tribute of not closing his eyes while she bled out, scared and
small and alone on the sunkissed dirt.

“Vader,” was what she uttered beneath his arms, “vergeef me”.

There was no need for Percy to know the language. He had whispered those same words too
many times not to understand them just from the tremble of her voice.

Father, she had said, forgive me.

He woke up with a jolt and a scream dying in his throat.

“Myrto,” he called, tasting the bed next to him, “Myrto-” he begged, feeling so close to
sobbing that he couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it.
Her hands were on his arms in an instant, the bedside candles turning on by themselves in
answer to his distress.

“What happened?”, she asked, “what’s wrong? Percy-” she continued, her tone urgent, while
he could barely manage to breath, “are you hurt?”

He shook his head, taking her hands in his. He was squeezing too much, he knew. It would
leave marks, but she didn’t try to get him away from her, and he wasn’t strong enough to let
go.

“I-” he started, “a dream,” he tried to explain, his breaths coming ragged and his voice weak,
“-my sister, she was...”

“You don’t have a sister,” Myrto answered, soothing, still gently holding him, “just try to take
deep breaths, yeah? You don’t have to think of it. Just concentrate on my voice, I’ll tell you
about my day, mh?”

Percy nodded, his grip loosening slightly, and he let his head fall forward, coming to rest just
under Myrto’s collarbone. One of her hands came up, cradling his head and carding through
his hair as if he was a delicate glass, prone to break at every sudden move.

Had it been from someone else, he would have been offended. Had it been any other night,
any other occasion- he probably wouldn’t have let her.

But her voice was calm and smooth while she told him of her time in the infirmary, how she
had learned to disinfect wounds and prepare the bandages. She spoke of the smiles of those
who healed, of the satisfaction that it had given her to be saluted with friendliness around the
camp, of the proud way in which Amphitrite had looked at her.

Percy had let go of her hands somewhere in the middle of it, his nose filling with the smell of
safety he had for so long associated with the whole sea, but the mention of the goddess set
him off again.

His body tensed, and Myrto stopped talking, letting him leave her arms. “Do you want to talk
about it?” she asked, but Percy shook his head.

“There are a couple of things I will need to discuss with Amphitrite first,” he explained, “so
maybe I will understand. But I would like-”

He paused, looking at her, “I won’t mind hearing more about your days here. I feel like I
haven’t asked you enough. How are your new ladies faring?”

She smiled, a bit of tension draining from her face. “Why don’t I tell you tomorrow?” she
asked, “there are other things we could do tonight, if you are willing”

“What about-”

She shushed him with a kiss. “Not a worry, right now,” she answered in between their lips.
He smiled. It wouldn’t solve anything, nor cover the distance he had felt between them in the
last weeks- but it was a good start to set things right again.

Percy was tired of asking for answers.

He was tired of the never-ending not knowing, of the careful way in which everything was
presented to him, of how he had studied and studied the history of the kingdom and had
somehow missed all of the actual, useful things.

He had planned to ask Amphitrite about his sister, about the prophecy he had heard in his
dream, but the Count’s young servant had come to wake him up just before dawn, for the
merman had called an emergency war meeting.

“-that’s just like the second battle in Cora’s rebellion,” one of the generals was saying, the
others nodding around him, “except the Southern’s army was on the Flores’ side, and they
used to be way bigger than now.”

“The basis remains, though,” the Count agreed, “the Mediterranean army was blocked on all
sides and defeated in less than a fortnight.”

“We don’t have the necessary men yet, for such a move,” Amphitrite spoke for the first time,
“during Cora’s rebellion both the Red and the Black seas were on our side, but now the
Black’s stands with Bythus.”

“They still have no written alliance,” an ichthyocentaur corrected, “there have been attacks
on Poseidon’s-” he stopped himself, clearing his throat, “-sorry, on Perseus’ properties in the
capital, and some statues have been desecrated, but it doesn’t seem to reflect the feelings of
the entire population.”

“You think they were gauged by Bythus’ men?” Percy asked, almost flinching at the way all
the heads turned towards him.

“As a short answer, yes,” the man nodded, “I would say there had been groups of anti-royals
and dissenters for quite a long time, and Bythus merely gave them more voice and an actual
purpose.”

“Phaidros should have met with the Arabian army in the morning,” the Count of Leinster
went on, “I believe the Duchess from the Red Sea will also be there soon. They’ll have the
necessary men, even if the Black Sea actually goes with Bythus.”

“Why ask for assistance then?” Cadmus asked, moving his finger up and down on the map,
“Both the Duke and Dolphin are expert generals. They know that reaching them would
postpone our arrival to Atlantis by several months, months we cannot afford to lose.”

“Especially not now that the Japanese army has reached the city and joined the Southern’s
army,” the Count added, as an afterthought, before settling back into his chair. “Lady
Amphitrite, can you think of a reason Dolphin would ask for such a notion?”
She started to answer, but Percy couldn’t concentrate on her words. He felt like a child that
had secretly smuggled himself into the teachers’ conference room, listening to discourses he
couldn’t understand.

He was supposed to be their King, to lead them, and yet he hadn’t even managed to intervene
more than a couple of times. Amphitrite’s eyes had been on him, urging him not to leave the
job to the Count, but Percy wasn’t arrogant enough to think he knew best, to think he was
somehow more skilled than the war veterans around the table.

Percy was good at fighting. He was good at battle plans. History and politics? He could have
become good, maybe, had he had more time to learn, but they surely didn’t come natural to
him, and his education had been cut short by Bythus’ attack.

“What are your thoughts on the matter, Your Majesty?” the Count asked him then, calling
Percy’s mind back into the room, “I couldn’t help but notice you have been…
uncharacteristically silent, during this meeting.”

“Yes,” Percy answered, feeling a sudden burst of anger and knowing that this was a test he
couldn’t afford to fail, “does my quietness intimidate you, my Lord?” he asked, continuing
before giving him any time to answer, “An understandable position, of course. As sea-
dwellers, I am certain you are all familiar with the association of silence to the calm before
the storm.”

He paused, letting his eyes wander through the room.

“However,” he said, standing up, “I do have an opinion about Dolphin’s request for aid. You
speculate on the reason for his request and I say: let’s ask him.”

A general scoffed. “We don’t have time to send messengers and wait for their return.
Dolphin’s request already dates back a couple of weeks and in the time it would take to-”

“You could?” Amphitrite interrupted, clearly having understood the meaning behind Percy’s
words, “Even without his exact location?”

“I believe I can,” he answered, his voice hard, “and trying won’t hurt, anyway.”

The goddess nodded, and he started to explain.

Percy had never been one to flaunt his own victories, never the kind of hero that makes his
quests seem bigger than they truly were. He had never needed to: his successes could speak
by themselves, and afterwards he was never in the mood to share details.

But the generals, with their pretension and their smugness, had managed to annoy him to the
end of his, already proven, already limited, patience. They might have known more, they
might have been older- but they weren’t better than him.

“-as I took apart his careful control on the water around him,” he concluded, “I felt the
Argentinian army move towards Atlantis. I could have spoken to them, hadn’t I been busy
 slaughtering a god. I believe I can stretch my consciousness to wherever Dolphin is, and ask
the question you’ve been losing our precious time debating.”

Dozens of eyes settled on him, and a terse silence fell into the room.

“Well,” the Count smiled at him, “if your silence hadn’t been the calm before the storm, I
am… intrigued, about what you consider a storm to be like.”

Percy let Lupa’s training come to the surface in his features, letting himself be, for an instant,
something that had nothing of human. He had burned enough of his soul in Hallmer to no
longer be a mortal, after all- it was time they all found out just what it meant.

“I hope only my enemies will have to find out,” he augured, a playful smile on his lips.

He sat back down and, surprisingly, the rest of the emergency meeting continued without an
itch.

“What do you need?” Cadmus asked, once only him, Amphitrite and the Count had remained
into the wide room, almost creepy in the dim light of dawn.

“Silence,” Percy answered, still not out of his bad mood, and he could feel Amphitrite repress
a chuckle behind him. “I need to concentrate,” he explained, his tone softer, “I’ve never
actually done this before.”

“You certainly sold it like you had,” the Count commented, amused, “I find myself concerned
by the fact that I don’t mind as much as I should.”

“It’s because-”

“Perseus,” the goddess intoned, “we’re not here at this ungodly hour to jest.”

“Sorry,” he apologised on reflex, and heard Cadmus’ snort in front of him. He glared at him,
and the old merman raised his hands in surrender.

“Please proceed,” he invited, and Percy took a deep breath, cursed every single one of the
three sisters of Fate, and let his mind dive into the warm waters of Europe.

Chapter End Notes

💛💛
Thank you for reading! All your comments on last chapter were amazing, really, I have
been very busy but they helped me find the motivation to keep writing!!

Here is a short recap of where everyone mentioned is, just to keep things as clear as I
can:
-Irish Army + Percy + Amphitrite --> out of the Northern Duchy (have just defeated the
Eastern Chinese Army)
-Dolphin + Phaidros + Arabian Army + (Red Sea Army?-uncomfirmed) --> they are
about to face the Mediteterranean Army and the Black sea's one (unconfirmed)
-Southern Army + Japanese Army --> Atlantis

I'll add the others when they'll come up in the story, but do tell me if it's still too messy...
I don't think I had ever written something so complex
 Year II, July II, September I
Chapter Notes

...a shell she will throw to end,

an ancient kingdom to change,
out of her father’s skill to mend…

Can gods be judged with the morality of mortals?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Moving through the seas with his consciousness, Percy had found out, was as tiring as
running into the sand with sneakers, just barely less frustrating, and quite more difficult to do
without the adrenaline and desperation of battle to fuel him.

The truth was- it required a lot of concentration, and Percy’s ADHD was not cooperating,
focusing itself on the tapping of Cadmus’ fingers on the desk, on the low murmur of voices
outside of the tent, on possible outcomes for the conversation he’d have to have with
Amphitrite.

On everything and everyone that had nothing to do with the actual task.

Irked, he opened his eyes after a dozen tries and met the expectant stare of his allies with the
intention of admitting that he wasn’t capable of actually talking with Dolphin, that he was a
fluke, that they should have never believed in him.

“I need more silence,” he said instead, taking himself so by surprise that it probably showed
in his face, which he tried to school back into a mask of annoyance.

“Maybe we could leave,” Cadmus proposed, and Amphitrite shot him a worried look, while
the Count openly protested: “I am not going to believe he has spoken to Dolphin until I see a
sign of it,” he stated, and Percy could not truly argue.

“But if I do give you proof,” he tried, “will you stop challenging my power at every turn, and
instead stand by me as a Count stands to a King?”

A bold request, but Percy had given up on any pretence of meekness when he had killed
Cetus, almost weaponless and with only his bare hands to do most of the job, had taken off
the sheep’s clothing as he wiped off Phorcys’ ichor from his sword.

The Count bowed his head. “On my father’s name,” he answered, and so this time- this time
Percy could not fail.
.

The silence of the room turned into sounds, colours, then a pattern of words, strung together
so fastly that Percy could not distinguish between them: hues of blue, of brown and green
filled his vision from every side, blinding him.

This hadn’t happened the previous time, he managed to think in the middle of the chaos, but
he could barely hear himself in between the ruckos of voices in his head, too fast, too many,
belonging to too many different people, each carrying a different emotion.

There was something wrong. He had done something wrong. Would he turn himself insane?
Would pride be his downfall, after all?

A sharp pain, an intake of breath, and the Council room swam into vision again, the voices
stopping as quickly as they had come.

“What-” he tried to ask, feeling something on his arm, feeling- blood? Amphitrite was
holding her dagger tightly in her hand, a concerned expression on her face. For a moment, he
was back in the throne room, looking at his councillor’s crazy eyes as he slowly took his
poisoned knife out of Percy’s neck.

But this wasn’t Atlantis. And the goddess wished him no harm.

“You’re not a god, Perseus,” she spoke, “no matter how much you may feel like one when
you use your powers like that.”

“I don’t understand,” he answered, letting Cadmus feed him a small square of ambrosia,
while the Count looked at him with a curious expression.

“Your mind is not ready to be in all of the ocean at the same time,” she tried to explain,
“maybe one day it will be, maybe never, it doesn’t matter. But there is a difference between
feeling the entire ocean and being all of it.”

“I heard voices,” he remembered, “were they…”

“Were they the voices of every single being that is now alive in the sea?” the Count finished,
“probably, yes,” he went on, “you started to glow and Lady Amphitrite stabbed you, even if I
had offered myself for the job.”

“Stabbed is an exaggeration,” Cadmus justified her, “his arm is barely grazed.”

“Thanks?” Percy said then, filling the uncomfortable pause that had followed, his arm already
healed and his mind ready to start again.

“You need to channel it,” Amphitrite advised, “you don’t need to send your consciousness to
the entire ocean, nor do you need to feel all of it. Follow Dolphin’s aurea, signature, whatever
you wish to call it, and only focus there.”

“Alright,” he pacified, agreeing with her plan, “let’s see how it goes.”
.

Last time he had seen Dolphin, they had been in Phaidros’ palace, an occasion that seemed so
distant that it felt like another Percy had been in his shoes.

Dolphin though, was not a distant figure. He had been the first one to believe in Percy, so
long ago during his second trial, and then he had always been there, supporting, instructing
and guiding him even as he was arguing with Amphitrite.

Percy missed him, even more as he felt in the waters all the places he had touched, all the
clearing where he had rested, alone with a foreign Duke and an army of strangers. Had he
been anxious? Had he been worried about him? The seas could not tell him that- he has been
here, the waters could say, here he has slept, here he has bled.

But where had he cried? Where had he thought of him, of Amphitrite? In which spot of the
sea had he missed Atlantis most fervently, where had he wished for Poseidon to be there the
most?

All of that remained unanswered, even as Percy forced himself to track every little sign of
their passage. It seemed like they had been jumping from one place to the other, with miles
and miles in between tracks, but it was to be expected: weeks of harsh currents had destroyed
them, and dozens of ships had passed above and polluted the waters.

It limited his movements, somehow: the water felt more dense, dirtier than it had ever been
before, and he could feel the restlessness of the fishes, the nymphs and the water spirits who
lived there. He wondered, as he passed without letting his presence be known, whether
Bythus had promised to do something about it.

Many had passed to his side, after all, and Bythus’ plan had been way too smooth, way too
perfect to have been a decision taken in a hurry. His father’s departure might have
exacerbated the matter- but it had surely been a long way in the making.

Because if Percy had learnt something about politics in the last months- was that it takes a
second to make an enemy, and a lifetime to form an alliance.

“Dolphin?” he called in the water, warm and sun-kissed, “can you hear me?”

He reached the soldier’s camp, trying to look around, but he could sense things more than
actually see them. There were many people, many noises, and it was starting to become
overwhelming again.

“Dolphin?” he repeated, trying to think of some other way to communicate with him- should
he try asking some of the soldiers? He couldn’t sense anyone he had met in Phaidros’ palace.

As a last resort, he tried to send his thoughts to the water, as he did when he spoke to fishes,
and in a second he felt like his mind had been grabbed, and swirled and thrown back into
something that felt like a cage, just to be kicked forward again, burning and hurting and-
“Oh, look who’s here,” someone spoke with a rich, alluring voice, “has no one told you it’s
bad to lie, little dolphin?” they asked, “He was just telling me that my plan would never
work, for you cared nothing for him.”

“And yet here you are!” they laughed, “Mind and not body, but I’ll make do.”

Percy couldn’t feel anything, feeling trapped by invisible barriers, feeling his mind thick,
working as slowly as syrup falls. He knew, though, that something had gone completely,
irremediably, wrong.

“Oh, not all the mind,” the someone amended, while Percy tried to fight against locks he
couldn’t see, “we’ll solve this in a minute.”

This time, the words registered, and Percy was filled with panic. He had a handful of seconds
to find out what was going on and leave before he ended up trapped somewhere, and he had
no intention of wasting them.

But they wouldn’t be enough, not if-

“Dolphin,” he tried again, feeling movement and rushing his words, “pray, pray,” he ordered,
before letting all his panic fill him to the brim.

He couldn’t get himself out of there, but Amphitrite would notice. She would notice, and stab
him again, and he would be safe.

“Fuck”, he heard someone yell in the back of his mind, followed by a string of curse in
ancient greek that would make even a sailor’s ears blush.

Then- he was moving again, and this time he had no control over it.

The fall back into his body was painful, his body tingling as if he had been hit by lightning,
every single one of his nerves on fire.

There was blood again, on his other arm, and the wound was bigger this time, deeper and
more desperate. He blinked, managing to open his eyes, and felt dense liquid fall to his
cheeks, too heavy to be tears.

“What happened?” Amphitrite asked, her tone urgent, “Cadmus went to call for an healer,”
she continued, handing him a tissue, “you started crying blood from-” she paused, “from
everywhere.”

He took a deep breath, organising his thoughts while he wiped his face, and when he spoke
his eyes were on the Count instead that on the goddess. He wouldn’t be able to bear her gaze
now, he knew. He was too shaken to trust himself not to have a breakdown.

“I followed Dolphin’s track until the Mediterranean, where I entered a soldiers' camp. I
thought it was ours,” he said, swallowing down a lump, “but when I tried to call for Dolphin
my mind was… trapped, somewhere. There was someone speaking, telling Dolphin he had
lied about the fact that I wouldn’t come.”

Cadmus had come back with a healer, and Amphitrite repeated his words while the merman
checked his blood pressure, moving around him while Percy awkwardly stared at the ground,
aware of the Count’s eyes still on him.

“Then I told Dolphin to- to try praying to you,” he said, still not looking at her, “you’re still a
goddess, after all. But if he hasn’t done so until now…”

“Maybe he can’t,” she agreed, “this is bad news. Dolphin, taken prisoner… we must write to
Duke Phaidros at once. Why hasn’t he told us in the first place?”

“Strategy,” the Count swiftly answered, “probably didn’t want the information to get into the
wrong hands.”

“If the Mediterranean Duke has taken him, then Bythus already knows. Which other wrong
hands could there be?” Percy asked, knowing the answer as soon as he had stopped speaking.

The Count smirked. “It’s probably not him,” he answered, “but someone confused, unable to
truly take a side, or maybe wishing to hear both of them.”

“Or someone wishing to test you, before giving their support,” Cadmus added, nodding to
himself.

Amphitrite’s mind catched on in an instant. “You think the leader of the Black Sea has taken
him,” she deduced, “and that they haven't told Bythus.”

“No alliance yet,” Percy repeated, feeling a shimmer of hope bloom in his chest, “I must go
back there, then. If-”

“No,” Cadmus cut him off, “this is not something unheard of. If our theory is correct, you
have already been tested: they have had the reassurance that you would go to investigate, if
something were to happen.”

“Dolphin will be alright,” the goddess went on, “in the eighteenth century, the Bering Duchy
tested my husband in the same manner. His general was then returned unharmed, and they
passed on to our side against a rebellion around Canada.”

They were taking steam, he could see it. They all liked this idea, that the old general hadn’t
truly been kidnapped, that this was a move that would just give him more allies.

“And if we’re wrong?” he asked, unable to shake off his nerves, “if he’s in the
Mediterranean, tortured for information by their Duke?”

“Phaidros would have written to us first,” the Count answered, voice calm, “instead we only
received a fake letter from Dolphin. We should have realised it had been dictated to him.”

“I hadn’t received a letter from him in centuries,” Amphitrite almost apologised, her back
straight, “I think the bigger question is how they managed to take him.”
Cadmus shrugged. “I’ll write a coded letter to Duke Phaidros,” he assured, and the Count
raised to leave with him, but lingered at the door of the room.

“I have not forgotten my promise,” he said, voice rough, his scars alight under the torches,
and Percy inclined his head in acknowledgement.

He knew he hadn’t.

Weeks passed, blending one into the other without any distinction while they marched
towards Atlantis. Good news had come from the West, where the Argentine Army had
managed to make the Caribbeans’ scurry back into their walled cities, their army scattered
and decimated.

They had taken prisoners, exchanged missives and proved that Bythus truly knew nothing
about Dolphin’s situation, which had been for Percy a source of great relief in the middle of
the chaotic camp.

The situation in the Mediterranean was still at a stall, but in the last days there had been a
frenzy in the waters that Percy could no longer deny, and he had been restless and moody,
filled with energy and unable to rest.

He celebrated his birthday with Myrto and Amphitrite, sat on the rocky seabed in a mock
circle, exchanging pleasant stories from their childhood, indulging in more food than they
should have, tasting the wine a villager had gifted the army on their passing.

He had spent worst birthdays and he had spent better ones, but he could not say- he truly
could not say- that he hadn’t felt loved, while the orange light fell on their huddled bodies, on
the bread they were sharing, on the fruit they had peeled, in a hurry and with clumsy hands.

Maybe life was just supposed to be moments like those, Percy believed, an easy task, a
family and an occasion to celebrate. No wars, no politics- that life was what Percy had
thought to have rejected together with godhood.

But- “It wasn’t meant to be, was it?” Percy asked Amphitrite one evening, the first cold
settling into his bones, making him nostalgic, “it was never supposed to be my life.”

“Fate is a stranger to me too,” she answered, her tone somber, “but you’ve always been
powerful.”

“And dangerous,” Percy added, “out of control, to be kept in check.”

She shook her head. “Your father loved your wildness, you know,” she answered, making
Percy’s head snap up, “I know you’ve heard bad things about him, and I know he has done
them. But he is- he was- a powerful god. And he was proud of you.”

He swallowed, his conflicting feelings making it hard for him to find a good answer. He had
spent all his time in Atlantis trying to do things like his father, just to fail and be almost
murdered: and on the brink of death, his father had hugged him, but his words hadn’t been
comforting.

“I had a dream,” he settled on, deciding it was time to solve his doubts, “about a sister of
mine. Dressed in medieval clothes and butchered by a cyclop in a wheat field.”

“The prophecy girl,” Amphitrite sighed, “I remember how much it hurt him to ignore her
pleas. Gods can feel it, always,” she punctualized, “when one of their children dies. And
killing your own…”

“I can’t really be sorry for him about this,” he chuckled, trying to lighten the tense
atmosphere he himself had created, “but I’d like to know… what happened. If you feel like-”
he gestured around.

The goddess laid back against her wooden chair, her braids longer than he’d ever seen them.
She looked so very tired, and he was sure he was nothing better.

“She had nothing to do with that prophecy,” she started, “we only had three lines of it, and
my husband believed it referred to Kronos’ curse on him.”

“I’ve heard it,” Percy said, “was it because of the shell?”

“I guess,” she answered, “he had many children in that period. We weren’t on very good
terms.”

“I’m sorry about asking”

“No,” she sighed again, “a god’s life is long. We always forget the pain, after a while, or we’d
all go insane. I believe it has been easier for me, for I had never had mortal children before,
but… it’s not bad to remember, every now and then.”

“What was the prophecy about, then?” Percy asked, trying to soften his voice, and
Amphitrite’s eyes darted on his before moving again.

He couldn’t blame her. He hated the sight of them too, sometimes.

“They had just started using gunpowder in the West,” she explained, “the shell was supposed
to be some kind of explosive, and the girl was a daughter of Ares- I don’t remember her
name. She changed France,” she scoffed, “that was the old kingdom.”

“And Ares couldn’t stop her?”

“Ares was… busy in that period. Confused, lost, called from one side to the other without
any real logic. The gods had children in all of Europe at the time- they prayed to him from all
countries, and he choosing to answer a plea meant letting all the others die.”

“That sounds horrible,” Percy found himself sympathising. He had never had any love for
him- but maybe he was just what he was because of all the war he’d seen, all the violence
he’d been through. No one could be born so hard-hearted.
 He tried to imagine Ares as a smiling half-toothed toddler, holding himself up to Hera’s
skirts, and the image came to him easier than he thought it would. Had Zeus ever brought
him up to his shoulders, had he ever shown him what of the world would be his?

“The war ravaged the country for over a hundred’s years,” the goddess continued, “so many
people died, that Persephone stopped returning into the world in spring, trying to help her
husband accommodate everyone.”

Percy swallowed. “It sounds awful,” he commented, suddenly wishing to hear nothing else of
it. A year he had been at war- and it already seemed way too long. He couldn’t imagine what
a century of it would be like to cope with.

“Well, Poseidon believed that killing the girl would end the conflict, bring back stability into
Olympus. All the gods had had a hand in it, in a way or another, and all were regretting it.”

“But it didn’t work.”

“No,” she agreed, “it just brought more suffering.”

Amphitrite offered no apology, no excuse, for her husband’s actions, and Percy silently
thanked her for it. Their conversation had been difficult already, without adding a half-
hearted defence in the middle.

“And-” he started, needing to know, “had he ever thought that Kronos’ curse.... had he ever
thought its consequences would be mine to bear?”

Amphitrite raised her head, staring at him with an unflinching gaze.

“He knew they would,” she answered, and the world crushed around him.

Chapter End Notes

So... nothing to say if not that Poseidon is definitely a grey character. You'll see it more
even in next chapter, for it's an aspect I find really interesting to write.

Thank you for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this if you have the time!!
 Year II, September II
Chapter Notes

Percy was on the throne of Atlantis, blood red and grotesque, dead bodies all amassed
on the floor around him. Had the war been fought?

There was a woman in front of him, her hands golden.

“This mustn’t happen,” her voice echoed in the room, “this can’t be.”

Amphitrite was laying next to him, her skin grey and her eyes too white. His own dead
body was beside her, a sword deep into his chest.

Percy shut his eyes in disgust.

“Where does it go wrong?” he asked the golden woman.

“Soon,” she answered, and the dream faded into nothingness.

From Ch 17

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Percy hadn’t been able to speak for what seemed hours, his brain stuck on the goddess’
words, short-circuited and just able to repeat what he had heard, without a single thought
surfacing to his consciousness.

Amphitrite, on her part, had just silently stared at him, cataloguing his expressions, probably
feeling the rapid quickening of his heartbeat. But she wasn’t- she didn’t seem upset, she
didn’t seem to be hating him. How long? How long had she known?

“How?” Percy finally managed to ask, voice raw, fragile, “Always?”

The goddess’ hands twitched, as if she desired to have something to hold, a subtle sign of her
nervousness. “I have dreaded this conversation,” she sighed, “before I tell you anything… all
of this must remain between us. Not even Dolphin knows.”

Percy nodded, in trance, and she didn’t seem satisfied, but she started explaining anyway.

“I imagine Kronos sent you dreams, when he came back” she theorised, waiting for him to
confirm, “well, you’re not the only one who received them. Gods don’t really sleep- but
when they do they can dream too.”

“Kronos sent father dreams?”

“Zeus too, I believe. Hades, I’m not sure. But-” she paused, trying to find the right words, “-
the titan saw the state of the sea, and told Poseidon the time for the curse to come true was
imminent. He couldn’t know, for sure, that it wasn’t just an empty threat but… Kronos is the
titan of Time. If he says something is imminent…”

“It probably is,” Percy finished, “but why didn’t he tell me anything? I could have prepared
myself, he could have taught me something, I wouldn’t have had to arrive here so- so
unprepared, and scared, and-” he choked on his words, angry tears poking at the corners of
his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “he probably thought he had more time since Kronos had been
defeated again. You were kidnapped so soon after the war then, and stayed away for long.
The battle against his other form was… bad, believe me,” she chuckled without humour.

“And when that was over and you went back home… I don’t think you would have listened
to him, then. I don’t think you would have chosen war again, had you been given a real
choice.”

He scoffed, wanting to feel hurt, just to feel something. But he had heard so much, so many
conflicting stories, so many wrong decisions taken for the greatest good that had just left him
martyred and battered.

“And why didn’t you tell me?”

Because that was the point, wasn’t it? He expected nothing from his father, he had believed
himself a wrong word away from death since the age of twelve. But against his better
judgement, against his experiences- he had started to trust the goddess. And in return, she had
kept this secret from him, this rightful anger of his she had denied him.

“I didn’t know either,” Amphitrite admitted quietly, melting some of Percy’s anger away,
“Zeus was the one to tell me, with that condescending tone of his, when I went to the Council
last December.”

“How could he have kept this from you?” he asked, appalled, “If he knew he was about to
disappear, him and his- and your children… how could he leave you to find an empty Palace
without an explanation?”

She sighed, leaning back against her chair and closing her eyes, neck thrown back in
resignation, “I knew of the curse. But the rest...I don’t know,” she answered, “but maybe it
was for the best. I don’t think- I don’t think I would have reacted well. Maybe he thought he
could fix it without me knowing. Admitting that it was about to happen… meant admitting
that the kingdom was in disarray.”

Percy scoffed again. “For his pride then- for his pride I came here so ignorant that I almost
lost my sanity and my life.”

The goddess didn’t answer, and they remained in silence for a while, while Percy tried to
recall to memory what Poseidon had told him when he had been dying. But it hadn’t been
much, had it? That he couldn’t help, that he would avenge him. Not even a sorry. Not even a
thank you.

“Does it change so much for you?” Amphitrite asked, true interest in her voice. Percy’s gaze
snapped to hers, but he didn’t answer.

“Whether Poseidon knew, whether it was unexpected,” she clarified, “is it really much
different? The Big Three rule the world and the gods,” she continued, “they can’t do so
without secrets.”

“I know,” he said, swallowing down harsher words, “I just… I keep expecting gods to adhere
to mortal morality,” he laughed at himself, “and I keep ending up hurt, and disappointed.
They’re not mortals. You’re not human. I don’t think I will ever truly understand.”

“You’re not either, none of those things,” Amphitrite dug in, “that’s what bothers you, isn’t
it? You fear yourself. You fear the decisions that difficult situations might make you make-
you fear thinking like an immortal.”

There was a moment of silence. Life went on around them in the camp they had swiftly built
to rest, but time seemed to have stopped between their words.

“Amphitrite,” Percy called, placing all the emotions he couldn’t speak about on her name,
“do you think I’ll become too so… so callous, so cold?”

“No,” she answered at once, without hesitation, voice so sure that Percy could almost believe
her.

It’s in the nature of gods to bring devastation around them, and it’s in the nature of mortals to
outlive it, against all odds. But Percy, no god and no mortal- where did he stand on this scale?

Where the good things are, his mother would have told him, her words tainted by a love so
unconditional that it still made him tear up, where fairness is, where the sun shines and the
flowers grow and bloom.

But salt is known to make lands arid and unfertile, isn’t it?

And there is so much of it in the sea, so much of it in Percy’s heart- so much that he fears that
if he were to dig, he’d find all stones and no roots.

And then, and then- how could he hope to survive?

That night, Percy dreamt of the golden woman again.

She was standing in the old inn they had passed on their way to the Northern Duchy, the
colourful jellyfishes twirling around her like moths to the flame.

“Soon,” she repeated, her voice echoing through the whole sea.
Soon.

“We must hurry, Your Majesty,” the Count urged, his armour lighter than it used to be, “the
army will follow as fast as they can but we must try to reach them at once.”

Percy cursed, never leaving his eyes from the urgent missive they had received from the
South, where the Solomon, Celebes and Coral Sea Duchies had united themselves in one,
giant, army, now marching towards their Argentinian allies.

“They’ve defeated the Caribbean’s soldiers,” Cadmus repeated, “but they’ve suffered many
losses. They can’t handle that kind of attack, and we can’t risk losing them.”

“Not so close to Atlantis,” another general agreed, “if they reach Bythus’ in the defence of
the city, they’ll be too many for us to have any chance of taking the capital back.”

“Especially with our other allies stuck in the Mediterranean,” Amphitrite added, her expert
eyes trailing on the crinkled map, “any news from that front?”

Percy shook his head. “Last we heard of them, Duke Phaidros was trying to reach an
agreement with the Black Sea,” he explained, “I don’t know how it’s going, but there have
been no signs of a battle having been fought in that area.”

“We can’t count on them, then,” Myrto intervened, and all eyes snapped on her. She had
taken to assisting at the war meetings, under Amphitrite’s careful guidance, but she had never
actually spoken until then.

“Yes, exactly,” Percy agreed, showing his support and diverting the uncomfortable attention
that had landed on her. They had been talking, getting closer in the last weeks of travelling,
and he could feel some of their old complicity come back, stronger and longer lasting.

Which made even more difficult the fact that they now would have to say goodbye to each
other again.

“Me, Lady Amphitrite and his Grace the Count of Leinster will leave at once,” Percy ordered,
writing down his instruction at the same time, “we’ll travel fast without all the men to cater
for, and we are enough to keep the enemies busy until our soldiers can reach us.”

Myrto opened her mouth to protest, but Percy glared at her. It wasn’t the moment to question
his decisions, not in front of all the generals: it was in their hands that lay the loyalty of the
army, for they were and would always be the bridge between King and soldiers.

And if Percy wanted them to obey him, he needed to appear unquestionable.

“It has become apparent in this session then, that we are in need of more allies. My wife,
Queen Myrto and general Cadmus will travel with their personal guards to Camp Fish-Blood,
trying to acquire their support.”
“They will want to remain neutral,” Cadmus commented, “no offence to Her Majesty, but she
is not a negotiator. Are you certain it would be wise?”

“Yes,” Percy answered, now understanding why Zeus had been so irked by Jason’s comment,
“they have refused to meet me many times. They will also refuse a strategist, in fear of
agreeing to something that would strip them of their independence.”

“I concur,” Amphitrite added, “honesty has always been the best way to bargain with them,
and Lady Myrto will surely be able to offer them that.”

She nodded, her expression guarded. Percy felt a pang of guilt for not having spoken of it to
her in advance: the idea had come to him during the meeting and they would have lost too
much time in adjourning later, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he could have handled it
better.

“Any other questions?” he asked, and when no one spoke he signed off his orders, stamped
his sigil on it and rose to prepare himself for another battle.

Myrto tightened his armour in silence, her hands slightly trembling.

“I know that Amphitrite has been teaching you,” Percy finally broke the tense atmosphere,
“and I know you’ve been asking questions to the generals. You are ready for this.”

She scoffed. “I am not you,” she answered, “I don’t shine under pressure.”

“Cadmus will be with you every step of the way,” Percy reassured, “and in Camp Fish-Blood
no one would dare to harm you. Try your best and Fate will reward us.”

She paused, turning to face him. “You don’t actually need them, do you? You just want me
out of the way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Percy denied, “you’ve been at the councils. You’ve heard just how
few allies we have at the moment, with your father stalled there with Dolphin. Atlantis is a
big city, and it’s almost completely self-sufficient. We need men if we are to lay a siege.”

“But I don’t-”

“I’m sorry that I sprung it on you,” Percy amended, “that was awful of me, and I hope you’ll
be able to forgive me for it. But as my wife, you are the Queen of the Sea. You may not wish
for it now, but maybe one day you’ll want, or need, to have power and influence that doesn't
just rely on me.”

He paused, taking her hands in his, staring into her lucid eyes. “If all your achievements
come from me, you’ll never be seen as anything more than my wife. Is that all you want from
your life? To never be anything more than a shadow, a footnote in my biography?”

She shook her head, and he could see the moment where she realised exactly what he had in
mind.
“The journey there won’t be dangerous,” he pressed on, “almost all of it will be in territories
we have regained, and there are many cities on the path that have never betrayed me at all.
You’ll be safe.”

“But what if they don’t listen to me?” she asked, “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know
what to say, I don’t know how to convince them to hear me out. And if I fail…”

“But what if you succeed?” he tried instead, willing her eyes to his, “We only have to gain
from this. The ichthyocentaurs there… they won’t want to be associated to Bythus.”

“They might want promises though. Compromises that I might believe are acceptable, while
you would have refused them.”

“And that’s why you are going, and not some other random general. I trust your judgement.
You don’t have to try thinking like me. You’re you. Follow your own instincts.”

He let go of her hands, and took off his signet ring slowly, letting his eyes stop on the
intricacies of the design, on the carefully engraved trident, on the ancient words that an
ancient hand had forever immortalised.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her, trying not to put too much emotion into his voice, “I trust
you. You will manage brilliantly.”

She let him put the ring on her finger, clenching her hands under the weight of it. There were
many things she wanted to say, he could see it. So many doubts that Percy could recognize,
for he had had them before and now, some changing and some never leaving.

She swallowed visibly, her hands coming to hold his ones again. “Do you really think I
can…”

“Yes,” he answered at once, tightening his hold, “I think you will.”

She nodded, and squeezed his hands back. “I'll think of you, then. I’ll pray for your safe
return to me.”

“And I for yours,” Percy echoed, his heart heavy.

He hoped it had truly been the right decision.

Out of the main roads, across the farms and the coral fields, the sea looked like a painting
come to life: the blue hues of the water, the bright colours of the fishes, the immensity of his
domain was laid bare in front of his eyes.

Limitless, immeasurable. Eternal.

Deep into enemy territory, they had opted to journey far closer to the surface than they had
had before, and the light of the sun grazed the water around them, making everything so
beautifully nostalgic that Percy’s heart throbbed in his chest.
He was travelling to reach a desperate battle, to act as the last resort of a tired army, and it
should have felt scary, maybe exciting, surely precarious. Instead- instead it felt like the last
day of summer. It felt like stuffing his worn-out bags into Gabe’s Camaro after a week in
Montauk, like checking every spot of their empty cabin to make sure they hadn’t forgotten
anything.

It felt like his mother settling back into her mirthless face, into her bleak job and into a life
that was always the same. Percy used to pray- far younger than he should have- for some
kind of disaster to happen. For an end of the world scenario: his mother and him are always
on the run in his head, driving towards the sunset with no one to hold them back.

He had confessed those dreams to his mother sometimes, but even as a child he had known
that there was a part of them he could never say- for his father joined them sometimes, in his
fantasies. An average man, tall and solid, saving him from tragedy at the last possible minute,
saying some blank excuse Percy would have savoured like the first bite of a juicy peach.

“Is everything alright?” Amphitrite asked, coming to swim next to him while the Count
followed behind, “you look...lost.”

“Just thinking,” Percy answered, clearing his throat, “I kind of miss looking at the sea from
the outside.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you will again,” she reassured, “this war
won’t last forever.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I won’t either.”

She hummed, staring into the distance. “The sea will though. Long after we’ll all be gone.”

He turned towards her in surprise. “You won’t be gone,” he commented, perplexed, “you’re
immortal.”

Amphitrite’s eyes looked sad. “When all of this will be over, when you’ll be settled in
Atlantis again… I’ll go look for them, if they haven’t come back already.”

She wasn’t looking at him and her voice, usually so strong, so sure, had never risen above a
whisper. Did she think he would deny her this? Her children, her life, thousands of years of
past?

“And you don’t know if you’ll make it out,” he finished, sighing. “Will you want to go by
yourself?”

She nodded, her expression betraying her surprise at what she probably believed to be a too
easily earned compliance: Percy had quite the track record of being difficult to convince. But
he remembered, from the haze of the memories about his first days in Atlantis, how
Amphitrite’s plan had been to leave as soon as he had learnt the basis of ruling.

And instead- for how much she insisted otherwise- instead she had been saddled with him, a
boy full of problems and doubts, to guide through a war. Had he been her- he would have
 wanted to leave himself too.

It still hurt, of course, knowing that she wasn’t going to stay to advise him for as long as he
needed, but it was a distant kind of hurt. The war still had to be won, and if things went right
for once, it could very well be enough to break the curse and… and then what?

He had never even dared to delude himself in thinking of a future where he had freedom, and
choices that weren’t of the life and death kind. A future where a mistake meant turning in the
wrong street or ordering the wrong salad, a future where being unprepared meant forgetting
his umbrella and being surprised by the rain.

“We need to swim faster,” the Count interrupted his thoughts, coming between him and the
goddess, “at this rate, it’ll take us more than a week.”

“And how long do you think we have?” Percy asked, picking up speed, willing the currents to
help all of them move faster.

“Before we only find dust and bones?” he urged, “three days at most. The missive we
received was already a few days old. I just hope the situation wasn’t as tragic as they painted
it to be.”

Or we’re fucked, the ending the Count was too proper to utter and that Percy had no qualms
in thinking.

“We won’t stop then,” he decided, “Amphitrite are you familiar with this area? Are there any
shortcuts?”

“We’d get there faster if we braved the main road,” she answered, hesitating, “but if we get
stopped by Bythus’ men, we’ll lose more time than we’ll have earned.”

Another impossible decision, then. “Count?”

“Main road,” he answered at once, “I’ll take the risk, even just not to have regrets.”

Percy nodded, signalling his consent. “Down we go, then,” he instructed, guiding the currents
down, towards the brownish sand.

Once again they dived into the merciless darkness- but he had managed to feel the sun on his
skin again, this time, even if just for a little while, and somehow it felt like everything looked
brighter still.

It would just have to be enough.

Chapter End Notes

Hi there! Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments! I loved reading them 💕
I hope you enjoyed, but please do tell me if this is getting too confusing! I can rry to add
another recap.

Have a great Sunday!

 Year II, September III
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

They didn’t stop to rest that night, nor the following one, swimming until their legs gave out
from under them, around sixty miles from the last known position of the Argentinian Army.

Maybe Amphitrite could have gone further, her muscles not quite trembling like Percy’s
ones, not quite sensitive to cramps as the Count’s, whose scars were inflamed and sore after
the long journey.

She was the one to signal them to stop, though. “We’ll be of no help to them if we can’t even
stand when we get there,” she had commanded, leaving no room to argue, “the road is empty,
no one has noticed us. Let’s rest for a couple of hours.”

Tired, worn, drained of energy, thay had complied like fools, hiding themselves by the
roadside, in a bush of wild vegetation Percy could not recognize. Like fools, all three of them
had let an illusion of security lull them into a slumber that was everything but safe.

Percy couldn’t remember who was supposed to take the first turn of watch: maybe him,
maybe the Count. Not that it mattered, not any longer- nothing happened to them during the
short afternoon in which they rested.

But when they woke up, still exhausted, at the birth of the evening, they did so in the middle
of the enemy’s camp.

“Shh,” the Count whispered, covering his mouth with his hand, while Percy blinked his
sleepiness away, “they have occupied the road, but I don’t think they’ve seen us yet.”

Percy shook his head, his eyebrows coming together in a silent question.

“Bythus’ men,” Amphitrite whispered, her whole body pressed on the ground, “one of his
sons is here too.”

He gestured at the Count to remove his hand, and turned silently towards the road, trying to
get a glimpse of the army, and he wasn’t disappointed. The soldiers- mostly ichthyocentaurs
but even merpeople and everything in between- were loud and boisterous, setting up tents
and joking around, asking for food and wine just like his own.

“I didn’t feel them,” Percy admitted, a million of questions going through his head. How
could he have missed such a big threat? Phorcys had covered up the presence of the army
once, but only three months had passed since Percy had defeated him- not enough for the god
to return to his full power.

The goddess shook her head. “They probably know you can feel people and found a way
around it,” she murmured, moving closer to him, “we’ll investigate the matter later. Count?”
He tried to answer, and one of the branches next to him snapped. Percy stilled immediately,
feeling his heartbeat quicken into his ears, not daring to breathe.

A second passed, then two, while the soldiers kept chatting and laughing, and after a minute
the Count closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again.

“They’re probably stopping for the night,” he theorised, “it’s likely a reinforce troup sent to
help the three duchies destroy the Argentinian army. We can’t afford to depart after them.”

“There is no way we can leave unnoticed,” Percy concurred, “it’s already a miracle they
haven’t seen us yet.”

“Yeah,” Amphitrite agreed, staring hard at him, “a miracle indeed.”

He turned towards her in question as much as his position allowed him, but her eyes were set
on the Count again. “Are they armed?” she asked, her field of vision too limited from where
she was laying.

“Probably. I can’t really see and it’s getting dark. But we can’t wait for them to sleep, we’re
already losing too much time.”

“If we fight them, they’ll know we’re here,” Percy argued, “their allies will speed up the
battle and we won’t make it.”

“Then we stop them from reaching out,” Amphitrite snapped, “and then we kill them and
leave. It’s not gonna take more than an hour, and by morning we’ll be on the field.”

Percy swallowed, still uneasy about the violence of war. “The soldiers-”

“The soldiers are enemies,” the Count retorted, “they would kill us in an instant. They have
killed dozens of villagers and protestors. We’re doing the right thing.”

He hesitated. He had heard the titans speak like this, and the gods too, just as they were about
to do something unforgivable. It’s for the greater good, they all had said, and Percy had never
agreed with any of them.

Do you think mercy should always be present?, the old priest had asked him, deep into his
father’s temple on the morning of his wedding. And Percy had answered yes, green and
unripe, looking at his future and only seeing numbered days, and loneliness. But how far was
he willing to push this mercy of his? How far, truly, could it be extended?

There was laughter around him, and silly songs about dolphins and pretty women, and there
was so much life that he could feel, in everything that his consciousness was able to reach,
that there was no way this was the tipping point.

He’d kill if he had to. He had already. But now- now he could avoid it, and he was going to.

“No,” he ordered, voice low but commanding, “we’ll try to sneak out. If they catch us, we
fight. If they don’t, we just leave them here.”
The Count scoffed. “This will just mean having more enemies later,” he moved forward, “we
can’t afford to just give this kind of gift to Bythus. He wouldn’t have hesitated. His son might
have important information in his office, information that could help us win the war faster.
You can’t-”

“I’ll go look for it,” Amphitrite proposed, voice still way harsher than he was used to, “many
women follow an army of soldiers, and all are unnoticed. I’ll take every important document
I can find and we’ll meet outside.”

He didn’t like the plan, the danger it’d put the goddess into and, especially, the fact that he’d
had to leave her to do so alone while he hid and ran like a coward, but it’s not like they could
afford to waste their time arguing: not when his allies were fighting and dying for him just a
few miles away.

Percy nodded, trying to convince himself to trust her like he had already done a million
times- going against his own very instinct that told him there was something off about the
whole situation. He was tired, hungry and upset: he’d been wrong before.

Amphitrite moved quietly towards the border of their hiding place, while Percy and the
Count observed in hopeful silence, their hands ready on their swords’ handles. Her clothes-
already plain- became even dirtier and ragged, coming to cover her from head to toe like she
had done when they had had to leave Atlantis.

He wondered, once again, just what kind of powers she still held, but not with the distrust of
the first time. He could see that she tired more easily, that she looked more exhausted than a
god had any business in doing, that she tended to keep her fights short and quick. More than a
restricted array of powers- it mostly seemed to him that she just couldn’t use them for long
periods of time.

Good thing then, that Percy would be there to finish the fights for as long as she’d need, or
want, him to.

True to her word then, Amphitrite mingled seamlessly into the crowd of soldiers, no one even
raising their head from what they were doing, and Percy let out a breath of relief, his tensed
muscles visibly relaxing.

“Come on,” he gestured to the Count, “we’re leaving from the other direction.”

Slowly, crawling close to the ground, they moved across the patch of vegetation they had
occupied, every branch scraping Percy’s elbows, every little rock pushing on his knees hard
enough to make him bleed. The couple of hours in which they had rested had done nothing to
restore their energy, and the Count panted at every little step, the minutes dragging on and on.

They were taking too long, Percy knew: every second more was a higher chance of being
discovered, every little one of their pained sounds was a clear signal of their presence there.
He could feel no change in the currents, no unusual or different sounds to indicate that they
had been discovered, but he hadn’t felt an entire army. He no longer trusted himself.
The Count reached the border of the patch, breathing hard and trying to quiet himself. “We
should be out,” he whispered, slightly raising his head out of the plants, expecting to see the
clear, untouched waters of the ocean around him- and instead finding a crossbow pointed
straight in the middle of his face.

“Going somewhere?” a soldier asked, readying his fingers to shoot, looking at the Count as if
he expected an answer.

“I…” he started, but the man interrupted him roughly.

“Don’t you know what happens to deserters, soldier?”

Deserter, Percy mouthed, pressed to the ground. He believed the Count to be one of his own:
maybe they could still get out, if-

“I was not trying to leave the army, sir,” the Count intoned with his most servile voice, “I
believed this point of the camp to be weaker than others, and wished to test it out and then
report my findings.”

“And you thought you knew better?” the man scoffed, irritated, still playing with his
crossbow, “did you think you knew better than your seniors, soldier?”

Percy swallowed down, trying to make himself one with the ground. Please don’t be prideful,
he prayed, just shut up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the Count bit down, “I am merely over excited about the prospect of war.”

The soldier hesitated, clearly of the same idea. “You trying to have that glory all for yourself,
uh?” he asked, smirking this time, “Appreciable, but you still need to be taught your lesson.
Follow me,” he ordered, lowering his crossbow.

Percy’s heart skipped a beat, but to his credit, the Count didn’t even blink, didn’t look down,
didn’t signal his presence in any way.

“Yes, sir,” he acquiesced instead, and with a ruffle of leaves, Percy was left alone with the
ground, his two companions separated in the middle of the enemy’s camp, and him encircled
and unable to escape.

It had all been so quick- one second they were all there and arguing and the next, the next
they were all in different kinds of trouble. The Count’s story wouldn’t hold, that much was
clear: they’d ask for his name, they’d ask the name of his commander or he’d be recognized-
in any way, his lie wouldn’t last long.

And when that failed, they’d give the alarm, look for other intruders, and him and Amphitrite
would be discovered too. And then what? Could they truly dispose of an entire army,
exhausted and without the element of surprise?

Percy desperately tried to rack his head for a plan, for something that could work and allow
them to leave mostly unscathed, but his brain felt cold behind his eyelids, the same thoughts
circling over and over again.
He was so desperate, that the explosion felt like a good thing at the start, before his coherent
thoughts took over: it had come from the direction Amphitrite had gone off too, and in the
mess of soldiers running and yelling orders, Percy didn’t even think about doing anything
else but getting up, and swimming frantically towards the sound.

The people recognized him, then, even if they had never seen him before: someone tried to
shoot, someone ran, someone tried to jump on him, but no one succeeded- with a flick of his
wrist Percy sent all of them flying back, not even stopping to look who he was attacking.

He couldn’t feel anything. Not Amphitrite’s presence, not the Count’s, not how many people
were actually in that bloody camp, and the not-knowing after so many months of relying on it
put him on edge in a way that just amplified his anxiety about the whole situation.

“Amphitrite!” he yelled, throwing his elaborate dagger at a soldier that had arrived too close.
He’d have to unsheath his uncomfortable sword too, soon, but for now he moved faster
without.

“Amphitrite!” he screamed again, more frantic, his eyes scanning the flaming tents until he
found what he was looking for: the commander’s tent. One of Bythus’ sons, she had said, and
he hoped a loved one- the Duke would suffer more in hearing of what Percy had done to him,
had he dared to harm the goddess in any way.

The sword came off in a second, settling herself in a mermaid’s neck before she could move
away, Percy moving through the water so efficiently that he hadn’t even needed to stop
swimming. He wondered, for an instant, if Chiron would be proud of his improvement, but
shut out the thought at once: of course he wouldn’t, not when Percy was using it to be so…
cruel.

He entered the commander’s tent without grace, his eyes darting from one place to the other
before landing on a small door, probably headed to the bedroom. He pushed it open, alarmed
by the lack of guards in the back of his mind, but he had no time to actively worry about it,
not when Amphitrite could be in danger.

The door bursted under the strength of his push, the frail wood sending splinters all around
the floor, mixing themselves with dust and papers: the room was in disarray. The bed was
unmade, the sheets thrown to the side in a hurry, the drawers of the desk were open and half
hanging, with papers and letters draped all around.

Had Amphitrite done so, in looking for important stuff? Had she accidentally awoken the
commander, and then had been forced to flee?

There were no signs of blood, nor ichor, but it did little in calming Percy down.
“Amphitrite!” he yelled again, throwing all the tent down to exit from it, not caring about the
noise, the mess, the attention it would draw on him.

Soldiers encircled him like flies, and he knew their position had been communicated to
Bythus already, and that soon other enemies would arrive- and yet he tried to kill as little as
he could, instead trying to just knock them out and away from his path.
“Where is she?” he hollered to a mercentaur, lifting him up from his collar, “where-”

Another explosion blazed behind him and Percy dropped the man without any ceremony,
sprinting towards the centre of it with ringing ears, while his surroundings switched to black
every now and then, without alert.

“Amphitrite!” he called, seeing a figure standing in the middle of the smoke, her armour
reflecting the fire, “what happened? Are you alright?” he asked, finally reaching her.

She made no move to answer, and Percy tried to grab her wrist to turn her around, but she
battled his arm away. Men and women were screaming all around them, but Percy could only
hear his own heartbeat, his brain overwhelmed by the ringing sound in his ears.

He tried to move to her other side, but there was an aura of power around her that kept him
frozen to the spot. “What-” he tried again, before a shimmer on the ground caught his
attention.

A reflection of the fire, an armour. And the ichthyocentaur inside… his eyes were wide open,
but only the whites of them could be seen and there was blood coming out from his neck, a
deep wound that looked like an attempt at beheading. Failed, but hard desired.

Percy forced himself to take a breath. As a goddess, he knew she had killed before. She had
surely been violent, merciless as only the sea can be. But the man’s body was littered with
wounds, as if he had been stabbed over and over again, from a close distance.

That was how men killed. Men with a wish for revenge. Not gods. Not gods trying to flee.

“It’s alright,” Percy found himself saying, “we can still do as we had planned. Come on,” he
urged, his voice as calm as he could muster, “come on, we need to leave.”

For the first time since he had left their hiding place, he spared a thought for the Count. Had
he managed to lie his way out? Would he find him alive, and out of the enemy’s camp as
planned?

Amphitrite wasn’t moving, her posture tense. Bythus’ other armies would arrive soon, hungry
for their heads, and they hardly were in the shape to keep fighting. He begged her to move
again, trying to touch her, to lead her away from the man’s body, but to no avail.

He felt desperation rise in his throat like a coldness that couldn’t be sent away. “Count!” he
yelled, his voice breaking, but he knew that there was no way he would be heard, not in
between the flames and the sounds of battle.

Whatever Bythus’ son had done to cover his presence, the other armies hadn’t, and Percy
could feel thousands of men marching through the waters, chanting hymns for their leader,
calling for his head on a spike in front of Atlantis’ main gate.

“Amphitrite,” he called again, half-panicking, half ready to just lift her up and carry her away
like a stubborn child.
They would be there soon, but he refused to yield, not when an ending had seemed so close.
What would be of Myrto, if he died? What of her father, of Dolphin, of all their allies?

“Please,” he whispered, his hand hovering close to her arm, “please we need to go,” he cried,
“I’m not going to leave you here, alright? Please. Mom, please,” he begged again, “please we
need to leave.”

Something must have cleared up in her mind then, because he felt her body shutter, the power
around her receding to the normal amount, and he was able to take her arm in his, finally
allowing her to turn around. Her eyes were empty, her hair wild- there was blood on her
hands, and on all the front of her armour, but she didn’t look in any way injured.

Her eyes darted to his, her thin hands reaching for the space between them, not quite
touching. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out, “I have committed treason.”

Percy closed his eyes, letting the meaning of her words settle in him. She had caused the
explosion on purpose- on purpose she had started the fight after he had ordered not to.

“We’ll talk later,” he answered, still keeping his voice gentle. He had been too worried, too
afraid to be angry at her, and it hardly was the right time for a screaming match.

“Come on, we need to find the Count,” he went on, but when he tugged at her arm, the
goddess’ body went limp under his hand and he barely caught her in time, commanding the
water to hold her up.

“Fuck,” he bristled, taking the uncouscious goddess in his arms to protect her better from the
soldiers’ attacks: that was truly the last thing he had needed.

Smoke filled the water, making it difficult for Percy to distinguish his surroundings, even if
his powers seemed to have started working again: he could feel the Count, alive somewhere
on his left, and the hundreds of enemies that stood in between them.

He moved the goddess to a more comfortable position in his arms, while her clothes slowly
returned to their original form, and tried to make up something that even slightly resembled a
plan of action.

Annabeth would have known what to do, he knew it, and it was in moments like this that her
absence weighed on him even more than usual. Their love had been greater than their
relationship: they had been each other’s support, each other’s confidante far longer than each
other’s lover- and he longed to see her even just once again.

“Count!” he coughed out, still hoping to be heard- but there was no answer, and Percy could
feel his own shoulders sag under his helplessness.

“Come on then,” he tugged at the goddess, breathing hard, “let’s get ourselves out of this
mess, like we always do.”
 The water solidified around their bodies, enveloping them in a shield of foam and bubbles,
isolating them from most of the sounds of the soldiers around him, and he started to swim as
fast as he could. Now that he knew where the Count was, it only took a couple of minutes to
reach him, untouched by everyone around him.

“Come inside the shield!” he screamed at the merman, sending a riptide towards the soldiers
around him, “Bythus’ forces are coming in the thousands, we must leave at once!”

The Count didn’t hesitate, hopping close enough to Percy that he could grab him, and haul
him inside the precarious shelter his fear had allowed him to build. It wouldn’t last long,
already it was cracking under the strength of the soldiers’ attacks: someone had struck a
sword on it, others had thrown arrows and others rocks, and while it didn’t hurt, di per se, it
still felt like a fathom part of his body had been damaged.

“To where?” the merman asked, hissing in pain at the movement. He’s injured, Percy
realised, but he couldn’t stop now, or they’d end up dead in an instant.

“To our allies,” he said, going as fast as he could, as far away from the camp as he could,
“hoping there’ll still be something left of them when we get there.”

Chapter End Notes

Hello there!! <3

I don't have much to say, except that we finally reached 100.000 words! I had never
written so much, and especially not for the same story, so thank you for all the love you
keep giving to this and to me, it would have never been possible otherwise.

Hope you enjoyed and let me know if something is too confusing and if you'd like a
recap of what's going on!!
 Year II, September IV, October I
Chapter Notes

TW: they all have family trauma

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Bodies littered the road, butchered and disfigured, filling the water with the rancid smell of
rotten flesh.

Percy staggered, his hands going instinctively towards his nose, while the Count gagged next
to him: for how much war he had seen...the sight of its consequences was always new and yet
the same, every time.

There were no sounds around, no screams, no stridor of steel on steel, no sign of suffering.
Just… a field, an infinite, vast lea of sand, littered with the remains of an army.

“Was this ours?” Percy asked, his eyes scanning the uniforms, looking for a signal, a name,
anything that could indicate whether those had been allies or enemies.

Whether they had lost the battle or not.

“I don’t know,” the Count answered, swimming towards a body, patting the vest, trying to
distinguish the colours. “Maybe we should wake her.”

He shook his head. “Do you think the battle moved further away? Or we’ve just arrived too
late?”

“If they were still fighting we’d be hearing the noise,” the Count answered, “maybe they
agreed on a truce.”

Percy scoffed. “Yes, and I’m Zeus. Let’s go see where this ends. Maybe there are tents or
something - the Argentinian army knew we were coming: if someone is still alive…”

“They’d be waiting for us.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, dropping the shield to preserve his energy for an eventual fight, “and if we
find no one we’ll know this was our army, and that the three duchies are well on their way to
Atlantis, with no one to stop them.”

“No one but us,” the Count added, morbidly staring at the bodies while they passed above
them. Was he looking for old friends?
“An unconscious goddess, an injured noble and an exhausted demigod” Percy replied,
shaking his head, “between an occupied Atlantis and three whole duchies. You’re
delusional.”

The Count stopped, right in front of him, forcing Percy to stop too. “I’ve seen you fight,” he
started, “I admit I had my doubts at first, but I’ve seen the power you wield. The sea stands
with you, the waters cheer for your kingship. Don’t you feel the energy? The ocean doesn’t
want Bythus- it wants you, and it’s going to help.”

“Help?” he questioned, “my powers stopped working, earlier. I could feel nothing, hear
nothing- even now, I can’t tell whether or not someone here might still be alive. I call this the
opposite of help.”

“Perseus,” the man urged, his tone serious, “the Southern and the Japanese army are already
in Atlantis, two giant forces protecting an unconquered city. The three duchies are weak now,
proved by battle, but they will not remain so. If we let them reach the capital…”

Percy flinched, the repercussions of their alleged loss circling in his mind: if this had been
their army, it also meant an ally in less than what they should have had, especially with
Dolphin and Phaidros still stuck in the Mediterranean. And Bythus had two divinities on his
side- inebriated by lawless sacrifices and quick to violence.

And if in all of this, Myrto were to fail…

He had expected he’d feel dread, desperation at the possibility of having lost the battle, but
his ability to feel at all seemed to have vanished in the moment he had seen Amphitrite
unmoving, quiet and hopeless in between the rising smoke.

And the bodies...Percy had seen them already, in his dreams, discarded in one of the Palace’s
floors next to his and the goddess’, next to his hope for a happy ending. The golden woman
had said the tipping point would come soon: was this it?

No. It couldn’t be- he had done too much for his story to end in a rushed tragedy. If this was
supposed to be the point where things started going wrong, he’d make sure it was also the
point where they stopped doing so.

“What do you propose, then?” he questioned, looking around and only seeing devastation. No
one alive was there. No one alive could have been there, with the water so filled with blood: a
struggling soldier would have suffocated in a few hours.

“We send a message to the rest of our army,” the Count started, “so that some of them can
come here to give these soldiers a proper burial and take care of the men who were on our tail
before, while the others go solve the issue in the Mediterranean. From there, it’s a quick
journey to where we’ll have stopped: Myrto will join us with Camp Fish-Blood’s forces and
we’ll all reunite, ready to march on Atlantis.”

“You take many things for granted,” Percy answered, while feeble optimism blossomed into
his chest, “starting from us being able to destroy three armies and come out of it alive.”
The Count’s eyes were shining, ambition coming out from them like tears, enlightening his
pained expression. “I know you see it too,” he said, his voice rich and dreamy, “if we don’t
try, we’ll already have lost: five armies are too many to defeat in a siege. But if we succeed,
Perseus… if we succeed, they’ll never stop singing about it. Never, not in a thousand years
and not in a million: every child will know of this, of you, the King that brought a new era, of
peace, and equality.”

He quieted, and the silence lasted a beat too long. “I don’t wish for glory,” Percy finally
protested, but it sounded weak even to his own ears.

“But the sea wishes it for you,” he rebutted, and the water seemed to hum its approval, all
around them, the currents chirping like a robin in the early morning.

How could Percy deny this? How could he look at the unbounded mass of blue that stretched
in front of him, and say no?

Maybe the Percy of old would have. Maybe the Percy who had refused godhood would
refuse this too, turn his back to what had given him life, refuse to help his own blood.

He had stopped being that boy, somewhere in his long journey.

“I’ll send a message to the generals, through the water,” he finalised, blinded by the passion
in the Count’s words, “and as soon as Amphitrite has regained herself, we’ll run to block the
three duchies right in their path.”

“We can travel much faster than them,” the man concluded, “we will make it, this time.”

Percy nodded, thinking of what the goddess had once told him about the Count, thinking
about the stories of his hunger, of his spirit, of his charisma. They were right- they had all
been right, and Percy had just become one of his many victims: had he been fooled? Or had
he, against all expectations, just been valued way more than he deserved to?

There was so much energy, all around them, that Percy couldn’t truly believe all of his words
had been empty.

The Count’s injuries weren’t serious, but they needed to be tended to, to avoid complications,
and so Percy had spent the entire morning looking between the bodies, searching for some
kind of first aid kit, while the man kept an eye on the sleeping goddess.

She had awoken, once or twice, but it had never lasted long enough to understand what she
had done, what had happened between her and Bythus’ son that had angered her enough to
go against what they had agreed on, that had tired her enough to only be able to rest.

Percy hadn’t wanted to theorise, avoiding the merman’s inquisitive glances and his attempts
at starting a conversation on the topic, choosing instead to hide himself under a mask of
worry and irritation: they would talk about it, him and her, but it was none of the Count’s
business.
“Fuck,” the man flinched under his hands, while Percy sewed up a particolurarly bad gash on
his shoulder, “wasn’t there any pain medication?”

“We should just be glad there were clean stitches,” he sighed, “and that the wound didn’t get
infected on the journey. There was no disinfectant either.”

“Since when do they have monetary problems in the Argentine Sea?” the Count asked, his
voice pained, “my brother always used to speak about the luxurious palace of their Duke.”

“They don’t. This was the second big battle they had to fight in a short period of time- the
supplies they needed probably didn’t manage to arrive in time to save them.”

“Yeah,” he trembled against his hands, “that must be it.”

“You’re full of scars,” Percy couldn’t avoid asking, “aren’t you used to the pain of stitching
them up?”

He shook his head, his sweaty hair uncharastically stuck to his forehead, and for a moment
Percy was transported back in time, back to Camp, where he had seen equally pained children
going through the same thing.

He tried to slow his hands, handle the needle more delicately, but he wasn’t skilled enough to
do a good job of it- and the merman could notice it clearly.

“It’s… complicated,” the Count answered through gritted teeth, “I assume you’ve heard what
they say about me. That I like having scars, that I collect them for glory.”

He stared at him, and Percy nodded, remembering Amphitrite’s words after the battle against
the Chinese army. He hadn’t questioned it, hadn’t even thought that the Count would be
aware of such a gossip, but of course he would- not even Percy himself could afford not to
care about what the people said of him.

“Well,” he laughed bitterly, shaking his shoulders and flinching at the movement, “well it’s
nothing like that. I’ve been cursed, when I was very young- cursed to receive a scar on every
battle I’d fight.”

“Oh,” Percy answered, not quite knowing what to say, “that’s- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have
asked.”

“It’s not a well-known fact,” he answered, stilling so that Percy could resume his work, “one
my father has done his best to hide, all of these years. No one questioned it too much, until
my brother died,” he sighed, “then the entire sea put me under scrutiny, and the pattern was
swiftly noticed.”

“And yet you still chose a career in the army,” Percy commented, “knowing you would suffer
after every battle.”

“You demigods are not the only ones who have to prove their worth to their parents,” he
scoffed, “it was the only way I could get my father to… tolerate me. I would have liked to see
his face when he realised I’d be his heir,” he smiled, his eyes far away.
Percy closed up the last stitch, carefully starting to bandage the whole shoulder in a way that
would still allow him to move. He didn’t know what to do, whether he should continue with
the questions or just let it be: the Count had confided in him something very personal, but he
had no idea what an appropriate reaction to that should be.

Pretend it’s a friend of yours, his brain supplied, pretend it’s Frank and you’re in Alaska once
again.

“Maybe he was just worried for you,” he tried, “worried that the title and the curse would be
a deadly combination.”

“I doubt it, your Majesty,” he answered, “for he was the one to curse me, when I was barely a
youth.”

Percy forced his hands not to still. “How-” he started to ask, before interrupting himself. He
would have hated to be pressed like that and, at the end, it wasn’t any of his business.

“You wonder why he did such a thing,” the Count went on though, “and what kind of man
can feel so much hatred for his own son.”

He smiled, a sad little thing that made Percy’s heart squeeze. “And yet he’s not a vicious
ruler, an unmerciful tyrant. He’s not a bad father to my siblings. I guess he just- expected
something different from me.”

Percy nodded, finishing off his work, picking up on the merman’s desire to put an end to that
line of conversation.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry that your father is such an ass.”

“Yeah, well,” the Count said with a forced, cheerful tone, “nothing to be done about it now.
He’s old and, differently from yours, very much mortal. Call me cold-hearted, but I’ll do
nothing but rejoice in his death, when the moment will finally come.”

“I don’t think cold-hearted people can speak with the passion you do,” Percy tried to reassure
him, “your talents must just lay elsewhere than where your father has wanted to look.”

The merman grinned, looking at him a bit more openly than he had ever done before. “Said
from the perfect son, I take it as nothing but a compliment.”

“Perfect,” Percy wondered out loud, “is there even a definition of it?”

This time, it only took Percy a couple of tries before being able to communicate with the
generals of the army they had left behind, explaining the situation and asking for support,
which the Irish soldiers promptly agreed to.

“We also have received a letter and a missive from Her Highness the Queen,” a very short
mercentaur informed him, “the missive reassured us that she and general Cadmus had arrived
to Camp Fish-Blood without trouble, while the letter remained unopened: we have sent a
messenger to deliver it to you.”

“That’s perfect, thank you,” Percy had answered, feeling a weight being dropped off his
shoulders. He had been worried, especially in the last days, when he had nothing to do but
look over the bone-weary goddess and change bandages to the Count: his head had been
spinning in circles of bad thoughts, and Myrto’s letter was going to be a breath of fresh air.

“The currents are changing,” the merman noted, while they swam further away from the
battle ground, “it’s going to be cold soon.”

“If we succeed here we’ll be at the doors of Atlantis in time for winter,” Percy agreed, “not
an ideal time to begin a siege.”

“Not even a bad one,” Amphitrite spoke once again, waving away Percy’s control on the
water around her.

“Amphitrite!” Percy exclaimed, stopping right in his tracks, “are you alright? Do you want to
stop? We can-”

“Percy,” the Count interrupted, shaking his head, “give her a second.”

“I’m alright, Your Grace,” the goddess answered, “I believed I had… depleted my godly
essence. Now that I have rested though, I shall be back as I were quite soon. Swimming will
not be an issue again, I promise.”

“It was no issue,” Percy answered, “we all need taking care of, every now and then, and I did
my fair share already.”

The Count chuckled, offering his arm to the goddess, who just shooed it away.

“Why don’t you adjourn me, instead?” she asked, wishing to take the conversation off the
topic of her health, “it appears we haven’t reached the Argentinian army in time, after all. Are
we on the run?”

“That’d be easier,” Percy sighed, “no we’re going to fight three whole duchies by ourselves,
with our back to Atlantis and no reinforcements in sight.”

To her credit, Amphitrite didn’t even blink. “I’ve heard worse,” she commented instead,
“news from the Mediterranean?”

“None,” the Count interjected, “but there probably hasn’t been a battle yet. On a positive
note, Myrto and Cadmus have reached the end of their journey without issue.”

She nodded, relieved but still way too tired than she should have been, and Percy slowed
down his pace gradually, so that she wouldn’t notice. Had he been in her position, he would
have felt horrible about having been so useless, about having forced others to care for him-
but now that the situation was reversed, it felt like they were silly worries.
Of course they had cared for her. Of course it hadn’t been an obligation, of course they would
do so again in an instant. She hadn’t been a heavier burden than they could carry, and even if
she had made a mistake and ruined their plans, she still had never been unworthy of their
forgiveness.

Now, he just had to make her believe it.

My darling, the letter recited, the journey has been frantic but safe. I am writing to you from
the rooms the ichthyocentaurs have graciously provided: they are quiet and well protected,
but too similar to my childhood ones for them to be truly comfortable.
I wish you’d be here with me- we could have turned my old memories into new ones.

On the morrow I will start to consult with the men here, even if the idea alone fills me with
dread: but it is my duty and I will uphold it, as I’ve seen you do with yours in the cold, early
mornings when I awoke to find you working. Oh Percy, how bleak all the world feels, so away
from all my family! I knew I had been sheltered, but I feel like all of what I believed in now
holds no significance: no brightly armoured knight will be the one to acquire allies- it’ll be
me, in clothes that offer no protection from their disapproving gazes.

I hope your journey too has been safe, and that these words of mine will find you victorious,
in the middle of a great celebration. Maybe I will already have an answer when this will
reach you- maybe I too am succeeding while you read this, or maybe I will have already
failed. It is the tragedy of letters, is it not? When they are received, the worry they contain is
no longer relevant.

I long to hear from you, if you have the means out there, in the open sea. Does it make you
feel lonely, as it does to me? Prayer used to bring me comfort in those moments, but I no
longer know who to pray to, Percy, now that the only one I’d want reassurance from is you.

Truly yours,
Myrto

Percy cried the entire night, and in the morning he asked Amphitrite to add an inside pocket
to his shirt, right in front of his heart.

Oh, how he wished the war would just end.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” he asked her the following evening, while
they were sitting around a small campfire, the Count on his turn of guard, away enough to
give them privacy.

He had volunteered for it earlier, knowing they needed to talk with each other, and Percy
hoped that one day he’d be able to repay the favour: as King, privacy was not something he
was granted often, and it was an offer he valued more than gold.
Amphitrite sighed, her hands coming to caress her own dress in a learned gesture. “There is
nothing to tell,” she started, voice calm, “I thought leaving them there would be too much of
a risk, and caused the explosions with the purpose of destroying their camp.”

“I don’t believe you,” he pressed, voice rougher than he intended, “I don’t.”

“It is not my job to convince you, Perseus,” she answered, her tone the formal, graceful one
he had heard her use so much during his time in Atlantis. She was using it as a shield, just
like he had been taught to do- and the knowledge that he was the one she was protecting
herself from… hurt.

He stared into her dark eyes and looked for an emotion, an opening, something he could use
to understand, just to come out empty-handed.

“I don’t want you to convince me,” he tried, tired, “I just...I just don’t understand. I know that
I don’t know you, all of you- but the way you acted, the way you killed that man… it seemed
personal.”

He waited for the attack, for the blade to pass through his heart, for her to say that she wasn’t
telling him precisely because it was personal.

The fire crinkled and the goddess passed her hands above it, observing the shining gold of the
thin, lonely ring that she still possessed. Percy had tried, sometimes, to get in her shoes, to
imagine himself leading the life she had, and mostly he had considered it even more of a bane
than his own.

At least he had been loved, for all of it.

I am not my father, he wished to scream, to yell until she understood, until she stopped being
so prudent with her words. Percy wouldn’t hurt her, whatever had happened- and he didn’t
know whether Poseidon had or not but… he recognized the look. He had worn it too.

“He was the one blocking your powers from working,” the goddess finally answered, staring
into the fire, “we need them, you, to win this war, and so he had to die.”

“Bythus’ son?” Percy asked, and Amphitrite nodded calmly, still avoiding his eyes. How
could she be so relaxed? He had taken for granted that the only ones with power over the
water would be him and the two deities, but if Bythus’ family had them too…

He swallowed down an accusation, careful to handle the conversation with care. “He has
many children,” he started, “will all of them be a problem?”

“No,” she answered at once, voice certain, “just him.”

“But how?” he asked, unable to stop himself, “how did you know it was him?”

The goddess shook her head, her eyes darting to his and then lowering to the ground, as if the
sight of him alone was unbearable.
 I am not him, he wanted to scream again, but he knew it would do no good. Whatever had
happened, whatever she wasn’t saying… it had shaken her, further away from where she was
now letting him reach.

“Don’t press,” she begged, “please, Percy. Just let this go.”

Curiosity was crawling inside him, curling around his heart and lacerating his throat, and for
a second Percy was run over by an immense, uncontrollable fervour, a thirst that could never
be satisfied if not by grabbing the goddess by the shoulders and shaking them until an answer
came out from her mouth.

It was over before he could even finish the thought, substituted by a shame so sharp it could
almost have cut the tension between them. He wasn’t him, he had believed- and yet in his
mind had passed a thought that could belong to no one else.

“Okay,” he answered, forcing everything out of his mind, “I won’t address the matter again.”

“Thank you,” Amphitrite added then, unaware of the unwanted violence of his thoughts- or
maybe just unwilling to acknowledge it. Percy nodded again, unsure whether to add
something or not- but the goddess stood up, and reached the Count in his guard duty.

And Percy was left alone, next to a fire that was no longer warm.

Chapter End Notes

Hi there!
Lot of important conversations this chapter... I hope it wasn't too heavy!

This story has now basically the same amount of words as Harry Potter and the Prisoner
of Azkaban, which is...wild. I had never thought I'd arrive to write the equivalent of a
full book, and especially knowing there is still so much to say!

And thank you for all your lovely comments! I do adore reading all of them <3
 Year II, October II
Chapter Notes

Ready for the battle?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The atmosphere was tense and awkward in the following days, with the Count that tried to
start a conversation on any topic really, to kill the time, but who always ever managed to just
involve in it one of them at the time.

Percy had tried-truly he had tried- to leave the whole thing behind, to pretend nothing had
happened: but the more he tried to avoid it, the more his thoughts circled back on the topic,
and Amphitrite for her part seemed to have lost any desire to speak with him whatsoever.

Dolphin wasn’t there to act as a mediator this time, and so they swam in silence, the tension
so clear in the water around them that even the fishes didn’t dare to get too close.

“There are traces on the ground,” the Count noted around midday, “look, those are ashes.
And there are...these seem to be broken vases.”

“And there is burned wood here,” Percy added, coming to swim closer to the ground, “we
knew we weren’t that far from them but...this means close. Very close.”

Amphitrite came to stand between them, her hands carefully handling the shred of a vase
There was some kind of decoration on it, which Percy hadn’t even glanced at but which the
goddess was studying with interest.

“This was manufactured in the Celebes sea,” she declared, smelling it and wrinkling her
eyebrows, “I believe there must have been some kind of medicinal paste inside. It smells of
Sargassum.”

“They must still be weary from the battle against the Argentinians,” the Count went on, “they
were a fierce army. We must attack them now, when our hope to succeed is greater.”

“We’ll reach them by tomorrow morning,” Percy agreed, “and if the battle goes well… there
will only be a few thousand miles between us and Atlantis.”

He looked at the goddess, but her eyes were lost far away, staring in the direction of the
Capital. How must it have hurt, to see it taken, to be forced to abandon it: surely more than
seeing a sleeping New York, and yet the image had plagued him for weeks.

“Good,” the Count broke the terse silence, “let’s go then. Weapons ready?”
.

To His Royal Highness, his Majesty King Perseus

The middle is no longer hospitable: we pray to you for a favourable night of the harvest.

D.P.

“I’d like to write to my wife, before the battle of tomorrow,” Percy appealed to the goddess,
the thrumming of war in his ears, “do you have a way to let me have parchment, and ink?”

She inclined her head and they appeared in front of him, but her hands never stopped their
work, nor her eyes left the sword she was sharpening.

“Thanks,” he muttered awkwardly, and when he received no answer he shuffled defeated to

sit next to the Count.

“Do you know what’s going on?” he asked him, trying to be quiet, “I don’t know what I did
wrong, and I don’t think an empty apology would fix anything.”

The merman shook his head, biting his roasted fish, “Honestly I don’t think it has anything to
do with you. Maybe you remind her of her husband, maybe she feels guilty that we haven’t
managed to reach the Argentinian army in time.”

“I might die tomorrow.”

“You won’t. We won’t let it happen.”

Percy shook his head. “I might. This could be our last night together, and we’re passing it by
giving each other the silent treatment.”

The Count took another bite, offering a piece of fish to Percy, who accepted gratefully. “I’m
sure she’ll come round. It’s difficult to be a parent just as much as it’s difficult to be a son.”

“She’s not my mother. I have one, in New York: I won’t ever replace her.”

He shrugged. “I said nothing about replacing. You could just have two. Make up for your
father’s absence.”

Percy shook his head, eating some more. “I already have enough problems for tonight. Tell
me something nice instead- how’s the sea, when there is no war to fight?”

The Count smiled, his shoulders relaxing. “Fun,” he started, “my mother has a great passion
for theatre, and in our Palace we hosted theatre companies all year round, always different
ones. The streets were safe, and in the city there were fairs every spring and every winter.
We could hear children laughing, playing and dressing up from the gardens of our Palace, and
we opened them for balls at least every couple of years.”
“Balls with the people?”

“Yes,” the Count laughed, seeing Percy’s perplexed expression, “we weren’t as formal as the
capital is. Maybe my father would have liked it so, but my mother came from a family that
was hardly noble, and she enjoyed a simpler life.”

“Oh, she sounds lovely,” Percy commented, while the merman nodded, “I think I would have
enjoyed a less formal place too.”

“I’ll introduce her to you, when all of this will be over,” the Count promised, “I’m sure you’d
get along just fine: she’s friends with the Countess of Fladen Ground, the one who spoke so
favourably of you to Duke Phaidros that he agreed to let you marry his last daughter.”

“I remember her,” Percy answered, “a charming lady. Her husband had a lot of interesting
ideas about how to improve the quality of life of mercentaurs: the war got in the middle of it,
but it’s a topic I’m still interested in pursuing.”

“I have travelled a lot then, but mostly with the army,” he went on, nodding at Percy’s
admission, “I’ve visited some of the Kingdom’s academies, with their frescoed walls and
their giant libraries, I’ve let myself get lost in the giant Gardens of Irminger and admired the
sea flowers in the Flores Sea.”

“Sea flowers,” Percy repeated, awed, “Myrto had a bouquet of them, at our wedding”

“But you’ve never seen a field of them, have you?” he asked, his eyes sad at Percy’s
affirmative gesture, “we’ll go see them, one day. The ones in the Flores Sea have been burned
down by the Solomon army, but there are others.”

“Something else to be angry at them for, then, tomorrow.”

“Oh yes,” the Count agreed, tone light, “our battle cry will be in honour of the flowers: the
Duke will find himself face to face with their revenge, and he will have no choice but yield.”

Percy chuckled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m worried,” he admitted, after a beat
of silence, “I fear you’ve overestimated my fighting abilities.”

The Count finished his fish, and cleaned his mouth before answering. The silence stretched
again, and Percy’s eyes wandered in the darkness, looking around for enemies he could feel,
but not see.

“I don’t think I have,” he finally answered, “but it’s okay to… to be scared, tonight. You
won’t be, tomorrow morning, but now in the darkness you are allowed to be the boy you still
are.”

“What if she doesn’t come round?” he asked, unable to keep it in, averting his eyes from the
deep ones of the Count, biting his lower lip in regret. He hadn’t wanted to be that vulnerable.

“She cares for you deeply,” he reassured, “she will.”

Percy nodded, but that night the goddess didn’t come to offer him any words of comfort.
.

He split the parchment in half a few hours before dawn, when it had become clear that he
wasn’t going to get any more sleep for the night.

The letter to Myrto came to him easily, his words as soft and reassuring as he could make
them: if this was the last thing she’d ever have from him… he didn’t want it to be depressing,
nor to show the fear he was feeling. If he were to leave her- he wanted to do so with hopeful
promises and an offer of devotion.

The letter to his mother though, that was all another discourse.

Mom, he had written and crossed a dozen times, followed by so many confessions that Percy
felt like being in school again. Nothing sounded- nothing sounded as warm as Percy was
trying to make it, and he could feel nervous tears at the corners of his eyes.

Mom I’m sorry, he wrote at the end, I’m so very sorry. Things are getting hard and- I love
you, mama. I love you so much. We’ll meet in Elysium one day, I’m certain of it.
Please live all the life that I can’t have. Please, forgive me.
I love you,
your forever son.

A piece of parchment still remained empty, one that had survived the falling of his tears, and
Percy took a deep breath before settling down his pen on it again.

Amphitrite, he wrote,
whatever has happened, whatever harm we have done to each other- thank you. Thank you
for caring for me when I couldn’t do so myself, for your guidance and your kind words.
If you’ll read this, I’ll be dead.
You will not be to blame.

He hesitated, then realised he had nothing to lose.

I love you,
Percy

He placed golden drachmas on the first two, watching them disappear at once, and carefully
folded the last one, securing it in the pocket of his trousers.

They’d check them, he knew, before hurling him on the pyre.

Dawn came, and careful not to be seen they made their way towards the clearing where the
armies had stopped for the night: a huge, huge spread of tents and soldiers, thousands,
thousands of them as far as the eye could see.

“They won’t be expecting an attack,” the Count reassured, “and especially not for you to be
here. They’re tired, weak, their commanders will be weary of handling such a big army.”
“Atlantis will be lost forever if we don’t win this battle,” Amphitrite stated, and Percy
breathed out his fear, and squared his shoulders.

It was time to be a soldier. It was time to be his father’s son.

“We’ll proceed with the plan we have agreed on,” he started, “we are here to make a future
for our people and for ourselves. We won’t accept defeat,” he went on, voice hard and
humourless, that made him wonder whether he was speaking more for their benefits or for
his, “we’ll take it back. We’ll take the sea back.”

A beat of silence. Percy closed his eyes and smelled the clean water around him, grounding
himself in the present. Most of the soldiers were still sleeping, young and unarmed: many
would die without even noticing the sleep they had entered would be an eternal one.

He rose in the water, swimming until he was standing above their tents, while Amphitrite and
the Count broke inside their camp, weapons drawn.

The soldiers on guard noticed them and rang all the bells, waking the generals, but it was too
late to block the first attack: Percy opened his arms, stretching them as much as he could, and
as a guttural scream escaped his throat thousands of gallons of water fell back with violence
over the tents, with a savagery only the sea could muster.

People started screaming then, stuck under the debris of their own constructions, unable to
breathe under the roughness of the water, and Percy felt energised as he hadn’t in ages, his
anger stronger than his shame.

It wasn’t going to last, if he survived the battle- if he survived, the price of his cruelty would
come down to haunt him.

“For Atlantis!” he screamed, plunging down to meet the swords of the soldiers, swimming
between the launched spears and solidifying the water around him to block the arrows, going
straight for the Coral Duke’s tent, his aim.

One for each, they had decided, and Percy had chosen the one he had hated since their first,
horrible meeting in Atlantis. He hadn’t been allowed to show it, at the time, but now...the
Duke was barbarous: Percy wouldn’t feel guilty about being worse than him.

Hundreds of enemies encircled him, and Percy’s tactic of just knocking them out could no
longer work. A couple of small hurricanes started from his hands and shot through the
soldiers, taking dozens and dozens down to create a path towards the heart of the camp,
where the cowardly Duke would be hiding.

He could feel Amphitrite somewhere on his right, cutting through the soldiers with
unbounded energy, looking for the Duke of Solomon. They said he was brave- Percy
wondered if he’d remain so after seeing the goddess in such a rage.

“Come out, you coward!” he yelled, facing a couple of more skilled soldiers. They were
fierce, Percy would give them that, but their training wasn’t going to be enough to allow
them to win.
“Join me,” Percy tried, “drop your weapons, swear fealty to me, and I’ll let you live.”

“Fuck you,” the younger of them replied, his flushed cheeks unbearded, and what a waste,
Percy thought, before getting rid of the both of them.

An arrow had managed to plant itself on the back of his shoulders, but he was hardly feeling
the pain, so full of adrenaline as he was: and between fighting and screaming and trying to
advance through the men, minutes passed, or maybe hours.

The Count had reached the Celebes’ Duke already, he could feel, and he breathed a blessing
in the water- he was no god, it wasn’t supposed to work, but he could have sworn to have
heard a flebile thank you in the back of his mind.

“Leave him to me!” a general screamed at the soldiers around him, and Percy stopped his
mad race, curious. The soldiers parted, coming to encircle him but without attacking, while a
lightly armoured mermaid strode towards him, her pace unflinching.

“Who am I fighting against?” he asked, coming to hold his sword more tightly, while the
woman sneered at him.

“I am Arabella, First General of the Coral army, eldest daughter of its Duke. Slayer of the
Skolopendra, and killer of Percy Jackson.”

“Ambitious,” he deadpanned, “it’ll be a shame to disappoint you, general.”

“This is to be seen,” she gritted, and launched herself forward. Percy blocked her hit, his
blade coming below hers and lifting it up until she drew her arm back: he pushed forward
then, but she was quick to move and his sword sliced the water.

The banter stopped, after that: Percy’s hurricanes were still rampaging through the camp,
bringing havoc where he hadn’t reached yet, and between that and the fight all of his energy
was being used, even more than he should have wasted right at the start of the battle.

Arabella was a good fighter, her eyes as cruel as her father's, and she was far more
experienced than the young soldiers he had fought until then, and older too: probably older
than her father’s new wife. He wondered if she found it strange.

He would have, had his father...

“Die!” a soldier screamed from behind him, throwing himself towards Percy’s exposed back,
going against every single rule of duels. The general’s eyes flashed with rage, while Percy
swiftly unsheathed his ceremonial dagger and planted it in the man’s neck, his sword barely
slashing Percy’s tight as he went down.

“Good soldiers you have,” he commented, “do you always let them disrespect you in such a
manner?”

“Not if they want to live,” she answered, “he must have been too spineless to continue
through this battle, even in thousands against…” she paused, her sword coming to a stop
inches away from Percy’s neck. The hit wouldn’t have landed, he had already a shield of
water around him- but she was good.

Percy sent her sword flying back with one of the moves Luke had taught him so long ago,
and the weapon fell on the sand without a sound. Had he wished to kill her, that would have
been the moment: he’d had the time to do so, before she even managed to reach for another
weapon.

But her eyes looked wild, and he hesitated: long enough for her to take a dagger out of her
armour, coming to raise it across her face.

“Do you even know how to use that?” he asked, squaring his feet, his mind going a thousand
miles per hour, scheming and planning. Having enemy generals as captives could be a way to
bargain with Bythus, but he wasn’t sure he would care for their safety. Maybe not killing her
was a risk he couldn’t afford.

She launched herself forward, aiming to get close enough to him to be able to use her dagger,
but he was faster, moving through the water as he’d been born there, as if he hadn’t had just a
few months of underwater training. He sliced her arm where the armour ended, pulling back
before she could even feel the pain.

Blood poured into the water, forming a hypnotising swirl of red, but it was far from a deadly
wound, and the mermaid only hissed in rage.

“I don’t wish to kill you,” Percy stated, “you’ve lost your weapon: just surrender. You won’t
be harmed, I promise.”

She hesitated, but there were her soldiers around her, taunting and boasting, and Percy was
aware that she couldn’t accept his offer just as much as she was. What a farce, what a loss,
what an useless, pathetic waste of talent: that was this battle for him.

“And let you kill my men and my father?” she asked, advancing towards him, “let you
slaughter my city, abduct my sisters, cut the throat of my mother?”

“We are far from your duchy,” he answered, “my only aim is Atlantis. I’ve never attacked a
city: but the same can’t be said of Bythus and his soldiers, can’t it? And not even of your own
father.”

“You think you’re so great,” she spat out, “let me tell you, you’re not. I was fighting battles
before you were even born, in that foul place you come from. You’re alive because you’re the
son of a god, keep that very clear in your mind: my abilities outstand yours.”

“Be it as it may,” he answered, “I still have the upper hand in this fight. And I’m still going to
butcher that rotten tyrant you call father.”

She moved towards him with her teeth bared, quickly but not enough: Percy had already lost
too much time, too much energy. He ordered the water to solidify around her tail, stopping
her mid-movement, taking advantage of her surprise to throw the dagger out of her hand,
placing the tip of his sword at her throat.
 “Last chance,” he tried, but the general shook her head.

“Go back from whe-”

Percy pushed his sword forward with violence, the end of it coming to emerge from the back
of her head. A moment of stillness, just enough to see life leave her eyes, and he started to
take his sword back, slick with blood in a way that it had never been.

He had too much adrenaline to be disgusted, too much rage to feel sorry.

There was a second of silence around him then, before her soldiers launched themselves on
him again, trying with volume where strength had failed. Percy started to send them back at
random, slowly advancing to the heart of the camp: the Count was still fighting, while he
couldn’t really feel what Amphitrite was doing, but she was still somewhere on his right.

“Come out!” he yelled to the Duke, his sword moving almost by itself, cutting and slicing
between the soldiers without a conscious thought behind it. Percy’s face was dripping with
blood, some his and some not, and at least a couple of arrows had found a target in his body,
fortunately without hitting arteries.

He threw down a tent, scaring some fishes that had been hiding inside, and redirected his
hurricanes to circle around him, so that he could get a break from the fight.

“Where are you?!” he roared, bringing more chaos with him between the tents, “you coward!
Aren’t you strong? Aren’t you the best of the land?”

He marched forward, fueling his own rage by recalling the words the Duke had said to him in
Atlantis, the warnings Flustra had whispered to him between the stone halls he had never
called home, not until he had been forced to leave.

“Come out!” he said again, feeling half mad, feeling drunk with grief for an innocence that he
would never regain, for eyes that would never unsee his own inhumanity.

There was laughter, behind some of the soldiers.

“You call me a coward, and then hide behind your own powers,” a richly armoured
ichthyocentaur mocked, coming from his left “you are as hypocritical as your father was.”

The Duke, Percy recognized, the Duke at last.

He closed his eyes for an instant, before turning around. He wasn’t ready- but he would never
be, no matter how much he stalled. Is anyone ever? Is anyone ever truly ready to die?

Percy had never been.

Chapter End Notes

Hello there!! <3
As always thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! This is going to be quite a fun
fight to write... I'm a bit sorry that we'll only get to see Percy's fight, but I'm not sure it'd
be a good idea to introduce other POVs at this point.

Lot of letters this chapter too! Pinky promise that it's going to be one of the last times.
Have a great Halloween!
 Year II, October III
Chapter Notes

Enjoy the bloodlust

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The ichthyocentaur looked just as Percy had seen him the last time, so long ago in Atlantis,
and covered by his shiny armour he seemed even taller, even more imposing than he had
once done.

“Hypocritical?” Percy repeated, sending the Duke’s offence right back at him, “you came into
my home, ate my food and drank my wine, just to betray me for a craven fool like Bythus.
Between the two of us- you’re the false one.”

The man scoffed at him, coming forward and gesturing at his guards to stay behind. “You
were unfit to rule,” he answered simply, “too young, too inexperienced, too soft. All I hated
of Poseidon, all of his worst aspects,” he went on, advancing towards him.

“Where is the rage? Where is the passion, where is the bloodlust?” he opened his arms, the
shiny metal glittering in the soft light, “you lack all that made your father a King. Ambition,
ruthlessness, drive- Bythus has more in a finger than you in your whole body.”

“You torture people and folk alike,” Percy answered, hating how some of his words hit home,
“I shall surely not take life advice from you. And I may not have the drive- but my blood
covers the throne, and Bythus has yet to win it over.”

The Duke laughed, all the soldiers around him following suit. “Haven’t you heard, Perseus?
The King had another throne built, one way greater than that old relic. It was made to suit
him, molded on his very figure. Soon, there’ll be no power left in that decrepit thing you used
to worship.”

Percy gripped the handle of his sword with all the strength he could master, feeling his
fingertips become white from the effort. The Duke looked so at ease, so much more in his
element than Percy felt, and maybe it wasn’t that much of a tragedy: there is nothing that can
be more easily turned into violence than insecurity, after all, and Percy knew it well.

“I’ll come tell your grave that you were wrong,” Percy answered, his voice coming out angry,
but also too much on the defensive, more so than he wanted, “because that’s what’s going to
happen, as soon as you stop stalling and find the courage to fight me.”

“You won’t survive long enough to call this a fight,” the ichthyocentaur scoffed, taking his
trident in hand, and Percy forced himself to keep his expression neutral, sending back the
images of his fight with Polybotes, of how painful it had been to feel his blood consume him
from the inside out.

He had won against Phorcys, and the Coral Duke had no powers, no immortality to protect
him: Percy had fought against worse, and yet there was an aura around him, of force and
violence that made his bones rattle with disgust.

He jumped up in the water, coming to stand above the tents and the soldiers, and Percy
followed immediately, trying to avoid putting any distance between them that could give the
Duke the chance to actually throw his weapon. Tridents worked well with distance, swords
with proximity: the battle was going to be a race, a game of tag with higher stakes.

Percy shot himself forward, trying to tackle the man by surprise, but he moved to the side
with way too much agility for someone wearing such an heavy armour. “You are so
predictable, little hero. Do you truly think I’ve never seen how you land-dwellers fight?”

“I am not a land-dweller,” Percy answered, even if it hurt him down to his core, “I haven’t
been one for a very long time.”

The Duke laughed, shooing Percy’s away with a well placed thrust, “A long time? You mean
like a year?” he chuckled again, his expression mocking, “you know, maybe I shouldn’t kill
you. I believe I could convince Bythus to keep you as his personal jester.”

Percy gritted his teeth, trying to contain his anger. He wanted him to lose control, to become
sloppy in his attacks, and Percy wasn’t going to give in to his desires.

He raised his free hand, creating turbulence in the water between them, forcing the currents to
push the ichthyocentaur towards him, close enough to be attackable, while he thought of a
way to distract him- he hadn’t been called a loose cannon his entire life, just for a useless
mollusk to consider him foreseeable.

“You consider yourself so powerful, your Grace, and yet you place yourself under Bythus’
command. Are you not ashamed of considering yourself so much inferior to him?”

One of Percy’s tornado shrunk down, coming to hit the man on the lower part of his back,
forcing him to stumble forward, while Percy seized the opportunity to cut off the side laces of
his armour, leaving the Duke with an half-hanging piece of useless metal around his
shoulders.

“You, bastard,” he gutted out, regaining his balance and coming to grip his trident closer to
the end, trying and failing to block Percy’s sword: it hit him right below his collarbone,
slicing the newly exposed skin, but Percy hadn’t been angled correctly to be able to cause an
actually dangerous injury.

“You will pay for this,” he yelled, deflecting Percy’s violent currents and forcing him to step
back to avoid being stabbed, “if I had had any thought of mercy, I have ditched it. I will take
days to kill you- and let all of my men have their fair share.”
“Empty words from a man empty of power,” Percy answered, forcing his breathing to calm
down, keeping his wildly beating heart a secret, “a man who is not even in charge of his own
actions, and yet tries to flaunt his failed reputation.”

“I have chosen to follow him,” he answered, his eyes dark and angry making him look feral,
like a beast who had been wounded but was still too full of energy, “because he is worthy of
it, unlike you were and unlike you will ever be.”

“So worthy that he’s probably planning your demise, right in this moment,” Percy went on,
noticing he had hit a nerve, “do you truly think he’ll ever be able to trust you? One who
betrays once will always be a betrayer, and thus a threat.”

“You know nothing of Bythus. He’s cleansing the ocean, returning the populations to their
rightful splendor, getting rid of all the idiotic expenses that come from trying to keep alive
useless villages and hopeless farms.”

He moved forward, taking advantage of Percy’s brief loss of control over the water between
them, smiling with all of his pointy teeth with a crazed expression. He rushed forward, and
Percy was too slow to move, just barely capable of deflecting a fatal injury.

“Don’t you see it?” he pressed, coming to land a hit on Percy’s inner thigh, mixing his blood
with the one of the soldiers he had killed, “when he’ll be done, the ocean will belong once
again to us. To the ones who deserve it.”

Percy’s breath became laboured, pain shooting through his leg and reaching all the other
injuries he had ignored: the arrows still planted in his skin, the cuts and the bruises, the
exposed flesh where the soldier’s sword had grazed him. Even the wounds that weren’t
physical hurt- Amphitrite’s silence, her refusal of comfort, the indifference with which she
had watched him enter a battle he could very well die in- it all made him wish it was over.

“Are you going to cry on me, child?” the Duke snickered, toying with the handle of his
trident, “maybe it’s not too late to call mommy here, you know,” he added, moving towards
him while Percy’s hurricanes created a barrier between them, “even if I believe she must be
quite busy at the moment.”

“Busy killing your soldiers and your allies,” Percy spat out, “I spared most of them. She will
not.”

The Duke answered something, but Percy didn’t listen, trying to come up with a semblance
of a plan, something that could turn the tide in his favour. The Coral Duke was strong, a hulk
of a man, and Percy had barely managed to hit him while he still wasn’t exhausted.

Now, it felt like all the adrenaline had left him, like he had fought nails and teeth for so long
that his body had just stopped caring whether it would be enough or not. Had it had been
about him, only about him, maybe he would have given up: he would have closed his eyes,
let the image of his last sunset linger behind his eyelids, and accepted his demise, letting the
gentle waves carry his body to rest, far from pain, far from anguish.
But how could he give up on the sea? How could he give up on his people, and forgive
himself for it? His heart clenched, but he had been someone before Amphitrite’s love, and
he’d be someone again, now that she seemed to have abandoned him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them with a new anger, emptying his mind of all
the thoughts that weren’t trying to keep him alive: the shield of water dropped from around
him and he screamed, an horrendous sound coming from the back of his throat, before
launching himself on the Duke.

It was a game of sparring after that: Percy attacked and attacked, forcing the Duke to move
back, to defend himself, to only react to his actions without being able to start anything,
without pause, without break, just thrusting and lifting and trying to find a weak spot- which
the ichthyocentaur was very good at hiding.

Percy lost control of his body, after a bit: he no longer felt anchored in it, but rather as if he
were a spectator, as if he were having an out of body experience. It was his arms that moved,
his legs that kicked, and yet it wasn’t him- had he been asked to stop, he didn’t think he
would have been capable, had his mind asked for his body to do something that broke the
flow of his movements, it wouldn’t have listened.

They moved up and down in the water, distancing themselves so much from the camp that
Percy couldn’t even hear the noises of battle any longer. The Duke’s armour had come off
somewhen during their fight, and Percy could see the litter of scars on his pearly skin, the
hard won muscles that tensed, the veins that bled under his sword’s touch.

Most of his fights, he had won thanks to tactic and sheer power, thanks to his control on the
water, but it all was secondary now: he had fallen back into the steps of swordsmanship that
had kept him alive before he had realised he could summon the water to him, before Mount
Saint Helena and before the wars.

They had called him a weapon, and they had been right. Not only his sword, not only his
powers- all of him was destructive. All of him could kill.

The Duke faltered under Percy’s gaze and he took the occasion, that split second of
hesitation, to try something very, very stupid: he sent his arm back, gaining momentum, and
then threw his sword forward, aiming towards the ichtyocentaur with all of his strenght
behind the hit.

The man chuckled when he missed his head, but it hadn’t been Percy’s target: the blade
passed over the Duke’s body until Percy grabbed the handle with his other hand too,
increasing the might of the hit until it clashed against the pole of the trident, right in the
middle of it- and found just a little resistance, before it managed to slide it as if it were made
of butter, until the Duke found himself with a useless stick in hand.

Percy’s arms ached, but the blood in his mouth tasted of victory: with a nod to the water, he
forced the currents to take the rest of the weapon down, down into the depths, where it would
never be retrieved again.
“Not bad for a child, mh?” he asked, coming to circle the now unarmed noble, “how do you
feel knowing you’ll die here? In this gods forgotten water, where there is no glory left for you
to steal?”

The Duke was breathing hard, but Percy could see that he was still too far from exhaustion,
still too desperate to feel the wounds he had inflicted him, and yet he was aiming to finish the
fight as quickly as possible: even his blood was tired of coming out of his body, and there
was an heaviness to his limbs that Percy could recognize as a soon to come total burnout.

Annabeth had once told him hubris wasn’t his fatal flaw- and yet, as he sheathed his sword,
as he cracked his knuckles and ate the Duke with his eyes, he felt like maybe they all had
been wrong about him, that he had only been good at hiding just how much he wanted to
take.

“They say you’ve wrestled Charybdis,” Percy challenged, mockery ready on his lips, “you
have no weapon now, and I’m merciful. Show me,” he added, smiling while baring all of his
teeth, “show me how good you are at dancing.”

The Duke growled, and his eyes shined with anger, but also fear: they both knew that Percy
could just take out his sword again, that no rule was stopping him from it if not his own sense
of fairness, but that it also was just as likely that there would be no need to, and maybe that
was what upset him the most.

Death by sword was a soldier’s death, an honourable death. To die during a brawl, during a
physical fight- that was for drunkers and folk, for immature youths, certainly not a
respectable death for a Duke. And yes, maybe he’d manage to kill Percy: but the tales would
be all on his arrogance, and not on the Coral Duke’s triumph.

Still, his words were mocking. “You know one trick with a blade, and now you think you can
take me by force?” he asked, derisively, “you’re not strong enough for it, kid. I’ll tear away
the bones from your flesh, and feast on what remains of your body.”

Percy smiled, and it was like watching Rachel’s paintings again, like watching himself be
wild and beastly, away from his own consciousness: would he return to own his body, if he
survived? Would the bloodlust go away, if he lived?

There was so much violence in his veins, that he could no longer question why so many ships
sunk, why so many drowned: all the power he had, just begged to be used.

“You’ll have to kill me first though,” he answered the Duke, “and I wouldn’t be so certain
you are capable of it.”

The man snarled, jumping towards him, and Percy grabbed his arm, pushing the currents
down, down into the abyss, while the ichthyocentaur struggled under his hold, kicking and
scratching while they stumbled in between the blue waters.

Down, down, down- Percy’s only aim was to reach the sea bank, where he could push the
Duke’s body on the sandy ground and end their fight once and for all, but the man struggled
and moved in his arms, until his hands shot upwards and managed to grab the wild strands of
Percy’s too long hair, pulling until he was forced to move away.

Percy cursed, while the Duke angled his head back, forcing him to bare his neck. “Pretty
boy,” he spat in his mouth, and Percy felt hot, boiling anger explode in his body: he had
shooed it away most times, he had ignored it- but instead now he let it flow in him until it
came to stagnate in his heart, until it started burning what was left of his own purity.

There was a flash of fear in the Duke’s eyes- his pupils dilated, his eyebrows shot up and his
teeth clashed together, but Percy couldn’t care less, while he plummeted his body down into
the sandy bank, knocking his back on the ground as hard as he could, until the man’s eyes
travelled to the back of his head.

He straddled him then, punching and screaming until he could no longer feel his hands, until
the blood coming out from his knuckles tainted the water with a red that had nothing of holy,
until the fishes around him called for help and trembled in fear of him.

Silence, a still corpse under his thighs, and yet his mind would not quiet.

He had won the fight. He had won and the Duke was dead, but at what cost? They were so far
away from the battlefield, so deeper than it was safe to go, with no one to look for him, nor to
care for him, now that Amphitrite was indifferent to his plights and the Count too busy
battling his own curses.

He tried to raise, to lift himself away from the Duke’s body, but his legs remained unmoving,
stubbornly set on the sides of the man’s torso, aching and yet, somehow, unfeeling. He tried
to yell, to scream for help, but only sobs came out, now that the anger was leaving- what
remained was just an enormous void, a black hole of disgust and guilt.

What had he done? Oh dear, what had he done?

“You mustn't feel ashamed,” Poseidon rumbled from above him, and Percy blinked away a
couple of tears and opened his eyes to find himself sitting in his favourite chair, the green
padded one, inside of his father’s own office.

Unlike the other times, there was only a moment of confusion. “Father,” he intoned, “did you
see the battle?” he asked, hating the disappointment that came from Poseidon’s refusal: of
course he hadn’t- he could see nothing if not Percy’s own death.

He nodded, not quite knowing what to say, not quite knowing what to think of his father, now
that he had seen some of his life, now that he was no longer a mystery.

“You are upset with me,” the god noted, not daring to come any closer to him, “I
understand,” he went on, “but my son, my ire should have not surprised you so much. The
tales of my violence are hardly hidden.”
Percy remained silent for a while, playing with the hem of his shirt, looking everywhere but
at his father.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, voice cracking. He pushed his tongue on the roof of his
mouth and closed his eyes longer than necessary, trying not to cry- he wouldn’t, he couldn’t
right in front of the god.

“Percy,” he started, voice soft, “look at me, please.”

He swallowed down a sob, but obeyed, finally meeting his father’s gaze: he didn’t know what
he had expected to find but not… not so much understanding. His eyes were pale, his tanned
face soft, and he was looking at Percy as if he were a cherished thing, something well loved.

“Percy,” he started again, this time moving towards him, “rejecting me will not make all your
anger disappear. You are a good person, a reliable, untainted boy. But you are also the sea
now, or some of it at least- you are violence too, as much as you are mercy.”

“I don’t want to,” Percy rushed out, eating half of his words, feeling some of his pain coming
back to him: was he dying? Or was he returning to life?

“I know,” he answered, “and I’m sorry it fell on you to shoulder my errors,” he breathed out,
coming to caress his cheek with his rough hand, “Percy my son, I can feel so many people
trying to bring you back to them, in the life you can still have.”

His thumb wiped away a rebellious tear, and Percy closed his eyes, melting in the comfort
that he was being offered. What did it matter, that his father had done horrible things? Hadn’t
he also done so? Percy had doubted his love, but it was difficult when he felt so accepted, so
normal in a behaviour that most would have considered insane.

“But if you wish to depart,” he added, his tone so tightly controlled that Percy wondered how
much it was costing him to remain calm, “I will not hold it against you, were I ever to find
another way to return. You are but a child. I have been too harsh before.”

Percy stared at his ancient eyes again, a million questions in his mind: he would regret, later,
not having asked any of them, but he was so hurt, and he had felt so abandoned that he didn’t
have the strength to do anything if not bask in Poseidon’s tender gaze.

“I’m tired,” he admitted, “but I’ve been through way too much to just give up now. I’m not
just doing this for you,” he specified, feeling it was important, “I am doing this for the
people, for my...wife and for Amphitrite.”

“Your wife,” he chuckled, stepping back, eyes sad, “I wish I could have been there.”

“Me too,” Percy answered, and then there was no time to say anything else, only for him to
realise that this time, this time he hadn’t been inside of his mother’s house, sat at the kitchen
table or on the purple sofa- and instead home had been Atlantis, had been the quietness of the
room in which he had studied so desperately for a future that had always shone under the
trembling light of uncertainty.
 What did that say then, of his humanity?

Chapter End Notes

Hello there! I hope you enjoyed the chapter... I believe this is gonna be the last battle
before Atlantis, so things are getting serious!

Thank you for all your lovely comments, this story would have never come this far
without your support! <3
 Year II, November I
Chapter Notes

sorry?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The other times- the other times he had been so close to dying that his father had been able to
sense it- he had then awoken painlessly, almost peacefully, as if his mind had rested in a
blank state for barely a couple of hours.

He had never felt the passing of time as he did now.

As his father’s office disappeared from his view, nightmares had started plaguing his mind,
creating horrible and agonising scenarios, not leaving him a second to recover from the last
before starting again, in an unstoppable flow of shapes and colours that barely held any
significance any longer.

Percy could do nothing but scream, and cry in that empty space he found himself in, without
a body to control, without a body to force out of its restless sleep. In his haze, he tried to hold
tight to Poseidon’s words of comfort, to the knowledge that he could still live, even if there
seemed to be nothing else to feel if not pain.

Would he still have a body then, even if he survived? Because what of him could feel pain
felt on fire, as if inch by inch his skin was being burned and then torn away, as if every atom
of it was rearranging itself in something that was going to just look like him. Maybe it would
be the right punishment, to take his body away, to forbid him from destroying more than he
had already: maybe it was what the Fates had decided for him, before he was even born.

Time passed, but he could not say how long. He had tried to fight it, three hours or maybe
four centuries before, by recalling some of his best memories, but that had been a terrible
failure, for they had just turned as foul as the bad ones, so much that he could no longer
distinguish a smile from a threat. His mind felt messy, helpless, exhausted from trying to hold
on to that last, flebile string of sanity Percy still possessed.

He had been told, he remembered, that man was made of mind and body, both equally
important and necessary to survival- but Percy had none of them at the moment, no mind in
the state to govern a body, no body that could feel something that wasn’t pain. Did it mean he
was a man no more? What was he, then?

Whatever it was, he could bear it no longer.

Please stop, Percy begged the darkness around him, my body can breathe underwater, but my
mind is drowning. Please, he repeated.
Please. Please, help.

Percy remembers crying, and sobbing, remembers his mind lacerating and splitting in half,
pouring all it contained into the messy sea of his unconsciousness. Only flashes remain
though, of what happened later: he must have begged, and he must have begged well, for the
few images he has of it involve his old camp director, Dionysus, standing in front of him and
looking concerned.

And then nothing, a vast nothingness that could have lasted a few seconds or way more. No
darkness, nor the blinding light that is sometimes associated with the limbo between life and
death. Just nothingness, not comforting and not scary.

Nothingness, and Percy floating in it, no more his body and no more his mind than before,
but without agony, without pain this time. Him, just existing, or maybe not even doing that-
maybe he was doing nothing at all, not even breathing, maybe he was becoming one with the
emptiness he had around.

Maybe that would be better than feeling all that misery again.

There was something though, tugging at the borders of his consciousness every time he tried
to slip away, and no matter how much Percy tried to bat it away like an annoying fly, it
always remained there, unmoving: he should have been grateful maybe, but he was just
annoyed, annoyed that his rest was being denied to him.

Dionysus had said something, before the pain stopped, but Percy had been too out of it still to
understand. Had he given him advice before leaving? A solution? He couldn’t remember: he
had even started to doubt it had ever happened at all, until something tugged at him again,
stronger this time.

“Mr. D?” Percy asked, hoping that maybe he still hadn’t left at all, that he was still being
helped get out of… wherever he had got stuck into, coming out of the conversation with his
father.

“Dionysus?” he tried again, trying to make space for something else in his nothingness,
trying to understand if there was someone else, in the mind he fatigued calling his own.

Silence, and then his body was standing in the middle of his chaotic room in Cabin Three, his
old clothes draped around the floor as if his wardrobe had been emptied in a hurry, with
carelessness.

Percy looked around, overwhelmed by the memories the place evoked, by the life and the
laughter he had once filled it with, but the more he focused on the details, the less they made
sense: the decorations Tyson had made him were all in the wrong places, the books on his
bedside were definitely his father’s and the colours too, were slightly off, just enough to be
uncomfortable.
“I had never seen anything of the sort before,” the god announced, slowly coming to sit in
front of him, with careful, controlled movements, like he was trying not to scare him off.

Percy licked his lips, pressing them together, getting used to them again. “Is this real?” he
asked, surprised not to find his voice hoarse, after so much screaming.

“Kind of,” he answered, “we’re still in your mind. This is how you remember your room to
be, mostly. I have no idea what’s going on with the wardrobe- well unless you kept it like that
of course. You’ve always been quite messy.”

“Thanks,” Percy chuckled bitterly, “I must let you know that I got real better at it.”

Dionysus hummed, looking at him with a serious expression, while Percy tried to force
himself not to fidget: doing it in front of his father was a thing, but now…

“I’m gonna be clear, kid,” he started, “you fucked things up, even more than usual,” he
added, and Percy flinched, the god’s eyes following his movements like he was trying to read
him from the inside out.

As if there were a need: they were in his mind. He had probably already seen everything.

“Am I going mad then?” he asked, matching his voice and trying to remain calm,
emotionless: he didn’t know if he could accidentally explode something in the fake scenario,
but he wasn't going to take risks.

“No, because fortunately,” he answered, stressing the last word, “I am very good at my job,
and also very charitable. It’s gonna be Christmas soon, after all, and isn’t this what mortals
do? Be kind for two weeks and then keep ignoring each other?”

“Thank you then,” Percy repeated, more sincerely this time, because he was grateful: and
even if he and Mr. D had had a rocky relationship at best, talking to him was still like
reforming a tie to the life he had left behind when he had gone to Atlantis.

The god nodded and stood up, and Percy stepped forward, almost grabbing him before
coming to a stop. Dionysus’ eyes shot to his, but he didn’t move away, and Percy took that as
an opening.

“What happened?” he breathed out, “is it going to happen again? Am I going to snap, to- to
hurt the ones around me?”

It had come out too quickly, too panicky and his voice had been several tones higher than
usual, but the mockery that Percy was expecting never came: instead, the man moved away
from him, starting to fiddle with the papers rested on the table- gibberish probably, just a way
not to look at him.

“I saw…” he started, “a bit of what happened in these last months. What your mind was
focusing on more, let’s say. You used too much of your divinity during the fight, and it wasn’t
the first time, was it?”

He waited for Percy’s nod, and then went on.

“You had been advised against it and, as always, you didn’t listen. When you speak to your
father,” he sighed, “your body doesn’t go to wherever he is, but you’re close enough to dying
that your...spirit has more mobility. It returned to you without issue the other times, but
now…”

“Now?” Percy pressed, his hands trembling. Had all been for nothing? Had he failed, after
all?

“Now, when it went back to your body, it didn’t find enough mortality to settle in,” he stated,
pausing to give him time to understand, “and so it got lost.”

“Lost,” Percy repeated, feeling like an idiot.

“Yes”

“And you… found it again? And put it back in my body?”

“In a very simplified sense, yes. Your mind was also a little… in shambles. I put a little order,
but you’re gonna have to work hard on it yourself. You have the means to succeed, now.”

Percy nodded. “That’s… probably the nicest thing I’ve been told in months,” he smiled,
shaking his head, feeling pity even for himself. “And the mortality stuff?” he asked, trying to
shift the attention away from his pathetic admission.

The god sighed, counting to ten under his breath. “You’re not a god. You’re not fully a
mortal. I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I believe the situation will be clearer once you’ll…
deign us with your presence on Olympus.”

Percy swallowed harshly, taking his eyes away. “Amphitrite didn’t think it’d be a good idea.”

Dionysus nodded, as if he truly couldn’t care less why he hadn’t gone, and was just repeating
a suggestion that very much sounded like an order.

“Well, Johnson,” he then started, looking almost apologetical, “this is where I leave you to
your sweet life of kingly comforts. Try not to waste all my hard work in dying in some stupid
way of yours.”

“Well, I’ll try,” Percy answered, way too tired to think of a better response, way too upset to
even attempt at being sarcastic. His mind felt so heavy again, as if it was pressing all around
his consciousness: and then he finally awoke.

The first days made no sense, and they blurred one into the other leaving his body warm and
rested. People and voices had surrounded him at first: then they had dwindled out, and only
few had remained, always the same ones, but Percy couldn’t stay conscious for long enough
to recognize them, nor to remember what they were saying.

Whatever it was, it seemed reassuring. The words seemed soft, the tone light, the bed
comfortable. He had been in pain before, that he knew, and he wondered how, why, since he
now was so relaxed, so at peace. Had it all been a dream?

But it couldn’t have been: his dreams were all so different, and so confusing. Dionysus was in
them, and Percy hadn’t seen the god in ages- and anyway he wouldn’t have been nice to him,
not like he was in his dreams, where he held his face in his hands and calmed him down with
gentle whispers.

He wondered what was happening sometimes, but most of the time he wasn’t thinking at all,
just kind of floating in and out of consciousness, just barely aware of his surroundings, of the
people talking to him: with tenderness at first, and then with urgency, panic, then with
tenderness again.

Percy didn’t understand what there was to be scared about, but he didn’t like to hear that
tone, didn’t like to feel so much distress all around him, for he couldn’t shake off the
sensation that he was, somehow, responsible for it.

And oh, how he hated causing pain to the ones around him.

He tried to focus more on what they were saying, then: trying to figure out who they were
and what they wanted. For him to hold her hand, the first woman was asking, to return her
light squeeze: easy, Percy thought, but then he wasn’t able to do it and he felt cold panic
settling in his heart, and the woman saying something, wild, startled.

Percy started training himself to be able to move his hands, forcing himself to perceive the
body he found himself in as his, as his to control, until there was a different person holding
his hand and speaking of sweet nothings.

He felt ready then, even if she hadn’t been the one to ask the gesture of him: the other voice
had sounded so desperate, that he believed she wouldn’t mind. Quite some time had passed
then, for he had made many, many attempts: maybe she wouldn’t even remember.

He squeezed the woman’s hand back then, and quickly everything changed around him, the
atmosphere getting brighter and brighter, the presence around him more cheerful: there
seemed to be more happiness, more light, and Percy so very desperately wanted to be a part
of it, to take it for himself and never give it back.

And so, everytime he could focus enough, he tried to open his eyes.

November had never been one of his favourite months, and yet he had always enjoyed the
frenzy it brought into New York, the festive spirit, the chill, giddy atmosphere of lights and
wonder. December brought the Council and quests and bad memories, but November…
November had only ever been his.

“I can’t have lost… an entire month,” he complained to his doctor, a short ichthyocentaur
with bright, orange eyes, “the war will not have waited for me. What happened? Did we have
any losses?”
“No politics I said,” she repeated again, exasperated, and Percy would have felt sorry for her,
hadn’t he been so distressed: since he had finally been able to open his eyes and talk and
generally be in a normal state of consciousness, she had been walking on eggshells around
him, speaking of his health and nothing else.

He had allowed it, the first morning, but now he needed to know what was going on around
him, why neither Amphitrite nor the Count had visited him, whether they were at least
alright, what Myrto had been doing and were the armies where: not considering also where
he was, since it surely wasn’t a soldier camp.

The walls were solid, the bed comfortable and the room airy and richly decorated- if Percy
were to guess, he’d say he found himself in some noble’s palace, but there weren’t supposed
to be any close to where he had fought the Coral Duke, and it seemed unlikely that the
goddess would let him travel in such perilous condition.

Even if she hadn’t even cared enough to visit him, apparently.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Percy repeated, voice commanding, “think of it as an order, if it
eases your conscience.”

“It’s not my place to-”

“Tell me,” he repeated, as cold as ice. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time, not
when Atlantis’ future and his kingship were on the line.

The woman swallowed visibly, nervously playing with her own hands. “The Count was…
badly injured during the fight. When Lady Amphitrite brought him to us there was an
infection spreading from his tail, which would have killed him: we had to… amputate it.”

Percy pressed his lips together, wincing in sympathy. “How’s he doing now?”

“He’s not coping with it as we wished he would,” she admitted, “but we are providing him
the best care we can. We’ll gladly let him stay here, when you’ll have to depart again.”

He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and the doctor complied, her tone tired. “The
Count is no longer capable of moving independently through the water. Fortunately,” she
stressed, stopping him from interrupting, “technology has progressed far enough that we’ll be
able to build him a tail, which he’ll be able to move just like his old one. But it’s gonna take
time- time you don’t have.”

Percy nodded, glad that at least he was alive, that his foolish plan hadn’t been the cause of the
man’s demise. “When can I go to him?” he asked, not really feeling like getting up but also
tired of staying in bed.

The woman hesitated, her eyes darting to his and then down to the floor. Wherever they were,
Percy thought, it mustn't have been a place used to receive royalty, if the ones who worked
there couldn’t even manage to look at him for an extended period of time- and he had hardly
been making extravagant requests.
“Lady Amphitrite wished to speak to you first, if you are… amenable.”

He snorted, coming to fully sit up on the bed and moving the pillows to stand between his
back and the headboard, “Well I’m ready when she is,” he answered, his tone bitter, and the
doctor nodded, bowed without grace and slipped out of the room in a hurry.

He felt a pang of guilt at having terrorized her so, even if he had uttered no threat, and so he
breathed in and out a few times, trying to calm down before inevitably losing his cool again
when speaking to the goddess.

At least he could reassure himself that he had started the conversation with good intentions.

“You’re up,” Amphitrite commented, appearing on the doorway, looking way more put
together than he had seen her in the last months of travel, looking younger and way more at
peace with herself.

“Not totally,” he corrected, sending her a slight upturn of lips, “which you’d know, had you
been here.”

The goddess didn’t react, barely moving to close the door behind her and coming to sit on the
armchair next to his bed, so that she was positioned slightly higher than him

“I have actually,” she answered, taking a crumpled piece of paper out from a pocket in her
dress, “then I was given...this,” she went on, gesturing to what Percy recognized as the letter
he had written her, what seemed to be a lifetime ago.

“I overstepped,” Percy concluded, kicking himself up, “I didn’t wish to make you
uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I won’t-”

“No,” the goddess interrupted, voice serious, “you didn’t overstep, and it’s not you who must
apologise,” she breathed out, staring at him, “I… treated you badly, before the battle, for
something you had no fault and no control over. I was hurt and I took it out on you- it was
wrong of me, to not even check on you during the night.”

She breathed out.

“And when… when I couldn’t find you after the Duke had died, when we had won the battle
and you still were nowhere to be seen… you can imagine how I felt, thinking you were dead
and I hadn't- and that we had left each other so badly.”

“So you weren’t the one who brought me here?” he asked, processing her apologies.
Considering they came from a goddess, they weren’t so bad: and Percy had forgiven her
already anyway, more annoyed and hurt than angry.

She shook her head. “Your fight with the Duke brought you quite far from where we were.
Two boys found you- both of you- and brought you to their lord’s castle,” she continued,
gesturing around, “I was sent a missive, and came here with the injured Count as fast as I was
capable of travelling.”
“Was Dionysus really here?” he asked after a beat of silence, looking in her eyes for what she
wasn’t saying. You haven’t overstepped, she had reassured, but what had she meant with it?
Because he doubted that she would be alright with him loving her like a mother.

“He came a few days after me,” she chuckled, “all worried about drowning, but I allowed
him to breathe like a sea god for the time he was tending to you. I don’t know what he did,
you were alone in the room- but you sounded less… in pain afterwards, so I assume it
worked.”

Percy nodded, still a thousand questions in his mind. “And you? How… how are you?”

There was an awkward silence then, as if they both knew that these were just pleasantries,
that the real talk still had to come and they were just stalling way more than necessary.

“Good,” she answered, nodding, “Myrto’s also doing alright: she wanted to rush here, but
since your condition wasn’t...fatal, I thought it best for her to continue her careful meddling
in Camp Fish Blood’s affairs.”

“They still haven’t agreed then?” he asked, half wishing that he had been dying instead, so
that he could have seen her, even if just for a little while. He missed her, he had to admit iit to
himself: her easy presence and their bickering.

“Cadmus reports that they have opened negotiations. I believe it’ll be a question of days now,
and we’ll have their loyalty.”

Percy’s eyes snapped to hers, and the goddess gave him a soft smile. It was supposed to be a
joyous, big moment, it was supposed to be a success to celebrate- but Percy could feel
nothing if not a thin veil of relief: for the war and for his wife both.

“I’ll write to her, later,” he sighed, “don’t worry: I’ll proofread this one”

Amphitrite flinched, shaking her head. “Percy…” she started, “I had treated you so badly, so
cruelly and I already felt so guilty, filled with remorse while I watched you suffer and writhe
on this giant bed and-” she paused, her voice breaking.

He hoped she wouldn’t start crying: he would have no idea on how to handle that.

But the goddess soldiered on. “And then I read the… warm, loving words you had written, to
me, that night and-” she swallowed, “and I am undeserving of them. I didn’t want to hurt you
more and so when you started to wake up I just…”

“Left”

“Yes,” she agreed, “and just succeeded in hurting you even more. The doctor told me you had
asked for me then and I… I realised I had made a mistake, once again.”

Percy tore his gaze away, staring instead at his hands, playing with a rebel thread of his sheet.
Waking up alone, cold, disoriented had hurt and had fueled the abandonment issues he had
been carrying for a lifetime. But the goddess… Percy had read real remorse in her eyes, and
 her tone was sincere, and he couldn’t deny that he knew that she cared, even if not in a way
that he could understand completely.

“I’m gonna need some time,” he finally gulped out, “but I… I am going to forgive you. I just
need- you haven’t been the same since the day we met Bythus’ men and I don’t…”

“I’m going to tell you,” Amphitrite promised, coming to take his hands in hers, “it’s not a
good story, but I’m going to tell you all of it.”

“No more secrets,” Percy proposed, and the goddess nodded.

“No more”

They had said that once already- but Percy was going to choose to believe that this time they
knew each other well enough for it to actually be possible, for it to work.

For them to feel like a family, once and for all.

Chapter End Notes

Okay so this chapter, this chapter was a nightmare. I wrote it like three times and I'm
still not satisfied, but honestly I didn't think I was going to write it any better any time
soon and I wanted to be on schedule, so here it is.
Maybe I'll write next one and then come back to this, I don't know, but nothing of the
plot is going to change.

Thank you for reading and plese tell me what you think if you have the time! <3<3
 Year II, November II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The Viscount who owned the castle was a tall, thin ichthyocentaur who had had no children
despite his numerous marriages, and who now enjoyed taking his frustration out on the
servants.

“They say he’s a bastard,” the woman dressing him was explaining, “that his real father was a
merman and he’s a mercentaur,” she whispered, coming closer to his ear, “and that’s why he
couldn’t have any heirs.”

“And his wives?”

“All dead,” the woman went on, “there are stories about them all. The first one died of
illness, even if her ladies are convinced she was poisoned. The second one was murdered and
if you go up, on the second tower during the first day of the new moon… you can still hear
her screaming.”

Percy turned towards her, fascinated. “Was he not trialed for the murder?”

“There was never any proof that the Viscount was the killer, and she didn’t come from a well-
off family: they couldn’t afford to press too much or he would take away their lands, and
their income.”

“That’s awful,” he commented, “but there also was a third wife, was there?”

“Yeah, but we don’t…talk about her.”

Percy paused, desperately curious but also unease with the idea of pushing an old woman for
information, especially when he knew that if it was found out that she had been the one to
share, she would be killed.

“Was it that bad?” he asked instead, preparing himself to meet a ruthless man.

“She… committed adultery. And the Viscount buried her alive in the cripta. It’s been years,
but some servants who pass from there to go take the wine… they say they can hear pacing,
behind the walls. And cries, and the sound of fists hitting the walls.”

“Oh,” Percy commented, feeling all kinds of sadness and distress. “I’m sorry. That’s… gods
how could someone…”

The servant shrugged, finishing to tie off his blouse, “We keep quiet and we survive. He’s
very old now- he’ll be dead soon, and the Count will take back the land.”

“It’ll go to his second son, most likely,” he reasoned, “when I’ll have taken Atlantis again,
I’ll make sure he is deserving of this place, as a reward for the kindness you have shown me.”
The woman blushed up to her ears, and bowed slightly. “Thank you, my Lord,” she smiled,
“we will remain faithful to you, should Bythus’ armies come.”

In the month Percy had been unconscious, the Irish army they had left behind to clear the
mess they had made on their way to the Argentinian soldiers, had had the time to reach them
in the Viscount’s castle, while the other half was on the route for the Mediterranean.

Which meant, most of all, that Percy was no longer free of war councils.

“Duke Phaidros had sent a coded letter, before your fight against the three Dukes,” one of the
generals was summarising, “we interpreted it quickly, but the rest of our army had departed
already, at that point.”

“A coded letter?” Amphitrite asked, glancing at him in a silent question, while Percy shook
his head, “what did it say? Is there any news on Dolphin?”

“No, my Lady,” the general answered, “they just informed us they intended to finally end
their stalling, and fight.”

“In a battle that we seem to have won, yes” the goddess sighed, “even if the news came to us
only last week, without any details, and not written from either Phaidros or Dolphin’s hand.”

“Maybe they’re just recovering,” the Viscount intervened, “Lord Perseus needed a month
after all, and he is a son of the sea. I imagine… normal people might need even more.”

Percy flinched, feeling the judgement in the man’s tone, more than in his words. “I remind
you,” he softly spoke, “that Dolphin is an immortal, and Duke Phaidros a well-respected
fighter. It seems quite eerie that with four armies against one they would have gotten so
wounded not to be able to write a letter.”

“That’s what we thought too,” Amphitrite agreed, “are we certain that the coded letter was
written by Phaidros himself?”

The general handed it to her, and Percy glanced at the elegant, blue ink from her side.

“The middle is no longer hospitable,” she read outloud, “we pray to you for a favourable
night of the harvest.”

“Does it seem to be his calligraphy?” Percy asked, wondering how they had managed to get
that much information out of those two lines, and the goddess nodded.

“It does, yes,” she answered distractly, playing with the words in her mouth, tasting their
meanings, checking if there had been a fault in the soldiers’ interpretation of it

“The night of the harvest is the full moon?” Percy asked, not wanting to outright ask for an
explanation, hoping that the goddess would take the hint.
“Yes,” another soldier nodded, “the closest full moon to the autumn’s equinox, when it comes
in October like this year.”

Percy nodded, pressing his lips together.

“The middle is the Mediterranean,” Amphitrite went on, “from medius in Latin, but it’s
referred to as such in many languages, including Hebrew.”

“And the hospitable sea is a Greek euphemism for the Black Sea,” the soldier added, “so we
have interpreted the letter as to say that the Mediterranean Duchy no longer has the support
of the Black Sea, and that they intended to battle in the night of the Harvest Moon.”

“Which was more than a month ago,” Percy concluded, feeling chills run through his whole
body. “It should have been enough time to send more details.”

“We’re too far away from them to go there now,” Amphitrite bit her lip, holding tightly on
the letter, “what about the rest of the army you have sent there?”

“Reports have stopped two weeks ago, my Lady”

“Maybe they’re just being intercepted,” Percy tried, “there are still many counties under
Bythus’ control, between us and them, and both Dolphin and Phaidros’ handwritings are
well-known. Their letters might have been disposed of.”

“It could be,” the general answered, “Bythus is smart enough to have instructed his men to
recognize all of your most important allies’ handwriting, and yours too. The letter we have
received wasn’t signed, and nothing seemed to tie it to the battle: that’s probably why it
managed to get here.”

Amphitrite nodded, breathing out. “If we then assume we have won, we must go on with the
plan we had agreed upon. Generals, prepare your men: we’re leaving in three days. Viscount,
I thank you again for your kind hospitality in this time of need.”

He smiled at her and she stood up, glancing to her side while the soldiers bowed and
scattered out of the room. Percy rose to do the same, but she stopped him with a hand on his
arm.

“Perseus,” she started, “a word.”

The Palace was old, mostly bare of decorations and adornments, without even a hint of the
works of art that graced the halls of Atlantis and of the Northern Duchy: the stone was cold
under the touch, dented by centuries of water passing by, and the few torches on the wall
were hardly sufficient at enlightening the narrow passageways.

“This place is so fucking creepy,” Percy whispered, slowly descending the servants’ stairs
with Amphitrite right behind him, “can you hear anything weird?”
“Not if you keep whining,” she answered, without real malice, and Percy made an indignant
sound. “Oh, come on it’s-”

The pavement rattled in front of them.

“-true,” Percy finished, his heart beating like crazy.

“The servant told me the cripta was supposed to be at the end of this tunnel,” Amphitrite
spoke in his ear, using some of her powers to enlighten it more, “go on, I’ll follow.”

“Can’t I be the one who follows?” he grumbled, but started walking anyway, a hand hovering
over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight whatever weird thing had been hiding in there for the
past decade.

Did it make him cruel, to wish not to find anything still alive?

They arrived at the end of the cramped stairs, where the pavement had rattled and still
seemed to tremble, and Percy’s head started to feel like a tambourine played by a toddler.

“Do you have a headache too?” he asked Amphitrite, but she shook her head.

“You’re conditioning yourself,” she answered, “there is nothing to be scared of: all we could
find, we can fight. All we can fight, we can kill. All we can kill is not something we should
be afraid of.”

Percy swallowed harshly. “That… is surprisingly helpful.”

She shook her head, pressing her hands on the wall, touching and pushing and knocking on it
until she found the point where on the other side stood not stone- but an opening.

“Do you feel anything behind here?” she asked, and Percy focused on the familiar sound of
blood running through its veins, on the clear sound of breathing and exhaling.

“Nothing,” he answered, “is that a good sign?”

“Since you didn’t want to find anything alive, I believe it is.”

Percy paused. “Actually, I now believe finding something not alive and still able to move
would be worse.”

“If the Viscount’s wife truly died here,” she explained, gesturing at him to help her throw
down the wall, “we can’t leave her body unburied. It is an offence against the gods, which he
will pay greatly for.”

“And her soul won’t be able to rest until we bury her, will it?” he asked, seeing the goddess
nod at the borders of his vision, “poor girl.”

He sent a shot of water crashing against the wall, as violently as he could without risking the
collapse of the entire tunnel, and the first layer of rocks crumpled to the ground with a
thunderous sound.
They held their breath for a few seconds, but no one seemed to have heard, and they resumed
their work.

“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” Percy confessed, finally finding the courage to,
“considering she… well, you know. Cheated on her husband. I mean-” he rushed out when
her eyes snapped to his, “not like the situations are comparable, and I’m not blaming her in
the slightest, but…”

“You thought I’d see myself more in him than in her.”

“Well, kind of,” he answered, “not in the mentally deranged way, though. Just in how it must
have felt.”

She sighed, blasting the last layer of stone to pieces, this time making it fall without a sound.

“I haven’t forgotten that there is a conversation we must have,” she said, resigned, “when
we're done here, you’ll go to the private dinner the Viscount has invited you to, and then
you’ll come to my room. It is long overdue.”

Percy understood the words for what they were: a desire to move the conversation to another
topic, at least until they could be sure that they weren’t being listened to.

“Alright,” he answered easily, and offered the goddess his hand before stepping into the dark,
dusty chamber of a girl’s last days of agony.

Unsurprisingly, what hit him first was the smell, even if the sight was a close one.

Amphitrite’s powers lit the room’s morbid inside, where on the cold, lonely floor lay the
decomposed body of a short figure, whose lineaments were no longer recognizable. Her hair-
red as cherries, covered the floor like the rays of a sun that had forsaken an innocent, and the
nail on her hands were long, longer than they should have been.

“There are scratches on the walls,” the goddess commented, moving around the little room
scooped out in the thick stone of the palace’s wall, “it probably took days for her to die.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Percy gritted out, so full of grief that it had turned into rage, into an
uncontrollable lust to take the Viscount’s body in his arms and tear it apart, so deep set into
his bones that he was certain that, if he could touch them, they’d be as cold as the stone that
stood around him.

“Yes,” Amphitrite agreed, her voice flat and restrained, “but later. Now we bury her.”

Percy nodded, and kneeled on the dirty floor to start digging while the goddess poured
perfume and oils on her body, taking a few drachmas out of the pocket of her black dress.

It was a long process, and the ghost never visited them- but Percy, hours later, days later-
would have been willing to swear he had seen a smile, there where there should have been
nothing but death.

.
The Viscount was terrible company, not to Percy’s surprise- but the most difficult part of the
dinner wasn't the conversation as much as it was restraining himself from murdering the man,
violently and without mercy. He had never desired to drag something on as much as he
longed to give the Viscount a long, painful death.

He could see it in the servants eyes though, the fear, the clear panic both at the idea of
upsetting the Viscount and of what exactly would be their fate was he to die before his time:
would the Count’s son actually be better, or would he take advantage of a vulnerable and
unsupervised city?

Percy couldn’t be sure and so, only for them, he waited, pushing down every single
murderous thought that managed to reach his couscious mind, restraining himself from the
appetizer to the three main plates, through the fruit and the dessert.

Only in one moment, his resolve almost collapsed, right at the end of the dinner, when with a
smug air and a false, chirpy tone, the Viscount had had the audacity to offer him coffee,
quoting his “well-known taste for it”, and describing it as good enough “to kill for”.

He truly, truly had wished to put his hands around his neck and never let go, but he hadn’t
strained himself with effort all evening just to give up at the end of it- and the idea of the
conversation he was soon going to have with Amphitrite managed to distract him enough to
be able to just smile, and refuse.

Knocking on her door then, he couldn’t avoid feeling just slightly proud of himself: it had
been taxing and difficult, but he had managed.

“Come in,” the goddess called from behind the strong door, and Percy stepped inside, locking
the heavy wood behind him. The fire was crackling warmingly in front of the chair she had
laid out for him, and he settled on it grateful for the pleasant flames in the chilly November
night.

“I dind’t murder the Viscount,” Percy started, breaking the ice, “but it was a close call.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” the goddess shrugged, “but politically it was probably for the
best.”

She didn’t add anything else, and the atmosphere turned awkward. Percy could see the hard
set of her shoulders, the falseness of her relaxed demeanour, a shadow of… resignation in her
expression, almost as if she was already expecting to be judged, and to be judged badly.

“You said…”

“I know what I said,” she interrupted harshly, her expression almost remorseful, “it’s just… a
long story. And a very short one too, at the same time: I’m not totally sure on where to start.”

“The beginning?” he proposed, trying to keep his voice soft. He had sworn to himself not to
become angry tonight: he hoped he’d manage to keep faith to it.

“The beginning,” she chuckled, “I…alright,” she sighed, straightening her back and starting.
“Your father had many lovers during the years, as you- know already,” she said, gesturing
around, “and I… never had one. I had never had one.”

She looked at him then, but Percy’s expression didn’t change, and she continued.

“The relationship between Atlantis and the Southern Duchy hasn’t always been tumultuous.
Bythus has been Duke for many decades, and he was already quite old when he succeeded his
father.”

“Did you…” Percy started, just to interrupt himself, feeling dread surge into his stomach.
Had she been… had she and Bythus been lovers? He suddenly no longer wished to know, but
there was no stopping her now.

“He came to visit us once, with his wife and his oldest sons and I… fell madly in love. I was
overcome by it,” she chuckled bitterly, “I don’t think now, that it had ever truly been love.”

“You loved…Bythus?” Percy asked, horrified, and the goddess had the audacity to laugh at
him.

“Gods no, Percy. I sunk low but not that low. His son. The one we met. The one… the one I
killed.”

“You and one of Bythus’ son were lovers,'' Percy repeated, dumbstruck but also kind of
relieved: he had, somehow, expected way worse.

“Decades ago, yes.”

“Alright,” he went on, “that’s not too bad.”

“Not for you,” she answered, “my husband would not have taken to it kindly. I believe he
would have accepted me having a mortal lover every now and then, had I wished to: but a
member of the sea nobility, right into our Palace, in the rooms I sometimes shared with him?”

She shook her head, biting her lower lip, “Even him, even him, had never dared to do such a
thing: Atlantis was supposed to be ours. Had supposed to be ours and no one else’s.”

Percy remained silent, letting her take the time to go through it, until she continued.

“He couldn’t find out, you understand,” she rushed out, “it would have been disastrous. And
so I made sure that he would never be able to- and gave my lover the power to… go under
the radar. To not be perceived by Poseidon’s powers.”

Something clicked in Percy’s brain. “That’s why I couldn’t feel him, nor the army,” he
realised, “why I couldn’t feel anything until he died. It was because…”

Of you, he wanted to say, but staring into her deep, sorrowful eyes, he decided that it simply
wasn’t worth it.

She nodded, ashamed. “When I realised, I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him live, you
understand,” she went on, “you understand that even if you had ordered not to fight, I
 couldn’t risk to lose the war because I… because I had once been stupid.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, trying to get that expression out of her face, “I- I understand. I just don’t-”
he struggled, moving his hands around in the water, trying to ask the question that had been
in his mind since she had started explaining, “I don’t get why… why were you angry with me
later? Were you just… grieving?”

She shook her head. “I had nothing for him other than regret. But I felt like a hypocrite: I
held contempt for you once, for being my husband’s son- and yet I had done the same, if not
worse. Just without a child as proof of it.”

Percy nodded, taking his eyes off her to give himself the time to process her words, to get to
the heart of what she was saying: she had had a lover, and then she had killed him to save
him and the war. And even if she didn’t want to admit it, he had seen her standing over the
man’s lifeless body- and there had been pain too, together with regret.

Amphitrite was looking at him when he raised his eyes again, clearly expecting an answer,
expecting anger and maybe even rancour.

“I don’t care how many lovers you’ve had, honestly,” Percy sighed, shrugging, “and I’ve
been in too much pain in the last month, to care that you killed the man when I had asked not
to fight. But the silence, the indifference… that hurt.”

“I know,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He nodded again, not really knowing what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to
say now that he knew one of her deepest held secrets: had she had friends, in whom to
confide? Had she shouldered all of it alone, expecting a punishment that had never come?

“I’ll forgive you, as I said. I’m not angry, nor upset. I’m just…empty, at the moment,” he
answered, even if it was the furthest thing from the truth because he was so full, so full of
feelings and emotions and anger and grief that he felt like he was going to explode at any
moment.

If she knew, she didn’t comment on it.

He went back into his rooms then, slowly, and when he reached his bed he spent the night
staring at his hands, at the finger where his signet ring had rested until he had given it to
Myrto: he wasn’t Poseidon, and she wasn’t a goddess, but he couldn’t avoid thinking what
would become of their relationship too, had they thousands of years to spend together.

He tried to picture himself with another then, just to find out that he couldn’t.

Chapter End Notes

A day later but it's here! What did yout hink, were you expecting any of it?
You know, I truly can't believe we're entering the arch that will bring us to Atlanris
again: it seems so long ago, and like it was yesterday at the same time, that I started this
fic!

As always, thank you to all who give kudos and comment... you're all the reason I find
the will to keep writing <3
 Year II, November III, December I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The days before their departure passed quickly, without any great change. The Viscount had
offered them- but especially Amphitrite- some of his men to add to the Irish army, soldiers
she had gracefully refused.

“Your city will need protection since some of Bythus’ men might have seen us come here,''
she had replied, knowing perfectly well that the battle against the three duchies had left no
survivor capable of travelling such a long distance without proper rest.

Had it been someone else, maybe Percy would have even felt guilty at the way the Viscount’s
face had paled at her words, at the way he had scrambled for an acceptable reply, clearly
panicked, while the goddess stared hard at him, unapologetic.

But since he was a monster of a man, he only felt like it wasn’t enough.

“I’m gonna give him hell for you,” the Count promised, when Percy finally convinced the
helears to be let in, “I was told it’s probably going to take months before I’ll be able to feel
comfortable with…”

He gestured at the space where his tail was supposed to be, an empty spot covered by sheets
and blankets.

“Did they say how long it would take for them to build a new one?”

He shook his head, almost smiling. “Lady Amphitrite spent the time you were unconscious
writing to the best manufacturers in the seven seas, trying to find one not only willing to risk
the journey in this time of war- but also loyal enough to be trusted with our position. It was
quite a difficult task.”

Percy nodded, guilt rising up in his chest, strangling his stomach in a hold stronger than the
one he had had on Ceto.

“None of that,” the man reprimanded, forcing Percy to look at him, “not only was this battle
my own idea, but I also was perfectly aware of my curse and my risks. Don’t cover up my
choice with your unnecessary guilt.”

Percy chuckled. “I didn’t know losing limbs turned people into poets,” he said, coming to
land his hand on his shoulder, “should I give it a try?”

The Count smiled, gently squeezing Percy’s forearm. “You’re already a king, a fighter, a
politician,” he answered, “leave something for us, poor bastards. No, even poetry he wants to
take. Unbelievable.”
He shook his head, his heart hurting in sympathy for the brave face the Count was putting on,
for the way in which he was trying to let him depart in serenity, without having to worry
about him too. But Percy, grown on bread and empathy, could see the lines of pain on his
expression, the slight tremor of his hands.

The clear, untrained fear of no longer being able to depend on his own body.

“This is not the end,” Percy went on, letting his hand fall down, “not for me, nor for you.
We’ll dance in the halls of Atlantis, one day, between the corals and the shimmering lights,
surrounded by gardens better than the ones in Irminger.”

“When the war ends,” the Count promised, his expression serious, “when the war ends, we
will still be standing. Or, in my case,” he smiled, “I will already be standing.”

December approached him in the dark, hidden by a cold road and gelid hands, concealed by
the bitter currents of the open sea.

The men struggled, their swimming slower and unsynchronized, their hunger greater and
insatiable. Percy tried to warm the waters as much as he could, but there was a limit to how
much he could change its temperature without destroying the frial ecosystems that had
thrived on winters for millennia.

“I’d go to Olympus just to be out of this bloody cold for a while,” Percy admitted to
Amphitrite one evening, slowly making sure his feet hadn’t turned blue, “Dionysus even
asked me to go. I’m not sure how much it was an invitation, and how much of an order.”

She took her lower lip between her teeth, an anxious gesture she hadn’t had before meeting
him, and shook her head. “If you go there, you need to remember you’re not going as Percy-
the demigod, the hero, the pawn- you’re going there as the entire Sea. As the ruler of two
thirds of the world.”

“They can order you to do nothing,” she continued, “they can oblige you to sign nothing- and
you must be aware of that, and never cede. You give in once, and you’ll never gain
Poseidon’s prestige again. You’d need to be him, up there.”

“It’d be weird,” Percy admitted, “do you think some of them would actually do that? Treat
me as an equal?” he specified, at her confused glance.

“Not as they treated him, surely. Especially not at your first meeting. You’ll be overwhelmed,
Perseus: twelve gods, screaming and out of control- you’ll need to be very careful about not
seeing their true form. You know it could kill you.”

“It kills mortals,” Percy corrected, “no one is really sure of what I am, at the moment.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “another reason why I don’t think you should go. They’re gonna try to
find out, maybe they’ll experiment. Do you truly wish for that to happen?”
Percy swallowed, thinking. “I don’t want to hide here forever either,” he answered, “never
knowing, always wondering.”

“Not forever,” Amphitrite amended, “just until after the war. Percy it’s dangerous: if you go
and something happens, if you get hurt or they just lock you up there for tests…we’ll lose the
battle, and so Atlantis forever. There are two gods here, which we need you for. Leave the
others to their matters.”

He brought his shoulders together, unconsciously coming to protect his middle, and the
goddess took that as a sign to go on. “They’ll say nothing worth the risk, decide nothing that
can’t wait for this war to have ended. Since when, then, do you care about this kind of thing?
You treat the war councils as your personal hell.”

Percy shrugged, playing with his hands. “I miss it,” he mumbled, “the world. The trees. The
colours. And also…” he chuckled, gesturing at his body, at his human legs and his human
lungs, “also people that look like me. Who are like me.”

“I look like you,” she tried, but Percy just shook his head. Amphitrite was a goddess and
Percy, for how much humanity he had already torn from himself, very simply wasn’t. And
there would be demigods at the Council- like there were every year, even if just for a part of
it.

“You wouldn’t be able to stay with them, you know,” she spoke softly, “nor favour them
excessively. Gods are hardly allowed to do so for their children or protégés: random
demigods, there is just no way.”

“But I’d see them.”

“Yes, just to be marked as changed, as cold and unfriendly.”

He shook his head again, coming to sit straighter. “How can you always have an excuse?
First it’s too dangerous, then it’s not the right time, then suddenly you’re worried about what
others would think of me. You just- it doesn’t work, this thing where you don’t want me to go
and try to make it seem my own decision. It doesn’t work anymore.”

The goddess sighed, mirroring his position. “I can’t stop you from going, if that is what you
wish. But… I went to the first one, to explain the situation, and I regret it with every breath.
It was a risk I should not have taken, and I would like you to not make my same error.”

Percy remained silent, raising his eyes up to hers.

“You’ve seen how quickly things can go south, in war and in battle,” she continued, slowing
down, voice deeper, “how would you feel, was disaster to strike while you were busy in
useless chatter, up on Olympus?”

He swallowed, pressing his lips together. “As you did, I imagine, when you rushed back to
see me half-dead and your house in the hands of the enemy. I know that- that it was bad. But
the situation is not the same now.”
“It is,” she pressed, and he disagreed.

“No, it isn’t at all. We can afford to lose one day of travel and by staying here there’ll be no
danger. There is no need to just compare everything to that afternoon.”

“There is, instead!” Amphitrite almost shouted, rising up and coming closer to him, inches
away from his body. “There are all the fucking reasons, because that afternoon is the reason
that we’re all here, that we’ve spent the previous year sleeping in cold tents and at the mercy
of our allies, begging for food and money.”

Percy tried to interrupt, but she didn’t let him. “And it was not your fault, and it was not mine
either, but it was the result of all our actions and non-actions that brought to it. And I don’t
care if you think I’m being repetitive,” she concluded, visibly restraining herself back to her
chair, “because all we do now, all we have now- your wife included- is the outcome of that,
of the worst afternoon of my life. Everything is about that. There is not a single thing that
doesn’t go back to that.”

He was silent for a long time, his mind a messy pool of confused thoughts. It would have
overwhelmed him once, but now it almost felt like he would be able to organise them, were
he to truly try. And his emotions, often undefinable, tasted like fear, more than anger- fear of
losing the war, his mortality, his tie to the outside world- and that fear was growing into
selfishness, perhaps, into thinking everything to be about him.

“We had promised no more secrets,” he answered then, voice calm, “so tell me, is this truly
it? Is this the real, full reason you wish to skip the Council until the end of the war?”

“The points I had made beforehand still stand,” she clarified, “it is dangerous, and there is a
chance that they would want to test your mortality. I have never lied, but I’m not even
omitting anything now. That is it.”

“Alright,” Percy nodded, rising up, way too calm, maybe, for the situation: but for all his
good resolutions, for all his words, he hadn't managed to truly forgive the goddess still, for
that indifference that had cut so deep into his self-worth, and he was unable to fully hide it.

“I’ll think about it, then,” he finished, leaving the room: the cold had never felt so inviting.

Flustra was kneeling on the marble floor, his hands tied behind his back.

“You were his manservant,” a man spoke in the darkness, “you had his trust. Tell me, boy-
where is the usurper of my rightful title?”

Percy's blood seemed to thicken in his veins, turning him into unmovable stone. Bythus. That
was-

“I haven’t heard from him,” the merman cried, his voice deeper than Percy remembered,
“not since he ran away. I swear it,” he cried, “I’ve been loyal, loyal only to you, my King,
my-”
“Liar!” the Duke screamed, and the boy tried to flinch away, trembling in fear.

“Lady Eurybia saw it in you,” he went on, his voice magnetic, “the doubt. The uncertainty.
You thought things were better with him here.”

“I didn’t,” he denied immediately, and Percy couldn’t avoid feeling the sting of hurt in his
heart, “he was a murderer and a… an imposter. You are the rightful King. You only.”

Percy wondered, as Bythus was doing, whether or not the merman’s words were truthful. If
they weren’t, if he had conspired against him from the start… no one could deny he had been
a pretty good actor.

But Bythus was’t convinced and he moved forward, grabbing a handful of Flustra’s hair in
his fist, pulling until his knees no longer touched the ground.

“Are you accusing,” he started, saying every word very, very slowly, “are you accusing our
patron goddess, Lady Eurybia, of lying?”

Flustra swallowed visibly, his eyes panicked while he screamed in denial, and Percy tried to
get him out of the Duke’s grasp- but his dream didn’t allow him to get close enough to touch
any of them.

“Stop!” he tried to scream when guards came to beat the boy, who was screaming and
screaming and screaming in front of the self-satisfied face of the Duke, busy wiping out the
red, disturbing blood that had dirtied his hands.

“Stop!” he yelled again, launching himself forward: but he couldn’t, he was never going to
be able to- it’s impossible to grasp a dream that has already started fading.

His hands touched a soft ground then, his knees coming to land soon after. He was still under
the sea, in a vast field, one he had never seen before, with soft sand all around him. It felt like
summer- the light passed through the waters, colouring the fishes and the corals, while the
currents were soaked deep in peace.

All seemed fine, even if he was still deeply upset, until Percy tried to swim forward- then, then
there was a man, laying on the ground, a hand over his stomach and the same red, disturbing
blood coming out and-

Percy ran to him, and this time his hands could touch the man, move his hold and assess the
wound: deadly, he realised with anguish, even if the water seemed to be… trying to heal it. It
was too deep, it would fail- but he could recognize the signs.

“You…” the man grumbled, and when Percy’s eyes shot to his, he realised they were of the
same colour of the sea around them- green, bright. Scared.

“Who-” Percy tried to ask, but he was given no time: all around him, the world burst alight
like a star at the end of its life, an intensity of light and power so great that he felt like he’d
never been able to see anything else.
It didn’t feel scary, though. It felt peaceful. Calming, inevitable- and also familiar. But where,
Percy wondered, while his dream faded once again, where could he have possibly ever seen
anything of the sort?

He didn’t sleep again, that night, torturing himself up with the images that his awakening
hadn’t sweetened. He saw Flustra, begging for mercy every time he closed his eyes- and
when he had tried to wash his face to calm down, in his own reflection had seen nothing but
the dying man.

The dying man that the sea was trying to save. A trick of the light, Percy was trying to
convince himself, he was upset, full of adrenaline- he must just have thought to see
something that was never there.

It could have been, and yet the immense vastness of possibilities plagued him like few other
things had ever done: because he remembered, he remembered that there had been just
another person Percy had managed to touch in his dreams.

And that had been himself.

Fortunately, the amount of planning necessary to organise the next steps of the war kept
Percy busy and exhausted, forbidding his brain from ideating crazy theories and from sending
him in a state of full paranoia.

Generals came and went, soldiers needed to be kept entertained and fed- and he of course,
needed to keep training: especially since Amphitrite had taken it upon herself to continue his
learning of trident-based fighting techniques.

So time passed quickly, and iff before it had seemed likely to be able to reach Atlantis in time
for winter, Percy’s month of convalescence had shifted the whole balance forward, turning
February into the most plausible candidate for the start of the siege.

Not totally a bad development, especially after the news a sleepy, exhausted messenger had
brought him into the middle of the night: Myrto and Cadmus had succeeded in their mission,
and together with the forces of Camp Fish-Blood, they were marching towards them at full
speed.

Thank you for the opportunity, Myrto had scribbled lightly at the end of the missive, just for
him, and Percy could do nothing but look forward to seeing her again, to listen to the tale of
how she had succeeded in what many had deemed out of her abilities.

He had trusted her, he had been convinced she could make it- but the confirmation, the
assurance still filled him with relief. One thing is thinking, an old teacher of his used to scold
him when he was unsure, and one thing is knowing.
 And now, what remained still unknown was the sort of their allies in the Mediterranean, in
that battle that had almost supposed to be easy but that had been keeping most of his army
trapped for months, without contact with anyone else.

Would the men still be willing to fight, after such a long stay? Would Phaidros and Dolphin,
both excellent generals, still agree that a siege was their best option at re-taking Atlantis?
They could not hope to succeed in it without them, that was certain, not even with the
ichthyocentaurs Myrto was leading to him.

But he knew there was nothing to do about it if not wait- so while the iciness and the
inclemency of the currents reached their peak, Percy would keep warming up his bones at the
soothing flames of hope.

Chapter End Notes

Here it is, last chapter of 2021!

I hope you enjoyed and that this chapter managed to give you some questions... and
maybe some answers too. If you have theories, know that I'll love to read all of them!

On a different note, I'll have a terrible exam in two weeks time, so next update will not
be on the eight of January, but some days after that, if not a week. I'll try- but
unfortunately life gets in the way sometimes.

Happy holidays again and have a lovely start of 2022!

 Year II, December II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

There were no celebrations for the Haloea that year, no offers of mercy or forgiveness:
instead, Percy spent the day tracing his scar with trembling fingers, pressing over the small
symbols the throne had given him so long ago.
The sixteen duchies- all rounded up and together. He wondered if they’d ever be sixteen
again, when the war would end: if they won, those who had supported Bythus could not keep
ruling. Could not even keep being alive, in Amphitrite’s opinion.

The Council started and ended. Percy stared at the light reflecting on the surface, and
imagined how it would be to live up there again, without the screams of war in his ears,
without the fear that permeated the waters, belonging to folk and fishes alike.

Atlantis was so close, so close now that he almost didn’t want to reach it anymore, anxious
and aware that, this time, there was not going to be a second chance: they had won many
battles, and yet this would be the only one that counted.

“You should try to sleep tonight,” the goddess advised while they were being served their
meagre dinner, “it won’t be an easy day tomorrow. Your mind will be able to handle it better,
if you are rested.”

Percy sighed, trying to get more food out of his plate. “How many will be dying?” he asked,
still hungry, always so very hungry, “there must be something we can do to help.”

“There is, and we’ve been doing it since it became a problem. But mortals… they keep
adding to it, and between the wars of the last years, we’ve had to abandon the project. It was
too risky to be so out in the open, and it brought no results.”

“Couldn’t father just… zap it away?”

She shook her head, her eyes sad. “Gods do not interfere in the world’s affairs on such a great
scale, not anymore. We used to, when we were worshipped and revered, when all the world
was ours and new- but there are laws now, and they protect mortals and gods alike.”

“From?” he asked, unsurprised.

"Extinction. Oblivion, better, loss of a governable consciousness. Gods don’t really die you
know, but they can fade away. If they put all of themselves in something, in something that
never ends and is never solved… it’ll eat away their divinity.”

“But maybe it could be solved. I know that mortals are working on it and…”

“It’s expanding, Perseus. The Garbage Patch gets bigger and bigger every day that passes,
killing hundreds of thousands of our suddits every year, and it’s not a quick death. The poison
passes through them slowly, making itself known only when it’s too late. Only when the
parents have already fed it to their children.”

He closed his eyes, trying to see his own heart breaking. If he focused, if he sent his
consciousness a little further, he could already sense the anguish, the grief, an hunger greater
than his own.

People were given a thing so beautiful, so full of life and colours and shapes. And now, what
remained was just a grey, sickly mass of floating filth, toxic and deadly- for the fishes who
lived there and just as much for the soldiers he’d have to guide around it.

“They’re gonna scream, in your mind,” Amphitrite went on, her voice gentle, “I know that
you will believe it’s your responsibility, but you can’t help if you let them take all of you.
And the more we stay there…”

“The more our army will be at risk,” he concluded, nodding. “I’ll purify the waters as much
as I can, while we’re passing through. And the rest of it… the fishes will need another place
to live. I can give them that, once the sea is mine again.”

“I will help you with this,” she agreed, “I’ll show you how we used to do it, a few decades
back. It was smaller then but… well, we didn’t have you.”

Percy snorted, thankful still that she was trying to lift his mood a little. “I’ll tell dad you said
that,” he joked, just before remembering that maybe he’d never get the chance to. That
maybe he would never speak to his father again, if not in his memories.

She was graceful enough not to point it out, just staring in the distance with her eyes focused
inwards, towards some small, joyful moment she was experiencing again in her mind.

He wondered what Annabeth was doing then, suddenly, the thought coming to him like a
well-trained muscle memory: he used to think and worry about her constantly, right until he
didn’t anymore, and still he wasn’t sure of when the change had actually occurred.

It hadn’t been Atlantis, probably. It had been them, growing up in different directions, two
branches of the same tree that had ended up facing different skies- and he hoped, for how
clouded and grey his had been, that at least Annabeth had managed to experience a bit of sun.
A bit of joy, some chirping bird.

“It’s a gyre, isn’t it,” Percy broke the silence again, tearing the goddess away from her
thoughts, “the rubbish is all concentrated there because of the rotating currents.”

She nodded. “That’s what makes it dangerous. Once the flow of the currents takes you in…
it’s difficult to set yourself free. Even the ones who should know better perish to it, out of
naivete and greed alike.”

“Greed?”

“It’s easy to find forbidden items, or valuable mortal artefacts. The sea is vast, Perseus, and it
has trillions of inhabitants- crime will always be present, no matter how many laws are put in
place. And the black market thrives in war, as it always has done.”

“I remember studying something about it, in the Palace. But I always thought… well I don't
know. Maybe that mortals had been the only ones to behave as such.”

“And yet, there is not so much difference. They’re not humans, you know, but they’re always
people. And people… they’re all good and all bad, and all complicated. I’ve ruled them for
millennia, and it’s still difficult.”

Percy chuckled, resigned, raising his empty glass. “To me, an illuse who believed it’d get
easier,” he cheered, while the goddess shook her head with a half smile, her eyes fond.

“That wasn’t your first question, though,” she reminded him, and he sobered up at once.

“No,” he agreed, “I was wondering whether or not there was any chance that Phaidros’ letters
had been lost in the Patch, while on the route to reach us. It’s not the standard path for mail,
of course, but he might have tried to circumvent Bythus’ control.”

“It could be,” she nodded, “even it would have been an awful idea. As I said, it’s a high-
crime zone. Any letter, any sensitive information… if sent there, has an enormous probability
of reaching who would pay most for it- Bythus, in this case.”

“But doesn’t it seem weird to you? That in so many months, our only information is an
unsigned letter, in unrecognisable handwriting?”

She was silent for a while, and Percy started piling up their dishes, the night currents coming
to make the waters even more gelid than they had been during the short day hours.

“I have known Dolphin for many centuries,” she started, slowly, “I think there is a reason
why they’re not trying harder to contact us. And it’s probably to keep us safe, and
unconcerned- him and Phaidros are experienced generals. They might believe it is the best
thing for the war.”

“I don’t think we’re much safe anyway,” Percy commented, thinking back on the variety of
monsters and nobles that had tried to kill him, “what could ever put us in a greater danger
than just being us?”

“I don’t know, Percy. I just hope that even if we’re not receiving their letters, that they are at
least getting ours. They’re coded of course, but hold our position. Once we’ve passed the
Patch, they might be already waiting for us.”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the energy of the circular currents, trying and failing to pass
over them. “I can’t feel behind it,” he admitted with regret, “there is too much pollution. My
powers are weakened.”

“Tomorrow will be worse,” she announced, getting up with an energy Percy could only
dream of, “sleep, now that you can. I will rest as well.”

He nodded, and then she was gone.

.

Once the soldiers had been rounded up and briefed, once the threats and the dangers had been
explained, the march began- with trembling tails and weapons held way too tightly than they
should have been.

They weren’t going to be able to swim for long if they kept it up, but Percy chose not to
comment on it: they weren’t going to travel too far away that day and also… he could
understand that they were scared, especially after his and the goddess’ speech in the morning.

It hadn’t meant to place an unsormontable terror in them- but they needed to survive, and the
more terrified they were of the Patch, the more careful they’d be around it: there is nothing
more dangerous than confidence in regards to a deadly situation, after all- if not, maybe,
hesitation.

A paradox, at first glance, on which leading is based: be too scary, and the soldiers will rebel.
Be too soft, and the soldiers will rebel. Be perfect, and maybe you’ll have a chance.

They swam far from the ground, trying to diminish the pressure of the water as much as they
could, while still remaining low enough to be able to pass under the garbage and not right in
the middle of it, where they would be lost forever.

“This reminds me of the caves,” Percy commented, “when we passed from- the void. Me and
Cadmus never told the soldiers what it was, and the ones who fell… I hope they died
quickly.”

“You both did what you could,” Amphitrite answered, “I hope less soldiers are going to
perish now. But if they do, it’s not going to be your fault, you must realise. They have been
told the dangers, and they know they’re at war.”

“But as their leader, their protection is my priority. If I fail at-”

“No,” the goddess interrupted, her tone harsh. “Atlantis is your priority. The protection of the
Kingdom is your priority. Their protection is a bonus. A responsibility you give yourself, an
honour to the old laws. But you would not be blamed.”

Percy shook his head, swimming forward. “It’s a duty that I choose to uphold, day after day. I
will not change my mind about this- but yes,” he bitterly added, “if it reassures you, I can
confirm that I’d put Atlantis’ future before their lives, and before mine.”

“Atlantis has no future without your life,” she corrected, “which is why you are my priority. I
have failed in this already, and I will not do so again.”

He sighed, his mind starting to fill with the uncomfortable feelings of distress, of misery and
agony that came from all the sea around him, ambushed between dirt and death, unable to
escape from the cruel traps mortal hands had built and then carelessly thrown away.

“We’re close,” he murmured, and Amphitrite swore under her breath, signalling to the
generals to keep a closer eye on the soldiers, to make sure the lines were never broken, not
for any reason.

“Don’t lose yourself in it. The sea suffers, but you can help. Look at me, hey,” she added,
forcing his eyes up, “look at me. Take what there is of the divine in you, all that is pure and
light, and sweep it around you. Visualise a current, a stream, whatever you think could work,
imagine it’s taking away all the dirt, imagine it’s cleansing the waters.”

“Look at how I do it,” she went on, and her body started glowing slightly, while the ocean
around her frizzled and breathed quietly, the grey turning blue, the rubbish decomposing,
piece for piece, so very slowly.

She had been right, he had to admit while he tried, and tried and tried, all their power
combined would never be able to solve the problem, not without causing even more
irremediable destruction: there was just too much of it.

He thought of fumes coming out of his body, burning and cleansing like the incense they
sometimes used in rituals, like the libations they poured during sacrifices. Heal, he
commanded the waters, and he could feel them tremble around him, finding a hard-set
resistance just when the screams started.

“You have purified some of the water,” the goddess complimented, “that’s a good start. Have
you tried destroying some of the plastic too?”

“Yes, but it’s not… it’s not letting me. It’s like the garbage just refuses to obey my power. Sea
things had never done that, before”

“The hands who made these objects belong to ones who do not believe in us,” she explained,
“and so our powers are weaker, but not useless. They’ll bend to your will, Percy, as soon as
you figure out how to convince them.”

He nodded, focusing harder. “The soldiers?” he asked then, when the noise in his ears
became louder, “I hear screams. Are they fine?”

“You’re looking too far already,” she reprimanded, “come back here, take your mind back to
your body. The Patch is still a few hours away- you can’t start to feel their pain now.”

“But I do, Amphitrite,” he admitted in a small voice, “I do and it’s- it’s enormous, and, and
it’s greater than I can handle.”

“Come back here,” she repeated, coming to take his arm in hers, slowly caressing his
armoured back, “come on, Percy. One thing at the time, mh? You’ll just hurt yourself by
trying to take it all without preparation.”

He breathed out, the repetitive touch helping his mind to settle, to ground his body right
where he was, still away from the wretchedness he’d have to pass through.

“I’m here,” he murmured, feeling close to crying, “gods, I am here. Is there- is there not
another way? I don’t-”

I don’t want to pass from there.

Amphitrite’s eyes were full of understanding. “You are greater than the pain is, my child.
This grief is not yours- leave it to the sea. It is vast, and ancient- let it take all that you don’t
want to carry. Let it cleanse you too.”

“And if I can’t?”

“That is not an option. You must, and there is no way around it.”

He breathed out, trying to separate his own emotions from the ones of the beings around him,
trying to push away everything that wasn’t strictly his. The goddess’ words had been
reassuring, even if harsh: if he didn’t have another option, if the only thing he could do was
prevail upon the pain, then he could not fail.

Then he literally couldn’t fail.

He forced himself to visualise the inside of his mind, while Amphitrite dragged him forward
and purified the waters, expecting to see a confused mess of feelings: it was, instead, a little
like coming home.

He couldn’t really see anything, he didn’t have those kind of powers, but Dionysus hadn’t
been lying when he had said that he had put order in it: everything felt like it was in the right
place, categorised and precise- and all that was messy and running around, very simply
wasn’t his, and so easy to distinguish.

Taking the goddess’ advice, he thought of a current, a gentle flow that passed from the halls
of his conscious mind, firmly but without violence- taking with itself all that needed to leave,
all that had to be left behind, in the same way the Styx gathered the lost hopes and dreams of
the dead.

He felt powerful, then, he felt in control of himself as he hadn’t in ages, and sent the fumes of
his divinity outwards with a new, stronger conviction: the plastic frizzled and seethed, turning
itself into innocuous dust.

Amphitrite laughed, delighted then, sounding younger than he’d heard her in ages, and when
he turned towards her, her eyes were still dark, but specks of gold reflected the tenuous light
that had been able to reach them, and her smile went all the way up, up to the lines on her
forehead.

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed, and tried to think of a way to just keep her this happy
forever. Because fuck the war, fuck Bythus and politics and gods- he wanted this happiness in
his life, for them and for Myrto.

His children would deserve that.

His-

“Sir, one of the soldiers has collapsed!” someone shouted from behind him, and he turned
around with alarm, Amphitrites’ laughter cutting itself off faster than it had come.
“Careful,” she murmured, and then let go of his arm, keeping up her work and letting him
reach the lines of soldiers, there where a merman was being held up by two women next to
him.

“Was he in pain?” Percy asked, calling for the medic, and the women shook their heads. “He
seemed fine, didn’t say anything weird,” the tallest one answered, “and then he just… fell.”

The march stopped, even if it was way too soon for a pause, and the healer came to press two
fingers to his neck, and pronounce him dead.

“How?” Percy asked, shocked, but even the merman wasn’t sure about what could have been
the cause.

“He doesn’t have any signs of exhaustion,” he started, “nor is he excessively thin, or
malnourished. I have here his file,” he went on, taking out a binder from his giant bag of
supplies, “and there is nothing about a pre-existing health condition: he was born near the
Alboran Sea, but his family moved to Ireland during his childhood. All the physical exams
were perfect.”

“What about the food?” he asked his companions, “did he eat something he found, in hunger?
Something different from you?”

“Not that I know of, my Lord,” she answered, and he sighed.

“Well, we’ll… bury his body then, with the honours of a fallen soldier,” he instructed,
addressing the healer, “you’ll take care of it?” he asked, and the man nodded.

“Alright then,” he rose up, “I am terribly sorry for the loss of your friend. I shall write to his
family at once, to…”

He stopped, a terrible thought settling into his mind. “The Alboran Sea, you said?”

“Close to it,” he answered hesitantly, “ just on the other side of the Strait of Gibraltar,
towards the North Atlantic.”

Percy nodded, trying to keep his face neutral. “May I speak in private to you for a second?”
he asked, and they swam further away from the rest of the army.

Once they were out of hearing range, Percy started. “That place, it falls into the area of
influence of another Garbage Patch. The North Atlantic one. Do you think there might be a
correlation? Like, I don’t know, a dormant poison, a higher sensibility to this one?”

“Oh fuck,” the doctor commented, his eyes scanning between the pages, looking at names
and places and maps, “it could be. If he left when he was young… and his family, all killed
by a curable illness… maybe it left his body less capable of defending itself from the toxins.”

Percy closed his eyes a moment too long, all the previous omnipotence forgotten. “I’ll talk
with Lady Amphitrite about this, to see if she thinks it could be the cause,” he decided,
“choose some people to tend to the funeral rituals, and then come to me with a list of all the
soldiers who come from endangered areas. We’ll need better safety measures for them.”
 “Yes, Your Majesty,” the medic answered, slightly bowing, and Percy allowed himself a few
minutes of solitude, a few minutes of peace to regain his calmness, and then joined the
soldiers again, moving towards the goddess.

He had known some would die. But he had hoped to have at least a chance to save them: and,
instead, it appeared it would happen anyway, no matter how foolproof he made his plans, no
matter how immaculate his fighting was.

His men would die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Chapter End Notes

Hi there! I hope you enjoyed this chapter- spending two weeks without writing was both
a blessing and curse for my creativity, but I hope this still flows nicely with the rest of
the story.

Thank you for your patience, and for the loce you still give to this work of mine. It
would be nothing without all your lovely words.
 Year II, December III
Chapter Notes

Brace yourselves. Atlantis is near.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Currently, the soldiers coming from endangered areas are about three dozen,” the healer
started, speaking between him and Amphitrite, “half of them though, say they only spent a
few years there. I believe they’re afraid to be discharged.”

Percy chuckled, shaking his head. As if they could afford to lose men- as if they could afford
to send them away.

“We’re not discharging anybody. We just need to know so we can better protect them when
we reach the worst areas of the Patch.”

He blasted the remains of a fishing net, staring at the disintegrating plastic a moment too
long, while Amphitrite glowed and worked beside him.

“I’m not totally sure there could be a correlation between the two things,” she admitted, “but
better safe than sorry. We’ll give face covers to all of those men, and we’ll reorganise the
lines so that they’ll find themselves in the middle, closer to the soldiers than to the rubbish.”

Percy nodded, too focused on purifying the waters to add something more, and the healer
bowed, and went to pass the order to the generals.

“You’re using too much energy,” the goddess admonished, when he was gone, “this is
something you must do automatically, with the back of your mind.”

“The back of my mind is focused on happy thoughts at the moment,” he answered, slightly
annoyed, “so that maybe they’ll manage to wash away the screams of all the anguished fish
there are around us.”

She sighed, her light coming to cover him too, slowing his heartbeat, covering him in a
blanket of fleeting peace. “Remember that this is what you’re fighting for,” she murmured,
“so that all may experience this peace. So that this feeling might one day be permanent.”

He breathed out deeply, and swam forward up and down in the water, trying to send his
powers as far away as he could. He deserved peace- and so did all the creatures around him,
who had been suffering from decades before the war had even started.

And the higher he got, the more he could see the Patch, dark and ominous, like a hurricane in
the distance, like a stormy cloud that brought nothing but bad news. They were close enough
that the water was covered in filth now, and to swim they had to move the rubbish away,
making space for their bodies in between the plastic.

It was disgusting, and it tired Percy out much more than a normal journey would have, even
if he wasn’t that good at swimming for long periods of time yet- his technique had been
wrong, and it always takes longer to correct than to learn.

“It looks so close now,” the goddess stated, coming to reach him, “an hour at most and we’ll
be there.”

“I just wish it were already over,” he answered, not caring if he sounded like a whiny kid,
“it’s just so nasty, and reminds me of only the bad things about humanity.”

“Well, I never really thought there were so many things great about them,” Amphitrite said,
probably trying to comfort him, “so this is not really unexpected. Just disrespectful. Maybe
Zeus would be agreeable to a mass punishment, if you were to ask.”

Percy shook his head, swimming back down without answering. She meant well- he knew
she meant well, but it wasn’t what he had needed to hear at all: and it was in moments like
this that he realised just how… unprecedented his position was.

A human, in a sea of none.

“How are the soldiers doing?” he asked one of the generals, “Have there been other deaths?”

“No, my Lord,” she answered, “the measures suggested by Lady Amphitrite have all been put
in place, and we’ve had no issue yet. I understand we’re getting close to the worst part of the
Patch, if I may ask?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, “less than an hour away. Make sure everyone keeps their place, no
matter how strong the temptation is, no matter what they hear in their heads or…”

He thought of Bianca, of being thirteen and scared in the middle of a desert. There had been
so much rubbish then too, so many abandoned things, and she had died only because she had
loved her brother too much not to think of him, even in a dangerous situation.

“No matter what they hear or what they see,” he concluded, “whether it’s gold, or jewels or
something else they want: they mustn’t break the line. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, Your Majesty”

“Good. Inform me immediately if there are any changes: I will try to keep the worst as far
away from all of you as I can.”

And in theory, it was supposed to be easy: he just needed to send his divinity forward, he just
needed to blast the rubbish to pieces. In practice, however… the screams in his head were
becoming louder and louder, no matter how much he tried to distance himself from them, no
matter how rationally he handled them.
He could close his eyes, if he no longer wished to see. He could close his nose, if a particular
bad smell came by, or even partially cover his ears. But his mind? That was open, ripe for the
taking- none of his training sufficient in handling such a giant amount of input.

Was that how gods felt, when they received too many prayers? If it was, Percy could hardly
keep faulting them for not answering: in millennia, he’d find the way to block them out too,
to make himself numb enough that the yellings could not even register any longer.

But he still wondered, however, with that part of him that had longed for the fire’s embrace in
his father’s temple, if maybe he’d be able to do better, to be better- if maybe his judgement
had been too harsh, too rushed.

Not like it made any difference. A choice had been taken, and now all would pay its
consequences.

The goddess came to his side again then, still glowing, still emanating her divinity outwards,
just highlighting more and more how not-human she truly was, and Percy straightened his
shoulders, trying to clear his mind.

“I’ve seen the first bodies,” she announced, her expression guarded, “just try not to stop. I
know it’ll be difficult but… the less the soldiers see, the lesser the chance they’ll try to run.”

Percy nodded, feeling the currents get stronger and stronger around him, trying to push them
all inside of the gyre, trying to get them up, in between the garbage.

“Soldiers, time to show how strong your tails are!” he shouted, turning towards their scared
faces, “You know how gyres work: so stay close to each other and, whatever happens, do not
swim upwards towards the Patch. Understood?”

They yelled in agreement then, just worsening Percy’s already bad headache, and he became
blind for a second, his blood throbbing in his head, leaving no space for anything that wasn’t
pain.

“You good?” Amphitrite asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m tired of this constant suffering,” he complained, “it feels like I’ve spent the last two
years doing nothing but being injured, then recover just to be put in pain again.”

She took his upper arm in her hand, gently squeezing. “We’ll have a well-deserved rest, while
we siege Atlantis. It’ll take many moons for Bythus to attack: the city is basically self-
sufficient.”

Percy chuckled sadly, shaking his head. “My idea of rest is not the sieging of an impenetrable
city,” he answered, resigned, “but I guess I’ll take all that I can get. Let’s just hurry in getting
away from this bloody place, now, before it sends me mad.”

“At your orders,” Amphitrite gently mocked, and Percy pretended to be annoyed for an
instant, before giving up and smiling in fake exasperation.

.
The currents were strong, and dirty, and an awful smell permeated the waters all around
them, petrol-black and deadly.

Percy himself could barely see, since most of the light that usually came from the surface was
blocked by the garbage, and the shadows that his eyes created in a desperate attempt at vision
were maybe worse than anything he could have actually identified.

Had he still had Anaklusmos, maybe its glow would have been at least comforting, if not
useful: Amphitrite was closer to the soldiers than to him, purifying their surroundings with
her soft light, while his power was barely enough not to suffocate in the pollution.

Why had no one ever taken the problem seriously? He couldn’t avoid wondering, considering
the massive amount of damage it caused, the folks it killed: lesser problems in other parts of
the sea had been handled way sooner and with more efficiency, and yet this one…

He knew the answer though, just like any other kid in his neighbourhood had had to learn,
sooner than their college-educated peers: and it was just that the ones who lived there were
poor, had no affiliation to nobles and cities, were under no one’s protection if not the one they
built for themselves.

How could they be blamed then, for stealing from the Patch? How could it be held against
them, if the only cause of it was the failure of a monarchy that should have fostered them, as
it did with the rich?

Percy was not a parent, but he had been a hungry child. And between starvation and petty
crime he had always chosen the latter- as some of the folks had tried, from what he could
gather by the lifeless shapes around him.

Fishes, bigger creatures- mercentaurs, too, with their limited options for employment and
their tethering health, unresearched and ignored by the great academies of the kingdom.

“Are you alright?” the general he had spoken to before asked, adding a small my Lord, under
her breath.

“I hadn’t known it was this bad,” Percy answered, not turning towards her, “not like my
Council would have approved of any protective measure, when I was in Atlantis. Yet, maybe,
I could have… I don’t know. Done something.”

She was silent for a few minutes, maybe startled by his honesty. After the Count’s injury,
after his army had been split and split several times, Percy had stopped trying to be friendly,
had stopped talking to the soldiers about anything that wasn’t strictly war-related.

And he hated it, and he hated knowing that he was perceived only as a distant figure, a
commander to listen to, but not forcibly to come to know and respect. But for how much he
would have wanted something different, for how different his intentions had been when he
had started the journey… he was too tired now. Too tired to put himself out there, to try to
socialise, to navigate the complex political relationship between him and them.
“You still have all the time to do something about this,” she finally answered, “I think that…
I mean, I think that just the fact you’re willing to try, instead of sweeping the problem under
the rug… that must count for something.”

“Something, maybe. Not enough though, I believe,” he disagreed, this time looking at her
with kind, pained eyes, “but what is done is done. I can do nothing about it, if not swear to do
better next chance I’ll get, in Atlantis.”

“You were so young, Perseus,” the merwoman dared, “younger than the youngest of my sons.
I’m an old woman now- let me tell you to be gentle to yourself, like your own mother would.
Children are always good at licking their own wounds, when they feel no one would be
tender with them- and sometimes growing up is buying yourself bandages instead.”

Percy closed his eyes, thinking of Gabe. Thinking of what he had kept hidden from his
mother, thinking of how he avoided drunk people still.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the general, who smiled at him kindly. “Go now,” she added,
“you have a job to do, and we’ll all be fine here.”

“I’m usually the one to tell people to leave,” Percy laughed, lightening the mood, “but I’ll
make an exception, this time.”

And if his divinity shined brighter then, after their talk, it was no one business but his.

Before the sun could set then, at the end of an exhausting day, they finally reached the end of
the Patch’s worst area, finding themselves still in the middle of rubbish, but without the threat
of the violent, deadly currents that roamed above their heads.

They didn’t stop to make camp though, nor to rest. Three more boys had died in the midst of
it, in a repentine chain of action that had given no one time to intervene, and so some had
asked for there not to be a celebration.

“They had no burial,” he voiced, worried, “will they not rest?”

Amphitrite shook her head, the tired lines on her face moving with her. “Violent deaths have
other rules. Most of the deaths at sea do, or you would see hundreds of sailors plaguing the
waters.”

“But we had to bury the Viscount’s wife.”

She flinched, and an expression of disgust crossed her face. “She was murdered by her
husband. That’s… another different kind of death. This was an honourable one- they were
soldiers, and they died while serving their King. They’ll be alright, even in death.”

He nodded, feeling guilty for their fate, even if rationally he was perfectly aware that he
could have done nothing for them: he had been on the other end of the army, and he hadn’t
even heard their screams, too focused on filtering out the ones which came from the fishes
around him.
And yet.

With tired limbs then, he kept dragging himself forward, exhausted but unable to utter the
command that would bring everyone to a stop. The men had clearly not wished to sit with
their own thoughts, and against his better judgement he had obliged.

The ones in line next to the three that had been brought away especially, had seemed worse to
wear when Percy had gone to offer his condolences: they hadn’t looked at him, nor had they
seemed to wish for comfort.

Guilty, Percy would say they had looked, had it been any other occasion. Because now, the
idea that those three soldiers might have been pushed to their deaths, instead of it being an
accident- now it was unbearable.

Most had seemed actually saddened, most had been upset- but only the ones closer to him
had pressed for there not to be a celebration and Amphitrite had agreed at once, probably
thinking it’d meant that she’d get to sleep more than just a couple of hours.

Instead, he had already granted their request to keep marching in the night, to come to rest
somewhere with way less rubbish around, and the goddess’ hope had vanished.

They should have discussed it beforehand probably, before talking separately with the
soldiers. Oh well.

“Maybe they just look guilty because they were too scared to try to help them,” she
suggested, when Percy brought to her his doubts, “I know your faith in others has taken a big
hit with all this waste, but don’t let it make you paranoid. What reason could they possibly
have had to murder three of their companions?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “you’re probably right. It makes no sense. I just.. you should have seen
them.”

“They’re soldiers, Percy, weary and scared, probably remorseful about not having been able
to save their friends. And you haven’t exactly been friendly- they could have just feared your
reaction.”

“They didn’t even look at me,” he highlighted, and the goddess actually chuckled.

“You are their King. They’re not supposed to speak while staring straight into your eyes, as if
they’re your equals. And,” she added, “the fact that you’ve been doing so to every single god
you’ve met since the age of twelve, doesn’t mean everyone dares.”

“Alright,” Percy sighed, “I’ll probably be in need of additional etiquette lessons, will I ever
go to the Council. And I’ll… stop accusing people of murder when I’m tired.”

“Not a bad start,” the goddess concluded, swimming away to go check on the more distant
parts of the army, while he let his mind wander, not really thinking about anything that wasn’t
the heaviness he could feel in his limbs.
 Amphitrite’s rounds had usually always taken at least a couple of hours, but after not even
one she was back, settling at his side and shimmering brightly while he stared at her in
confusion.

“Can you feel it, Perseus?” she asked before even having stopped her mad race, a whole new
hope in her voice, “the water is getting cleaner, and it’s pulsing with energy. We’ve almost
reached Atlantis’ sphere of influence.”

He closed his eyes, and in the darkness around him he understood what Amphitrite meant. It
was like a singing, like a constant stream of notes, but not in his ears, nor in his mind: the
music seemed to throb in his bones, reverberating around his body and giving new strength to
his heart.

“Atlantis,” he repeated, feeling almost like in a dream, as if it couldn’t truly be real.

The goddess laughed, turning back towards the soldiers.

“Can you feel it in the waters?” she yelled, claiming their full attention, “Atlantis is near, and
soon we’ll be at its gates. Rejoyce, soldiers! Our journey is almost over, even if the battle
needs yet to start.”

“Atlantis!” the men screamed, beating on their shields, clapping, joking around with each
other, while the tension from the day’s events was washed away by the good news.

He caught the eyes of the general, and smiled, while the merwoman inclined her head in
acknowledgement before trying to bring the men back to order.

Amphitrite laughed again, almost carefree, and Percy joined her in it, feeling a sense of
purpose in him, one stronger than ever. It hadn’t all been useless: their journey was almost
over, they had almost made it and the ones who had died…hadn’t done so for a lost cause.

(the calm before the storm, the bards would call this night in their later works, singing of
their tales, the calm before the storm, for right in that moment they knew nothing but their
past.)

But out of the pollution, with powers made stronger by the capital, Percy could feel
something more than just Atlantis, could smell more than success in the water.

And before the sun could shine on them again, still in the embrace of the darkness, there
where the bards would lower their voices, and speak softly in the silence of the room, certain
of their listeners’ attention, Percy quietly spoke to Amphitrite.

“There is an army coming towards us,” he announced, “five times bigger than ours. And it
comes from the border.”

Chapter End Notes

Hello there, and thank you for reading!!

💛💛
As always, let me know your thoughts if you have the time, and see you in two weeks!
 Year III, January I
Chapter Notes

We move forward.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“You scared the hell out of me,” Percy sighed, landing gracelessly on one of the wooden
stools in their makeshift camp, his hands coming to hold his own face.

The men had been alerted and the lines reformed after the excitement brought by
Amphitrite’s announcement, and they had kept moving towards the border ready to fight,
trying to move an eventual battle in a more favourable spot.

All of this- just to see his own banners fly high from the first lines.

Dolphin laughed from where he was sitting next to the goddess, not a wound on his body. “I
thought you’d be happy to see us, Perseus,” he started, “not only have I brought hundreds of
men, but also seized control of this part of the border, so that you would find no resistance
from Bythus’ men on your arrival”

“I hope this one didn’t bring as many problems as Hallmer did,” the goddess asked, and the
general shook his head, his expression turning serious again.

“Is Queen Myrto here?”

“No,” Percy answered, “she and Cadmus went to Camp Fish-Blood to acquire their support:
they succeeded, and will probably manage to reach us in the siege in a month or so.”

“That’s why he wasn’t here, then,” Amphitrite sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“Who? What happened?”

Dolphin closed his eyes a moment too long, before looking at him with tenderness. “Duke
Phaidros has died, Percy. He was injured in battle, but he kept fighting instead of seeking
medical assistance, and in the end it was too late to save him. All our healers tried, we gave
him all we could- but it wasn’t his fate to see Atlantis.”

“Oh,” he commented, at a loss for words. “I just thought that he was… with the other dukes.
I’m sorry, Dolphin. It’s… he didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s war. No one is immune to its risks, not generals and not dukes, and the Mediterranean
soldiers were well-trained and in their own home. There was a goddess with them, then,” he
said turning towards Amphitrite, “we believe she’s the one who made Phaidros’ wound
unable to heal.”

“Eurybia,” Percy realised, “how did you defeat her?”

“Oh, we didn’t. The battle was violent, and bloody. The Duke kept her busy for long enough
to give all our men the time to slaughter their army: and when that was done, she abandoned
them and disappeared.”

“We’ll find her in Atlantis, no doubt. Phorcys will have returned to his full powers again
too.”

He answered something to the goddess, but Percy stopped listening: it was all a little too
overwhelming, too unexpected. He had swam in anxiety about handling a battle against an
enormous army while his own was tired and decimated, just to then have a full swing of
emotions when he had figured out they were allies.

And not only allies- but his greatest ones. Dolphin with the army from the Northern Duchy,
the men of the Black Sea who had switched sides in his favour, the Arabian Duke he had
spoken to in Atlantis and the Red Sea army in all of his glory.

All of his forces, minus the ichthyocentaurs. All the hands in which was placed the future of
the sea, together for the first time at the border with Atlantis, all strangers apart from a
handful of people.

And Phaidros- whom he had not loved, but whom had been fair to him, who had believed in
him when he had had nothing but dreams and unrooted plans, who had trusted him with his
daughter’s future- dead, murdered. Killed in a hopeless fight against a goddess.

Was the coded letter the last one he had ever written?

“We wanted to keep it a secret,” Dolphin was going on, “we were afraid that Eurybia would
come back, if she knew he had died, or that Bythus would come to know of it and strike in
the Northern Duchy.”

“So you didn’t write.”

He shook his head. “We received your letters, and decoded them. Me and the Dukes decided
to take no additional risks, and just meet you here at the border, where we knew you’d
eventually arrive. There are men of ours even in the two cities next to this one, for we
weren’t sure of where exactly you were.”

“We moved a bit from our planned route, yes,” Amphitrite justified, and Percy had spent
enough time with her to notice that she too, was uncertain. That she had also been taken by
surprise, that she didn’t really know what to do with all this new situation.

She had been so worried about Dolphin, he knew. He wondered if they had ever used their
matching rings again, during the months where no letters had come, during the nights where
she had felt lonely and misunderstood, when he had been injured.
When he had been kidnapped.

“Did you ever get revenge?” Percy asked, the man eyes snapping to his, “from your treatment
at the hands of the Black Duchy. They kidnapped you, beated you. I can give it justice.”

“You were really there, then,” he whispered, “I thought… I thought I had imagined it. But
you were, weren’t you? You told me to pray.”

“I did.”

His hand trembled slightly. “There is no need for revenge,” he stated, “they are on our side
now.”

“Dolphin…” Amphitrite started, but he shook his head, getting up. “I said no,” he repeated,
“I’ll go- I’ll go rest now, if you don’t mind. This is not a topic on which I desire to spend a
second more.”

He looked at Percy then, who lowered his head in permission, and hurried out of the room as
if he could no longer breathe in it, as if just the mention of his kidnapping had been too much.
And maybe it had- no one knew what had happened there, after all.

The fire crackled in the silence.

“What do you think?” he asked the goddess, tired, feeling as if he wasn’t as ecstatic as he
should have been, considering the good news.

“You’ve met Phaidros’ eldest son at your Coronation,” she started, speaking slowly, “what
did you think of him?”

“Nothing much, on that day. But compared to Phaidros… I fear he may lack his strength.”

She sighed. “What you fear, I know to be true. The army won’t listen to him, which is the
reason the Duke didn’t send him with us. His second-born, however…”

“You can’t be saying that,” Percy interrupted, surprised, “he should at least get a chance to
get out of his father’s shadow: Phaidros was excellent, but we’d manage even with someone
who’s just good.”

Amphitrite shook her head, her braids unmoving. “He’s not made for leading. He’s never
been, and especially not for doing so during a war. But I won’t press the matter now that
we’ve just lost his father. Just think about it.”

“Just think about it, as if it’s not murder.”

“It’s politics,” the goddess answered, “I have nothing personal against him, but it can’t be
denied that he’s unfit for the role.”

“I was also unfit for the role,” Percy pressed, “and yet I’m kinda managing. He’ll have us
around for help.”
“Oh, you weren’t unfit for it, Perseus,” she smiled, “you were untrained, and there is a
difference: for how much you weren’t a prince, you’ve still always been the son of a king.
Leading is in your blood- but it’s not in Phaidros’ son’s.”

“Where is he now?” he asked, changing the subject, knowing it’d be noticed- and Amphitrite,
true to her word, did not press.

“Here at least, I hope. We’ll see tomorrow, at the war council. It’ll be necessary to make an
excellent impression, Percy,” she reminded him, “we need to eradicate every single small
doubt they might have that this is not the side that’s going to win. We can’t afford betrayals,
not now.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his back,
above his shoulders, all around his throat and down, down, filling his stomach with tension
and anxiety.

He swallowed it down, and moved on. A new year had just begun, even if the celebrations
had been minimal, and it brought thousands of things to plan, between the training sessions
and the councils and the plans for the siege- which every day that passed, was theorised to
become longer and longer.

“We are a big army,” the Duke from the Red Sea broke the ice the following morning, “what
are your plans for the feeding of all?”

“You will address the King with the proper respect, your Grace,” Amphitrite intervened, her
tone severe, leaving no room for discussion.

The man bit his lip, and lowered his head in apology. “Your Majesty,” he started, his eyes
darting to the goddess for an approval she didn’t concede, “mh, I wanted to know how you
intended to keep the entire army fed during the siege. Atlantis will not yield quickly.”

“It won’t no, your Grace. However, our plan is not to just wait until they collapse- we are all
aware that with two gods present, that just might never happen. We are going to fight too, of
course.”

“Yes but about-” the man interrupted, and Percy glared at him so violently that his voice got
stuck in his throat, and his mouth snapped shut.

“In regards to how we’ll procure the necessary food,” he calmly went on, never moving away
his gaze, “we will proceed as in every other siege our armies have endured in the past
centuries. We have enough resources to start farms, and more will arrive from all our
territories, until we’ll be self-sufficient.”

“You say you intend to fight, but how can you be sure that it will be possible?”

The question had come from one of the Arabian generals, this time, and Amphitrite made
him add the correct title too, even if Percy didn’t really care for it. The Arabian Duke had
been an etiquette disaster when they had met: he hadn't had any hope that his trusted men
would be any better.
“The Southern Duchy has a big army, made bigger by its allies and the presence of two
divinities. Do you truly think, that with the promise of bloodshed and battle at their doors,
Bythus would manage to keep them inside?”

“Even if he tried to,” he continued, “a total lockdown of the city would not work for long.
You are all commanders here, you have all guided soldiers- how long do you think you would
manage to keep them still inside of a city, knowing possible glory awaits them outside?”

Most of them chuckled, shaking their heads. “Not long,” someone commented, and there was
a general consensus.

Percy wasn’t done, however. “But let’s consider this unlikely case, for the sake of
discussion,” he added, smiling with all of his teeth bared, “Atlantis has fortifications around
itself and protection all above, of course, but walls can fall and barriers can be disintegrated,
especially considering I will be at the front of the army.”

Dolphin nodded, his eyes fierce again after the previous bewilderment, “The son of the
Earthshaker,” he puntualized, making it clear for the less skilled in rethorics, “and still the
rightful King, by all the ancient laws.”

“Bythus might have built himself a new throne, might have slaughtered his opponents and
turned the survivors into members of his own cult- but the city will remember me. Atlantis
will remember Amphitrite, who has tended to it for millennia, from way longer than Bythus
was even a thought in his mother’s head.”

“It will still be challenging, and tiring,” the goddess went on, “even considering all of this,
we can't expect a quick victory, and that is something I want to give you no illusions about. It
won’t be quick, and it won’t be without loss- but it will be a victory. Because we’ll stop at
nothing else.”

“This is your chance at being heroes,” Percy concluded, noting with pleasure how the
atmosphere in the room had relaxed, how the staleness had turned into excitement, “this is
your chance at becoming immortals, like the generals of old. Who doesn’t remember the
courageous who fought in Troy, still, after so long?”

“Their names are uttered daily, around a world that changed everything but its adoration of
them, and this fight, this war- it’s your chance at being even better than them. Mortals have
fought many wars, after that one, and had fought many before too. But this? This is one of a
kind: never had Atlantis been taken away, and once we have succeeded, never will it happen
again.”

Percy looked around the room, stared at the flames reflecting on the dukes’ eyes, on their
shimmering armours and their precious gemstones, at the rich decoration of their blades. He
stared at them and he thought mine, mine, mine. His to protect, his to lead- his to command.

“Are we all in agreement then, to proceed with this plan?” the goddess asked, more for
formality than anything else, “Perfect,” she smiled when everyone raised their hands, “then
you can move to the table, to sign the contract in order of seniority.”
She swam towards him, lightly touching his arm in comfort, and he nodded gratefully. It had
gone well, or at least he had thought it so- but he’d only be slightly less anxious once all the
alliances had been signed black on white, made official and not just promised.

The Red Sea Duke went first, then the leader of the Black Sea army, then the Arabian Duke,
who smiled at him as if they were old friends, and then it was the turn of Phaidros’ first-born
son, whom Percy stared at like a hawk.

“I don’t see anything terribly wrong with him,” he murmured to the goddess, “and he’s my
brother in law, isn’t it? It wouldn’t look good.”

“That’s just because you still haven’t heard him talk,” she hastily answered, smiling to the
Duke in the meantime, “he doesn’t necessarily need to die. He could just abdicate.”

“I doubt he’s going to.”

“Surely not, after your little speech. Everyone will want a piece of that glory.”

“You said, ‘oh be perfect Percy’, I was just doing that.”

“Yes, but I didn’t-”

“That’s settled then, my Lords,” Dolphin interrupted, giving them a long look, and Percy felt
scolded as if a teacher had caught him chatting in class, and he smiled to the room, pointedly
not looking at the goddess.

“I won’t forget the help you have offered me and this Kingdom in our time of need,” he
concluded, “now that our alliance has been officialised, we will all celebrate as one. Go to
your men, and be merry tonight: we’ll be leaving in two days.”

“For the last march of this war, finally,” the Arabian Duke laughed, and many chuckled with
him, while the soldiers slowly emptied the room. “It seems like it’s been ages since the last
time we’ve met, Perseus,” the Duke addressed him, when most had left, “and yet, it’s just a
little more than a year.”

“It is indeed,” he answered, ignoring Amphitrite’s gesture to leave, “how is your son? I
remember him being quite the charming toddler, last year.”

“Growing stronger and stronger by the day!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining with pride, “I
would have wanted him with me, but it was deemed too dangerous, and I had to relent. But!”
he almost yelled again, coming close enough to touch him, and Percy felt his body
involuntarily stiff, his hand moving towards his dagger.

The ichthyocentaur placed a hand inside his jacket and Amphitrite moved towards him in a
rush, a crazed expression on her face: maybe she was ready to attack, maybe she would just
have put herself in the middle, but there was no need- the Duke took a letter out of his
pocket, wrinkled and old, and proudly waved it in front of Percy’s face.

He felt the goddess’ stance relax before his own, while he moved his hand away from where
his dagger was sheathed, taking the letter instead.
“What is it?” he asked, knowing that he would have had the upper hand in a fight, knowing
that he surely wouldn’t have been overpowered by a random Duke- knowing, with his reason,
and still panicking from the memories of what had happened.

“Look at it, look at it,” he smiled, unaware of all the turmoil he had caused, “my son is still
young, but his tutors have taught him how to write something already. Isn’t it magnificent?”

Percy opened up the paper, to see just two words written on it, which his brain translated at
once: in capital letters, with smudged ink, there valiantly stood a cheerful “Hi Dada”.

“Oh,” Amphitrite commented, while Percy was still trying to figure out why the Duke
thought he’d be interested in seeing it, “how…sweet.”

“Very sweet,” Percy nodded, his eyes darting towards the exit. “Oh it is, isn’t it?” the Duke
went on, “I was told that it took him only a handful of tries, and you know how these pens
are, they’re very difficult and he has small hands still, you know, and-”

The goddess started coughing, and Percy held up a hand to silence the Duke. “Oh I think it’s
the dust,” he announced, looking at the mirror-clean table, “happens to the best of us. There
is water in your rooms, yes?” he asked while she nodded, still fake coughing.

“Well, apologies, your Grace, but we must go. Oh yes, take your letter,” he added, handling it
back to him, “we’ll have time to chat again another time.”

“Of course,” the Duke answered, and they ran out of the tent as if it had just taken fire.

“Good performance,” he complimented the goddess when they were far away, and she just
glared at him.

“Why must you insist on humouring him,” she complained, shaking her head, “we have too
many things to do to waste our time in useless chatters.”

“Well it seemed rude to just leave him there,” he laughed, “also he signed the contract. We’re
all allies. It’s fine- it’s good even, that he likes me.”

She sighed. “Yes, that is good. But it’s not the time to lower your defences, mh? They won’t
be this happy once they’ll be tired of sitting in front of an impenetrable city.”

“We’ll manage, I’m sure, Myrto will be here soon and we’ll all be together. And we’ll find a
way.”

“We will, yes,” she repeated, “but I’m gonna have to have a talk with Dolphin, first. I fear
he’s not doing too well.”

“I won’t interrupt you, then. You’ve known him for longer- he’ll speak more freely with just
you in the room. You know where to find me, anyway, if there is a need for my presence.”

She nodded, and he swam lazily towards the training grounds, looking around for some
general skilled enough to instruct him: he’d master the trident, was it the last thing that he’d
ever do.
 .

That night, he was standing in the hall of Olympus, outside of the Council room. He granted
himself a second, then went to press his ear at the door, trying to hear something from the
other side- uselessly hoping, for a split second, to hear his father’s voice.

“-has not come even this Winter.”

“Are we sure he’s still alive?” a female voice roughly asked, sounding as if she didn’t really
care about the answer, “if they’re covering up his death-”

“The boy lives,” a man rumbled. “I don’t think his death is a problem we should concern
ourselves about, at the moment.”

There was silence for a while. “At the moment, or never?” someone else asked, surrounded
by murmurs, by the sound of crackling fire.

Percy pressed himself more roughly on the door, his heart racing, not truly knowing which
answer he was most expecting, nor if there’d be one at all.

But after what seemed hours though, there was one, clear and decided- and yet Fate still
wanted to keep him in the dark, for his dream faded away before he could remember it.

Chapter End Notes

Hello there! This chapter has been in the work for ages, so I hope you enjoyed it!
As always, thank you for reading and commenting, and see you in two weeks! <3
 Year III, January II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Percy had granted the generals and the dukes two days to prepare, and they passed as quickly
as they had come. If he had ever thought, before, that his own army had been messy and
chaotic… he had been wrong: for the noise, the problems, the occasional stupidity of so
many people put together, had greatly surpassed any of his previous experiences.

No one seemed to be able to make a decision without consulting him first any longer, all the
generals seemed to have lost the strategic abilities that had granted them their position in the
first place, and even the dukes wandered aimlessly between the tents, waiting for some sort
of divine sign.

“It’s just the nerves,” Amphitrite tried to reassure him, “once we’ll be there, it’ll get better.”

“I’m afraid it’ll get worse, actually,” he breathed out, exhausted after a long day of keeping
everything together, “too many of the commanders lack actual battle experience. Excitement
will only bring them as far.”

“They may not have lived it personally, but we come from years of war,” she answered,
“once the initial panic wears off, they’ll do fine. Had it been easy, after all, this wouldn’t have
been considered the Kingdom’s time of greatest need, and the curse would have kept silent
still.”

He sighed, nodding and coming to sit down on a small, washed-down armchair, a relic of
some sunken ship, “What about Dolphin? Did you manage to get him to open up a little?”

“He didn’t want to speak of himself. But he asked about you, and me. Of our… relationship.”

“Don’t make it sound weird,” Percy laughed, “did he think we’d jump at each other’s necks
as soon as he turned his back?”

“I think he overestimated our abilities to hold grudges,” the goddess smiled, “sometimes I
believe that even after so many centuries, he still hasn’t made up his mind on what to think of
me.”

“Did he seem any different to you?”

“Not really,” she shrugged, “of course the war hasn’t been easy on him in these past months,
but I’ve seen him in worse conditions. He’ll hold.”

They spoke a bit more after that, and then said their goodbyes. During the night, in the quiet
and in the dark of his tent, Percy played back in his mind the memories of his first meetings
with Dolphin, of when he had helped him acquire the trust of the army, of their journey to the
Northern Duchy.
There was something different in him now: he was sure of it, and yet he couldn’t pinpoint
exactly why the change had occurred. They had been apart for long, that was certain, and for
how much he wanted to trust him… he couldn’t avoid thinking that there was something he
was being hidden.

There was no great speech that morning, nor need for one: soldiers spoke in hushed tones
with each other, and the currents themselves seemed made of electricity while they prepared
to leave the safe harbour of the city.

They’d be in enemy territory, after crossing its doors. They’d be in enemy territory and at
home too, at the same time, and Percy shared the enthusiasm of the people as much as he
shared their fears: he couldn’t decide, while he mounted the hippocampus the Red Sea army
had brought, whether he was dreading more not seeing the place changed at all, or changed
completely.

“Most of the villages will be empty,” the Black Sea commander came to say to him, “when
we were allied with Bythus, we got reports of all those who refused to join his side. Most of
these people were executed for their beliefs.”

“Their sacrifice won’t be forgotten, once the war is won,” Percy answered, feeling the
familiar pang of guilt on his chest, “it is thanks to all those who refused to bend their will to
him, that we now have a chance at winning.”

At Dolphin’s command the horns were played and the city gates opened, with Percy and most
of the dukes in the first lines, while the generals were going to be dispersed between the
soldiers, to push them to swim faster and to stop the eventual deserters.

“Will you burn the temples?” the commander asked after the pace had been set, and Percy
could feel the goddess’ attention snap towards them.

She didn’t trust their change of sides, that he knew, and he held the reins tight in his left hand,
showing her that he wasn’t lowering his guard.

“Probably, if we get the chance to,” he answered calmly, “if we are to fight two gods, it just
makes sense to try to make them as weak as possible beforehand.”

“That’s a crime, though,” the man went on, “not against Bythus, but against Olympus.”

“Olympus has no place in the sea, commander,” Percy stated, “you may do well in
remembering that my uncle’s laws here have just the weight that I wish them to have. The
Ocean is out of his jurisdiction, and especially is Atlantis.”

“You speak of treason”

“I am King. I cannot commit treason. You, however, seem indecisive. Tell me, have you
changed your mind? Our alliance is sealed now: I take for granted you are aware of the
consequences that breaking it would bring to you and your people.”
“I am loyal to you, Your Majesty, of course,” he answered at once, and if Percy focused hard
enough he could hear his heart beat wildly in his chest, “I am just trying to understand what
your next steps will be, so that I may ready my men.”

Percy smiled at him then, in the way he knew to be scary. “You will know of my plans in due
time, as all the other commanders. You have done nothing, after all, to convince me to be
somehow more worthy than the others, nor more loyal, if loyal at all. I’d be careful with your
behaviour after today, if I were you.”

He nodded and opened his mouth to answer with some useless promise, but Percy gave him
no time to speak, and urged his hippocampus to go faster away, lowering his head in salute to
the man and uttering a mocking, “Your Grace,” of dismissal.

Since the goddess seemed to be right in not trusting him then, maybe she was correct in
saying Dolphin wasn’t different at all too, even if he was even too aware of how easy it was
to become blind in front of a loved one’s change.

He had done it with Annabeth, after all, and she had done it with him: the knowledge that
they would have tried, that they would have pretended everything was alright for gods know
how long if not for the curse… it pained him, in the best of times and hurt him in the worst,
even if not nearly as much as he missed her, and all of his friends.

They’d be his second stop, once he’d manage to get to the surface again. The second, after
his mother. Was she going to have grey hair? Was she going to be irremediably changed? It
had only been two years, but it all felt like a lifetime: long enough for him to be forgotten.

“Sir, the scouts signal a small force twenty miles north-west of here, almost two miles down.
Their captain asks for a hundred men to take care of the impediment.”

“A small force here?” he asked, perplexed, knowing for there to be nothing of value in the
area, “have they seen why?”

“No, sir,” the ichthyocentaur answered, “maybe they’re just patrolling the border.”

“It would be suspicious then, to dispose of them. Is there no way our army can pass unseen?”

“I don’t know, my Lord. I’m just the messenger.”

“Yes of course,” Percy sighed, “tell the captain to figure out what those men are doing, and
how many they are in a more precise way than ‘small force’. He’s leading soldiers- he should
already know the correct terms to use.”

The man bowed and swam away, while Amphitrite accosted him with her deep blue
hippocampus.

“I see you’ve woken up in a good mood today,” she joked, “I’m not used to hearing you
being this harsh.”

“I’m not being harsh.”

She chuckled. “Don’t misunderstand me- I mean it as a good thing. They are young, but so
are you, and they will learn as you have done: I doubt Lydos was a particularly docile
teacher.”

“Dear hell, no,” he laughed, “even if I suspected him to be a spy the whole time, so maybe he
was justified. I feel so guilty about it now. Do you think he’s still alive?”

“I doubt it. Bythus… he probably killed him in front of the people, when he started targeting
the academics, to terrify them into submission: if he showed that he could effortlessly kill the
man who had been his own tutor… then no one was safe.”

He closed his eyes, then shifted his gaze upwards towards where the sky was, looking
anywhere just as long as it stopped him from thinking. “I never even said thank you.”

She would have added something then, maybe, even if she wasn’t good at giving comfort, but
the messenger arrived once again, paler than he had previously been.

“Your Majesty, Lady Amphitrite,” he breathed out at once, his eyes darting between the two
of them, “the captain apologises for his lack of a detailed description, and says that he is
indeed knowledgeable about-”

“Yes, yes,” Amphitrite interrupted, “go to the point.”

“There are about two dozen soldiers bearing the Japanese uniform, who seem to be
transporting, or protecting, some kind of cargo.”

Percy and the goddess shared a look, and he nodded.

“Tell the commander he will be given fifty men, then come back here. Amphitrite will be
leading them, and you shall show the way.”

“Yes, my Lord, my Lady,” he bowed again, still out of breath, before hurrying back to
communicate his order, and Percy for a second felt very grateful that he did not have that
kind of job to do- even if his own could be considered worse under many aspects.

But at least having to swim with such a speed was not one of them. Or he would have
abdicated, no other way around it.

“What do you think they’re carrying?” he asked, while she fastened her armour, “He hasn’t
even managed to say whether they were going towards Atlantis, or away from it.”

“It might be jewels, or gold from the treasure room. Or maybe offerings they have received
from the closest cities, or one of their gods’ statues. Two dozen men, for one box…”

“It might be unimportant, or so extremely important that Bythus did his best not to draw
attention to it.”

“Yes, exactly,” she answered, taking the reins back in her hands, “I’ll be quick.”

“Try to make sure the capital remains unaware,” Percy instructed, and the goddess sighed.
“I’m not one of these incompetent commanders. There is no need to spoon-feed me the
obvious. You try not to argue with Dolphin while I’m gone.”

She departed at full speed, and Percy turned around as soon as he realised what she had said,
and yelled after her a why that would never be answered.

Two dozen men became fifty, then a hundred, and Percy sent orders to the whole east section
of the army to go there in support, trusting the goddess to be able to command them once
there: they couldn’t afford to both be far from the main army, even if he worried more and
more by the minute.

Amphitrite was fine- he could feel her presence in the water, in the same way he felt his few
men and the Japanese ones- but still the fact that this mysterious cargo had apparently had an
additional, hidden protection… it meant it was important, maybe even crucial.

“The scouts report that the soldiers had been going towards Atlantis,” Dolphin approached
him to say, “so it might be some sort of weapon, something Bythus wished to use against us.”

Percy paused, looking at him perplexed. “I was given no news from the messenger. Who told
you this?”

Dolphin straightened his back. “I am the oldest general. The scouts report to me first: the boy
was in the wrong for coming to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, “of course they report to me, especially when a division of
the army must happen.”

“Lady Amphitrite should have never gone. She is a too precious asset for-”

“She’s not an asset, Dolphin, gods. She’s going to be fine- you know her, you know that
while less powerful, she still is a goddess, against simple soldiers. We needed to make sure of
the nature of this cargo, and that no one would tamper it during retrieval.”

“And you don’t trust your own men to do that?”

“No,” Percy answered, surprising the both of them, “most of them are the ones you travelled
with. I know them not, I trust them not, not yet at least.”

“Look,” he went on, “you’ve had rough months, but I did too. I’m not… I’m not the same
person I was when we last met. It’s difficult but I think… I think we should just try to get to
know each other again.”

Because it was obvious, what the issue was and what Percy had seen so different in him- it
was obvious now that they had spoken to each other: Percy had considered him an authority
before, someone who had power over him, even if he was already a king.

And now… and now the hero worship had worn off, and he only saw him as an equal, as a
valid commander, as one between others- and Dolphin too, used to a different treatment, had
answered by becoming defensive.

A behaviour he had considered suspicious, but that had probably only been a result of his
own coldness.

They rode in silence after that, both waiting for news. Dolphin spoke briefly with some
soldiers, Percy received some correspondence from the palaces of his allies, where the
families of the dukes still lived and life went on almost as normal: a third son asked a
blessing for his wedding, a Viscount’s eldest daughter had successfully completed the tasks to
become a priestess and so on, small, little things that almost made him forget about the war
for a few minutes.

Not all of the letters were good news though- they spoke of burned villages and sacked
temples, of occupied academies and of death most of all, which led Percy to think that
maybe, not receiving news about Myrto was, by itself, like receiving good ones.

A few hours before they were going to stop for the night, a full day of worry after the
morning events, Percy felt the goddess’ presence coming closer and closer.

“They’re coming back,” he told the general, and Dolphin shouted at the men to stop, and
ready the tents for the night. Only because Amphitrite had asked them not to argue, Percy
swallowed down his frustration: it wasn’t an order for him to give, it wasn’t a decision he
would have left to Dolphin, not when it wasted hours of travel.

But they’d discuss it later, and not while their soldiers were coming back, hopefully having
deprived Bythus of something he desperately needed.

Amphitrite appeared at the horizon a few minutes after the tents had been built, when the
light was close to golden, carrying in her arms a wooden box covered with her own deep
green cape.

“Inside,” she requested, and Percy led her and Dolphin into his own tent, ordering the
servants and the soldiers out, feeling the goddess raise wards around the room.

“Is it a weapon?” Dolphin asked, swimming closer to the still covered box, his hands darting
towards it and then stopping in an aborted movement. “Is it frial?”

“The box is wooden on the outside, and in celestial bronze on the inside- I couldn’t open it
there,” she answered, “but whatever it contains… It's well protected.”

“Or maybe the celestial bronze is to protect us against it,” Percy suggested, “how can we
know it’s not some kind of bomb, set to explode as soon as it touches the water?”

No one answered, and the goddess’ eyes shifted towards it, as if just by staring she could
bypass the metal and see straight inside.

“How would we even destroy celestial bronze?” he spoke again, looking between the two of
them, “maybe I could have managed with Anaklusmos, but with this sword…”
 “I’d say by blasting it, in other circumstances,” Dolphin explained, “but if there is a weapon
inside, or something volatile, it could just end up killing all of us.”

“It was well protected,” Amphitrite reasoned out loud, “but not that well protected. Barely a
hundred men. What if Bythus wanted us to retrieve it? What if it’s a trap?”

“Like Pandora’s jar,” Percy commented, “we could unleash our defeat by opening it.”

“Or we could be unleashing our defeat by not opening it,” Dolphin added, “we must be
careful in treading between attention and paranoia.”

“There is never a right choice, is there,” Percy sighed, “let me try to feel something. Maybe if
I focus I might manage to at least find out if this thing has an energy of its own, or if it’s
completely inanimate.”

Amphitrite nodded, lowering the wards slightly. “Me and Dolphin will leave you to
concentrate, while we organise tomorrow’s route. We’ve stopped too early today, and we
can’t afford to lose more time.”

“We’ll be back after dinner,” the general added, “come to us if you have news. And don’t-”
he paused, perhaps valuing how appropriate it would be to say, “don’t take unnecessary
risks.”

Percy nodded, already concentrating on the box- but still aware that a veiled don’t be stupid
was not that bad as Dolphin’s first step towards a new equilibrium.

He took the cape off, tried looking at it while standing, while sitting, while kneeling. He
prayed to his father for guidance, and received nothing but silence, nothing but stillness, and
the more he focused the less he could understand his own thoughts.

Would he be imagining to feel something, if he did, or would it be true? He knew he’d be

able to illude himself, if he lost contact with his surroundings, and he hardly wished to lose
his own consciousness as it had happened while he was trying to communicate with Dolphin-
no one was here to stab him, now.

Dinner came and went, but Percy remained there well into the night, when tired and stressed,
he had an idea that could have maybe become his worst: he lit a candle and left his bed,
reaching the cargo once again.

Then he knelt before it as one would do in front of an altar- and placed both his hands at his
sides, aiding the mental connection he was trying to establish with a physical one.

He could hear something then, just a word, just a single word-

-brother.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts!! <3
 Year III, January III
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

He remembers very little of what happened later, of his mad race to Amphitrite’s tent, of the
ladies whom he had violently awoken, of his stuttered explanation. He remembers the cold,
the crispy currents on his skin, the silence of the night- and then sitting in his chair, the box
over the table, the goddess in front of it.

“And you swear-”

“Yes,” he answered, feeling his body again, feeling the hardness of the wood under him, “just
brother. Very faintly but- it was there.”

She put her hands on the box too, and caressed it gently. “I can’t,” she admitted after a few
beats, her voice close to breaking, “there might be a child of mine here, and I can’t feel
anything.”

Percy sighed, looking at his hands, noticing that he was wearing one of the goddess’ dressing
gown above his own clothes, and having a flash of himself, shivering in front of her bed,
babbling about energy and voices.

Amphitrite hadn’t brought many clothes with her, and the ones she had were mostly for
battle: she herself was just wearing her nightgown, while she stared at the box, and he
realised, with a lump in the throat, that she must have given him her only one.

“I’m an awful mother,” she went on, unaware of Percy’s devotion, “I have tried. I have tried
everything and it just stays… a box. A silent box.”

“You’re not a horrible mother. Don’t even think that,” he answered, his voice harsher than he
wanted, “look at me,” he went on, softer this time, “hey.”

Her eyes were dry when she met his gaze, but sorrow was painted in every line of her face,
with the long, firm strokes of an artist used to masterpieces.

Percy swallowed his uncertainty. “There might be no children of yours inside, Amphitrite,”
he started, watching her eyes dart away again, “we don’t know what… what happened to
them after the curse, and father had many other children. Maybe you can’t feel them just
because you share no blood, while I do.”

She shook her head, biting her lower lip like a common mortal. “I can feel you. And we share
no blood.”

He closed his eyes, trying to keep it together for the both of them. “But we have been
together for the last years,” and wasn’t saying that a pang to the heart all on its own, “this
could be someone you haven’t seen in centuries- or a stranger.”
“None of them are truly ever strangers,” she admitted, “the ones who have touched the sea at
least once, the ones Poseidon knew about. I have known of them.”

“And the monsters?”

“They weren’t unloved. There is violence inside all of us, me and your father both, all of the
sea: theirs was just also on the outside. But they weren’t unloved, not for just being
monsters.”

He nodded slowly, coming to cover her own hands with his where they sat on top of the box.
“Together?” he asked, and he tried to focus with her once again, he tried to feel the small
quiver of a consciousness once more, without success.

Dolphin knocked at the door then, already dressed for battle, and Percy told the story once
again, while the goddess sat in silence, her expression defeated in a way he had never seen
before.

He had always known she loved her children… but to see her sorrow, clear as day, touched
something in him that had been silent, and waiting, for a long time. Would she feel this
despair, were he to die? Would his father have grieved him like this, had he died on that
fateful night, up on Olympus?

The answer would most likely be a no, he knew, and even grief wouldn’t have lasted more
than a few days, maybe a week. Then Poseidon would have moved on, and the goddess
would have never cared at all, and all the world would have remained unchanged.

“I know, Dolphin,” Amphitrite was saying, “but at least Percy’s still here.”

“What?” he asked, having missed all the conversation until that point, but the old general just
shook his head.

“We need to depart again,” he said instead, “we’ll carefully carry the box with us, together
with the few riches stolen from Bythus’ armies on the way here. I’ll look for a trained
blacksmith between the soldiers, in the meantime.”

“One of yours, Dolphin,” she ordered, “I don’t trust the other duchies with this kind of
information, nor with this degree of leverage.”

“Have your ladies heard yesterday?” Percy asked, suddenly worried, “I didn’t even think
about getting them out. I was…”

“Don’t worry about it. If they have heard, they will keep it to themselves: you saved them
from Cetus, remember? Their loyalty will always be to you and to me first, and to Myrto of
course, who was kind enough to leave me a few here.”

“She hasn’t written in a long time,” he confessed then, not knowing where he wanted the
conversation to go, “I hope she’s alright.”

“I’m sure she just doesn’t have the means to send letters,” she tried to reassure him, “now
come on, take off that frilly thing and put on your armour: we’ll be leaving in less than an
hour.”

“Yes, my Lady,” he answered, and between the misery, a small smile rose, hopeful as the first
ray of sunlight after a night of hardship.

The following days passed quickly, blending one into the other without great excitement: as
Percy had been warned, most of the villages were empty and destroyed, many of the fields
burned and the farms sacked, and sometimes the remains of bodies littered the streets.

He had ordered the burial of all those they could find, but it wasn’t safe to travel on the sea
bank with such a big army, not for more than a few miles, and soon they had to move
upwards again, abandoning the little villages in favour of caution.

They could go faster too, by swimming in the open currents, but the generals were worried
about the lack of Bythus’ men all around, and even Amphitrite feared they had entered some
kind of trap, some kind of elaborate system to stop them from reaching Atlantis: first the
badly protected box, then the lack of a border defence.

Reaching Atlantis seemed to have just become a question of time, a long but easy journey,
and for how much Percy tried not to become paranoid, everything was adding up to a picture
that didn’t look good at all.

“I spoke with the Arabian Duke this morning,” the goddess approached him, a couple of
hours after lunch, “I asked him how they had managed to take the city at the border, the one
they were in when we met them.”

“And?”

“He said there weren’t that many men, and that not even the entirety of our army was
involved in the fight. Bythus knew we would come: and instead of trying to stop it… he
basically welcomed us inside, putting up a pretence fight.”

“He might have decided to use all of his forces to protect the capital,” Percy tried, “that’s all
he needs, after all. He’s hardly interested in villages and fields.”

“It’s not just a question of interest,” she murmured, “he spent two years conquering our
territories, burning down the resistance, building temples to his patrons. So why, why
abandon all of it now, especially here at the doors of Atlantis?”

Percy stayed silent for a while, thinking but not wanting to think at the same time, almost
afraid of where her line of thinking was going.

“Most of the territories he had taken are now ours again,” he answered, “many temples have
been destroyed, many cities freed on the way here. Maybe he’s getting scared.”

“Percy, the Southern Duchy is still all his. Our army has never even set foot in it, and the
Japanese army might be in Atlantis, but even their lands are untouched, while almost all of us
have had Bythus in it- minus the Northern Duchy, even if with Phaidros’ son in command it
might just be a question of time.”

“What are you saying, then? That we are going in the wrong direction?”

She shook her head. “Atlantis is close. We all felt it, right?” she asked, waiting for his nod
before continuing, “I just don’t like this stillness. I don’t like how easy this last part of the
journey has been until now.”

“And the box,” Percy added, “Dolphin is convinced it might be a trap, and every day that
passes I am less and less certain that I haven’t imagined it all.”

“You wanted to hear something.”

“Yes. But I would have sworn it, to everything in that moment- that it had been real.”

She sighed, and her hippocampus screeched, feeling her distress. “I don’t know what to think
anymore. This is all so different from how I had expected it to go.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I-”

“My Lord, my Lady!” an ichthyocentaur shouted, swimming towards them with a crazed
expression, “the scouts signal there is another small force just a dozen miles away from
here,” he started, out of breath, and Percy recognized him as the same messenger who had
spoken to him the first time.

“I’ve already alerted general Dolphin, as I discovered was custom,” he went on, “and he went
with some men there, to deal with it.”

Percy and Amphitrite exchanged a glance. “Dolphin went there himself?”

“Yes, my Lady. But his Majesty had requested to be informed too, even of these little
squabbles, so I rushed here.”

“Yes, thank you,” Percy dismissed the boy, his annoyance growing, “Amphitrite, we must
speak to him. I realise that he’s used to being in charge but this…”

“Generals do historically handle small fights without the King’s involvement,” she answered,
her expression worried, “but I do agree that this situation is one of a kind. I’ll discuss it with
him later- the dukes need to see that you are in control.”

Percy nodded, holding his reins tighter, knowing that he couldn’t go there and leave the main
army, no matter how much he wished to: the only thing he could do was waiting, and it felt
different from the other time just for Amphitrite’s presence at his side.

The hours until nightfall passed agonisingly slow, and he was so on edge that everything
bothered him: his clothes felt too rough against his skin, his shoes uncomfortable, the
hippocampus too loud, the light all wrong.
He could already feel a terrible headache building under his temples when they stopped for
the night: he refused the broth they gave around calling food, and the goddess shot him a
worried glance, but she didn’t comment.

“It’s all too much for a broth today,” Percy justified himself anyway, and she smiled sadly at
him as if she knew exactly what it was that he had wanted to say: I am unwell, I’d need
comfort, all of the world seems made for someone else, today.

He went to bed with anxiety in his veins, and focused on Dolphin’s presence in the water
instead of sleeping. He was fine at least, he seemed to be moving- towards them most likely,
returning successful from the squabble- and he ought to be relieved, but that wasn’t really
what he was anxious about.

No, it was Amphitrite’s words, his doubts over whether or not he had actually heard
something coming from the box. Because if he truly hadn’t, if all of it had been a delusion,
how many other things could he have just imagined? How many other times could that have
happened?

If he couldn’t trust his own mind- had he ever actually spoken to his father? He had wished to
see him, all the times it had happened, just he had wished to hear something from the box
now. And if the latter was just a detour of his tired sanity…

Dolphin’s presence tethered at the edge of his consciousness, and Percy grabbed his sword
and dashed out of bed, closing his eyes to concentrate better, only hearing his rapid heartbeat:
he could still feel him, he was still there- but weaker than before, and it took him a split
second to say fuck it to everything and run out of his tent, towards the man.

The gelid, late January current caressed his limbs while he swam, almost randomly, towards a
consciousness that felt more and more how it had always been, until, just closely out of the
camp they had built, there stood Dolphin and a handful of soldiers.

“Perseus,” he commented as soon as his eyes landed on him, “what are you doing out here,
just in your nightclothes?”

He was fine, not half a sign of injury on him, surrounded by men Percy had never seen
before, tall and imposing in the darkness, and looking at his bare feet, his white garments, he
felt very, very stupid.

“I…” he started, trying to salvage the situation, trying not to appear as mad as he felt, “I
sensed something, here. I wanted to make sure it was nothing dangerous to the army.”

The soldiers exchanged a glance, but it was so quick that Percy didn’t trust himself to admit it
had truly happened- not when his paranoia had truly seemed to have taken possession of him.

Dolphin stepped forward, and he forced himself not to move. “We found another,” he stated
with a serious tone, “we were just coming back here to bring it to you and Lady Amphitrite.”

“Another box?” Percy asked, and Dolphin nodded, taking him by the arm and swimming
forward, leaving the soldiers to follow.
“Has anyone seen you coming here?” he asked in a hushed tone, his grip strong, and Percy’s
sutìrvival instinct took over, even if it was just Dolphin, even if he had saved his life more
than once.

“My guards,” he lied, “why?”

“Because words travel fast, and reputation is a weapon as much as a sword is,” he answered,
letting go of his arm, “if soldiers start seeing you swim out of camp half-naked in the middle
of the night, there are gonna be rumours, and questions. Do you want to be called a mad
King?” he asked brusquely.

Percy shook his head, but it wasn’t enough, “Do you want to be called a mad King?” he
repeated again, as they entered the camp, as they moved towards Amphitrite’s tent.

“No,” Percy answered, noticing the stillness, noticing the quiet. His soldiers had never been
that quiet at night before: someone was always awake when they shouldn’t have been,
someone was always drinking, or having fun with another soldier.

But with the lights of the torches, with a familiar sight in front of him- he finally managed to
recompose himself, and regain control of his body and of his own stability.

He moved away from Dolphin, and faced the soldier who was holding the wooden box in his
arms. “Thank you for your service,” he addressed him with the calmest of voices, “now
please, hand me the box.”

This time, he didn’t miss the soldier’s subtle glance, but there was no denying him, not
without seeming even more suspicious, and Percy carefully took hold of the cargo, giving it a
quick look to make sure it was undamaged.

Once satisfied, he turned towards Dolphin again. “Are these the only men who have seen this
box?” he asked, and the old general nodded.

“The rest of the soldiers are following not far behind,” he explained, “but I thought it best to
rush here with a few trusted men.”

“Good,” Percy decided, “kill them.”

Dolphin hesitated. “What?”

“You’ve heard me. It’s my order. No one should have been aware of these- and especially not
men coming from the very Duke who has challenged me. Kill them, Dolphin- here and now.
Show me you have not lost your loyalty to your King.”

Dolphin hesitated a second more, then unsheathed his sword and looked at Percy again,
waiting for it to have been a test, waiting for a stop that wasn’t going to come.

Percy remained still, and the men died.

“They shall be buried with high honours, of course,” he added, “order it, while I bring this to
Amphitrite.”
“Perseus-” Dolphin started, his voice all wrong, but he didn’t stay to listen.

Amphitrite placed her hands on the second box as carefully as she had done with the first, but
even this time she was only met with silence.

“This one is smaller than the other,” she murmured, “maybe it’s Benthesikyme, you know.
She has always been the lightest of my daughters. Never grew as she should.”

“Amphitrite…” Percy tried, “don’t get your hopes up. I have felt no consciousness, no
movement from this box: for all we know, it could be empty, it could be just for show.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them up and straightened her back. “Yes,” she
answered, “yes of course. I don’t know why I’m being so…” she sighed, “it’s definitely not
the right time to lose our heads.”

“I think I did, though,” he admitted, and confessed the truth on how he had come to hold the
box, of his run to the border, of the tense journey back, of Dolphin’s surprised eyes when he
had uttered his command- of the way he had given him no choice. Of the way, this time, he
had truly been responsible for the death of his own men.

The goddess listened to the tale without moving, without taking her eyes off him. When he
was done then, she remained silent for a few moments: stunned, maybe, or maybe just
wondering how to put her words.

“Do you remember,” she started, “what I told you when I intervened with Phaidros to make
sure Myrto would be coming with us?”

He nodded, for her words had hurt him, way before he had even figured out how true they
were. “That you were afraid,” he repeated, “of what loneliness and violence together could
get out of me.”

“Yes. And pain, now, and…”

“Paranoia,” Percy finished for her, “the worst thing is that I don’t regret it. The soldier wasn’t
holding it like a normal box: he was holding it like a precious one. He must have known.
Dolphin must have told him something.”

“I’ll speak to him tomorrow. Both on this and on what we had agreed about before. And don’t
be too harsh on yourself, Percy: you didn’t do a nice thing, but it’s also not as bad as your
mortal morality makes you think. Dolphin’s hands weren’t clean before, of that I can assure
you.”

He sighed, his guilt still stuck in the shell shock of the night, inaccessible even to his
subconscious.

“I’ll take these and let you sleep then,” he awkwardly said, moving towards them, but the
goddess shook her hand, and stopped him.
 “I’ll guard them, tonight,” she stated, “you go to sleep. Tomorrow won’t have mercy on us
just because today was severe.”

And of course she didn’t trust him with what could be her children, not after what he had
admitted to- and even if the pang of rejection still hurt, how could he blame her for it?

If the perseverance of his innocence had been in question before- the events of the night had
resolved the question with a harsh no, once and for all: Percy Jackson, demigod son of
Poseidon, hero of Olympus, King of the Sea, was nothing more than a murderer.

Chapter End Notes

Hi there! It's been lovely to read all of your theories last chapter... I wonder whether this
one made you less or more sure of your guesses ahah.
Thank you for reading! <3 <3
 Year III, February I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The soldiers’ absence didn’t go unnoticed, nor uncommented, and Dolphin’s lies to their duke
over what had happened did nothing but worsen Percy’s growing sense of restlessness.

“He’s going to find out,” he spent his evenings murmuring to the goddess, “he’s going to find
out, and betray our alliance: he would have the grounds to. And if he does, the war will be
lost, and I’ll be the only one at fault.”

“We won’t allow that,” she always answered, sitting between the two boxes, a hand on each,
“we can dispose of him too, if he gets close to the truth. Dolphin will help.”

“Dolphin is tired of helping. He doesn’t agree with any of this. I heard him saying, yesterday-
that he would tear these things open, whatever the cost, whatever the consequences.”

She chuckled, tired. “I have tried,” she answered, showing him her short, damaged nails, the
trail of ichor that still dirtied her fingers, the small cuts that water should have healed- but
that it hadn’t.

He wondered if they were truly, really, there at all.

Because while people sometimes believed him oblivious, he was actually quite capable of
understanding what was going on around him, and of realising that his sanity, that
Amphitrite’s one- had been slipping away further and further from them, since the day that
box had entered their camp.

And if that was Bythus’ plan, then it was succeeding: Percy felt watched, felt judged and
mocked by every glance, by every soldier, during the long marches and during the nights,
when he collapsed exhausted without reason in a bed that looked less and less comfortable
every day.

“I spoke with Dolphin, last evening,” the goddess approached him at first light, the following
day, and Percy looked down to see her hands in pristine condition.

He wasn’t even surprised. “And?”

“He apologises for the lack of clarity. He said he hadn’t been informed that his
responsibilities had changed during the year we spent apart- and asked for a meeting with
you to define them once again.”

“That seems reasonable,” Percy commented, “I’ll go schedule it with him later.”

“There is another thing,” she stopped him, “he proposes that in light of the recent… requests
that have been made of him, maybe it would just be better to start anew.”
“So he won’t hold it against me, if I let go of his suspicious behaviour?”

“Percy,” the goddess admonished, raising her eyebrows at him, in a way that she knew to be
disapproving, “he could be saying the same of yours, of ours: he has been through a lot in the
past months, and we’ve only repaid him with distrust.”

“I wouldn’t have done so, no, last year,” he knew, true as the beating of his heart, “everybody
knew that I wouldn’t have. What if Bythus based his plans on it? What if my own… naivete
brings the whole thing down?”

“Your naivete might, Percy, but your suspicion will for sure, if the people believe it to be
unfounded. And I’m not saying it is-” she added before he could reply, “-but it’s important to
make sure it doesn’t show until there is sure proof of it, if there ever will be.”

She was right of course, and between planning, and resting and keeping himself trained, the
journey went on, and the days passed.

The tent they had set up for the war meeting trembled in between the opposing currents, and
while Percy passed the threshold he felt energised as he hadn’t in days.

Murderer, killer of men.

“My Lords, generals!” he intoned, quieting the room in an instant, “we had planned, at the
start of our journey, to reach Atlantis during the cold month of February. As you can see,” he
went on, gesturing to a complex map laying on the table below him, “we stand here,” he
pointed with his finger, “and the capital stands… here.”

A couple of days away. Two nights, two days… and it would be done.

The excitement Percy was waiting for, however, didn’t lit up the room.

“Your Majesty,” the Red Duke started with hesitation, “we have met no enemy, nor faced any
army. We have burned a couple of enemy’s posts down, yes, but even that hasn’t provoked
any reaction from the gods allied with Bythus, nor from him.”

“What is your question, then, your Grace?” Amphitrite asked at his right, and the man cleared
his throat.

“I’m wondering whether this is going to be a trap, my Lady. I know you’ve also been
suspicious of this quiet… and my soldiers are perplexed, just as I am.”

“We’ve heard of two secret boxes then,” Phaidros’ son announced out loud, “me and my men
want a fair share of the riches they contain.”

Percy raised a hand before the goddess could jump on him, and cleared his throat. “The
whole march hasn’t been how we thought it would, no,” he began, looking into the tired
men’s eyes, searching for a discontentment that could be fatal, “but Atlantis is a well-
protected city, almost impenetrable. It does make more sense for Bythus to just wait for us
there.”

“He probably intends to take our armies for starvation,” Dolphin continued, his reputation
adding weight to their credibility, “the capital is basically self-sufficient, and we’ll be cut off
from most of our food sources until we start farming- we knew that when we departed, as we
knew that it’d be the only possible strategy.”

“I agree,” the commander of the Black Duchy surprisingly said, “the Southern and the
Japanese army will come out to fight us, and we’ll proceed as we have discussed in all our
previous meeting: his Majesty and Lady Amphitrite will take care of the two gods, while we
shall destroy their army. The absence of obstacles now just means we’ll have more rested
soldiers for it.”

“It’s not the moment to let our guard down, though,” Percy concluded, “two days and two
nights are enough for tragedy to aim and strike.”

“Any other topics that would like to be discussed?” the goddess asked, as if the very same
questions weren’t repeated at every meeting, by bored soldiers and ever-changing generals-
as if, whatever was said, it wasn’t too late to ever go back.

Phorcys’ temple stood tall and wide over the sandy ground, and Percy lit the first torch at its
feet.

“Burn,” he hissed, and the sound echoed through the marble, passing between the columns
and the niches, giving a voice to the currents.

Burn, the water said and then, almost like a prayer, brother, brother, brother.

Brother, butcher of men.

The fever in his heart quieted. “Where are you?” he yelled, now wishing for the flames to
stop, for the silence to return.

Burn, brother, burn, the fregioes screamed.

“Where?” he yelled again, feeling his throat pull, feeling the strains of his muscles. He could
only see fire, as he stood in the middle of the destruction he himself had started.

Inside, he thought, they must be inside. His feet burned under the boiling sand, as they had
never done when innocence still covered his bones.

The marble screeched and started to crumble under the heat, while the smoke filled the
waters until he could no longer see anything but darkness-

(to storm or fire, the world must fall)

-and two boxes, alone between the flames, there where the god’s statue should have been.
.

“We must change the path of our army, and move west before reaching Atlantis,” Percy was
saying, his voice fast and quick, “I dreamed of two other boxes, inside of a temple dedicated
to Phorcys’, and there were mountains around. I know where that place is.”

“There are many mountains under the sea,” the goddess tried to reason, “and you’ve hardly
seen any of them.”

He shook his head, annoyed at her not-understanding. “No,” he stated, “I recognized the
place. I’m certain of it. We need to take a detour, or, or I can just go there by myself.”

“No,” Dolphin answered, a map under his eyes, “you’re not going anywhere by yourself, and
that’s a given. It could very well be a ploy to ambush you, organised by Bythus or his
supporters. We are two days from Atlantis then, do you truly-”

“Yes,” he interrupted, moving to stare at the goddess. “How many children do you have,
Amphitrite?”

“Four,” she answered, and it took half a second for the realisation to hit her: they had two
boxes already, and two others were waiting… inside of a sea god’s temple. It was worth the
risk, Percy believed, it was worth every risk if it had the chance to bring happiness back into
the goddess’ face.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the old general sighed, “but we don’t… we don’t know
anything certain about this. The only surety is Atlantis, and this would mean moving further
away from it, and extending the journey of a week, minimum, a fortnight most likely.”

There was a question there, under Dolphin’s words: how selfish will you be? After
everything, what else are you still capable of sacrificing? Is this truly the limit of where your
yielding goes?

Percy felt her gaze on him, and let her lock his eyes with his, feeling the turmoil, feeling the
hesitation of such a decision.

“Your choice, Amphitrite,” he said, watching her come to terms with two impossible
positions: on one side a certainty, Atlantis, her home, her palace, the centre of her kingdom.
And on the other… a gamble, a chance of having what could be her children back, even if not
totally.

“Don’t ask this of me, Percy,” she answered, her voice faint, “I was a mother, and I was a
queen, and now I am neither, if not…” she sighed, her eyes tired, “Dolphin, what are the risks
of extending our journey?”

He fiddled with the map on his desk, seemingly expecting answers from it. “The soldiers are
tired of swimming and sleeping in rushedly made camps. The generals and the dukes will
need an explanation,” he started, his voice getting softer at the end, his eyes darting away
from the table.
“But if you… if we find something plausible to say, a fortnight won’t be disastrous on our
provisions. Had we met an enemy army, had we had to stop for recovery… that would have
taken longer, and it had been programmed for.”

She nodded, and the silence stretched for a while.

“What about a prophecy?” Percy asked, “I can say I have dreamed of it, and that it warned
me that burning down that temple was necessary for the war’s success.”

“It wouldn’t be that unbelievable,” the goddess assumed, after a while, “it happened,
sometimes, with mortal battles and quests, did it not?”

“Apollo might take offence,” Dolphin tried, but there wasn’t much conviction behind his
words, and when no one answered, he just sighed. “I still think we shouldn’t go: but I’ll help,
if this is what you’ll choose to do.”

…there under the mountain of the west,

lies what the war will make blest,
in the water, turning luminescent…

“A quest so, worthy of heroes,” the Arabian Duke commented, raising the challenge to his
men, “if mortal demigods succeed, I shall not be any less willing. No offence to you, my
King,” he added as an afterthought, and Percy just shooed it away.

Murderer.

“None taken,” he commented, when it had clearly raised murmurs of agreement in the room
where they had met in a hurry, before the night could even end.

“It’ll take us further away from the capital,” the Black commander commented, “but who are
we to object to the wish of the Fates? If it was important enough to bypass the presence of an
oracle, and reach our King’s ears directly?”

Everyone started speaking over each other, discussing and thinking, and Percy gave them a
few minutes before requesting silence once again.

“This is not a decision I will make against your agreement,” he stated, no matter that the
decision had already been taken, “but of course, as I wish for this battle to be a success, I
could do nothing but put before you what I was revealed this night.”

The Arabian Duke rose. “Me and my generals agree on extending the journey: they can
handle the march, and if a couple more weeks of tiredness makes it more likely for everyone
to return alive to their families, so be it.”

The Black duchy was next, then the Red one. Dolphin agreed too, of course, while Phaidros’
son tried, and failed, to play the devil’s advocate, before being forced by everyone’s glares to
just agree and let the army depart once again.
Amphitrite came to squeeze his hand, when all was done and the men were taking down the
camp once again, uttering a thank you so small that he might as well have imagined, if not for
the tentative smile he was given.

His mind felt so quiet, once again, while he saddled his hippocampus, and he wondered if
maybe his dream had truly been a gift, god-given and all-important, a sign of his father’s
presence and an answer to his prayers.

He hoped so, just as much as he knew it to be impossible: after all, how could Poseidon ever
favour a man who had murdered his own people?

They had prepared a series of speeches, reassurances and promises to fill the soldiers’ ears
and avoid their complaints, but it became immediately clear that they wouldn’t be needed.
The sea can hold mysteries like no other, and its children grow up between superstition and
legends, between myths and sacred rituals: a prophecy for them, was nothing truly out of the
ordinary.

“They are trained to follow, most of all,” Amphitrite drew light, “many are soldiers, and not
warriors: they obey, and believe in what they’re told.”

“It’s horrible”

She shook her head, slightly smiling, “It’s useful,” she remarked, “how would it be possible
to deal with thousands of the likes of dukes and generals? Nothing would ever be done. And
they’ve chosen this as their career, most of them- and all are paid.”

“The mercentaurs haven’t chosen,” he added, “not like the others.”

“And we’ll take the matter in hand, in Atlantis, as I’ve told you already,” she repeated,
exasperated, “there is no need to cripple their spirits now.”

“I know,” he answered, looking up, wishing to see a sky above him, and instead only finding
leagues and leagues of water, an uninterrupted blue that stretched further than his imagination
could go.

Their coordinates weren’t a mystery, but the numbers meant nothing for Percy: what use was
knowing the name of the place he was in, if he ignored its life? It was day, it was February:
thousands of miles away from him, children were going to school, overbearing parents were
worrying at their office job. Maybe someone was getting married, at that moment: maybe
someone was giving their first kiss.

And all he had- of all that life- was a number.

“If they were convinced so easily about three lines we made up in an hour…” he went on,
surprising the goddess, who believed the conversation to be over, “how many other things
have they been made to believe that are untrue?”

She remained silent, and he understood.

(a single choice shall end his days)

“How many things do I believe about gods and the world, that are false?”

“Oh Percy,” she answered, “not as many as you used to. You shall know all, if one day
godhood will be yours- but mortal bodies are not made to handle the true aspect of the
world.”

He was silent for a while. “For my own mental health,” he then declared, “I will pretend to
have never heard that. So, tell me,” he changed the topic, “how long ‘till this temple?”

She chuckled, and for a few days everything felt lighter, easier, as when the boxes hadn’t
been near them at all: Percy still tried, everytime they stopped, to repeat that communication
of the first day, without any success, and while Amphitrite’s eyes still lingered on them
during the nights, it was less obsessive than it had been.

“Maybe something will happen when we put all of them together,” Dolphin suggested,
sounding like his old self. Their conversation had gone well, they had agreed on putting the
weirdness of the first days behind them… and that made everything more difficult.

Because Percy trusted him in some moments, and in others his consciousness tethered and
trembled in the cold like it had done when he had run after him in his nightclothes: and he
seemed less like himself in those moments, less like the general he knew and more like… a
husk, containing a stranger.

Yet, he too had been through traumatising events. He was no stranger to dissociation, nor to
out-of-body experiences- and if Dolphin found comfort in some happy corner of his mind
every now and then, who was him to blame him for it?

No one, was the correct answer, and still he hated that he had no actual explanation, no
certainty, because he remembered Dolphin’s crazed eyes and his strong grip, he remembered
his need to lie about his guards, the insinuation that he soon would turn mad.

Like you? He had wanted to ask, but he hadn’t. And now, now that the army had finally
reached the valley of his dream, maybe he’d find out the answer by himself.

They divided the soldiers in small groups, and proceeded with caution on the sea bank, where
the vegetation had grown wildly and out of control, as if the place hadn’t been touched in
millenia, as if the algae themselves had been enchanted.

“If there is a temple for Phorcys’ here,” the goddess whispered even if there was no need to
be quiet, “it can’t be old. There was nothing here, while we were in Atlantis, and in one year
the vegetation shouldn’t have been able to grow like this.”

“Do you think it’s cursed?” Dolphin asked, and the goddess pressed her lips together.

“Let’s just make sure the soldiers touch as little as possible,” she instructed, “then we’ll find
this temple quickly, retrieve the boxes and leave before all of this turns disastrous.”
 “We’ll probably need to burn it down, too,” Percy added, “it was burning in my dream. It
might be a requisite for the boxes to be there.”

If a god had sent him the dream, then everything had to have an importance: why make him
see the flames, if opening the door would have been sufficient?

“It might lead to-” she objected, but Percy shook his head.

He had rejected the fire, once– but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Chapter End Notes

A bit of a transitory chapter, considering how the previous two went... but if I manage to
keep faith to my schedule we'll reach Atlantis between the next chapter and the
following one! I'm very, very ecited, and I hope you are too!!

Thanks for reading and, as always, for all your lovely comments. It's so good to hear
from you, really <3 <3
 Year III, February II
Chapter Notes

TW: death, bodies

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They proceeded with caution, swimming above the wild vegetation, trying to distinguish the
form of a temple in between the algae and the rocks, in a darkness made darker by the
surrounding mountains.

“This place feels alive,” the goddess murmured after Percy had finished giving his orders to
the generals, “it’s as if it had an energy of its own.”

“A restless energy, yes,” Percy agreed, “it’s why I just ordered the generals to get the soldiers
back to where we started: the passage is too tight, and it’s more dangerous than it is worth.”

The goddess agreed, most likely having heard him already, but before they could decide from
which direction to start their search, they were interrupted by an out of breath soldier.

“Sir,” the mermaid approached him, her shoulders tense, “his Grace, the Northern Duke,
refuses to obey Dolphin’s orders. He states that since he’s been forced into this detour, he
should now be allowed to join the expedition. I believe,” she added in a low tone, “that he
fears being left out of an eventual treasure.”

Percy scoffed, but Amphitrite nodded at the soldier with a serious expression. “Of course the
Duke is invited to join us. Tell him to come here, and we shall depart at once.”

“What are you doing?” he asked then, when the mermaid had bowed and left, and the
goddess answered without turning towards him. “It’ll be a good way for you to get to know
him. So you’ll know whether to agree with me or not.”

Whether he too, was one more person to kill.

“What a pleasure, your Grace,” she addressed the man before he could answer, “it was a
brave choice, to offer yourself for this quest, fearless of the cursed plants that cover the
place.”

“Cursed?” he asked, stopping in his tracks, but it was too late.

“Very brave indeed, yes,” Percy pushed down, locking him in his questionable decision,
“mostly considering how difficult it’ll be to see them in this darkness.”
They both looked at him for a reply, which came way too long after they had finished
speaking. A bad start, if Percy could say, even if he wanted to oppose his demise as much as
he could.

“I… fear nothing,” he answered, and Amphitrite smiled condescendingly, before moving
forward without any further comment: not that anything could have spoken louder than that.

They swam in silence above the lush vegetation, trying to make sense of what they were
seeing, and the Duke trailed after them, a couple of feet further away from the plants- way
too far away to be able to discern anything.

“Does it seem even to you?” Amphitrite asked after a few minutes of silence, “The ground, I
mean. It seems like it’s…” she gestured up.

“I’m not really familiar with the geography of the area,” Percy admitted, “and I can’t feel
anything under these damned plants. But we’re in between mountains so maybe we’re just
not in the lower part yet.”

“Could be. It’s just that… this place isn’t supposed to be like this. I know Atlantis and I know
its surroundings- and all of this shouldn’t be here.”

Something loud fell behind them and they turned towards it so quickly that his head spinned,
but there was nothing. Percy had, for a second, believed it to be the sound of the Duke’s body
hitting the ground: passed out from fear, if his ragged breathing was of any indication.

“Dolphin?” the man asked, knowing he was supposed to reach them as soon as he was done
regrouping the army, but there was no answer.

“Probably just came from some animal,” Percy suggested, resuming his swimming, slow and
steady, and urging the goddess to do the same, “no need to worry. And gods can change the
shape of places, can they not? I can’t feel any Mist at work.”

“Me neither, unfortunately,” Amphitrite added, ”all of this seems to be true, and also
impossible.”

The algae proceeded without interruption, and the goddess’ theory that the ground was
getting higher and higher couldn’t be ignored any longer, not as they had to swim closer to
the surface to avoid touching the plants.

It seemed like a hill in the middle of mountains, newly made and so fertile that luscious
vegetation had grown on it in a year or less, and was now more than in the entire Northern
Duchy put together.

“Do you think Dolphin will be able to reach us here?” the Duke asked, terrified more, maybe,
by being alone with them than by the whole cursed plants affair.

The goddess didn’t answer, instead pointing in front of her. “Percy, look,” she called,
ignoring the man, “there is something… glittering there, on the ground.”
Following the almost vertical shape of the hill, they had swam closer to the surface that they
had in a long time, so much that some of the moonlight had managed to penetrate into the
water and enlighten just enough to confirm that something was, indeed, shining on the
ground.

“Let’s go look,” he said, and they swam carefully towards that spot, their nerves sewed on
top of their skin, Percy’s mind travelling hundreds miles per hour and completely quiet at the
same time. A million hypotheses, none likely.

“I don’t think there is anything there, actually. Let’s not lose time.”

No one listened, and the man was forced to follow when they reached the glittering light,
crouching in front of it, careful not to touch the probably cursed plants and careful not to
stand in front of the flebile light.

“It’s… a bracelet?” the goddess questioned, bringing her head closer to it, wrinkling her
eyebrows, her right hand moving towards it as if to touch, stopping before he could tell her
not to.

“Percy,” she called, her voice a tone higher than usual. “Percy, there is a hand attached to this
bracelet.”

Her voice quivered, and he could barely see. “What?” he asked, but the goddess had already
started digging from the side of the hill, the dirt tumbling down, the water getting rancid and
dusty: the hand fell off as if it had been cut, almost bouncing on the ground, and while
Percy’s eyes were fixated on it, the goddess screamed, and retracted her hand from the dirt.

It came out bloody, and black, and she started furiously wiping it on her dress while he stared
speechless at the place where she had dug: once taken out the outer, thick layer of dirt… the
inside of the hill was only filled with slowly decomposing corpses.

“I need it out, I need it out,” Amphitrite started repeating, almost rocking herself, and it was
enough to restart Percy’s brain.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” the Duke repeated, his face whiter than the one of the corpse, “I’m done,
I’m done. This is enough. Oh dear.”

Percy ignored him once again, entirely worried by Amphitrite’s violent reaction, “You’re
fine, you’re fine,” he reassured, coming to comfort her, willing the water to clean her tortured
hands, “it’s alright, see? You’re clean. It’s all clean.”

“Percy, these people- my people. My suddits. My… our supporters. All of them.”

He led her away from the smell of rotting flesh as much as he could, even if he knew he was
going to feel it in his nose for days and days, a new addition to his array of nightmares.

It was a big hill. A big, tall hill. They must have been thousands. Hundreds of thousands.

“Killed,” he said, swallowing down the beating of his own heart, “sacrificed to the same god
who stands with his temple above their own corpses.”
“Not at his worst,” she whispered, still staring at her hands, “not at his worst your- my
husband, not- he never…”

“I know,” Percy murmured, trying to keep it together for them both and yet so out of it that he
felt outside of his own body once again, floating next to it and leagues away at the same time,
“I know that.”

His hands on her arms, Amphitrite’s forehead pressed up against his shoulder, a passing
person could have said they had been hugging: but Percy had no illusion about the matter-
and knew that the goddess would draw away, if she realised.

He couldn’t say how long they remained in that position, just that his legs felt lifeless and
wobbly when she finally managed to tear her gaze away from where the people were, from
the colour of their bodies. Blue, like the sea. How could a colour look so beautiful in one
place and so disturbing in another?

They would have remained longer, maybe, if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of stone hitting
on stone, the crickle of flames and then smoke, so much smoke that it was like they had been
staying in the middle of a roaring fire for hours, without noticing.

“The temple!” Percy yelled, pulling the goddess up with him, both swimming at full speed
without any of the earlier caution, up towards the glimmering top of the hill.

“Where the fuck is the Duke?” he asked, looking around himself, but only finding smoke.
Had he left? Had he gone to burn the temple by himself? How could Percy have let him get
out of his sight?

The flames, red and blue together, engulfed what seemed to be a marble structure: Phorcys’
sacred place, where the fire seemed to have been raging for hours, undisturbed. But how?
How could they-

“My children!” Amphitrite screamed, a guttural sound that scared him more than anything
else, a cry of desperation so raw that it half turned out the flames, her power dancing in the
waters like an ointment on burned skin.

“Stay here, I’ll go inside for the boxes,” Percy started, but she stopped him, taking his hands
in hers, her eyes wild. “No, I’ll go. You’re mortal you could-”

“Percy, Amphitrite!” a voice screamed from behind them, out of breath. Dolphin. “Where are
the boxes? Where is the Duke?”

“Dolphin,” he started, “the hill… the people. We lost him, and I think-”

The goddess sprinted towards the temple, taking advantage of Percy’s stall and he yelled after
her while she entered the flames, the fregioes crumbling above her.

“Fuck,” Percy said, trying to follow her and finding Dolphin’s hand at his wirst. “It’s
dangerous. Wait here. She’s immortal.”
“I don’t burn,” he yelled, breaking free of his grasp, swimming towards the entrance, but to
no avail: the door to the temple had been blocked by the falling roof, sealing the marble and
what was inside.

“No,” he whispered, ready to throw the whole thing down, ready to earthquake the entirety of
the sea if it was necessary- but it wasn’t.

A shot of light came from the inside, blowing up the temple as it was made of paper cards,
and the goddess strode out of it, something in her arms.

She threw it at his feet, her eyes a deep golden. “A lifeless Duke,” she stated, “and no boxes.”

“This makes no sense,” he stated, sitting in his tent once again, after the obligatory visit from
the healer had declared him healthy enough, “why would he burn it by himself, and why
would he remain inside for so long? The door was still open when we arrived.”

“The boxes were in celestial bronze on the inside, right?” she asked instead, avoiding his
question, “they can’t have burned. It wasn't a holy fire.”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, pulling the strands of his hair that had gotten out of his
bun, “I don’t understand anything.”

“Your dream must have been wrong. Maybe it was a trick from Phorcys, or Eurybia. Maybe
they needed to- distract us. They needed more time to reinforce the city, and we handed it to
them on a silver platter.”

There was a bad taste in Percy’s mouth. A sick feeling, that he hadn’t been able to shake
since he had seen the Duke’s body laid out on a wooden table in the infirmary.

“Was he already dead when you entered the temple?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, her eyes angry. “I didn’t bloody kill him, if that’s what
you’re implying. Did I think his brother would have been a better Duke? Yes. But we’d agree
on taking the decision together.”

He was silent for a while, hating himself for not being able to trust her.

“He didn’t look like he had died in an accident,” he went on, “the burns were on all his body,
together with bruises, a few of his nails shattered. It looked like the body of someone who
had tried to fight off a mur- someone who was attacking him.”

She shook her head, getting up from her chair. “I was inside the temple just long enough to
look for the boxes, the ones where my actual children might be,” she spat out, and Percy
flinched.

Her eyes filled with something like regret, but she didn’t back down. “I know you feel guilty
for what happened when the second box was found, and I have tried to reassure you about it.
But don’t you dare accuse me of betraying my word.”
“I’m sorry,” he relented, swallowing down his pride, “you didn’t kill him, okay. But he still
looks murdered, and not just dead.”

The goddess sat back down, still angry but visibly trying to calm down, and turned around to
stare at the two boxes they had, the only ones they had somehow managed to put their hands
on.

She didn’t know more either, he realised. And he had known it already, maybe, but deep
down he had always hoped that she might have had… a bigger plan, a brilliant idea. A way to
draw light on the mystery they had found themselves stuck in.

Instead, she knew just as little as him. Maybe less, since she had never even managed to hear
anything from the boxes- nothing, not a word, not a feeling, and yet she had believed in his
words without reserve, with nothing but hope.

And in return, the only thing he was capable of doing was doubting her: her words, her
actions, her opinions over Dolphin and over Phaidros’ son.

“Maybe some parts of the ceiling had fallen on him,” she tried to answer, “there were pieces
of marble around him. He might have gotten hurt in moving them away from himself, and
then the smoke and the flames did the rest.”

“Might be, yes.”

She sighed, tired. “We’ll be home in a week,” she started, “try to think of that tonight, if you
can’t sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day of travel, and we’ll have to explain our empty
hands.”

“Looking forward to it,” he commented, and then there was only night, and silence.

And what he dreamt of Atlantis were not the sunny verandas and the coral ceilings- instead,
the decomposing faces of the ones who had served him there were sewn on top of the wrong
bodies, as if someone had taken random pieces from the corpses and tried to build them back.

They pointed at him then, as one would do to a beast, their mocking glances reaching Percy’s
tender insides, reaching that part of him that, from his suddits, had only ever desired love.

“I’m not a monster!” he screamed in his dream, uselessly, battling down their hands and their
caresses, half-wondering why that had been his first thought.

But it wasn’t a battle he was going to win. They were all in his head, and it felt like its control
was slipping away from him, day after day. How he had managed to keep sane while body
upon body fell out of the hill’s insides was beyond him- the fact that Amphitrite had needed
him, maybe, the only explanation.

You have all the means, the god had said. A death pill, painted golden.

“Just leave,” he begged, falling to his knees in between the rotting flesh, feeling it give up
under his knees, looking up at the half-people that surrounded him with pointed fingers, and
laughter.
A woman’s laughter. A goddess’ laughter?
He didn’t know anything any longer.

“So all this time, wasted,” the Red Duke commented, his fingers tapping on the table, “the
morale of my soldiers is as low as it has never been. They are tired of marching and of not
fighting.”

“Mine too,” the Arabian Duke commented, “however, I don’t think that this all has been
useless.”

“You don’t?” the leader of the Black Duchy mocked, and for once Percy couldn’t disagree
with him- they had lost weeks of war, lost a commander and had achieved nothing but more
nightmares.

“Well, I don’t wish to be insensitive. But we all, mh, must have… realised that the man was
nothing like the old Phaidros. And the prophecy said ‘there lies what the war will make
blest’. And there lies is another way to say dead, isn’t it?”

Amphitrite glanced at Percy, her eyes disbelieving.

“So you say that the Duke’s death was necessary for the war- to bless the war,” one of his
generals went on, seemingly deep in thought, “so that we may succeed with his brother in
charge of his army.”

The Red Duke shook his head, chuckling, his previous anger forgotten. “This is the trick all
prophecies thrive on, isn’t it?” he said, looking at the others, “we thought we’d find
something, we thought we’d interpreted it right… and then we hadn’t.”

“Yes, that must have been it,” Percy added, trying to make his voice sound as convincing as
possible, even if he couldn’t believe what was happening, and he looked at Dolphin and
Amphitrite, urging them to at least make some sound of assent.

“Thousands of years of them and they still win,” the goddess commented, raising some
laughter in between the soldiers, whose mood had greatly improved: it wasn’t their mistake
anymore, not an error of judgement-

-the Fates had had so decided, and therefore they had been bound to it, with no other possible
choice. So of course they had gone, of course the right person had died, and now the war was
assured to go well.

Or would be assured to go well, had it been a real prophecy.

“What have we done?” Percy whispered to the goddess while they departed for Atlantis once
again, “What have we done?”

“We messed up with the Fates,” she answered, her hippocampus' reins held tight in her hand,
“we took their place, and they won’t like it.”
 “I killed him,” he went on, “We killed him. Oh gods, how will I tell Myrto?”

“We couldn’t know. How could we have known?”

“I don’t know. The dream… it seemed so real. I thought-” he interrupted himself, shaking his
head, unwilling to share his delusions about Poseidon’s intervention.

“Do you think Dolphin will tell?” he asked instead, turning to look towards him, riding next
to one of the dukes, lost in conversation.

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t gain anything from it, as he helped us. But Perseus,” she
continued, using his full name and thus requiring his full attention, “the Fates do not like to
be challenged, nor they like their decisions to be made for them. We must be careful now,
more than ever.”

“Or they’ll curse us, curse our war?”

“Or your life, Percy, will be just like the one of the heroes before you- a cautionary tale of a
pretty boy that tried to touch the sun and got himself burned.”

Chapter End Notes

Hello there!!
Kind of a heavy chapter today, but I hope you're enjoying all these mysteries... we'll get
all the answer in due time, I promise.

Thank you for reading and for all your lovely comments on the previous chapter! I love
reading all your theories <3
 Year III, March I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

They swam fast and in good spirits, the army both excited and anxious to be getting closer
and closer to Atlantis, so much that the generals spent a whole day without assigning half a
punishment.

Percy would have been proud of it, had he had more time to consider what it meant- that the
army was satisfied, that there didn’t seem to be disloyalty and that betrayal didn’t seem on
the horizon- and yet his days and nights were eaten away by worry.

Dear Myrto, he wrote, with Atlantis close enough to be seen, more from habit than from a
real hope of receiving an answer;

There is not much I am allowed to write, if not that I miss you and that I wish you were here,
to share this journey with me. A selfish thought, because all of this has been tiring and
dangerous: but one I hope you will allow me, out of kindness, if not out of…

Love, he thought. But it was the night talking, and the loneliness: if it was, if it was meant to
be, she would deserve to have it for real, to decide once they could talk to each other in
person. Not like this. And how long had it been then, since they had last seen each other?

Maybe she could have loved him before. Maybe she would have, had she fallen for him when
he still wasn’t a murderer, when he still hadn’t caused the death of her brother and, indirectly,
of her father. But how could he ask it of her now, knowing what he had become?

How is Cadmus? he went on, passing on a safer topic, I hope all is well. His advice and easy
company are missed just as much as his leading abilities, and I can’t wait for him to meet
Dolphin again- I’m certain they will get along.

He paused, and heard the guards switching places for the last turn of watch before morning.
He’d have to get ready soon, wear an armour that got heavier and heavier by the day and
march as if nothing was wrong, as if there wasn’t his own demise on the finish line of their
journey.

Myrto, my dear wife, there are things we shall have to speak about, when you return.
I hope you will be able to forgive me for them, one day.
Yours, always,
Percy

The golden drachmas fell on the envelope with a mirthless sound, and the ink bottle trembled
all the way back to the drawer.

.
“That’s Atlantis bubble, you see?” Amphitrite addressed him, wearing one of her most
embellished armours, “at this hour tomorrow, we’ll be at its gates.”

“I can feel its power from here,” he sighed, “we’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,
that it almost doesn’t feel real.”

“Two years should have been nothing for an immortal like me. But I guess all changes, when
in company of mortals- everything becomes shorter, and yet more intense.”

“And more dangerous,” he added, staring at the bubble in the distance, wishing that it hadn’t
been obscured, that he would be able to actually see the towers and the Palace inside.

Instead, only the shiny, bluish outside of the city’s defences could be seen, built on top of the
tall and wide walls, walls which had resisted for millenia and that would now need to be
destroyed.

“I think we’re ready, though,” she continued, her eyes set on the citadel, “I think we’ll never
be more ready than this.”

He chuckled. “I’ll let you think of this as a good thing, if you wish to. The new northern
duke’s attempts at lifting everyone’s spirits yesterday seems to have worked.”

She smiled, turning towards him without commenting. “I was surprised you only spoke with
him of battle and strategy.”

“Why, what was I supposed to speak to him about?”

“You would have tried to make friends with him, had we met him before. As you did with
Cadmus, with Dolphin, as you tried with the soldiers. As you were with the Count, and with
that servant boy in the Palace.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t find the words. They had argued so many
times about his desire to treat the soldiers as equals, to befriend them without worrying about
class and etiquette.

And now that the dukes would be appropriate, now that his wife’s brother would be an
excellent friend and ally to have- now he hadn’t even thought about trying to speak of
something more than what had been necessary.

“Everyone I got close to left, or was injured. It’s better like this,” he answered, convincing
himself more than her, “there will be time for friends when I’ll know I’d be able to keep them
safe.”

“If you say so,” she relented, unconvinced, and Percy would have explained it to her, had he
had the energy- that friends for him, would always mean the demigods he had shared quests
and life with. And that he couldn’t forget, that he wouldn’t forget how Annabeth’s eyes
reflected the light of the sun, how Grover’s smile shined brighter than it, how he still rolled
his shoulders the way Thalia did, how he thought of Frank every time he saw a koi goldfish.
All small pieces of a forgotten life- pieces which had built a person that was now
irremediably changed, pieces which were now half lost and half damaged, maybe too much
for them to ever fit again.

And so he spoke with the generals, and with the dukes, and he joked with the soldiers and
smiled at the fishes- but they were not his friends.

The silence stretched the night into an endless dark, the warming currents gently caressing
the flames of the candles, lit there where they should not have been.

“Brother,” Percy addressed the box, passing his index on it, clearing away some of the fine
dust, “sister.”

He closed his eyes, and focused on the small snores coming from the soldiers’ tents, on their
rising chests and their deep mumbling.

“We’ll be home, tomorrow,” he whispered, his fingers tracing lines on the wood, “will you
recognize it? Will you finally-”

The sound of a curtain being opened, the tender parting of the water and then Dolphin was
there, unwelcome and unarmoured.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, coming to sit down next to him, interrupting his thoughts, and
Percy nodded, his hands still focused, untrembling.

“Me neither,” the man admitted, the lines on his face somehow starker in the flebile light,
“must be the nerves. Tomorrow…”

“Yeah”

Dolphin squirmed in his seat, bothered by the awkwardness of their conversation. It had been
so easy once, Percy knew, and now it just wasn’t the same anymore.

“The North Duke is a good strategist,” he changed the topic, “even if the way he came to
power hasn’t been… optimal, it might still lead to a most favourable outcome.”

The old general nodded, his eyes on the boxes. “Atlantis may fall sooner than expected, you
know? Your blood still stains the throne.”

“Bythus had another one built,” Percy answered, wondering how could he have not known of
it, but Dolphin just smiled, shaking his head without moving his eyes.

“It’s not the same, Perseus. We all know it.”

“We?”

He averted his eyes, standing up to leave. “Me and the other dukes,” he explained, placing his
heavy hand on his left shoulder, “even Amphitrite. We have the utmost faith in… your love
for the city.”

Percy closed his eyes again, swallowing down the weight of his words and the faint
impression that they had not been as clear as they seemed.

“Brother,” he started again, once he had heard him leaving, “if that is what you are please,
please, give me a sign.”

And the flames died over the candles.

“Soldiers!” Percy shouted from his position in front of the army, dressed for battle but also to
impress, “All of you have seen the capital, all of you have been able to glance at its defences.
And I know what it comes natural to think- that they are impenetrable, that you have fatigued
enough.”

He paused, running his eyes on the dukes, on Amphitrite, not knowing for whom the speech
actually was. Them? The soldiers? Himself?

“But look in between yourselves, feel the energy of what has been the heart of this Kingdom
since days long gone and ask, ask your own soul- is this really where you want to say stop? Is
this really the point in which you want to give up, so close to the end?”

He yelled the last parts, and equally loud shouts came from all the sides of the army, a loud
protest of No! and of various promises of loyalty and endurance- which Percy was aware
would probably not be enough for the long months they’d have to spend in the siege, with
little food, illnesses and losses.

It was a start though, and all they had at the moment, so it had to be enough.

“Then let’s make them regret ever setting foot in our city,” he concluded, “let’s take down the
walls and their soldiers- let’s make them grieve their lives before they have even lost them.”

Long live the King, they shouted in between incomprehensible yells, and Percy turned
around, towards the open sea, to not show how much those words still meant to him, even
after so long after the first time he had kneeled in front of a crown.

“Will you be in need of a squire, when this war will have ended?” the Arabian Duke accosted
him, unannounced, soon after they had started their last march, “My son will be the right age
for it, probably, by that time.”

“A kind offer,” Percy answered, silently dreading his future overbearance, “I’ll keep it in
mind, for when the time comes.”

“It’ll do so good to him, you know. I was never supposed to inherit,” he continued, “therefore
I am not certain I can teach him everything he needs to know. But you- oh you were born for
this.”
Percy thought of his run-down bedroom, of the food stamps he kept as his most treasured
possession for all his childhood, of the second-hand clothes that never fit him properly. Him,
born to be a King, was nothing but a laughable notion. But the Duke wasn’t mocking, nor
derisive.

He meant it, has had dozens others.

“Your faith honours me, your Grace,” he answered, “if the occasion shall arise, I will
remember this conversation.”

“I ask for nothing more,” he half-bowed, leaving him to ponder in silence. If he raised his
eyes, just a little bit, the bluish bubble of Atlantis came into sight, imposing itself above him
like a bad omen, one the creeping spring could not overcome.

“I will not disappoint you,” he whispered to himself- talking to the Duke, to Amphitrite, to
his own expectations and to the energies in the boxes. Talking to his father, talking to the
mother whom he wanted to see again.

“I will not. I promise.”

(no one else had heard him, but the bards will know his words when they’ll write of this-
they’ll know his heart and they’ll show its insides. The son promised he’d bring back his
king, they’ll sing, but fate? no one alive has ever escaped it.)

On the last hour of the journey, Amphitrite and Dolphin rode next to him, each at one side,
letting the sound of clanking armours and fatigued breathings talk for them. What was there
to speak about, after all?

As they moved through the water, they could all see the destruction Bythus had caused all
around, the burnt farms and the sterile fields, the abandoned houses with all of their
inhabitants’ possessions still inside. They had had to leave in a hurry, maybe under the attack
of the southern soldiers, maybe because of a well timed arson.

However it had happened, the place had been made as hostile as possible, so that Percy’s own
army wouldn’t have food for far longer than they had programmed to: for as long as they
didn’t find a place that could still allow their farming, which could take weeks.

“At least we have a sign of resistance, here,” Percy commented, a mile from the city, “until
now it almost felt like we had been welcomed inside.”

“Bythus’ army is still not here, though,” Amphitrite added, “there is no one else outside but
us. I’ll keep the water checked: they are protected from it inside of the bubble, and I wouldn’t
be too surprised if they tried again what they failed in Hallmer.”

“They won’t,” Dolphin answered, “there are too many currents around here, for a poison to
have any chance at actually being ingested in deadly amounts. It would just be a waste of
resources for them.”
The goddess glared at him, hating being disputed, and Percy intervened before the situation
could turn into an argument.

“Well,” he proposed, “double checking won’t hurt, especially since some of our soldiers have
had problems when we passed through the Great Patch. They might be very sensitive to even
small amounts.”

“Exactly,” Amphitrite said, before coming to a sudden halt as soon as she raised her eyes.

Because they had gotten distracted, and the last mile had passed.

And in front of them, tall and wide, imposing beyond measure, stood Atlantis’ walls, silent
and dead in between the strong currents. She had probably never seen them as empty, as
devoid of life- and if the sight was for him dreary, he could only imagine the effect it had on
the goddess, and even on Dolphin.

The old general tried to say something then, but his words were lost in the waters, where at
Percy’s signal the low, deep sound of the war conch shells was busy passing, covering
everything else, so ominous that Percy would have been scared, hadn’t it come from his own
generals.

He had insisted that the ancient rules of war must be respected- thus with the first blow, the
men signalled the presence of an army outside the city gates. And with the second one,
deeper and longer, they proclaimed war.

When it was done, before Percy’s heart could stop thumping in his chest, he had a second of
complete and utter panic- what if the city was empty? What if Atlantis had been abandoned
and the capital moved, and that’s why they had found no resistance?

“Amphitrite I…” he started, his hands white from the harshness with which he was holding
his reins, and the goddess turned towards him, her eyes widening and her mouth opening to
say something-

-covered by the ringing bells of the city’s towers, the only thing that could be heard from
inside the bubble. Three times they rang- and thus declared their intention in defending their
city, not giving up at the prospect of a siege.

No one had thought they would, after all, and soon soldiers started coming out of the wall’s
turrets, bows in hand and shield at arm’s range, placing themselves on the narrow path from
where they would have tried to keep the city they had stolen.

There were a few murmurs in between the army, his archers reading themselves too, but they
all knew there wasn’t going to be a battle that very day, not before Percy and Bythus could
talk- to fake an attempt at diplomacy.

He had been awaiting the chance to see him in the face again, to convey his hatred not with
actions but with words, to show him how much his assassination attempt had failed, how he
had only become stronger after it- but it wasn’t Bythus who came out of the walls.
One of his councillors stood there instead, with the Japanese Duke at his side, their clothes so
full of gold to be almost blinding.

“Those are my husband’s,” Amphitrite whispered, horrified, “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them with
my own hands, and tear their limbs away with my teeth.”

“Good,” he commented, letting the sight worsen his need for vengeance.

“That’s the councillor from the Antarctic Ocean,” Dolphin spoke to him then, “if you
remember, he took care of war matters.”

“The wrong side of them,” Percy growled, insulted by Bythus’ absence, and only the
presence of the capital’s protections stopped him from trying to murder them on the spot.

“I see you have come, finally,” the Duke started, his voice not carrying through the water
with the force he probably wanted it to, “but you have made a mistake. The city is no longer
yours, and the sea has given up on you. Go back north- and maybe we’ll spare you.”

Percy chuckled. “Mediocre threats, coming from an even more mediocre man. Tell me then,
if you are so sure of victory, why is your ally too scared to stand on the walls with you?”

“King Bythus,” the councillor intervened, “has no time to lose with your tantrums. Stay at the
gates, touch the walls- all will be useless. Your only success,” he yelled, “will be to make
your men perish, in hungry agony and illness.”

“I take you are not surrendering then,” Amphitrite spat out, her voice everywhere, clearer
than a waterfall, “you will be the ones regretting this, I can assure you, for I am a goddess
and you have turned your back to me.”

The Duke laughed, but his eyes weren’t at peace. “We have gods too, on our side,” he started,
“and soon we’ll have more. Come to terms with this, young bastard,” he continued,
addressing Percy, “this is where you die.”

They left with those words, and even the soldiers retreated into the walls. There would be no
battle that day, maybe not even the day after. They’d have time to build their camp.

“Don’t think of his words,” the goddess murmured to him, “they are as empty of importance
as my heart is empty of mercy.”

Percy nodded, and spent the rest of the day making sure the plans they had made would be
respected, from the position of the tents and the rules to follow to the protection of the boxes.

But when he laid down, that night, he used the last of his consciousness to pray for something
that he had no right to ask for. If I am to die here, he addressed the Fates, pouring his last of
the wine, burning some of the little incense they had left, if that is my fate, let it be after I’ve
stripped Bythus’ heart from his body.

He had angered them, but he had also served them well, during the years.
Maybe, just maybe, they would give his wish a try.
Chapter End Notes

So, two things:

"The son promised he’d bring back his king," is an inversion from a line in the Iliad
(book 18- I promised the king I'd bring him back his son)

While "but fate? no one alive has ever escaped it." is a direct quote from book 6.

💖💖
Thank you all for reading and for the love you give to this story!!
 Year III, March II
Chapter Notes

Do not worry about your heart today- it too needs a bit of tenderness before the war.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“The eastern side has been built, and we’re in a good place with the defences,” the chief of
the Red Sea generals was explaining to him, “it’s taking longer than usual because we’re
making everything more stable, since we won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

“Of course,” Percy answered, while they slowly swam in between the soldiers, surrounded by
the noise of work and fatigue but also, unexpectedly, cheerful voices, “do you think it’ll be
done by the end of the week?”

“Maybe, if they keep this rhythm…” the woman sighed, “but they’ll go slower, once the
initial excitement wears off. I’ll make sure the borders are built first: after that, if they have to
sleep on the sand they’ll only have their laziness to blame.”

Percy chuckled. “Your Duke leaves you with many responsibilities,” he commented, “I’m not
sure he has ever reported to me himself.”

“He trusts my judgement when it comes to the soldiers,” she answered, hesitantly, “but he
and the Duchess handle all of the rest.”

He nodded, letting his eyes wander through the rows and rows of tents, thinking on how to
phrase the following questions: because Amphitrite’s words had hit a raw target, and now he
wanted to come to know more of all those he was going to fight a war with.

Did it count as friendliness, if his aim wasn’t friendship, but an assurance of loyalty?

“I thought she’d be the one coming here,” he went on, trying to seem uninterested, “since the
Duke only married into his role.”

“Her Grace doesn’t like battle,” the general answered, her voice tight, “but you must not fear
she will switch alliances. She does not have the power to do so, for she only rules in name.
The Duke is in charge of the duchy as much as I am of the army.”

“And what about your alliance?”

There was a pause.

“Mine, sir?” she asked, and he just smiled at her.

“I’m certain you have received some… proposals from Bythus,” he started, keeping it quiet,
“and we both know why, don’t we? You would have no ground for it, if I were to win.”

“I am loyal to you, Your Majesty, to you first and to myself second. Nothing I want has more
importance than winning this battle. And, if I may be as bold…”

He nodded, coming to stop at the edge of their half-made camp, looking at the general as if
he were trying to read her own soul, until she looked uneasy about the attention.

“You are a fair ruler. I am certain that you will remember all men’s loyalty when this will be
done, when you will sit on the city’s throne again. I have disclaimed my father’s name to lead
his army, and I have renounced a duchy so I could keep honouring yours.”

Her tone was determined, but Percy could see that she was afraid of what repercussions her
words could bring her, and that wasn’t all she had wanted to say. And yet, she had been brave
enough- his idea could work.

“There are many things I can promise, and fair rewards are one of them. But you wish for the
best of it- a ruling position, a land of your own, don’t you?”

She nodded slightly and he continued. “And I can give it to you. But since it is the greatest
reward, then what you must do will have to be greater than what everybody else does.”

Her right hand went to her heart, pressing there as a promise. “Everything,” she swore, “ask it
of me, and it shall be done.”

“Good. I am in need of a right hand. Keep your job here, keep your soldiers but, most
importantly, listen to the gossip, chat with the other generals, and then report to me any
interesting find. Both our future positions,” he stressed, “depend on the army’s loyalty.”

She smiled, all of her teeth showing. “I accept the task with pleasure, sir. You will not regret
it, as I am certain I won’t.”

“Of course not,” Percy smiled, “we understand each other, us bastards, don’t we?”

He wanted to speak to Amphitrite about his conversation immediately, but half of the
captains seemed interested in talking to him right at that moment, informing him of useless
decisions they had taken while the light dimmed and dimmed, no matter how much Percy
glared at it and tried to keep it afternoon.

After he had been tortured enough, tired and annoyed he swam back where their tents were
being built, just to be told that the goddess had decided to spend the evening with her ladies,
and had asked to be only interrupted in case of emergencies.

Which, of course, Percy’s deal with the general wasn’t.

He sighed, half-decided on just going to bed and say goodbye to a day that had had nothing
good when, looking around himself, he realised that he was alone. Or better, that there was no
one around him whom he needed to answer to.

Amphitrite would not come to look for him, and Dolphin would remain with the dukes as he
always did: he was free. For the first time in years, he was free.

As he realised, his excitement soon turned into hesitation, then into resolve. Just a second,
he’d go for just a second. What could happen in a second?

She didn’t even need to know.

Decision taken, he said goodnight to his guards and swam as if to enter his own tent, but he
did not enter, and turned behind it instead, where the light of the torches didn’t reach. He
looked up, at the dark water, at the black of its secrets.

They had a barrier above camp, but he had helped make it: he knew how to pass unobserved,
and with a last, long look around himself, he started swimming up, upwards toward the open
sea.

Slowly, trying not to be seen, he thwarted the barrier and passed through it without breathing,
half afraid to find an army out of it, half regretting his decision already.

But it would be worth it. The risk would be worth it. They would call him impulsive, and
they’d be right.

Another push and he was out of the protection of their camp, alone in the water, in front of
the city which had once been his. The walls glowed slightly in the night, silent as the dead
while Percy built a shield of water around him, so that the guards would have more
difficulties in detecting him- if they were even there to try.

The temptation to go towards it, to touch the walls and try to tear the whole thing down was
enormous, was so strong that for a second he really thought that he’d have to do it, that never
would he be able to resist.

But Amphitrite would never forgive him for it. If something happened, she’d have the right to
curse him over and over again, even in his death. Not like she’d be happy with what he was
going to do now- but the likelihood of it being dangerous was… less.

And so he swam up, as fast as his mortal legs could go, as fast as his mortal lungs could
allow, blinded by the light blue of the water, made deaf by the lightening of the pressure all
above and around him, ecstatic and careless, until the water trembled above him.

His heart beating faster than it had in months, he slowly raised his right arm up, reaching
with his fingers for the top of the water… just to immediately retract his hand again, without
breaking the surface.

He was there. A few inches and he would see the stars once again, maybe for the last time, a
few inches and he would see the moonlight reflected on the calm sea surface, a few inches
and his lungs would fill with air once again.
But his heedless decision was starting to feel as dangerous as it was. What if a god saw him?
What if Selene brought him up on his carriage, to the same Olympus he had promised to
avoid?

Hades' words came back to him all at once, then: if you leave the centre of your power you
will die, he had said, as mortals do. He had taken for granted it would mean of old age, of a
mortal cause of death- but now that he was a step away from it, he wasn’t so certain anymore.

Since when, was he such a coward? He had swam for miles, and he had hours back to the
camp, and yet… maybe, he had stopped being brave when he had stopped having only his
life to risk, but the one of thousands of people, and the more he stayed out, so close to the
surface, the more in danger he was.

The more in danger they all were.

He looked up again, at the softest light he had seen in years, imagining the constellations and
the shape of ships in the distance.

“Hello, stars,” he whispered.

And then turned his back to the sky, diving into the depths once again, entering his own tent
with the tenderness of the morning.

A few hours later, it was even too easy to pretend nothing had happened, since, looking at the
matter of things, there had been no actual change. Percy hadn’t seen the surface, but no one
had seen him either.

Yet, he was nervous when he finally reached Amphitrite at breakfast. “How was your
evening?” he asked pleasantly, “I had an early night, yesterday.”

“It was nice to take a few hours off, now that the situation is going to be stable for a few
days,” she answered, looking well-rested, “the plans are all made and ready, and there is
nothing to do but wait for the camp to be built. You should take advantage and rest too,
before the fighting starts.”

“Maybe I will,” he smiled, and when she didn’t add anything, he finally decided that it was
the right moment to speak with her of his previous day's conversation.

“I spoke to the Red Sea commander, yesterday,” he started, catching her full attention
immediately, “she seems capable.”

“And dangerous. Bythus will want her for himself.”

Percy raised his eyebrows, as to say of course, and Amphitrite shot him a perplexed
expression. “What did you offer her?” she asked then, and Percy narrated their conversation,
word for word.
“For silence and a promise of land, she’ll not only be loyal, but will also report on all those
who aren’t. It didn’t seem like a bad deal.”

“Silence,” she scoffed, “her soldiers are probably the only ones who don’t know of her
parentage: when she was born, it was all the high society could speak about for months. Her
mother could have married anybody, you know? She was the sole heir of her father’s duchy,
and had hundreds of offers.”

“I know nothing of the Duchess,” Percy answered, “did she marry for love, then?”

Amphitrite sighed. “It seemed so. Her husband was the third son of a Count- not a
commoner, but definitely not her best offer. She made him Duke, and he started having
affairs soon after: his natural daughter, the general, was born only a year after his marriage.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, because what is there to say? He couldn’t fully understand what it
meant, to receive such an offence, but the goddess could, and her voice seemed so…
defeated.

“He made her a general of the army as soon as she was of age, and together they worked to
reduce the Duchess's power as much as they could, trying to install him as the rightful ruler,
so that she could inherit at his death. I assume that’s what Bythus had offered too?”

Percy made a sign of agreement. “They have no children together, then?”

She shook her head. “The duchy is set to pass to distant cousins.”

“Their plan might actually work, then,” he sighed, “I don’t like her ambition, but I believe we
might try to use it to our advantage. And the more we’ll have to stay here, the more
discontent will brew. We’ll need to be aware of it.”

“And Dolphin is too known as our right hand for him to be a possible spy. No, you chose
well, Percy,” she complimented, “I just don’t think I’m ever going to like the girl.”

“No one asks it of you,” he reassured, “she’ll only look for you if I’m not here, and I don’t
think it’ll happen too often.”

“Of course not,” she answered, “what reason would you ever have, to not be here?”

“None,” he answered, “none at all.”

They had been expecting an attack, an attempt at diplomacy: but while the days passed
Atlantis remained silent, closed off, and the obvious increase in its border’s defences was the
only sign that they had taken their siege into consideration.

“They are too sure of themselves,” Dolphin commented, “better for us, if they underestimate
our force.”
“Or maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment to attack, waiting for us to lower our
defences,” the Red Duke commented, “they have gods with them. There may be things that
are different from how we see them.”

“I think I’d be able to tell, if that were the case,” Amphitrite answered, “at least in what
concerns the external defences. The inside of the city is a mystery to me as it is to you.”

“Well, we’ve had the time to build our camp in peace though,” the Arabian Duke went on,
“so truly, their decision not to attack immediately has, for now, been nothing but favourable
to us.”

“Yes,” Percy took control of the conversation, “and we can proceed with our plan from here,
and block all the ways in and out of the city. Once that is done, the real attack on the walls
can start.”

“A map might be useful,” the Northern Duke added, his eyes focused, “maybe Lady
Amphitrite would be willing to share her knowledge of Atlantis’ entrances?”

“I’ve already started on it, Your Grace,” she answered, “but I need a perlustration of the
perimeter to complete it. It’s likely that Bythus has added some doors, and taken away
others.”

“The two secret passages need to be closed too, then,” Dolphin continued, and the goddess
glared at him for an instant, before schooling her expression back into indifference.

Percy too, had to hold back his annoyance: the existence of those passages shouldn’t have
been made so public, no matter the circumstances. They could have been blocked in private,
without much fuss.

“Two secret passages,” the Black Duke commented immediately, “interesting. How secret are
they, to the inhabitants of the city?”

“Well, none of us has ever been an inhabitant of the city, therefore I’m afraid there is no
answer to this question,” Percy said, smiling, “maybe you can try asking them, when we’ll
break inside.”

The Arabian Duke chuckled, and his brother-in-law sighed. Myrto, it seemed, had written to
him enough about her husband, enough for him to be exasperated already.

Enough to make it impossible to believe that he didn’t, after all, kind of enjoy the banter.

“We should proceed with the exploration of the walls now, then,” the Duke proposed,
unaware of Percy’s thoughts on him, “so that tomorrow we’ll manage to be quicker, and save
us the trouble of holding off the archers for a long time.”

“Now?” Percy questioned, looking at the goddess.

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “We should take advantage of the cover of the night,” she
started, “we’ll be safer, that way.”
A few other topics were discussed then, but Percy stopped paying attention, too worried
about the goddess’ safety. He trusted the Northern Duke, as the brother of his wife and as a
good swordsman, but the idea of staying to the sides while she went off towards danger…

It was out of the question of course, that he too would go: not only was it an useless risk, but
also if Bythus’ army decided to attack in that moment, the dukes wouldn’t be able to defend
the camp against the two gods by themselves.

No, at least him or the goddess needed to remain where most of the army was, at all times.
And if this meant that they needed to separate… Percy would just have to come to terms with
it.

Loyalty, Athena had said. Percy often wondered if she might have been wrong, for control
would be a better fit. Or anger maybe, even hubris.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he asked the goddess after supper, when she was about to
depart with the Duke, “promise me you won’t try anything too dangerous.”

“It’s funny to hear you say my words,” she answered, “maybe you’ll realise how scary
having to deal with your antics is, now.”

He glared at her, but she just laughed, placing a hand on his forearm and squeezing just long
enough for it to be more affectionate than casual.

“I’ll be back with a map,” she promised, “and tomorrow we’ll seal the doors together, and
show Bythus and the Japanese Duke just how much they were mistaken, when they tried to
pretend we were a nothingness under their feet.”

“Good,” Percy answered, “good. Wake me up then, when you return.”

She shook her head, and after he had extorted a promise of carefulness from the Duke too,
they left with a piece of paper, a bottle of ink, and a great deal of courage.

Percy moped around the fire for a while, worried and angry at himself for being so worried.
He swam between the tents a bit, but he didn’t feel like chatting, and the loud songs of the
soldiers soon annoyed him.

He went back where the boxes were, then, but even there he could hear nothing but his own
thoughts, circling in his mind one worse than the other: soon he was bored of the empty room
too and he went to swim around the goddess’ tent, fighting the urge to go inside before
settling on going back to his own quarters, and trying to get some sleep.

He had spent all the previous night swimming, after all. His body ought to be tired, even if it
was harder to feel it when so close to Atlantis.

“Would you like company, for the night?” someone asked him while he passed, but he just
shook his head. Whatever company they had been offering- even if the kind of it seemed
quite obvious- wasn’t what he needed, nor wanted.
 He had accepted it once, in Atlantis, and he had felt the guilt of it for months. And now, now
that he was married, even the temptation of it had become almost nonexistent.

Once in his room, the bed was an easy target. The mattress was comfortable under him, soft
and easily moulded by the shape of his body and, as he tried to remain awake, several
scenarios passed in front of his eyes.

Atlantis, burning, the boxes, opened and destroyed, Amphitrite screaming and with her
Myrto, and all of the soldiers. His own body, painted red like Matisse’s studio, lying on the
ground.

He believed himself awake for all of it, but when someone gently touched his arm, his eyes
had to open themselves before he could see.

A figure was standing alongside his bed, her long hair the only thing he could distinguish in
the darkness. “All is well,” she murmured, “sleep well, now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Yes, mom,” he drew out, his voice rough from sleep, and the gentle hand caressed his hair
with tenderness, before he could close his eyes and forget about it once again.

Chapter End Notes

Hi there! Bit of a quieter chapter today, as promised, but don't get too used to it... we'll
get into the gist of it quite soon ;)

Hope you enjoyed, and thank you all for your lovely comments on last chapter 💚💚
Have a great week!!
 Year III, April I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The morning came softly, surrounded by spring

With no chirping birds, no blooming trees nor gentle winds, the only indications were the
slightly warmer currents, the shorter nights- the fact that Percy no longer shivered while he
dressed in the morning: and yet there could be no doubt any longer.

Spring was there, and with it a terrible desire to live.

The Northern Duke knocked at his tent, hesitantly coming inside, respectful of the early
morning hour, even if there was no one sleeping.

“The soldiers are ready, Your Majesty,” he stated, and Percy nodded, locking the last strap of
his sword, checking that his armour was all well put.

The water smelled of hope: today was not the day in which he’d taint it red.

“Good,” he answered, taking a deep breath in the dusky light, “I am too.”

And in a distant world, the air that left his lungs grew flowers over the dirty soil.

It was a short distance to cover, the one between their camp and the city, just far enough to be
out of the arrows’ range, and yet the march seemed even shorter while Percy led the soldiers
to their very first battle as a united army- to the very first battle at the feet of Atlantis’ walls.

“We made the map with the utmost precision, yesterday,” Amphitrite whispered to him, “the
Arabian Duke and Dolphin will manage just fine, and Bythus’ soldiers will be too busy
countering our attacks to even notice them, most likely.”

“Good. I wonder whether they’ll send their soldiers out, now that we’ve been here for weeks
already. They’ll be anxious for a fight.”

“And I’m ready to give it to them,” she smiled, as the city bells rang, as the archers once
again filled the walls, ready to shoot arrows and fire.

“For Poseidon!” Percy yelled, while he focused on the water around him, creating an
immense pressure and then blasting it on the walls, hoping to make them fall down.

It was a powerful hit, but nothing even trembled, and he focused on it once again, while the
dukes took care of organising the defence, of assembling the last pieces of their battering
ram.
“I don’t think that will work if your powers haven’t,” the Red general commented, arriving
from behind him, “but my father needs to feel himself useful.”

Eda, Percy had found out was her name. From Amphitrite, for she had refused to tell him
when he had asked- names have power, after all, and the general had desired, but failed, to
keep hers hidden.

“It’s the constant repetition of the hit that causes the collapse,” Percy explained, “and they
will be able to go on longer than me, for I will just try until my attention is led elsewhere.”

Once again he charged at the walls, and once again they remained still, the barrier above
them not even shaking from the impact- an impact that Percy knew to be strong.

“One!” the soldiers screamed under him, the head of the battering ram crashing against the
city’s main door, the sound of it carrying itself in the water with all its strength.

“There is no way they haven’t heard it inside,” Amphitrite swore, her powers around the
siege engine, gifting it with supernatural resistance, “the inhabitants must know we’re here.”

“Two!” they screamed again, and Percy timed his hit to coincide with theirs- but the doors
only slightly rattled.

“Who knows what Bythus has told them about us,” he answered the goddess, “Atlantis has
been isolated for months. They might even believe me dead.”

“Shields up!” someone screamed, and the goddess swiftly solidified the water above them,
letting the arrows bounce over it, cursing under her breath.

“Five!” the men screamed below them, and Percy could see that they were already getting
tired, that bringing all the army out had been a mistake if there were no enemies to fight-
because like this, his only result would be to have dozens killed by the flaming arrows.

“Bythus!” he yelled, swimming as high as the bubble, “you are as cowardly as your soldiers.
Is this the war they teach in the Southern Duchy? Is this the honour your fathers have passed
on upon you?”

“I’m not sure they can hear you inside,” the general tried.

“They heard the shells,” he argued, “order for them to be played again. I am here. My city
will not ignore my presence.”

Eda nodded, and soon the sound of them filled the water, a haunting melody that gave
strength to the soldiers handling the battering ram, that gave aim to the archers who were
hitting back the ones on the walls.

“Listen to me, Atlantis!” Percy yelled again, “Your King is here, as Amphitrite is. Bythus and
the Japanese will soon be deposed, and you shall be free. But you must fight first, fight
against him!”
He panted, out of breath, and swam back to where the goddess was waiting for him, a sad
smile on her face.

A few minutes passed, and nothing happened.

“Sixteen!” the soldiers screamed, and again the walls remained steady.

“This is not how I thought this would go,” Percy commented, “it doesn’t feel like a battle,
and certainly not as a war. We’re just here fighting… a wall, and a few archers, put there just
for show.”

The goddess sighed. “Sieges are hardly exciting. Even Homer, with all his prowess, could not
fathom the idea of writing the boring parts of it.”

“And yet we can’t skip time, as he has,” he chuckled, “Should we check on Dolphin? Just so
I won’t have to stand here like an idiot?”

“Better not to draw attention to him. Let’s try to help with the doors again: maybe, if we all
focus together they-”

A screeching sound tore through the water, and everyone turned towards the city, towards the
shiny, bluish bubble from which an opening was being drawn, circular and big enough to
allow the passage of no more than three people.

But an opening nonetheless.

“Soldiers, weapons ready!” Percy screamed, while Bythus’ army came out of it screaming
and yelling, their tridents charged, their spears ready, their swords well-polished.

“Amphitrite, try to enlarge the opening in the bubble, let yourself be seen inside. Your
presence will have more of an effect on the people than mine.”

He unsheathed his sword, and readied his dagger at his hip, in case he’d need it quickly: the
currents around him churned and swirled, while he waited for the right moment to hit, and as
he turned towards his own army he saw the frenzied eyes of the soldiers, the harsh set of their
shoulders- and knew that this fight had been the best outcome.

“Eda!” he caught the attention of the general, “go cover Dolphin and the duke. Your father
will handle the soldiers.”

“Yes, sir,” she obeyed, and Percy threw himself into the fight, slicing and hitting and
mocking, keeping in check his temper so as not to hurt his own soldiers: they were all
mermen, all ichthyocentaurs, dressed with the same style, even if in different colours: taking
it wrong was way too easy, especially while lost in the fight.

“Are you not ashamed?” he asked one of the mermen he had just stabbed, twisting into his
chest the sword that still felt wrong in his hands, “Are you not ashamed of your betrayal to
your ancestors?”
He had been one of his, once, Percy could recognize him. They had trained together. He had
knelt to him under Dolphin’s request.

“I,” the man tried to say, “I-”, blood was coming out of his mouth, and his eyes were big and
pained in the clean water. “I am,” he finally managed to utter, letting out some small sign of
pain, letting tears fall from his eyes.

Percy took pity on him.

Murderer.

“Percy, here!” the goddess called, and he swam towards her at once, small tornadoes
encircling him so that no one could get close enough to cause injury.

The soldiers were still coming out, filling the space around the city, but Amphitrite had
managed to grab one side of the small opening, and with her power she was keeping
everyone away from it, defending herself from attacks at the same time.

“I need to go inside,” she told him when he finally reached her, “I need to see. They need to
see.”

He stabbed a merman, then suffocated another.

“I can try to keep it open, but there could be wards. Trying to go inside might backfire on us.”

“But I need to see. They need to see me. Let me try- you can keep hold of me, if it reassures
you.”

Percy hesitated, letting his power over the water keep distant all the soldiers, even as they
took sight of them and attacked in fast increasing numbers, even as the screaming in his mind
became louder and louder.

“Just a second, Amphitrite, for the love of all that is…”

“Of course,” she answered, and there was something soft in her eyes, something almost
sweet, even in the middle of a fight, even as she had just seen him kill without a second
thought.

He took a deep breath, and the goddess swam upwards so that he could take hold of her
ankle, covered by the same ugly trousers the entire army was forced to wear.

“Touch it first,” he instructed, “if you feel something weird just-” she glared at him, and he
shook his head, stopping. She knew. Yeah, of course she knew.

If some of the gods on Bythus’ side came out in that moment they’d die, Percy thought, in the
middle of a stupidly risky plan to get a five seconds view of the city- or of just where the
soldiers were, most likely.

He focused on forcing the bubble to stay open, while the entire barrier fought against him, the
city’s protection system finally figuring out something was interfering with it.
“Hurry!” he yelled, just as her hand tried to reach forward, touching the transparent veil that
covered the opening, separating the inside from the outside.

Percy’s hold on her tightened, while the Northern Duke came up to them, easing his burden
of having to keep all the soldiers away, fighting them like a madman with nothing to lose,
swirling and hitting so fast that, hadn’t been sure of the contrary, Percy would have thought
he too, had powers over the sea.

“Get away from there!” he screamed, in the middle of fighting, “who knows what there is
inside!”

If the goddess heard, she didn’t give any sign of it, and as Percy kept struggling to keep the
opening open, she thrust her hand forward.

The warning sirens rang immediately, a low, chilly sound that sent shivers down Percy’s
back, filling his entire body with dread and anguish, as he tried to pull the goddess away from
it, afraid that another defence system could be activated.

He wasn’t fast enough.

“No!” Amphitrite screamed, as someone grabbed her hand, trying to pull her inside of the
bubble just as Percy tried to the opposite, “Let go, let go!” she yelled, but none of them was
going to- especially not Percy.

“Percy, the opening!” the Duke yelled, as he turned around to see that it was closing on them,
that his hold on it was getting weaker and weaker… and that if he didn’t find a way to keep
it, Amphitrite would be cut in half.

“Fuck,” he swore, pulling with all his strength, feeling some godly power fighting against
him from the other side. Phorcys? Eurybia? Some other god they had brought to Atlantis?

He couldn’t tell, but they were strong, and he was losing the battle with the city’s wards.

The Duke came to him, trying to help, but Percy shook his head, and stopped him. “We can’t
win on brute force. Her hand is the only thing inside of the city’s wards,” he said, swallowing
down, “cut it off.”

“Sir-” he tried, but Percy interrupted him harshly. “Now,” he ordered, and the man could do
nothing but obey, pushing himself up to where the goddess eyes were pained and resigned.

“Do it,” she asked, “it’ll grow again.”

And the Duke closed his eyes, and in a swift move her right hand fell inside of the city, while
Percy’s hold on the bubble failed, closing the opening once again.

Amphitrite didn’t scream, but there were tears in her eyes when she turned around, as gold
poured from her wrist into the water.

Percy let go of her ankle, both him and the Duke not quite knowing what to say: the sirens
were still playing, the soldiers were still fighting, even if the battle was already over- because
any access to the city had been closed, and so the enemy soldiers that were still out, in the
middle of Percy’s army, could only have two fates.

And seeing the city again was not one of them.

As Amphitrite’s ichor and the first signs of evening coloured the waters, many of the soldiers
took the wiser choice, and yeldied to Percy or to one of the dukes, falling to their knees and
abandoning their weapon over the sandy ground.

Percy let them. They were all so young.

Some, though, tried to keep fighting, tried to kill as many as possible before going down with
them- and those were all stopped by the goddess who, annoyed by their game, suffocated
them in a matter of seconds.

They all fell on the ground together, the noise almost covering the one of the sirens, and all
heads turned towards her, while the sea filled with fear, and shame. And when all the
attention was on her, when all were awaiting her words, she spoke.

“You forget I am a goddess. And you forget how much I hate to be betrayed. All of you,” she
said addressing the soldiers who had yeldied, “were raised in the graces of me and Poseidon’s
benevolence, some of you even in our home. And you have repaid our kindness with ill will.”

Her eyes wandered in between the crowd. “As you have surrendered, I will attain myself to
the ancient laws, and I shall not harm you. But make a wrong move,” she threatened, “think
the wrong thoughts- and you shall become nothing but cinder.”

A silence full of words followed, thick with infamy and contrition, but the goddess swam
through unbothered, reaching her hippocampus and reading herself to return to their camp.

Percy had, inexplicably, the impression that temporarily losing her hand hadn’t really put her
in a good mood.

“Are you alright?” he asked as the night crept in between them, once the healers had
bandaged her wound.

She shrugged, landing on a chair without elegance. “I’ll have it back by tomorrow.”

He should have let it go, maybe, he should have given her some space, but he couldn’t stop
himself from talking, not when he had been so terrified.

“But you seem upset. I’m sorry that I asked the Duke- I know that it must have hurt and…”

“It’s not the hand, Percy,” she sighed, gesturing in the air, “it’s not the hand.”

He bit his tongue to not press further, and just sat down in a chair in front of her. “Alright,”
he said, “alright.”
The minutes stretched into what could have easily been hours, the fire crackling quieter and
quieter, until Percy threw some other logs in it: it was spring, yes, but the nights were still
chilly.

He felt the goddess’ eyes on him, as he moved around the room to do so, but she didn’t speak
until he was sat again.

“You don’t have to stay here,” she murmured, “it won’t change anything.”

Percy smiled slightly. “My tent is identical. It doesn’t change anything for me either.”

He dozed off then, entering that state of consciousness where you’re not sleeping but you’re
not living either- that place where there are no nightmares, and everything smells of peace.

That place that never lasts for very long. The guards changed their shift outside of the tent,
and he woke up at the sudden noise, half wondering where he was.

Amphitrite was still there, looking at him.

“I kept my ring there,” she admitted then, “the only thing I had left from… happier times,
with my… my husband. I know that it wasn’t much compared to the rest of my jewellery, to
what I gifted Myrto but…”

“The thin, gold one, you mean?

She nodded. “Old gold. Coming from the first sacrifice that was made to me after my
marriage. I had… wanted something simple. To remember the life I lived with my sisters.”

“Oh,” he murmured, not feeling himself capable of giving comfort. He had noted the ring
already, when Amphitrite had spoken to him about Bythus’ son, he had seen how she touched
it when the days were particularly hard.

“If it has fallen down, it’s likely that they won’t have seen it,” he tried, “when we’ll enter the
city again, we’ll dig the whole ground. We’ll empty the treasure room, if you think they
might have put it there. There isn’t enough gold in it for the ring to be worth melting- they’ll
have left it alone.”

She nodded, and Percy desperately searched his brain for something else to say, for
something that could make her feel better, that could reassure her that they’d find the ring
again. There was just nothing to say, though: no promise would sound true, and the limit to
how much one person’s loss can be understood by another is never wide.

“I still have the other one, anyway,” she went on, “the one me and Dolphin made to keep
track of you.”

He chuckled, even if he tried not to. “Maybe you’ll remember me by it, one day. You’ll look
at it and think back on how many migraines I've given you.”

“I cherish all the migraines you give me, I’ll let you know. My favourite one is from when
you almost killed yourself fighting the Coral Duke.”
“Oh damn,” he answered, “that’s gonna be difficult to top.”

Her eyes flashed, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since the battle. “Oh no, don’t you
dare even thinking of trying to do anything like that again because I swear-”

Percy laughed, surprising himself with the childness of it. It was so easy to be a boy, when
she acted like that, so easy it was to be brought back to his teenage years.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he managed to say, noticing how Amphitrite’s hand seemed to be there
again, “I wouldn’t dare.”

She shook her head, smiling, her eyes following his as she slowly unwrapped the clean
bandages, to see how her godly powers had worked.

“Maybe the ring will be there too,” Percy hoped.

“It won’t, no,” the goddess answered, resigned, “but it’s not the end of the world. I believe I
made it sound way bigger than it is- I was just saddened by the unexpected loss.”

He shrugged. “I think you have every right to be upset by it. I’m still sorry about
Anaklusmos, and it’s been months.”

She sighed, the last turn of the cloth coming undone without issue, uncovering her perfectly
regrown hand: identical to the other if not for the lack of the thin, gold band on her finger
ring.

She moved it around, bending her fingers, trying out its range of movement.

“How is it?” Percy asked.

“Like a hand,” she answered back, “I’ll go show the Duke, so he can rest in peace these few
hours left of the night. I believe he may have been traumatised.”

“He’s done worse,” he said, standing up, “I’ll go back to my tent, then, try to sleep a bit too.
If tomorrow we’ll-”

“Your Majesty!” a squire entered the tent yelling, unstopped by the guards, and they both
turned to him as he panted.

“Your Majesty, Lady Amphitrite,” he repeated, while trying to calm his breathing down, as
the agitation in the camp grew and the soldiers awoke, “I come from the border of the camp,
from the second division of-”

“What happened?” Percy pressed, cutting him off, the anxiety in his stomach growing.

The boy smiled. “The Queen is here,” he declared, “Her Majesty is here at the border,
awaiting your permission to cross the wards with her army.”
Chapter End Notes

Good morning, my dears!!

I hope you had a nice week, and that you've enjoyed the chapter... things are getting
heated!!!

Thanks for all your comments on last one! I love reading your thoughts<3 <3
 Year III, April II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Percy had never swam faster, and he moved in the water like a missile, surpassing the squire
and the tents, ignoring the worried shouts of the soldiers and just barely keeping himself
aware of his surroundings, using all his energies to reach the border of the camp.

He hadn’t felt them coming- but they had known he wouldn’t, not with the wards all around
that covered their position to the enemies yes, but that also isolated them from the outside
world.

He passed over the Arabian Duke’s settlement, then reached the Red Duke’s one, where he
had spoken with Eda for the first time, and finally reached the border, where the soldiers on
guard where standing with their weapon raised, waiting for him to confirm that the army
awaiting there was, in fact, an ally.

As soon as he came into sight, the war shells were played, to announce that he would speak,
and he swam into the first lines, without hesitation, unable to keep for himself his excitement
at seeing Myrto again.

How long had it been? It seemed so long since they had last spoken, since he had last seen
her, so long since he’d even received one of her letters- and had he had the time to prepare,
he would have been nervous about their encounter.

But it had all been so sudden, so unexpected, and as he placed himself in front of the barrier,
finally without soldiers covering his view of the outside, he immediately tried to find Myrto
in between the first lines.

Amphitrite joined his side, then, guiding his eyes to the right spot, and if Percy hadn’t been a
King, if the ancient laws of war hadn’t existed… maybe he would have run to her, a familiar
face in between strangers.

His eyes met hers immediately then, as his wife too found his gaze, and the tired features of
his face softened at once.

Hers did the same, or at least tried to: even in her smile he could see the tense lines under her
eyes, a worry that seeing him hadn’t quieted- a concern he hoped it would be in his power to
solve.

“My lady wife,” he started, voice booming in the silence “Queen of Atlantis, Empress of the
Oceans. You bring with you Cadmus, general of the Northern Army,” he went on, glancing at
the man, immensely pleased in seeing him unharmed, “and soldiers from the Camp of
underwater heroes. Are you here to pledge your allegiance, or to declare war?”
The water quieted, while no one dared to breathe, even if they all knew the answer, even if
they all knew Percy himself had been the one to send her into this mission, even if it was
officially hers- and yet they also all knew what protocol dictated.

Myrto kneeled into the ground, her beige dress becoming one with the sand.

“My lord husband, King Perseus,” she answered, “I have come here to swear myself to your
side, and to vow my loyalty. General Cadmus stands at my orders, while the soldiers from
Camp are guided by Aphros, half-brother of Chiron, both trainers of heroes. They have also
pledged their loyalty to me, as your delegate, and have come here as your allies in the war
against the Southern usurper.”

Percy nodded, gesturing at her to rise. “Then I welcome you, and I welcome our new allies.
As friends you shall enter this camp, and as honourable men you will be treated.”

A low murmur ran through the soldiers on his side, as they tried to glance at the
ichthyocentaurs of Aphros’ army: neutral in every war, powerful and well-trained, they were
the stuff of legends.

Or they had been, before Percy’s call had turned them into beings of flesh and blood.

“Please,” Amphitrite then spoke to some of the generals, “show the soldiers where they may
place their tents, while we make our good alliance official.”

Percy tore his eyes away from his wife, and turned around to meet Dolphin, standing to the
sides and keeping an eye on the whole situation, his expression so tense that Percy kept in
mind to ask him what was wrong, when they’d be a little more alone.

“Dolphin,” he called, noting how he seemed to have just come awake, “go call for the council
to be started immediately. All the dukes need to be present while the papers are signed.”

He nodded, and Percy reached the goddess once again, half-joining her discussion with a
merman on which place was best for them to settle in, while his eyes continuously darted to
Myrto, preparing the delegation that would come with them to the council.

“You’ll speak later,” Amphitrite reassured, the issue resolved before he had even realised
they had stopped talking, “it’ll be politics now. But you will have tonight, and many other
days.”

“I know,” he answered, swallowing down, “I just wish there were a little less protocol.”

She chuckled, and between one thing and another the men were chosen, the groups prepared,
and as the morning came to a full they all were sat in the council room: the four dukes,
Dolphin and Cadmus, Amphitrite, Aphros… and Myrto and him, next to each other, not
touching.

He rose.

“My Lords, my Ladies,” he started, “thank you for agreeing to this meeting. My wife has
returned from her journey with powerful allies- the ichthyocentaurs from the mer-heroes
camp, guided by the wise, veteran Aphros,” he gestured to the man, who lowered his head in
acknowledgement, “and we are here reunited to add his signature to ours.”

“What a brilliant addition,” the Arabian Duke commented, “your men will be a good
influence on all of ours. There are some of your pupils in my army, you know?”

“I do hope they are in a position that reflects their abilities,” Aphros commented, while the
document was being laid in front of him, “I have trained all the best warriors that are now in
the sea, after all. And also those who aren’t.”

Amphitrite tensed on the other side of the room, but Percy just smiled. There was nothing to
gain in arguing with the man while he was signing the papers that would declare him on their
side once and for all. They could argue later.

He sat down again, looking at his wife trying to reassure her, but she was only looking to
where the pen was striking the paper, her eyes fixed, her chest tight, her hands nervously
interwoven one with the other.

He glanced at Dolphin, who looked back at him and slightly nodded. He too had noticed that
there was something… a bit off, about the whole affair.

But there was no stopping it now: the signature was completed, congratulations were made-
and then Aphros stood up, ready to give his speech.

“As all of you know,” he began, “we don’t like to join battles that have nothing to do with us,
nor are we, without offence, great supporters of Poseidon, even if we have trained his heir,”
he stressed, an implied rightful directed at all those who had ears.

Percy was annoyed by the man already, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“However,” he resumed, “since the safety of all the Ocean was in danger, we agreed to follow
the Queen to this siege, so that we could help put an end to this war quicker than you had
probably planned.”

“Do you already have a strategy, then, Aphros?” Amphitrite asked.

“I have, and we’ll discuss it,” he responded brusquely, “but not now. Me and your wife, Lady
Myrto,” he went on turning to Percy, “have made agreements. A deal, if you prefer: the right
price for my alliance.”

“That should have been discussed before the paper was signed,” Dolphin interjected, “you are
aware of the laws on the topic, Aphros. I am surprised that you wished to break them.”

Percy looked at Myrto next to him, her uneasiness slowly acquiring an explanation.

“What is this price, then?” he asked, cutting through the offended murmurs of the general and
Aphros’ disappointing explanations, aiming right to the target.

He smiled. “A part of it has already been granted- we had asked for a place in between your
camp, protected by the wards.”
“And the other?” Amphitrite asked, for it could not be that simple: Aphros must have known
that there was no other thing that could have happened, when an allied army joined another.

Unless of course, there was reason to believe they wouldn’t be welcomed.

“After the war, then, we wish to open the discussion on our independence once again, since
our last talk with Poseidon on the topic was not satisfactory.”

“Alright,” Percy agreed, “is that it?”

“No,” Myrto answered, speaking for the first time, “they also require healers, as many as you
can spare. There have been cases of Green Death in between the soldiers.”

The world stilled for a couple of seconds, while Percy’s brain went to a halt.

No one dared to breathe: the sea had housed many illnesses during the centuries, many
terrible and contagious diseases, but none of them were ever comparable to it.

The Green Death- the sea plague, believed to be one of the oldest inhabitants of the waters,
which had destroyed armies and butchered cities, which had collapsed duchies and counties
and families.

Percy felt like throwing up, while around him all screamed and argued, while Aphros and
Myrto were pointed as willful infectors. How could they have known, and still allowed their
soldiers inside, to mingle with the rest of the army? How could have they waited so long,
before making it known?

And Myrto… he couldn’t avoid feeling angry at her too, for possibly sabotaging all the years
of work that had gone into reaching Atlantis with an army big enough to have a chance
against Bythus’ one.

“Silence!” he then yelled, regaining control of the situation. “This is what is going to happen,
and I will hear no complaint. Aphros,” he addressed the man, “you will still have your place
here, as promised, but you will keep your soldiers in their tents, away from the others, until
they have been visited by our healers. Then, if they are clean, they’ll be free to go.”

He nodded. “And my Lords, this is an unpleasant surprise, I agree with you, but a handful of
cases have no need to scare us into immobility. Order your soldiers to build a place to use as
an eventual residence for those who are infected, as quickly as they can.”

“Yes, sir,” they all answered in unison, getting up and leaving the council in a hurry, happy to
get further away from the ones who had stayed with the army.

“Aphros then, give the orders to your soldiers immediately,” Amphitrite added, “I will send
the healers to you at once, so that we won’t lose any more time. Dolphin, break the news to
the soldiers with as much reassurance as you can give.”

“Yes, my Lady,” he answered, and they too were gone, leaving him and Myrto alone in the
room, with all the day’s tension between them, keeping them distant.
“I had told you I could end up accepting deals that you wouldn’t have,” she said, breaking the
ice, and Percy just shook his head, placing his hands over the table and leaning all of his
weight on them.

“And one of them implied your silence on this, until the papers had been signed?”

“Yes,” she answered, “sir.”

Percy flinched. “Don’t,” he whispered, collapsing back on a chair, “please don’t.”

He looked at her then, at the hard set of her shoulders, at the dark bags under her eyes.
Nothing of her journey had been easy for her, he understood that with his reason- that it had
been her first task, her first journey as an independent woman, and that she was young, for
the sea’s standards, even if she was older than him.

He sighed. “I’m not angry at you,” he spoke again, half lying, trying to use a gentle voice,
“I’m just stressed about the whole situation and… I hadn’t been prepared to meet again today
and…”

“And you have other arrangements, I know,” she answered, “I read your letter.”

“Other arrangements?” he asked, surprised, “No, what? No. I don’t have any arrangement.
What kind of letter did you receive?”

“You said we needed to talk. And then asked me to forgive you. And there was that woman
with you today and…” she took a deep breath, and hesitantly came forward, “it’s been many
months. I would understand just- just be honest with me.”

He blinked once, then twice. “No,” he answered, shaking his head, “no that’s not… I didn’t
think you’d interpret it that way. It’s… that woman is just a general. She spies on the soldiers
for me and that’s all. There hasn’t been anything else, with her or another. I swear that- I
swear that on my honour.”

“Alright,” Myrto answered, coming to take his hands in hers, “I believe you. I’m sorry for…
I just read that while I was coming here and… I couldn’t answer, because I didn’t want to risk
the Green Death coming here through my letter. I would have never forgiven myself if
you…”

“That’s why you didn't write?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled sadly, “I think we still have much to learn, on how to communicate
with each other.”

“We have time,” Percy smiled, squeezing her hands. “We have all the time. I’ll tell you, then,
what I meant. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”

But Myrto shook her head, her auburn curls moving through the water.

“Not now, please,” she asked, “I was informed of my father and my elder brother’s death not
long ago, and I couldn’t bear any more grieving.”
He closed his eyes, feeling shame rise in him, knowing that he would have to give her more
grief- when he’d tell her that his brother had died under his watch, had died because he had
not cared to keep attention on him.

“Alright,” he answered, “then I’ll just be… around, if you need me.”

She nodded, and he left.

The days passed, and as the tension and suspicion inside of the camp increased, Percy
reunited the council once again: and together they decided what he had already planned. To
stop the advanicing of the Green Death, there was only one thing that could be done.

A sacrifice to Apollo, god of plague, god of healing. Apollo Loimios and Apollo Acestor,
Apollo the averter of evil, Apollo of the mice and Apollo of the mildew.

“Blood will need to be shed,” the Black Duke commented, “and in considerable amounts.
Our animals will not be good enough.”

“No, they won’t,” Dolphin agreed, “maybe if we could find a way to send someone on the
surface, to procure cows, or cattle or…”

“No one is going up,” Amphitrite declared, “the only ones who would be able to do so are me
and Percy, and any of us leaving is out of the question.”

“But surely if it’s the only way you will reconsider,” the Black Duke went on, “there is an
entire army to think about. We’re thousands, and we’ve already had the first deaths.”

“How many?” Percy asked, and Myrto next to him trembled slightly. She still felt guilty, he
knew, but after their first talk they hadn’t spoken again, passing their days busy with their
respective responsibilities, and their nights working, or in silence.

Soldiers had returned to the walls of Atlantis then, but the bubble hadn’t opened again, and
the walls hadn’t trembled- and between that and training Percy surely hadn’t had to lie on his
tiredness.

“Around twenty-five, with almost double still in the infirmary.”

“And how many have healed?” the Red Duke asked, holding his breath, taking his chair
further away from the table.

Aphros opened his mouth, then closed it again. “None,” he then answered, in between the
disarming silence, “no man infected survived it.”

“It’s going to take us all,” the Arabian Duke murmured, “it’s going to take us all, and I will
never see my son again.”

Percy glanced at the goddess, but she shook her head at him. He couldn’t go- they both knew
he couldn’t. The situation was too unstable between their men, Dolphin still hadn’t fully
regained his trust, and the dukes were stressed and tired of fighting without result.

If one of them left, it’d be another disaster.

“Please, let’s all calm down,” the Northern Duke said, rising up, glaring at his sister, “must I
remind you, that a favourable prophecy guides our war? My brother has died, for it to be
confirmed truthfully: let’s not take his death away from him.”

He closed his eyes a moment too long. The fake prophecy, the offence to the Fates- he had
almost forgotten about it. And if this plague was their doing, if their failure his punishment,
would a sacrifice to Apollo even help?

From her shaken expression, Amphitrite must have come to the same realisation, and
Dolphin too, for he looked at them with concern.

“A sacrifice to Lord Apollo is still the best option we have to… marginalise the issue,” the
old general then said, “King Percy and him have been in good rapport, all these years- there
is no reason why he wouldn’t wish to be of help.”

“But we still need to find something to sacrifice to him,” Myrto pressed, “something worthy.
And if it can’t be animals, and it can’t be people…”

“Well it could be people,” the Red Duke commented, “but then we’d be no better than Bythus
and his lawless gods.”

One of Amphitrite’s ladies came forward, and whispered something in her ear while the man
considered the differences between Bythus’ useless waste of life, and their useful one, as if
the result wouldn’t be the same.

“We’re not… we’re not killing innocents, are we?” Myrto asked him in a low voice, breaking
once again the silence between them.

“We’re not,” he confirmed, “I let them talk because we all know it’s just chatter. It won’t
come to that- my father’s laws are quite strict on the matter.”

“My Lords, please,” the goddess rose, requesting everyone’s attention, “I have good news
from my lady in waiting. As you know, she is an Oceanid, rescued from Cetus’ cave on our
way to reach the Irish army- and her loyalty is therefore assured.”

Percy stared at her in confusion, not knowing what she was trying to achieve, but Amphitrite
just smiled at the puzzled expressions which surrounded her.

“She has informed me that when Percy defeated Cetus… not all of him turned to dust. We
were too shaken, in the moment, to care for it: but since Cetus was a monster, he left a spoil
behind, with his death. A spoil which my lady has offered to go retrieve, with just a few
guards.”

“Oh,” Myrto commented, “well I’m certain that Cetus’ head would please Lord Apollo much
more than a cow ever could.”
“But the caves are far from here,” Cadmus reasoned out loud, “even if, as an Oceanid, she
can travel fast… it’s going to take at least a month to get back here. And that’s if they don’t
find any trouble on the way.”

“It’s too long,” the Black Duke pressed, “we’ll all be already dead in a month, if it keeps
spreading like this. I vote in favour of going to the surface.”

“We are not going to the surface,” the goddess insisted, her tone serious, “must I remind you,
that we are in the middle of a siege? Bythus and his gods could attack us at any time, and
without me and Percy here, you have no chance of getting out of it alive.”

The Duke glared at her, not looking pleased, but he didn’t speak further, and in the silence of
the room Percy saw Eda glance at her father, who nodded, and rose to speak.

“If we take the right precautions, a month is not that long of a time: I’d be in favour of
sending the girl to the caves, at one condition.”

“Which is?” Dolphin asked.

“The plague was brought here by Aphros’ men. In the name of fairness, they must be the one
to accompany her there- we don’t have soldiers to risk on something that is not our fault.”

Aphros scoffed. “My men are the best you have, and your only hope of winning this war.
They’re not just-”

“I believe it a reasonable condition,” Percy interrupted, trying to fit as much pettiness as he

could into his smile, “who is favour?”

All but Aphros and the Black Duke raised their hands and Amphitrite nodded slightly to her
lady while pleased murmurs passed through the dukes: a plan had been made, a solution had
been found- maybe, just maybe, disaster could be averted.

“I’m glad that you’re not leaving,” Myrto whispered to him while they were all getting out of
the room, “I’ve… I’ve missed you.”

Percy stopped in his tracks, a billion wrong, angry answers crossing his mind. His words here
would shape the future of their marriage, of their lifelong commitment to each other- and
pride had never been his biggest weakness.

“I’ve missed you too,” he finally answered, unable to add anything more, but still sincere: he
had missed her, when he had allowed himself to think about it.

Myrto looked back at him with shining eyes then, the first sign of hope appearing in them
since she had come back from her journey- and Percy prayed that she would be unable to
remain angry at him, when he’d tell her what he had done, just as he was unable to deny her
forgiveness.

Maybe then, with her absolution, he could start forgiving himself too.
Chapter End Notes

Hi there! We have a bit of a longer chapter today... as a way to ask for forgiveness for
what I'm about to tell you ;)

I have a BIG exam in like, two weeks, so next chapter will come later than usual! I'm so
sorry about it, I tried to plan in advance but life just got in the way... I'm gonna try to
manage for the 26th!

In the meantime, thank you for all the love you're showing this story! I love all your
comments and they make my day, really <3 <3
 Year III, May I
Chapter Notes

Hi guys!! So sorry for the long wait. I'm still on a tight schedule and had way less time
than usual, which means there might be some (minor!) continuity errors. Feel free to tell
me if you find something, but in any case I will be checking everything again before
next chapter ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Two weeks after Myrto and the soldiers’ arrival, all the infected soldiers had been found and
isolated already, the healers’ pay had been increased, and things were slowly returning to
function as they had before- just with more fear.

It was time, therefore, for the mer-heroes to get their first taste of battle.

“We have returned to the city many times, after the first,” Percy started explaining, looking at
all the new faces who had joined his army, “however Bythus’ soldiers never returned, and our
battle became just an hopeless struggle against Atlantis’ walls.”

He sighed, more for show than for need, gesturing to the ichthyocentaurs, and addressing
their leader he continued: “You promised me a new strategy, Aphros, during our first
meeting. I would like to hear it now.”

The man rose, in between the glares of those who had lost friends in the plague, and Percy,
not for the first time, wondered if a few successful battles would be enough to place him back
in his, and the people’s, favour again.

“My plan is dangerous, as war is, and yet it will bring us what we seek- an actual fight in
which we have a chance to get this war out of the stall in which it has fallen.”

He smiled at the crowd, and Percy could definitely see where the similarities with Chiron
stood: he commanded attention, as he did, and his tone was just low enough to force people
to be quiet, to be able to listen to him.

There were also differences too: Chiron, for all his deeds, did not look as battle-hardened as
Aphros, and his eyes held sadness, more than cruelty.

“There are two gods, at least, in Atlantis,” he started, ”they are volatile, driven to violence by
the endless stream of sacrifices they have received in the past years. They are sea gods-
hungry for control, for power, greedy for what is not theirs. They are the key to our success.”

“How?” Dolphin asked, his expression guarded, and Percy was surprised to see him in
between the soldiers, since he had been a recluse in the past few days: every attempt he had
made in speaking to him had failed, and even Amphitrite had been at a loss.

“We will provoke them,” Aphros continued, catching the totality of his attention, “we will
drive them to anger, to rushed decisions, to act mindlessly and out of Bythus’ control.
Taunted enough, they will come out of Atlantis, the soldiers will have to follow- and we will
have our battle.”

“It’s a risky gamble,” the North Duke answered, his voice serious, “if fomented enough, they
might become more than we can handle. And your soldiers may be good Aphros, but they are
not immortal, as ours aren’t.”

“It is very hazardous,” the Arabian Duke agreed, “but I will be favourable to it if some sort of
plan is made, to make sure that the battle isn’t going to turn too deadly.”

“Deadly or not, a battle would still be good for the soldiers,” the Red Duke commented,
almost as an afterthought, “mine are getting impatient, between the stillness and the fear of
the Green Death.”

“Impatient to prove themselves, not impatient to die,” Amphitrite answered, with more
venom than he thought she would. “I don’t like this plan, but I must be fair to you, Aphros, I
agree that it would likely work.”

“I am also in favour,” the Black Duke said, rising to his full height, his eyes darting to him,
then to Dolphin, “I do not fear gods, nor goddesses.”

Silence met his words, and he sat down again, his cheeks blushing.

“Good,” Aphros smiled, clapping his hands, “then the majority has decided. I believe you are
the one with the most experience on angering gods, Your Majesty,” he continued, staring
straight into him, as if challenging him to deny his words, “so I trust that I can leave that part
to you?”

“Do not presume to give orders to the King, soldier,” Amphitrite bit back, her eyes as black
as the abyss, “you will not last long here, as an enemy of mine.”

“Of course not, my Lady, I apologise. It was just a logical part of my strategy- to put all our
best qualities at use.”

“Careful, Aphros,” Percy commanded, his voice low. He would not have cared, months ago,
years ago. How many offences had he received? Hundreds, thousands, and never before
would he have reacted like this. He wondered what had changed- if it was his crown, his
responsibilities- his fading tie to mortality.

“I still have not voted, after all, nor have we listened to the opinion of the Queen.”

“She’s not here,” Amphitrite murmured, and Percy looked at her in alarm, his eyebrows
raising in a silent question.

“She told me she was feeling unwell, just a few moments before our assembly,” her brother
answered, “it is not because of the plague. She will be alright by the morning.”
“Is she finally with child?” the Black Duke asked, and Percy glared at him so strongly that,
had he been a god, he would have burned to ashes right there.

“She is not,” he answered, still riled up enough to make clear how unwise it was to insist on
the topic, “and I would ask for my private affairs to never be addressed in public again.”

“They are not private affairs, my Lord,” the Red Duke missed the memo, “the Kingdom lacks
a stable succession, and that is a problem of all. In the -infaust- occasion of your death, it
would not matter how close to victory we’d be: the civil war would start again, from the
beginning.”

He looked to the goddess for support, knowing he would not receive much of it: she had
brought forward the same worries, many times.

But he was just not ready. He doubted he ever would be.

“I understand your concern, Your Grace, and I assure you I will consider your words.
However, this is not the time, nor the place, and I do not wish to hear a word more about the
topic. Understood?”

The Duke nodded, a small “yes, sir” escaping his lips.

“Good. Aphros, I have decided to give your idea a try. But-” he continued, “we will focus our
attention on Phorcys only. I have defeated him already, I know it is manageable. Trying not to
involve Eurybia is a reasonable attempt at keeping the situation under control.”

The old general nodded and, with a last look at Dolphin, he dismissed the assembly,
swimming back to the tents.

The hard part of his day was about to start.

“You hadn’t told me you were unwell,” he started, his voice carefully light while he entered
his wife’s room, “I would have come to check on you.”

Myrto shook her head, as much as she could from her position against the bed pillows, but
the small reassurances that Percy had expected didn’t come.

Worried, he closed the door behind him and moved to sit at the foot of her bed, dozens of
terrible possibilities opening up in front of him: the plague, an incurable illness, some
unspecified lethal sickness that would take her away just as they had reunited.

“What is it?” he asked, “Are you in pain?”

She swallowed visibly, coming to sit up a little more than she was, her eyes not meeting his.

“I spoke to Dolphin, earlier,” she whispered, sounding as if she were about to cry, “I wanted
to hear of my father’s last moments, since Dolphin had been in battle with him.”
“Phaidros died with honour,” Percy answered, repeating the words that had been said to him
after losing his friends, time after time. “He has done much for this war: he will be
remembered as a hero.”

“No,” she argued, “that’s not what I meant. I…”

Percy felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

“What has Dolphin told you?”

He did not care to hide the anger in his voice then, not until he felt the bed tremble beneath
him, a small commotion escaping from his conscious control.

“That the prophecy was fake. That you lied. That you lied to everybody, believed your
delirious dreams to be reality, caused the death of my elder brother and hid behind your
finger, behind pretty words and people’s trust in you.”

Her words were aimed at making him turn defensive, angry, furious, and yet, in a sense they
were for him almost a relief: it was out, finally, what he had spent the previous two weeks
agonising over. It was no longer a secret and it eased his mind to know that, even if Dolphin
still shouldn’t have defied him as such.

He’d pay the consequences of it, later. That Percy could swear.

“I did not lie to you,” he stated, the anger disappearing from his voice, “I tried to speak to
you, and you rejected me. You were never supposed to find out from Dolphin, of all people,
who possesses less tact than a codfish.”

He sighed, maintaining her gaze, “My dream was not delirious. Unfortunately, they never are,
not when they are that clear. The boxes must have been there, before the temple burned
down, or before we arrived. I did think it might have been a trap, for a while, but…”

He shook his head, looking at his hands over the bed. Scarred, wrinkled. Older than he
remembered. “The prophecy was a necessity. And I will not speak of your brother’s
character, but he was unfit to rule- which doesn’t mean I planned, nor desired his death.”

“Just that it wasn’t a big loss when it happened.”

“Politically, no. But as his brother in law, I should have taken more notice of his
whereabouts, and never let him get out of my sight during such a dangerous mission. Of that
you can blame me- of that I take full responsibility.”

“But all the rest…” he finished, trying to hold her eyes again, “all the rest I did because I am
a King of a kingdom that is no longer mine, leading dukes with dubious morality and,
sometimes, dubious loyalty. I could not afford to admit that I had made a mistake.”

He wondered if she would understand the meaning of his words. “You’re telling me now,”
she whispered after a small pause, and Percy smiled sadly, inclining his head in recognition-
she had. She was just as smart as he remembered.
She nodded then, and a couple of tears fell on her cheeks, then on the bed. Her eyes followed
them, then Percy’s hand. “I am angry,” she answered, her voice solid, after everything, “at
you and at myself, for not being as angry at you as I should be.”

“I understand. I have not forgiven myself either.”

Myrto shook her head, her auburn hair unbraided. “I did worse, and yet you have absolved
me. It would be vile, to keep guilting you for something that, at the end, you didn’t willingly
cause. But I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting it. I reacted too emotionally.”

“I don’t think you did,” Percy reassured, moving his hands towards hers, but not touching,
letting her choose whether to take it or not, “these have been hard months for us all. But what
needed to be said has been said: we can move forward now, if you wish.”

She took his hand, and squeezed it gently.

“Stay here tonight?” she asked then, her voice still unwavering, and Percy nodded, letting
himself be led closer, letting the smell of her surround him until he was entranced in it,
uncaring and unaware of anything else.

Once, he had feared the world could end and he wouldn’t notice, too lost in it. Now, he
weighed the price of being the one to end it, if it meant they could remain this lighthearted
forever.

He wondered when he had grown up.

Amphitrite helped him into the armour in the morning, already dressed for battle, already
prepared for the massacre.

“I feel useless, in just staying here,” Myrto complained, looking at her first and then at Percy,
“is there nothing I could do there, to help?”

“You haven’t been trained for battle,” Percy answered, “I will teach you to fight, if you wish
to, but there is no reason to force you into danger when there is no need.”

“There are many things you can help here with,” the goddess added gently, “Percy’s been
ignoring his correspondence for way too long, for example,” she continued, ignoring his
sound of offence, “or you can just take it easy, chat with your ladies. We won’t be gone for
more than a day, and Dolphin will remain here to guard you.”

Amphitrite had agreed with him on the matter: Dolphin at the moment couldn’t be trusted to
watch his back in battle.

She sighed. “The post will be fine. The more I keep myself busy the less time I’ll have to
think about you out there.”

“We’ll be alright,” Percy reassured, tying the last strap of his armour, “Aphros’ plan might
not even work.”
They would say then, later, than that had been the moment in which everything had started to
go wrong.

But they couldn’t know, at the time, or they wouldn’t have gone. Or Percy never would have
willingly swam to the walls of Atlantis, never would he have ridiculed and mocked the god
of the hidden dangers of the sea.

Hidden dangers. He had believed himself one of them, less than a year before. Oh, how
arrogant he had been.

The battle had started well, as a joke of fate: Aphros’ plan worked, and while the god burned
its way out of Atlantis, swarms of soldiers came out of the bubble, armed to their teeth, led
by the Japanese Duke himself.

His brother in law took him as his sworn enemy immediately, directing his soldiers towards
him, striking and blasting all the enemies around, trying to make himself a beeline for the
duke.

Percy let him do so, commanding Eda to his side to help. If they did manage to kill him…
they could actually cause a change in the war, and maybe turn the tide in their favour.

So while they were busy with him, while all the other dukes were deep into the fight against
the thousand of soldiers that had come out of Atlantis, Percy and Amphitrite found
themselves in front of Phorcys once again.

There was no chatter this time, the god drunk on blood and anger, Percy too busy in trying to
purify the water around him, trying to fight Phorcys’ control on it, the sleepiness and the
torbidness that it gave, as he had done before: by taking clean water from the adjacent
oceans.

Him and Amphitrite had had experience with the Great Patch, and now they knew what to
expect better than they had done before: they should not have had any problems in keeping
themselves sane.

And they didn’t. The fight would have gone well, if Phorcys’ power had remained confined
to their battle, to the soil around the city and the waters that surrounded it- and not to their
camp, warded but apparently not enough, out of range in theory but not in practice.

Their camp, where Myrto and just a few soldiers still stood, where the injured rested, where
the plagued looked for the less painful way to die. Their camp, where his siblings endured
inside celestial bronze’s boxes.

Many things happened at once, then: the conch was played, its sound of alarm reverberating
through the water, only interrupted by the god’s boisterous laughter.

“There is a surprise for you,” he chuckled, “I can see that you will enjoy it.”

“Keep fighting!” Percy ordered the soldiers around him, the water filled with alarm and
tension, sharing a look with Amphitrite.
“I can handle him,” she stated, “go figure out what has happened.”

Percy hesitated, throwing one last tornado at Phorcys before swimming off, catching the Red
Duke in his mad race back to their camp, bloodied but with frenzy in his eyes.

“Go help Amphitrite,” he commanded him, “I’ll take care of whatever this is.”

“Yes sir,” he answered, his easy compliance a testament to the craziness of the situation.
Percy half wondered whether he’d actually obey him, but he didn’t stay to find out, instead
shooting through the water, commanding the currents to push him forward.

The sound of war dwindled down, then started again once he was close to their camp, the
acid taste of panic almost overwhelming at the sight of the burning wards all around the tents.

“Dolphin!” he yelled, “Myrto! Where are you?”

Enemy soldiers swam at him, and he killed them without a second thought, his dagger in
hand.

“Myrto!” he yelled again, moving through the debris and the bodies, trying to reach his own
quarters, careful of his surroundings. A bad surprise, Phorcys had promised, and he felt his
heart beating in his throat while he dreaded, and hoped, that it would refer to him: an ambush,
an injury.

But to him.

“Dolphin!” he screamed, once he had reached his own tent, still standing as it had done in the
morning. He entered inside, blasting the door, breaking everything in his path, rushing
through the rooms and only finding them empty.

“No,” he murmured, getting out again, “no, no, no!”

Power darted from him, and the ground shook under his feet, collapsing all that it still had
been standing, his body filling with an anger that he could no longer contain. If something
had happened to her, if Phorcys had dared…

He would destroy everything. He would tear down Atlantis with his bare hands. If he
couldn’t have it, then no one would: nothing to have would even exist anymore, not if he let
his body burn through it.

Poseidon would never return then, and balance would never be restored: but Olympus would
just have to come to terms with it- his anger did not allow him to feel any kind of concern for
them.

His mind elsewhere, his body just ready to attack, he kept entering and exiting tents, looking
for his wife, for her ladies, for Dolphin. Someone must have remained. Whatever had
happened, someone had to have been left.

He heard the sound of fighting then, of blade hitting on blade, the scraping of metal like
music to his ears. “Dolphin!” he yelled again, swimming towards the sound, hearing a small
 “Here!” of response and suddenly regaining all the hope he thought he had lost.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked, joining the old general’s fight against more than a
dozen soldiers, wearing Bythus’ colours on his father’s army uniforms.

“A mess,” the only other soldier on his side answered, panting heavily while Dolphin was
busy against a particularly skilled merwoman, “they just came out of nowhere. One second
the wards worked, and then they were just down, and burning. It was all very quick.”

“The others?” Percy asked, killing almost half of the remaining soldiers at once, the water at
his command more than it had ever been.

“Safe,” Dolphin answered, his sword finally coming out red. “They weren’t the aim, as the
camp wasn’t.”

Percy stilled, confused. “Then what-”

A scream interrupted him, and the soldier that was with them staggered against him, his
hands over his stomach. Dolphin killed the last enemies, while Percy tried to press over the
man’s wound, feeling the warmth of his blood under his hands, the uncomfortable weight of a
body leaning on his.

“We’ll get you to a healer,” he tried to reassure him, still uncertain of what had happened,
still in battle mode when he turned the man around to check the gravity of his wound.

“You’ll be alright,” he tried, “you’ll be…”

Blood, thick and bright, oozed out of his torso while the man shook his head, trying to speak
but only coughing, splattering blood all over Percy.

“Faster this way,” he rasped out, “I would have died anyway.”

Percy froze, adrenaline leaving him all at once as his eyes settled over the man’s skin, over
the dark, green spots on his neck, on his arms. He had believed them bruises, acquired while
fighting.

It had all been too fast. And he had felt too immortal to think of the plague.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for sticking with me! I hope the wait was worth it <3 <3
 Year III, May II, June I
Chapter Notes

Ready?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dolphin stood silent in front of him, while the soldier collapsed to the ground.

“Fuck,” Percy swore, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“We need to isolate you until-”

“You need to do nothing,” he spat out, “I don’t get sick that often, and never in the sea. I
might just be fine anyway.”

“Percy,” he started, but just sighed instead of continuing. “You would endanger the others.”

“Not until I have symptoms, if I ever have them. It’s… it’s gonna be alright. This is more
urgent. I left Amphitrite against Phorcys, the battle is still going strong and Myrto… you said
she’s safe?”

Dolphin nodded, his expression guarded. “Yes, she is with her ladies in one of the hiding
spots we built with the camp. I escorted them there personally, as the wards started to fall
down.”

He needed to leave, he needed to return to the battlefield, but something about the situation
upset him. The wards should have held- Phorcys’ power shouldn’t have been able to cross
them, unless… unless someone inside had helped.

“I want a list of the names of the soldiers who were on guard when the wards fell,” he told
Dolphin, who nodded in answer. “Good. Gods know what they have gained from this, if not
getting me out of the battle.”

“The camp wasn’t the aim, I told you. Neither ws Myrto. Neither were you. They’ve taken
them, Perseus.”

“What?” he asked, half ready to return to Atlantis already, turning towards the old general in
confusion.

“I brought the Queen and her ladies to safety, but as I tried to get back here I was intercepted
by… dozens of soldiers. No one important, maybe not even generals, but they made me
waste time. And when I got back here… the boxes weren’t there anymore.”
Percy felt his heart skip a beat, horror quickly rising from his feet to his chest, the void in his
stomach expanding wide enough to swallow him whole.

“They’ve stolen the boxes? My siblings? It’s impossible. The door was- the door was
protected. Warded ten times more than the camp. It can’t be.”

“It was destroyed. Maybe we have underestimated the-”

Percy growled, a deep, scary sound coming directly from the most beastly part of him.

“I underestimated nothing. None of this should have been possible, not…”

Percy, he heard Amphitrite’s voice in his head, we need you here.

“Fuck,” he repeated, “I need to go back there. Dolphin try to… I don’t know, make this place
as presentable as you can. Start from the infirmaries, the soldier will need them, and… yeah
Okay. Okay,” he said again, just to himself, and shot through the water once again, following
the god’s violent aurea.

As he swam, he could think of nothing but Dolphin’s words, his brain unable to even come
up with the implication of such a report. What sense did it make, for the boxes to have been
so unguarded when they had first taken them, and so desired once they were in their
possession?

What had changed?

The ground trembled as he passed above it, angry as he was, and he could feel his power
bristle from his fingertips, seeking a way out of his skin. He had too much rage in him then,
to force it back- and as he directed himself toward Phorcys soldiers screamed and fell down
to the ground, blinded, deaf, dead.

He did not care.

The fight was almost over, when he reached the god, the Red Duke on the ground on his left,
the goddess’ hair escaping from her braids, sweat dripping down her face, but her tired eyes
lit up at the sight of him.

“Dead?” he asked, referring to the Duke, and she shook her head. “What-”

“Ohhh, look who we have here again,” Phorcys intoned, almost singing, “has my surprise not
entertained you enough, Perseus? It was moulded to your tastes, you know.”

“How?” Percy asked, “How did you manage to take them so easily?”

“Take them?” Amphitrite whispered, but Percy didn’t look towards her. He didn’t think he
could take it- to see her shoulder sag in defeat, her eyes lose what remained of their sparkle,
her heart turn off all the hope that still kept it lit.

Phorcys laughed, coming closer to him. “A good magician never reveals his tricks, have you
never been told? And I’m not just good. I am the best.”
“You will give them back,” Percy growled again, as animal as he had never been, “you will
give them back on your knees.”

“Percy what-”

“The boxes,” he answered, voice curt, “the attack on our camp was aimed at stealing them.”

“That’s not possible,” Amphitrite murmured, turning towards the god, “how-”

Phorcys clicked his tongue, a wild smile on his face. “There is only one person here, who will
be on his knees by tonight,” he started, his eyes wicked, “and that’ll be you, Jackson, begging
in front of me while I decide what to do with that pretty little face of yours.”

“You think of that often?” he shot back, angry, angry, so angry that he and his anger seemed
two separate things, two being made of flesh and bone and power, two and yet indivisible,
one kin to the other.

The god swam forward again, stopping just a foot away from him. His eyes were golden,
liquid and turbid, black specks at the place of the iris. There was no white. There was nothing
that even remotely resembled a man’s eyes.

That was what made it easier, maybe, what made it manageable. Phorcys swam forward
again, until his nose was almost touching Percy’s. Amphitrite took her sword out again, but
Percy shook his head, stilling her.

He could feel the beating of his heart. Of the god’s heart, pumping golden ichor in all the
body he had chosen to become, in the flesh that he wasn’t- but that his arrogance had made
him build, and keep.

His anger was cut out from that same cloth, he knew. Woven with the same divinity.

“Your little speech was nice,” Percy said, inches away from the god, his voice ice cold,
deadly, unknown. “But you are in the sea that I rule. And therefore, you shall obey my
command. Kneel.”

“To you?” he snickered, “Never.”

Percy smiled, inclining his head to the side, watching Amphitrite’s expression. Annabeth
would have implored him to stop. The goddess just nodded, mercy a stranger to her as calm
to him.

He started from the legs, grabbing control of his ichor as he had once done in Tartarus,
finding it even too easy, helped by the sea, strengthened by his fury, protected by
Amphitrite’s support.

She would not hate him for this. She would not fear him because of this.

Phorcys screamed as he fell down, as his bloodless legs could no longer support his weight,
as the currents pressed from above to stop him from swimming. His knees slammed into the
sand, and Percy smiled, bringing one of his hands forward to grab his chin.
“Good boy,” he whispered, savouring the god’s agonising screams as the pressure in his
arteries increased, as the body in which he had framed his divinity crumbled around him.

More, Percy thought, more.

The battle quieted around him, as the city started to close once again, abandoning her
soldiers, her generals, her weapons. Leaving Phorcys out to the wolves.

Percy smiled. “You kneel to me because I am who you worship. You are not my god- hidden
dangers don’t cover me up anymore. I am not in hiding. I am not invisible, obscure, secret.
You no longer have any power over me.”

“Please,” the god ratted out, unbreathing, a minute away from bursting into millions of
pieces, scattered in the oceans as dust in the wind, maybe forever forced to seek each other in
some sort of quiet, useless attempt at piecing himself back together.

“Tell me who the spy is,” Percy promised, “and I’ll make it quick.”

Phorcys shook his head, and Percy let go of his hold on his ichor, so that it could fall back
into his ipossic body once again, tearing the skin, burning the walls of his veins.

“Eurybia,” the god screamed, almost intelligible in between the agony, “Eurybia,” he
repeated, maybe an answer, maybe a prayer for help.

Whichever it was, it did not help him. Percy closed his eyes, and Phorcys decayed with the
goddess’ name on his lips.

The next days passed in a blur of voices and people, coming and going from his tent while
the smell of burned corpses filled his nose, while the smoke from the pyres covered the camp
with the exact colour of Percy’s mood.

The Red Duke died from his injuries the night after the battle. The Duchess, tied by his
schemes, abdicated in favour of his natural daughter, and the pact between Percy and Eda
dissolved, now that she was Duchess herself.

He wondered whether he’d still have her alliance.

Myrto had been strong, Amphitrite had told him while he laid in bed, she had protected her
ladies, taking a dagger from a dead man’s body. She had praised Percy’s power, and only
rejoiced at knowing that her brother’s death had been avenged.

“Power does not nauseate the sea, Percy,” Amphitrite had told him, caressing his sweaty hair
out of his face, “no one here abhors your actions. You are their King. It is just right for you to
be more powerful than all of them.”

He would have liked to answer, but the words had been stuck at the root of his tongue for
days, unable to come out, while his fever rose and rose, while his body tainted itself with the
unholy signs of the plague.
“I am a goddess,” Amphitrite had reassured him, when the first symptoms had started to
appear, “illness does not touch me. Just rest.”

Almost three-hundred men had died during the battle and in the next few days. Percy had
requested for all the names to be read to him, so that he could know. So that he could start to
imagine how many had been killed by him, rather than by the enemy.

He would have asked for forgiveness, had he known which god to pray to.

The healers were there more often than not, but there was nothing they could do. Percy heard
them whisper, when they thought he was sleeping, and their words were rushed, urgent. They
all waited for something to happen- a miracle or a damnation.

“She’s gonna be here soon,” the goddess reassured, holding his hand, “we have been
preparing a hundred beasts for the sacrifice, to add to Ceto’s remains. Lord Apollo will help.
He will heal you.”

What if he can’t? Percy wanted to ask, Fate is not his to change, just his to see.

The words never left his mouth, arid and pasty as it was. The fever had quieted for a while,
and now it was starting again, leaving his body red and sore, setting a cold in his bones so
deep that Percy was certain that not even the Sun himself could warm.

Maybe he’d be wrong. Amphitrite had not wept, not even once. She would have cried, he
knew, had he been truly dying. He had not gone to his father then, as he had the other times.
Maybe Dionysus had put a stop to it too, when he had saved him last.

He didn’t know, but the questions never occupied his brain for long, unable as he was to
remain conscious for long periods of time. Percy knew, deep down, that the blood that tied
him to the sea was the only reason he had not died yet.

Was Poseidon saving him, then, even if unknowingly? Percy took comfort in tricking himself
to believe so, in imagining that he was there too, together with Amphitrite and his mother.
His delirious state made it possible, sometimes, to even see them all at the foot of his bed.

He didn’t know how much time had passed since the Green Death had made itself known to
him, but more than it had with the others. More than could be expected from a mortal- not
enough to assure him safety.

“She’ll be here soon,” the goddess repeated. Or maybe it was another day. He could not
remember if she had left, nor how she had been dressed. His eyes were open, but his mind
couldn’t register what he saw.

“Myrto is faring well,” she went on, “she is ruling in your stead, advised by her brother.
Dolphin is trying to figure out what happened to the wards, but there is no news. The soldiers
have not returned to Atlantis again.”

He wanted to nod, but just managed to squeeze her hand lightly, before drifting off again.
“She’ll be here soon,” the goddess said once again, when he opened his eyes again. There
was something more frail about her expression than there had been the previous time. “Lord
Apollo will heal you, and we will win this war.”

Percy smiled. It didn’t sound like a bad dream at all.

There was just an healer, when he awoke next. “Just a few days more, my Lord,” the man
urged, “please. Just a few days more.”

His body screamed at him to ignore the man’s words, but something more powerful than fear
ran in his veins. I will, he wanted to promise, I will last as long as I’m needed.

He slept and awoke a dozen times more, before seeing the goddess again.

Amphitrite smelled of fire and iron. He could not see her, lost in the cacophony of fever, but
he knew how she looked anyway. Tough, solid. Fierce.

“Tonight,” she whispered, “it has been done. Sleep, my son. The Acestor will come tonight.”

He closed his eyes once again, and dreamt of dreaming.

Apollo had gentle hands.

They were cold on his face, though. Percy half-wondered if it was because he was burning
hotter than him. He would have chuckled at the idea, had his mouth worked.

“This is not my doing,” the god acknowledged, “whose is it?”

He touched Percy’s throat, and for the first time in days he felt free to talk, his tongue as
delirious as his mind.

“Mine,” he confessed, “mine.”

Apollo shook his head, his golden curls moving with it. Percy thought about touching them,
but his hand didn't rise from the bed. The bed. Was he in the sea still? He couldn’t tell.

“You don’t have plague powers,” he answered, a thread of doubt in his voice. “Only the Fates
could have done this.”

“I know,” Percy admitted. Because he did. Because you can’t play with prophecies without
punishment.

“And yet you’ve asked me for help,” Apollo went on, his voice carefully controlled- in fury,
in fear, in pain- Percy could not tell. There was something in his hard expression that
betrayed more than indifference. Maybe it was not a good thing.

“Yes,” he said again, closing his eyes once again, resting his head on the pillow. What
difference did it make, if he were on guard or not? If the god wished him dead, he would be
anyway.

“I should not be here,” Apollo explained, “you were supposed to come to Olympus, and
become a god. Father doesn’t like you like this- powerful and without laws, unaffiliated with
him. With us.”

“It was the only reason for such a… demanding sacrifice to be necessary,” he continued after
a pause, his hands tracing the outline of Percy’s deep green marks over his chest, his arms,
his face. “I could not ignore it. He knew that too.”

“Does he still want me dead so much?” Percy asked, his voice sounding pathetic even to his
own ears. He refused to be embarrassed- he was in so much pain, that even the fact that he
wasn’t sobbing was a feat all on its own.

“Not at all,” he answered, his golden eyes staring at him until Percy was forced to meet his
gaze, “he wants you as his ally. We don’t know the details of what has happened in the sea in
the past years… but what we know is enough to paint a pretty impressive picture.”

Percy shook his head. “There was no glory. Just endurance.”

“Endurance,” Apollo repeated, “I will sing of this, when it’ll be over. All the bards will know
this story. All the world will know of you.”

It was all too much. “Am I dying, then?”

“Not soon,” the god answered, a green shadow passing through his eyes, so quickly to be
almost confused with a trick of the light, “the Fates will not be happy with me, but they have
not made this illness a fixed point in time.”

“You can heal me?” he asked, unbelieving. He had considered himself dead since the moment
his brain had been able to think of it.

“I can heal all of you,” Apollo murmured, coming closer, “I hope you’ll remember, when all
this will be over. You have done much for the gods,” he conceded, “but we have done much
for you too.”

His fingers came to rest on his forehead, and Percy closed his eyes, feeling his second skin of
pain leaving his body, turning to nothingness, leaving health behind. There was no comfort,
in Apollo’s power- just a surety, a certainty at which he held on while the fever left his body.

“There will be a time when your choice will need to be final, Perseus, cousin in destruction,”
he started, his words infused with truth, impossible to ignore. A choice, Percy thought, once
again, it all rested on him.

“I cannot see past it- but one thing I can tell you, one that not even Zeus knows,” Apollo
came to whisper in his ear, so close until Percy could focus on nothing but the golden power
coming from him, in him, around him.

“Whatever your decision will be,” he foretold, “never will you see your father again.”
 Percy froze, but as he turned to ask more, Apollo was already gone.

And when he opened his eyes again, he was met with nothing but the insides of his tent, a
million questions in his mind, a million unanswered doubts and a body that, while no longer
plagued, still begged for sleep.

Percy acquiesced. Amphitrite would be there soon, anyway, and he was so tired of feeling.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for reading! Please let me know your thoughts on this, if you have the
time! I love reading all of your comments <3 <3

Hope you enjoyed!!

 Year III, June II
Chapter Notes

Is Percy spiraling, or is he just growing?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The plague left the camp once June was already on the route for summer, and while Percy
had believed that his recovery would be instantaneous, he was quickly proved wrong.

“You’ve been a corpse for almost a month, Percy,” Myrto was trying to comfort him, finally
able to sit at his bedside again, “give yourself a couple of days to regain your energy.”

He shook his head. “We need to return to Atlantis,” he argued, “if they don’t see us, me,
they’re going to start spreading news of my death, and force our allies to forsake me.”

Myrto bit her lip, and Percy asked a silent question with his eyes.

“There are already people saying that you’re dead,” she confessed, “but we’ve been handling
the rumours. Lady Amphitrite has denied them dozens of times. My brother has written to all
the Counts in the Duchy, to put them on guard against Bythus’ falsehoods.”

“And I’m here, useless,” he sighed, “while you handle what are supposed to be my
responsibilities.”

“We’re married,” Myrto shrugged, “they’re our responsibilities. Sleep a little more, now. I’ll
send a servant with dinner in a couple of hours.”

“You won’t be here?” Percy whined, feeling like a sick little child. Myrto just smiled, a laugh
almost escaping from her lips.

“We have a meeting with the dukes tonight. Amphitrite will need to explain, again, that she
will not leave for the Solstice. You won’t miss anything, promise.”

“Alright,” Percy agreed, falling back into the pillows again, his whole body aching and
sleepy, his limbs on fire as if he had just come back from a run- instead of the three laps he
had done of the room, tightly holding on to the healer.

Gods, was he a mess.

He did not dream of the war, when she left, nor of monsters and gods. He dreamt of himself-
unbelievable as it was- dressed in pirate’s clothes, a small, sturdy ship beneath his feet. The
sun was setting behind him, while he said his goodbyes to someone over the coast. He
couldn’t see who it was, but his eyes shone enough to tell him it was someone important.
Someone worth giving a last salute to.

The sun was going down, but Percy had no rush in his dream. The night would come, but
then there’d be another morning. Maybe, instead, he would never see that person again.

His father. Apollo’s words. Was it him? He tried to move his dream around, now awake
enough to have questions, but the edges of it faded under his eyes, seemingly mocking his
attempt at knowledge.

It would be dark soon. Could he start his journey during the night? Yes of course, dream him
was certain of it. There were stars, they would guide him- if he still remembered how to
follow. How long had it been, since the last time he had been able to see them?

“Percy,” someone called, “Percy.”

It was a familiar voice, and the hand that came to touch his arm was familiar too. He tore
himself out of his dream, believing for a rambling instant to find Poseidon in front of him,
before of course he realised that the two had nothing in common.

The candles were lit, but it still took Percy quite a few moments to recognise the merman
standing in front of him: his shoulder had gotten broader, and even if youth still lived in his
features, there was no more space for a child’s naivety.

“Flustra,” Percy whispered, incredulous, giving himself a few seconds of disbelief before
realising that he had dreamt of him- had dreamt of him changing sides.

“What are you doing here? How did you get here?” he asked, waiting to call the guards even
against his better judgement. He could defend himself against the boy, if it came to it, he
knew. But he was still unwell- all unnecessary risks should have been avoided.

“I’m not here to cause harm,” Flustra rushed out, his voice panicked, “I took advantage of the
disorders in the Palace, and came out with the soldiers. No one noticed a servant’s boy.”

“You ran away from Atlantis,” Percy summarised, “why? Got tired of telling Bythus how
much you were loyal to him?”

The boy flinched. “I had to,” he begged, “I had to. You were stabbed, and then you… left, of
course, and I had to remain there. Everyone knew I had been your manservant and I was
scared of dying. I am scared of dying. I had to lie.”

“And who tells me they were lies?” Percy insisted, “You come here during an attack, steal my
own servants’ clothes, pretend to be one of them. Then you reveal yourself to me while I’m
alone, and still unrecovered. Why should I trust you?”

“I can tell you things,” Flustra went on, “about Bythus, about Atlantis. I’ll tell you everything
I know. But you need to promise me that I can remain here. If I go back… if I go back,
they’ll kill me. They’ll torture me, and then kill me.”

Percy had cared for Flustra, once. Then he had realised that he couldn’t afford to- that the boy
would bend for the Southern Duke as he had for him, that all he knew were things he couldn’t
consider secrets anymore.

“Should I care, if you live or die?”

The boy swallowed harshly, seemingly at a loss of an answer. “I hate him,” he started, “every
morning I woke up and the only thing I could think about was that I hated him. He made
me…” he paused, “serve him. I… what else could I do? What else could I do but lie?”

Percy didn’t answer. He would have fought, had he been in his place. He would have
rebelled, and gotten himself killed after two days. Flustra, if truthful, had played it smart.

Too smart, maybe.

“Why did they steal the boxes?” he asked, carefully checking his reaction. But Flustra’s eyes
were only filled with confusion.

“Which boxes?” he asked, “Bythus used to boast that he still had all your father’s treasure.”

Percy shook his head. “You said you could tell me things. But you can only tell me the
information that was available to you, as a servant. As my previous servant. Why do you
think they trusted you with anything true, or useful?”

“Because I heard it,” he answered, his voice more sure, “servants can be invisible. You know
that.”

“I’m not the boy you knew,” Percy answered, “he died, I think.”

“That’s alright,” the merman answered, his tone as soft as Percy remembered. For a second,
he was filled with the curiosity to know if his hands would be as soft as he remembered too-
but he chastised himself for the thought immediately.

“You can believe I’m not the same either, this way,” he continued, “I grew up. I changed in
all but my loyalty to you: I called him King because I had to survive, and called you so
because I wanted to.”

“Easy to say, now,” he bit back, but he couldn’t deny that he had started to be more trusting
of the boy’s words. There was still the possibility of him being a spy, but maybe listening to
what he wanted to say wouldn’t hurt.

Flustra shook his head. “I founded the resistance movement of Atlantis. Only a few know, of
course, but I did. We operate in secret, sabotaging Bythus’ plans and armoury, freeing
dissenters from the prisons. Would I have done that, had I been loyal to someone but you?”

“No, you would have not,” Percy agreed, “but the only proof I have of this are your words.
And the last time I heard you speak, you were on your knees in front of the Duke, swearing
that he had your obedience.”

He sighed. “Then nothing I can say will convince you.”

“No,” Percy agreed, “but maybe there is something you can do, to persuade me into letting
you remain here.”

“Everything,” Flustra swore immediately, “tell me, and I shall prove my loyalty to you.”

Percy smiled, feeling the boy shiver at the lack of softness in it. “You are going to risk your
life for me,” he started, “because it is the thing you care about the most.”

“And it shouldn’t be?” the boy questioned, and Percy shook his head.

“No,” he answered, “if you’re loyal to me, the thing you should care the most about is my
cause. Victory, Atlantis, seeing Bythus dead. Certainly not your life.”

He nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready, then. Tell me what to do.”

Percy laid back, picking at the dinner he had brought him. “Amphitrite lost a ring, inside of
Atlantis’ border, near the bubble’s opening. There will be another fight, in the next few days-
there is a certain bloodlust in the air. When that happens, you will retrieve it. Succeed, and
you will have a place in my camp.”

Flustra opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “I can’t!” he screamed, his eyes
filling with panic when he remembered the need for secrecy, “How could I ever manage to
get in and out of Atlantis again? Unseen?”

“You managed once.”

“Barely! You can’t-” he stopped himself, regaining control of his breathing. “You’ll kill me. I
came here to beg your help, and instead my blood will be on your hands.”

“It won’t be,” Percy answered, “because you will succeed in this. You survived two years
under Bythus’ rule, convincing him of your loyalty against all odds, if what you say is true. I
believe you know how many have died because they failed in this. And yet you didn’t. Why
should you fail now, then?”

“I’m not a fighter,” he protested, “I use words, not weapons. I won’t fare well in the middle
of a battle.”

“No one is asking you to fight. My soldiers won’t touch you, and you’ll blend in in the
confusion. You should be grateful, Flustra,” he whispered, “grateful for this opportunity and
grateful that I’m not asking you to crawl back to Bythus and be my spy.”

“Because I could have, you know,” Percy continued, coming closer, “and then you’d have to
choose between being killed by my hand or by his.”

He saw Flustra close his eyes in fear. “You’re not human anymore,” the boy murmured, “I
understand you needed to change. But where is your… where is all that made you not just a
King, but a fair, merciful one?”

Percy didn’t answer. The question would haunt him, he knew, every time he felt himself
enough to be able to think of it. The truth was, he believed, that you need to have power to
have mercy. And he had too little of it, to be able to afford giving the kindness of doubt.

Maybe mercy is not about saving everyone, he had said to the old priest, maybe mercy is just
being willing to do it, when it's possible.

And it was possible, now. He had no need for Amphitrite’s ring. He could welcome Flustra
back, keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn’t hear anything important, and leave him alone
for the rest of the war. It would not be impossible.

“Do we have an agreement, then?” he asked instead, and the boy nodded.

“Good,” Percy concluded, “tell me what you know then, and leave.”

Amphitrite was swimming back and forth in front of his bed, quickly enough that Percy was
getting a headache just by looking at her.

“The dukes gave the same, dull protest they’ve been giving twice a year,” she explained, “the
new Red Duchess is quite the character. Asked about you five times, and Myrto was getting
jumpy. I think she’ll be loyal, for how much I still dislike her.”

“If it all goes well you won’t have to deal with her for much longer,” Percy answered, “I
doubt Phorcys will recover before a couple of centuries, and I have… news that could be
pleasant about the rest.”

Amphitrite stilled in the middle of the room, and Percy quickly explained of Flustra’s visit, of
his request for help and of his desire to prove his loyalty- without giving any details on the
task he had assigned the boy.

“Listening to him was dangerous,” was the only comment she gave for a while, “he could
have had a plan to kill you.”

“I know,” Percy answered, “but I’m not unwell enough to be killed by an untrained servant’s
hand. I can’t say if all he told me it’s true, but even if it is a little…”

The goddess sat down, nodding. “Good news, I understand.”

“Flustra says that Duke Bythus is ill,” he rushed out, unable to stop the glee in his voice,
“that he has been ill for many months, without remedy. He insists he brought him supper
himself, sometimes, and that he was unable to eat, spending his days shivering on the bed.”

“Ill,” Amphitrite repeated, “he wasn’t on the walls when we came, that’s true. But could it
truly be that serious? It doesn’t seem that long since we’ve had news of him.”

“I last dreamt of him at the beginning of winter,” Percy reasoned, “all we had later were just
accounts of his men and armies. But I don’t know- Flustra might have thought it worse than it
was.”
“The fact that we still haven’t seen him is suspicious,” Amphitrite agreed, “even just blaming
cowardice stopped feeling like enough long ago. And you… the boy cared for you, did he
not?”

Percy nodded. “He said another thing, that could be important. All the rest was just useless
chatter, fake ploys appositely told in his hearing range, but this…”

He took a deep breath. “Flustra says that Eurybia hasn’t been seen in the city since last
Autumn. But he feels like there is another god in Atlantis, sometimes: the sensation never
lasts long, and his power disappears quickly, almost immediately… but it feels familiar.”

The goddess’ eyes shot to his. “One of mine?” she asked, her voice guarded, and Percy felt
his heart ache, when all he could answer was that he didn’t know.

“This was before they took the boxes, since that’s the day Flustra came here. But the two we
never found in the temple… I dont know, Amphitrite. I don’t want to give you false hopes.”

She gave a half-laugh, without humour in it. “Better not, since it might not even be true. I
don’t even know if my children’s powers could ever be familiar to the servant boy. I doubt
they were close.”

“Yeah, I thought about that too,” Percy sighed, “I fear he could be easily impressionable. But
the part about Eurybia might be true: she too, has never come out to fight.”

“It all seems very convenient,” the goddess answered, “Bythus ill, Phorcys defeated, Eurybia
gods know where. A resistance movement in the city, an army that has no guide if not the
Japanese Duke, whom the North Duke stated is not an impressive fighter.”

“He may not be impressive, but still he remained uninjured during the battle.”

“He blames the mess here at the camp and the worry for his sister for his inability to kill
him.”

Percy shook his head, letting the silence reign in the room for a while. “Do you think it could
truly be true?” he then asked.

Amphitrite took his hand in hers. “I think we shouldn’t let this influence our decisions. It
might, or it might not. Until we don’t manage to enter Atlantis, what matters who is inside?
We have no other allies. We can’t be more prepared than this.”

“It’s just that… we needed to fight two gods and it seemed impossible. Now we might not
have to, and yet it seems to me more impossible than before.”

“You’ve been sick,” she tried to reassure, “that takes a toll. Together with what you’re not
telling me.”

Percy looked at her like a deer in headlights. “What?” he managed to get out, his voice too
high.

She looked at him with a knowing look. “You’ve been distracted. Upset. Myrto says-”
“Oh you two speak of me now,” he interrupted, defensive, “great.”

“She is Queen, as I’ve been for thousands of years. We speak of many things including, when
it is necessary, you. And it has been, now” she pressed on, “it has been.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I was hoping you’d come to me yourself. She just said that you started
yelling for him in the night,” she paused, swallowing, “for your father.”

Percy felt shame rise up in his cheeks, dropping his eyes to the sheets. His wife had heard
him call for his father during the night, as a toddler not used to sleeping by himself: and if
that hadn’t been bad enough, she had also told Amphitrite- who already fatigued in seeing
him as an adult.

“I’m not bringing this forward to embarass you, Percy,” she softly added, “look at me. I’m
not angry at you. But I know that something happened. And even if our relationship hasn’t
been all good… he’s my husband. I love him. I want to know if you’ve seen him.”

And how could Percy tell her, that was exactly the reason why he had told her nothing? That
alone he had borne the knowledge of Apollo’s words, unable to turn more real a prophecy so
terrible in his eyes.

It’d be like forcing her to repudiate him. Because if the choice was offered, she wasn’t going
to sacrifice her husband for him. He knew, deep down, even if he knew her love for him was
true.

“I didn’t see him,” he answered, glad that it wasn’t a lie, “I have no news of his
whereabouts.”

“But still-”

“No,” Percy answered, wondering when the conversation had turned against him, “we’ll talk
of this, one day. Not now. I can’t handle this too, not with Flustra here, and the news of the
capital, and- and all the- all the things that-”

His breaths were ragged and short, and Percy was forced to interrupt himself, desperately
trying to get more air in his still human lungs. He wouldn’t be able to for quite a time, he
knew- used to the signs of a panic attack.

Amphitrite didn’t offer any help, but she also didn’t leave, and he took it as a sign that while
upset, she wasn’t too angry at him. Not how she had been before, on the journey with the
Count.

He calmed himself down sooner than he expected, the calm sea more soothing than he had
thought it to be- maybe an indication that she hadn’t been as indifferent as she seemed.

“Another day,” he begged, “another day.”

 The goddess sighed, standing up. “Don’t let this go too far, Perseus. We had promised each
other there would be no more secrets, and yet… I wasn’t expecting you to break your word
so quickly.”

“I haven’t,” he answered immediately, “I’m just not ready. Not now. There have been too
many things and I need- time, to come to terms with them all. I can’t think. I can’t reason.”

“Make sure not to let that wretched boy think for you, then,” the goddess advised, “or he’ll
disappear as tempestively as he has come.”

Percy nodded, closing his eyes, feeling the ghost of the goddess’ hand on his hair, gentle: but
her tenderness did nothing but increase his guilt, his feeling that all the decisions he had
taken were the wrong ones.

Had there truly been a need to treat Flustra so harshly? And could he have not just gritted his
teeth and told Amphitrite what she deserved to know?

But the doubt was better. The not-knowing was better, than having to come to terms with the
fact that he was loved, but not enough.

“Prophecies are self-fulfilling,” Myrto told him when she came to bed, that night, “if that is
what the Acestor told you, do not give it too much thought. It might worsen things.”

Percy swallowed, and remained silent until he was certain that his wife was asleep beside
him. Then, he slowly carded his fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then quieter, “I’m sorry that I don’t want to die.”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading!!!

Let me know what you think, if you have the time <3 <3
 Year III, June III, July I
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Cadmus came to him first thing in the morning, and Percy didn’t manage to hide how pleased
he was by his visit: since he and Myrto had come back, he had had no opportunity to just talk
to the man.

And Cadmus had been there, when he had seen Tartarus again. Cadmus had been the steady
arm at his side, the rational mind when he had done nothing but despair at the loss of
Anaklusmos. He had been a friend.

“I don’t know how much Myrto has told you about our journey,” he said once that breakfast
had been served, “but I hope you’ve managed to forgive her, for the deal she made with
Aphros. It was not easy.”

“I have,” Percy nodded, “I am not blind to the difficulties of diplomacy. I just wish it hadn’t
brought so much death here, and so much paranoia. The soldiers are still wary of Aphros and
the mer-heroes, and it could bring trouble in battle.”

Cadmus took a bite of the bread he had been given, hard and stale as it had been for days
now, most of the stocks destroyed in the attack. “They’ll forget by next battle,” he reassured,
“especially now that the plague is gone. Cetus’ head must have smelled good,” he joked, and
Percy smiled, taking a sip of what they passed as coffee.

“Did you see Apollo?”

“No one saw him,” the general answered, “but we all felt the power, dancing in between the
waves. We were overjoyed- you should have seen the dukes’ faces when the oceanid returned
with the monster’s head.”

He stood up, mimicking the Black Duke, “That is a very big head,” he said, trying to copy the
man’s voice, estorcing a laugh out of Percy, “did Perseus really defeat it on his own?”

“Oh I hope he didn’t say that to Amphitrite’s face,” he laughed, his voice full of a glee he
thought he had forgotten.

“She was with you, or he’d be dead,” Cadmus answered, “in fact he remained very silent
during the sacrifice itself,” he chuckled, sitting down once again, his voice returning serious.

“It was a big ceremony. We wore all the gold we had, sang all the hymns we knew, and we
made it just as dawn had begun, when Apollo’s power is as new as the day. You were missed,
Percy,” he concluded, “as more than just a leader.”

“I’m glad,” he answered, unable to say more, his words stuck in his throat, “you were missed
too.”
The general smiled, a hint of softness in it. “News of the Count?” he asked, and Percy
nodded, grateful for the change in topic.

“I received a letter of his not long ago. He is adjusting better, now that his new tail has been
made, but six months just aren’t enough to return as before. Seemed to be in a better mood
though, at least. He wrote that he’s taking dancing lessons again,” Percy chuckled, “to be
ready for the first ball in Atlantis.”

Percy tried to say it with exasperation, but he did not quite manage.

“You’re friends,” Cadmus spelled out, after a beat of silence, and some wandering piece
found its place back in Percy’s heart at the admission.

“Yes”

“Good,” the general said, finishing his meal, “you need those.”

Percy nodded again, relaxing in the man’s presence. They ate a little more, the silence
between them more comfortable than anything else, and Percy would have gladly ended the
encounter on that good note: but he couldn’t. He had a question that burned on the tip of his
tongue, that he had kept for himself for way too long.

“What do you think of Dolphin?” he asked then, trying to be casual and probably failing, too
desperate to actually have a third party’s opinion on the matter.

Because he had been distant since he had come back from the Mediterranean, because he had
spoken to Myrto of things he should have never dared to. And while Amphitrite, who knew
him best, believed it nothing more than a misunderstanding, Percy was afraid that she just
cared for him too much to ever see any terrible fault.

Cadmus inclined his head, squaring him with curious eyes. “I think he hasn’t been supporting
you as he should,” he answered, his words were careful, “if you have doubts on his loyalty.”

“They’re not doubts di per se…” he answered, “I don’t know, fears I think. More than… I
don’t know. Just like-” he gestured around, not knowing how to explain.

“However,” Cadmus intervened when it became clear he wasn’t going to finish the sentence,
“Dolphin has been your father’s most trusted advisor for all of his reign. He has made his
marriage possible by convincing Lady Amphitrite, he has seen every brick of Atlantis being
laid down. He has made your reign possible, by speaking to the army during your second
trial. If you cannot trust him, then whom can you trust?”

Percy sighed, closing his eyes in surrender. He knew that. He knew that the people he could
truly trust were so few that he could chop off everything but a hand and he’d still have empty
fingers. “You’re right, of course. It must be just paranoia. I’ll get over it.”

He felt the general’s gaze on him then, but he didn’t look up. His admission hadn’t been
treason just because he was the King. And while he had wanted Cadmus’ opinion, his
disagreement still filled him with shame.
Dolphin had helped, and he was forsaking him.

“I can try to keep an eye on it for a few days, if it would ease your mind,” the general gently
offered after a while, and Percy could have wept from the softness of it alone.

“Thank you,” he said instead, resting his tired eyes, and that was it.

The day of the Solstice came and went, bringing a new energy into the waters. Summer
meant food, and warmth, and an easiness that spring couldn’t fully give, and that autumn
took away greedily.

Summer had meant Camp, a long time ago, and as the days passed without much news, Percy
let his mind wander, thinking of all the things he was missing: the long Capture the Flag
games, the fireworks, Mr. D’s grumbling speeches and Chiron’s exasperated eyes.

It also brought that, summer. Longing, melancholy. A loneliness that the hundreds of people
around him couldn’t ease.

“We won’t be stuck here for much longer, I’m sure” Myrto tried to comfort him, in between
training and meetings, “it’s been months already.”

“Sieges last years, most of the time,” Percy answered, carding his fingers through her hair,
unfolding her braids, “and Atlantis is hardly collapsing. They haven’t sent their soldiers out
in weeks, not even after I showed myself to dispel the rumours of my death.”

“They don’t gain anything by coming out, after all,” his wife agreed, “they just lose men.
And if Bythus is truly ill… the Japanese Duke can’t risk being killed too.”

They don’t gain anything by coming out.

Percy stilled, and Myrto stared at him in confusion, her eyebrows asking a silent question.

“But what if they did?” Percy asked, his previous gloom forgotten, substituted by the fire of a
new plan, “What if we made them believe they could gain something from opening up
Atlantis again?”

“Do you have something in mind?” Myrto asked, going to sit at his desk, pen and ink in
hand, but Percy shook his head.

“No but,” he started, standing up, full of energy, “we no longer have a plague to worry about.
Our army is complete, the mer-heroes are as integrated with the others as they’ll ever be, the
dukes are… mostly in agreement. If Atlantis opens, this could be the right time. The right
time to actually enter it.”

Myrto’s eyes gleamed when she looked back at him. “It could end.”

“It could end,” he repeated, forgetting, for a moment, that the end of the war could also bring
the end of his life.
“What could they want, then?” his wife asked, returning him to the present, “What could
tempt them into carelessness? Phorcys is no longer there to be provoked.”

“And they used our last attack against us, to assault the camp and steal the boxes,” Percy
added, shaking his head, “we can’t risk that again, not now that we know that our wards are
not as strong as we believed them to be.”

Myrto stayed silent for a long time, thinking, and Percy took that time to call for the goddess,
hoping that she’d agree with them that the time to take back the city had arrived.

“I think there were too many people that knew, last time,” Myrto said, just before Amphitrite
could enter the room, “whatever we plan should remain between us three. Everyone else can
find out later.”

“We still need the majority vote for an attack,” Percy sighed, “but we could mask it, maybe.
Make it seem something different.”

“Percy, Myrto,” the goddess arrived, an easy smile on her lips. She looked rested, and
healthier than Percy had seen her before, merit of the weeks of stall they had been stuck in: if
mentally disastrous, they had at least allowed their bodies to rest.

His wife explained their plan to her, and Percy studied her expression carefully, trying to
discern her opinion before she could voice it. Her shoulders were set straight but her position
wasn’t tense, and her hands were relaxed above her lap: and while her easy smile was gone,
she wasn’t frowning either.

Percy believed her to be in agreement.

“I would be more at ease if we found out how they destroyed the wards, before attacking
again,” she answered when Myrto had finished talking, “mostly since the most likely reason
is that they had help from some soldier of ours.”

“We no longer have anything here that they may desire though,” Percy argued, “there is no
reason they should try to come here again.”

“It’s not about coming here, but about there possibly being a spy,” Amphitrite clarified, “your
agreement with Eda dissolved when she became Duchess, did it not? She’s no longer able to
meddle for you.”

Percy nodded, agreeing with her. “Yes, and now everything that we decide has the risk of
being told to Bythus. I understand what you mean.”

“Can we truly just not tell the others anything?”

“It would be more suspicious,” the goddess answered, “and Percy’s position is not one of
absolutism. If we want to go on this route, playing with words and double meanings is the
only thing we could do.”

“They’re not all idiots,” Percy said, sitting back calmly, some of his previous excitement
receding, “we already risked a lot by making up the prophecy. That went well,” he added,
shooting an apologetic look at Myrto, “but I wouldn’t tempt the Fates twice.”

“Even because the first time we did so, they sent a plague,” Amphitrite reminded, and when
Myrto tried to argue with her, she just shook her head. “You and Aphros were pawns in their
revenge,” she explained, “it was always meant to happen.”

“Like this war,” Percy sighed, suddenly exhausted, “like everything else.”

Athena’s voice was icy cold, unforgiving. “There is more at stake here, than his life. We can’t
afford to lose the sea, and if the boy-”

Someone interrupted, and Percy opened his eyes to find himself in the middle of the fire, at
the centre of the throne room. Hestia was there, but she gave no sign of feeling his presence.

He was in the past, then. Last Council? Hades wasn’t there.

“If Perseus,” the goddess amended, “if Perseus keeps denying us his loyalty, then he must be
substituted with someone who won’t.”

“Like whom?” Ares asked, the room filled with the smell of gunpowder, “Not a fan of
Jackson, but he gets shit done.”

Someone chuckled, but Percy was too surprised by Ares’ defence to figure out the source of
the sound. And yet it made sense, after all: Percy had been breathing nothing but war for
years, had made a home out of the god’s domain.

Athena tried to answer, but Zeus stopped her, raising his hand. “Perseus is untouchable until
the end of the war,” he declared, “I will not hear any more arguments over the matter. My
brother’s return will not be endangered by our intervention.”

There were a few grumbles, but most remained silent. “Which is why,” the god continued,
“any interaction with him is now forbidden. You will not answer his prayers. You will not
come to his help,” he highlighted, staring at Apollo, “he has rejected our invitation. He
clearly believes himself able to handle it on his own.”

“And if he’s not?”

“If he’s not,” his uncle grumbled, eyes shining, “I’ll kill the usurper and take the sea
myself.”

They made and ditched dozens of plans, while July passed over them in a hurry, leaving
behind jumpy soldiers and stressed out generals. How they could manage to keep the
thousands of Atlantis’s men locked in the city, was for Percy a mystery, especially since his
own had soon become restless at the lack of action.
“We’ll have a revolt on our hands soon, if something doesn’t change,” Dolphin advised
during one of the war councils, “the men need to fight.”

“We all know, I believe,” the Northern Duke answered, “the issue is that Bythus doesn’t seem
inclined to battle us again: Phorcys’ defeat must have scared him, as the close call I had in
killing the Japanese Duke.”

“Is there nothing we can do to get him out?” the Arabian Duke asked, looking at him, as if
Percy hadn’t spent the last month wondering exactly the same, just to come out empty
handed.

“I don’t think they would fall to another provocation,” he said instead, not specifying that
maybe Eurybia wasn’t even in the city, “and that doesn’t leave us with many means of
communication.”

Myrto glanced at him, but Percy didn’t turn in her direction, his eyes darting to Amphitrite
instead, who then glared at her: better to let them think they had never thought of it, than that
they had found no solution.

They spoke of farming and of agriculture then, of the plans for winter and the state of their
provisions, while Percy tried to bring back to his memory all he had learnt in Atlantis about
the topics, when Lydos still was his teacher.

He missed him too, sometimes.

“There is one last topic I wish to discuss today,” Amphitrite loudly reclaimed the men’s
attention, and Percy tried not to look surprised: he had not known she had anything to add.
“Since it will soon be August,” she started, “it is of the utmost importance that we start
preparing the celebrations for the King’s birthday.”

All eyes darted to him, and Percy tried to do his best to hide the shock on his face, instead
smiling pleasantly. He saw Myrto bring her eyebrows together, with the corner of his eyes,
and therefore concluded he hadn’t fully succeeded.

He hadn’t wanted to celebrate his birthday in any way, but he could not go against the
goddess in public: not unless he wished to handle a hundred rumours on how they had
terribly argued and now hated each other. And she had a plan, he hoped: something she had
just thought about, or something that requested his ignorance.

So he played along. “It will also be the fourth anniversary of Kronos’ defeat,” he stated, “our
celebrations will mirror the ones of the upper world.”

“Exactly,” Amphitrite agreed, her eyes twinkling, and Percy had the impression that he had
inadvertently pointed out the right thing.

“This could even be a good distraction for the soldiers,” Eda added, her voice complentative,
“we could organise games, challenges in the King’s honour, like in the old times. I think the
men would jump at the opportunity to prove themselves.”
“And it will surely be good for morale,” the North Duke agreed, “a week with nothing to
think about but feasting. It’ll carry us through the harsh days of winter.”

“A week is not enough for a King,” the Arabian Duke interjected, “my own birthday’s
celebrations lasted double that time.”

“We are at war now,” Percy concluded, “a week will be sufficient. I have no desire to waste
resources.”

Amphitrite nodded. “Seven days,” she declared, “it will bring good fortune.”

Flustra spent his days in the shadows, Percy had noticed. He ate with the servants, shared
some of their work, but didn’t speak to anybody, didn’t even sleep in the same quarters,
preferring instead to lie outside, at the outskirts of the camp, where he was lulled by the
warm currents.

Percy had noticed, and so he went there to look for him, that evening, feeling more nostalgic
than usual.

Flustra welcomed him with a smile, even if they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. “Fancy a
cup of tea?” he asked, and Percy nodded, even if he should have refused.

Poison risk and all of that.

He sat on the opposite side from the boy, when it was done, the flashes from what had been
between them keeping him distant. Flustra had eased his loneliness once, but he could no
longer: he shouldn’t even have gone there, and yet…

“Has Atlantis changed much?” he asked, coming to hold the fuming mug with both hands,
still comforted by the warmth of it even in the heat of summer.

“Not… physically,” he answered, his eyes distant, “the buildings are pretty much all there:
new temples were built, your father’s own were destroyed, as were his statues, but Palace
Hill looked the same. Some changes in the rooms, I think, and a new throne of course, but
Bythus has mostly been concerned with other matters.”

“And its people?”

Flustra flinched, his eyes focused on the sand beneath him. “Those who showed support for
you were killed,” he started, his voice empty, “their houses were given to Bythus’ men, the
ones who came from the Southern Duchy, together with their estates. Military presence
increased, a curfew was installed,” he shrugged, “this kind of things.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy answered, not quite knowing what he was apologising for. Leaving
Atlantis? Taking so long to return? Giving Flustra a possibly deadly task?

Flustra shook his head, a new fierciness in him. “We did not all die,” he went on, coming to
stare at him, “there are others, like me, who hid and survived. We did not all die,” he
 repeated, “we waited for you. And now you have come. Do not,” he struggled, “do not make
it useless.”

Percy closed his eyes, the weight of his responsibility a burden that he would never fully
learn how to carry. “I will take the kingdom back,” he promised, “and Bythus will be
introduced to his own damnation by my very hand.”

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was a struggle, but oh guys we're so close to the last battle and I'm so
excited about it!!

I hope you enjoyed, and thank you as always for your lovely comments!! <3
 Year III, July II
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

While the warmth currents and the promise of celebrations filled the waters, the mood of the
soldiers rapidly increased, their training almost coming to satisfy even the harsher generals-
but not Aphros. Especially if it was about him: Percy had to be perfect, and every training
session reminded him of how much he just wasn’t.

“Your first response is still to fight in two dimensions,” Aphros was saying, shaking his head,
“you need to let go of this instinct, or you’re gonna get killed very fast.”

“I haven’t been killed yet,” Percy answered, annoyed, “so it mustn’t be that bad.”

“You’re not aiming for ‘not that bad’, Perseus,” the man spat out, “you’re aiming for the best
the sea can offer. And this,” he pointed at Percy’s unbalanced trident, “is not it.”

“It’s not it because it’s not my weapon,” he justified, “it doesn’t fit like Anaklusmos did.
Nothing about this trident feels right.”

The man sighed, and Dolphin intervened, placing a hand on his forearm. “Anaklusmos is not
coming back, Percy, and you haven’t had it in a long time. You need to get used to something
else.”

“I got used to the other sword,” he answered, feeling rage surge in him, hot and steady. He
knew he fought well: he had defeated Cetus, and Phorcys, and the Coral Duke, and then
Phorcys again.

They had no ground to tell him he was bad.

“A sea king cannot fight with a sword,” Aphros commented, and in a second Percy’s hand
was at his throat, tight enough to bruise. In a swift movement, he slammed the man on the
wall of the armoury, ignoring Dolphin’s sound of protest, and his infuriated eyes.

“A sea king does not take orders from a useless, little bitch like you,” he said, voice low,
almost growling, his sharp teeth clearly visible.

The water was very still, all around them.

“Percy,” Dolphin tried again, his voice calmer than it had been.

He dropped Aphros to the ground and walked out of the training grounds.

(The anger of heroes is known and well-sung, the anger of kings is worshipped and called
just, the anger of gods is cruel, and hated and necessary. Percy’s anger is all of those things,
and it will be more. Percy’s anger will be righteous, lucid, binding.)
.

He didn’t sleep that night, nor the night after, no matter how much he tried: he closed his eyes
in the darkness of his tent, and all he could see behind his eyelids was Apollo’s blinding light.
He laid down in the warmth of his wife’s arms, and all he could feel was the chilliness of his
words. There was no escape, there was no refuge.

Myrto noticed, as she always did. “It’s eating you alive,” she commented one morning,
passing her finger across the purple bags under his so green eyes, “please talk to me.”

“I can’t,” he rushed out, “I’m still…” coping, thinking. Realising.

Dying.

He gave her a small smile, while the clock rang eight times. They would have to leave soon.

“What kind of games are you planning for my birthday?” he asked then, changing the subject.
He hadn’t attended the previous day's meeting, afraid that Zeus’ words might have somehow
escaped his lips.

“Amphitrite is taking care of most of it,” she answered, indulging him, “I think she’s
planning something, but she has refused to give any kind of explanation.”

“Some things are better when they stay secret.”

“So I’m the only one bound to the no secrets rule?”

Percy swallowed, taking his head away from her grasp. “Of course not,” he answered, finding
the courage to look into her eyes, surprised by the hurt he could see in the lines of her face,
“but some things need to be processed, before they can be shared.”

She shook her head, but her expression softened. “What might it have been, that upset you so
much?”, she questioned, not truly expecting an answer, “You’re not scared of dying. You’re
not scared of war.”

“Maybe I am”

“Not like this. Not to isolate yourself like…” she sighed, stopping herself. “If not to me, talk
to her. She deserves this. If not out of will, then out of debt. You owe her honesty.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You don’t explain!”

“I don’t want to explain,” he went on, his voice too angry. He didn’t care. “If you can’t bear
to see me like this, look the other way.”

“I will not,” she stated, firm and unafraid. “We’re stuck together, for better and for worse.
And if you don’t want to speak to me now,” she said, raising her voice, getting up from the
bed, “-fine! You will have to, sooner or later. You will have to return to me.”
Her voice broke and he closed his eyes. She was no longer there, when the servants came for
him. And by the glances they threw at him, when they thought he could not see, he
understood she had been right.

He couldn’t go on like this, or not only would he never see his father again, but never would
anyone else. No, he needed to find the strength to… look for a solution. Or accept that there
was none.

And he knew where to find it.

Mom,
I hope this letter reaches you, even if I think all the others haven’t. I hope they haven’t at
least, sometimes.

I told you I was going to die many times, and it hasn’t happened yet. But I’m choosing it, this
time. Or I think that’s what’s happening- what has to happen, better.

Mom I will say nothing else. Will you bless me, as you have done once already? I need your
strength, mama. I need to borrow the heart you grew me up with, I need to be six again, and
think that your arms are the safest place in the universe.

With enduring love,

Your son

“Aphros is a valuable ally, who cost us much,” Amphitrite chastised him a few days later,
after having invited Percy in her rooms, “you don’t like him, as Triton didn’t. But it is
important that he remains on our side.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, falling down on a chair, “I know I shouldn’t have let my annoyance
get the best of me.”

The goddess nodded. “I spoke to him earlier, and brought forward your apologies already: he
will let it go, this time, but make sure you don’t lose your temper again. He’s still upset that
we sent his men with the oceanid, and not ours.”

“Thank you,” he answered, sounding honest even to his own ears, “it’s not an excuse but…
I’ve been on edge all week,” he admitted, giving her a small laugh, “I wanted to speak to you.
About what… about Apollo’s words, and it’s not...”

He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, not looking up.

“You’re scared,” Amphitrite noted, a hint of disbelief in her voice, “you fear my reaction?”

“I fear everything about those words,” he said, closing his eyes, “I’ve been dreaming of
nothing but them, even in between the flashes I’ve had of the Council. And I wanted to wait
more to tell you, I wanted to… understand more before telling you.”
He opened his eyes again, looking at the goddess and wondering what shade of green they
were now: dark, desperate, or light as Apollo’s rays?

“But I can’t wait any longer. I need to tell someone, before it claws out of me, before it
makes me insane and…” he bit his lip, encouraged by the determination in Amphitrite’s
expression.

“We will handle it together,” she promised, “whatever it is, you will not be alone.”

“Myrto is worried about me,” he went on, postponing the inevitable, “we argued a few days
ago, about the fact that I couldn’t keep it secret forever. She was right,” he added, laughing
quietly, “but you need to know first.”

He looked her in the eyes then, trying to do what his mother would have done: she wouldn’t
have shied away from the truth, and he wasn’t going to do so either, even if she hadn’t
answered his letter. Percy had waited for it, had even asked the servants to keep an eye out-
but nothing. And as August approached, he no longer had time to wait: this had to be done
before his birthday.

“I’ll start from the… easier part,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve had a dream of the last
Summer Solstice. They’ve taken our absence as a sign of, like, me not wanting to be on their
side.”

Amphitrite scoffed, offended. “Has any of them forgotten how much work being at war
implies?”

“Ares was on my side in the matter, surprisingly,” he went on, “so I think he hasn’t. But
Athena was quite convinced about my ill intentions. She proposed I should be substituted
with someone who will not scorn them.”

“Substituted,” the goddess repeated, tasting the word on her tongue, “does she know of other
children your father has hidden, pray tell?” she asked, her voice mocking, and surprised,
“That’s the stupidest thing that ever got out of her mouth.”

Percy chuckled, unable to help himself. “She’s never liked me,” he shrugged, as an
explanation, “but then Zeus said I couldn’t be touched until… father’s return. And- and that
no one was allowed to give us any help anymore. None- none at all.”

“No matter,” she answered, straightening her back, “we don’t need it.”

“We-”

“We don’t need it,” she insisted, “not anymore. We will win this war without them, as the sea
has always done: and when success will be ours, we will not forget how we have been
treated.”

Percy swallowed harshly, unable to believe her. The ocean might have never needed their
help, but he had. What would he be, without Dionysus or Apollo’s help? Dead, lost in his
own mind.
“There is another thing then,” he went on, unwilling to remain more on the topic, “Zeus said
that if I don’t… that if we don’t succeed, he’ll kill Bythus. And take the sea for himself.”

He looked at her then, wanting to see her reaction, but the goddess’ eyes remained
unchanged. Percy couldn’t tell if she was unfazed, or if she was just trying to keep her
reaction under control, knowing how nervous he had been.

“He has threatened it many times, during the years,” she answered, voice calm, “whether
he’d be able to actually do so remains dubious: it’s likely the domain would reject him, after
so many millennia of separation. But does it matter, in the end?”

“What do you mean does it matter,” he started, incensed, “of course it fucking matters!”

“If we fail, then we are dead,” she continued, placating him, “you and me both. Dead people
don’t know what happens in the world, and do not care for it. We’ll never know if he’d
manage to-”

“That’s the contrary of reassuring,” Percy interrupted, now faced in front of another type of
failure, one he hadn’t even considered, “if like, comfort was what you were going for.”

“I was going for truth,” Amphitrite said, her voice still unwavering, “I have full confidence
that we will win this war, and that his words will not be a concern for long. But if you wish to
think of what is unlikely to happen, then that is the truth. You will care while you’re alive and
while you’re dying, and not a moment longer.”

“But the people-”

“The people would be fine eventually,” she reassured, “you humans are doing fine, under
Zeus, aren’t you? There could be worse than him.”

His brain came to a halt. He had forgotten that his uncle was theoretically… king of all the
rest already.

“But we’ll win,” he repeated, and the goddess smiled, still unwilling, though, to show any
kind of stronger emotion.

That would change when he’d tell the other part, he knew, and so he couldn’t bring himself to
actually start talking, slowly drinking the soft tea the servants had brought: half an hour they
remained in silence, Amphitrite’s eyes on him all the time.

When the clock rang midnight, Percy finally put his cup down, and stared at the goddess right
in the eyes, forcing himself to be filled by the kind of courage he had used on Olympus,
begging for his life and for the one of the Ophiotaurus.

“I will have to die, for Poseidon to come back.”

The currents churned all around the room. “What?” Amphitrite asked, blinking rapidly,
“What- is that what Apollo said?”
Percy nodded, not quite trusting his voice to speak but doing so anyway, “He didn’t use those
words,” he explained, “but he said that there would be a moment, soon, in which I’d have to
make a decision. And whichever I made… never I’d see father again.”

His words had been flat, devoid of the anguish he had placed in them since that day, but the
effect they had on the goddess was one of true misery.

“No,” she whispered, “no.”

“I’m sorry,” he answered, raising his eyes to hers again, and seeing tears run down her
cheeks, his voice broke too. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t say that you have to die though,” she went on, already stricken with grief, “not
seeing can mean many things. Like- like being separated, or… or blind, or, or just something,
something else.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but she shook her head, drying her eyes with the back of her hand.

“No,” she answered, her tone rock solid once again, “we have not done all of this so I could
see you die. We have not come all this way to lose you at the end of it.”

“I don’t see any other way out,” he shook his head, “and I’ve been thinking about it
constantly, believe me.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” she continued, “and Apollo might have had his own
interests. He’s the god of truth, but he’s not bound to it.”

“It felt true”

“Also the wording,” she went on, ignoring him, “he could have chosen it to be eery just to
scare you into going to Olympus. He’s Zeus’ favourite, after all: what tells you it wasn’t just
their plan to- to take you there and…”

“Amphitrite,” he breathed out, “I have come to terms with it. We will win this war,” he
repeated, swallowing down his uncertainty, “and when that will have been done, we’ll worry
about the rest.”

Slowly, under his eyes, the goddess aged about fifty years, her hair turning white, her skin
wrinkled, thin, her golden veins visible under it, so much that her hands seemed to be fully
golden.

He was reminded of the woman whom he had seen in his dream, first standing in between
Atlantis’ ruins and their dead bodies, then in between the jellyfish of the inn they had once
stopped at. Soon, she had said too.

“Are you,” he started, looking at who now seemed to be a frial, old lady, “are you going to be
alright?”

Her eyes looked as old as they were, when she stared back at him. “I will regain control over
my form in the next few days,” she answered, voice crispy, “but I need to be alone a little, if
you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he answered, standing up, relieved for the easy way out, out of the room in
which he was struggling to breath in more and more, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded, and he swam towards the door. “Perseus,” she stopped him then, “thank you for
telling me. You are… the bravest of my sons.”

Unable to handle it, he closed his eyes a moment too long, pausing just enough to let her
know he had heard. Then, he gently closed the door behind himself, stepping into the clean
and almost chilly waters.

He went back to his tent, forcing himself to think that it was just normal, that not for a second
Amphitrite had taken into consideration to save him and not her husband. He had known, it
had to be expected: who was him, a bastard, against the love of her life?

He had known, and yet it still hurt. He had known, and yet his heart still felt like it had been
squeezed so much that it was now empty, just dripping to the ground the leftovers of what
had once been love.

But he had done it. He had done it without help, even if the freedom that that brought gave no
comfort- if not the desperate knowledge that if no one else was willing to be proud of him,
he’d be proud of himself.

“Of course, a tournament is a given,” the Arabian Duke opened the meeting, “but what were
you thinking about the rules of it? Surely it can’t be to death.”

“No, we don’t have enough soldiers for that,” the Black Duke sighed, “even if it’d be more
entertaining.”

“No one is going to die on my birthday,” Percy interrupted, from his place at the head of the
table. Amphitrite wasn’t there today, worried that the sight of her aged form would worry the
soldiers, and so Myrto was sitting at his right, instead of her.

“To first blood seems reasonable,” she proposed, and there were a few murmurs of agreement
in between the crowd.

“We should make a post where anyone who wants to participate can sign up,” Eda continued,
“maybe saying their name and the division they belong to. And then we write the names on
pieces of paper, and sort them out for every round.”

Percy nodded. “A direct elimination, yes,” he agreed, “but we’ll need quite a few people to
keep score too. I’d say two people from all of your armies, to avoid the risk of corruption.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” the Arabian Duke commented, “We should have done this sooner. Did
you not have a birthday last year?”
“People have birthdays every year,” the North Duke sighed, “but we are in the middle of a
war. I would ask you to keep this in mind.”

Myrto looked proudly at her brother, and he smiled at her so softly that Percy felt like he was
intruding in a private moment, just by watching. Immorally, he felt relieved by the death of
her elder sibling: it’d have been a disaster.

“So, a tournament starting three days before the King’s birthday,” Dolphin wrote down, “with
the final match on the eighteenth. We’ll have to think of a prize then,” he sighed, “but let’s
focus. What else would you enjoy?”

“We should have a gambling table,” someone proposed, “we pay the soldiers enough for
them to have money to risk, and it’ll be fun.”

“With dice?” Myrto asked, her tone curious enough to launch a middle-aged, moustached
general into the most boring explanation of gambling rules that Percy had ever heard in his
entire life.

He zoned out in the middle of it, staring at the notes that Amphitrite had left him, trying to
guess what she was planning: because it was obvious that she hadn’t proposed this kind of
party for his own enjoyment. She knew how he had dreaded even the finer receivements in
Atlantis- especially if they were in his honour.

Myrto kicked him under the table.

“That sounds great,” Percy answered, not looking up, hearing someone snicker around him.
Evening songs, Amphitrite had suggested.

“We are also in need of something.. new,” he started, grabbing everyone’s attention
immediately, “a new war chant, for when we will march on Atlantis for the last time.
Something strong, as strong as us. Do you think your armies would like to challenge each
other on who can create the best one?”

Aphros laughed, sounding delighted. “That sounds like you’re already handing me victory on
a silver platter, Your Majesty. All my soldiers are trained in song and poetry. Theirs…”

“Mine are perfectly capable of giving yours a fight,” the Black Duke scoffed, “I’m in for this,
even if to prove him wrong.”

“I agree it would be useful,” the North Duke commented, his eyes boring into Percy’s. Had
he understood there was probably a plan behind it?

“You’d be the judge of them, of course,” he continued, “and since we need to give the
soldiers some time to… compose their arrangement, I propose that the final decision should
be made on the last day of the celebrations.”

“To end on a hopeful note, I like it,” Eda agreed, “and to remind them what their duty is, in
case they forgot during their week of freedom.”
 Percy had no idea if it was what Amphitrite had meant, but it sounded close enough. “Fine by
me,” he answered, and soon it was voted into the activities.

They kept discussing well into the evening then, and it ended up being the most pleasant
meeting Percy had ever been in: no war plans, no plagues to discuss, no risky schemes and
necessary deaths to approve.

Just games: and he had planned enough at Camp to be more comfortable in speaking and in
suggesting ideas than he had ever been with battle strategies, even if he knew that he wasn’t
bad at them. And the more confidence he showed, the more he could see the others following
his lead- a stark difference from when everyone seemed to go against him just for the sake of
it.

“You were so… kingly today” Myrto told him that night, undressing him, placing her soft
lips over his chest, “hadn’t you been already, I’d have made you mine there.”

Percy chuckled, lifting her head to kiss her. “I think I’d like a reminder, though,” he
answered, “I’m very forgetful.”

“Oh?” she smiled, “Unacceptable.”

He didn’t think of war that night, didn’t spare a second on his father or on Atlantis: and
maybe he had truly needed the reminder, that there was more to his life than just blood and
weapons and battle.

Maybe, an emptied heart was just a second chance at filling it with love.

Chapter End Notes

I'm keeping you on the edge, ain't I... but all will come ;)

Thanks for reading and for your lovely comments!!! Have a great week <3 <3
 Year III, August I
Chapter Notes

TW: a little t*rture, but nothing graphic

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As July dragged on into August, the talks and the meetings about his birthday’s celebrations
increased, leaving space for little else if not a couple of off-handed remarks about the state of
provisions and Bythus’ unwillingness to fight.

But if before it had seemed that the soldiers were on the brink of a revolt, that if they didn’t
find a way to let them have a fight it’d be the end– now the Dukes could say, with maybe too
much confidence, that the risk had been averted.

Percy though, didn’t forget Myrto’s words, nor their half-plan to find something that would
make Atlantis’ men want to come out: because yes, the promise of a feast was distracting the
soldiers. But how long would it last for?

The whole of summer if they were lucky, and nothing more.

And so he had started to leave his bed after Myrto had fallen asleep, letting his legs take him
on the training grounds: he focused on using the unbalanced trident, most times, but when he
needed to think, he yielded to the familiar stabbing and slashing of his sword.

Sustained by the water, some nights he felt like they were the same thing, him and the sea, as
if with just a little more effort he could turn himself into the very water that it was made of,
dissolve his limbs into salt and disappear, leaving the war to someone else.

He wondered if that’s what it had felt like, for his father. He wondered if he’d ever find out
how much pain was necessary for it to work.

That night, he swam there like usual, his mind a tidy mess of thoughts and fears- but once
reached the arena, he noticed that he wasn’t alone.

“Who’s here?” he asked, annoyed more than afraid, even if he could feel the familiar surge of
adrenaline in his veins. He gripped his sword tighter, raising it.

“It’s just me,” Flustra answered, coming out from the shadows, “I heard you here, yesterday.
I’ve wanted to talk with you for a while, but you were never alone.”

Percy lowered his sword, but barely, his words somehow making him more uncomfortable
than his presence. “You could have asked for an audience,” he said, “easier than hunting me
down here.”
Flutra swam forward, coming more under the yellow light of the torches. His eyes were puffy
and red, as if he’d been crying, and the clothes he wore were torn and dirty, more like the
ones of a prisoner than the ones of a servant.

“Please let me do something else,” he begged, “please, anything. Anything else.”

“I gave you conditions and you agreed with them,” Percy answered, distressed and unable to
fully comprehend why, “you should have thought of it before.”

In another universe, he would have pitied him, he knew.

“But I can’t!” Flustra came close to screaming, frustration building up in his tone, “Look at
me! How can I keep living like this? How can you make me live like this?”

Percy scoffed, and the water twirled around his feet. “What did you expect from me? I saw
you kneel to Bythus. I saw you serve him. You couldn’t possibly think I’d just trust you again
so easily.”

“But Atlantis hasn’t opened its doors again,” the boy argued, “and it’s been weeks since I’ve
come here. What if they never do? Let me prove my loyalty in another way.”

“No,” Percy answered, not even knowing why he was being so stubborn with this, “you’ll
enter the city, and do as you promised. If you have haste,” he drawled out, annoyed and on
the defensive, “I’ll give you another way to get inside.”

Flustra froze, his eyes gaining interest. “A secret passage?”

“A passage,” Percy agreed, “not very secret, I believe, since Dolphin announced its existence
to everybody. Reason why we’ve never used it,” he explained, “it’s likely guarded on the
other side.”

He didn’t mention that they had tried to close it, and failed, nor that they hadn’t figured out
why: he hated having Flustra in this half-trust half-not situation just as much as he did. And
this, in a way or another, would solve the issue.

“So this is even a more deadly plan than the other.”

“You wanted something else,” Percy answered, “this is the last offer you will receive.”

Flustra stared back at him, his shoulders tense. “And if I succeed, you’ll trust me again? I’d
be your manservant again?”

“I always keep my word,” he said, shaking away the feeling that he’d come to regret it.

Flustra nodded, and at the end of the night Percy watched as he left the camp, staring until the
boy’s shadow disappeared into the waters.

.
“So, you had written ‘evening songs’ in the notes,” Percy approached Amphitrite in the early
morning, “I proposed a contest, to create a new war chant for the last time we’ll march on
Atlantis. I’ll be the judge of the best one on the last day. Is that what you had in mind?”

“It could work, yes,” the goddess answered, her hair still grey, her skin still wrinkled- but
looking less as if she was going to fade away than before. “You have realised what it was for,
I hope.”

“No, actually,” Percy answered, coming to sit next to her bed, “the dukes believe it is to lift
the mood. But I don't think anything of this… show you’re planning is for it, in the same way
it isn’t for my birthday.”

She chuckled. “Well, it is for your birthday, just not in the way you think. We all know we
have spies here- my plan is to make these spies tell Bythus that we are absolutely not going to
attack in the next two weeks, too busy with the feast.”

“And you wish to attack instead?”

She smiled. “You should have more faith in your cleverness,” she answered, “you had
grasped it immediately, during the meeting. Percy,” she went on, sitting up, “on the day of
your birthday, they will hold celebrations in your name, all around.”

“The gods will celebrate their victory in the second Titanomachy, and they’ll drink to you as
they’ll drink to themselves. The Camps, both of them, will chant your name and your deeds,
will call for you around the sacred fire, and will hold celebrations in your name.”

Percy held his breath, almost seeing it all happening behind his eyelids. They truly would, he
knew. Those who had lost siblings and those who hadn’t- they’d all remember together.

“And the sea, Percy,” she continued, “all those loyal to us, millions of creatures and folk, they
all know the date of your birth, the day their King came to the world. They will chant your
name, as they did for Poseidon.”

“And?”

“And,” Amphitrite finished, “you’re not a god, but you’re close enough to it for this to work.
Worship, Percy. They’ll worship you, and there is enough divinity in your blood that it will
make you more powerful, as it did to Phorcys and Eurybia.”

Percy opened and closed his mouth, his brain unable to think. “I…”

He shook his head. “I had hoped I was done fighting for my life on my birthday,” he
answered, bitterly, “but I think you might be right. I haven’t managed to tear down the walls
until now, but maybe, even with just a little more power…”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes shining, “and they won’t be expecting an attack, they will be
completely unready. Because they will not hear us prepare for battle, and they will not hear
the sound of our armour reaching their gates.”
Percy felt as if he’d been hit by lightning, as if an epiphany had just split his brain in half.
“The noise will be covered by the songs,” he realised, amazed, “by hundreds of soldiers
screaming over each other and trying to create music by beating on pots.”

She smiled, and Percy realised why, for how much his father could have mortal lovers, he
could never stray away for too long.

Later, he was back at his desk again, distracted by the goddess’ words while he should have
been taking care of the hundreds matters that awaited his attention. He groaned at the
umpteenth paper written in unreadable calligraphy, and Eda chose that moment to enter.

“You don’t look in the mood for festivities,” she commented, looking around in the tent he
used as an office, “Your Majesty.”

Percy chuckled, grieving the loss of the semi-friendship they had shared while she still wasn’t
Duchess, when she had been his eyes and ears all around the soldiers’ camp.

“Is everything going alright with the organisation?”

She shrugged. “As much as it can be expected, considering how many people think it’s their
right to have opinions. No, I’m not here for that,” she continued, sitting in front of his desk,
and Percy raised his eyes to hers, giving her his undivided attention.

Eda hesitated. “The questioning of the soldiers was completed this morning. We interrogated
all those who should have been guarding the wards when they were attacked, all those who
had been sick in the infirmaries and all those who we believed might have had pro-Bythus
intentions.”

“And?” Percy urged, sitting straighter. The Duchess’ expression was unreadable, but Percy
was certain that whatever she’d say, there wouldn’t be good news.

“And nothing,” she answered, “I don’t think all of them were in the dark about the fact that it
was going to happen- some were surprised that we were even questioning them, some… less
so. But it’s just an impression.”

“So no proof of anything,” he summed up, “no confessions and no scapegoat.”

She didn’t answer and he sighed, massaging his forehead. “Do you have any theories?”

“Considering what I’ve seen, and heard…” she started, uncharacteristically tentative, “I
believe we can almost be certain of the fact that the wards were destroyed by the inside. They
all burned, you saw it too: someone coming from the outside would have stopped as soon as
they had managed to create a hole big enough to pass through.”

“Could they not just have fallen apart all at once?”

“I don’t think so,” Eda continued, “we had made many layers of it, and they all had
protections. The blandest ones worked- which makes it likely, even if as I said not certain-
that whoever caused it knew where to hit.”

“And tried not to make it look too suspicious by setting off only the ones they knew they
would survive,” he concluded, feeling the start of a headache.

They had already believed it to be the most likely explanation, but having it confirmed after
the soldiers had been questioned brought a whole new layer of trouble into it. Because if
none of them had done it, then whom?

“Exactly,” the Duchess agreed, “but we’re not at a dead end yet. As I said, some of the
soldiers didn’t seem surprised, and they’re guilty of suspicious behaviour, if not criminal.
Two of them left their post at the border around half an hour before the attack, while another
was seen speaking with ‘unknown men’ while the camp was being raided.”

“Spies, maybe,” Percy theorised, “bring them to me tomorrow. We’ll see if I can get
something else out of their mouth.”

Eda smiled, and it was all teeth. “I hoped you’d say that, sir. I’ll be there too, of course.”

“Good. Thank you for your help, then. It won’t be forgotten.”

She stood up and he took his stack of papers again, expecting her to leave: instead, she
hovered around the desk with an irresolute expression.

“Is there something else?” he asked, and Eda first shook her head, then seemed to come to a
different conclusion, and turned towards him again, grabbing tightly the back of the chair in
which she had sat until then.

Percy raised his eyebrows, not trying to hold back his confusion.

“I know that it’s not truly my business,” she started, “and I beg you not to consider this an
intrusion on your personal life, but merely a safety concern.”

She sat down again. “I came to know that the day of the attack your old manservant managed
to reach our camp, after two years under Bythus’ reign. And that you have… met with him.”

“I have,” Percy admitted, wondering how on earth she had found that out, since the people
who had known of Flustra’s identity were few, and trusted. No one looked at the servants:
most soldiers had believed the boy to have been with them since the beginning.

“And I understand that there might be personal affairs which I’m not fully informed about,”
Eda went on, “but I plead with you to reconsider your attachment to him. Even if there is a
possibility that he might not wish you harm… Bythus could have manipulated him,
manoeuvred him to believe that he’s doing you a favour, while he carries out the Duke’s
plans.”

“There is no attachment between us any longer,” Percy defended, “and as you ask this of me,
I urge you not to consider me a fool. Flustra does not have my trust, and while he is being
tested, he will probably never have it again. Not fully.”
“Tested?”

“I will say nothing more, Your Grace,” Percy stood up, forcing her to do the same, “I once
again express my gratitude for your hard work, and my assurance that your concerns are not
being ignored, nor taken lightly. But this is mine to handle.”

“Yes sir, of course,” she answered, “I will return tomorrow, then.”

As she left, Percy fell back down on his chair, graceless, and spent the rest of the morning
with his rose tinted glasses on, thinking of the young, bright boys they had once been,
ignoring how much he had hated that period of his life while he had been living it.

Maybe it would happen to his memories of the war too, if he could live long enough for them
to be distant thoughts: maybe his mind would find beauty in the long evenings around the
fire, and a sweet romance in his and Myrto’s late night talks after days of not seeing each
other.

Maybe she’d think of him with warmth, once in the arms of another, and not with the cold
eyes he had had, speaking of Apollo’s words: her desperation had been louder than
Amphitrite’s, even if still tainted by disbelief.

“We can still run away,” she had proposed, “if we swear to Bythus not to cause trouble,
maybe he’d let us live. Far away. Who cares where? I could stay in a lake. I’d manage a lake,
yes,” she had said, trying to contain her tears.

Percy had just smiled, indulging her. “It’d be nice if it had a little waterfall,” he had
answered, because it was gentle, and easy, “I could learn how to weave baskets.”

Myrto had laughed, taking his hand. “We’re not going to run, are we?”

“No,” he had agreed, “no we’re not going to run.”

They didn’t have a dungeon, but the room where the three soldiers were held was equally
dark, and inhospitable. Celestial bronze chains held them to their place, even if cheap iron
would have served the same purpose- there was no divinity in them.

Percy and Eda entered the room quietly, wearing light armour instead of the full battle one,
while Myrto remained outside, close enough to hear but not to see, close to where
Amphitrite- still grey and old, even after almost a week- rested.

“I need your word, Eda,” Percy started, voice deep, “that whatever is said here, will not leave
this room.”

“I swear it on the River Styx,” she nodded, her eyes staring right into him, “I swear it on the
throne that bears your blood.”

He swallowed harshly, the memory of that day flashing behind his eyes. “Good. Let’s
proceed then.”
The first soldier was one of those who had abandoned their post earlier, soon before the
attack. As Percy swam closer, he started moving wildly, trying to get out of his chains, baring
his teeth in a growl when he realised that he couldn’t.

Some of the mercentaurs are more animal than men, Percy had been told, but he hadn’t truly
believed them until now, until he had found himself face to face with one.

“Calm down,” Percy ordered, his own voice slow, “there is not going to be violence, if you
collaborate”

The soldier spat at him, but he blocked it mid-air, throwing it back at his face with a flick of
his hand. “Why did you leave your position before the end of your turn?” he asked, still
placid, forcing his heart to beat quieter.

“I was fucking bored,” the man answered, his voice hoarse, “if you had to stay still so long,
you’d be too”

“I would,” Percy agreed, “but I also wouldn’t abandon my own encampment during an active
battle because of it.”

The soldier didn’t answer, staring at him with his blood-shot eyes, round and black like fish
ones, but man-like enough to be uncanny.

“The wards fell just a few minutes later, then,” Percy went on, turning the water around him
as cold as he felt, “a weird coincidence, isn’t it?”

“I got good instincts.”

“You have good instincts,” Percy repeated, “so you felt that something was wrong, and left?”

He nodded, so fast that he feared his head would come off his neck.

“Eda,” Percy smiled, “do your work on him, while I speak to the other ones. Maybe his
screams will counsel them on what the right instinct to have now is.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she answered, coming forward, and soon the man was
whimpering and crying, a wounded animal who couldn’t move away.

Percy turned his back to him, and reached his companion, his demeanour perfectly calm once
again. “So,” he began, staring at the petrified merwoman, “why did you leave your post
earlier than you should have?”

She swallowed, and he saw her eyes glance at the Duchess’ hands against the man’s throat. “I
was told to leave.”

He smiled, hiding his satisfaction as much as he could. “By whom?” he asked, but the
woman started shaking her head, her breaths coming faster and faster, until her whole body
started convulsing, white foam forming at the corners of her mouth.
“Eda,” Percy called, stepping away from the soldier, afraid of a resurgence of the Green
Death, even if it seemed more of…

“A curse,” she swore, swimming towards the now still body, placing a hand on her neck,
shaking her head. “Dead,” she sighed, and Percy barely managed to contain his
disappointment.

He turned towards the other soldier. “You’re going to be dead too, by the time we leave this
room. If your last word is the name of who ordered this of you, you have my word that you
will receive a proper burial, like her,” he promised, pointing at the dead woman with his
head, “if you don’t, your corpse will be desecrated, and left to rot forever, stuck in the in
between.”

Eda went back to him, and Percy moved to the last man, wondering what Myrto was hearing,
from outside the room: she wasn't scared of his power, nor of his cruelty as Annabeth had
been, but he still wished her to experience as little of it as possible.

But this was necessary, before they could move forward.

“You were seen speaking to unknown soldiers,” Percy addressed the last ichthyocentaur,
“who were them?”

“Just soldiers,” he answered, fear oozing out of him, “I didn’t know them either, I swear, they
just came and-”

His breaths were ragged. “And?” Percy pressed, still so dangerously calm that he couldn’t
even fully recognise himself. He had never liked screaming, never enjoyed raising his voice,
but this…

“At first I thought, I thought they were from some other duchy. Of ours. I don’t know
everybody. But then they…threatened me- asked questions.”

The other soldier screamed, his voice breaking in the middle of it. The ichthyocentaur
shivered, and Percy turned the water even colder, taking away the small comfort that the
warmth of it could have granted him.

“Questions about what?”

“I don’t-” he trembled, “the camp was being attacked, I had lost all my companions. I was
just- running and they stopped me and asked- about you and the treasure and-”

“The treasure?” Percy interrupted, surprised. They had no treasure, no gold if not in a few
jewels, no precious stones or anything of the sort, unless… “The boxes, you mean? The ones
which were then stolen?”

“They were going to kill me,” he cried, “I have a wife. Children. I wanted to go back to them.
Please. Please I didn’t want to- to betray you.”

“You told them where they were,” Percy concluded, angry but not as much as he thought he’d
be at the confession: even knowing where the boxes were held, there was no way a few
simple soldiers would have managed to break their protections.

The ichthyocentaur nodded, fear mixing with shame, and Percy looked at him, and saw the
million of difficult choices he too had been forced to make by circumstances.

Where is what made you a merciful king?

“Guards,” he called, waiting for the sound of armour to reach him, “take him in the other
room. He is to stay in isolation for all the length of the celebrations. Then, if he still wishes,
he’s to rejoin his division.”

“Yes sir,” the guard answered, while the men uttered his thanks, like a never ending litany of
gratefulness that contrasted harshly with the sounds of desperation coming from the first
soldier.

“Still nothing?” he asked the Duchess, who looked sweaty and tired, but hardly close to
defeat.

She was about to answer, when the sound of an argument reached them from the outside,
until Dolphin appeared, holding a deeply bruised Flustra from the collar of his shirt with one
hand, and restraining his wrists with the other.

“Let me go!” the boy screamed, while Dolphin pushed him more back into him, his eyes
angered.

“I caught him entering our camp,” the general said, “speaking nonsense about having been to
Atlantis, half mad and frenzied. Shall I give him to the beasts?”

“No!” he yelled again, “Percy I need to speak to you, I saw-”

“Don’t you address the King like-”

“Him!” the soldier screamed, pointing as much as he could with his tied hands, “he asked me
to!”

Eda met his eyes, while the man started convulsing as the woman had done, white foam
forming at the corners of his mouth until he stopped moving.

Percy swallowed. “Wait!” He tried, seeing the metal in the general’s hand, but it was too late:
Dolphin’s sword trapassed Flustra from side to side, and with one last breath he fell over the
dirty floor.

No one moved for a beat. Then Percy reached forward, taking the boy’s hand in his, staring at
the thin, golden band that rested on his index finger.

“You,” he whispered to the general, clouded by grief and unwilling to fully believe it, “you.”

“No,” Dolphin answered, and when Percy raised his eyes to his, they were fully golden, not a
trace of the man he knew in them. “Not him.”
Chapter End Notes

The end has begun.

Thank you all for your continued supports, all of your comments mean so much to me!!
I hope you enjoyed this (were you expecting any of it?) and that you're just as excited as
me for the next chapters!! <3 <3
 Year III, August II
Chapter Notes

Ready yourselves- there are going to be many answers this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Eda was the first to speak.

Not because Percy had been unable, nor because he had been stunned into silence. He was
used to panic, by now, he was used to the dizziness that came from betrayal, and he had
suspected something wrong with Dolphin for too long to be surprised by it.

But his expression- torn, gloating- made clear that bewilderment was the only reaction
expected from him: and Percy had learnt that yes, knowledge was power- but even the lack of
it could be used to one’s advantage.

“What the fuck do you mean?” she spat out, her weapon in hand, swimming protectively
towards them. Dolphin chuckled, a sound ten times higher than what usually came from his
mouth, and Percy took advantage of his distraction to pull the ring out of Flustra’s hand, and
secure it to his finger.

He hoped that he’d be able to give it to Amphitrite, and not that she would have to strip it
away from his dead body.

“This has been quite the journey, I must say,” Dolphin went on, his voice still wrong,
changing tone every word, as if adjusting, “I hadn’t been able to have this fun in centuries!”

Percy tried to get up, but the water around him pressed him down, restricting his movements,
keeping him over the dirty floor. He could have fought it easily, he believed.

“Who are you?” he asked instead, yielding for now, “What happened to Dolphin?”

He glanced at Eda, then at the door, hoping she’d understand: Myrto was close by, but more
than her they needed Amphitrite, old or not. They needed her to fight, yes, but also to
understand.

“I’m sorry I had to kill that boy,” he answered, staring at Flustra’s open, empty eyes, “he was
good with words. I even told Bythus- look that kid ain’t loyal to you, but he still spoke his
way out of it. He’d have been a good ally, had he accepted to betray you.”

Percy swallowed, not affording himself the luxury of closing his eyes. Guilt rose up in his
stomach, but it wasn’t as crushing as it would have been once: he had only been careful, and
his actions alone wouldn’t have killed him.
He remembered a dream he'd had in the freezing cold of December: he had seen himself
dying, bleeding on the seafloor. And he’d seen Bythus, telling Flustra that…

“Eurybia,” he whispered, a million pieces coming together in his mind, linking a thousand of
possibilities, giving meanings that he had thought impossible.

She laughed again, the sound foreign in Dolphin’s body, and Eda chose that moment to shoot
herself towards the door, trying to take advantage of her closed eyes: but gods are never
blind, and she couldn’t be easily fooled.

He saw her ready a blow, and had to give up his pretence. “Go call her!” he shouted, stopping
Eurybia’s attack in its tracks and getting rid of the water’s pressure on him in the same
instant. “Run!”

He sent a shot of water to the goddess, who slapped it out of her way, but not before the
Duchess could bolt outside of the room. “You silly boy,” she said, clicking her tongue, “you
think that old nereid is gonna be of help? With the way she’s helped me from the start…”

Percy’s blood froze in his veins. “What?” he asked, the power struggle between him and the
goddess coming to a halt as they spoke.

She smiled. “I saw suspicion in your eyes, more than once,” she answered, “they call you
dense, ignorant of our ways. But I knew there was more- I’ve always known. Amphitrite was
regarded as the intelligent one, and yet she believed me at every turn. Merit of this, I
believe,” she concluded, gesturing at Dolphin’s body.

At her own body?

“What happened to him?” he asked again, unsheathing his sword.

There was noise coming from the outside, shouts and screams, the sound of iron and armour,
but it only lasted for a moment, until Eurybia snapped her fingers and quieted everything
down.

“We shouldn’t have any distractions,” she commented, but it was too late not to have given
him hope: if the army knew, then Amphitrite knew. And she’d be here soon.

“Goddess of the mastery of the seas,” Percy remembered, “daughter of Gaea, grandmother of
victory and witchcraft.”

“And force, and power and rivalry,” she continued, gleaming, “wife of the stars and mother
of destruction. You come from me. Your name, all that you are- comes from the name I have
given my son.”

“He’s not here, though,” Percy goaded, “and I am. What happened to Dolphin?”

“Oh you really want to know that,” she chuckled, “I was waiting for the rest of our guests.
They’ll be here… now,” she said, and the door blasted open, the goddess coming through in
full battle attire, Myrto at her side.
They stopped when they saw them circling one another. “She’s with the army,” Myrto said,
answering the question about Eda he hadn’t asked.

“The lovebirds once again reunited!” Eurybia preened, clapping her hands, “I’ll love making
you kill one another.”

She flinched, but Percy didn’t even react. “She’s Eurybia,” he explained, “I think she took
possession of Dolphin’s body, to take advantage of the trust we placed on him.”

Amphitrite growled. “Dolphin would have never willingly bowed to you,” she said, her voice
deep and scary, “what did you do?”

“You’re all so interested in him, I’m almost envious,” she answered, pretending to be
offended, “it is very simple, actually. Dolphin is still here, squashed by the entirety of my
divinity, relegated to a corner of his own immortal body. He still fights, sometimes, but he’s
hardly strong enough. Not with how he was… prepared.”

“Prepared,” Myrto repeated, disgust in her voice.

“Of course,” Eurybia went on, calmly. Too calmly- so much that Percy started having
suspicions on the actual reason she was indulging their questions. He glanced at Amphitrite,
but there was only hurt in her eyes, and anger.

“He spent a few lovely months in the hands of my allies. His mind was thinned to the bone,
until he was ready to be my vessel: his immortality was an impediment, at the beginning, but
I think we worked around it quite well. Do you know that I made him kill your father?”

Myrto looked as if she was about to jump on her. “She’s just trying to rile you up,” Percy
intervened, switching the goddess’ attention back on him, “don’t listen to her.”

His wife shook her head. “Is it true?” she asked instead.

“Phaidros was a smart man. He figured it out immediately, when I carried Dolphin’s body as
my own. He died from a cursed wound, made by one he considered a friend. His last words
were a prayer to you,” she turned, addressing Percy, “but you were not god enough.”

Were.

“Possession has been forbidden for ages,” Amphitrite answered, “it taints our divinity. And
this is war- and war has rules, and is guided by ancient laws. You have broken them,” she
stated, her voice so icy that the water froze at the corners of the room, “you will pay for it.”

Eurybia laughed, the sound disturbing still, coming from the old general’s body, even if it had
hardly been the first time. Amphitrite still looked old, and weary. “By your hand?” she
mocked, and Myrto had to stop her from swimming forward.

The moment to fight would come but… Eurybia was still too calm, too collected. Too
dangerous.
“The Black Duchy tortured Dolphin for you, then,” he went on, “but you lost them. They
switched sides.”

“Oh?” she questioned, tilting her head, “And don’t you think they would have told you of
this, had they been yours?”

She released the control on the room, and the sounds of battle once again reached his ears,
coming from all around him.

“No,” he murmured, fear filling him for the first time since her revelation, “no. You’re lying.
They can’t have been… not all this time.”

He could hear the soldiers screaming, if he focused, and if he focused more he could feel
their confusion, their horror at having to battle their own companions, the men with whom
they had sung, the men with whom they had shared meals and warmth.

“It has been very fun, as I said. I sat in my little chair, and watched you squabble like in a
theatre play. Their Duke is a coward, unfortunately, or I would have had even more fun. But
Bythus forbade me from changing him. He was convinced that it would have made you
suspicious, to lose two Dukes so close to one another…”

“My brother,” Myrto intervened, “did you kill him too?”

“Oh yes,” she laughed, “I would have preferred not to, though. He was such a shit
commander that winning would have been easier with him.”

“You bitch,” she yelled, and it was Amphitrite’s turn to stop her.

“That night,” the goddess spoke, “the night the temple burned and I lost my children. You
took the boxes, didn’t you?”

“And her stupid brother saw me, yes, so he had to go. But worry not for them: they were
brought to Atlantis with the other ones. Do you know that I also made Dolphin open the
wards?”

Percy had suspected that, and he felt sick to his stomach. “To Atlantis for what?”

“I did say you were smart,” she answered, “for the ritual, of course. Bythus gave me an
important role in it.”

“To keep us here,” Percy swore, and the goddess laughed again, while Amphitrite looked
horrified.

“Go to Atlantis!” she yelled, her hair regaining some of their colour, “We’ll keep her busy,
and the soldiers can handle themselves.”

“But-”

“Go, Percy!” Myrto yelled to, and together her and Amphitrite threw themselves at Eurybia,
their powers swirling around the room in a spiral from which he would only shortly be
excluded: he had just a few seconds to make his decision. To remain, and make her defeat
certain… or to go to Atlantis, and try to stop whatever sick ritual Bythus was trying to
complete with the stolen boxes.

There was no choice at all: he was out of the room as suddenly as a storm comes.

He swam out of the camp in a frenzy, ignoring the screams and yells of his own soldiers,
forcing himself through the thousands of pleas that rose from their mouths, unable to stop
going forward even for half a second.

“Cadmus!” he yelled in the crowd, when he took sight of him, “go help Eda!”

Maybe he heard him, maybe he didn’t. Percy filled himself with hope, and broke through the
wards, entering the open waters with a rage set so deep that it almost masked his fear.

They had done everything wrong. Every decision, every move, every battle: Bythus had
known all of it, had been aware, always, of what they were planning. And so none of their
attacks had worked. And so Atlantis had never fallen.

Stupid, Percy blamed himself, fucking stupid. It would have been better, maybe, if he hadn’t
noticed anything at all: but he had, he had and had done nothing anyway. The lack of letters,
the feeble excuses, the argument that he had tried to start between him and Myrto.

It all made sense, apart from one thing. If they were so important, so valuable, why had the
first two boxes been so easy to retrieve? Why had they been unguarded, if Bythus had known
they held his siblings?

The sea around him changed shape and colour as he swam, a power that didn’t belong to him
filling the waves with the smell of ozone. Percy ignored it, and kept going with the heart
beating in his ears, with his legs straining to keep up.

He had planned to use the same passage he had sent Flustra into, uncaring of how guarded,
how dangerous it was going to be: he had come back, and so it must have been in some way
doable, even if he were definitely more recognizable than a servant boy.

And yet, when he reached Atlantis, there was no need for it. The doors of the city were open,
warm, welcoming, and the shock of it stopped him right in his tracks: Eurybia had informed
Bythus, then. They knew he was coming, and they were waiting for him.

For the first time, he questioned whether going in was actually the right choice. What if he
was the last part of the ritual? What if he’d accidentally bring it to completion, as he had done
with Gaea’s?

But the smell of ozone was too intense, the call of the city too fervid: and as a sailor willingly
floats towards the siren, Percy swam towards the doors.

Inside, the mess and soldiers he was expecting weren’t there. He swam slowly at first,
tentatively, but no one came forward, no one was even there to stop him: the entire place was
empty, silent, the water thick with incense and…

Ashes. Falling from the sky like snow.

He swallowed down his panic, trying to force himself through the motions of rational
thinking, even in the swell of emotions that entering Atlantis once again carried him through:
since there was no one in the courtyard, then Bythus must have been performing his ritual in
the Palace. And maybe he was truly unwell, as Flustra had said: maybe the ritual was just a
last, desperate attempt at saving his life. Maybe Percy was still in time to make right all his
mistakes.

As he moved forward, the doors of the city slammed shut behind him, and Percy jumped,
turning towards them as fast as he could, looking for the men who had done so: but the
turrets were empty, the walls without soldiers-

-and he was trapped in.

No time to panic, he repeated to himself, and with one last look around he threw himself
forward, passing through the city as he had done the first time, when everything had been
new and overwhelming and loud.

He knew the city better now, at least, and even with the limited vision that the muddiness of
the waters bounded him to, in a short time he managed to reach the foot of the stairs, a
thousand memories resurfacing.

But there was no time: the sound of the crackling fire was crushing, all-consuming, and Percy
swam towards it almost in a trance, this time not encountering any fatigue in reaching the top
of the Hill. They remembered him, maybe. Perhaps they even wanted him back.

“Bythus!” he yelled then, “Come forward, you coward!”

The unfamiliar power he had felt before came again, stronger and harsher, and Percy was
reminded of that night on Olympus, almost four years prior, staring at Hestia’s flames and
figuring out his own destiny.

He had yielded, then. He doubted he could again.

Percy unsheathed his sword, feeling the lack of Anaklusmos as he hadn't in months, trying to
comfort himself with it: his head was spinning in circles as he tried to figure out a way to
enter the Palace, filled with a sense of foreboding.

Would it cede, if he tried to earthquake it? Would it split in half, if a hurricane passed through
the door? How much of that beautiful place, would he be once again fated to destroy?

There was no time for any recrimination, not when every second lost was a gift to the
Southern Duke, and yet Percy felt like in a dream: unable to truly come to terms that he was
standing in front of his Palace, in his city, and that the end of all of it was as near as it had
never been.
“Open the doors for your King!” he yelled again, willing the walls to obey his command,
placing in his voice all the authority and the divinity that he could muster.

And the doors opened. And the entirety of Atlantis’ army came out, ready to fight, ready to
kill- ready to kill him. The war horns played loudly, coming above the sound of chanting that
could be heard from the inside, and as his vision and his hearing were overwhelmed by the
intensity of his surroundings, Percy prayed to Poseidon.

(Godlike hero, remember your own father)

“I knew you’d come here,” the innkeeper stated, “they all stop here. You had no choice but to
come.”

The fire crackled again. The golden woman sat next to it, smiling in between the jellyfish.
Percy almost felt as if he were intruding in a private moment, before the merman spoke to
him once more.

“I hope you won’t see them again,” he said, moving towards the door.

“But they all did?”

He smiled. “What is of the sea always returns to it, and is forever kept.”

Percy had no patience for bad fighters. The soldiers were many, and young, but their eyes
didn’t hold the violence needed to actually put an end to his life: they were afraid, most of
them, of him and his reputation, and Percy was doing nothing to change it.

He knew he was moving fast, and while he wasn’t aiming at slaughter, or destruction, his
sword passed mercilessly through dozens of troaths, the blood flowing from his sword on his
hand, on his clothes, on the white marble of the floor.

“Let me through,” he threatened, gritting his teeth, trying to swim across the giant hall to the
garden, where the music, the chants and the fire were. He needed to stop the ritual: he had no
time to lose with stupid soldiers.

Men charged at him again, continuously, and Percy let his powers go freely, let small
hurricanes depart from his feet and his hands, let his bloodlust take control of him as if he
had the Styx’s blessing once again, as if his mother’s love could protect him from downfall.

“Bythus!” he yelled again, closer to the outside but still so far away, his body lost in the
instincts of war, his battle-hardened hands knowing what to do even without his help. Ares,
Percy thought, had done what was right, in defending him: he felt his sometimes, more than
the sea’s.

A blow struck him on the shoulder, not serious but deep enough to hurt, and Percy screamed,
turning around in time to see a merman’s surprised eyes, their blue the same as Myrto’s. But
not even that spared him from celestial bronze.

He pushed, and killed and screamed for what seemed hours, an entire army trying to thrust
him outside again, but Percy hadn’t fought and trained for months just to give up now, in the
hall of his father’s palace, hadn’t cried and despaired and hurt for years just to die at the
hands of an unknown soldier.

One with the sea, one with his powers, one with the wildest parts of himself he swam
forward, always forward, no matter the opposition, until he found himself outside with the
army at his back, unmoving: he hadn’t killed them all, he knew, but no one dared to follow
him where the ritual was being held.

The smell of incense was so strong that it almost covered the one of blood, and around the
fire ichthyocentaurs dressed in ceremonial clothes chanted hymns to forgotten sea gods,
bringing sacrifices to the flames.

There were open boxes on the ground, like the ones that had held his siblings. Percy moved
towards them but they were open, and empty, and way more than the four they should have
been. Did that mean…

“Perseus,” a deep voice rumbled, “you’re in time for the last one.”

“Bythus,” he addressed, turning towards the voice. The ichthyocentaur was dressed in rich
clothes, deep purples and greens and gold, sitting behind the fire on a chair so heavily
decorated that it could have been fit for a god. But his eyes were sunken into his face, pale
and sweaty, and while it was his, the power he had felt as soon as he had entered Atlantis,
there was a sickly shade to it, a rotten piece.

It was not how he had imagined to meet the man again.

“You don’t look up for a fight,” Percy snarled, looking forward to it. If he won…

He smiled. “I will be,” he answered, and his eyes moved to the fire, where one of the priests
had brought the last wooden box, the one Percy was sure to have heard speak, the one he
would have protected with his own life.

“Stop!” he yelled, but he could not move, the water keeping him in place with invisible
shackles: and unlike Eurybia’s, this power would not let him go easily.

“I can already do this,” Bythus chuckled, “imagine what I’ll do to you, when this will have
been done,” he continued, leaning forward, “I’ll take you to the main square, and I’ll torture
you. I’ll ruin you in front of all your subjects, in front of all those loyal to you. Nothing of
you will remain.”

Percy growled, still fighting, his eyes fixed over the priest. “Brother!” he yelled, when the
man cut the box open, when he put his hand inside and Percy’s heart beated with his fear and
with Amphitrite’s one, grieving already for a family that had hardly been his.
 But Triton didn’t come out of the box. A jellyfish did. And Percy had barely a moment to be
confused, before the priest’s knife cut through it, its body falling into the holy fire-

-and Bythus burning, next to him, screeching in pain while his soul blazed to cinder, while
his mortality withered away, while the blinding light filled all of his senses, all of his being.

He hadn’t closed his eyes in time. And while the Duke burned brighter than a supernova,
Percy fell into the darkness.

Chapter End Notes

"Godlike achilles, remmeber your own father." Iliad 24.

Writing this chapter has been extremely challenging, due to the number of things that
needed to be explained (and still there are others!) How did Bythus become a god? (I
advise rereading chapter 13, to understand the deal with the jellyfish... maybe) Then,
what are Amphitrite and Myrto doing? And Percy's birthday?

Still, as always, everything is made easier by your continued support. SO thank you for
all your lovely comments, and I hope that you're enjoying how this is going! I'm very
excited about the next chapters❤❤
 Year III, August III
Chapter Notes

A bit longer, to apologise for the delay... lots of things happening ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The deep had welcomed him, surprisingly.

Percy had awoken after three days spent in a blur of shapes and hands: hands lifting him up
and then setting him down again, hands putting something cold on his wrists and his ankles,
hands on his hair, hands on every part of him- a thousand hands that wished to steal his body
from under him.

But if Percy had only been a body, he’d have died in the garden, killed by the force of newly
made divinity, torn to pieces by the gaze of a new god.

Instead, he had awoken with his limbs above a damp ground made of fine sand and bad
smelling algae, surrounded by a water that carried the stench of old age and of incoming
death, the smell of an abandoned house that had once been bright and lived in. Instead, he
had awoken with the resolution that nothing of the sort would ever happen to Atlantis, no
matter how much it hadn’t nurtured him in his first months there.

The Palace's cells were not a place Percy had ever seen before, even if he had been told
where they were: under the hill, under thousands of pounds of sand and water, in the deepest
point of the entire region. Where the light orbs never shone, where all dreams became
nightmares.

Percy had once chuckled at those descriptions. How could a mere cell scare him, after he’d
walked through Tartarus, across the body of nightmares themselves? However, chained in
celestial bronze, weaponless and barely clothed, Percy was ready to dismantle his previous
conviction.

“Is someone else here?” he called, ready to be met with silence. His ankles were linked
together, as were his wrists, but he could still swim, no matter how ridiculous he looked.

His voice echoed around the room, which Percy discovered to be quite smaller than he had
anticipated: once found a wall he placed his shoulder on it, swimming steadily across the
perimeter, trying to find an opening.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, while his feet slammed into something solid, making it fall
to the side with a groan.

“Sorry,” Percy said automatically, before freezing.

The thing had groaned.

“Are- are you alright?” he asked, when it became clear it wasn’t going to move from his new
position, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“Am I alright,” a gruffy, manly voice answered, “of course. Being here is just the dream.”

Percy drew his eyebrows together, surprised. “We’ve met before,” he stated, ignoring his
sarcasm, “I recognize your voice.”

The man groaned again. “This goes against everything my family has been harbouring for
millennia. We should have never seen each other again.”

“What?”

“But no, of course something had to go wrong during my supervision,” the man went on,
“thousand of years with barely any contact, just doing our job- and then here you come! Why
doesn’t any rule ever work out with you?”

“You’re the innkeeper,” Percy realised, ignoring his venting, “oh gods nothing of this makes
sense. Why are you here? Why were your jellyfish in boxes?”

“Were,” he repeated, and Percy felt him sit straighter, fighting the urge to distance himself
from him. “So Byth- his plan worked. Great. We’re fucked.”

“I don’t understand,” Percy went on, frustration building up in his tone. He couldn’t see
anything, he was tired and sore, worried for Myrto and Amphitrite- and nothing made sense.

The man sighed. “Sit down, kid. Let me tell you a story.”

“Our village is very old. It was one of the firsts, as I’ve told you already,” he started as Percy
had sat down, uncomfortable in his shackles. “My family has been in charge of the inn from
the beginning: we welcome travellers, we feed guests, we pay bards. And we house the
jellyfish.”

Percy tried to speak, but the man placed his hand on his tight, silencing him.

“One day, the Duke’s soldiers came looking for you: fruitlessly of course, since you were
already long gone. But in their search, they came across the same view you had that night:
they felt the power of the jellyfish, and they wanted it for themselves.”

“So they stole them,” Percy concluded for him, when the merman’s voice broke, “enclosed
them in boxes and tried to get them to Bythus.”

“Just a few, at the beginning,” he continued, trying to regain control of his voice, “they didn’t
know what they were, and carried them without care, as… as useless circus animals. I tried
not to-” his voice trembled, “-not to say anything. But…”

“They tortured you,” Percy sighed, feeling his wrists hurt under the handcuffs. He needed to
start thinking of a way to escape, to take the both of them out, but he was too curious, too
enthralled and avid of an explanation, to hurry the merman.

“The Japanese Duke figured it out. Everyone underestimated him, but he’s smarter than the
rest, and he took advantage of that: he’s the one who ordered to spare me, in case I was
needed. In case the jellyfish got out of control. But you say the ritual is completed: I’ll be the
first to die then, unless they get to you first.”

Percy swallowed down, uneasy. “But what are they?”, he pressed, moving closer, “I spoke to
the boxes. I heard one of them call me brother: me and Amphitrite believed them to be her
children.”

The merman laughed, coughing at the end of it. “They are not her children,” he confirmed,
“but they are your siblings.”

Percy’s heart was beating very fast. “I don’t understand.”

“What is that I told you, when we met?”

He had no need to think, the words forever stuck in his mind. “That what is of the sea always
returns to it, and is forever kept.”

“Exactly,” the merman answered, and if Percy could see, he’d notice the light in his eyes, a
light that not even the prison or the torture had managed to turn off.

“You are not the first son of Poseidon to roam the seas. All the ones that were capable, all the
ones who lived long enough- all the ones who were fated to do so- passed from my inn. And
when they died, their body went into the Underworld. And their powers returned to the sea,
to the oceans where they’ll forever belong.”

“Have you ever been told that the sea is inside you? That it runs in your veins?” he asked,
and Percy nodded, before remembering that he couldn’t be seen.

“Because it’s true. But the sea loans, and never gifts: what it has given you, it will take back.
That is your Fate. That was the Fate of every child before you.”

Percy closed his eyes, unable to truly come to terms with the merman’s words. Was that what
Hades had meant, or did he not know? And his father? He was certain that he had never read
anything about it in his office, nor had Amphitrite ever implied something.

“Who knows of this?”

“The Fates,” he swiftly answered, using a sorrowful tone, “my family, and now you. My
grandfather believed that Lord Poseidon could tell, that his children were never truly lost to
him. But he never visited, nor asked questions.”

Percy sighed, taking in all the oxygen that he could, trying to calm himself down. “And now
Byth-”

“Don’t say his name!” the man yelled, stopping him. “He’s a god now. Don’t say his name.”
“Alright,” he pacified, “alright. So now that he killed them in some sick ritual… he took their
powers?”

“He took their divinity,” he answered, “a single one would have changed nothing, but so
many of them added together… hundreds of halfs godhoods, all in a single body, must have
made him more powerful than we can imagine.”

“He stole my siblings, then,” Percy angrily stated, “and now he uses them, disturbing their
rest. This must have made his godhood impure, there is no other way: so if we manage to lay
a fatal blow before he gets purified, before it settles in… we could win.”

“But we won’t manage,” the merman answered, “there is no opening in these walls, and no
way out anywhere else. We’ll die here if we’re lucky, and await torture in front of the people
if we’re not. Maybe he’ll take your divinity too, when he's done.”

“No,” Percy said, rising to his feet, “because I’m not fighting alone. My wife and my
stepmother are by my side, and they won’t let that happen.”

“Youth,” the innkeeper disapproved, but Percy didn’t hear: he knew enough, now, to plan the
rest of the war.

His body started burning at midnight.

“Help,” Percy groaned, shuffling around to reach the merman, “oh gods. Oh gods.”

His whole body felt on fire, tender to the touch and sore as if after a long training, and it took
all of his willpower not to start screaming right there and then, worried about guards barging
in.

“Wake up,” he repeated, kneeing his companion, “we need to-”

Another surge of fire hit him at full force and he bit his lip violently to silence himself,
feeling the warm blood fall on his chin, on his hands, on the sand.

“You should open your eyes,” the merman slowly answered, “you’re glowing.”

Percy breathed out, dropping to his knees and hunching himself forward, childishly hoping
that turning himself into a ball would ease the pain. The chains clashed on the ground, hitting
his ankles in all the wrong spots, and his head felt light, lighter than it had been since…

“Percy,” the man tried again, his voice gentle this time, “control your power, before it kills
you.”

“I need to get it out,” he rushed, “it’s too much. Amphitrite was-”

He tried to take deep breaths and fully open his eyes, but the light coming from his body was
too intense, too blinding: his veins, once bluish, now seemed to be made of nothing but pure,
white light.
“Get it out, then,” the merman encouraged, “burn your shackles, melt the celestial bronze and
get us out of here. Whatever this is, direct it. It’s yours- you’re not his.”

“My birthday,” Percy explained, his mind a mess, “it must be my birthday.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Just focus. Visualise it.”

He closed his eyes again, spreading his knees apart and his arms in front of him, trying to
touch as much sand as possible while he pushed his head back, baring his neck for the Fates
to take as a sacrifice.

Amphitrite had seemed certain that his birthday’s celebrations would empower him, and not
turn his body to ashes: so there must have been a way, something he could do to stop the
flames from ravaging his body.

She wouldn’t have planned it, if there wasn’t. He trusted her on that.

So, head slumped back, he tried to speak to himself.

Olympus was light, joy and music. Olympus was wine, mead and honey, nectar drinks and
ambrosia plates.

Gods and nymphs mingled in the gardens, around the blazing fire, while Hestia softly smiled
from its centre and the Muses danced forgotten footsteps, graceful as the gentlest of winds.

“To our victory in the Second Titanomachy!” someone screamed, and all cheered, the sound
so strong that Percy was half certain that all the sea had heard it too.

Fire blazed in his body, but quieter.

The Camps were comradery, childishness, warmth. They hung the best parts of him where
everybody could see them.

“To Percy,” a small child said, throwing half a plate of food into the fire, “they’re all saying
you saved them, and I'd like you to be here. Can you come?”

“Thank you, Percy.”

“Percy please come back.”

“Perseus, son of Neptune, accept our thanks.”

“Percy-”

The soldiers beat their hands on their shields, outside Atlantis’ gates. Two women dressed in
purple led their chant in front of the first line.

The fire was his. He was the fire. Atlantis was either going to be his home or his deathbed.
With a scream, Percy opened his eyes and melted the celestial bronze.

(Bards, remember this: greed runs in the veins of the deepest earth, and anger boils under the
surface of the calmest waves. But hope- hope only inhabits the hearts of those who look at the
blue and dream.)

Four years before, he had sat on his father’s throne on Olympus and he had felt himself
omnipotent: two years before, he had instead sat on his and his father’s throne in Atlantis,
just to feel fearful, inadapt.

But he would never feel like that again.

“You managed,” the man said, awed, taking his hands off his eyes, “you truly are the child of
wonders.”

Percy’s eyes shone with unbridled power. “I am no child,” he answered, “I am King.”

The weight of the water above him didn’t mean anything anymore, as didn’t the thousands of
pounds of marble and nacre that made up the Palace: Bythus might have been a god, but
Percy was sustained by divinity, by the power of the seas and the hurricanes, by the wildiness
of the depths and the spirit of the vegetation that thrived where everything else died.

Percy was fueled by the storms, and they would not quiet until he was done.

“Let’s go kill the imposter, and free the people,” he commanded, “my army is waiting
outside.”

He took the merman’s chains in his hands, and they softened under his touch until they were
just useless bracelets ready to be taken off: it wondered, a part of him, just how hot his power
had to be burning to be able to do as such.

But it didn’t hurt anymore, nor Percy felt any different apart from the obvious increase in
power, so he was hardly going to question it too much: after dozens of badly-ending plans, he
felt that something going right, was nothing but deserved.

“Hold on me,” he instructed, looking up, “we’re gonna make a passage in the ceiling.”

The innkeeper just nodded, shaken more by Percy’s light than anything else, gripping his
forearm tightly enough to hurt: not that Percy noticed, focused how he was on feeling the
water around him, now that his powers weren’t restricted any longer.

Don’t you feel trapped? He asked the sea around him, restless just as he was, you could be
out of here, out of this deep prison, he continued, bargaining with a lifeforce that was so
much older than him that it was impossible to fully comprehend.

But Percy had always been good at finding allies. Follow my lead, he lured, and then you will
be free to go, and free to come back. Free to do as you please.
He set his arms forward, visualising in his head the movement that he needed the water to do,
and half of the room shoot upwards, forming a geyser with ten times the pressure of a normal
one: Percy waited for the first layer of rocks and sand to fall down, and then swam forward.

“Tell me we’re not going there,” the merman pleaded.

“We’re not going there,” Percy answered, and then stepped at the centre of the geyser he had
created, the man’s screams in his ears as they hurled through miles of debris and sand, fast
enough that even Percy started feeling as if he could not breath, the pressure too much to
even open his mouth.

He forced himself not to panic, not to think of the fall into Tartarus nor of the explosion in
Mt. Saint Helena, and soon the water above them broke the last layer of the floor and Percy
and the merman fell on the mosaic pavement, the image of his brother ruined by the impact.

“You liar,” he coughed, heaving on the floor, while Percy was taking the ragged breaths of
the drowning, “can’t believe we just did that.”

“We’re out,” Percy answered, regaining control of his breathing, looking around to find
himself in the middle of the Great Hall, in between the coral walls and the ceilings of golden
sea foam, just as beautiful as he had left them.

He turned around, looking for the throne: but at the place of the marble one he had called his,
covered with emblems and still stained by his blood, another one was standing, wider and
bigger and golden.

Rage filled him, violent and unforgiving, and he pushed his power against it, aiming to
destroy, aiming to turn to cinder, but the throne remained untouched, unbothered.

“Do you know where the main gates of the city are?” he asked, still looking at that horrible
insult to his father, feeling the merman nod behind him.

“Go open them, then. If Flustra was honest, then most of the servants will be on our side:
they’ll help you get there unseen. Then, my wife and Amphitrite will take care of the rest of
the army, and you will be able to rest.”

“Yes, sir,” the merman agreed, just eager to get away from the glowing, inhuman look that
Percy’s celebrations had given him: his eyes were still green, the blood in his veins still red,
but his father’s gift was no longer hidden, but displayed for everyone to see.

No one that could set his gaze on Percy now, would ever consider him something different
than a being born of Poseidon’s temper: he hoped Amphitrite would be proud. He hoped
Myrto wouldn’t be scared.

A power different than his entered the hall, and Percy turned to see Bythus swim towards
him, with a calm that he had long lost. The doors closed behind him, and the god smiled, a
devilish, wicked thing.
“It appears I will have to kill you sooner than I had planned,” he started, clicking his tongue
in disapproval, “you’re too much trouble alive, and you have attacked my throne, my seat of
power: even your uncle would agree that it is a fatal offence.”

“You are nothing to Olympus,” Percy sneered, “you are rotten and vile: the taint of your
impure divinity will never even reach their white marbles.”

“Your worry warms my heart,” Bythus answered, turning one of his golden rings into a full
length trident, “but it’s unnecessary. I will be purified with your blood, once your heart will
be stuck on the spear.”

Percy’s sword had been taken away, as his dagger, and Anaklusmos would not return to his
pockets from Tartarus. He gritted his teeth, blaming himself for not having thought of it: he’d
have passed from the armoury, hadn’t Bythus found him here.

“Lost your toy?” the god taunted, the sea foam of the ceiling playing with the light on his
hair. Bythus had not been beautiful, but godhood had turned into perfection every inch of
him, so much that it was unnatural, creepy more than alluring.

“I don’t need one,” Percy lied, already planning on stealing his trident. It’d be difficult to get
close, but it was his only chance: he didn’t have much training in fighting without a weapon,
and especially not against a god.

But he’d have to learn fast.

Bythus swam faster than light, reaching Percy in an instant, aiming directly for the kill: he
managed to duck the attack, creating shields of water around him, but the god seemed to be
everywhere, his attacks coming from every direction while Percy struggled to maintain his
attention.

He formed hurricanes at his feet, placing in them all his anger, all his wish for revenge, and
commanded them to chase Bythus: but the god just laughed, the sound coming from
everywhere in the room, and with a flick of his hand the hurricanes died down, eaten by his
own power.

Percy swallowed down, fear finally reaching him. “Your siblings had your same powers, you
know,” he said, still calm, still rested, “maybe even something more. Everything you can do,
I can do better. Everything that you are,” he pressed, “I am more than you. You will never
win.”

“Oh?” Percy asked, his mind going a million miles per minute, “And had any of my siblings
been to depths of Hell?”

A flicker of something passed in Bythus’ golden eyes. “A shame you will not have time to
show me,” he said, surging forward: Percy was ready to move, the water solidifying itself
around him while he avoided the hit.

It had always worked, but he had never fought against himself: Bythus trident pierced the
water, and Percy could do nothing but follow his instincts, throwing himself on the ground,
commanding the sea around him to push him away.

But the currents would not move, and he had no time to plead with them: desperately, he tried
to get hold of Bythus’ ichor as he had done with Phorcys’, conscious of his vulnerable
position on the ground.

For a second, the god stilled in front of Percy’s extended hands, but it didn’t work like the
previous time: maybe Percy had used too much of his power already, maybe Bythus was truly
more powerful than he could fathom.

His own power was pushed back against him like an elastic spring, and the force of it was the
last thing he felt before Bythus’ trident cut through his lower abdomen, the pain so intense
that even his breath went away.

The god laughed, while he removed his weapon, circling around him like a shark ready to
supper, “I was told so many things about you, destroyer,” he mocked, “I thought you’d be
giving me more of a show than this.”

Percy coughed, his breaths coming ragged and short, but he had no intention of giving up, for
the water would heal him: he just needed to convince himself of that and even the pain would
lessen.

Tentatively, he got himself up on his feet again, trying to ignore his trembling legs, the pain
and everything that wasn’t the spiteful god in front of him, but it was more difficult than he
thought. If at his best he hadn’t even fazed him, how could he hope to defeat the god now?

“I can feel your dear wife outside,” Bythus said, eyes gleaming, “and Amphitrite too. Do you
think she knows, that you’re dying?”

“Fuck you,” Percy answered, and Bythus laughed, licking his lips.

“Don’t worry. Your wife will die, as it would be too dangerous to give you heirs, but
Amphitrite… I’ll marry her, I think, yes. She wanted her own children very badly, didn’t she?
It’ll give my sons the legitimacy the sea thinks it needs.”

“She’ll never marry you,” Percy spat out, “never.”

Bythus took hold of his trident again, readying the final blow. Percy squared his shoulders,
trying again to feel the fire that had fueled him in the cells, but only finding blood and
tiredness.

Still, he’d try.

“I will hardly ask,” Bythus sneered, “I am King, and she will submit to me as she did to
Poseidon.”

Hatred, was the word Percy would then use to describe what he had felt in that moment: it
didn’t quite come close to the level of rage and ire the comparison with his father had
evoked, but it was the most he could say.
 Bythus swam forward, his trident in hand, and Percy opened his arms, trying to turn the very
water into a weapon that not even the god could dissolve, trying to do something none of his
siblings had ever dared to do, not even the wildest ones.

And as Percy bled, the sea bled with him, remembering the same red on its oldest throne,
remembering the unyielding love of a father.

Son, the water whispered around him, giving him strength and support, and as Bythus
thrusted forward, Percy’s hand closed on the sacred handle of Poseidon’s trident.

It felt right in his hand as nothing had done since his sword: powerful only as one of the Big
Three weapons could be, even more maybe, than Zeus’ lighting bolt, which had rejected him
as the sea would never dare to do.

So Percy smiled and blocked the hit, and as Bythus’ eyes filled with fear, he could feel
nothing but delight in knowing it had been his doing.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, if you have
the time, I love all your comments <3 <3
 Year III, August IV
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The water smelled of ozone and power.

“I hope you’ve had your fun already,” Percy threatened, forcing himself to smile in between
the horrible pain of a hole in his stomach, “because this is where mine starts.”

Bythus scoffed, but his throat bulged at every breath. “You are a child playing with his dead
father’s things, while knowing nothing about them. You do not scare me.”

Percy hummed, feeling his own anger reflected in the trident’s power. Had he been the one to
call for it? Or had his father, from wherever he was, heard his prayer? He wanted to believe
in the latter: even after all the hurt, the rage and the judgement… he was hurt, and afraid. He
wanted to believe that Poseidon was with him, even just a little bit.

He moved his hand up the handle of the trident, feeling it mould under his touch until it was
nothing but perfect, a testament of the flawless craftsmanship of his cyclops brothers.

The god charged forward again, but now their fight was more equally matched: Bythus was
still faster, but his weapon was a rusty stick in comparison to Percy’s, who was trying to
remember all he had been taught in the long months of siege.

They clashed, their weapons striding against each other: for a second they stood face to face,
Bythus expression one of a loathing so deep that Percy was suddenly reminded of Gabe, of
all the horrible things he had put him through.

He screamed, and hurricanes formed again at his feet: this time Bythus couldn’t move
without releasing his hold on the weapon and the crash of water hit him at full force,
launching him on the other side of the hall.

Percy heaved, looking down. He was still bleeding.

Bythus rose, spitting golden ichor on the ground, taking controlled steps towards him, a
different light in his eyes. “You are powerful, I give you that,” he started, “maybe all of this
doesn’t have to end in tragedy. Take back your declaration of war, and I will spare you, and
your wife. Yield to my rule, swear obedience, and I will give you a castle, far away from
here, where you’ll be allowed to live in peace.”

“As if I could believe you,” Percy answered, staring into the god’s cunning eyes.

He smiled. “I am not as naive as you think: I know that some of the sea will keep resisting
my power, sculpting you into a martyr when you’ll be dead. Had you been…” he shook his
head, changing his mind, “but you hold your father’s weapon now. If you bow to me, the rest
of the sea will too. Having to purify myself with someone else’s death is a price I swear to the
Styx I’d pay.”

A choice, he had been foretold.

Percy swallowed down, thinking of Myrto’s words about running away, about finding a little
lake to spend the rest of their days in. He could have that now, if he wanted: a life away from
war, raising a family with love and laughter.

But it would mean abandoning the sea, abandoning what he had fought so tirelessly for years,
disappointing Amphitrite’s expectations and his own, betraying everything, everything that
he had ever loved.

It would mean forsaking his father, turning his back on Olympus. We gods have done much
for you too.

“No,” he answered, feeling guilty for having even considered the option, “you are an
abomination, a disgusting being made of nothing but cruelty and dirt. Never will I join you,
never will I bend my knees for your stolen crown, you little-”

“That’s enough,” Bythus growled, “I have tried to show you mercy, but since you have
refused my generosity, you will die. I have no more time to lose with a little, stupid upstart
like you. You survived it once- you won't again.”

There was more than anger in his voice now, the humiliation of his refused proposal tainting
the god’s eyes with a brutality that Percy couldn’t but be afraid of. Swiftly, he raised his
trident, trying to put distance in between the two of them, but the movement shot a shiver of
pain down his spine, and he gasped, out of breath.

Bythus didn’t lose time: he appeared in front of Percy in an instant, grabbing his injured
shoulder in a deadly grip, too close for the trident to be useful, and Percy’s overworked brain
understood what was about to happen just in time to force his eyes shut, as the god once
again took his true form.

But they were too close, this time: Percy’s own divinity surged out of his body, creating a
shield of gold and strength around him, trying to salvage the last shreds of life that still clung
to his beaten body, while Percy screamed, and screamed, and screamed, trying to move away
like a fish forcibly taken out of the water.

The human epidermis has five layers across the body, and only four on the eyelids.

His eyes burned.

Bythus was laughing, when he opened them to the darkness, but the ocean didn’t allow Percy
to despair: we’ll be your guides, the currents whispered, your senses are no longer tied to
mortality. You can truly see, now.

And it was true: he could feel Bythus’ power around him, could make out the outline of his
body by listening to the flowing of ichor in his veins, he could sense the horrible sickness of
his godhood, the way it floated without hooks.

The shock of it would come later he knew, if he survived: too much adrenaline was now
running into his body, too much blood he was losing. Everything that wasn’t Bythus would
need to wait.

He is the god of nothing, the trident spoke to him, my spears can turn him to dust. Strike me
on the ground, and you will understand.

“You have not won,” Percy spat out, his voice deeper than he’d ever heard it, surprising even
himself with the lack of slurring, with its strong tone even in the confusion of blindness.

Truth was, he wasn’t as unsettled as he should have been: never you will see your father
again, Apollo had said, and most of him was just relieved that he had been wrong in his
interpretation, that he wouldn’t need to die for his father to come back. And that maybe after
all, he had made the right choice.

With an inhuman cry, Percy raised the trident in the water and then slammed it on the mosaic
floor with as much force as he could muster, ruining the drawings and the colours but taking
control of the trembling ground beneath him, feeling as if he had become one with the Palace
itself.

The corals that made up the walls were alive, and ready to fight: their lifeforce a buzzing in
Percy’s ears that he had been deaf to until then. The water parted in front of him, so Bythus
must have been coming forward, victory already on his lips.

“Now!” Percy yelled when he was close enough, and the corals sprung out from the walls,
the golden sea foam ceiling holding itself in place while the walls collapsed and formed tight
restraints all around Bythus body, stopping his mad race.

The god screamed, fighting against his ties and cursing, and as Percy moved towards him,
engulfed in the comforting aura of the sea’s power, for the first time he regretted not being
able to see his face.

He would have to ask Amphitrite, later: he had been blind to it before, but he could feel her
power all around Atlantis now, moving through the city so fast that she’d be able to reach
them soon.

“Not so brave now, mh?” he teased the god, but without waiting for an answer: fueled by the
pain in his bleeding abdomen, by the rage of his lost sight, he swam forward and stabbed
Bythus’ torso with his trident, feeling all the three spears hit their target, pass through the
body without resistance.

Still a being of flesh and bone, then. It hadn’t been too late.

The god’s body trembled, moving the water with his spasms. Then, the divinity that had once
been of his brothers and sisters came out of his body: Percy could not see it, but there was no
doubt about its nature.
Thank you, it whispered, before dissolving into the water. Maybe it’d look for another host,
maybe it’d go back to the innkeeper: as the corals returned to their place and Bythus’ body
fell into the ground, Percy didn’t find the energy to care.

He crouched next to it, closing the man’s eyes, when the doors of the hall slammed open and
Amphitrite and Myrto swam forward, accompanied by the sound of clanking metal.

“Percy,” the goddess asked, bewildered, “what happened? Are you alright?”

He turned around, hearing Myrto gasp at his action: he wondered what his eyes looked like, if
they had kept something of their green. He wondered if she’d still love them.

“Bythus was a god, but he is now dead. I have been stabbed, and I am now blind. But the war
is over. The war is over, and we have won.”

The next few days passed in a blur.

Percy was carried to the infirmary, the gravity of his injuries finally settling in while the
healers worked tirelessly around him, sewing and cleaning and trying to force the water to
heal him faster.

But the sea always smelled of iron and salt.

“You were so brave,” Myrto murmured next to him, from the spot she had refused to leave
since he had been there, “you fought a god and won. You saved Atlantis, its people, and all of
us from tyranny. I am so proud.”

Percy could never answer, but hot tears fell from his useless eyes every time, and every time
Myrto would wipe them off, delicately, as if she were touching raw skin, before placing soft
kisses on his closed eyelids.

“Beautiful,” she’d whisper again, and at this point Percy would usually manage to squeeze
her hand, so filled with the knowledge of still being loved that he felt even more pain in
knowing that he’d never see her again.

Then, she’d adjourn him on what was happening in the kingdom.

“Amphitrite is handling everything in your stead,” she told him, “she’s been here too, but has
never managed to find you awake. She asked me to tell you not to worry, that she’s fine and
not to feel guilty about anything.”

She sighed. “Duchess Eda lost two fingers in an explosion, but she’s in good spirits since
Amphitrite currently put her in charge of reorganising the army. My brother is also alright,
and he’s been receiving congratulations from all the Northern Duchy for killing the Japanese
Duke. He’s wanted there, but he’ll remain here until you recover.”

“Dolphin?” Percy grasped out one day, when the painkillers stopped working earlier than
usual, and Myrto’s hold tightened.
“Me and Amphitrite forced Eurybia out of his body and defeated her but… he’s weak, and
unresponsive. We don’t know if he’ll recover, nor how much it could take. But I didn’t want
to tell you the bad news,” she added, her voice wet.

Percy wondered how long she’d been crying. “Cadmus, then? The other soldiers?”

“Cadmus died,” she breathed out, “I don’t know how, but he has been buried with high
honours. Aphros and the mer-heroes were wonderful, you would have loved them: they took
out the Black Duchy basically by themselves. But I’m not- I’m not informed on the army
losses.”

Percy nodded, feeling the healers come next to him again, ready to drug him into numbness.

“Myrto,” he rushed out, urgency in his voice even if she wasn’t going anywhere, “I love
you.”

This time there was no doubt that she was sobbing. “I love you too,” she answered, “but
don’t you dare make that your last words because I’m haunting you down Elysium.”

He tried to chuckle, but it came out closer to a hiss of pain. And while the anaesthesia took
effect, Percy retreated into the comfort of his own power, letting the gentle sea sooth his
bruised spirit, letting the feeling of home comfort him.

No one could see the jellyfish twice, and he had paid the price of it, as he had paid the price
of his offence to the Fates, welcoming his destiny even when he had believed it’d end with
him dead.

So they were even, now. Blind and hurting, but no longer at odds with the future, no longer at
war at all, with the road to happiness brightly being paved in front of him. The Kingdom
would find its balance again: Poseidon and his children would return, and everything would
be alright again.

But to have that, he needed to do himself one violence more- and heal.

Amphitrite was there when he came into consciousness again, her power stronger than he’d
ever felt it, hovering around him like a warm blanket.

“I’m awake,” he rasped out, remembering Myrto’s words, and heard the goddess’ surprised
intake of breath, before she took his hands in hers.

“Oh Percy,” she answered, “my dear, my beloved child. You did so well. So, so well,” she
swallowed harshly, and Percy imagined what she must have been looking like: upset,
relieved, maybe tired. Old, or perhaps returned to her normal appearance.

“I thought I’d lose you,” she whispered, “we were rushing through the city and I felt… your
power and then Poseidon’s and then… oh, Percy. I’m so proud of you.”
“I wish I could see you,” he answered, feeling better than he had during his last talk with
Myrto: he wondered how many days had passed since then. “Are you still old? Are you
alright?”

He felt the water move as she shook her head. “I recovered in full as I fought Eurybia, even if
the thought of you, alone in here, plagued me. I kept thinking of what you had told me and I
couldn’t… I should have said more. You must have felt so scorned.”

He had. But in the end, it had been her plan about his birthday that had saved his life, and he
had never truly faulted her for her reaction. He didn’t think anything could make him hate
her, at this point.

“I have a gift for you,” Percy said instead of answering, wishing to bury those awful days
under the sand. Slowly he raised his hand, the one where he'd secured the ring that he had
taken from Flustra’s dead body, and took it off with his other one, before handing it to the
goddess.

She took it from his hands with reverence. “Is this…”

“I had it retrieved.”

There was silence for a bit. “I’m putting it on,” Amphitrite said, “and I’m crying. So you’re
not missing anything,” she tried to laugh, “but thank you. Thank you.”

Percy shrugged as much as he could from his position on the bed, uncomfortable with all the
gratitude emanating from her. He had done nothing special, nothing more than a small
kindness that had ended up costing a boy his life.

“You’ve been doing all my work here,” he answered, “that’s thanks enough.”

Amphitrite’s hand came to caress his hair, taking sweaty strands away from his forehead.
“The people want to see you,” she assured, “we had hundreds more supporters here than I
thought, and now that it’s safe once again the folk are travelling from all around the ocean.
Everybody wants to be here for your first speech.”

Percy groaned against his will. “You’d think almost dying would get me out of my
responsibilities for at least a little more.”

“You still have a week of bedrest,” she continued, the smile evident in her tone, “but the
tailor is gonna come today, and once you’ll be presentable the Dukes will pass to swear their
loyalty. I know you’re tired, but the sooner we’ll do that, the quicker we’ll return to stability.”

“And once the Kingdom is stable again…”

“Yes,” the goddess agreed, “yes.”

Myrto reached them after a while, smelling of lavender and ginger, and they spoke to him
about their fight with Eurybia, about the rushed march to the city and the shock of seeing the
innkeeper again.
“He told us the story of the animals after the battle,” Myrto explained, “I couldn’t believe it,
but maybe it’s for the best that your children weren’t really there. Considering what Bythus
ended up doing.”

“Yeah,” she answered, “you had told me they couldn’t be my children when we passed
through the garden, and you were right. There were too many. And I would- I would have
recognised them, here in Atlantis.”

Percy agreed with her. If the way he felt people’s presence now was the way gods always felt
them… there would be no way for Amphitrite not to notice, not in the way he could hear the
servants speak on the floor above, not in the way he could smell the flowers outside if he
focused hard enough.

The constant darkness was still disorienting, but with his father’s trident at his bedside and
Myrto and Amphitrite next to him, he felt safe even with the tailor’s unknown hands on his
body, cold but precise.

“You’ve lost weight,” the man commented, “I will quickly readjust some of the clothes your
old tailor had made, just for today’s meetings, but I will have a new wardrobe ready for you
by next week.”

“Thank you,” Percy answered, “make sure the style is something I can see myself in.”

The man stilled. “Percy,” Amphitrite admonished, and he laughed, feeling lighter than he had
in months.

“Sorry,” he answered, not sorry at all, “I’ll trust your opinion on what will fit me best.”

“Yes, sir,” the tailor bowed, and Percy could feel the trail of confusion he left all the way to
the door. “Zero sense of humour,” he commented, and Myrto sighed next to him.

“I hope you’ll maintain this good mood after you’ve heard half a dozen people swear fealty,”
the goddess commented, “unfortunately, I have a meeting with representatives of the Duchies
that had sided with Bythus and I cannot attend. But Myrto and some of the generals will be
here to make sure everything goes alright.”

“It will,” Percy promised, “they fought a war by my side. They’d be stupid to rebel now that
we’ve won and they can get their reward.”

The Northern Duke was the first one to kneel, as it was the support of his Duchy that had
made everything possible in the first place.

Percy was wearing velvet: red, he’d been told, the colour of war and blood and danger, but
also of strength, vigour and courage. Something that made him stand out, even from his place
on the infirmary bed.

“I, the Duke of the North, today swear my obedience to you, King Perseus. My sword is
yours to use. My soldiers are yours to command. May your reign be long, and prosperous.”
“Thank you,” he answered, “your unwavering support in this years of war has been deeply
appreciated, and will be greatly rewarded. You may rise,” he continued, “may your family be
wide and your heirs wise.”

He felt the water move as he stood up and swam where Myrto was, the papers to sign lined
up on a small table. He wondered if they smiled at each other, brother and sister, or if the
Duke would keep the seriousness he always had in professional matters.

Eda was next, and she repeated the Duke’s words as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times.
Maybe she had: Percy repeated her the same promise, even if she already had what she had
spent her life wanting.

“We have both lost, in this war,” she added before signing the papers, “my people will never
forget that you were the one to take the blunt part of the attack. That you didn’t send others in
the first lines. You will always have their respect.”

“Thank you,” Percy repeated, and then it was the turn of the Arabian Duke who, according to
Amphitrite, now sported a wide scar from his forehead to his chin: he was otherwise
uninjured, and had kept his good mood even if he had had many losses.

“No thank you,” he commented when Percy thanked him for his support, “now I have a story
to tell my son.”

Diplomats from the Irish sea also swear their fealty, bringing congratulations from the Count,
who had started the journey to Atlantis as soon as the news of victory had reached him, and
would be there for the celebrations of the following week.

Percy smiled, thinking of him: he would never get to see the Gardens of Irminger that the
man so praised, but he could definitely make sure the Count would be able to dance his heart
away during the festivities.

Envoys from the duchies who had been his allies, but had lost against Bythus’ army were
also still travelling, so there remained just two factions in Atlantis that still hadn’t kneeled:
the disintegrated army and Aphros, with his mer-heroes.

The army sent a representative. “King Perseus,” he intoned, “I speak in the name of the
soldiers who have found themselves forced to fight for Bythus, whether because of threats or
necessity. We would gladly bend to you, now, if you’d let us the honour of chanting your
name.”

Percy nodded, smelling the fear in the water. He wondered, once again, what his eyes must
have been looking like: he had been too cowardly to ask it of Myrto.

“I’m certain you will have ways to prove your newfound loyalty,” he answered, thinking that
Dolphin should have been in the man’s place, that he would have been, had things gone
differently.

Aphros wasn’t truly expected to come, with the way he had bargained independence for his
help in the war: and yet, as the clock struck six, Percy felt him march across the room, in
 between the surprised gasps of the others.

However, he did not feel him kneel.

“King Perseus,” he began, “I am here to express my respect for you, and for your
achievements in this war. Your behaviour has been commendable, and more than I ever
expected. Me and my soldiers will not side against you,” he stressed, “however, our desire for
independence is still strong.”

“I understand,” Percy answered, “this is enough assurance for now. I believe we will have
time to discuss the lawful terms of our alliance when the most pressing matters will have
been dealt with.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he responded, with a tone of voice that Percy couldn’t read. If he
could have seen him, even for just a moment…

“Your help has been fundamental, Aphros, do not misunderstand me. It is because I wish to
give the subject all my attention, that the discussion is being postponed: it will only be a
matter of weeks.”

Aphros’ voice was more relaxed, when he answered again, and soon they all left the room,
leaving him with Myrto and a paper worth more than the entire treasure room.

“That went well,” she commented, and Percy nodded, taking her hand and setting himself
down on the bed again.

He just hoped it would last.

Chapter End Notes

I have so many things to say today.

First of all, thank you for all your love and support. The more this story comes to the
end, the more I realize just how much you helped me keep it running.

Now, onto the chapter! Congratulations to all the ones who had guessed (or hoped) that
Percy would go blind instead of dying: I had considered even the other option, but it
wasn't the kind of ending I wanted this story to have (even if it's not over yet! There are
still quite some things that need to happen)

Second, you may have noticed that there is no more a question mark on the final number
of chapters: I believe they'll be 59 or 60, depending on how much I end up writing. So
there will be one or two actual chapters, where the rest of the things get tied up, and then
a good old epilogue.

If you're wondering if I'm sad about it, I am. But I'll tell you the details of why it won't
be a goodbye on the final chapter ;)
In the meantime, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts!! I always love
to read them <3

(also last thing I promise, if Amphitrite's entrance in the throne room seems familiar, it's
because it's written on the model of TLO's entrance of the gods. I love parallelisms and
couldn't resist)
 Year III, September I
Chapter Notes

I think many of you had been waiting for this part... enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

On the seventh day of his recovery, Myrto swam with him to their new rooms on the third
floor.

“Amphitrite said your old one on the second was occupied by some kind of general,” she
explained, while they passed above what Percy knew were the beautiful nacre, stairs, “while
the entire third floor housed Bythus and the Japanese Duke, together with their families.”

Percy stilled. “Their families?” he repeated, cursing himself for not sparing a single thought
about it, even if he knew the trouble that Bythus’ children could cause. And if they got
together to organise revenge…

“Percy,” Myrto soothed, “calm down. My brother and Amphitrite took care of them as soon
as your condition was stable: no one got out of this place. We’re safe. We’re all safe, it’s
over”

He swallowed down, taking a deep breath. The darkness still confused him, and even what
should have been familiar felt alien now, separated from him by a distance he could never
reach.

It was like losing the curse of Achilles again, but worse: if before he had only had to rethink
his fighting technique, now he needed to redo his entire life.

Myrto squeezed his hand. “Come on,” she said, her voice a shadow of happiness, “let’s take a
bath before we get you all dressed up for the celebrations.”

They moved slowly in the corridors, so that Percy could memorise his steps, could take note
of his surroundings: various times, he felt his wife’s intake of breath next to him, as if she
wanted to say something, but always changed her mind at the last minute.

Percy hated himself for not being able to show excitement, nor to start a conversation: but as
the pain slowly receded, the reality of his situation had hit him full force, together with its
implications, and he felt vulnerable, exposed, a burden every time he could feel the way
Amphitrite and Myrto were making things simpler for him.

Things he had never needed help to do before: like finding a room, like choosing clothes.
Like signing papers in the right spot.
There was a crown on his head, when he finally was deemed ready, made of gold and
emeralds. It had been on his head once before, back when he was first crowned, and a part of
him was surprised that Bythus hadn’t gotten rid of it.

Maybe he hadn’t managed to, as he hadn’t managed to destroy the throne.

“You look perfect,” Myrto commented, once the cape was draped across his shoulders: purple
and green and gold, as those were the royal colours, but he knew the tailor had inverted them
from his last Coronation, and the material was lighter than it had been.

He hadn’t asked about the embellishments, even if he could feel the thread of embroidery
under his fingers, all over. Percy slowly moved his hand away from it then, coming to touch
Myrto’s on the cheek, while his other hand caressed her necklace- Amphitrite’s wedding gift.

“I meant you, that day,” he confessed, “and I know I can say it again, even if I can’t see you.
Are you matching me?”

“Yes,” she answered, relishing in his touch, and Percy hummed, his mind a semblance of
peace. “Our wedding colours, then. Maybe they’ll bring us good luck once again.”

He felt her smile on his hand. “As they did when they got us together,” she whispered, “this
time there isn’t even an old priest to convince.”

Nor your father, Percy thought, but he spared her the reminder. Phaidros had been a good
man and a good ally, in the end, and Myrto a wonderful daughter. It was no surprise that he
had needed convincing.

Amphitrite appeared at the door, bringing with her the strong scent of some flower Percy was
unable to recognise. “You’re running a bit late,” she said, “but no one will have cared about
waiting when they see you like this.”

“Oh Amphitrite,” Myrto commented next to him, moving away to hold his hand, “you look
ethereal.”

“And you look regal, both of you. Just how it’s supposed to be”

“For now,” Percy reminded, “this will bring stability to the Kingdom once again.”

“One thing at the time,” she answered, “first, there is the matter of the throne.”

The Palace and the Army had accepted him as King once again without much fuss, but the
matter of the throne, as Amphitrite had been referring to it for the past week, was a little more
complicated.

Unlike last time, when all the nobles and the dignitaries had waited for him to succeed in the
veranda, velvet-padded seats had been added in the Great Hall itself, so that everybody could
be a witness to his reclaiming of the Crown.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Percy had asked the evening prior, filled with anxiety from
top to bottom, unable even to rest, “If I fuck it up…”

“You won’t,” the goddess had reassured, “and it’s necessary, unfortunately. We need to
silence every single little thought that you may not be fit for it, or that Bythus still has a case:
if we don’t, even his distant relatives will try to put their claim on Atlantis.”

“Great,” he had answered, and while the night had been hell, he now felt calmer and more in
control: people would be watching him, yes, but he was more used to it than he had been
before.

The doors opened, and he and Myrto swam together to the front of the room in between the
silent awe of all those who had been lucky enough to be invited: allies, nobles, but even
envoys from the enemy duchies- obviously under a strict guard.

Bythus’ throne smelled like rotten meat, when he reached it: Myrto squeezed his hand one
last time, before going to sit next to where he felt Amphitrite’s power twirl, strong and steady,
a comfort in the unfamiliar.

He turned towards the crowd, taking in the feeling of invisible eyes on him. “This seat of
gold is an abomination,” he started, “an insult to us and our traditions. A blasphemy against
my father’s divinity, a mockery of his role in the ocean. So today,” he stressed, “today it will
reach its owner in the dust, while the rightful monarchy is reinstated.”

There were some sharp intakes of breath in the crowd, but no one spoke, and Percy took it as
an invitation to put himself to work. Once already he had tried to destroy the throne, but
Bythus had been close, his godhood foul but strong enough to protect it. And he had failed.

He wouldn't this time.

Atlantis was a city fit for gods, as Olympus: everything in it was clean, unburdened by mortal
struggles, every tile placed in the perfect spot, every decoration full of a meaning older than
him. Atlantis was pure gold, pure white, an immaculate representation of everything the gods
who inhabited it were worshipped as.

The throne was a stain on it, and Percy’s heightened senses focused on it instantly, sending
shivers of disgust through his spine. All of his powers screamed of wrongness, of rightful,
lucid anger.

Percy filled his hands with it, coaxing the water to express its offence: Bythus appropriated
divinity, he told the sea, he spoke to the city, he was no god, nor the son of one. He had no
claim to you. Rage against his throne.

There was a song stuck in his head, when he finished his prayer, an old lullaby he had heard
Amphitrite hum under her breath when she spoke to the boxes. He wondered how similar to
Poseidon he was now, as the pressure around him increased and his hand once again closed
on the handle of his powerful trident.
Percy smiled, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd, and rose his arm above his shoulders, his
form perfect, his back straight- before slamming the three prongs of the trident right on the
backseat of the throne, a horribly high cracking sound filling the room.

He pushed into the one, giant crack that he had made, and from it a thousand more ones
formed, quickly spreading across the gold until the power emanating from the trident was too
much for it to bear: the ground trembled under his feet, the blemish on Atlantis enlarging
enough to give him flashes of Bythus’ impious actions- before disappearing.

Completely.

He wondered whether the throne had turned to dust or if it had just left a spoil of war, another
thing for the sea to put in a glass case and brag about having survived, as he turned around to
face the people once again, trident in hand.

“I am Perseus,” he addressed the shadows in his eyelids, “son of Poseidon, King of Atlantis.”

They chanted his name, but it wasn’t over. The old, heavy throne needed to be brought to its
place, and no one had been able to even tell him where it was: not the servants, not the
soldiers. It seemed to have disappeared, but Amphitrite had just smiled when he had shared
his concerns.

“Atlantis will take care of it,” she had answered in that mystic way of hers, “just worry about
destroying Bythus’ one.”

And he had trusted her.

“Long live the King!” they yelled, and Percy could feel in his veins the turmoil of power, less
than he had felt on his birthday but still powerful enough to leave him with a sense of
burning, a desperate lust for more. A burning that had nothing of the one he had been through
during his last Coronation, when the throne had embedded tattoos into his chest.

Brace yourself.

The chant died down after a couple of minutes, and the restless crowd moved agitatedly in
their seats. Percy turned towards the goddess, a silent question in his blind eyes, and
Amphitrite’s power reached him, the ghost of a caress over his face, the phantom of a dead
promise in his ears.

The city will take care of it, she repeated, just as Percy felt another presence enter the room,
coming from what seemed to be the very essence of the Palace itself, and his black vision
filled with gold- bright, alive and somehow familiar.

“A new era begins,” a woman’s voice intoned, “hail, King Perseus. Today you will sit on
your father’s throne, as it is you who has given the Kingdom peace, stability and strength.
But as it was your Fate to see its beginning,” she paused, “it is not yours to see its end.”

Percy nodded, aware of his painful lack of both mortality and immortality, and wondered
whether he should kneel or not, in front of the golden woman of his dreams.
“You are Atlantis,” he guessed, uncaring of all the people around, of the hundreds of eyes on
him, “will you put my father’s throne in its lawful place?”

“Yes,” she answered, “I will protect it, as I’ve done until now. This had to happen,” she
continued, and Percy felt her essence move, as if she were gesturing around, “but I will not
be taken again.”

A thump, the sound of stone hitting stone, and then there where the stain of Bythus’ golden
seat had been, the relief of marble, the call of his own blood on it.

Had he been alone, he would have wept. The people cheered again, and Myrto called for him
to reach them, but Percy still had a question for the woman, who had seen what could have
been, who had seen his dead body lay down in that very room.

“When?” he asked again, and a mirthful laugh filled his ears, pleasant and clean.

“Soon,” she answered once again, a smile in her voice.

(Myths are circles that allow no deviation)

The celebration was grand and loud, the food a marvel on his tongue after the harsh years of
war and the last days of convalescence, and if it weren’t for the hundreds of unrecognisable
people he had to converse with, it would almost be pleasant.

“So this isn’t a party either, by mortal standards?” Myrto asked him, her oceanids trailing not
far behind. Percy was glad they had mostly made it out of the battle unscathed- they had been
good friends to his wife, and loyal companions when he had been unwell.

“Maybe a royal one would be like this,” he answered, “but surely it’s not the kind I was used
to, no.”

“I like it, though,” she continued, her tone light, and Percy wished so badly to be able to see
her eyes, that he would have exchanged all the gold in the room for just one second.

“There will be many others, don’t worry,” he smiled, “and you can remain here, even after I
finally find my escape.”

She laughed, as the sound of metal reached them and the guards made way, Percy’s power
shaping the familiar frame of a merman.

“You made it!” he exclaimed, way louder than it was proper, rushing forward to hug one of
the few friends he had made during his time in the sea: the Count of Leinster, who had lost
his tail during the battle against the Celebes’ Duke, cursed from his own father to always be
scarred in battle.

He wondered if he had received more, as his arms circled around his torso and the man
laughed, pleased by the breaking of protocol.
“I know, I know, you missed me horribly,” he commented when they pulled apart, “I have
always been excellent company, after all.”

The party continued around them, as they shared their adventures, a burden easing from
Percy’s chest as they passed through the dancing couples and the bickering elders: he could
feel the guards’ eyes on him, keeping track of his movements, but he felt unbothered, safe.

Safe. How long had it been?

“Is it comfortable?” he asked, after they had stopped at the cocktails table, “your tail, I
mean.”

The Count hummed. “I can feel that it’s not mine,” he answered, “but generally if I move
around I don’t think about it, so it doesn’t bother me too much. And the manufacturers Lady
Amphitrite recommended were amazing- they did a great job.”

“What colour is it?” he asked, curious about the little, tiny details that his power would never
perceive: shapes, countorns, sounds and powers - everything else was a mystery.

“Green,” he answered, “in your honour. You gave a purpose to my miserable life. An
acceptance that my father will keep denying me.”

Percy swallowed down his sudden urge to cry, and smiled. “I do love green,” he confirmed,
the music filling his ears, the laughter of his people reaching him from all around.

“How long will you stay?”

He sighed. “No more than a few days, unfortunately. I remained in the Viscount’ castle after
you left, and took on most of the administration when he got ill a few months ago. He’s
dying, Percy, and I was wondering if-”

“Yes,” Percy agreed, already knowing what he was about to ask, “his titles will become
yours, if you wish them. You will not have to rely on your father any longer.”

“Thank you,” he answered, his voice honest, heartfelt. “I will give justice to those poor
people, and peace to my father by renouncing my place in succession.”

“Don’t you want a Duchy?”

He snorted. “I did. After watching you get mad over papers, I changed my mind. The
Viscount’s land is more than enough.”

“Then it’s yours,” he repeated, “I shall send the missive to him tomorrow, and adjourn my
new councillors on the matter.”

And as the evening came to an end and he and Myrto stumbled back into their chambers,
Percy almost wished that nothing would ever change, that he could remain like this forever,
for all his life and for all eternity.

.
The next few days were busy, chaotic, as Percy slowly got used to his new life and to the
changes that had happened in the Palace. The Dukes’ belongings were burned on the main
square, while the people were free to add to the fire whatever they wanted, the temples
dedicated to Phorcys and Eurybia were destroyed, their statues broken into unrecognisable
pieces.

“We’ll call in for new architects,” Amphitrite had decided, “the Academies were severely
decimated, but this could be an opportunity to give work to those who managed to survive.”

Percy had agreed. Hundreds of new temples had been built, all around the territories Bythus
had conquered, and many of Poseidon’s had been repurposed for his own cult: there would be
more work than people to do it, which was exactly what the economy needed to get running
again.

His old councillors were sentenced to death on the second day, their heads falling off in the
same place all the protestors had been executed: Percy had been there, standing tall for all the
people to look at, unable to see their scared eyes but content enough to be able to smell their
fear.

“Capital punishment will not be the norm,” he had stated, “but their treason couldn’t be
forgiven.”

Not like anyone had protested, but Percy didn’t want his reign- for how short it was going to
be- to start with the people’s fear of him. Enemies, monsters and traitors could dread him how
much they wanted: but those whom he was meant to protect… he had caused them enough
suffering already.

Things had been going well then, all around, maybe too well: so when five days after his
Coronation he was awoken suddenly by the appearance of an unfamiliar power into the
Palace, he wasn’t too surprised. He had been waiting for it.

Careful not to wake Myrto, he swam out of the room in silence, grateful for once for his
blindness: he would not need torches. The guards moved as to follow him out on the
corridors, but Percy stopped them, knowing that whatever, whoever, was there, would mean
him no harm.

Heart beating so wildly that it seemed to be about to burst out of his chest, he opened the
doors of the Great Hall, almost trembling in anticipation: all of this power could only mean
one thing- gods. Gods of the sea.

Amphitrite was already there when he entered, her power the only familiar one in between
the others, and he was hit by a sense of disappointment so sour that it left a bad taste in his
mouth, one that he would always be too ashamed to admit out loud. Because he would have
recognised his father’s power, he was certain of it as he was certain that Poseidon wasn’t
standing there in between the other gods.

“Perseus,” the goddess called, her voice wet, “my children are here,” she said, happiness so
clear in her tone that his shame could only grow and grow, “they’re here. They’re safe. We
made it.”
A shuffle of clothes, the sound of fabric on fabric, muffled crying. She must have been
hugging them. Had she ever hugged him? He tried not to fidget as he stood there, feeling as
out of place as he hadn’t since his first days in Atlantis

“I believe I must express my thanks to you,” a man’s voice addressed him: Triton, he
recognised. He had heard him speak once already. “You acted well, for a bastard.”

“Triton,” Amphitrite admonished, as if it were a common happening in between the two of

them, a well-rehearsed conversation. And even if he couldn’t see it, he imagined the god’s
expression, the twinkling eyes, the little condescending smirk.

He swallowed down his anger. “You must, yes,” he agreed, “you wouldn’t be here without
me.”

“Oh I’m glad you haven’t lost your bite,” a female voice answered: Kymopoleia. Percy
couldn’t say he was glad to see her again. “I’ll avoid trying to drown you in poison again,
then.”

“You- you what?” Amphitrite asked, leaving her other two daughters and reaching him at the
door, “you are behaving like beasts,” she stressed, “I taught you better than this.”

“When?” another goddess asked, her voice angry, annoyed, “when you stayed silent while
father forced me into a marriage I didn’t want?”

“Oh be quiet, you,” another said, her voice deep and calming, “he’s our brother, after all. And
he doesn’t even stink of mortality like all the others.”

Percy remained silent, trying to ignore the hole opening into his chest and focusing on the
noise that the other gods present were making at the other end of the room- the other
bastards, the ones who had not dared to meddle in the royal family.

Maybe he should have gone to stay with them.

“Where have you been until now?” he asked, but none of them answered, paying no mind to
his voice and speaking instead between themselves, in some old dialect Percy fatigued in
understanding.

He turned towards where he knew Amphitrite to be then, but she didn’t come to his rescue as
she had always done: tonight too busy in cherishing the family she had thought lost. He
couldn’t blame her, but it still stung: had all her words been just that, then? Words empty of
meaning?

Percy had felt too much honesty in her for it to be true, he knew. If tonight she was
overwhelmed, tomorrow she’d be her usual self again- but they’d have to learn how to share.

He shuffled on his feet a couple of times, missing the distraction that looking at the corals
and the mosaics could have granted him: he knew they had all been repaired, that the room
had returned to his old splendour, and wondered whether all the gods were aware of long had
actually passed, of what had happened.
 Maybe, seeing everything unchanged, they believed it to have been just a matter of days.

Just as Percy was gathering enough willpower to ask then, another powerful rise of power hit
the room, coming directly from the throne: the ground shook a couple of times as the
pressure increased and his ears almost reached the limit of how much they could take.

Percy felt his heart swell with hope, and he could imagine the Hall filling with light, the
divinity of his father shaping himself into the semblance of a man right in the spot where his
trident had inflicted Bythus the final blow, right where he had first been stabbed.

He could not have silenced his joy had he tried for centuries.

Poseidon’s feet touched the ground, and the earthquake stopped. His power was beautiful: it
felt like home around him, like acceptance, as it had done already when they had last spoken.

All the other gods rushed in front of him, while Percy remained at the end of the room, close
to the door, almost afraid to overstep: his family first, his wife and his heir. Then he could,
too, go to say hi.

“Father,” he heard Triton say, then the sound of fabric again, as all kneeled down in front of
the ancient god. He remained standing, his blind eyes looking up, to the father he’d never see
again.

Poseidon paused for an instant. Then, to Percy’s surprise, he swam forward, ignoring his
kneeling heir and his crying wife, making way in between their bodies as if they weren't even
there, not wavering until he stopped right in front of him.

A warm hand pressed to his cheek, and he melted into the touch, uselessly closing his eyes.
“Percy,” his father rumbled, the sea itself seemingly shaking with it, “my dear son.”

His other hand pressed his shoulder, until he found himself engulfed into his father’s arms.
“I’m blind,” he whined then, as Poseidon’s hands came to hold his face, his thumbs passing
over his eyelids.

“Yes,” he agreed, “I felt it. I tried to help as much as I could, but this was a Fate I couldn’t
defy. But you are alive, my son, my dearest child, alive and free and sea-made, like me.”

Percy opened his mouth to answer, but he felt his father’s power stop him. “Let me greet the
rest of my family,” he whispered, “and then we will talk again.”

“Promise?” he asked, uncaring of his childish voice.

“Promise,” he answered, as soft as the calmest of waves.

And nothing else mattered.

Chapter End Notes

My dear, dearest readers, thank you so much for all the love you gave last chapter. In
between the bittersweet feeling of this work coming to an end, you have made the
countless hours of work worth it a thousand times over.

I hope you enjoyed this! I loved writing the so awaited Percy-Poseidon reunion, and
while I would have loved to just skip directly to it, the pace of the story would have
been all wrong without all the prior groundwork! But if you love them as I do, and
wished to see more of their interactions, don't worry: that's what the epilogue is for.

(If I may then, a little spoiler alert: other reunions need to happen, there is still quite a
big question to answer, and well... Olympus will want to know hat happened, no?)

As always thank you so much for reading, and have a great week! <3 <3
 Epilogue
Chapter Notes

This is 99% softness. Because we all deserve a gentle home to return to, after a long
journey.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They were summoned to Olympus in a week’s time.

“My brother must have truly missed me,” Poseidon commented, his tone light, but Percy
didn’t miss the way Amphitrite’s power felt as she moved to stand next to him, a comfort in
the unspoken grief in his father’s words.

His power was more difficult to read for him, less used to having him around, but there
seemed an underlying emotion in all Poseidon did, that led to him wondering if he had been
in pain, in the past years. Wondering if it had hurt, forcing himself to appear to him whole.

None of the other gods remembered anything about their time away, Amphitrite had told him:
just that one day they were, and then the day after they weren’t anymore. But Poseidon
remembered, she had said, he had spoken to her about the conversation they’d had when he’d
been close to dying.

Percy didn’t really know what to make of it: the balance in Atlantis had subverted once again,
and while he had dreamt of this moment for so long, now that he found himself in it he didn’t
really know what to say. Should he ask for an explanation? Should he give one? The life he
had known for the past three years had disappeared so quickly that he felt lightheaded,
unbalanced, barely able to keep track of his own thoughts.

“Many sea creatures are blind, in the deep ocean,” Poseidon started, sitting next to him in the
courtyard one evening, after Percy had run away from his siblings’ mean comments at dinner.

He hadn’t thought he would notice: after their first conversation, he had spoken to his wife, to
his other children at length and even with Myrto, had held council meetings with the
remaining Dukes and the generals.

But, even with his promise, he had barely spoken to him again.

“Are you angry at me?” he asked instead of answering, flinching as the words came out of his
mouth. It hadn’t been what he had wanted to start their conversation with- he had never
wanted to say it out loud at all.

“What for?”
He swallowed down, glad not to be able to see the pity in his father’s eyes. “Everything.
Taking your place, your crown, your throne and almost losing it all. Using your name, adding
mine to yours. Killing people,” he whispered, “slaughtering Hallmer.”

Poseidon was silent for a long time, the sound of music reaching them from the inside. “I am
a being of violence,” he started with, almost an apology, “and I am aware that my temper is
feared by many. But you, Percy,” he took a breath, “you will never have any reason to
tremble before me.”

Percy closed his eyes, bringing his knees up to his chest, burying his face in them and letting
months-postponed sobs wreck his body, tearing apart any resolution of strength, any promise
of fortitude. And as he heard the heavy body of his father get closer, the bench cracking and
the water move, it didn’t even come to his mind to stop.

Instead, when his father’s limbs reached him, when his worn out hands came for him, Percy
allowed himself to be pulled in, allowed himself to rest against the rock solid warmth of the
god sitting next to him.

“I am very proud of you,” Poseidon said, still delicate, “No one else would have been able to
do what you did, not while remaining kind. And no,” he shushed Percy when he tried to
argue, “the full story, the one you’ll tell me, the one which will resound in the oceans for
millennia, will not change my mind. I see you, and I know. I know.”

“Why do they hate me then?”

He sighed. “I told you once, that you were my favourite son. I meant it then, and I mean it
now,” he repeated, “the love of a god hurts, Percy. They have waited to prove themselves to
me for thousands of years, and yet when the occasion came they were able to do nothing.”

“It wasn’t my fault though,” he answered, “as it wasn’t theirs.”

“No,” Poseidon agreed, his voice the deep rumble of waves hitting the shore, “and while I am
sorry that this responsibility was yours to bear… I cannot find it in my heart not to be
relieved, also. That it was you.”

Percy distanced himself from his father, hating not being able to see his own eyes on his face.
“Would you let me stay, then? If I wanted to?”

“This is your home,” he answered, “and… I’m not sure if you’d be able to go somewhere
else, apart from Olympus. Not considering how much of your mortality you’ve burned, how
much you’ve sacrificed.”

“Hades too said that,” Percy said, thinking about the sunsets he’d never experience again,
thinking of the soft summer breeze that would never meet his face again. “I had dreams then,
of Olympus. Zeus wanted to make me immortal. Athena wanted to substitute me. Ares was
surprisingly on my side and Apollo and Dionysus kind of helped.”

Poseidon hummed. “We’ll solve everything on our trip next week,” he said, “I assume you’ve
not changed your mind on godhood.”
“No,” Percy answered, thinking of eternal darkness, “but I’d like to live here in the sea, with
Myrto. A normal life. A family, maybe.”

He felt Poseidon nod in the water, and wondered whether he was smiling or not, whether it
was short or sorrowful. “I expected that. In life and in death then, the ocean will honour you:
I’ve seen your blood on the throne. Eons will pass, but your memory will haunt these halls.”

They remained in silence for a while after that. Percy kept wondering when his father was
going to leave, knowing this moment between them couldn’t last: the Kingdom needed to be
reorganised once again, the treaties agreed upon and enforced. Amphitrite would need to
regain her position, and Olympus…

“Where have you been until now?” he asked then, focusing on his father and on the smell of
the sea, of Montauk, of laughter and safety and happiness and home.

Gods, how scared he had been until then. He hadn’t even realised, until the must of it was
gone, just how much of his mind had been in survival mode. He hoped Myrto would
understand, that he needed some time to find himself again.

Poseidon sighed. “When gods teleport from one place to the other,” he explained, “there is a
point where we’re in neither, stuck in an unknown in-between of spirits and souls. Usually,
we can’t bear it for more than an instant: but yet, I was there for years,” he continued, “my
consciousness split in thousands of parts, my powers unreachable. But I felt you, sometimes.
When you, too, were passing from there.”

“Did it hurt?”

He felt him smile above his hair. “Not as much as it hurt you,” he answered, “but it’s over
now. You will still be King for a couple of days, and then you can rest, for as long as you
wish. But if you desire to see your mother, your friends again… it would be best for you to
do so now, before I regain the Crown and the politics of it turn more complicated than ever.”

“I would be allowed to?” he asked, and hope blossomed into his chest, seemingly there to
stay as his father chuckled, some of the wariness receding.

“Thank you,” Percy answered, hugging him again, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Maybe everything would truly be alright again.

He told Myrto everything, that night. He spoke of his quests, of the friends he had made and
the one he’d lost, of the love that had once tied him to Annabeth- which hadn’t disappeared,
but rather changed form, became somehow a memory more than a feeling.

He couldn’t say whether he had expected wariness, sadness or even envy from her, but Myrto
gave him none of those things: her hands remained calm while she carefully braided his too
long hair, the soft hum of her voice an invite to continue when he reached the worst parts of
his story.
“And then soldiers came to bring me here,” he concluded, “the first months were awful. All
the councillors were against me, and the coffee seeds I had ordered from the outer world
ended up being poisonous for the merfolk. Many died.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she tried, as he focused on remembering the exact blue of her
eyes, “you always think you could have done better. But I know you, and you know yourself
too when you admit it: if you truly could have, you’d done it.”

“Maybe,” Percy allowed, thinking back on Dionysus’ words: your mind was in shambles. I
put a little order, but you’re gonna have to work hard on it yourself. Perhaps, a closure with
his old life, with his old friends and his mother, could bring him the peace he had been
longing for.

“Thank you for telling me,” Myrto said then, kissing him softly, “I think I’ll love meeting all
the people who shaped you, tomorrow. I hope they’ll like me too, even if my life has been
remarkably less… adventurous.”

“My mother will love you,” he answered, “she’ll take a look at us together and won’t be able
to do anything else.”

Myrto laughed, the sound clear as an untouched waterfall. “Amphitrite will be jealous,” she
commented, “I know she’s been mostly with her children, but she does love you. Talk with
her, before they come.”

Percy chuckled, bringing his lips down. “Any other orders for me tonight, my Lady?”

She laughed again, and they did not stop until the first lights of the morning reached them in
their unmade bed, duties and commitments forgotten, until the sharp knocking at their door
brought them back to reality.

“Fuck,” he commented, quickly going through his morning routine, trusting Myrto to lay out
his clothes for him, “will it be a good justification, if I say I hadn’t seen the clock?”

“No,” one of the oceanids answered, entering the room in a hurry and twirling around his
wife with clothes and perfumes, “also because Lady Amphitrite is waiting for you outside.”

He closed his eyes, finishing up his buttons. He had had so many dreadful conversations with
the goddess, that there shouldn’t have been any reason for this to upset him as such: and yet,
in Atlantis, the relationship they had built over tears and war, had kind of come to a halt, the
both of them focused on others.

And it was just fair, to mend it now.

Out of the room he was met with the feeling of Amphitrite’s eyes on him, and he was familiar
enough with her power to notice her uncertainty. They had never been the ones for great
declarations after all, and sometimes too many words were unnecessary: they had seen the
worst of each other, in the years together. They had all the time to beam at the best.
Amphitrite stepped forward, and placed her hands on both of his cheeks, careful not to ruin
his hair. “I know you have a father, and a mother,” she stated, “but you will always, always
also remain my son. Always, I will claim you as mine.”

“Thank you,” he answered, forcing himself not to cry as she hugged him, this time for real,
this time without any shadow of doubt. Maybe he had awaited that for long too, he realised,
as he felt some burden in his heart ease at the contact.

And if he spent the rest of the week in a haze of contentment, maybe it was just because
finally, he had met those he had loved so fiercely again, and not for that. His friends had
changed- for the best in some ways, and for the worst in others: the disorders that Poseidon’s
disappearance had caused in the sea had not been without consequences outside of it, and
there was an aura of wariness around them that he hated to feel.

They played games and ate together, but mostly they spoke of what had happened, of what
had been of all the others that hadn’t been able to come, and as they shared funny stories
about some wild party, some college experiences he would never have… Percy felt part of
them, and an outsider at the same time.

Annabeth noticed, as she had always done. “It feels like the past is the only thing we can
share, now,” she said, once they were alone, “we never gave up on you, even if it may not
feel like it: we tried everything, harassed Olympus for months. But we couldn’t help, could
we?”

Percy shook his head. “Thinking of you up there helped, in a way, as much as it hurt. But I
was expecting this. I knew that… that it was going to be difficult to relate to each other again.
It’s why- it’s why it was so important to meet at least once.”

He felt her nod in the water. “To move on,” she agreed, “even if I would like to keep hearing
from you, as I am sure the others would. And your mother too, who missed you terribly.”

“I will write,” he said, swallowing down the urge to cry again. He had already written dozens
of letters: no one had ever answered him, not when he had needed it most. But maybe he
could try again.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe this time, loving wouldn’t hurt.

He had left the meeting with his mother for last, knowing that it’d tear him apart just to
carefully glue back the pieces of his heart again, aware that it’d be best for him to keep to
himself the quiet desperation with which, month after month, he had written in ink prayers
she had never received.

And yet, the smell of home coming from her, was almost enough to dissolve all of his good
intentions. Was a lifetime in the sea truly worth it, against a minute with her in his childhood
house?

The rational part of him knew that it was, but it was easy to silence it, held tightly in his
mother’s arms: and as she whispered his name over and over, he could not stop thinking
about how he’d been hugged more in the past week, than in the three years preceding it.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured, his heart breaking at every word she spoke: Paul
was fine, her books were selling well and Estelle was growing up, bubbly and full of friends.

“She asks for stories of you, sometimes,” Sally said, still forcing herself to stop crying, “there
are many photos in the house, as many as I had. I will make sure that she always knows how
much you love her.”

“She doesn’t remember me,” he realised, voice hollow. She had been so little, she was so
young still. Of course she couldn’t remember him but… the immensity of what he had left
behind hadn’t hit him yet, until then. A lifetime of struggles, of friends and family… gone in
three years. Even Camp wouldn’t feel like home again, he knew.

“I’m sorry, my baby,” she soothed, “you’ve had such a hard life. But look where you are now.
Your wife is great, and you know your father loves you. You deserve good things here. And
we’ll keep in touch: there is no more war now. I’ll write to you, we’ll Iris message each other.
You won’t be lost to me again.”

Percy nodded, resting his forehead under her collarbone. She was right, of course: his life
wasn’t in the mortal world anymore, but that didn’t mean they had to say goodbye to each
other forever. It just meant they needed to find a new balance.

They spent a few more hours together, laying down in the throne room, his mother staring up
at the golden sea foam ceiling and him at the darkness, until Poseidon came to lead her back
to the shore once again. And for how many times he had fantasised about seeing his parents
together, never he had thought it would happen like this.

“Wait,” Percy called, stopping his mother by the elbow, close to the door ”I… I have a
question that I haven't been able to ask until now. My eyes,” he breathed out, wondering if he
was truly ready to hear it, “what colour are they?”

“Oh, Percy,” she answered, “green, as your father’s. But your pupil isn’t black, like it was
before,” she said, squeezing his hand, “it’s the same colour as ichor.”

(Green and gold, gold and emeralds. A crown, a curse. Sing, Goddess, of the mortal-made
King that shaped the deathless sea.)

Percy’s abdication was a quiet affair, held in the most-preserved one of Poseidon’s temples.
There were no guests: just the royal family, the heads of the army, the new councillors and
some of the priests who had managed to survive Bythus’ persecution- less than thirty people
total, a stark contrast to both his coronations.

He signed first, renouncing his title as King with a lighter heart than he had thought he’d
have. He had never desired to rule, but he had fought so ardently to get his crown back that
he was almost surprised at how easily he was now ceding it, maybe aware that it was the first
step to the calm, easy life he’d always desired.
Poseidon signed the papers, then Amphitrite. Two crowns were placed on their heads,
without fanfare: the celebrations for their return would be grand, immense, would be the talk
of the century- but they would not take place before the following spring, so to be able to
organise a ceremony fit for gods without the limitations of wartime. The gold used at his, that
he had already found excessive, would be nothing in comparison.

It should have ended there, but Percy felt another set of papers on the altar, the flutter of the
pages creating small turbulences in the water. “What is that?” he asked, perplexed, while
Myrto moved at his side.

One of the goddesses scoffed from her place in the crowd. “I can’t believe they’re doing
that,” she whispered, before quieting at once. He hoped father had glared at her.

“I said before that I would claim you as my son,” Amphitrite gently answered, “and my
husband of course was most eagerly awaiting this. I will not take your mother’s place, but
you’ll have rights and protections you didn’t have before.”

“Olympus wouldn’t be able to force you into anything,” Poseidon added, “as it has never
been able to influence Triton’s actions. You’ll be safe. No one would ever be able to question
your presence here any longer,” he concluded his voice hardening.

Percy hadn’t been aware that someone had complained about him being in Atlantis.

“Myrto?” he asked.

“I’m quite okay with being a princess,” she answered lightly, before turning serious again,
“you have protected the sea until now. Let it protect you, for once.”

And Percy signed.

The morning after, they were on Olympus. “I wish I could see Annabeth’s work,” he
commented, passing through the gardens with his father. It felt weird to be out of the water
after so long, and his body felt heavy, sluggish, his powers less precise in recognising the
shapes of his surroundings.

“Just a lot of white,” he answered, leading him forward with a strong hand until they reached
the door of the hall. “I will walk with you until we reach my brother’s throne: then I will sit
on mine, and you shall remain there. Whatever they say,” he stressed, “do not let it upset you.
After today, you will never have to set foot in this place until you so desire.”

Percy nodded. “Thank you dad,” he answered, honest even to his own ears. After all his
dreams, after the new insights on gods themselves and his desperate meetings with them, it
almost felt a little awkward to walk in front of their thrones, to speak as he had done already,
younger and lost.

The gods remained silent as they reached the end of the room, but Percy could feel all their
eyes on them, fixed on every inch on him as if looking for the most vulnerable point. They
were making no effort in disguising their divinity, now that he could no longer see them, and
the power coming from the room was so much that it was almost overwhelming.
“Welcome back, brother,” Zeus intoned, his tone pleased, “we are all glad to see you
unharmed and returned to your previous power.”

“Thank you,” Poseidon answered, unreadable, “my son has freed me from a prophecy that I
had been dreading since the birth of our reign. I believe all of you agree on the valour he
proved, even if you didn’t consider him capable of it.”

“I did,” Ares intervened, staring straight at him: but the anger he was expecting to feel didn’t
come, and he hummed, turning towards the other gods. “You were foolish to think he’d stop
fighting. He’s never going to.”

“I want a peaceful life,” he answered, shaking his head, and Aphrodite laughed from her seat,
more cheerful than he’d ever heard her. He hoped he wouldn’t come to worry about that.

“I thought he’d be a god, by now,” Hades commented then, “but he’s not, even if he’s not
fully mortal.”

“Does it matter?” Dionysus lazily asked, and Percy had to fight the urge to move closer to
him, his power the most familiar one in between all of them. “Atlantis claimed him, and he’s
not going to leave the sea. He’ll be his father’s problem.”

The gods started to speak in between themselves then, so fast that he only managed to
understand some words: too powerful, unreliable, undeserving. As always, it seemed no one
really knew what to do with him, the decision split in between choices Percy had not
managed to understand. But his father had promised him safety- and he believed him.

“Silence!” Zeus yelled then, and the room quieted down, the sound of fire the only noise in
the room. “It cannot be denied that the boy’s actions made possible my brother’s return,” he
started, sounding as if every word was being forcibly pulled out of his mouth, “therefore, I
will condone the many times you have avoided my summons,” he continued, his full attention
on Percy himself.

“Thanks?”

He scoffed, and Hermes chuckled. “I am not done,” Zeus stated, “what kind of crimes have
you committed, in your time as ruler?”

“Crimes,” he repeated, “like what?”

“That is an unnecessary question,” Poseidon intervened, “my son is not on trial. We’re only
here so that we could calm you down about his mortality and my well-being. Which we have
done,” he said, rising, “so now we’re leaving.”

“The Council is not done,” Athena stated, as icy as ever.

“No,” his father answered, “but we are.”

He pulled him by the shoulder, and in a second they were in Atlantis again.

.
 .

Years later, he met Apollo again.

“Was it the right choice?” he asked, and the god shined so brightly that Percy could almost
see him, the warmth coming from his body a simulacrum of the sun, a relic of a past age like
a nameless photo in an old locket.

“They sing of you,” he answered, “the bards, the poets, the dreamers. They sang of you so
much that someone ended up writing it down,” he whispered, “I helped the mortals consider
it a priceless discovery- another epic poem from the age of heroes.”

“Like the Iliad and the Odyssey?”

“Yes,” Apollo continued, “but better. And you know why Perseus is better than Achilles,
better than Hector, better than Odysseus?”

“I do,” Percy agreed, smiling, feeling free from the chains of destiny, “it’s because Perseus
got a happy ending.”

And he had, he thought to himself again, as he and Myrto built their life together, in between
love and laughter and family- he had.

Chapter End Notes

Speaking of this epilogue, I must say that writing all these last final chapters without
being able to give visual descriptions (since it's Percy's POV), has been quite
challenging. I hope you enjoyed anyway! As promised at the beginning, we have our
happy ending. I had thought of many ways this could go- but tragedy, for how beautiful,
in a world where nothing goes right has nothing of revolutionary.

And then of course, the most important part of my final notes. Thank you, from the
bottom of my heart, thank you. You, my dear, lovely readers, have made all this
possible, with your presence, your comments, your unyelding faith in this story, chapter
after chapter. I am so proud of having met, in a way, all of you.

I'm kind of crying now, but this isn't a goodbye. First of all, as always I will answer all
your comments, so you'll have to deal with me a little longer: then of course, I have
other projects in mind, and I hope some of you will love them too! I'll take a pause from
writing, to recharge my batteries and my creativity, but my plan is to come back here in
the spring.

So look out, my loves. Maybe one day we'll meet again.

End Notes

Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think and see you in two weeks time...

Now with a playlist made by dear lilithdcclxxvii !

Go check it out here Nothing to make a song about but kings on Spotify

And another one made by lovely F2cbrn!

Check it out here, Nothing to make a song about but kings Vol.2 on Spotify

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