Chapter Text
Percy followed the feeling of the river in his gut, stumbling his way through a too-quiet forest as carefully as he can.
It’s not a long walk, but with the hash sun shining up above and his already dry throat, it feels like it takes forever.
Even the trees, which Percy had assumed might have some respite from the sun, are too spaced out for some decent shadow to rest in, and he scowls up at the sky.
He didn’t think Apollo hated him, but with the way the sun was glaring down at him right now, he was having some second thoughts.
Really, at this point he shouldn’t be surprised. The Gods had been screwing him over since he was 12, why should they stop when he was 16 and had just fought a war for them?
(Although to be fair, he was brought here by a titan hissy fit, but the devil is in the details, and Percy wasn’t feeling exactly generous in his view of the Gods right now. Not after the war. Not after Michael, and Silena, and Beckendorf.)
Eventually though, he makes it. The forestry dips away somewhat, and he hears the gentle flow of a natural spring right before he sees it.
The river stretches out in a picturesque clearing, and Percy reckons it looks more like a painting then actual real life, which is a little suspicious, but whatever. He can feel the fresh water, and his throat is on fire so he can worry about monster threats later.
He makes his way to the bank on unsteady feet, dully realising that the soles of his sneakers had been worn- or burnt- through, and he can feel the grass under his heel.
It’s a good thing his Achilles Heel isn’t his actual heel, huh.
Scooping the water up with his hands, Percy briefly checked if the water is good to drink one more time (although he wasn’t sure what he would do if it wasn’t) before gulping it down, savouring the coolness of it as its sooths his dry throat.
Percy instantly feels better- more aware- and he grins. The pain that had been throbbing throughout his body since he had woken up here is gone, or at least significantly diminished, and he finds that his thought process is clearer as well.
Healing from water was one of the better powers he had. Thank you, father.
The water’s essence itself, as well, is softer, much softer than the feeling he had gotten from the ocean where he had first- woken up? Landed?
Whatever the case, it doesn’t surprise him too much. The river feels gentle and calm, like the soft touch of a mother’s hand on your face when you’re sick.
It makes sense- River naiads are generally much gentler in nature then their oceanic cousins.
After all, nature spirits are tied to their domains, and an ocean is of a much wilder temperament then a river.
Percy sits down on the back where he was kneeling, and sighs. His most immediate need is taken care of, so now what?
His thoughts immediately turn towards camp, and he bits his lip. They had just had a war- they had just lost people, lost friends and family, and where was he?
In the middle of bumfuck nowhere, being absolutely useless.
Although his stomach was still grumbling, (his appetite had seemed to increase because of his dip in the Styx) Percy decided it could wait.
Contacting camp was the most important thing right now.
Standing up, Percy eyed the river.
Although he had originally planned to use sea mist to try and get an iris message through, it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility that he could just use his powers to bend the river.
Plus, it was already afternoon, if he had judged the position of the sun right, and he didn’t like his chances of finding his way home before dark.
The ocean was at least an hour walk from here (although it could be less, he had been pretty out of it on the walk over) and the clearing was a pretty good place to set up camp.
Also, there was the bonus of fresh water whenever.
With this is mind, Percy concentrated on his gut, at that ball of energy that always seemed to react each time he used his godly side, and reached for the river.
It came easily to him, and he smiled slightly, willing the water to spread itself thin and come into contact with the warm air.
It obeys his mental command in the blink of an eye, and he grins wider, staring at the new mist in front of him cheerfully before realising one crucial detail.
He needed a drachma, and Kronos, the King of Sore Losers, (not to be confused with Zeus, King of Drama Queens) had seen fit to shred his clothes.
He drops the water with a groan, and that is when he hears it.
Someone clearing their throat from behind him.
Spinning around widely, Percy has his sword out before he can think- a reaction born from years of a very troubled childhood of fighting monsters, Gods, and everything in between.
The person who cleared their throat jerks back suddenly, their eyes widening at the pointed tip now hovering above their neck, and Percy sees them clearly for the first time.
Or rather, Percy sees her clearly for the first time. She is obviously not human- she radiates power like a God, but… more harsh, somehow. If he had to compare it, he’d say she feels like a Titan, and the comparison doesn’t help his nerves.
She has long black hair that laps at her collarbone, paired with slightly pointed ears and strikingly familiar blue eyes. Strangely enough for the 21st century (all though Percy supposed immortals worked on different rules) she is wearing a rough woollen chiton, the tunic obviously made by hand.
Covering the garment is a soft orange cape- a Himation, Annabeth’s voice whispers in his mind- a cloak worn in the Greece of Old. The knowledge is the product of countless lessons on Greek history he hadn’t cared about, but learned because she did.
The most interesting things about her however, has nothing to do with her clothing.
Because the immortal is wearing a crown that seems to be made out of tiny towers- (a turret, he thinks they’re called) and the real kicker?
Is that she is alarmingly and overwhelmingly pregnant.