Chapter Text
When Percy denies himself godhood, Poseidon is not happy.
His son is a hero the likes of which has never been seen. He is brave and strong and good, and moreover, he is Poseidon’s favorite son. And Poseidon is God of the Seas, Earthshaker, one of the most powerful beings in existence.
Which is all to say: it is seldom that he does not get what he wants.
This time, he swears, watching his boy force the gods themselves into an oath with the tumultuous sea in his eyes, Poseidon’s own eyes, is no exception.
-
Of course, Poseidon could just force Percy to ascend. It wouldn’t take much effort; Percy is the most powerful half-blood in many generations, but he is no match for his father’s will.. Poseidon cannot even rule out the possibility that he would, given a certain level of desperation. But he does not want to go against his son’s will. He wants him to choose to be at Poseidon’s side for all the ages.
The easiest path, he concedes, would be love. Many mortals have been turned for their immortal lovers, and not even Zeus could protest such an event. Of course, no individual, mortal or immortal, is good enough for Percy. Still, after Percy turns down godhood the first time, Poseidon sends the most beautiful citizens of his kingdom to Camp Half-Blood and along with Percy’s quests to seduce his son. Most of his son’s companions write them off as the signs of a father who wants to help with his hands tied, which is an added bonus. But all of them report back, unsuccessful, grumbling about the dark gaze of one who is always at Percy’s side.
The daughter of Athena. Poseidon has no easy answer for her. He suspects she is onto him the way she chases his Nereids off, the way she clings to Percy when they are on the sea. He wonders, sometimes, if she needs to die before Percy would consider ascending. The downside: if she dies, Percy might only desire to find her in Elysium. He cannot deny she is also a hero of some caliber. Elysium is the only option for the both of them.
His attitude shifts entirely, causing many riptides down the East Coast and up the Gulf of Mexico, one bizarre day, when the scent of the best cut of meat hits his nose, and a voice he has never before heard in his prayers speaks softly in his head.
Lord Poseidon, she begins, hesitant. This is my first prayer to you. Maybe it’s long overdue. He can hear her sigh, and waves break hard on Maui with his discontent. Look, I know you want Percy to be a God. And I know you’re going to keep trying to make him one… but when you give up on sending him women to fall in love with, please keep sending your people anyway. There’s a pause, and Poseidon stills the aforementioned waves in surprise. He’s so happy when he… when you make it clear that you care. So even if I have to warn off a thousand Nereids, I would do it to see the smile on his face.
There is a longer pause, where Poseidon and Annabeth Chase sit on either side of a one way connection in silence. He thinks she’s done.
Lord Poseidon? I know you would be there for him if you could. I will continue to protect him when you cannot. Okay, that’s it. Thank you.
The connection closes, and Poseidon sits back in his throne, contemplative.
On a beach in Maui, surfers bemoan the sudden tranquility of the sea.
-
Annabeth Chase continues praying to him, awkwardly at first, but soon enough, she grows comfortable enough to tap into his thoughts with nearly the ease of his son, whose prayers verge on sacrilegious but are infinitely precious. He cannot say the same about his son’s girlfriend, but at least she keeps things interesting. That is to say, at least he has something else to tune into besides Zeus’ infinite droning when he is called to Olympus.
Lord Poseidon, Percy is not sleeping well, and I’m worried.
Lord Poseidon, what do you make buildings out of in Atlantis? Percy says it looks like limestone, but limestone is way too brittle because it’s composed mostly of calcium carbonate. Wouldn’t it be easily dissolved underwater, especially if it needs to withstand such pressure? Anyways-
Lord Poseidon, I know I said that you could send as many Nereids as you wanted, but do you have to send Erato? If I catch her trying to trap Percy in marriage one more time, I’m going to kill her. Sorry in advance.
Lord Poseidon, I think I pray to you more than my mother. Pause. Please don’t tell her that.
Poseidon rolls his eyes at some prayers, checks on his son at others, and raises his eyebrow at Annabeth’s annoyance with his wife’s younger sister, banishing Erato from appearing in the above world without a thought.
At the last, he feels smug, but also undeniably curious. He has long thought that the girl’s loyalty to Athena, who cares not for her mortal child the way he would rip the world to pieces at the loss of Percy, is her true fatal flaw.
This curiosity pushes him to actions that he cannot quite explain. During a short quest less than three months after Kronos is defeated, Annabeth falls into the ocean. Poseidon’s realm cradles her gently until Percy pulls her to the surface, creating a gentle circle of ocean in the middle of a storm. Percy carelessly shouts out his thanks as he pulls Annabeth back into the boat, and Poseidon smiles. There is a child who is grateful to his godly parent, if just a little crass. It is entertaining more than offensive coming from his favorite child.
Thank you, Lord Poseidon, he hears quietly after Annabeth has woken. I know you did it for Percy, but still. Um. I’m glad to be alive.
Poseidon hums in thought, enjoying once again the thought of being better than Athena. And maybe the smallest part of him warms the Indian Ocean at the thought of his son’s protective, pious girlfriend, who stands at his back and protects him from everything that comes at him.
-
When Percy and Annabeth fall into Tartarus, Poseidon nearly kidnaps Sally and her family to Atlantis and brings about the new apocalypse on land. The world should feel his wrath, should fall into his waters the way that his son has fallen into the Pit. Only the faint knowledge that his son is alive and deserves a world to come back to keeps him to petty earthquakes and tidal waves.
The fact that he is faintly disquieted for Annabeth's wellbeing along with the breadth and depth of his anxiety for Percy gets pushed to the wayside. To save Percy will be to save Annabeth. He needn’t be concerned that one will live without the other. They are a package, a pair, a gordian knot.
This realization is pushed to the wayside as he awaits the survival of his favorite son. After all, if his son is away any longer, an inevitable war between Olympus and Atlantis will occupy his attention. If his child cannot manage to save himself, he will not stand aside, regardless of Zeus’ whining.
-
After Tartarus, after Gaia, Annabeth finds herself sitting by the water more and more. The sea is soothing and smells like Percy; moreover, it fills her nostrils and lungs with a strong scent that isn’t the Pit. And anything that isn’t Tartarus-like is what Annabeth wants, especially when her boyfriend is away to his mother’s or his father’s, both of whom have undertaken his care in the aftermath of what the two demigods had to do to survive down there.
Annabeth, unlike Percy, is okay. She’s fine. She’s rationalized everything, thought it through, and mostly moved past it. Percy is more volatile, more emotional, more destructive, and it makes sense that everyone is focused on his healing. He’s the son of Poseidon and the Hero of Olympus, after all.
Percy, unlike everyone else and like the good boyfriend he is, is aware of and holds her through her nightmares. But he can only do that when he is here, and his father has not allowed him to say no to Atlantis at least one week out of the month. And Annabeth knows he loves it there, that he can actually rest in the seat of his father’s power, where no one asks anything of him or can kidnap him or demand he goes on a quest. And she’s happy for him, really.
She just wishes she could be with him.
Annabeth bows her head, running her thumb over a broken shell that had washed up a few minutes ago, when the scent of the sea suddenly becomes overpowering. Then, a deep baritone: “Why have you come here?”
Annabeth’s head jerks up at the sudden question, eyes widening at the sight of a familiar god in the most heinously patterned, sickly bright green fishing shirt. He appears at her side without sound from one moment to the next, the way they all do, and it nearly gives Annabeth a heart attack.
“Lord Poseidon,” she greets shakily, scrambling to get to her feet.
He holds up his right hand, shoving his fishing pole - trident - into the sand with the other. “No, stay.” Then, with an odd look at her, he sinks to sit at her side. He’s close enough that she can feel the unnaturally powerful heat emanating from his body. She doesn’t think she's ever been this close to her own mother. Unbalanced, she sits still, frozen in place, unsure what to do or say. It’s fine when Percy is here and his dad shows up; Poseidon always appears more human in the company of his son. To her, he makes no effort to be any less than he is.
Clearing her throat, doing her best not to shy away from his presence, she tries to uncover his reasons. It’s almost worse just to sit in silence with him. “Did you - do you need anything? I thought Percy was with you, but if he’s not, I can call him-”
“No,” Poseidon interrupts, before he turns his full, godly gaze on Annabeth. “You fell with my son into Tartarus,” he says, a shocking segue. An observation? A reminder?
No, it must be a threat. He’s found out that Percy only fell into the Pit because he was following her, and now he’s here to kill her for risking his son’s fragile, mortal life.
“So you’re here to kill me?” She asks, fighting the urge to clap her hands to her mouth. She’s disquieted by her own audacity. Percy’s lack of godly respect must be rubbing off on her. Not that she has the same all encompassing respect she once had for the gods anymore, but she’s usually smart enough to keep that part of her hidden. Not everyone has a powerful father that will go to war for his right to mouth off at the gods the way Percy does.
Poseidon looks confused and a little shocked as well. “I would not do that to Perseus,” he says simply, graciously not commenting on her bluntness.
Annabeth nods, her shoulders dropping just a little. “So you’re here to… ask about it?” She guesses. That makes sense. Percy is being less than forthcoming about his pain, so Poseidon has come to Annabeth. “I won’t tell you what Percy went through, my lord. If you want to know, you’ll have to talk to him.”
A large wave crashes over the rocks to their left with a loud, echoing roar. “Child, would you stop assuming you know my purpose?” Poseidon snaps, obviously exasperated.
Annabeth flinches. “Sorry, sir.”
Watching her again, Poseidon frowns but otherwise does not acknowledge her apology. “Perseus has spoken to me about the Pit,” he reveals instead. “He has spent time with his mother and his family in Atlantis. With our help, he heals from his trials.”
Annabeth stays silent, having now learned better than guessing where the hell this is going, but she agrees. Percy is doing better.
He tilts his head, adopting an expression that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen an adult direct at her. She has no name for it. “And you, girl?” He prompts, green eyes, Percy’s eyes, boring into her.
Annabeth just stares at him, still unsure what he is asking. “And me… what?”
Poseidon looks at her like, if he were any less godly and eternal, he would roll his eyes. “Do you heal?” He asks finally, like the question had been obvious the entire time.
Annabeth is shocked, looking away with a jerky motion, feeling emotion roar in her at the mere question. Earlier, she had tried to convince herself that she was fine. That she’s not like Percy. With Poseidon’s question, concern that edges just over the side of polite inquiry, she feels something in her loosening. And not in a good way.
“I - my lord,” she stumbles over her words, unsure what to do with this god, this individual who is so distantly connected to her, being the only adult figure in her life to ask her how she is doing. What is she supposed to say? Does he truly want to know? Is he asking for Percy? “Percy,” she adds, mirroring her thoughts, “He’s - I mean-”
Poseidon frowns, and the sky darkens. “Do not lie to me, child,” he orders, and his words have an actual physical weight that Annabeth feels pushing down on her shoulders.
She slumps, can’t do anything but comply. It’s not fair. “I have… nightmares.”
Poseidon nods, and the skies clear. “Perseus has them as well.” He looks uncomfortable. Well, as uncomfortable as a god can look. “I do not like mortal children except my own,” he says finally, and Annabeth nods. That makes sense; it’s rare enough for gods to like mortal children at all, let alone a random kid that they didn’t have a hand in creating. “I understand that half-bloods have difficult and short lives, but I cannot concern myself with such tribulations.” He stops, and turns more to Annabeth, who in turn, forces herself to look back up at him. She feels a tear run down her cheek and curses herself, but Poseidon does not comment on it. “But you, child, fell into Tartarus,” he says instead. “I have seen the Pit. It is a godless place. A cursed place. None but us, my brothers, Perseus, and the Hades boy have survived it. You kept my favorite son alive and sane as well, as he has testified to me many times in his visits. If there is something I can provide you, even if it is merely someone who will listen, I will provide it.”
Annabeth tries her best not to gape at Poseidon, God of the Seas, one of the Big Three, offering her, a child of Athena, anything. But her mind works quickly, even under such stress. Percy, she thinks. “You’re doing this for Percy?” She says aloud, looking up at him. Please say yes. Make this make sense.
Poseidon studies her for a moment, then nods. “That is the only reason I can give,” he offers, and Annabeth visibly relaxes, back in a world that makes sense.
“To answer your question,” she begins, still a little uncertain, but unwilling to turn down what is clearly a generous offer and upset Poseidon in doing so, “from before: I come here because the sea gives Percy comfort. I hoped, maybe,” She trails off, trying to find the words to describe an indescribable experience. “Tartarus,” she says, abruptly changing direction, thinking back to her ruminations on the fragrance of the sea. “Do you… do you remember how it smelled?” She whispers.
Poseidon nods gravely. “I do.”
Annabeth thinks about saying more, which is surely what Poseidon is taking time out of his busy schedule for, but she can’t find any other words. In fact, for the remainder of the time he spends with her, neither of them say anything else. They simply sit with their feet in the surf and listen to the waves as Poseidon rolls them across the sand gently, slowly, with the rare intent of the sea to soothe.
-
In the following few months, Poseidon does not visit her again, but he sends others. Rhodes, Percy’s sister, who takes both Percy and her to her island: a peaceful, beautiful place. Benthesikyme, also Percy’s sister, takes her surfing for the first time and is generally very motherly, listening to Annabeth’s problems with a neutral expression and offering advice. Annabeth’s favorite is Sao, one of Amphitrite’s eldest sisters, who calls herself Percy’s aunt and spends much of her time in Atlantis’ libraries, which she’s happy to tell Annabeth all about. Slowly, though her prayers to Poseidon continue, and of course she gives homage to her mother at least once a week, her offerings begin to trickle down to other sea deities who spend time with Percy and her without qualms or a superiority complex, who help her with her college applications, who listen when she feels like she can talk about the trauma of Tartarus.
She’s on the beach at Camp, listening to the waves, awaiting Percy who is coming back from Atlantis today, when a rush of power fills the air behind her. Annabeth scrambles to her feet, withdraws her dagger, and spins, taking a few steps backward so she is ankle-deep in the sea. The last action is a surprise even to herself, but she does not question her own instincts. They’ve saved her life already many times over.
She narrows her eyes at the bright being that appears on the beach, but stops and puts her dagger away immediately when she recognizes the figure.
“Mother!” She exclaims, bowing her head. “I apologize; I was not expecting you.”
Athena’s gaze darts to where Annabeth’s shoes are wet in the ocean, and then back up. Her expression is inscrutable. “You were not meant to expect me.”
Annabeth nods aimlessly, but she can’t help but feel hurt. Surely her mother came to ask her about the Pit? To ask her about her life? College applications? The coldness exuding from the goddess is surprising, but not unusual. Annabeth supposed she shouldn’t have been hopeful for something more.
Instead, Athena sniffs, making no motion to come anywhere near Annabeth. “You do not pray to me enough,” she observes coldly, and Annabeth flinches at the anger in her mother’s tone. “And now I find you here, standing in the sea of all places, the domain of my enemy.”
Annabeth feels embarrassed, taking a few steps forward to appease her mother, though the tide pulls against her ankles as if trying to keep her in place. She ignores both it and her instincts as she puts a few feet between her and the water. “Lord Poseidon would not hurt me, mother,” Annabeth defends. “He’s Percy’s dad.”
Athena glares at her. “The sea spawn is an unwise choice for a daughter of Athena. He is reckless, impertinent, and dangerous. You fell into Tartarus due to his actions-”
“- He jumped in after me!” Annabeth interrupts, ignoring her own survival instincts. But she’s not going to stand for her mother shaming Percy. Not after everything. She has been a loyal child for so long, but Percy has done too much for Olympus for Annabeth to sit by as he’s being slighted. “It’s because of him I’m alive.”
The sea breeze blowing around them comes to an abrupt halt. Athena’s lips pinch together as she looks down at Annabeth. “Do not interrupt me,” she warns.
“You - you haven’t even asked about it,” Annabeth says, growing upset. Gods, maybe Percy is rubbing off on her a little too much, she thinks, as a small part of her eyes Athena’s increasing rage with trepidation. “Do you even care how bad it was?” She asks, more heartbroken now than angry. She’s not sure Athena even cares about the difference. “Are we all just meant to die for your pride?”
Athena’s eyes flash and glow, and she raises her hands. Annabeth closes her eyes. Shit. She’s getting smited. After all this. Wait, smote? Is it smited or smote, her brain demands. Gods, she’s going to die debating grammar with herself.
Then, right in the middle of Annabeth’s inner turmoil, everything in the air sizzles to a stop. There is a faint sea breeze, and then a familiar presence at her side. Double shit.
“It would be unwise of you to hurt her.”
She opens her eyes to her boyfriend’s dad standing behind her, his eyes intent on her mother, who looks like she’s about to blow her top. Annabeth doesn’t breathe, doesn’t look away from Athena, but she takes several quick steps back to stand at Poseidon’s side. It’s not conscious; it’s a move based purely on self-preservation. Still, Annabeth is aware that every step she takes into the sea increases her mother’s ire and decreases the likelihood that Annabeth will ever be forgiven. Still, she can’t stop herself.
Her eyes briefly dart to camp, eyes catching on the solemn gaze of Chiron who has obviously sensed the power on the beach and has come to investigate. She shakes her head, just barely, and Chiron nods, retreating. Hopefully, he’s keeping everyone away. Annabeth would never forgive herself if campers are hurt in this standoff which is so clearly about her.
“Do not interfere in my affairs, Poseidon,” Athena snaps, gaze moving to Poseidon as if Annabeth has ceased to exist. Annabeth finally takes a shallow breath.
Poseidon does not hold his usual fishing pole in his hand, but his trident, which glows a yellow-green color. “The girl stands in my oceans,” Poseidon intones in his familiar deep baritone. Annabeth keeps her eyes on her mother, but she can feel Poseidon’s presence beside her like a live wire.
Athena narrows her eyes at the Sea God. “She is my daughter.”
Poseidon forcefully brings his trident down in the water, and the ocean soaks Annabeth up to her waist. Still, she is not frightened; no, she thinks absently that she is in shock. “But she prays to me ,” Poseidon says smugly, and Annabeth curses under her breath. It was probably too much to hope that he wouldn’t drop that detail, given how much he dislikes her mother.
Athena looks truly surprised for a split second, then glows catastrophically angry. She turns to Annabeth, who fights the urge to close her eyes against her mother’s power. “You pray to another god? To Poseidon? That is why you barely pray to me, your own mother?”
“I-” Annabeth stammers, finally averting her eyes. She doesn’t want to be disintegrated for her own pride.
“No,” Athena interrupts as Annabeth fixes her gaze on where Poseidon’s trident disappears into the surf. A symbol of the power that just protected her from her own mother. “If you would like to rely on Poseidon for aid, be welcome to. He does not care for any child but his own. But hear you me, Annabeth Chase: do not expect any more assistance from me.” And with that, she disappears into the wind, and like a marionette with cut strings, Annabeth drops to her knees in the ocean.
For a short moment that feels like it lasts forever, Annabeth stares blankly into the surf with Poseidon still standing at her side, saying nothing. When Annabeth finally closes her eyes, feeling tears well up along with a lump in her throat, she thinks, for a second, she feels a soft, warm touch to her head.
But when she looks up, Poseidon is gone. Just when Annabeth fully begins to freak out, she hears a familiar voice from deeper in the waves.
“Dad,” Percy is calling, “where are we- Annabeth?”
She looks up to see her boyfriend, alone, waist deep in the water.
“Are you hurt?” He demands, wading closer. “What happened?”
She shakes her head, standing and taking two lunging steps to throw herself into his arms. Then, as Percy holds her close, she begins to cry in earnest. She’s only eighteen years old, and her mother doesn’t want her anymore. Her mother doesn’t care. Maybe she never truly did.
Percy doesn’t ask questions, even though she can feel his rage welling up at the idea that someone made her cry like this. They stay there in the sea for a long time, just the two of them, but Annabeth doesn’t feel like they are alone. The surf laps against their knees and elbows as she clings to Percy.
Elsewhere, Poseidon watches these events with his chin in his hand. A possible future that he has been considering for quite a while solidifies, and while a small part of him easily rages with his son at the actions of Athena, supporting Percy’s power over his own domain, a larger part of him is perfectly content.
Today, when Poseidon smiles, it is not the fatherly smile received by his children, nor the amorous smile received by his lovers. No, today Poseidon grins with his teeth, with the smile of a god who has all he wants almost in his grasp.