Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

If someone, anyone involved in the matter, had stopped themselves —for a moment, a tiny instant— to contemplate the revolutionary idea that maybe, only maybe they could ask for his help— that there was no need to go Hera because Percy’s whole career seemed to be focused on solving godly trouble and there were few things he could say ‘no’ at that point of his life, then, well, Percy would still be stranded like thousands of years in the past.

But. But at least he would know why . The ‘where’, if Tyche was feeling particularly generous with him. Or, he could have been able to make some preparations, take a couple of rations of ambrosia and a change of clean clothes for the classic moment when he ended up covered in monster remains, or simply ripped out. 

 You know. The basic ‘Demi-god Adventure Pack’ that was not just He, Himself, and his current clothes.

He didn't even have his sword, which was all kinds of bad. 

And. And he hadn’t said goodbye to his friends, hadn’t told his mother —and sister and stepfather, that he wouldn’t be going for Saturday Pizza Night. And who was going to cover the sword classes? Those gremlins didn’t listen to anyone except him, sometimes not even their godly or very human parents.

Percy sighed. At least I still have my memories , he consoled himself. He knew his name, knew his parents, his friends. Knew he had been eating doritos ten minutes before getting the strange tug on his gut. And knew, above all, that he had been taller and stronger and not a noodle child . 

Like. 

Why? A grimace crossed his face, and he felt the uncanny feeling of his teeth turning pointy, which wasn’t a thing on his Friday’s list, to be honest. Opening his mouth — could it be considered a jaw? — while looking at his reflection, everything that Percy could see was his twelve-year version with a whole set of shark teeth, less muscles than he should or wanted and a lot of scars .

Great. All the evidence of pain he survived and nothing of the fruits of his effort. 

To think that morning had started so well, with a whole night without nightmares and then two whole hours of demolishing Clarisse on Sword practice before teaching the gremlins about how not to hurt themselves with their swords —still wooden ones, because there was a lot to learn for that batch of little shits until Percy felt remotely secured to lend them a real one.

And then—

Then he was eating doritos on Cabin Three, alone, because Nico had already home for summer vacation, that treacherous dork, and Annabeth was crashing hard on her cabin after two weeks of exams for her Mastery, and Grover was making Lord of the Wild things around the continent— 

So, yes, he was alone, and—

Percy frowned. Wait. He had been planning to check New Camp, see how things were going in town and say ‘hi’ to the Stolls, and Katie. And, Thalia would come to visit that evening, and they would undoubtedly end up fighting one or two rounds, to what he looked forward to. There were too few who could challenge him those days, fewer than the fingers of a hand. 

And then the strange pull forced him to stop , a searing pain that ripped him apart, as if someone had injected water from the Phlegethon straight on his entrails and then pulled off the charred pieces to opposite sides.

… He didn't even finish his Doritos.

A hiss escaped from his chest, not exactly snake-like but more like the deranged geese New Camp had adopted last winter —the same one that bit Cabin Eleven Michael’s ankles for trespassing ‘its’ territory, threatened Apollo when the guy ‘came to check the protections’ and had half of the demi-good population (and one god) believing it was an incarnate spirit from Pit, expelled by the god itself because its gooseness .

So, nop, it wasn’t exactly the best sound, or at least not the one he wanted to be known whenever the fuck he was now. 

Luckily, he was alone.

Leaves rustled at his left.

Ha, ha. Yes, alone .

Percy missed Riptide as on any other occasion he had been left by himself without a functioning weapon, which wasn’t normal but, if they would have been given him nickels for each time it happened, then he would have a number higher than one. Which was already too much. 

Fortunately, he had a wide range of skills at his disposal. Starting with W and ending with -ater.

A dryad emerged from the trees, an amphora on her head. Her leathery green widened when she saw him, and a terrible expression of fear and shock crossed her face. 

Percy shut his mouth immediately, trying to conceal the very sharp, very lethal teeth, and focused on looking as inoffensive as he could. Which, of course, didn’t work. She cried something in what could have been Ancient Greek, Chinese or Alien and sprinted back to whatever place she came from, the amphora falling in the ground and breaking into fragments.  

Broken as Percy’s hope of getting any information from her.

So, am I particularly scaring? He wondered, glancing at his reflection again. He touched the scar on his right eye, the result of a fourth battle against a group of hydras while protecting the newest group of campers, and a tiny bit injured by the dragon that had popped out of nowhere only a half-hour ago. What a day . 

Uh. Even the Pit Scorpion’s sting had left its mark on his skin, so he moved the age of his body to almost thirteen . 

With a small shrug, Percy approached what he thought was an amphora but ended up being a hydria , one of those water jars with three handles.  Annabelle had shared bits and bits from her ceramic classes, so technically he could make a vague guess about the era he currently was beyond ‘before electricity was a thing ’ and ‘after Hellas was a thing ’, looking at the drawings. With a little luck, toilet paper would have already been invented. 

But, he could work without it. The only thing he wanted was not to have been sent so far away that he had to fight another war .

Yeah. No thank you.

While separating the fragments with the intention of picking up the largest one, Percy accidentally touched a sharp edge. Making a grimace due to the sudden sting, he shook his fingers, careless of where the drops of blood fell. The only thing that mattered to him was that it was still red. It was such a little nuisance that he didn’t even want to bother himself with healing it.

But then he recalled that the hygienic conditions of those old times weren’t as great as people liked to think, and being a powerful demigod didn’t spare him from minuscule bacteria, as that time with the flu had taught him.

He crouched down and sank his finger on the water.

Magic, he snorted, and widened his eyes as the sound thundered on his chest. Frowning, he rubbed his chest, wondering what the fuck the gods had done to him this time. As if turning him twelve again wasn’t enough, now they were pushing towards the territory that lurked straight into his dad’s epithet of ‘Father of Monsters’. 

Shark teeth were totally cool, though. 

Percy checked his finger and confirmed that yes, he wouldn’t die from whatever sickness Apollo cooked up that century. 

The ground suddenly trembled under his feet, and he stumbled, catching himself from falling flat into the water.

A big shadow spread under the surface of the river, and then It began to rise and rise and—

The earth stopped trembling, and everything went quiet. 

Percy swallowed, the sound echoing in the place. His body screamed at him to run away, to turn around and leave before whoever the giant was attacked him, because there was no way that he, weaponless and with the water under the other’s control, could win. Could dream to.

Percy had survived, had gone against to Tartarus  —and the fucking embodiment of the deepest hell could learn things from It. 

His heart drummed, beating on his chest as if it would jump out at any moment, but Percy clenched his fists in his clothes and raised his gaze. Slowly, bit by bit, the behemoth revealed itself as a mass of darkness. Literally . But, then a pair of sparks, small lights, blinked into existence where he was looking at. 

They pulsed, glistened. 

Lured.

Percy’s eyes fixated on them, a small sound coming out of his mouth, without prompting. It shook him; the inhuman noise. But it had nothing against the rumble that reached his ears, that he felt on his own body, and against all odds, it caused his shoulders to relax, his heart to slow down. 

( Without him knowing, his eyes changed; the sea green spread across his entire pupil, leaving only a slit. ) 

He tried to resist, gods knew he did. But the air rippled, and something soft and wet and warm coiled around him, enveloping him in a strange embrace that felt as home. His legs felt weak, sleep dragging him down, down, down . He tried to resist, and managed to make half a step back before the lights sang , and his body betrayed him, his will cut like seaweed. 

Eyes closed, Percy thought that, of all the possibilities, this wasn't such a terrible way to die.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It hissed and whispered, demanding, threatening, full of longing . Still trying to barter, to beg, to request. Always persistent, that one. 

Centuries of pain, of bottomless emptiness, had reduced him to This . One of the most mighty beings, of the first creatures, of the primal forces. Pushed aside, to a remote corner, as if it were enough to make it disappear. Out of sight, out of mind . 

But she could hear It; she was always listening to them. 

And she knew, better than anyone, that he wouldn’t give up. That he would pull and push and drag the whole world down the deeps with It if nothing changed. 

So she stretched far and far and far— and far and far — and far—

And then She Saw Him.

The perfect Thread —jaded and curled and tinted with golden and sparkled with red but still so blue. So Good . 

And she knew what awaited him; she knew that none of the options would fill his heart. Because he was so Much More.

They deserved More.

And then She Gifted .

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

It was with great shame that Poseidon admitted that at first, with his attention divided in several places—the affairs of the palace, the mortals' prayers at a festival in his honor begging for an early stop of the Stormy Season, the murmurs of movement in the territory of Oceanus, the quietness of his Queen, he almost missed it.

A simple whisper in the water, a drop of red thousands of miles from his main body, from his palace. 

So minuscule ; the comparisons could be endless, and the meaning the same —yes, it was so easily overlooked that in any other moment he would wonder if it wasn’t part of the design. If it wasn’t done on purpose, to let him lose the last thread of hope that kept the monster chained, restricted by the loose promise of A Day . 

In any other moment —but not this one. This one was seized by the sweetest and most terrific feeling, the one that made the Deepths unfurl from the Abyss and threaten with an eruption of cataclysmic proportions if he didn’t move now.

And so he went, with a bare blink of his thoughts, finding himself on the coasts of Corinth, not long ago given to him  —and the city to his nephew, Apollo. But it was not the sea but the main river that called him, and thus he ignored the sudden warmth of sunlight streaming on his waters as he appeared in front of the source of—

Oh.

Oh .

A boy; just a hint of baby fat on his cheeks, round-eyed like baby seals and coloured as the waters of his domain. Strange clothing covered him, and— his skin— his skin was marred. 

Scars.  

On his tiny, precious child.

WHO DARED?

For an instant, It surged. It demanded him to siege , to sunder the bare bones of the culprits behind those marks, to drag them to the deepest depths where no light reached and no life breathed, so the world would never dare to touch his child.

His child.

His perfect, tiny child.

Alive and breathing and marred —

The Sun smoldered him, before clouds gathered in the Sky, blocking its rays yet hovering above him. Underground, darkness swept into his own, mingling and pulling. Trees ruffled in the wind, whispering lullabies of feathers and flowers and family .

The earth stopped trembling as He took control once again, hyper-focused on his child, his precious child — mine, mine, mine, m i n e — still mortal, so fragile . His seal-like eyes, no, round yes, but like those of a shark —something trembled within, fascinated and proud and possessive— looked down, at the riverbank. Afraid. 

Afraid.

Being thrown again on his father’s stomach would have hurt less than the sudden realization that HE WAS SCARING HIM .

HE WOULDN’T NEVER —NEVER— HE ONLY WANTED TO PROTECT HIM, TO LOVE HIM F O R E V E R—

His child raised his chin. So brave, his child, so filled with courage and life and so wonderful. 

Then the sound came —one he would hear from anywhere in the world, on his domain or his brother’s, it didn’t matter because it was for him. A call; the first call of a pup for his parents. No, for his father.

My child , he rumbled back, my baby, my precious, my little one .

Once he had his pup in his embrace, sheltered within smooth currents, sleeping as a babe in his father's arms as he should, Poseidon knew —It knew— that nothing would separate them anymore. 

N 

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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

It stirred under the surface, and those sailing in its waters knew something would happen.

They fell to their knees, forehead to the ground, and prayed . Oh, how they prayed and begged and promised —

Yet for the first time in centuries —maybe even millenium— nothing happened to them, not on purpose, at least. 

His attention wasn’t on insolent humans in need of punishment, the rare dispute with another god or goddess, or even the rarer lover on land that maintained his attention beyond the act. . No . His attention was anchored below the surface, on something much more important, hungrily dear to him than that.

His son.

Silky threads from water currents covered his sleepy form, holding his lithe form so no harm could reach him. Not in his father's domain, within his father’s arms. It was neither a promise nor an oath. Styx or even Khaos would fall short to the lengths he was willing to go for the safety of his only living child.

It purred, long and sweet ( and the earth trembled, and the water churned and the mortals kept praying— ) and rocked the cradle of waters, smiling at his five-toes (Poseidon counted each one of them, each time more and more besotted) and dreamy murmurs from a pouty mouth. 

So small, so precious, his son. 

So his .

If It glanced back, at the abyss of looming heart-ripping memories, It could recall last time he felt such an equal amount of Awe and Love and Protection. Triton, It would have called him, and the moment that Poseidon saw him, fish-tailed and green scales and black hair, his feelings exploded in the form of a new race of creatures in the same shape as his son. 

Yet, it was It who faded them away into seafoam the instant the fantasy of being a father crumbled under the Crooked One’s curse. Triton , he would have been called. His precious child. If he only had opened his eyes, if only his divinity had settled with the carefully picked domain his father had sliced from his. If only…

But this time was different. 

This little son of his was different —so small, so human -shaped. So defenseless . Even Triton had been born with claws and spikes; born for the deep waters of Poseidon’s castle. But this one, this one looked like it was made for the Calm Waters. Or perhaps, for the Calm of Waters. (Y et, there was something on it, on his courage, that called It. )

Most importantly, this precious child of his lived. Breathed, his heart beat —so human -like. It still didn’t understand the reason behind the miracle. And cared little for this right now. The only thing that mattered was that it was undoubtedly his .

MINE MINE MINE —

M 

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︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The murmur of running water woke him up.

Percy blinked his eyes open, squinting them when the only thing he was able to see was darkness. Which, weird . Although, to be honest, the major surprise was to be alive . 

… Was he alive? 

After checking up his pulse, Percy reached two conclusions —one, he had a pulse and thus could tentatively say his heart was still beating, which in turn tended to mean that he was very much alive; on the other hand, he had scales on his arms now and— damn , were those claws? 

Alright. He lied, there was a third thing. He was not ‘floating’ in darkness, but in water . 

So, he had been kidnapped… like less than ten minutes after the first kidnapping. 

This has to be a record , he mused, even for me .  

Swirling his body around, almost lazily, he reached a fourth conclusion: someone had fucked up his mind, because there was no way he would be so calm after waking up in a place like this, even if it was water, and even less in the humor to swim around and look for shiny things like he felt pulled to.

What the fuck? He wondered, running his tongue over his still sharp teeth, and tried to push himself from that state of Totally Chilling Here, Thank You . 

Yeah. That was so many levels of Gross Mind Fuckery that he didn’t welcome. 

Percy hated it —or wanted to, as if the only thing that he could really feel was a growing annoyance for not having shiny things, which wasn’t exactly what he had even expected from himself. Like. Yes, he liked jewellery more than Anabeth, and Grover, but was far from the end of the scale that was Nico —poor guy, he had it bad, not for himself, but when it was about Will & Gold — and he wasn’t even mentioning Thalia because that girl was on her own scale with metal-like things, together with the Goddess of Beauty’s kids. 

So it was strange that he had been the one ‘bestowed’ by the general fuckery that was all this the instincts of a… what? A barracuda ? 

Well, he already had the pointy-sharp teeth.

Percy shook his head, trying to ground himself in Important Matters like how to leave. Right now .

Something glinted in the corner of his eyes, and his body turned abruptly in that direction. Round and white and shiny —Percy wanted it. 

No. Fuck off , grunting, he forced himself to turn around, looking again at the darkness. He felt more than heard the whisper of water against scales, before light started pouring on, revealing that the sea-like floor was covered with clams and shells. And pearls .

Holy shit, so many pearls! Small, big; shiny and muted and white and yellow and—

Blue .

A blue pearl, the same shade as his mother’s famous cookies. Round and perfectly blue. 

So, so blue .

Percy lunged forward before he knew, and crawled the tiny pearl in his scaly, clawed hands, sitting on a clam bigger than his own bed. His chest rumbled, but he ignored that —he could worry later when he was able to feel worried. His eyes were laser-focused on the small piece of treasure, gently gliding it between his fingers. How pretty . And it was all his .

His, his, his.  

And then someone cooed, a long, sweet yet earth-shaking sound that made Percy freeze —and his mind decided it was the perfect moment to share with him the recording of everything he had been doing those last moments: a rendition of Gollum at his finest. 

Worst of all, he had put on a show for someone .

He still didn’t let go of the pearl as he turned around, slowly, so slowly, towards the direction of the sound. 

Lol and behold , he thought, almost grateful that the fumes of whatever was in the water still were affecting him. My kidnapper —

What.

The. 

Fuck.

Percy squinted his eyes and tilted his head, but the image still persisted. 

An image of his FATHER’s face , with shark’s eyes and razor white teeth and iridescent skin that made it harder than he expected to look at him. Poseidon was smiling at him, eyes fixed on him with enough pressure to put a microbiologist to shame; Percy felt naked, like at skinless, muscleless naked level, and even so, the worst of all, was that he didn’t feel the urgency to dive the fuck off away.

Fucked fumes, man , he mused, and wondered if he should seek shelter inside a shell or something before he ended dead, and not exactly from embarrassment. 

A tendril sliced through the water and coiled around something Percy wasn’t able to see. Not at first. But then, the tendril moved towards him, and before he could swim away, it stopped in front of him and unfurled in a gentle motion, revealing its treasure —a single, round blue pearl even bigger than the one on his hand.

It was darker than his . 

But it was blue, and pretty, and Percy wanted it.

So, why don’t take it?

Holding his first pearl with his left hand, and then grabbing the second one with the free one, Percy had only a second to admire both before the water rippled . His eyes grew tired again, and his legs curled up, knees to chest. Tendrils enveloped him —gentle, so gentle— and warmth lulled him back to rest. 

He didn’t want to sleep.

Didn’t want to—

Didn’t—

.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

His child liked blue pearls. 

Blue like water, like the sea, and as Poseidon’s eyes and his child’s eyes and—

Blue . 

Curling his divinity around his precious son, he opened his jaws in what humans may call a smile —but he was testing the water, memorizing the essence of his son. It was changing —a process as slow as the transformation of a grain of sand into a pearl but infinitely more precious— mortality churning away, so he was careful to imprint the differences into his own core. 

Even if his little one ended up somewhere else, far from the waters under his dominion—which was an unlikely thought, since there was no reason in the world why Poseidon would leave his son out of his sight for the next millennia—he would find him. Immediately . 

And, most importantly, perhaps, it felt good to monitor the transformation, slower as it was. Because it was happening. In front of his eyes. A miracle made mortal flesh and red blood yet a divine gift of priceless value; his own, own alive, breathing son. Sleeping on the waters of his chiton turned Sanctuary , becoming a godling heartbeat by heartbeat.

Death would not take his child away.

His older brother would never have his son. 

Poseidon felt bad for Haides, yes. He was the same as Poseidon had been himself: fruitless, childless, a mighty empty kingdom. Worse still, because there was no Queen of the Underground, while Amphitrite’s throne sat next to him, motherless yet still his beloved wife.

It was terrible, a lonely existence that led his younger brother to carve solstices and equinox celebrations into law. Terrible, yes. And even so, Poseidon would tear his brother’s hands and kill every psychopomp if he had to before allowing anyone to touch his son’s soul.

His child would live an eternal, happy life —his father would take care of it himself. 

Looking at the peaceful expression on his precious little one’s face, Poseidon cooed at him. So beautiful, his son. Pearl-smile, sea-eyed. And scales and claws growing already yet—

Calm waters . 

Yet, a child of Sea—

It hummed, the water cocoon gently rocking his child.

That could work. And the first temple should be on Corinth’s coasts, his newest territory, where the river had been graced by his son for the first time. A temple should be built in Kionia, too, next to his and Amphitrite’s—

Oh, yes. He should let her know of his — their son. She would wear motherhood as well as the queen's crown, and his little one surely would grow to love her as his own mother. 

He paused.

Investigations about the biological mother must be done, and most importantly, the possible culprits behind his injuries. They could be the result of a less peaceful birth, he supposed, if only his child had been entirely godly. So Poseidon believed it was done by others. Who? 

WHO WOULD DARE?

He still didn’t know. But once the answers were on his hands, HE WOULD RIP THEM TO PIECES, TURN THEIR REMAINS IN ASHES AND FED THEM TO THE PIT—

Brother , a sudden tingle on his senses stopped his thoughts. His younger brother’s voice slipped in his mind, bringing the feathery sensation of a featherly-wing ruffling against his scales. Come to Olympus, brother. We must talk.

It stopped.

And without hesitation, cut the thread of connection with an ungodly amount of salt water.

Poseidon blinked, and—

Let it be. 

So many matters to take care of, and not enough time to pay attention to his brother. King and all. Zeus would understand, should. They had not seen him for one and a half centuries after Athena was born, and even more for the twins . Hermes? The child had run away and wandered near Poseidon’s domain, two hundred years old. Dionysus? Ha . 

Hera was even worse than him; Poseidon hadn’t met his nephews, Ares and Hephesteus, after both crossed three centuries old in the Presentation . 

Why should he go when they obviously only wanted to meet his precious son? 

He, his father, hadn’t known him for more than three suns —such a laughable amount of time for immortals. And, they had seen him on the riverbank, nosy as they are. His child wasn’t even a god yet! What if Poseidon blinked and then lost sight of his newest development? Which of his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews would give him back those precious moments?

His son had looked at him, his own father, twice . One, two times. Less than the fingers of a hand!

And his annoying brother wanted to intrude now?

Poseidon hissed , and pushing aside the still persistent presence of his brother with a flick of tail, decided to ignore him. 

He then focused again on his tiny child. Sleeping so peacefully, clutching his pearls against his chest with claws still to grow. Cooing, he made sure to keep him in a comfortable position, and then rumbled warmly at him, so he could only dream of beautiful things. 

Mine, mine, mine, mine —

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

Currents glided against her scales, lovingly—

Mine, mine, it rumbled, playing with her locks and curling around her neck and wrist.

—possessively—

Amphitrite raised an eyebrow, listening to the sound of tides crashing the shore and the trembling depths, knowing at that moment that her husband wasn’t in one of those moments but in one of his most… dangerous moods. 

She tapped the armchair of her throne, a thoughtful look on her face. Her husband’s temperament, well, that she knew well. Yes. She did know him well, even before the marriage, and despite her initial doubts, the precious crab-crown on her head was something she chose. For herself.  

She didn’t come into the marriage fishy-brained or ignorant as some may believe —her mother had explained the curse the moment Oceanus received the petition of support from Olympus. And no, she wasn’t the ‘sacrifice’ among her (numerous) sisters. Her Lord Husband chose her because she wanted it. 

She chose him —even knowing what that meant. The sister of three thousand, who played on the waters of her mother and father, never alone, whose nephews and nieces couldn’t be counted with the threads of her chiton, had chosen a life where there were low to non-existent chances to hear the laugh of children —their children— on the corridors of the majestic castle.

She chose him, chose to be his.

And thus, she knew that when the sea began to rise, threatening to swallow Hellas itself, her Lord Husband’s reaction was beyond what a possible disagreement or disrespect normally justified. Which led her mind to conjure the possible offenses that warranted the end of the world—

Only terrible scenarios occurred to her, yet before she could try to reach her husband to find out what preparations for war Atlantis should start, something happened. The rage disappeared —no, flattened, as if her husband had suddenly found something to focus on. Something deserving of the kind of attention that many, even immortals, couldn’t dare to hold.

To say that Amphitrite felt confused and curious was an underestimation. Her tail hit the edge of her throne, one, twice, while her hair buzzed with repressed curiosity as her seal-like eyes wandered around, searching for the answer. On land, the Olympians had left, only the Sun’s remaining for a moment beyond expected—

Poseidon’s presence flashed straight in the deep part of the castle, into the nest carved under the seabed.

He— 

Amphitrite frowned, tilting her head. Something felt strange. 

She opened her mouth, tasting the water, and her eyes grew bigger as she noticed her Lord Husband wasn’t alone. Leaving her throne, she slid across the long corridors, down, down, down—

Down.

Bioluminescent ‘flowers’ bloomed on the walls, swaying in the gentle current, and a blue-stone door rose at the end, the entrance shielded by Atlantean magic carved on minuscule patterns. As she stopped in front of it, her crown shone, power serving as key. The stone slid to one side, a bottomless darkness spreading—

She slid inside, the door closing behind her, and followed the pull of the water to her king. 

There.

She felt him before she could see him. He was… content. The satisfied stillness that recalled her of one of the (now) sleeping creatures from the Abyss after a good lunch. Something similar, at least, because the example wasn’t quite right. 

Poseidon’s divinity stirred as she slowly approached, eyes as lures opening among the colossal mass of darkness. 

Anybody but me would have already turned around and swam away, she thought, slightly exasperated and fond. “Husband?” she probed. 

A gentle rumble rippled through the current, spreading across the space; it enveloped her with a tender grip, tugging closer and closer, until her husband’s divinity completely embraced her. There, she was able to feel it more clearly.

A heartbeat. 

Breathing.

For a single instant of foolishness, Amphitrite feared the worst —that Eros had dared to point his cursed bow to her husband, sending him into the obsession that had consumed Helios to a fading point, that she would watch her husband crumple into pieces that even her waters wouldn’t have been able to hold—

And then Poseidon revealed his well-guarded treasure, and all those thoughts disappeared.

He —because it was a boy, a little boy, if she was right— slept, eyelashes fluttering on the tender hold of the sea, face open and relaxed and carved from her husband’s preferred mortal features. He was clutching a pair of blue pearls against his chest, body curled on a shell formed by his father’s love, condensed and shaped into a resting place.

Oh. 

Oh.

Amphitrite approached him little by little, enchanted. “He’s so small, my husband,” she murmured, softly, “so lovely.”

Poseidon said little with words but the water caressed her cheeks, warm and tender, as the tendrils brushed his —their son’s head. The gesture was so careful, so gentle that it brought tears to her eyes. She had always suspected that he would have been an excellent father; he grieved too much to not be graced for such a gift. 

Blinking, she finally stopped in front of their child, changing her size so it was smaller and more appropriate to touch their miracle babe. Her hand hovered on the water, however, when she noticed something she had overlooked due to the tide of amazement, her claws trembled, as her teeth sharpened into saws. 

Scars —their child had scars.

Beyond that, there was a trident marring his arm. 

“Husband,” her mouth trembled, trying to keep her anger under control even when the fire on her belly threatened to erupt. “What is this?”

Her Lord Husband’s answer was a long, low hiss. Like an Abysmal Serpent that had been injured and enraged yet was bravely trying not to lose control of himself. The ripples spread around the sides, not touching her or their child, yet the bottom of the vault shook, and even if she couldn’t see it, she was sure there would be cracks on the harsh volcanic seafloor. 

She understood then, why the mortals had prayed to her, drowned by the fear of the world ending, swallowed by the sea. A part of her believed they deserved more than the Stormy Season, if they had dared to brand their child like this. Like— like a common slave. Her ichor bubbled. 

Poseidon rumbled —the deepest abyss, the endless maw of beasts—

Their child stirred and everything stopped.

Slowly, so slowly, their child frowned —and wasn’t so cute? He looked like his father when he was pouting, though her husband never admitted doing such a thing… 

Sea-like eyes opened, skin flushing with a pearly shine as his hands strengthened their grip on the round blue pearls in an unconscious gesture of possessiveness, and he blinked, sleepiness still clutching at his eyelashes, so soft and vulnerable like a newborn seal. 

“Hello,” she greeted, her voice filled with tenderness. Her lord husband was still wordless so it was on her to speak to their child.

“Hello?” Their child blinked, stifling a yawn against one of his hands while still holding the pearls. He sat, still using legs instead of a tail, and glanced around. “.... Dad?” 

The word was strange, not one she had heard before, but Amphitrite wasn’t the only one who felt what it was. 

Poseidon answered their child's call with a deep coo, suddenly reappearing on a more solid and less abysmal shape only a step behind her, his hair encircling the space around both of them like a barrier. 

“My child,” he finally said. 

Amphitrite leaned against her husband, smiling softly at their babe, keeping her teeth blunt. “Have you named him, my king?” she asked.

Before Poseidon could answer, their child spoke, “I’ve a name. Persí. Perseus.”

Perseus.

Destruction.

What a curious name for such a sweet-looking child.

“Persí,” whispered the sea, a joyful and loving ripple that would be carved into the deepest trench, forever kept in their embrace.

Their child mumbled his agreement, eyes already closing. The water tucked him gently, again in the shell. Lovingly guarded. Yet he seemed to be fighting against his tiredness, despite his father’s embrace and protection. 

Well, a mother’s touch was needed.

She opened her mouth and sang —golden fishes playing on coral gardens, gentle waves lapping on the shore, seals dancing along the waters, kelps swaying on the currents. It was an old song. Her mother had sung it to her and her sisters. She had thought she would never be able to pass it to her own children.

A tear slipped down her cheek, melting on her husband’s warm care.

Only when his breathing became constant did she stop, and for a moment, they both stayed quiet, contemplating their little miracle. 

Suddenly, she felt her husband’s irritation rise. 

My brother, he explained, exasperated, it seems they are expecting us on Olympus.

It was at that moment that Amphitrite remembered that party, and she sighed. My lord husband, don’t you remember what you said to the king of gods and his queen? 

The rumble told her he did. And wasn’t happy.

xOxOxOxOx

Zeus stared down at the sea, eyes knitted in a frown.

Hera felt the moment his divinity stirred, fuzzing on the edges, anxiously crawling on the room. 

“He kicked me out,” his voice, flat at the beginning, thundered on his throat at the end. Lighting crackled in the pair of thick horns curled on his head, and flashed across the clouds of his chiton, already stormy-gray. The impressive display of his temperament didn’t change the fact that for any of his brothers and sisters who knew him, he was clearly pouting.

Cute.

Hera hummed, her cow-like eyes fixated on her loom even as her own presence stretched languidly around the space. “It’s his first child, husband,” she said. The first one to live, to breathe. To bleed and not turn into foam. 

She didn’t see much of the child —thin-limbed and dark-haired and dressed in foreign clothing— with her brother embracing the child as treasure. Yet the rage that had brought their family to him told her enough to suspect that the circumstances weren’t as happy as they would expect. Poseidon’s mercurial temperament was known, that’s true. But he wouldn’t have dared to let his emotions rampage across the land like that without a reason. 

Zeus didn’t notice it, she believed, but Apollo had looked at the child with quiet horror.

Hera focused on her work, changing the blue for a deep purple to match the child’s station. Thin threads of golden slithered through the new pattern. She preferred bronze herself but her husband would whine if there wasn't even a little bit of it on the pattern, and gold would go well with Hestia's warm red. Hephaestus' gilded bronze and Ares’ copper—

Polished silver, and hues of green and yellow—

Oh, it had been many years since she wove a tunic fit for a godly child. Centuries, even. 

Good things were worth waiting for.

Zeus’ sudden words interrupted her musings. “Do you recall what he said after our youngest, my wife?” 

 Hera gave her husband a look, but he pressed on, more and more offended. “He said: once I’ve my child, I’ll present them to you all. I won’t be like you and hoard them away, you’ll see them on their first springs and winters,” he dragged his words on purpose, scowling. “Right, Poseidon?”

The lack of salty-breeze said everything about what his brother thought about his earlier words. Hera’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t a surprise. Even an official summon from the king of gods would have difficulty reaching him. But. Despite his dramatism, Zeus was right. 

“Perhaps this may be a surprise for you, husband,” she said, calmly. “But our brother isn’t known to be restricted. Not even by his own words.” She hoped her nephew wouldn’t learn from him, at least. 

Zeus turned towards her again. “... You’re angry too.”

Hera raised her chin, looking at him.  Stars and galaxies and endless blackness swirled in her eyes; she knew it by the feeling prickling on them. Her husband swallowed, and the scent of grass after rain slipped in. 

“I’m not angry, husband of mine, but merely disappointed as the Queen of Olympus and Poseidon’s sister for not being able to meet the only Prince of Atlantis. My, our only nephew until date.”

After the last words, Zeus finally nodded. “Understood.” 

Seeing that he wouldn’t dare to continue bothering her, she turned to the garment. She would finish it, even if she wouldn’t see her nephew’s reaction until the next century. 

Suddenly, Zeus perked up. “I should summon them—”

He recalled he’s the king of gods. Wonderful. But.

… He forgot who his brother was.