Chapter Text
In enough time, they might become a myth of their own.
Her, dressed in a flowing white dress, tears like diamonds sparkling in her eyes. Him, standing stoic, no hint of love on his face. It’s still there, she knows that. And that’s enough. It has to be, because she’s definitely not getting anything more from him.
She falls into his arms, something short of a swoon, and giggles. The sound is bright as a bell, a single ray of the sunlight that dances over their heads and across their shoulders.
The man allows the corner of his lip to tilt upwards. Other than that, he watches calmly as the woman untangles herself from his loose but steady grasp. She is a knot made of only one rope, smoothing herself out to spring fully to her feet once more.
“I missed you!” She says, grin never faltering for a second.
“I have a busy job,” he deflects, tone just short of defensive. It is enough that she will not pry, however. He may do as he wishes when they are apart.
Even when they are together, he tends to not act purely in both of their interests.
“Of course, of course,” she placates, ignoring her now-habitual urge to sigh. When alone, she makes whatever noise she pleases, but not around him. Or anyone else, for that matter.
It reminds her of another moment, another question short of a plea, as she asks, “how long can you stay for?”
He reacts the same as ever, and there’s some kind of comfort in that predictability. There must be something kind in those laugher-filled eyes.
His laugh is vast as the ocean, and she is an island. His laughter surrounds her, protecting her more than much else could, but little pangs of hurt still make their way past the tides occasionally.
Is she his Aiaia, his Ogygia? His prison, his solitude, forever a reminder of the freedom he has lost?
No. He has given up nothing. She is not his prison, but he is her heartbreak.
“Marry me,” she says, and thinks no longer.
There is a painting hanging in the hall. A beautiful painting. A painting so lovely and realistic that surely it must have been touched, if not fully drawn by the hand of a god.
It would not be half a surprise if the great Apollo himself stepped forward to claim his credit for being the creator.
As it is, no one steps forwards.
Maybe for the best, maybe not. No one particularly wants to know what kind of emotional turmoil the artist must have been in to paint the bride’s face half so anguished.
The bride’s name is Percy Jackson, and she is no bride. Maybe once upon a time, but even then, it never fully happened.
Her would-be spouse is not someone fit for marriage, try as Hera might to fit him into that role.
Hermes takes delight in flitting from place to place with the aid of his white-feathered sandals. Percy prefers to stand in the surf of her island, staring out at the ocean for hours.
Well, it’s not her island, but it may as well be for how she'd definitely be Circe’s successor if gods found that sort of thing to be necessary.
He is motion, she is stagnancy. It is not by choice on either part, though Percy wonders if her lover sometimes has it better. Yes, he cannot rest, but she is trapped on this island, probably forever if she does not find some way to get off.
Although… her divinity keeps her trapped, too. More accurately, she is tied down by the dilution of it. Her semi-divine blood chains her to this world that is determined to beat her down into less than a splash of miserable tears.
Perhaps that drop of divinity can be the key instead of the cage.
Perhaps she may leave to be with her lover more often.
Perhaps the painting will tell the truth.
Hermes is the god of lies. Percy may be ready to take his place.
Hermes does not object to the idea of a relationship. In fact, his eyes sparkle enough to match their description as sapphires and his face is bright enough to resemble Apollo in all his glory.
He is, if nothing else, an entertaining partner. Percy knows this. He brings her things, stories of heroes and places far away that she’s not supposed to know about (and sometimes she doesn’t know about them until he tells her of them). Hermes thrives on gossip, and Percy is his eager listener.
She wonders sometimes if he tells stories of her. But that would be ridiculous because no one is supposed to know about them. Hermes can keep a secret when he wants to. He’s quite good at it, really.
Percy only knows this for certain because some secrets that he keeps, she already knows.
“Hm, and what was your involvement with him?” She asks as he tells her about Typhon.
“Why I ran, as anyone would!” He laughs.
She does not say a thing. Strength in weakness is nothing new. She will let him have this.
He takes much more, perhaps because of that choice.
As much as Hermes partakes in gossip, Percy partakes in silence. It is not that she doesn’t talk, she was in quite the habit of quipping back at her opponents, it is more that she does not know what to say to Hermes. She likes him, that is a certainty, but there is not much to know of beyond that.
It is not love, she thinks, she hopes, she prays.
To what god? Her father? Circe? Her lover himself? Percy cannot decide, but she does so anyway.
Maybe those unspecific prayers are the reason that the sun shines brighter on her hair, the flowers bloom sooner from her touch, courage fills her heart enough to face down a wild boar without Circe nearby. Maybe those prayers are the reason that a bit more affection shows on Hermes’ face as they dance together in the slowly dying sunlight.
But it is not enough for Hermes to meet her at the alter.
Honestly? The poets got it wrong. (Percy knows she has altered poems, by now. The lover of a god, and one that he has mostly committed to? Once that romance is discovered, there is no doubt that it will be immortalized in some way.)
Well, the artists got it wrong too.
Poets ARE artists, idiot! Percy is sure that a slight grimace crosses her face at the thought. On the other hand, I can’t really enjoy their artwork without being able to read it, so what does that matter?
She pauses, thinking back on Grover’s frequent complaints during their English class’ poetry unit back in 6th grade. Actually, she muses, I don’t think anyone is able to decipher poetry. Wait a minute… this is NOT what I’m supposed to be thinking about!
It takes her another moment, but Percy finally snaps herself out of the thought spiral and takes to perusing the painting before her once more.
The first thing she notices is the tears streaming down the would-be bride’s face. Percy’s face.
“Damn,” she whistles lowly. “That’s some anguish.”
“You still haven’t explained what it means!” Grover bleats. “Seriously Perce, why does it look exactly like you?”
“She,” Annabeth corrects automatically. “But yes. Please enlighten us Percy.”
Percy grumbles something under her breath that even she can’t decipher, but swipes a hand down her face and begrudgingly starts to speak. “So did I ever tell you about how I got stuck in the past that one time?”
“You what.” Annabeth deadpans. Grover is too stunned to speak.
“Hm. Guess I haven’t. First off: I never married him. Never even got close.”
“Clearly,” Grover finally mutters, gesturing to the look of anguish that the painting-Percy wears.
“No, seriously. I never even got a dress. As usual, Hermes likes to exaggerate.”
“What the FUCK do you mean ‘Hermes’???” Annabeth snaps.
Percy’s expression is the perfect picture of guilt. “Oh. Um. Oops?”
“I mean, the title of the painting is right here. It’s literally called the ‘Wedding of Hermes.’” Grover chimes in. Percy smiles a bit as he tries to help her out.
“You think I can read that?”
Grover does a stellar job at imitating Percy’s extremely guilty expression. “Oh. Oops.”
Aw, even right down to the dialogue!
“Percy. Explain.” Annabeth speaks in concise terms, which Percy is not-so-secretly thankful for, because her attention span is actually terrible. She doesn’t do secrets, unlike some people.
“So it’s really funny actually, do you remember those… twenty days” she has to grit this out and stop herself from screaming, “that I was missing? Right after the sea of monsters quest?”
“Yeah, I didn’t know that you’d do it again,” Annabeth huffs, crossing her arms.
“Not my fault! Either time!” Percy squawks. Grover is being no help, which kinda sucks because he’s supposed to be her best friend. “So speaking of time, those twenty days? Those were TWENTY YEARS for me!”
“What.” Annabeth deadpans her again, but she does not obviously distrust Percy.
That’s just how Annabeth reacts to things. She draws all emotion out of her words to make it seem as though she cares far less than she does. Hesitation will get any demigod, sooner or later. Annabeth is still alive, and there are numerous reasons why.
“During the fight with Luke, Kro- he,” Percy hastily corrects at Annabeth’s warning look, “was there too. I don’t know how, but he definitely was. And during the battle there was this flash…”
“Of golden light?” Grover chimes in, a slight grimace on his face. “Yeah, I saw that.”
“Yep. And when it all faded away, I was in the past, somehow.”
“Which is where you met Hermes.”
Percy made a sort of helpless shrugging motion. “Well… kinda. First, I landed on Circe’s island.”
Annabeth cannot even deign her with a response to that.
“And she may or may not have become my mentor and taught me a bit of magic.”
“You’re lying.” Annabeth declares, as deadpan as ever.
“She’s not,” Grover interjects, looking faintly sick.
“The link still didn’t break?” Percy asks, incredulous. But by the look Grover gives her, he can clearly tell that she is holding back tears of some kind. Well duh, he can sense your emotions even without the link.
Percy tells her thoughts to shut up, but it takes a lot of effort for them to actually do so. (They still don’t stop. Not like she thought they would.)
“Nevermind that,” Annabeth says, forcefully prompting Percy to snap out of her thoughts and continue the story. “How did that lead to this?” She gestures aggressively at the painting.
“Wait, wait, I’ll tell you!” Percy smiles at the memory. Grover’s expression is unreadable, but he almost looks… uneasy. Percy wonders why.
She shakes her head quickly, to forcefully clear it or something, and launches into the story.
Hermes found her for the first time curled up into herself as she gazed out at the sunset over the water. It was a beautiful sunset, offering a veil of soft orange light to cover the girl’s form.
For as cheerful as the color was, her entire manner was held in the exact opposite way.
He walked slowly but casually across the sand until he was standing a few feet from her body. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not Circe.”
“No, I’m not,” she whispered. Her voice was something raw; anger and misery mixed together with a spark of joy. The girl had some madness to her.
Hermes found his interest peaked.
When he remained silent, choosing to simply observe her, she lifted her head to face him. Teary sea green eyes pierced into his own bright blue. “Leave.”
He grinned. “I don’t think I will, nymph.”
Her lips quirked. She had a knowledge that he didn’t, and though he’d never admit it (especially to a mortal, of all things), he couldn’t stand it when someone knew something that he didn’t. “I am no nymph, my lord.”
“A dryad, then? Although I suppose that’s the same thing.”
“You may be right, but don’t let my sisters hear you say it.”
“I’m a god,” he leered, “I will say what I want.”
“Not on my island, you won’t.” Her demeanor turned frosty. If it were even possible. She was barely warm before, and that argument could only be made in comparison to how she was now.
He laughed cruelly. “You’re not Circe, this isn’t your domain.”
“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “But I’m something worse.”
“A goddess? Here?” His eyebrow raised incredulously.
“A witch. Or a sorceress,” she conceded. “That may be the kinder term.”
Hermes didn’t ask why she thought she was worse than Circe despite being the exact same thing the older woman was. He had a feeling that it had something to do with how he knew many things about Circe and less than a handful of things about this new player.
“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” he scoffed instead.
“How about we do our best to not find out, Lord Hermes.”
Hermes’ light grin was back. “So you do know who I am!”
“Obviously,” she rolled her eyes. “I know my island’s magic, and I know deities. You’re no nymph, but you’re no witch either.”
“This seems a little unfair. What’s your name? Aside from sorceress.”
The ghost of a smile drifted across her lips. “I suppose you can call me Percy.”
“Isn’t that name a bit…”
“Male?” She said dryly. “Like I don’t hear that question every time I introduce myself. If it helps, my full name is Perseus.”
“How scandalous,” he grinned. There was something hiding behind that smile, but Percy didn’t know what it was. And when paired with the slight flutter in her heart, she didn’t particularly want to find out.
“Wow.” Grover says.
“Thanks,” Percy dryly responds. “I poured out a bit of my soul to you, and that’s how you respond.”
“I mean… I kind of expected it to be a bit more eventful. You being you, and all that.”
“Thanks… I think?”
“Grover‘s right, Percy. With you, it’s always something dramatic. It’s interesting that he found you first.”
“He was always finding me,” Percy laughs lightly. “You know I was trapped on that island too?”
“Oh.” Grover says softly.
At the same time, Annabeth says her name in the exact same tone.
“It’s fine, I got used to it.” Percy blinks harshly, but neither one of her friends says a thing about the tears that are absolutely not trying to fill her eyes. “I kinda miss her honestly. But I’d rather be back here with you guys.”
Annabeth doesn’t say anything, but she steps forward to engulf Percy in a hug.
“But you know,” Percy muses after they finally separate, “I was always the one looking for him. Gods are extraordinarily flighty, even more so than I remembered. He was always the first one to leave. Circe didn’t exactly know that we were together so we had some time limits. Somehow, he still managed to leave long, long before that time ran out. Every. Single. Time.”
“He’s a… busy god?” Grover offers weakly. Annabeth gives him a deadpan look that she doesn’t even try to hide from Percy.
“There’s no way you just said something to try and defend him.”
“No!” Grover yelps, scrambling to fix his mistake. “I thought it might make Percy feel better!”
The original suggestion didn’t lift Percy’s spirits in the slightest, but her friend’s slight argument makes her burst out into laughter. And if the slight gleam in Grover’s eyes is any indication, that might have been exactly what he intended.
Try as others might to steal his spot, there are numerous reasons why Grover is Percy’s best friend.
Percy has another dream of sapphire and ivory.
They’ve been happening for a while now, slowly but surely filling her heart with more and more longing. She is dissatisfied with how her relationship stands now, and it’s almost a shame that it’s taken until now to realize it.
Then again, that cowardice and overall denial may have offered her a bit more time happy and in love. And in the case that he reacts poorly and this all goes terribly wrong, Percy will hold that stolen time to her heart, as closely as she can.
Stealing something from the god of thieves? Hermes might be proud, if he weren’t the unwitting victim. Outwitting a god of trickery is also a pretty impressive feat.
It must say something of them that they are in a flower field again. This time, however, emotions hang above a precipice, like Hera precariously dangling above the gaping maw of chaos for the mere sin of wishing herself a better life.
Zeus tricked her into marriage, what was so wrong with her seeking a revolution to free herself?
Nevermind that, Percy reminds herself, as she gazes up into the eyes of her own lover. You are not trapped as she once was. Well, she amends, her eyes quickly flicking over towards the general direction of the main beach, you’re not trapped in any way other than the obvious.
“What?” Hermes asks, but she knows he has heard her. It is sweet, maybe, to offer her this slight way out. He should know by now that she won’t take it.
“Marry me.” She says again, but far more resolutely this time.
“Percy…” his voice holds warning, and she understands why.
But at the same time…
“Hermes. Look me in the eyes, please, and trust me when I say this: I love you. I don’t think I can live my life without you by my side. And I know that you’re immortal, but I can only hope that you feel the same way. And I would ask you a million more times if I could, beg you, even, but at the same time, I can only bear to ask you one more time. To beg you. Please, please marry me.”
“I- Percy… of course I care for you, but… like you just said… I’m a god. You’re a mortal. I want to keep this thing I have with you, but I can’t marry you.”
Percy nods once, pretending that her face isn’t streaked with silent tears, more falling by the second. Hermes does her the barest courtesy of saying nothing, too.
“That’s… I’d rather have this with you than nothing. So, I guess… let’s just forget about this, please?”
Hermes does not say anything, but he never brings it up again. That’s enough a declaration of love on its own, Percy tells herself. After all, he is a god. What was she expecting?
And as time passes, nothing changes. Not really.
The days grow longer and shorter and longer again. All the while, “how long can you stay?” turns into “when must you leave?”
In the end, Hermes is the same as any other god.
Percy’s father left her and her mother, the two women that he was supposed to love the most in the world. Well. The two mortal women, and that’s just the difference, isn’t it?
As soon as another pretty girl walked past him, Zeus abandoned his own wife. Oh, Hera got her revenge, but it’s not like it stopped. Zeus is as godly as a god can be, and he can’t even commit to his own immortal wife properly. Like father, like son.
And now… Hermes. Percy can’t bear to think a bad word about him, but it’s not bad to tell the truth to herself.
Hermes loves her more than he loves anything else, she’s sure of it, but he just can’t commit to a marriage with a mortal. Hopefully because he loves Percy so much that he can’t bear to make their relationship that much more real.
The lies mix in with the truths when Hermes is telling stories, and Percy can do nothing but hope and pray to a pantheon of gods that have never yet done a good thing for her that he draws the line at lying to her.
Percy may dream of a marriage and a shared home with a frequently present spouse, but she fell in love with a god. And she’s done her best to change it, but gods don’t do commitments.
It may as well be a law. Or maybe not, because there isn’t a law that Hermes hasn’t broken.
So. It’s not a law, it’s not a rule, but it’s something.
Just like them.