Chapter Text
The winter solstice was usually a chaotic affair. The streets of Olympus celebrated making it through the darkest night in a riot of light and greenery and music and food. Living displays of winter flowers, magical eruptions of light, conflicting strands of live music at every street corner, and everyone out on the streets together, dressed in their finest, laughing and dancing and singing and playing. There were feasts of magically refilling fruits and desserts, as well as horns of wine flowing freely. At a glance, everyone was enjoying the party.
At a closer look, there was a tenseness to the festivities. There always was; dancing a little too frantic, music a little too loud, lights a little too bright. They were pushing away the darkness that had been creeping upon them night after night as the year died, leading to this longest of nights, cold and crisp and dangerous. No satyr, no nymph, not even the gods themselves would venture off on their own this night. Lurking beneath the party was a certainty that something ancient and deadly and cruel just might awaken. Might be hungry. So they lit their lights just as the small child calls for a nightlight to stave off the monster hiding beneath the bed. They sang their songs and feasted and came together, a reminder that no one is alone and all is well. That they made it through the dark.
This year’s solstice was even more chaotic than usual. Zeus was in a mood. There was thunder in the distance, storm clouds rolling across the country, leaving the air around Olympus at once heavy and charged with static. There was a strong sense of something unpleasant coming, and the citizens of Olympus responded by pushing back the darkness with frantic energy. Zeus’s family in turn was tense. Especially Zeus’s children, though the god’s brothers and sisters were not immune to his moods. When Zeus got like this, no one wanted to be the lightning rod to set him off. And it was into this wild cacophony of god and myth and storm, this tense gathering of the family, that a small group of children were soon to be led.
It was Lord Hermes who came to collect them. Luke clenched his teeth and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, gouging half-moons that would take an age to fade away. According to Chloe, it was usually Apollo who came. Apollo was a natural choice as protecting children was part of his godly domain, though it was his sister’s chariot that actually conveyed them to Olympus. According to Chloe, Apollo had appeared last year as a hot teen, literally, and he had made things fun. All the kids were looking forward to the solstice. Not only was the field trip something different, something festive, but for many it was their only chance to see their godly parent.
Luke would happily go without seeing his godly parent. He hadn’t fully worked out what he wanted to do. Hide and avoid him completely or seek him out to shout and scream the pain tearing at his insides. He mostly wanted to do the latter so Hermes could either understand or, more likely, put Luke out of his misery. Except Luke couldn’t risk getting smote, even if it felt a fitting end to his pathetic existence to be taken out by his own deadbeat dad. At his side, Annabeth was dancing on her toes with excitement. He couldn’t leave her behind.
Lord Hermes walked into the camp where Chiron had gathered them, his smile welcoming and his stance open. He was not a ‘hot’ teenager as Apollo reportedly had been. He was middle-aged, dark curly hair mixed with silver, features elfin. He looked just under six feet tall in his mortal guise, oddly short for a deity, his build athletic but wiry. Despite this, his godly nature radiated off of him, making him feel tall even though Chiron towered over him. Hermes was dressed in his classical Greek getup: winged shoes, winged hat, and bright green tunic with red cloak. His caduceus was in its original staff form, too, the snakes still as if frozen. All in all, Hermes appeared like a Greek statue come to life and given color, and, to Luke’s utter disgust, he radiated friendly ‘dad’ vibes.
If Hermes had been a stranger off the street, Luke might have immediately pegged him for a kind, fatherly type who could easily be pickpocketed or, even better, duped into providing charity to the poor street children crossing his path. But this wasn’t some random encounter and Luke did not trust that smile for a second. He felt his father’s eyes as Hermes’ surveyed the crowd of children, perhaps lingering on those who were his own.
“Hey, kids,” Hermes addressed them, tone warm and friendly. “Soooo…here’s the thing. I know you all were getting ready for the big solstice shindig up in Olympus but, I’ve got to tell you, as far as fun times go, this is not it. First you have to sit through a tediously long snoozefest we call the Solstice Council meeting, and let me tell you, you have not experienced boredom until you’ve listened to my aunt drone on about vertical farming for half an hour. Then, if you survive that, you’ll be led to the kiddie party zone to keep you safe from the more adult festivities going on, and who wants to have to sit at the kiddie table at a party, am I right?”
The kids in question were looking at each other and whispers were breaking out. Chiron was staring down at the god with a distinct air of discomfort. His eye kept twitching, like it was trying to form his patented firm look of disapproval, but he kept forcing the look away because you can’t give a god of the Olympian council a look of disapproval. Chiron didn’t seem to know what to do with his face instead.
“So, anyway,” Hermes went on, lightly bouncing on his feet, not unlike how Luke’s younger siblings got when they were supposed to be standing still. It was so familiar that it was disconcerting, in fact. It made Luke feel a bit angry, like their dad had no right to have similarities with the children he had refused to raise.
Or was it just Luke he refused to raise? At this rate he’d be drawing blood in the palms of his hands from how hard he was digging in his nails.
“So anyway…I was thinking…why don’t we ditch the party and go somewhere really fun. I know this place…it has an arcade, skating, music…all decked up for that Christmas festival all you kids are so into.” Then, tone going from enticing to a playful grumble he added, “Some fat elf manages one big delivery around the world once a year and suddenly he’s all special? I do the same thing every day.”
“Santa Claus is real?!” one of the younger kids yelped. Luke rolled his eyes.
“Who do you think delivers your presents?” Hermes asked, feigning shock at the idea that a competing semi-deity might not be real. “Anyway, so what do you say, campers? Everyone pile on the bus, and I’ll take you to the real party.”
“Er…Lord Hermes?” Chiron tried to interject, and when Hermes turned his smiling gaze on the centaur Chiron cautiously tried to state his objections but clearly felt hindered by the need to offer no disrespect. Each word came out slow, as if he had to chew it up a bit first and taste its flavor before he spoke. “I’m not sure if…if your father would be pleased with our absence…going to a different party could be seen as…”
“We’ve never made it compulsory,” Hermes pointed out, “for our half-bloods to attend Solstice. I mean, I have to at least stick my head in, but you guys shouldn’t have to suffer. And don’t worry, I’ve made arrangements for when I have to step out; it will be perfectly safe.”
“Er…” Chiron tried to say, but then stopped, eye twitching. Hermes clapped his hands together.
“So it’s decided! We skip the meeting…”
“Hermes,” a new voice intervened, and Hermes actually jumped, expression momentarily that of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar before instantly morphing into an expression of utter innocence and happiness.
“Dionysus, my favorite baby brother!” Hermes said, turning to greet the second deity who had appeared unexpectedly beside him. “I thought you had already made your way to Olympus. I know how you cherish the solstice as a chance to get away; don’t let me take up your time. Your Ariadne is waiting!”
“Hermes,” Mr. D said, putting his fingers to his forehead as if to stave off a headache, “You can’t run off with our children to avoid the Solstice.”
“Why not?” Hermes asked. “It’s boring. None of them want to go, not really. They just want a chance to get away from here for one night.”
“On this night of all nights, you want to gather a large group of half-bloods, and bring them away from every place of safety to some random mortal establishment?”
“Well…”
“You’ll be overrun by monsters within the hour…monsters or worse. And when you get our children killed, who is going to shield you from father when he inevitably takes offence that you tried to skive off the meeting and took all the half-bloods with you?”
“I put precautions in place, no monster is going to…”
“Hermes.”
With an expression like a sulking child, and to the clear relief of Chiron, Hermes muttered, “Fine. We’ll go to the stupid Solstice meeting in Olympus.” But just when it seemed like everything was settled and they could finally get into the waiting bus, Hermes’ expression suddenly turned almost savage. Gone, in that moment, was the kindly father. In its place was the stern godly monarch. His eyes narrowed and he again surveyed the group as he said, “But not all of you are going.”
The children around Luke shuffled their feet nervously, glancing at each other, confused and uneasy at the god’s shifting moods.
“First of all, none of my children under the age of twelve.”
There were outraged shouts from Luke’s younger siblings, quickly silenced by a stern look from their dad as he went on to say, “I am not joking, here. And for the record, tonight, my children includes everyone sleeping in my cabin.”
This time, the cries of outrage were louder, as several kids found their evening of excitement and fun being snatched from their grasps. Hermes didn’t offer them stern looks this time, but nor did he soften.
“You really can’t speak for children that aren’t yours,” Mr. D objected.
“Are you still here?” Hermes asked with mock surprise.
“You’re my ride,” Mr. D answered, and Hermes made a face, for a moment looking as juvenile as any of his children.
“You…you…want to ride with us? With the, and I quote, ‘snot-nosed brats’, when you are, for once, free to make your own way?”
“I heard father’s in a mood,” Mr. D answered, with a bit of a shrug. “I’d hate for my little brother to get himself smote because I let him slither off.”
“Big brother,” Hermes grumbled in objection. “And why do you think I wanted to slither off?” Then, to the camp at large, no longer juvenile but cold and sharp, “And if you were smart, none of you will get on the bus. You think it will be all dancing and feasts and fun? You’ll be shuffled into a corner. You’ll have to be on your best behavior because gods don’t allow disrespect, and child or not, they will smite you. You hoping to get to finally meet your mom or your dad? Do you lie awake imagining it, how they will smile, how they will offer a hug and claim you? It won’t be like that. If they have never talked to you before now, it’s not because it’s forbidden. It’s not because they are very busy and forgot how quickly mortal children grow. It’s because they don’t want to or because they don’t even know you exist. Those of you who are claimed can sit with your parent and the rest will be with me and I don’t need another crying fit when you realize no one is coming for you by the end of the night.”
And…wow…Luke always knew his dad was a bastard, literally and figuratively, but…wow. Telling them all to their face how unwanted they are. And his father basically just admitted that he had never cared about Luke.
“Aaaand on that fun note,” Mr. D said, over the quiet whispers and the actual crying sobs that had broken out by the end of Hermes’ speech, “Everyone on the bus.”
“Not the younger kids,” Hermes insisted, eyes sliding past Luke to land on Annabeth, then on the other kids who had somehow made it to camp long before monsters should have driven them there.
“And who is going to watch them if we do leave them?” Mr. D asked with a snort. “The harpies? Oh, but wait, they won’t be here either. Everyone is going to the Solstice.”
Hermes frowned, then sighed and, with clear effort, suddenly returned to his inviting persona he’d held at the start. “Alright, everyone on the bus.”
Most of the kids were still disturbed by his changing moods and gave Hermes wide berth. The Stoll brothers instead ran right up to the god, throwing their arms around him. Luke saw Hermes’ face soften, the hand not holding his caduceus going to hug them back. It made something vicious stir inside Luke, watching his father play happy families with his younger siblings. Travis and Connor seemed perfectly at ease at his side, despite the show Hermes had just put on.
“What was that about no one under twelve going?” Travis was demanding in all his eight-year-old fury.
“Is there really a Santa Claus?” Connor asked.
Luke slid past them, only looking towards his father from the corner of his eye. He saw Hermes’ hand move, as if reaching for him, but it fell back again to rest on Connor’s head.
“Of course there is,” Hermes answered his small son, tone light and playful. As if his older son had not just walked by without looking at him. Luke wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. But all the rest of Hermes’ kids took a moment to connect with their dad before they climbed on the bus, though Chloe looked stiff as she greeted him.
After Hermes’ attempt to keep them all from Olympus, the bus ride was just the slightest bit tense. Mr. D insisted on standing over Hermes’ shoulder while the god drove them, Chiron at the back of the bus in his wheelchair. Hermes just rolled his eyes, blasted inane Christmas carols over the speakers, then took all of one minute to transport them all from the camp to New York. Hermes herded them along, his seemingly playful mood not enough to wipe away the campers’ trepidation from his earlier speech.
“Stay together,” Hermes said as they crammed themselves into the elevator. It took a couple of trips to get them all up. First-timers were allowed in first, which included Luke and Annabeth so they could marvel at the City. Thankfully, Hermes seemed more concerned with shepherding those left below than guiding those who went first so Luke didn’t end up crowded in an elevator with his father and could properly enjoy his first glimpse of Olympus. Annabeth’s eyes were glowing with excitement and she held his hand, tugging at him as if that would make the elevator go faster, eyes glued to the changing number, passing the highest floor for mortals and just climbing and climbing until it reached 600. The hundreds’ spot glowed in gold, separate from the two squares reserved for the mortal floors.
The doors opened on a scene of festivity and fun, music drifting across the sky from Olympus. Someone had decorated the platform just outside the elevator with garlands and fairy lights, literal fairy lights. It was snowing, but Luke had been told they didn’t need to bundle up warm and now he could see why; the snowflakes flurried down from the dark sky but swirled away from the platform and the air around them was chilled but not freezing. Annabeth immediately let go of Luke’s hand and, with a squeak of excitement, ran straight towards the arched entranceway marking the end of the platform leading to the white stone path.
“Annabeth!” Luke shouted, tone as stern as he could make it as his heart leapt into his throat; there was a wall-less drop six hundred stories high over New York City all around the platform; they could see the city below them, and Annabeth was running right along that edge. Not to mention Luke could easily imagine the seven-year-old crossing the stone pathway only to get lost in Olympus, distracted by lights or following ancient architecture.
Annabeth did stop at his voice, but then turned and said, “I just want to see the pilaster!” and tried to keep going. Tried, because she ran straight into an invisible wall. For a moment, the wall was visible, a bright green stretching not only across their path but all along the edge of the drop, encircling the space in front of the elevator. Annabeth yelped and fell backwards onto her bottom.
“Annabeth!” Luke said, running to her and pulling her back to her feet. “You can’t just run off!” And then, “Did it hurt you?”
“No,” Annabeth answered, frowning. It wasn’t her, ‘I’m hurt but I’m trying to be brave’ frown. It was more of a pout at being thwarted. Then, eyes narrowed, she cautiously reached a hand towards the barrier. Luke picked her up and hauled her back to the rest of the group.
“Wow,” said Connor, who was not a first timer but still had managed to wiggle his way into the first elevator trip. He was looking up at Luke with an impressed expression on his face. “You sounded just like Dad.”
Luke, in that moment, had to remind himself that his little brother was just a little boy and might even have meant that as a compliment. So he did not growl or shout or shake Connor but turned away in an annoyed huff and dumped Annabeth back on the ground. One of her older sisters immediately claimed her hand, and Luke tried not to get annoyed by that either, though he couldn’t help but scowl at the sister’s words.
“Really, Annabeth,” she scolded, “Curiosity is a fine thing, but it must be tempered by wisdom. Never run where you can walk.”
“Is it true that all the thrones are designed to reflect the gods?” Annabeth asked, deceptively calm and still. She didn’t bounce on her feet when excited or interested. No, when Annabeth went absolutely still, that was when Luke had learned to watch her the closest. It was when her mind focused so completely on whatever had interested her that she’d forget all promises, all common sense, and dart away, often into something dangerous. Still, if the current distraction was the thrones of the gods, then at least she wouldn’t be darting off right then.
Connor tugged at Luke’s shirt, and Luke automatically put his hands to his pockets even though he knew they were empty. Those pockets, anyway. As if he’d carry his drachmas in so obvious a place.
“Luke?” said Connor. “Why do you hate Dad?”
Luke felt his face twitch, fingernails digging into his palm again as he reminded himself that this was his brother, an innocent child. Well, as innocent as any of his siblings could be. And that they were about to enter Olympus, that their father would at any moment be joining them again and this was so not the time or the place to share the story of his life. So instead of growling out his every grievance, Luke instead forced a smile to his lips. If he had only known, it was eerily similar to how Hermes had switched from stern to playful.
“Why should I hate Lord Hermes?” he asked. “I don’t even know him.”
Connor’s eyes grew huge and he said, “But…”
But that was when the elevator doors dinged and the rest of their group came pouring out to join them on the platform.
“Stay together,” Lord Hermes’ voice called out over the general murmur of many voices talking at once. He sounded somehow like a bored teacher and like the ‘cool’ uncle playing about being a bored teacher, though it was hard to explain how he managed that exact inflection. “Stay away from the edge…great, one of you already tried to fall off, fantastic.”
Lord Hermes reached down and picked something up from the corner of the platform and for one moment the green barrier shone again, before fading to nothing.
“Alright, campers, follow me and I will not be happy if you make me play catch on the walk into the city.”
Lord Hermes walked ahead of them, growing bit by bit until he stood at least a head taller than the tallest of them, though he didn’t look taller. He was just bigger than before, as if a child were playing with dolls and had thrown in one the wrong size for the rest. Nothing stopped him from stepping onto the path, or any of the kids that followed. Luke found himself reaching for Annabeth’s hand, just in case, but her sister already had her so he grabbed Connor’s hand instead. Together, they followed Lord Hermes into the city. This was the second time Luke had ever met his own father, that he could remember, and it felt somehow appropriate to be staring at the god’s back while his father, fulfilling his role as guide to the letter, still ignored his existence.