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Chapter Text

There is this feeling of Time slipping through your hands that no being will ever forget.

Like sand cradled in a closed fist, it continues to slip, the tiny particles caught by the wind and blown away. The grains fly into the sea to be forgotten and into your eyes, blinding you. A toddler feels it, and the ancient grandmother feels it. It is the feeling of wishing to stay in one place while the pendulum swings. Life waits for nobody, and future plans become memories in the blink of an eye. Watching your child take their first steps on the day of their college graduation and burying your grandmother with smooth hands. 

Rhea Jackson very much hated the feeling of Time.

It was the eternal clock ticking ever closer to that damned prophecy.

A single choice shall end his days .

Rhea had struggled for some time to figure out who ‘his’ was referring to. According to Annabeth, it was supposed to be Zeus or Kronos. According to Rhea, it felt like that was wrong and it belonged to someone else, but who? For a while, she even worried if it was her and that she would be making some discovery about herself soon, but she quickly dismissed that idea.

Honestly, it made so much sense now. 

It was Luke.

She wasn’t the hero of this story, she was simply here to give him the opportunity to be one.

She passed the dagger to him and watched his lifeline snap.

And she felt Kronos’ revenge.

It was a force stronger than herself, stronger than any god, and it burned . Like stepping into the sun, it was a warmth that once embraced her, and now it burns her and bites into her like claws.

As she fell onto her knees next to Luke, her hands scrambled to cover her ears, her eyes, and any part of her that she could protect from the force of Time.

She felt the hand of Luke reach out to grab at her armor weakly, and in a moment of blindness, she reached back.

There is a curse that comes with Time, and Kronos knows how to wield it well. There is no way to return to what once was, even if you are standing right there.

When the heat burnt away and left them in what felt like a pile of sand and ashes, Rhea opened her eyes to see a place unfamiliar to her, definitely not Olympus.

But she couldn’t focus on that.

Luke was sprawled in front of her, the sand around him was charred and half molten into glass. The salty waves lapped around them, licking their wounds, and turning red.

His eyes were open—blue eyes, the way they used to be. His breath was a deep rattle. 

"Good . . . blade," he croaked.

“Luke?” Her hand came to press down on his wound. “Hold on, Luke, just, just hold on.”

“Rhea–” Luke groaned, hissing through his teeth as she applied pressure onto his bleeding lifeline. “Don’t, I, let me go.”

“Like hades!” She cursed him, pulling saltwater to them. She didn’t know if she could heal others, but she was about to find out. “I don’t know where in Olympus’ name we are and I am not being left alone here!”

“He…” Luke tried to speak. “We’re back… he took us…”

Back. Kronos, titan of time, took us back somewhere. Some when . 

Rhea did not like this.

He gritted his teeth, blue eyes flashing in agony. “New timeline… he threw us back… to where we can’t return…”

Her powers weren’t working, the saltwater was doing nothing to Luke’s wound, only hurting him more.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Luke,” she hissed. “This isn’t over. I’m dragging your ass back to your father, you hear me? Hold on.”

She opened her mouth to call out for help from the gods, only to see him cough and his lips glisten crimson. He gripped her sleeve, and she could feel the heat of his skin like a fire, like Kronos had not yet left his body. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it . . . Don't let it happen again. Don’t be bitter." 

His eyes were angry, but pleading too. 

He was so stupid. He was right about the gods. He should’ve never killed so many. He was a traitor. He was a hero. She hated him and she could never forgive him, but she would not deny him this.

"I won't," she said. "I promise."

Luke nodded, and his hand went slack. His eyes were glassy.

Rhea pulled away from where she was kneeling over him. Numbly, she stood up, squeezing her eyes shut for several moments before blinking them open, seeing the sky through blurry tears.

There’s nothing around them, the sand was the barely-there entrance to a cave and the tide was rising, the island seemed to be a jagged mountainous rock jutting up like an ugly blemish on the sea.

She burst into hysterical laughter, tears burning their way down her cheeks, and the waves crashed even louder and harder against the sand, missing her with a careful deliberation, almost like it was afraid of her.

Rhea has no idea where the fuck she is, and she has far fewer ideas of when she is.

Her mom is never going to see the Empire State Building light up blue.

She wanted to go home.

Chapter Text

Rhea spent an uncomfortable amount of time crying, just angry at the world and at Kronos.

Then, in a move of horrid violation, she began to prepare Luke’s body.

Rhea has seen many corpses, had touched and created many, but she has never stripped one. It made her sick to methodically unbuckle his armor (and wasn’t he once the person who taught her how to put armor on?), checking every pocket and sheath for something she could use. She had Riptide, yes, and Annabeth’s dagger, but she had no idea where or when she was, and any little thing could mean the difference between her life and her death.

The small pocketknife went into her shoe, and the compact mirror into her bra. 

She hesitated over the bag of drachma.

It really didn’t look like Luke was all that trusting that he was going to win the war, which he had been right to, but he would only need a singular gold coin to bribe Charon. 

In the end, Rhea took all but three drachma, pocketing the other five for herself. Who knew what gods or other divine beings she would have to bribe?

Her hand hovered over his neck, where one crucial element appeared to poke through and give Rhea an insight on the man she once hated.

His camp necklace was there, hanging around his neck, with all the beads. It looked the exact same as the last time she had seen it, when she was twelve and being betrayed by someone she thought was her mentor.

After a long moment of staring, she took it.

He doesn’t deserve to have it in the afterlife. He abandoned them all, and even if he came back… he was dead, he didn’t need it. 

She added the beads to her own string of leather, leaving only one behind, the singular bead that they both shared. The summer where she came to camp, the bead with a trident.

His spirit, wherever it goes, will remember exactly what he’s done every time he sees it.

She quickly moved on, no longer wanting to be staring at his pale face, lifeless yet still haunting, forever following her.

The short cloak of Kronos that had been attached to his armor was haphazardly wrapped around his face, covering the unseeing eyes, and she wasted no time in pushing the corpse into the sea.

She had no time to burn his corpse, and she needed to move and find shelter before it got dark. Still, she regretted the hurried action, knowing that nobody deserved a wave as a tombstone. 

Kneeling in the sand, she spoke a prayer, watching as the makeshift shroud billowed in the water as the corpse was taken away. 

For a moment, she thought she saw a dark shape dip their hands into the sea and pull Luke out, but when she blinked, there was nobody there.

Nobody but her and some blood-soaked sand.

Her eyes stung for a moment, tears threatening to flow, but she blinked them away and corrected her armor. There was no time for crying, the sun was already at the highest point, and she had no clue whether that meant she had five or nine hours of light left.

Is it winter? Summer? What continent was she on? The rock formations did not look American, and the sea was so very blue, she couldn’t imagine a place lacking pollution.

Were there even any humans here?

Glaring up at the mountainous rocky island, she stepped into the sea. There was no way she could possibly scale the side, not at her level of exhaustion that just seemed to worsen with every minute that her adrenaline faded. The Curse of Achilles did a lot, but it did not prevent the bone-deep tiredness that comes with the aftermath of a battle. The water helped a little but did nothing for the mental fatigue that had developed.

She stayed close to the shore, where the currents met the rocks, yet the waves never forced her into what would be a deadly collision. Under the water, she could easily navigate and go around the island, searching for a bay or a port, somewhere she could climb ashore and find civilization or at least someplace she could take shelter in.

Yet, once she found other humans, Rhea wanted to scream.

There were no machines in this bay, no iron or steam, just wood and bronze. There were women washing sheets in the sea, a bundle of dark-skinned bodies slaving over the multicolored cloths. The four ships bobbing in the bay were primitive things, with a singular square sail and centipede-like paddles. There were people standing in the sand while waves lapped at their ankles; leather sandals, and draped chitons over togas. 

She was very far away from home. 

A wave was strong enough to crash into one of the men standing at the edge of the surf and soak the lower half of his body, nearly toppling over the short barrel-chested man.

Rhea tamps down on her powers, stopping her grief from overflowing once more. Not the time.

(When would be the time?)

Carefully, Rhea retreats from under the main bay and draws back to hide behind a boulder. She doesn’t know how far back she’d gone, but this was at least two thousand years ago; they had evolved from this style of sailing a long time ago. The clothing too… it was almost Greek , just the style didn’t quite look like the clothes that she knew some of the gods still preferred. 

A single tendril of water hooks itself on one of the sheets that the women are washing, the current builds into a swift riptide, stealing away the blue fabric. It was fiddly, but she managed to shed her armor and lodge it in between a rock and the sand in a way that the sea wouldn’t try to take it. 

She donned the fabric with a struggle. Eyes darting between the women on the shore and the way she was draping the cloth around her body, she stabbed the shoulder pieces together using the pin from her own armor, cutting it free from where it held her pauldron to her breastplate using Luke’s pocketknife. You could see her bra poking out from underneath, but she was just trying to pass as a lost traveler, not someone from their own group. She had to hold the side shut by ripping the leather straps out of her breastplate, tying them around her waist like a very ugly belt. 

With shaking hands, she divested herself of her clothes. Camp shirt, jeans, and Converse were left with her armor, only taking what she could keep on her. She slipped the pocketknife into her bra next to the compact mirror and managed to McGyver a sheath into sticking to her belt and tucked Annabeth’s dagger away, using a second sheath to hold her drachma. Her bare feet treaded water as she tried, and failed, to make her clothing look passable. 

She felt like Ariel emerging from the ocean for the first time. 

Yeah, okay, she’s not sure if she can crawl onto land and barter for a night of shelter like this. Pushing away from shore, she swam toward where the ships were docked, hoping to see a possible way to climb aboard and stow away. 

She’d done that once before, with the help of some Hippocampi, a Cyclops half-brother, and Hermes. She could probably do so again.

Or not, she noted with frustration. The ships were extremely primitive, with only one room below deck where multiple bodies were huddled. Humans and supplies strewn about in the same quarters, there was no way for her to hide amongst them until they got to their destination.

So she was stuck with the choice of showing up on shore to what was clearly barely more than a village on an island and trying to convince them she meant them no harm, or swimming out into the open sea and hoping that no sea monsters attacked her while she searched for a larger civilization blindly.

Fuck, Kronos either got lucky when blindly flinging her across time and space, or he knew that he had landed her in one of the most irritating spots for her to find shelter with.

She felt that if she popped out of the water in this place, she’d be labeled a witch, which is definitely not ideal for anyone involved.

Sighing, so very exhausted, she went back to the bay to grab her own clothes again. Finding a larger civilization where it is easier for her to disappear into a crowd, just another badly-dressed weirdo. 

She missed New York already, missed the way she could walk around in armor and blood, and the mist wouldn’t even bother to cover her, easily mistaken by yet another fashion school student with a bold idea of what chainmail should be.

As she returned to her things, half the group of men at the shore took off in a paddleboat, leaving behind a tall woman standing in the surf with another half of the group. She would have to pass by it if she continued on her course, so, instead, she tried to sink as low as possible from her position a mere thirty feet from shore. 

As she lay on the bottom of the sea floor, she looked up to watch as the boat blocked the sun’s rays from filtering down to her. She wondered who was daring to take such a risky journey on untamed seas, to where they were going, who the woman was that they were leaving behind, and why. 

Perhaps the man was also wondering the same thing about the sea because she watched as one of the men glanced overboard only to make eye contact with her.

Both of them stilled in shock, neither wishing to be the first to react.

Maybe he could have mistook her for a hallucination? Oh, no, he’s jumped over the side to try and ‘rescue’ her. Very nice, but very unnecessary.

For a long moment, she was just too tired to bother to push him off as he tried to haul her to the surface, deciding that this might as well happen. However, as they broke water, and more hands grabbed her and pulled her onto the small boat, she gave a noise of protest and batted at the men.

Slung onto the floor of a paddleboat, Rhea questioned the gods as to why her and if this very long day could just kindly be over. Please.

“Why?” She asked the bundle of men who were wearing very little and not all that bothered about it, carrying swords and other weapons on their hips. She pushed herself into a sitting position, grumpily giving them a look of irritation.

The man who had dived in after her pulled himself back aboard, nearly tipping the little dingy over. “Εἶ ὑγῐής;”

She blinked at him dumbly. That was Greek. That was ancient Greek , and definitely not her dialect of ancient Greek. Who used ὑγιής to ask if someone was okay other than, like, Homer? That was super outdated, and yeah, okay, made sense with their super outdated form of sailing around, but that accent was also barely Greek, and what was this? The first Dark Ages? He spoke Greek like Chiron did at times. What year was it?

“Είμί καλή,” She answered his question in what is definitely a completely different dialect to his. “Ἒρχομαι νέω.”

Her responses were clumsy, much like her slowed and grammatically simple way of talking to a toddler or a particularly insistent foreign tourist. I am good and I am going swimming should totally get the message across that she hadn’t been drowning, right? 

Damn it, why was the mist not working? Why did she have to be the one to deal with this? Luke was the one who actually killed Kronos; why did he not give his revenge to him ?

“Νηρεις!” The man cried out when she tucked her feet under her so as to sit up properly, and they all realized that she was dry.

Nereid? Where? Did they mean her? Wait, she can use this…

Rhea raised an eyebrow at them, “Not many women swim like me. Did not need help.”

She tried to match their accents a bit but horribly failed. That was probably helping with the whole ‘sea nymph’ idea, though.

“My lady!” The soaking wet man who had seen her spoke, clearly the leader of this group. “Apology, I - dhew - to the cry of beautiful lady, forgive.”

She did not recognize the middle word of his that sounded like ‘fly’ but had all the wrong accents. “I forgive. You name? You travel?”

The man puffed up, as if he was prideful at her expression of interest. A bit strange, really, most sea nymphs are horrid gossips and express their curiosity without shame. Did he think she was going to give him a reward for the failed rescue? “I name Prince Odysseus, travel brave soldiers to do war at Wilusa, I - dhew - to the cry of Queen Helen of the Sparta land.”

Rhea went pale, eyes sweeping over the man whose name she now recognized.

Oh fuck , Kronos was one sadistic mother fucker. Take her out of the biggest war of the millennium and throw her at the start of the other big war the gods were involved in.

Rhea bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile, she would not be getting involved in this war. There was, for once, no prophecy hanging over her head, and no gods to force her to fight. “Go, soldier. Go to ship. Sail fast. I go to Delphi. I follow you, follow the ship, I do not follow to fight. Evil war, chaos war. Say farewell to Penelope , you go to war.”

The men flinched back, horror in the eyes of the younger ones, and curiosity and wariness from Odysseus. She paid them no mind, however, and jumped overboard, sinking down into the waves.

Rhea watched as the hero called back something to his wife as the others continued to row, something that made the woman reach out towards the sea and take several steps into the water as if she could reach her husband; then she sped off, grabbing her armor and swimming after the ship, hiding underneath the giant hull.

It would be a long journey to Delphi, but she needed to speak to an Oracle. Even if she hated prophecies, she needed guidance, and she was pretty sure that randomly appearing in Atlantis was only a recipe for getting smote. She would follow the ship, maybe speed up its journey as much as she dared without catching the eye of her father, and sneak aboard to sleep. They had to pass by Delphi on their way to Troy, or Wilusa as Odysseus had called it, and she would take full advantage of it. If they thought her a sea nymph, some diety blessing their journey due to the unneeded rescue, then they wouldn’t attack her, right?

Gods, Rhea wished that Annabeth was here to poke holes in her plan or come up with something better, but she wasn’t. And Rhea was desperate to go home.

She was at the wrong home, the home of her father and his family, at their birthplace, not hers. Her roots here were faded and thin, but still alive, and she couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than them getting thicker and healthier and deeper.

She refused to become a hero of Ancient Greece.

We fear the words, ‘Atlas shrugged,’ but why do we not commend Atlas on his freedom? After all, it is what he has given us for the price of his broken collarbones. It is only fair that we bear our own burdens for once.

Chapter Text

The ship is horridly slow, and Rhea thinks that if she took a horse and told him to run across the waves, they would have made it to the next harbor in half the time.

Instead, what she did, is follow from below the hull during the hours of sunlight, sticking close to the wooden bottom and far away from any gossiping sealife. However, the second the sun set, she clambered onto the deck of the ship.

The singular sail was closed, nobody daring to risk the ship drifting off-course during the night while they slept. Like Blackbeard’s ship, it was easy to tell the sea which direction she wished to sail towards. She had no need for a sail, though it would have made it a little easier to navigate.

As she peered into the clear waters from the bow of the ship, she wondered about her father. As God of the Seas, he was known for his temper and ever-changing moods, and he had told her multiple times that he had settled a lot from ancient to modern times. She loved her dad, she really did, but the idea of seeing his face and him not recognizing her, of her not recognizing him , sent shivers up her spine.

Even the sea felt different here; gone were the warm waters of the Mediterranean, only the deep blue waters of thick waves and opaque foam. It kinda looked like wine, so dark and dangerous in the way that it sloshed around, promising stains that would not come out.

The ladder up to the deck creaked, and four sets of footsteps hit the wood flooring before stopping.

Rhea could feel the eyes on her back, the soft gasps, and as she turned around, her make-shift chiton swishing against her ankles, the dull thuds of knees hitting the ground could be heard.

The mortals were kneeling for her, including Odysseus . What in the world?

“Rise,” She barked. “Not Olympian, no kneeling.”

They didn’t seem to know that last word, staring at her blankly in confusion as they scrambled to their feet.

Damn it. “On feet. Not below.”

“My lady,” Odysseus spoke, stepping forward tentatively. “We - xiggome -, we acknowledge your divine power. The ship is fast, your gift is - kherromen -!”

And she thought that time that Nico didn’t have half the English vocabulary for the inscriptions on the walls of the Labyrinth was irritating. A lot of her understanding of their words was already just hoping that ‘if it sounded like the Homeric Greek word but said through a mouthful of peas, its probably that’ was good. Odysseus was already simplifying his words for her, she could tell, yet she was still lost.

Xiggome must mean apology? It sounded vaguely like the Attic word for confession or forgiveness, and if they were looking at her like she was some goddess, then they are probably groveling. Which, damn it, she hated when people looked at her with those eyes. She still trips over the same crack in the basketball court even after four years at camp, for Olympus’ sake!

Kherromen is harder. Maybe something like gratefulness? It was almost like χαίρω, to be cheerful, so maybe that? But that ending was obviously one of a ‘we’ type of group, but where did the ending start and the root end? Argh! Why didn’t Chiron teach any of the even older versions of Greek? The gods use it, why can’t they learn it!

“Night,” She motioned instead. “You not sleep?”

A man warily held up his hand and pointed at the stars, “- aster plewo -, at night.”

Oh, she knows that one! Star-sailing, or the ancient equivalent of the word ‘navigation.’ She and Annabeth had a fun night of experimentation during the quest for the fleece, trying to figure out how she’s so good at coordinates but can’t read her constellations for shit. Rhea said that maybe it was because there were no stars underwater, and Annabeth had gotten so frustrated with that stupid answer that Rhea had gotten thrown overboard.

Rhea frowned, “I sail. You sail me to Delphi, I star-sail ship. Safe. No drown as I sail.”

All the men looked at each other, clearly debating whether or not to leave full control of the ship to the weird water lady who could barely understand them. Personally, Rhea would chase out whatever watery tart proclaimed she was taking over her ship because that was no way to govern legitimately, but these guys thought she was some minor goddess, so she could totally get away with this, right?

She raised her eyes to the sky, debating grabbing unwanted attention by praying for patience and charisma.

“You sail as the sun sails,” She offered. “I sleep at day. Follow through water. I star-sail at night. We sail fast.”

That seemed acceptable to them, and Odysseus motioned for the other to descend below once more. Nodding to her, they disappeared.

“My lady,” Odysseus addressed her again. “I request your name?”

Rhea could tell why Athena liked him. He knew all the proper kissing-up and could be bold enough to try and corner a god. Unfortunately for Rhea, she only knew how to do one of those, and that meant that she got threatened with smiting a lot.

Probability that her name would make him freak out because she is named after her grandmother? High. Ability to then convey the fact that she wasn’t a goddess with her limited understanding of their Greek? Low.

Honestly, she’s pretty lucky that she’s gotten away with the whole sea nymph thing so far.

She just jinxed it, hasn’t she?

Gods damn it, and Olympus damn Kronos. If she finally gets smote for impersonating a nymph , she’ll find a way to haunt the Titan.

Instead of showing her internal panic, she gave him a smirk, stolen straight off the face of Ares, trying to project the aura of divinity. “Names are power.”

Odysseus was ready to respond to that, “Power to worship. I would gift you for your divine power.”

Great, he wants to give her burnt offerings. Amazing job, Rhea, that’s a bit too convincing with your god impersonation.

What would Annabeth do?

“My name at war, soldier?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and giving him her best-unimpressed look. “I be not called to Wilusa by gifts. I am not Olympian. I sail. Only sail.”

“Xiggome, my lady,” Odysseus bowed low to her, saying the word that she is pretty sure is an apology. She resisted the urge to reach out and jerk him upright. “At war, we need many friends, I would not bile a Nereid.”

Bile? The meaning of that word must have changed in a thousand years or something, because she’s pretty sure that word means bile… Or irritation. It also means irritation in some places of ancient Greece.

… Chiron is getting an earful when she gets back to camp.

“Not Nereid,” She corrected, not wanting to actually get attacked by some annoyed sea nymphs for pretending to be one of them. “I swim. I sail. No tail.”

Odysseus paused at that, “You are not a goddess of our land, are you my lady?”

Did they know of other gods at this time? She knew about the Egyptians after a small kerfuffle with Carter Kane, and it was old enough for the Egyptians to be wandering about, but did the Greeks go all the way south to Egypt? Or the Egyptians north? She knows the Egyptians weren’t big fans of open seas, but the Greeks had a thing about sailing, but the seas right now were very much not conducive for sailing very far.

Rhea responded by pointing West, across the ocean, in the direction where she could almost plot out the best journey toward America. “I swim from, I sail from. Far land. New land, I learn, I go Delphi, I go learn gods of here.”

Understanding dawned on Odysseus’ face, eyes dragging up and down her frame, picking out every piece of strange foreignness. “Delphi would teach you, my lady. I see, I will not call your name or gift, I stay with Olympians.”

Oh, thank finally . Trying to push away a curious Odysseus was like dealing with an inquisitive Annabeth; impossible.

“I sail now.” She stepped away, making a show of turning her head. 

He took that as a dismissal, footsteps retreating below.

As soon as he was out of sight, she slumped against the side of the ship. 

That was exhausting. Everything was exhausting right now. She just wanted to sleep, but it was probably best for her to stay awake until morning, then find a way to attach herself to the ship so she could sleep while it tugged her along. Not the most comfortable thing, but she’s done it before, involving an incident with a hippocampi and some swordfish.

She was just so tired .

Feet reappeared in front of her, and she jerked her head up, for a second panicking at the idea that Odysseus had snuck back up and caught her acting ungodly-like.

Instead, with horror, she looked up to see the face of a man she knew very well.

Hermes .

With the same upturned nose and light brown hair, a look of permanent mischief etched into the marble of his face. A bleached-white chlamys with bronze borders barely covered his body, leaving nothing to the imagination, especially if a strong wind came by.

Yet, when she looked at his face, she couldn’t help but gasp.

His eyes. 

Instead of the bright sky blue they were supposed to be, pure white greeted me. His pupils, pure pits of void black, were the only indication of his piercing sight.

“Lord Hermes?” She said, voice barely more than a whisper, afraid to move. 

This was not the same god she knew, there was something far more divine about him. It was like his form barely contained him, glowing softly with the threat of burning up, giving her the taste of copper pennies on her tongue. 

His head twitched to the side, like he was a bird to match his winged sandals. A long olive arm reached out, and Rhea tensed but did not move away, yet it was not to strike at her, but to offer her something that he held.

A golden apple.

What?

His white eyes bore into her, “Would you go to war for that apple? Let Discord get her claws into you too?” 

That– that was English. How did he–?

Her gaze dropped down to the apple in question, which appeared to age before her very eyes, growing rotten and filled with maggots, until it turned into mush and dripped through his fingers, landing on the dirt ground.

The dirt ground was pock-marked with prints from hooves and blood.

Her head swivelled one way and another, sea-green eyes searching for answers.

A battlefield. Soldiers scream and die, blades clash and squish through organs, Thanatos’ presence thick. She could see nothing through the early morning mist, yet she could hear everything.

“Rhea,” Hermes demanded my attention once more, expressionless, a true apathetic messenger. “He has gifted you to us. You know where to travel next. They will need you once the city falls.”

“What?” She gaped, mind processing that statement. He gifted – did he mean Kronos? The Olympians would never accept anything from Kronos, they would sooner kill her than accept her as a gift. “They need me ? Absolutely not! I have fought my war, this is not my home! Why would I fight for you?”

A shout grabbed her attention for a single moment, a beastly yowl of rage that made her hair stand on end. The soldiers fought on.

“Rhea,” Hermes spoke, still with his hand outstretched. “Fight with us.”

Fury coursed through her, and she slapped his hand away. 

The air warped.

The background faded, just for a split second, everything twisting and muting. With wide eyes, she wondered if she had finally gone too far and the gods were going to kill her for her impudence. If it was, she thought she might be satisfied with that ending, refusing to fight the gods’ battles.

“What?” A voice hissed, confusion evident in their heavily accented words. “Who are you?”

Hermes’ eyes were sky blue, and he was speaking in the same tongue as Odysseus.

That hadn’t been Hermes.

“Lord Hermes,” She said in the same shaky, forgotten form of Greek as him. “I am lost.”

How else could she put it other than that?

His eyes flickered over her, over the battlefield they stood in, then spoke. His words were quick, curious, and thickly accented; she could barely catch the snippets that she did.

“You– Princess– crying? Lost priestess– brother– prophecy– Fates? I am– broken off– message– Princess– what occurred?” He demanded from her, blue eyes glowing but not maliciously, more like a snake debating whether to strike. He took a step toward her, and she took a step back.

“I don’t understand you!” She quickly snapped, a far more modern dialect falling from her lips. “What are you saying?”

He snapped forward, fingers tightening around her wrist as he demanded, “Princess, go to the Oracle!”

A clear command, one that she was already seeking to fulfil. However, that didn’t mean that she would let him grab at her like this.

“I am going,” She snarled back, tugging her wrist out of grip with the strength of the Styx, and stepping back.

Her back hit the railing of the ship at the same moment that his eyes flashed bronze-blue in shock.

Her eyes opened.

Dawn’s rosy fingers stretched across the horizon as the stars faded away in the light of the sun chariot.

Rhea didn’t hesitate; even disoriented from sleep and the dream, she threw herself overboard and sank under the waves.

Whatever the fuck that had been, whatever had taken hold of an Olympian and tried to control her, she wasn’t looking to play along with. She’ll seek the Oracle for answers, then she’s leaving this land of wild power.

“A horse does not care who is the rider, merely that they have the freedom to ride. Perhaps they should not think so, after all, do you care who your master is? Or do you not know your master?”

Chapter Text

There are many paths to Delphi.

The best path, she had learned over a meal with Odysseus and one of his navigators at dusk, was the port of Kirra, the fortified city that controlled access to the sacred land of Delphi.

The navigator had been an interesting man, a trader who had come alongside Palamedes to bring Odysseus to Troy, with bronze skin and black eyes and a love of the stars. Rhea had understood about half the words the man had spoken, his accent different to Odysseus', but once he switched to a dialect that seemed a lot closer to what she was speaking, conversation flowed a lot easier. 

The man had pointed to the stars and told the story of Delphinus, a story Rhea had been genuinely surprised to have never heard before considering it was about her father. He had been careful never to mention her father’s name, only listing out extensive titles and dolling out praise as he explained how Poseidon convinced Amphitrite to marry him; how the constellation of the dolphin appeared in the sky above them. He then went on to tell the story of the Lyre constellation, how it was a memory of Orpheus preserved for the Muses by Apollo. At first, Rhea had absolutely no idea why he was telling her these stories, but was interested in them anyway, but then as the early light of morning came, the navigator had pointed at a point in the slowly lightening sky.

“That is Delphinus,” The man had spoken in his thick accent. “When you see Delphinus before the sun sails the sky, you look at Lyre and go towards the bright star. Kirra has many paths; walk towards the star to go to Delphi.”

Oh, that was smart. Rhea wasn’t 100% if everyone around here had discovered fire yet, but damn if they hadn’t figured out navigation. Though she wasn’t sure if this would fly in New York City, this was absolutely great if she ever decided to go backpacking in Europe or something else equally unadvisable for a demigod.

The navigator was an interesting man, someone who had obviously spent their entire life travelling to different places. One time, he had even given her a damn near heart attack by cursing in what she was pretty sure was supposed to be a kind of Proto-Latin. Odysseus had jumped when she had whirled on the trader, demanding to know where he learnt it, only to hear that he had gone to what they considered the far West. The older hero was the twitchy sort and the bold sort, which led to a strange dichotomy of interacting with him where he tried to grab her favour and where he was very obviously treating her like a volatile divinity. At least the navigator treated her like she was some random royal walking around who was bad at speaking and had a general ignorance of how the world works.

She just wished his name was easier to pronounce. Honestly, his mom was campaigning for the ‘World’s Worst Baby Name’ with Rhamenditheonis. What the fuck was Rhea supposed to do with that? Even the guy looked slightly resigned when she repeated his name back at him. She elected that she was just going to call him ‘Theo,’ and she had heard no complaints about that.

Well, other than Odysseus, who offered to let her call him whatever she wished; she just gave him the flattest, deadest stare possible and told him to try that trick on the goddess of wisdom and see how it went. He scampered off with that, a new look of conspiracy in his eyes.

Rhea had seen that exact look in the eyes of the Stolls many times when they realised that they couldn’t push Chiron anymore that day, but could try again tomorrow, and she had no difficulty seeing how he was the descendent of Hermes.

Rather than allowing the man to come up and irritate her again, and have Rhea snap back with a bit of godly power so he learnt not to mess with deities, she threw herself overboard before they could call to dock in Kirra.

She appeared to be doing that a lot lately, throwing herself into the ocean to escape situations. She really hoped that it wasn’t going to become a pattern while she was in Greece. 

Especially because Delphi was not near the ocean, and she couldn’t just jump into some water if the Oracle took offence that someone from the future was asking about the future. 

…Could Apollo take it as Rhea trying to trick his Oracle or some other act of Hubris? Should she be on the lookout for angry gods of prophecy? Could he even tell that she was from the future? Hermes certainly seemed out of it when he was talking to her.

Hermes. The god of messengers had definitely been possessed by something when he came to deliver that message to her, but when he snapped out of it, he was clearly as confused as her. 

Whatever had the power to take control over the god, it wasn’t alone, always mentioning the words ‘us’ and ‘we.’ Something was afoot! Something s were afeet ? Whatever.

Now that she was closer, she could see how Kirra was a busy port, built straight on where the sea met the flat lands, sticking close to the waves. Further back, away from the flat lands were the hills and mountains that hid Delphi from sea raiders.

Coming ashore in her truly horrid approximations of the local clothing, she made sure to approach from the furthest point away from the town, looking like a local woman taking a walk across the beach-like port. 

She had liberated a few items from Odysseus’ ship as payment for having to listen to him suck up to her way too many times. A handful of small bronze coins, a piece of cheese and some flatbread, a weird animal-skin flask, and a sling to carry things in. Nothing that they would miss or need at Troy. Wilusa? What was the real name for that place anyway?

As Rhea threaded her way through the port, she observed the sailors offloading their ships and the shouts of vendors. There was more than one language being spoken here, though it felt like every language had one word that she would recognise vaguely. 

She side-stepped a lady with a thick scarf around her head carrying a vase on her hip, shouting at a small boy running naked through the sand. Another pair of men grabbed the boy by the arms and redirected him back at her, amusement in their voices as they scolded him for not listening to his mother. Another man, a sailor, held out a tiny pot of red pigment at her, smiling sleazily as he spoke something about “beautiful suns on faces.”

It honestly reminded her of the flea markets her mom would take her to as a child, the stalls crowded on the street with the grossly New York voices shouting sales, and the taxis pissed off about the unpassable traffic.

Without thinking, her hand came down to smack at the man who approached her from behind, going to grab at her arm.

A large man, burly and painted, not local by any means but definitely of the town from the way that nobody looked twice at him or the sword on his hip, narrowed his eyes at Rhea, sneering down at her like she was a piece of foot fungus.

“You cannot enter town, sail-whore!” He snapped down at her, “Cover yourself or return to your ship!”

“Excuse me?” Rhea bared her teeth at the man, ready to attack this asshole. “Sail-whore? I am traveller. I sail. I come from far.”

He eyed her up and down, lip curling. “Your Hellae is bad, girl. Where is your owner? Who brought you here?”

Did he just fucking–? 

“I no owner!” Rhea reached for Riptide, the sword hidden in pendant form around her neck, but not for long. “ How dare you call me some sort of slave, you piggish brute! Fuck outta here, you motherfucking son of a bitch! ”

Before Rhea could actually draw her sword, a woman dove between her and the man.

“Seriphi!” The woman snarled at the man, drawing a crowd. “She is clearly a foreigner. Look at her clothes and her speech, her people do not know our customs!”

This woman had the most familiar dialect of them all, better than Theo or Odysseus, her accent most closely resembling Chiron’s. However, Rhea couldn’t even see her face from the way that she wore a thin cloth over her head, blending in with her clothes, so it appeared kinda like someone had thrown a tablecloth over her, and she decided to go on with her day despite looking like a ghost.

“She is disrespectful!” He replied, waving vaguely at her body. Or, at least, that’s what she thought he said, the use of - ouxk tsegwomai - was like someone had really messed up both their conjugations of the negative and like a concussed English-student trying to pronounce ‘sebomai.’

The lady crossed her arms, “Last turn of moon, you told Minoan women to cover their breasts in our town. Disrespect is you. I shall cover her.”

Rhea made a sound of confusion, drawing attention back at her. “I am well-covered. What do you speak?”

The woman turned her head to her, “Hellae is not your speech, where do you sail from?”

Great, that answered her question perfectly.

“ Manhattan in America ,” She replied. “I change ship on Ithaca, now travel alone. I am of far West. Why do you anger over my wear?”

“In these lands, women cover their hair and faces,” The lady informed her. “And your wear is open to winds. The gods would find you tempting, a whore. Such women cannot enter the sacred land of the Oracle.”

Rhea’s face went carefully blank, “In my lands, I am to attack any man to say such things. My father would be angered by his comments.”

Poseidon would be pissed . He had always been weirdly protective on things, like the way that she told him that Hermes was the one to send her on the quest for the fleece, and how he had pushed her to break up with Conner and Rachel, and to stop being friends with Annabeth. Of course, the one time she made a joke about paying child support so she could go to a good school, the god had blustered and brushed her off.

Actually, forget Poseidon, Rhea was pissed. What the hell did they mean that she had to cover up because she was ‘tempting’? Why weren’t they told to not be tempted? The men here were practically walking around naked!

“As I say to Seriphi,” The lady nodded. “I am Lasthena of Kirra. My mother is a priestess of Delphi. I welcome travellers to the Oracle, my family buy Seriphi to kill offenders. Is it your wish to travel the path?”

“Travel to Oracle?” Rhea checked that she was understanding correctly. “Yes. I learn from Oracle.”

“Come with me,” She extended a hand, ignoring the grumbling guard as she led Rhea away from the sea and toward the few homes and stores. The huts were strange things of stone, mud, and wood, with no doors or glass for windows. “If you have coin or goods to trade, we will buy –ki-to– for you. You will need a head cover; what is your labour, child?”

“My labour?” She blinked. “I not understand.”

The woman tilted her head and stared at her through her veil, “You are not slave, yes? What labour do you serve? Do you weave? Wife? Nurse?”

Why was wife on the list? She was sixteen and definitely still in need of a fake ID. 

“Why?” She pressed. “Why you know my labour? I am, it is enough, yes?”

Lasthena laughed, “You come from far, yes. A slave or whore has no need for head cover, yet a lady or princess does not show her face. We must know, or you will be not be respected.”

Seriously? A huge stamp across her skin branding her with her lot in life? Wow, those guys desperately needed some Marxist theory in their lives, they would have gone crazy. Especially with all this talk of slavery, like, dude, Martin Luther and Abraham Lincoin would not be vibing here.

“I am fighter. I sail. My father is a god, my mother is poet. I not weave, not nurse, not wife. I sail alone.” 

Rhea watched carefully as Lasthena stuttered in her movements, taking pause outside a small wood and stone hut where many fabrics and clothes hung. Were those not the right words? Had she said too much? Too little? Did she think that she was a liar– oh, no, she was bowing, gods damn it.

“No!” Rhea scolded, pulling the other lady upright. “I not god! On feet, not below!”

“Princess,” Lasthena said. “I apologise, I do not intend to offend. Seriphi will be punished much for his disrespect. Your place as a – seras – is a divine honor to us.”

Oh great, she’d overdone it. What even was ‘seras’? That sounded like Hera, but also hero, but also the Spanish word for ‘to be’. Okay, what can that all add up to: Hera+hero+to be = to be a heroine? Yeah, that didn’t sound quite right, but she was too tired of… well, everything , to correct herself or ask.

Rhea made a noise of irritation, “Do not punish you. Seriphi is disrespect to women , not me. You help me with my wear, no anger.”

“Grateful, Princess,” The veiled woman quickly said, entering the hut. “Come, I will trade for your wear.”

“You need not,” Rhea felt like she was talking to one of the fish in the Hudson, just trying to get them to calm down and stop screaming praise at her. “I have coin.”

An older woman, with a woven cloth that had the thickness of canvas pinned to cover her high bun of white hair, watched them enter. “Lady Lasthena, traveller, is my assistance needed?”

“Yes, we need ki-to wear for a princess,” Lasthena demanded. “The finest cloth, of colors and weave.”

“No–” Rhea tried to object, but the old lady was already grabbing bolts of woven fabrics, bright clashing patterns and beautiful tassles.

“One ki-to is enough,” She quickly stopped the lady from grabbing a bolt of dark yellow and red. “I wear, uh, sky and sea colors. No fire colors.”

Colors were tricky to describe in any dialect of ancient Greek, a very different system using mainly comparatives and shades rather than exact words of what yellow and blue were. Worse, Homeric Greek and Attic Greek each had their own way of naming colors, so Rhea was just taking a random stab at what would most likely be understood.

“Yes,” The old lady nodded, peering at her. “ Green like your eyes, or blue like the sun-sailing sky.”

Green and blue, Rhea mouthed to herself. Those are the names of her colors.

She pushed a cloth of patterned blue and green towards Rhea, watercolors distorted with designs that showed the original cream fabric protected from dye by wax. “Drape it on, princess.”

Rhea only stared at her blankly. “I not know–”

Lasthena took the cloth from the lady, “Grateful, Agria. Fetch her pins and a – wehme glaina –”

Okay, Rhea had no idea what that last few words could possibly be, they’d deviated completely away from any dialect she knew. Glaina could have been similar to khlama, which was the word they were using for ‘covering’ and ‘wear,’ but she had no idea what article of clothing it could be actually talking about since khlama was just a weird bastardisation of chlamys.

“Remove,” Lasthena commanded, tugging at her dress.

Rhea startled, “The oikos is open.”

Lesthena pulled the makeshift pin and belt away herself, “ Wojkos not oikos, Princess. Your Hellae is of Athen, Minoa, and Ithaka. We are Mycenae, we do not lose ‘ w’ and ‘ j ’ in speech.”

Lesthena pronounced the word for house with a breathy ‘w’ and a ‘j’ that sounded more like a ‘y’ and said what Rhea is beginning to realise was a regional accent and not a different dialect.

Lasthena also stripped Rhea with an efficiency that was terrifying, “Your wear is slave-like, dirty. Your hands are not thick with weaving, not thick from slaving, your wear must be the same.”

She tried to hide behind Lasthena and a wall so nobody from outside could see her. Look, growing up in a summer camp with communal showers did wonders for helping one get over being body-shy, but Rhea was not one of the locals who seemed to only have two modes for showing their body. 

“What is this?” Lasthena plucked the strap of her bra.

“A bra ,” She fixed the strap. “I not know what you wear to bind chest.”

“It is strange,” She replied idly, working around it. “It has metal, my wrappings are finer, easy to lay in.”

“ Thanks ,” Rhea muttered sarcastically.

“That is not a word of Hellae,” The old woman commented as she returned with a pair of shiny bronze pins with flat bone heads and another bolt of fabric, a linen sheet dyed faintly blue, slightly blotchy at the edges as if the dye didn’t fully take to the textile. “You come from where, princess?”

“West,” Rhea answered, gratefully taking the pins from her so that Lasthena could show her how to put the ki-to on. The fabric was very simply put on, with the long bolt folded into half around her body like she was the meat in a taco, then folding the top part so the pretty linen skirted her shins and that she was given an extra layer on top, covering her more than the fine fabric could. The fabric was pulled up and pinned over her shoulders, creating straps to keep the dress up. “The Hellae word is ‘grateful,’ yes?”

“Yes,” The old lady nodded. “You travel far. Have you know this wear? Linen and ki-to from Minoa, South and East, the indigo color is a many-coin blue from East.”

“No,” She shook her head as she took a second fabric, a thicker kind of bright yellow and blue with many tassels and frills, and tied it around her waist. “My father wear chiton , not ki-to . My mother, as I, wear no linen, only cotton .”

“I know no cotton ,” The lady tripped over the word before promptly ignoring the fact that Rhea had mentioned a material that may or may not be discovered yet. “Now, are you to bride?”

“What?”

“Do you bleed, princess?” She said kindly. “Can you wife and mother if need?”

Rhea blushed bright red, “You do not need know.”

Lasthena laughed at her, “Maiden. All women who are to bride, are bride, were bride, wear a – zoehna – to show they bleed. It show hip .” She patted Rhea’s hips for full effect.

Both of the other women were wearing the same belt, though Lasthena’s was a thick leather with yellow embroidery floss, and the old seamstress had one of thick goat hair. Rhea couldn’t seem to wrap her head around wearing such a blatant brand that screamed ‘hey look at me, I’ve gone through puberty!’ Oh, that must have been so awkward, showing up the next day on the local primitive playground wearing a belt.

“I bleed,” Her olive complexion could not hide her bashfulness. 

Lasthena tied a belt of leather with beads of lapis and green embroidery floss around her waist, settling it above her belly button and below her ribs. The second layer of the top of the ki-to covered the zoehna, and the second colorful skirt blended with the cinched waist, leaving it barely visible.

“Last,” Lasthena grabbed the final bolt of linen. The square fabric was tied, the lower half cross-body from under her armpit and over her shoulder, then the hanging part was brought over her hair, the tip resting against her forehead, like a hood. Lasthena secured it to her head by threading a bone pin through the fabric and her hair, scraping her scalp in a way that would have made anyone without the power of the Styx yelp. “A warrior’s head cover. You can fight with.”

Well, Rhea did feel a bit bulky with the layers, but as she looked out of the door to where the warm air blew and thought of sleeping under the stars, she thanked the extra layers for the cover they would provide.

“Yes,” Rhea agreed. “Grateful.”

“My labour,” The old woman corrected. “As Lasthena’s labour is to guide travellers.”

Right. Their job. That means payment. Rhea bent over and grabbed her satchel from where it fell against the ground. She felt like the bronze coins wouldn’t be enough to pay for all this fabric. Rhea may not have been an expert in ancient finery, but she was pretty sure that ‘clothes fit for a princess’ were expensive.

She handed the lady a golden drachma, “Trade.”

Both women froze, staring at the coin like Rhea had just handed them an active landmine.

Frowning, she reached for her satchel again, “More coin?”

“No!” Lasthena was swift to stop her. 

The lady traced the outline of the drachma, “God-coin. You gift me.”

Puzzled, she nodded. “You kind. You assist. You labour. Good coin trade good hospitality.”

The seamstress gasped, and before Rhea could stop her, bowed and straightened. “Grateful, princess! I pray to gods for your travel. Apollon guide you!”

Uh, no. May Apollo not guide her. She did not want any gods involved in this.

“Uh, ah, grateful,” Rhea tried to back away from the seamstress. “I go now. You keep old wear, make use.”

Rhea looked at Lasthena for help, but the veiled woman was staring at her in a way that Rhea suspected was very similar to the seamstress. 

“Lasthena? I go to Delphi,” She urged the other lady to move. 

Rhea was tired, sore, cranky, and far too confused with the language barrier. She wanted to go to the Oracle, get told the best way to go home, and sit down to have a long cry. People acting weird and bowing to her was no longer within her ability to cope with. If one more person started treating her like she was a god, she would start throwing dishes.

“Delphi! Yes, Princess, I show you the path,” She was quick to leave the hut in a flurry of skirts. “Come.”

A river named Pleistos ran down the valley and into the city, connecting with the gulf at the end. There were many paths and the occasional hut around the river, all following its path back up the mountains. It was a dry thing, mostly running underground, yet life bloomed around its waters.

“Travel up Pleistos,” Lasthena instructed. “At the olive tree with two heads, where the stone mound sits, travel up the path of dust, not the path of stones. Goat-herd Xiphinon angers when travellers travel up his goat-path. Path of dust travels through olive trees and up mountain to Delphi. By moon-rise, you at Delphi.”

Standing at the outskirts of the town, Rhea smiled at the veiled woman, “Grateful. Here, gift of coin for labour.”

“No.” Lasthena firmly stopped her from reaching into her satchel for a bronze coin. “My sacred labour to gift hospitality. No coin.”

Rhea let it go, “Grateful, Lasthena.”

Lesthena patted her hand before pulling back. “I pray to the gods for your travel, Princess. Hermes and Apollo guide you.”

Rhea’s smile turned brittle. Yeah, may the gods guide her straight home. After they forced her to fight for them. Yeah right, as if she was letting herself be convinced by one of them to be waylaid with some sidequest. 

She turned on her heel and marched ahead, taking the long hiking path toward where the Oracle hid the answers.

“A step forward can make you want to turn back, to look at all you’re leaving behind, to feel guilty and doubt yourself. We are all Orpheus. Don’t look back just yet, there will be time for that once you’ve moved on.”

Chapter Text

Rhea lasted walking up the path for a grand total of an approximate half hour before getting interrupted.

The call of “Hail!” without corresponding footsteps had her reaching for Riptide, resigned to her first monster attack in the ancient land.

It wasn’t a monster.

Perfectly tanned skin was covered in a light sheen of olive oil and what appeared to be a chlamys of wool that had a beautiful woven depiction of a mountain range glowing gold and fading out to a blue sky. Under the chlamys, a short ki-to of translucent yellow linen, so finely threaded that you could see the veins under his skin through the fabric. Long, uncut and untamed blond curls tumbled down over shoulders, hiding what could only be even more expensive pins of a material like gold or ivory. Big blue eyes pierced her like a hawk’s hunting gaze, analysing her, all while a blinding smile demanded attention.

Apollo .

What if she jumped into the river? She could totally just jump into the river. He couldn’t follow her if she jumped into the river. Jumping into the river meant she didn’t have to talk to the god. Jumping into a river would also either offend the god or amuse him, and she didn’t know which of those two options were worse.

“Hail,” She replied, trying to project the stance of ‘exhausted traveller’ and, her personal favourite NYC subway stance, ‘woman who just wants men to shut up forever.’

“You are travelling up to Delphi – hema –? I desire to – horotao – the Oracle, to know the future is – ghreneosis – to life.” He waved his hand as he talked, approaching her with long strides. “We go on the path – ku-sun –.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t phrased as a question. Though she had no idea what the question would even be, because she lost about half the words he was speaking. Hema was clearly a way used to refer to her action, not that she could clearly figure out in what way that he was referring to her. It could be a weird ‘also’ or ‘in-unison,’ or just a different word. Horotao could have been way too many words for her to even squint at the strange root; it sounded not-Greek, yet had a Greek ending. Ghreneosis could have been a fucked up pronunciation of ‘wisdom in action,’ but that didn’t make a lot of sense given the sentence, unless the meaning was slightly different. She wasn’t even going to attempt figuring out ku-sun ; half of the word meant ‘beside’, but the important first part didn’t sound like anything other than a long list of conjunctions.

“Yes.” Rhea decided that agreeing was easier than fighting it. “We travel to Delphi Oracle.”

“What is your name, Princess?” He peered down at her. He was easily a full head taller than her, which wouldn’t have been out of place in New York considering that she was only 5 foot 8, however the tallest man she’d seen so far was the Seriphi guard who was barely an inch taller, and he was also clearly not natively Greek. So, Apollo being over 6 feet tall? Yeah, this man was not winning the contest of ‘Best Mortal Disguises.’

“My name is Rhea, Lord Apollon,” She replied, not bothering to hide the fact that she knew exactly who he was. He had addressed her as ‘Princess’ for Olympus’ sake! Before he could respond with strange words, she added: “My Hellae is bad, forgive my speech.”

He just laughed in her face, “You do not enjoy the mystery of a stranger, do you, Princess? No beauty in a stranger who gifts hospitality. A rare thing in Hellae, Mycenae, and Minoa, yet my Wilusan worshipers would like you. Very well, I will speak to you. My brother told me of a princess he thought a lost priestess of mine, a girl who was gifted a prophecy with his face and Fate’s hand. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Rhea’s skin crawled, the pure waves of unhindered divinity rolling almost benevolently across her iron skin, his clear amusement of her like a small child with a goldfish. On one hand, he at least slowed down his words and spoke clearly, giving her time to comprehend his words and respond. On the other, he was clearly mocking her, playing with her, and she felt disgust for any god that treated her like a toy.

She raised her chin, looking straight at those eyes of clear sunny skies. “I think your brother is wrong. I am no princess, I am demi-god and warrior. I know no prophecy by Fate’s hand, I know of war in Wilusa that I refuse. I am lost, yes, my land was at war and I won, yet was… lost. I travel home now, I ask Oracle and learn of home path. Will you refuse to learn from Oracle?”

“Defiant little princess, you are,” He smiled with too-perfect teeth and too-sharp eyes. “No, you will horotao my Oracle, I will see it happen.”

He began walking, surpassing her with a steady pace. “Come, princess.”

“Not princess,” She corrected, doing an awkward jog to catch up to him, though she knew it was futile to resist when a god has set their mind on an idea. “Will you travel… ah, um, and me, all path? You are god, I am below.”

Flattery could usually get you everywhere with gods, especially when they were the vain type like Apollo. Though it usually went better when she actually had a full range of vocabulary. Same with insulting them.

“We travel ku-sun, two are one. Your Hellae is much bad, how lost are you?” The curiosity was clear in his melodic voice, tilting his head to peer down at her. “You are a child of an Olympian, I can see, which of my family claims you?”

Rhea kept her head down so her tired self didn’t trip over a rock and wipe-out in front of the god. She may have had divine blood and a great ability to survive, but she would die of embarrassment. “At this time, father not claim me. Yet, I swim and sail and no wave drowns me. I am much lost, I come from the West, a great kingdom on the water with strange wear and strange customs. I am not of here.”

He stopped in his walking, stepping toward her, and while she stepped back, his stride was longer and he was taller, within seconds her back was scraping the branches of an olive tree. Taking her chin in a burning hot hand, he tilted her face towards his. “A daughter of my Uncle. A pity that a pretty princess like you comes from the sea.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His divinity was barely contained within the vessel tolerable by mortal eyes, and she could feel the heat of the sun exuding from his body. There were no pupils, but pictures of destructive and beautiful scenes, of arrows downing soldiers and poets singing songs. This was the god who spat in Kassandra’s mouth and wept over Hyakinthus. This was not the god who made bad haikus and let Thalia drive the sun chariot.

Yet, that was the god he would become.

Carefully, she reached up and took him by the wrist, releasing his grip from her chin. “My mother raise me to not play with gods, Apollon.”

“A warning? Or to be humble?”

“ Ku-sun ,” She answered carefully, measured. She wanted to claw at his eyes for daring to stare at her, and cut off his hand for wandering towards her face, yet there was something stopping her. Probably not self-preservation, but something similar.

“Much defiance, little Princess,” Her answer caused him to grin. “Clever too. My sister would like you, but you come to me, not her.”

“Yes, I do,” Involuntarily, she relaxed. She has been on edge, always waiting for the next monster attack for a while, like this was just another guerilla attack during the war, or a moment of pause around Pandora’s jar before the next wave. However, if she knew one thing, it was that gods were prideful, and that Apollo wouldn’t smite her while she amused him, and that no monster would attack while he was there.

“We travel ku-sun then,” One sandaled foot behind the other, she ducked out from under his warmth and the branches of the tree. 

“Yes,” His eyes returned to normal and his divinity, while not contained, calmed. There was almost a shift in his divinity; like Hermes’ greater birdlike and wild nature, this god had the taste of a bustling city. Not like how he felt three thousand years in the future, of Californian beaches and distant boomboxes mumbling rap songs, but more like coming home to New York, in a city always bustling and containing multitudes, of courthouses and skyscrapers and street performers and rodents. “Come, princess, there is little time before my sister sails the sky.”

And then they were off again up the valley into the mountain.

Apollo set a brutal pace, but, considering that Rhea didn’t exactly want to be stuck losing precious sleep consulting a creepy smoking Pythia at midnight, she didn’t say shit.

What she did do, however, was trip over a tree root and nearly go tumbling down the side of the hill.

She was stopped from an extremely embarrassing trip down the quick way, and another hike up, by an arm around her waist.

“See the path, Princess,” Apollo warned her. “It is not made to be – raghywos –, but to stop soldiers from entering.”

They were only minutes from the top of the mound, where the sacred polis of Delphi hid, overlooking the valley and the river.

“Grateful,” She straightened, yet he lingered. “I travel far, much tired.”

“Yes,” He pulled away then. “One last path.”

It was nearly four hours to hike from the port of Kirra to Delphi, but once you turned that final path, and the ground turned from dirt to flat stones, you realised the entire trip had been worth it.

To their left, on flat land bordered on one side by the mountain and the other with large boulders, a primitive stadium stood, large enough so that one could even race horses if need be. To their right, the hill gave way to a small yet strong village, houses of stone and mud standing proud under the fading sunlight, with tiny temples of various gods dotting the lower plain between the village and that which hid most of it from view. In the centre of it all, a large boulder stood, with a temple of laurel trees and marble behind it, circular and bleached white from the constant UV rays it was exposed to.

She had not yet seen such beautiful testimony to what Greek civilisation would become so soon, but here, standing in Delphi, she could see the seeds that would plant a legacy that would not be forgotten.

“Beautiful, yes?” Apollo called from behind her. “Forget Athens, Thebes, and Minoa, this is the centre of the world.”

“Yes,” She had to agree. “This land not be forgotten for three thousand years.”

A small furrow appeared between his brows for a second, before an arrogant smirk returned on his face. “That is truth and you know it.”

He turned away, eyes looking directly at the sun, “My sun needs to end its journey now. Ask my oracle, and do not forget that it is I you came to.”

Before she could answer, his form grew brighter, and she had to slam her eyes shut before she got killed for not getting a head’s up.

“ Right .” Rhea muttered in English, left standing alone at the open door outside the Temple of the Delphic Oracle as the sunset threatened to turn into twilight. “ Just talk to the Oracle and maybe owe a god. Fuck, I’m going home before he tries to cash this in. No fighting, Rhea, no fighting. ”

She approached the lair of the Pythia.

“If I smile, can you sense the thousand and one emotions that I hide behind pearly teeth? Or does the comfort of a fake smile wash over you like waves on a beach?”

Chapter Text

Rhea was surprised by the stairs.

Not that she didn’t believe that the ancient Greeks had stairs, she had seen plenty of those on the hike up, but she was used to taking the stairs up to the attic to see the Oracle. She had no idea what to do with stairs going down .

Okay, maybe she had ragged on Chiron a bit too much these past few days considering that she had completely forgotten that the Pythia used to live in a cave underground .

While the outside of the temple was beautiful, a marble hut covered by a laurel tree that had seemed to grow into the marble rock, the temple inside was miniscule. It was simply enough for a long marble altar table filled with depictions of Apollo and offerings, and for a part of the roughly hewn stone to fall away into a cavern. The crack that had been carved out of the ground looked natural, like a crack in an egg, giving way to the pressure bubbling out from underneath.

Her feet hit the first step, and immediately she hears and sees more than she dared. As if the mist had cleared from her eyes, tendrils of smoke curl up in front of her, green and toxic, like the color of a villain in a disney movie.

Rhea has faced prophecy all her life, she is not so easily spooked.

Straightening her spine, she walked down into the depths of the temple.

It was dark, smoky, and very much a cave. There were dim lights, flickering like flames from around a corner. The ground splashed once her sandaled feet stepped away from the steps, soaking her up to the ankle.

She swallowed. She was willing herself to be dry, yet the liquid covering her feet did not slide off. She took one step forward, then another, before her hand snapped out to catch herself against the cavern walls, and met slick stickiness.

Straining, her eyes widened at the images reflecting wetly the light of hidden torches. In green blood, oozing from the wall, there were words written in a language that was not Greek, but older. 

She was standing in a pool of blood.

Yeah, okay, maybe the mummy in the attic was less traumatising.

She kept a small mantra of “What the fuck” going steadily under her breath as she dared to walk towards the light.

The tunnel wall made way to a larger cavern, round and open. There were carvings on the stone walls, the same language as before and other images, even older than now, like they were drawn on by cavemen. Seven women stood in the room, all of various ages, with six holding torches and standing in a horseshoe shape around the youngest woman that knelt in green blood.

Rhea had known that the Oracle was ancient, but this was a different scale than when she stood beside Chiron or petitioned the mummy. The very cave screamed ancient worship, even now in an ancient time, it was something prehistoric. Something that predated the gods themselves.

The Pythia raised her head, her entire body covered by a singular large veil of white. “ Phoebus spoke of your arrival, ” She said in English.

Rhea paled, “ How—? ”

The Pythia shook her head, “ Silly child. I see all futures, did you think that I could not give prophecies to all? Your tongue is strange, a legacy of ours, yet we still breathe.”

“ I have travelled too far ,” She replied, raising her chin. “ I wish to return home. ”

The smoke grew thicker, swirling down from every small crack in the stone to gather at her feet. Tendrils of green entered the Oracle’s open mouth.

“ You cannot return to where you once called home,

But a path, before you, lays to the East,

With the sun’s rise, guiding, you roam,

When the battle’s won, you are released,

To your hearth, immortal, family won .”

Rhea closed her eyes and tried very hard not to cause an earthquake.

Still, she felt every wave crash upon the shores of Kirra, sending children shrieking up the sand. Boats rocked and the river swelled uncharacteristically. 

The rocky walls of the temple did not shake nor crumble, and so Rhea did not show her anger to the priestesses other than the fire in her eyes and the grit of her teeth.

“ Do you have your answer, Rhea Jackson?” The Pythia asked, a childish lilt to her question.

She does, and she hates it.

There is no home to return to. Time only ever moves in one direction, and Rhea’s bones would have to take the long way round. She would never see Camp Half-Blood, or Mom and Dad, or Annabeth and Nico and Conner and Rachel again. 

“ Yes ,” She whispered. “ I do .”

“ Then you know what to do ,” The Pythia said, shifting back to her kneeling position in the blood of Python.

Rhea all but ran out of the cave, stumbling up the stairs and into the deceptive temple. A cool breeze blew at her face, pulling at the strands of loose hair that had fallen out of her ponytail and escaped her veil. 

The moon was high in the sky, its body round and full.

How long had she been down there?

How long can she survive this place?

She had collapsed on the ground of the temple, body heaving from who-knows-what. The tears that fell down her face? The panicked breaths of lungs that threatened to quit? Or perhaps it was the grief that she has been pushing down for the past few days?

Her fingers felt numb as her nails scratched the floor, tremors of anger at everyone who had pushed her down over and over again.

A keen of pain slipped through her lips, but she clamped her eyes shut and bit her lip.

Hadn’t she given enough?

Why must the divine always demand something new from her?

Demand…

She looked up at the altar to Apollo next to her. The god would demand a sacrifice for listening to the Oracle, which was so stupid… but then again, he had walked the entire way with her, stopping her from falling down the hill and helping her learn some of his dialect…

Sacrifice. She wiped her tears away with a stray piece of her ki-to. She needed to make a sacrifice to him. With shaking hands, she patted herself down, looking for something she could give. A drachma would be insulting, a literal payment, but maybe something like her armor? She only kept her bracers, and they would not be needed on an archer. Precious, what did she have that was precious? Annabeth’s dagger, Riptide, her camp necklace and… the compact mirror!

It’s not like they had glass around here, and she wasn’t sure but she thinks that they wouldn’t invent mirrors for at least another thousand years. 

Pulling the basic compact out, she reached up to drop it on the altar.

And dropped it straight into the waiting hand of Apollo.

The god had truly appeared from nowhere; no flash of divine light that could herald his presence, which meant that he had been there the entire time and she simply couldn’t see him.

“Good craft,” The sun god said, lounging against the marble altar, ignoring the demigoddess kneeling on the floor. “Good metal, – raghywos – opening. A perfect – katopsorao –. Aphorodiati will wail to see I have this.”

His molten gold eyes fall to her on the floor, “The tongue you speak with my Oracle is not known to the gods, Barbarian Princess.”

Rhea could have focused on the fact that he was clearly listening in to what was supposed to be a private session with the Pythia, but, considering she was already upset about things that she was trying to shove down, why not let some of those emotions escape on a completely different point? 

“Barbarian?” She growled, “Can barbarian craft that ? Disrespect to me.”

The amusement on his face grew, “Your father is an Olympian, yet you are not of our lands. Your tongue of ba-ra-da is barbarian, like your mother. It is the truth, princess. Learn Hellae, and I will not name you barbarian.”

Rhea let out a snarl of frustration, slamming her hand on the rocky ground just to watch a crack appear from where her palm met the stone. Tears prickled in her eyes once more.

Find the Oracle. Hide from the gods. Don’t get dragged into another war. Learn Hellae. Don’t get enslaved. Blend in. Don’t anger Apollo. Follow the prophecy. Don’t die. 

Do this, do that: hasn’t she done enough?

“Such power,” He crooned. “Much tears. Let it out, princess.”

“I would fall your temple,” She warned despite the temptation to let everything out. She had blown up Mount Saint Helens and held off Kronos’ army singlehandedly, she was well aware and well afraid of her power.

“Your power is not more than mine,” He said, reaching down and taking her by the chin. “Let me see your anger.”

“Grief,” Rhea corrected. “I have lost and am lost. It is grief I feel.”

“Let that grief go, then,” His fingers moved to cup her face.

This was not her Apollo. There was no reason for him to care about her feelings. Yet, this was a gentle touch of someone who did not look at her and see a superior divinity, and she craved that.

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek further into his palm. She did not scream or wail or sob, but her tears fell, dripping down her face.

She did not shake the earth, nor did the waves respond to her grief, but the sky… 

The hurricane that formed was beautiful. Wind beating harder and faster at the flimsy hovels that the mortals of today called home, weaving in through windows and out through doors, whipping cloths and flinging baskets of goods across the mud floors. Then came the oceans, reacting to the heavy winds, raging harder and harder alongside the coasts, rocking boats and slamming into ports. Rain fell from the sky in wicked torrents, filling barrels and buckets and making them overflow, washing away the footprints in the sand.

Then she let it go.

She formed the storm, watched it build in mere minutes, tragic and deadly, and let it go. If she held onto it any longer, it would build strong enough to kill hundreds of these mortals that led primitive but just as meaningful lives.

She opened her eyes, raging ocean-green met perfect sky-blue. 

“I am tired,” Rhea told Apollo, ignoring the destruction she had wrought and how Apollo had shielded the town. There were sailors praying to him so that they could return home; and families praying for the sun to rise through the clouds in the morning. “I have traveled much, and your Pythia say I have more to travel. I have gifted you good craft for our talks, our travel, and your hospitality. Let me rest.”

He tsked, “Travel I will guide you on, Princess. I may not know your barbarian tongue, but I know every prophecy spoken. Pythia has announced: you are mine to guide.”

She tensed, shaking limbs ready to bolt. “I do not follow good. I do not fall under any man. I want peace and household, I can fight but I do not want.”

His eyes scanned her body in a way that had her fingers inching towards Riptide. “No, you do not, defiant Princess. I know many defiant women, I have life with them, but do not reach beyond your mortality. I have a task for you, but first, I gift you hospitality. You seek household? Come, I will show you my Delphi household where you may rest.”

There was something in his eyes, the look of a god playing a trick on an unsuspecting mortal, that made Rhea raise her cheek from his palm. She could be prideful and refuse, or she could accept and attempt to surpass his trick.

She stood on wobbling legs, forcing her sandaled feet underneath her, though they soon gave way. An arm around her forced her upwards, pulling her flush against the god, promising a sunburn from his warmth if she was any less divine.

“Tired,” Apollo mocked.

“I have slept little, used much power, and traveled much. I have fallen, and it is a show of my strength that I can stand,” She hissed through her teeth. She wanted to scream and cry and destroy the entire temple, but if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

“ Mortal fragility ,” He laughed, his words switching to English. Her blood turned to ice in the arms of the sun. “ Gods are superior in every way .”

“ How? ” She demanded. “ Seconds ago, you said you didn’t understand and called my language barbaric. ”

“ It is barbaric, but you would share my oikos. Do you think a god would be of so poor hospitality that we cannot speak the language of our guests? Insulting. I can draw the words of every poem and song you have ever heard. ” Apollo shone with his arrogance, white teeth gleaming. 

Rhea had the brief and entertaining thought of replying to him in Shakespearean language or with the slang of her home in Harlem, like 50 Cent or Dr Dre, but the urge to live outweighed the urge to confuse a god.

“ Fine. ” She snapped, “ I underestimated your power. Can we go to yours now? ”

And she had, because last she checked, Apollo of the future didn’t have this power. Though, now that she thought about it, none of them had the power that their ancient selves oh so clearly had. The Oracle of Delphi was a shadow of her powerful self in the twenty-first century, and with Hermes and Apollo, they glowed with divine power far beyond their true forms of the future could ever hope to achieve. What was it? Fading? Were all the gods of the future slowly fading, and they have hidden it?

She should not get satisfaction over such a terrifying idea, but she felt like a small measure of justice. Just like their children, gods can die. 

Instead of answering, Apollo lifted two fingers and placed them over her eyelids, softly closing them in a mockery of the word tender .

When the searing heat disappears, she is in a princess carry, the god standing in a room of marble and precious stones.

“ This is my bedroom in Delphi, my summer home, ” Apollo explained. “ You may rest here. ”

Oh so this is the trick. He’s waiting for her to go all ‘fuck no I’m not sleeping in your bed’ and blast her for insulting him and his hospitality. Nice try, but she’s learnt from Ol’ Crusty to respect hospitality and be extra polite regarding beds. Annabeth would be so proud!

“ Thank you for your hospitality, I appreciate you sharing your bed with me. ” She smiled like the cat that got the cream. “ I know that gods don’t sleep .”

There was surprise in his eyes as he spoke, “ You would not demand another bed? ”

“ I am not that bad of a guest that I would demand anything, ” She demurred. “ Only to have my peace and quiet tonight .”

He lowered her onto the bed, lingering at every possible opportunity to stay close to the demigod who would be at his command, to fight monsters for his glory. “ Then rest tonight, Princess Rhea. Tomorrow, Fate awaits. ”

“Fate is stardust: always was and always will be. Dust to dust, stars to stars, every action a reaction. Reach a hand out and feel the passage and creation of time. This is fate.”

Chapter Text

Rhea woke in a bed that wasn’t her own, in a room made for those beyond even mortal kings of this time.

The scent of petrichor was thick in the air, and the curtains were damp, trailing droplets on the floor and promising mildew with every gust of cool wind. The bed was a soft stuffed thing, swan feathers poking out of a thin mattress of wool laid over a wooden kline made of laurel wood, covered by a thick red cowskin and then a blanket of spun wool. 

Above her, small quartz crystals were strung up, lazily dripping down to catch and reflect the sunlight peeking through the window curtains, like stalactites full of glowworms. The ceiling was painted blue, rich and dark, with visible swirls where the paint was thicker and thinner. Ivory, real rich white ivory, showed carvings of scenes that no mortal had witnessed, paneling columns of plated gold.

Pushing away the woolen blanket, Rhea got to her feet, ignoring the many wrinkles in her linen skirts. It was already late in the day, probably a bit past mid-afternoon, and so she went to the linen curtains to drag them open and get an accurate measure of time.

“Princess!” A woman yelped from behind her, making Rhea startle badly. There was now a fresh rip in the curtains from Riptide. “I can do that!”

Rhea blinked blearily at the other teenager who seemed to materialize from thin air, brain rebooting from her Styx-curse-enforced oversleeping. “You can open what?”

“The – aulalea– ,” The girl, probably around sixteen or seventeen, said, gesturing to the curtains. “Princess need not do, I can serve.”

She seemed genuinely distressed at Rhea’s actions, oiled black braids swinging with the force of her head shaking. Her clothing was simple, yet colorful, similar to the priestesses in the cave under the temple of Pythia. Long skirts and long veil, she looked pious, but her brightness betrayed her youth. Dark brown hands stained with reddish brown patterns pulled the curtains open for her, throwing sunlight on them both.

“ I– okay ?” Rhea looked at the other girl like she was insane. “Apology, who are you?”

The girl dropped into a swift bow, shallower than anyone else had done, but still a gods-be-damned fucking bow. “I am Deme, priestess of Apollon, servant of his household.”

“I am Rhea,” She awkwardly replied, putting Riptide back on her neck. 

“I know,” Deme said. “Lord Phoebus told me. He named you a – seras – princess, to fulfill his will.”

Seras… warrior princess? Did Apollo seriously call her Xena? Well, Xena was hot, so she’ll take it as a compliment, but still. Could’ve just called her a demigod or something, why did everyone here have to give her a title? Weirdos.

“I fulfill the prophecy , not his will,” Rhea immediately corrected. “I do not act for gods. He guides me.”

Deme flinched at that, taking two steps away from her like she was just waiting for Rhea to get smited. Her eyes flickered between Rhea and the bed, panic in her eyes. “Hush! Mind your hubris, you are not a god because of what you share with him.”

Obviously, gods don’t give a shit about being a part of a prophecy, they don’t get affected by it, unlike demigods who could die. 

“Princess.” A voice from behind them had Rhea turning around and Deme falling to the floor.

“Apollon,” Rhea eyed the god, lounging on the bed she had just vacated, a new beautiful chiton hanging off his body lazily, like the fabric itself did not care about covering the god up. “ Good morning. ”

He tutted thrice, pink tongue peaking through perfect teeth. “I said you will meet Fate today. No barbarian tongue, speak with the tongue of your father.”

Rhea won’t roll her eyes. She won’t. Rhea will not get her eyes melted out of her skull because she decided to roll them at a god.

“I merely attempt to make conversation… ah…” She stumbled over the word for ‘easier,’ realizing that she hadn’t had to use it. “You know what I attempted say.”

Apollo laughed openly at her stumbling, genuine humor like she had said the funniest joke ever. “This is why I gift you, a servant of my household to be yours. My priestess is of barbarian land too, she will teach you Hellae.”

Rhea turned to the other girl, feeling rather bad at the constant use of the word ‘barbarian’ even if she understood it to mean something different now. The poor thing was still on the ground.

“ Oh for— “ Rhea was exasperated at all the bowing and kneeling of this time. Apollo was barely a god to kneel to, he clearly hadn’t given two shits that Rhea hadn’t knelt to him. She knelt down to Deme’s height and, careful of her own strength, grasped her by the arm and pulled her upwards. 

“I did not tell her to be on her feet,” Apollo said idly.

“You gift her to me? I say she be on feet,” Rhea retorted, not looking away from Deme, who seemed frozen in horror at Rhea’s actions.

“Defiant princess,” Apollo commented. When she turned around, his eyes were swirling gold, what appeared to be tears of diamond and lapis, glittering blue, slide down his cheeks in perfect straight lines. Despite this, he didn't appear in any way upset, merely glowing brighter than usual. Deme was staring very firmly at the floor, but Rhea had no fear in meeting his gaze.

Unfortunately, she blinked, quickly and desperately, because staring into his eyes at the moment was like being five years old and deciding that you didn’t need the weird solar eclipse glasses, only to immediately face the consequences of your hubris by having black floating dots for a day. An experience that Rhea has absolutely no experience with, nuh-uh, nope.

Why does she constantly underestimate how godly the gods are at the moment?

“Has none taught you to look below a god?” Apollo’s bare feet padded across the floor, coming to stand right in front of her, hand coming up to cradle her face.

She glared at him and his weird touchiness. “No,” She answered mulishly. “My land, we told to look. To look below is disrespect.”

Well, more like not making eye contact with someone when you’re speaking to them is considered impolite, but as she literally does not have the vocabulary for that, she’s just going to try and say things the best she can. It’s getting very irritating when English has multiple words for concepts that Ancient Greek, and whatever kinda Proto-Greek this is, doesn’t. 

He swiped his thumbs over her eyes unexpectedly, and she made a sound of protest, but once his thumbs were gone, so were the black floaties.

He still didn’t pull his hands away.

She raised an eyebrow, “You are here for a reason ?”

“ Reason ,” He corrected, finally letting go. “The reason is that this is my bedroom.”

Oh. Right. That.

“Not this reason,” She said. “The other reason.”

Apollo made a face, “That is not known speech.”

Huh? Is μεν δε not a thing yet? But it’s her favourite Greek grammar thing! The original ‘on one hand, on the other hand’ as Chiron had accidentally drilled into their heads. The Stolls had even gone as μεν and δε for Halloween once, Annabeth had taken a picture of it.

“My lord,” Deme interrupted, speaking up for the first time since the god had appeared. “It is northern, a speech used by the Heracleidae, to mean one idea then a different, opposite idea.”

Apollo’s eyes flickered over to Deme, who was steadily looking at Rhea instead, then back to her. “Barbarian speech once more. My brother’s sons need not – peithwo – your Hellae.”

“Do I get answer?” Rhea demanded, squashing this argument before it could start. 

Though, what in the world are they talking about with that Heracleidae comment? Did they mean the Dorians? Herakles didn’t have descendants running around causing trouble right now, did he? Ugh, Rhea should have paid way more attention to Chiron’s lessons, because her lack of understanding is going to bite her in the ass.

“I have a quest for you,” He said lazily, like those weren’t words that doomed so many demigods to death. “First, you will dress.”

With a wave of his hand, the most beautiful ki-to and skirt combination appeared on the bed, sky blue Egyptian cotton and maroon and gold tassels on wool. A decorated and painted wool box, filled with gleaming gold and precious stones, a primitive yet far more elevated jewelry box than anything she had ever seen before.

“Dress her,” Apollo instructed Deme, eyes shifting colors from gold to those of a bird of prey, then back to a calm blue. “Use my jewels. And my oils, she is filth from travel.”

Before Rhea could even protest, the god had left the room, stalking out the door, blond curls bobbing lightly by the breeze.

“Wait!” Rhea yelped, picking up her skirts so she could run after him, skittering around the corner. “ What do you mean by… ”

The corridor was empty.

“ ... quest? ” She finished lamely.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

She whipped around, making eye-contact with Deme and sharing the most exasperated and annoyed look with the bewildered priestess. “He do this much?”

Deme looked at her like she was insane, “He is a god. You think they are contained?”

The other woman had switched dialects as she spoke to Rhea, her speech slightly easier to comprehend, but still off in the most frustrating way.

“No,” She crossed her arms. “I want them to speak more, not go.”

Deme laughed at her, “You do not know much of gods, Princess. Come, my lord is truthful, you are filth, you must bathe.”

Μεν : thanks for all the lovely comments about her smell. Δε : lovely, wonderful, soothing baths of water .

“I follow,” She accepted the blunt comment gracefully. 

A bath really would feel so nice right now.

“Cut your hair, learn an art, sing your song, hold your ground. You’re free little mockingbird: fly.”

Chapter Text

There was a permanent freshwater pool in Apollo’s home.

Out of everything to be surprised about, Rhea felt like this should have been lowest on the list, however she couldn’t help herself from blinking stupidly at the floor which had been carved away and filled with clay, only a small crack left so that the natural waters could fill the primitive tub.

Deme wasted no time, clicking her tongue as she grabbed small vessels that could barely hold the volume of a finger of liquid, and a bowl of sand. “Princess, in water now.”

“Uh, I can bath me. Not together,” She eyed the other woman warily, as if she would act as Lasthena had yesterday and just start stripping her anyways.

Deme gave her a look, “My lord said for me to bathe you. I will not disobey him.”

Rhea tried to protest, but quickly got steamrolled by the pushy priestess with a determination to not disappoint her god. After a while, Rhea shut up, simply because she understood the desire for a god’s approval even if they didn't deserve it. Even if they would still ignore you.

Stewing in the spring, Rhea tried to relax.

In a few minutes, she’d get told what her next quest was. She had no idea what it could be, or what he'd demand from her. Kill a monster? Overthrow a kingdom? Nearly give her life to achieve some petty and dangerous task?

What life was she even giving up? What was her life without her family and friends? Once, she thought her mom dead at the hands of the Minotaur, and she wished to die a thousand times over. Now, she knew she could never see her mom again, yet she was still moving forward.

Rhea slowly let her body sink below the water of the pool, holding her breath so that she could almost feel like she was drowning. It didn’t work, though, because almost immediately a hand grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her out.

Deme was kneeling at the edge of the pool, her skirt bunched up around her thighs in an attempt to keep them dry, looking unimpressed. “Princess, I cannot bathe you if you hide.”

“I not hide!” She was quick to retort, but then failed to elaborate when she realised she had none of the words to convey what she was actually doing.

Deme’s face softened slightly, and quickly she picked up a squat fat jar, with a skinny spout and a skinny neck attached to two handles. “– Eleiwon– ,” She gestured to the jar and then poured a small amount of the liquid inside onto her hand.

Rhea quickly understood what Deme was doing. “ Olive oil ,” Rhea confirmed, “ελαιον.”

She nodded, and poured more oil onto her hand before letting it drip down onto Rhea’s head. “Bathe – kwomie –.”

Rhea made a noise of annoyance that quickly shifted into one of pleasure once Deme started massaging the oil onto her scalp, “ Hair . κόμη.” 

They went on like this, with Deme naming every item she showed Rhea and, in return, she gave the English and Attic Greek name. It was very helpful in learning the language, even the small little differences in accent and pronunciation. Rhea relaxed under the practised hands of Deme, nearly falling asleep at the sweet smells of Apollo’s personal soap collection and the gentle lapping of the pool being disturbed by Deme’s ministrations.

Too soon, Deme was making a clucking noise at her, pulling her out of the water and showing Rhea her pruned fingertips. As a daughter of Poseidon, she firmly believed that there’s no such thing as too much time in water, and her inability to prune up agreed with her.

Olive oil was everywhere . This multipurpose tool was a moisturiser, a nail cream, hair oil, and somehow also perfume. Rhea was confused, but kinda digging it. Olive oil was the coconut oil of Ancient Greece. Did that even make sense, or was this another case of when Rhea had confidently announced that ‘the rivers of New York are the Mediterranean of the world’ and then promptly had Michael check her for a concussion? Whatever.

She was surprised, however, by the way that Deme then dragged out a heavy crate of yellow gold and immediately started comparing the shapes against her dress and hair. There appeared to be hundreds of golden hoops of all shapes and sizes, small charms of precious stones and gold figures looped through a handful of the hoops. The necklaces were worse, a million tangled chains of gold, almost appearing to be snakes twisted up against each other.

“Snakes?” Deme blinked, stopping her searching.

Did she say that aloud? Oops. 

“Yes,” Rhea confirmed, deciding to just roll with it. “I wear snakes. Do you have?”

Apollo did, indeed, own snake jewellery. Deme dug out a pair of small hoops styled to look like a snake biting her lobe, a small thin stick spearing the two sides and her ear, and a necklace of flat gold coins depicting curled snakes strung on a wire with a chunky pendant of lapis. Rhea picked out an arm cuff of a gold snake biting its own tail from the set of seven near identical cuffs that Deme took too long pondering over, and managed to escape the gold rings that the other woman was trying to slip onto her fingers.

“Am I done?” Rhea whined as the other fussed over her collar.

“Yes,” Deme announced with a stink-eye. “You complain much. You must listen to your blessings more, and act towards them.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, “You are my age, not a crone. I do not like sitting like statue for much time.”

“I am a priestess,” Deme said with obvious pride. “We must be wise, like crones. We sit and listen to our god.”

Rhea didn’t really think any of the gods were that wise, other than Athena, but that’s because it’s her whole schtick. She didn’t voice that to Deme, the girl looked far too devoted to the gods for such a thing. “How long time you are priestess? For why?”

Deme held up a small wooden pot shaped like a swan, whose back twisted off to reveal the red pomade inside, waiting for Rhea’s reluctant nod to come closer and apply it. “Four springs and winters I have been a priestess. Lord Phoebus is honorable, I pray for help to leave slavery and the ship is hit by azknenois and I not, I am free in Delphi, I tend to his home.”

Rhea nodded. Understandable response for a mortal, having a god respond to your prayer usually does lead to conversion, but if she was in that situation, it would probably end up with her yelling at her dad the words ‘fucking finally’ a few seconds after the words ‘thank you.’

“I know not azkenois ,” She admitted. “What mean?”

“ Shakenois ,” Deme flexed her bicep to show an arm of quiet strength. “Able to work and fight and help. Azkenois , to not.” She then mimicked coughing.

“Ah,” Rhea smiled at her helpful charades. “Health and sickness.”

Deme pursed her lips, “South and East words, not Hellae. Not sharp in breath. Shakenois and Azkenois known more here.”

“Understood.”

Deme stepped back, away from Rhea’s face, and then levered a flat bronze circle so she could see what she had done with the red dye. Two small suns sat on each of her cheeks, and, between her eyebrows (which were desperately needing a pluck, now that she could see them) sat a single red dot dragged upwards, like a strange bindi.

She tilted her head in confusion, “Why?”

“It is beauty,” Deme put the primitive mirror away. “Young, fertile, and maiden.”

She said the word ‘maiden’ strangely, like she very much doubted the truth of it. Which, she would be correct, but Rhea didn’t appreciate her implications.

“I am not cattle,” She snapped. “You are not cattle. Do not speak of we as cattle.”

Deme was immediately confused, “It is a truth?”

Rhea didn’t have the words she needed to explain exactly what she thought, so she improvised. “It is a bad truth, do not speak it. There is more to me, more to beauty. I am I.”

Deme still looked confused, but nodded in agreement. Great, this was definitely something she would have to talk over several times with the other young woman, and Rhea wasn’t a motivational speaker, she couldn’t do the peppy ‘girls can do anything!’ speech like the random women in STEM fields her schools always dragged into assembly.

Moving on, Rhea went towards the door, “I am finished, yes? Where is Lord Apollon?”

The young priestess was right on her heels, “We shall meet him at the hearth, he is waitin– my lady, wrong path!”

Rhea turned on her heel, determination driving her forward despite her complete lack of direction in the maze that is Apollo’s home. The walls were all decorated by woven tapestries or painted scenes; red cows pranced through fields as arrows flew across the sky, the sun bright and ever present in all the images as if one could simply forget that the god existed.

The young demigoddess turned a corner, and promptly froze, leading Deme to run into her and have both women stumble forward into the room. Apollo regarded them with amusement.

His form was changed, not the one that Rhea had always known him to prefer. His skin was darker, past the golden tan and into something more brassy, like aged driftwood, and his hair had gotten curlier. The loose curls had turned into full dark brown ringlets, the front braided back from his face and melting into his unbound hair, all carefully threaded with golden chains, giving the false impression of blond strands. His upper body was bare, showing a well-oiled chest, and his skirt was short, showing strong thighs…

…where a toddler sat?

“Princess, you look prettier!” Apollo called, a smirk on his lips. “Almost like a goddess.”

Gods give her patience.

Actually, no, they don’t have that, they can’t give her any.

“Lord Apollon,” She said with the faintest pretense of respect. “You look less Helle.”

Deme inhaled sharply behind her.

His grin was sharp, all teeth, it reminded her of a hawk getting ready to pounce. “My sister was in Aulis, I was with her. The Helle insult us, insult her, and she has pleaded father to stop the winds. We fight for Ilium.”

A shiver went down Rhea’s spine. She’s heard this before. 

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t speak, merely flickering her eyes downward at the strangely silent toddler who watched them all with knowing brown eyes. 

Hmm. Rhea might have just met the inspiration of all future horror movie kids.

Apollo’s fingers came up to twist the small ringlet of light brown that had fallen between the girl’s eyes, fondness radiating from the action. “Ah, Princess, this is my daughter, Elaiwa.”

She translated the name before her brain had even caught up with her mouth. “Olivia?”

Apollo blinked, “Is that your tongue for her name? Awe-making.”

Wait, no, she doesn’t think that was translated correctly. It was the same root of ‘respect’ but there was a strange emphasis on the start as a ‘ty-ss-hu’ instead of ‘ts-hu-gu’ as it should…

Rhea looked at Deme for help, mouthing the word at her quizzically. 

Deme glanced at Apollo for a moment, but he seemed to be waiting for her to translate for Rhea as well, so she straightened. “It is of inspire . To be curious, of knowledge, of learning.”

“ Interesting ?” Rhea finally found the missing word. 

“She is a good gift, yes?” Apollo grinned victoriously, “I am gracious.”

Rhea wanted to reply with an ‘uh-huh’ full of attitude, especially at the fact that the god seemed to think that he could go around just gifting humans, but decided to not provoke him anymore.

“Now, your quest!” He said with a flourish, standing up, grabbing his still-silent toddler by under the armpits… And putting the girl into Rhea’s arms. “Here.”

Immediately, Rhea had a brief moment of panic as she tried to figure out how to hold the child, but as the little girl looked completely unbothered by being passed over to a stranger, it was easy enough to settle her onto her hip. “Huh?”

“You are taking Olivia to Athens, she is to learn to use her power,” Apollo explained. “Her mother, foolish woman, bring her here to be the Pythia.”

He snorted, shaking his head at the thought of stupid mortals presuming to know how the divine worked. “She has my prophecy, yes, but she is no Oracle. Travel to Athens, tell all who ask you are my priestess, and bring her to me at the foot of the mound. I will give her to teacher there.”

Just that? No ‘go fetch my lost symbol’ or ‘go to the deadliest place I, a god, can think of’? Just babysit the demigod until they get to a safe place? She was playing Satyr?

“This is quest?” She double-checked to see if she was hearing him correctly.

“I do not think we need more prophecy,” He winked at her, sitting back down next to his hearth. “You say you do not want to fight. Then show me you can protect my household, princess.”

Rhea looked down at Olivia, and she looked right back up at her. She reminded Rhea of Rachel, strangely enough.

“When do I leave?” She asked.

“You and Deme leave at the sun’s rise,” He said, meaning tomorrow. “For now, we dine together.”

He waved his hand, and a veritable feast appeared on a low table surrounded by pillows.

Well, Rhea was never one to say no to a free lunch.

“Path to the left, path to the right. Robert Frost said that he took the path less travelled by, but all paths make the difference. Take the path that you will love the difference.”

Chapter Text

“This is so stupid,” Rhea said, carrying a three-year-old on her front in a fabric sling, the curious toddler silently watching.

“Nearly there,” Deme replied, equally exhausted.

For one month, the two had been traveling by foot, stopping at any city along the way that would take them. 99% of the time, when they show up at the gates and say that they’re priestesses of Apollo and they are on a sacred path to Athens, there is a rush of guards escorting them to the nearest temple of Apollo, who often try to force them to stay longer than a night and to take an escort. Rhea had turned them down every time, knowing full well that you should never inflict a quest on someone who wasn’t already involved, even if this quest were child’s play. Three giant bears, two harpies, and one karpoi? No worse than what you could find in the woods of camp. She would say that Apollo was interfering if she didn't know better. As it stands, she was only 87% sure that he would react to something from their trip, and that’s because Pagae had insulted them, and, consequently, Apollo.

The king, Tereus, had been a grade-A asshole. First, he goes on and on about how the entire city dedicated itself to Ares, his father, and how Apollo’s arts and arrows have no temple fit to shelter them as they had only three priestesses to the god in the entire city. Then, he had sneered at Deme’s obviously non-Greek features and leered at Rhea’s divine features, asking if she was certain she wasn’t a nymph’s daughter, and had even tried to grab Elaiwa’s curls. At that, Rhea’s watched enough Dateline to know that it was in their best interests to get the fuck outta there, and had to quickly come up with a lie about wanting to make a sacrifice at a proper temple and that they could never be so arrogant to sleep in the palace of a king. Oh, he had not liked that one, but then his wife had walked by, and his irritation had suddenly folded away like he had put on a mask. 

Yeah, Rhea was not going to end up carved up and eaten by that weirdo, no thank you. She had prayed for Apollo to guide them out of that place safely, and luckily, they had left unmolested.

Olivia, who has apparently taken after her dad a bit too much in the way that she insisted that Rhea keep calling her Olivia instead of Elaiwa, squirmed in her wrap. “Boos!”

Deme’s dark eyes immediately found what the girl was babbling about, “Farms nearby.”

The cow, or bous as the land-locked Hellae called it, had wandered down the grassy hill and was very interested in chewing on some herbs. They had stuck to the coast as much as possible as they travelled, and so they had eaten far more seafood than meat this entire trip. 

“There’s mint,” She pointed out. “We could have boiled mint with fish tonight.”

Deme eyed the cow enviously, “If we visit the farm, surely they would slaughter a fat calf for us.”

“If we visit the farm, we’ll get to Athens the day after tomorrow instead of tomorrow,” She pointed out.

“Rhea,” Olivia squirmed. “I wanna pat the boos!”

Terrible idea, Rhea has rediscovered the concept of rabies and the terrifying reality of wildlife before the rabies vaccine. Sure, she knew that demigods tended to be very resistent to mortal diseases, like chicken pox and measles, but she wasn’t testing her, or any of theirs, luck against rabies of all things.

“I also want to pat the bous ,” Rhea agreed. “But the bous is eating, see? Do you like hugs when you are eating?”

Olivia shook her head, “Noooo!”

“Then I don’t think the bous wants a hug,” She nodded seriously despite the giggling coming from the bundle strapped to her chest.

She must say, after a month on the road with Deme, being forced to talk constantly, her Hellae had improved remarkably. The other girl was a great teacher, drilling every possible declension and verb into Rhea’s head. In turn, Rhea had used her new-found vocabulary to coax words out of Olivia.

Apparentally, she was shy, but once she opened up, she wouldn’t stop. Rhea was once like that as a baby, her mom said that she said her first word when she was nearly two, and it was more like a full sentence. Now, Rhea wonders if it was a demigod trait. The little girl was precious but demanding. No doubt the effect of staying with Apollo’s priestesses, where her every godling whim was catered to, had made her a bit of a brat, but Rhea hadn’t been raised by Sally Jackson to let that sort of thing continue.

“Boooooossss,” Olivia whined once she realised that Rhea and Deme hadn’t stopped walking and that she really wouldn’t be petting the cow.

Rhea stuck her fingers behind her head, “Yeah, I am a bous! Moo!”

Deme picked up on what she was doing immediately, mimicking the motion herself. “Moo!”

Miracles do happen because the toddler went from tears to laugher in seconds.

She mouthed a thank you to the woman who was her only friend in her new world. Deme shot her a look of pure exhaustion in return.

Rhea is aware that she has set a gruelling pace, but after less than three days on the road, she realised that it was necessary. She shouldn’t have scoffed at Apollo implying that this quest was dangerous, some days it felt like she was walking the streets of Manhatten at night, no phone and no wallet, headphones in and blaring, unable to sense anyone approaching. On their second day out of Delos they had been approached by a large group of men and two women, who had asked them if they had enough bread to share. Deme had been quick to proclaim them priestesses, and Rhea had held Luke’s little knife up, with its impeccable modern forging, and proclaimed that they had a weapon from the gods to prove it. The men had moved on, immediately respectful, and it was only the next day that she learnt from Deme that the women were slaves. 

Deme had to threaten to pray to Apollo and say that she was abandoning Elaiwa and her quest to stop Rhea from trying to go after them. Still, guilt burned in her stomach as she kept pressing forward. 

Sunlight was burning.

Once it turned dark, the world lost all sense of light. Rhea had taken all the city lights for granted in the future, nowadays it was a world purely of fire and sun. Deme had given her a strange look when she mentioned being used to being able to read and work at night.

When the sun was a thumb away from the horizon, indicating they had roughly an hour left of light, they settled down for the night. They were right on the coast, where Rhea felt the most secure in her ability to protect them all, and once Deme had a fire going, she began her fishing.

Well, not really fishing. She just grabbed a bubble of water that held two Sea Bass and floated it up out of the sea and towards them. It was very effective, if tricky from the way that the fish really wanted to live. It was a new skill, adopted after Deme had looked horrified at the fact that Rhea didn’t know how to hunt or scavange at all and they were on a month-long journey. Yeah, by day three, Rhea was fishing like a pro. 

“One last day,” Deme said as she cooked, grinding mint by smashing it between two rocks. She repeated it once more as she rubbed the mint against the fish, like it was a prayer.

Rhea almost wanted to join her, but she knew that Deme was far better at cooking without an oven than her, so she busied herself with playing with Olivia.

“And then Perseus!” She held a stick up like a sword and buried her face in her elbow, “Started waving his sword to see if he could cut off the monster’s head! Then…” She gasped for dramatic effect, “He heard a sound! The head had fallen off, the monster was dead! He took the head and–”

“Froze too!” Olivia squealed.

“What? Nooo!” She looked up out of her elbow. “He used it to froze the sea monster!”

“Freeze,” Deme corrected absently. “He used it to freeze the sea monster.”

“Yes!” Rhea nodded.

Olivia pouted, “No! Per-ee-us freeze too!”

“This hero has a happy end, Olivia,” She shook her head, amused. “Only monsters die.”

Olivia’s eyes seemed to glow gold in the dark despite the fact that was the opposite of how brown eyes are supposed to work with light. “Nuh-uh! Heroes die too! You got blood on you.”

Rhea froze. This wasn’t the first time that Olivia’s prophetic powers came out to play, but they were passive, harmless. Seeing a bird before it flew, knowing that other travellers were on the road… small things. Blood wasn’t small. 

“There is no blood on me right now,” She said finally. Before, they all thought that the Great Prophecy meant that she would die. She’s still here. She won’t be tricked by prophecy, they are hard to understand. “Time for eating.”

Later, as she laid down on the ground, curled around Elaiwa and Deme, she prayed.

Not to her father, no.

“Please,” She whispered into the cover of the night. “Let me live without prophecy strangling my throat. I can write my own happy ending, just let me.”

The moon glowed as if in response.

Or maybe it wasn’t the moon.

“Who do you pray to?” Apollo stood over her.

He was back to his golden visage, looking the same age as her, though his hair seemed to be playing discount Rapunzel in the way that it pooled next to his feet. His skirt was as short it would seem he eternally preferred it to be, barely scraping his mid-thigh, just like his future chitons that threatened to flash everyone every time he bent over. His chest was bare, only a few hundred layers of small long beaded necklaces covering his abs. She couldn’t see any details in the dark, even with his soft glow of divinity her eyes were straining to see him.

“Does it matter?” She asked, sitting up gently, knowing that it was unlikely her friend and their charge would stir yet still careful not to disturb them.

His eyes glowed ever so slightly brighter, suns in their own right. “It was not to me.”

Territorial bastard. Rhea resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She may be on his quest, but she held the right to pray to anyone she damn well pleased.

“Can I pray to only you?” She asked.

“You are my priestess.”

“Am I?” Rhea was distinctly unimpressed. “Last I checked, I was a princess in your eyes. I say I am your priestess to others so that men leave me alone.”

He chuckled and she could she his form dim slightly as he sat next to her instead of towering above. The grass lost all dew in a matter of seconds and her mouth went dry. “I do wonder why your mother let you grow so bold, princess. A lack of father, perhaps?”

“I have heard that one before,” She growled. Every demigod has at one point or another. “I am sure you have too.”

His glow turned the brightness up over nine thousand percent. “Have I?”

“In this family?” She shot back. “We’ve heard it all.”

The glow was sustained for another minute in silence before it slowly went dark, like someone slowly drawing the curtains closed. “You tempt me.”

“Same,” She agreed, thinking about strangling him.

“I could make you a queen,” He offered out of the blue.

Rhea choked on air. “What? No! I hate this princess thing already.”

“It is strange how you are not tempted by that .” The grass ruffled with an invisible breeze, “ I wondered how long it would take for you to switch. Your Greek has improved greatly, at least my gift is in good use.”

“Deme is a person with a name ,” Rhea shut that down immediately. “ And she is a great teacher… thanks.”

There was a longer pause as if he was thinking of what to say next. She was pretty sure she had thrown whatever script he had into the sea.

“The Greeks are to sacrifice a young girl to my sister once I raise the sun, ” He said instead of anything she had even marginally expected out of him. “ She is a year or so younger than you. She believes that she travels for her wedding. Then, her father will slit her throat like a pig. This tastes of Athena and Hermes, though my sister approves. An innocent girl before womanhood, spared the violence of war.”

Iphigenia. He’s talking about Iphigenia. 

Rhea swallowed thickly, “It is cruel. Where is the glory in killing an innocent? If I was them, I would kill a thousand rapists in your sister’s name.”

“There is no glory in war unless you make it so , ” Apollo’s glow seemed to settle into something approving. “ I am an archer for a reason. The youth should be spared war, in any way possible. They show they have mercy for her, yet are ready to face the truth of war. I dislike, but I understand.”

“I do not. ” Her nails dug into her palm, “ She doesn’t know. She’ll be terrified. She has so much ahead of her.”

Apollo hummed in agreement, “Perhaps. Would you be?”

She paused for a moment. Tilting her head back, her eyes searched for a particular constellation, but found nothing. Bianca hadn’t been scared. Zoe hadn’t been scared. Micheal, Silena, Lee, Beckendorf… Rhea hadn’t been scared when she picked up Annabeth’s dagger. They weren’t scared of being sacrificed in a war for the gods, but, fuck , she knew that they all lived in terror of what the war would demand for them if not death.

She shook her head, “I could never stand by as a child in my care died. I’d die in their place.”

“Yes, ” She could feel Apollo’s eyes on her. “ You would. How is my daughter?”

She couldn’t help but feel a tad grateful at the change in subject, “Fine. A lot like you from what I can tell. We’ve only passed a small handful of monsters on the road, Elaiwa didn’t even really notice that I killed them. We’re all looking forward to arriving at Athens tomorrow.”

“She’s powerful ,” Apollo said. “ She will need to be taught well.”

Something felt… wrong with that sentence. She had no idea what, but over her month of travelling, she’d wondered why, exactly, they were going to find a teacher for a prophetic child in Athens of all places. They had no oracles, no great seers or great teachers.

“But who will teach her ?” She asked, realising exactly who she was taking Elaiwa to.

“Chiron, who else?” 

“Chiron trains heroes,” Rhea knew that. She was one of those heroes.

“Yes.”

“Heroes do not have happy lives.”

“No, they don’t.”

Rhea closed her eyes, yet she could still see the glow permeating through her eyelids. “I see.”

There almost seemed to be disappointment in his tone, “Do you?”

“Yes,” Rhea opened her eyes once more, switching back to Hellae. “We will meet you at the foot of the mound before the sun chariot stops the light. Good night, Apollon.”

The night goes dark, no glow to be seen. “Good night, princess.”

The next morning, Rhea packed their stuff and wrapped Elaiwa tight to her chest, shouldering her burdens for the final trek. Athens was a large city, but a devoted one. The guards at the gates waved them in and fetched slave boys to walk them to the bottom of the Acropolis hill. Under the shade of her veil and the flat umbrellas the boys carried, she kept her chin tilted up.

The god was waiting for them under the shade of an olive tree.

“Elaiwa,” He greeted his daughter first, ignoring the way that Deme dropped to her knees in respect and how Rhea only nodded in greeting. “My fruitful daughter, it is time I choose you a teacher.”

“Yes,” Rhea interrupted, placing a hand on the top of Olivia’s head. “It is.”

Apollo frowned at her, “Princess?”

She smiled at him. “I am the strongest hero of my home, Phoebus Apollon. I have completed your quest with no difficulty. You asked me to prove I can protect your household, and I have. So, will you have me as her teacher?”

Deme’s hand snapped out to grasp at Rhea’s skirt in fear at her audacity.

Apollo only smiled as if his plan had come to fruition. “Yes I will.”

She smiled back at him, passing him his daughter out of the sling against her chest. “Then let us go to your temple and talk of the future. We’re all tired from travelling.”

His blue-gold eyes seemed to melt out of his sockets as he placed Olivia on his hip, “Yes. A bath will do you all good.”

“Family is complicated, daughter mine, but is that not the nature of the Heart? Love deals only in complications and ruthlessness; it is our job to soften it with trust, loyalty, and truth.”

Chapter Text

Rhea kept staring out the archaic balcony, watching the stars that were just-so-off from the stars of the future.

It was funny how easy it was to notice all the physical differences that time brought. The trees and hills were the same, but cosmic features like the stars were foreign.

The night sky was missing so many beautiful constellations, such as that of Zoe.

She sighed and rested her temple on the cold temple balcony railing. 

Everything was so very different, yet everything was exactly the same.

The priestesses at Apollo’s Temple in Athens had all jumped to attend them, wide eyed under thin veils that covered their faces with orange cloth even as Apollo disappeared at the door. Bathed and fed, Deme and Elaiwa had taken one room with several of the other priestesses while Rhea had been shuffled over to a lush private room by herself. Deme had hissed something to the head priestess before they had split them up, and Rhea wondered what it was. Her status as a demigod of Poseidon? The fact that they called her a hero? The way she wasn’t a priestess or devotee to Apollo? She had no idea, but the way that she was alone for the first time in a month made her lonely.

A soft glow came from behind her, gentle and warm. She knew exactly who it was without even having to lift her head.

“What has you sighing so pretty, princess?” Apollo greeted, stepping out onto the small balcony that barely had enough room for her to sit and wallow on, much less have him join her.

Rhea rolled her eyes before lifting her chin just-so, looking up at him through her eyelashes lazily. “Nothing you can fix.”

His movement stuttered slightly so as his eyes traced her form, even as he leaned down slightly to flash his teeth at her. “I’m a god, princess, are you trying to tell me I’m not powerful enough?”

Rhea shifted so she was fully on her knees, giving the god her full attention as she looked up at him. It was clear that he was trying to intimidate her from their positions, flash his godly power as if she had ever cared about something like that, and decided to press forward. It wasn't like she had anything left to lose. 

Or maybe she had everything left to lose if this went wrong. But she was so lonely, and she wasn’t ignorant to the way that gods tended to act, and was it so wrong to want some comfort? She’s young, and bold, and he’s shown to be tolerant of her wanting to throw him against a wall and see what color gods bruise.

“Maybe,” she drawled, grabbing the railing and slowly standing up, never breaking eye contact. “I doubt anyone could give me what I want. Not even you.”

She turned around and stepped off the balcony and back into the bedroom fit for a god, uncaring how his eyes watched her walk away. With her hair unbound and her body barely covered by her sheer ki-to, she looked far from dressed to receive a god. Not that she cared.

Burning hot fingers grabbed her upper arm, and in one swift motion, her back was against the wall, a god standing over her, pressing her against the marble, eyes glowing golden with divine energy.

“Not even me?” He growled, “I have given you my favour and this is how you repay me? I have given you shelter, guidance, and a place at my hearth, and you throw it in my face? I am Apollo, god of civilisation and plague, you should be singing my praises. You should be on your knees worshipping me!”

He has helped her, and she still didn’t know why. There was no reason to, not unless he knew something of what the Oracle meant. The sunrise was all she spoke of, Rhea knew that all she had to do was continue heading East, yet Apollo felt the need to intervene several times. Guiding her to Delphi, hosting her in his own home, giving her a quest and leaving her in charge of his daughter, and now he came back to her even with her quest complete, asking why she was upset.

Her eyes did not waver from his, watching as his divine energy flared through molten gold eyes that appeared to melt and drip from his sockets. She was grateful, she had to admit that, and she wasn’t uninterested so much as not interested . He was beautiful, exactly her type, yet it was how his divine arrogance made him think he could intimidate her into doing his bidding by simply flashing his power at her that caused her to withdraw. 

Rhea remembered how her mom would tell her about how her dad once offered to give her a palace. A queen amongst mortals, that was what he had called her. Apollo offered her much the same way, yet he stopped short of truly pursuing her, even as he flirted. Perhaps he was afraid, like his experiences with Daphne and Marpessa had taught him not to forcibly pursue a woman, or perhaps there was respect, or, most likely, he was afraid of her father’s reaction to seducing one of his precious daughters. 

In any case, Rhea knew she would have to make the first move, and at this moment, she didn’t particularly seem to care about the consequences of her actions.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why should I worship you?”

His face morphed into one of divine rage , glowing white-hot in a way that would mean any mortal would have caught fire by now, a move that had stopped scaring her years ago. Yet, the embroidered tapestry hung next to them on the wall turned black and started to disintegrate, the painted mural on the ceiling cracking and burning.

Using her strength gained from the Styx, she placed a hand against his sternum, and, shifting her hips so her left hip rested against his hipbone, flipped their positions so she could slam him against the wall hard enough to crack the stone.

He stared at her in shock, unprepared for her show of strength. The anger only flickered for a moment before returning, furious at the attempt to humble him.

She didn’t care, stepping back, she reached up and removed the singular metal pin that held her ki-to up. The bundle of fine fabric dropped on the floor, revealing her naked body to the god. She kicked it away.

“Why don’t you get on your knees and worship me instead?” She smirked, reaching out to grab at the collar of his chiton. “Isn’t that what you want?”

The god had frozen, not expecting her brazenness. His anger had clearly died down to an ember, and now the glow in his eyes came from a different emotion. He raked his eyes up and down her body, assessing the situation, before letting a smile slowly grow on his lips.

“So this is what you offer your god?” He reached out to brush her hair out of the way, fingers lingering on her skin, tracing the curve of her breast and down her stomach, changing their course to grab at her hip.

She tugged at the pins of his chiton and threw it away, leaving him just as bare as she was, before stepping back and away from his hands. She didn’t break eye contact, coyly staring at him as she walked backward until her shins hit the bed-like structure, and sat down. Slowly, teasingly, she spread her legs apart so he could see exactly what she was offering him.

“Do you like your offering?” She said huskily, all reason flying out of her head and letting her impulses run free. If she was being honest, she was acting far more confident than she really was. Rhea wasn’t a virgin, Conner and her had messed around not even a full year ago, but they were fumbling teenagers, and this was a god. It was like a game, a bluff, and if she hesitated, he’d devour her.

He licked his lips, a clear look of hunger on his face answered her question.

Perhaps being devoured wouldn’t be so bad.

Stalking forward, he came to stand in between her legs, and, cursingly slow, he came to kneel between her legs.

Instinctively, she spread her legs slightly, pushing her hips towards his face, hoping that he would take the hint.

Lazily, he ran his hands up her thighs, stopping before he could reach her cunt, and in a move that left her dizzy, he slipped his hands under her thighs and grabbed her hips, pulling her towards him. Her back hit the bed and the back of her knees slid up to rest against his shoulders, exposing her fully.

She couldn’t help her laugh of delight and surprise at the move, not used to having her partners manhandle her, but it cut off with a gasp as he gently blew hot air over her lips.

Staring up at the half-ruined ceiling, she felt a gentle nip at her upper thigh and a nose nuzzle the crook between her hip and thigh before trailing upwards.

“You are very bold indeed, princess,” He rasped into the soft skin of her lower stomach, making even the soft hairs trailing down her stomach to her groin feel sensitive. Looking down, she could see his eyes, blue and endless, peek out from between her legs. “But I can make you sing .”

His head lowered and she moaned at the gentle wet warmth trail itself down, spreading her apart and lapping at her entrance.

One hand came to grasp at the back of his head, fingers twisting in his golden curls, and pulling him further into her. Her other hand came to hold onto one his, grabbing desperately at his wrist from where he was pressing her down onto the bed.

A talented tongue indeed, he traced out his name against her clit, licking deep into her and then moving so no part of her was left unmapped. Despite her lack of physical arousal when they had first began, she quickly grew sopping wet, his spit mixing with her own natural lubrication. A brush of teeth against her clit had her groaning and bucking up into him.

“Fuck!” She gasped out, “Yes, there, please!”

He pulled away, and she could see the way his chin was glistening from his meal. “Please what , princess? Beg me for it.”

Fuck no she wouldn’t, he wasn’t in charge here.

Tightening her hold on his nape, she surged upwards and pulled his lips towards hers, kissing him with a ferocity one would rarely find outside the ocean. It was an awkward move, she was bent basically in half in one hell of an ab crunch, one leg still slung over his shoulder while the other fell down onto the bed on top of his hand, but from his gasp, he was into it.

She could taste herself on his tongue, which only made her press forward even more and open her lips wider. 

They only broke apart when she began to lose air.

“Eat me out, Apollo,” she commanded, chest heaving as she panted. “Bite me and do your best to leave me bruised, and then you can fuck me.”

His eyes dialated, pure black only broken by a small ring of blue and gold, no white left visible.

“I’m divine too,” she reminded him. “Fuck me like you mean it, or do you think I break that easily?”

And, gods, did he.

Her hands scrambled to hold onto him, nails scratching and leaving marks that dripped ichor and healed immediately, moaning his name as he ate her like she was the ambrosia of the gods.

Fuck, did he make her sing. She was all but screaming his name as she came, his tongue deep in her and her ankles locked behind his back, pushing him in further, and the basin of water on the table exploded.

Not that she was the only one making a mess, half the room had caught on fire at some point or another, and the vase of flowers had long since bloomed, shrivelled, and bloomed once more.

His hands let go of her hips, and, fuck, yeah it almost felt like he bruised her. He trailed kisses up her body as she panted, coming down from her peak, slowly moving up so to crawl on top of her.

“You sing so pretty,” he purred into her ear, self-satisfied at his work. “Just for me.”

As he nuzzled into her neck, her hand came up to rest on his shoulder.

“Just for you?” she whispered back into his ear. “Just for me . If you want me for yourself, then I am your wife, no less.” She nipped at his ear as he stiffened above her. “You have my loyalty. You want to keep it? Show me that I have your loyalty.”

“So very bold, princess,” he sighed into her collarbone. “Demanding the love of a god.”

“I ask nothing you can’t give.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Nothing I wouldn’t give in return. But if you want to tell me what I want is out of your power, then fine. I offer you one night of worship.”

He growled into her chest. “I can demand more.”

“I wouldn’t give you it.”

He pulled back and away from her with a wounded look in his eyes. “You would deny me so easily?”

“You do the same to me.”

“I can give you the blessing of a god, the riches of a queen, and the guidance of an Oracle.”

“What is that worth? I am not your whore, Apollo.”

Something dawned in his eyes, and he seemed to understand that she wouldn’t compromise on this.

“No, you aren’t,” he said slowly, as if testing the words in his mouth. "You are worth so much more."

“Good,” she smiled at him, her hand trailing up to pet his curls, brushing them away from his forehead. “Now finish what you started and fuck me.”

He captured her mouth in another kiss and complied.

"There is a burning in love that only the sun can comprehend. To burn is to melt, to hurt, to turn to ash. To burn is to be bright, to entice, to be beautiful. The flame of love is the dream of a sun that sets and rises eternally, unable to create a new spark or to burn out. Our love can be the sun if only we try."

Chapter Text

The small doe stumbled up the stairs, surrounded on all sides by lions, watching, prowling, starving for blood.

A buck, with antlers of shining bronze, awaited his daughter at the top of the cliff, standing in front of an altar of stone and vine.

Rhea couldn’t move, couldn’t demand answers or shield the young doe from the predators surrounding her on all sides. 

Yet, it wasn’t the lions that pounced first. In one swift move, the buck had pierced the doe’s neck with his own antler, drenching himself and the altar in blood.

A wail rang out, another doe, older and stronger, screamed her pain at her daughter’s murder.

With the cry, the wind picked up, revealing ships on the water, rocking with waves and ready to set sail.

A thread of silver ran through the wind, and Rhea followed.

Above, the clouds were silver toned.

A woman kneeled before a man, fury overtaken her features. The silver turned into a second woman, young and severe.

“They used my son’s name!” The kneeling woman raged. She was beautiful, and familiar. In fact, she looked like Sally Jackson, but her eyes… those are the eyes of the sea. “They dishonour him!”

The man, tall and strong with a face like thunder, pushed her pleading hands away from his knees. “Then go wail to your husband on the matter, Thetis, this is an issue for him and your son. I am your king, not your kin.”

The second woman, of carved silver and moonlight, fingered a bow by her side. “If there are any who are dishonoured, it is I.”

“Daughter,” Zeus greeted warmly.

Artemis inclined her head, “Father. I have returned the winds with their sacrifice as you have ordered, however I am still displeased with Agamemnon. Trickery instead of an honest sacrifice is no way of mine.”

“That is the work of your sister,” Zeus answered, already ignoring the other goddess in the room.

Thetis seethed silently, and Rhea sympathised with her.

“It’s not fair,” She said.

The sea goddess looked up, eyes searching for a voice only she could hear, but found nothing. Her eyes of green-blue fish scales skipped right over her. 

Rhea was not an influential part of their world.

There was a ray shining straight into her eyes.

Rhea fled the sun by snuggling deeper into the god still in the bed they shared last night.

For some reason, she wasn’t surprised that Apollo was a cuddler, nor was she complaining. She was cramping, not too bad, but enough to remind her that while her outsides were made of steel, her insides were still soft and not happy at going for round two with a god last night. The god of the sun was warm, nowhere near enough to burn but enough that she had kicked off what remained of the slightly burned blanket in the night, and she might be using his forearm as a hot water bottle at the moment.

Was having sex with a god the best idea Rhea’s had? No. Has she had worse? Definitely. Did she regret it? Not at all.

She’s never had a one night stand before, but from what she’d seen on TV and from the stories about the gods, she’s surprised that he’s still here. Then again, he can be in several places at once, and she’s pretty sure this was his bedroom, and they also hadn’t actually talked about the next steps of Elaiwa’s education…

She groaned and tried to bury her face deeper into his side, but instead ended up with her face tucked into his armpit. Which: gross.

“Awake, princess?” His voice was deeper than she had ever heard it, rough from either sleep or sex, she had no idea. “You can rest longer, you have not slept much last night.”

Way to remind her, smug prick. “Stop your sun and maybe.”

He shifted, moving onto his side so he could star right at her, tucking her hair behind her ear. Daring to open her eyes against the onslaught of light, she squinted angrily at him.

“I do believe that sun cannot be stopped,” Yeah he was wayyyy too smug for this early in the morning.

“Watch me,” She mumbled. “Big net.”

He snorted, genuine mirth appearing on his face. He looked far more human compared to last night. Sure, it was still an impossible standard of perfect for humanity to ever reach, but there weren’t any melting eyeballs or glowing skin. Blue eyed and blond, he looked like someone you might run in outside of a NYC Fashion School. His fingers traced a pattern on her hip before slowly becoming more solid on her thigh, his thumb teasing the way towards her inner thigh.

“If you have enough energy to try and catch my sun chariot…” He began, intent obvious.

So this is why he stayed until morning. Well, Rhea won’t lie and say she’s interested, but maybe some other day. Like she’d told him last night, she knows gods have commitment issues and she isn’t getting into any relationship she doesn’t think won’t end up in marriage, so a fuck-buddy situation-relations (situlation? relatuation? situationship?) is all he’s getting from her. Not that he seemed to mind, though, she doubted any god would turn something like that down.

She gave a groan, stretching her legs and knocking his hand off. “If your sun is up, Elaiwa is up. She will cry if I am not there with first meal.”

He sighed, letting her go, turning to lay on his back. “I suppose this is how the future will be.”

She gave him a weird look as she swung her legs off the bed to go see if she can find her ki-to. If it hadn’t disintegrated around the same time that the bedsheets turned to ash. The second she stood up, she stopped and looked down in pure irritation.

“ Are you fucking kidding me? ” She demanded as she realised that her thighs weren’t just sticky from not washing up but because her period had started. Of course her cramps weren’t just from going too hard. “ It’s been three months, of course you did this .”

Apollo sat up quickly at her tone, but relaxed when he saw what she had been talking about, then frowned. “Three moon turns?”

Right. That’s like, a concerning thing for a pre-OBGYN world. “I have, ah, object in my arm, stops bleeding and having children.”

Apollo’s eyes widened, “You are barren?”

“What? No,” Rhea quickly corrected. “Just for some years, then I can have children.”

“So you are cursed?” He frowned. “By who?”

“It’s not really a curse,” Wow is she terrible at explaining birth control to an ancient god. “Mom gave me it. She had me too young, with no money and husband. Now, I can’t have children until I am older, secure with money, and married. It is safer.”

His face was doing complicated things, and so she just gave up. “Can you just, ah, new ki-to? Something to clean the bleeding? I will stain the bed.”

Things she expected to happen with that request: Apollo to summon her a new dress and a towel and call for a servant.

Things she didn’t expect to happen: Apollo to kneel down in front of her, lick up the red trail going down her thigh , press a kiss to her lower stomach, then wrap her in what she is pretty sure was his cloak from last night.

Frozen, her brain hysterically wanted to giggle out a ‘what the fuck?’ that luckily her mouth didn’t obey. She knew that he doesn’t know about blood borne illnesses and that gods didn’t really care about what they were putting in their mouths, but now she is thinking about him actually eating her. Why isn’t she screaming? She feels like there should be some screaming right now.

At least her cramps have suddenly disappeared.

Apollo looked serious, his hair more like licks of flames. “I will not set you aside, Rhea. My servants will tend to you, as you tend to my child and oikos .”

This… seemed like an overreaction to her period. Did he think she was dying? Just cause it does sometimes feel like she is dying with her cramps and the headaches and all, doesn’t mean she’s actually dying. He does know that, right? Apollo, god of Healing, totally is aware that she isn’t dying, right?

Right, of course he does, don’t be silly Rhea, he’s just being dramatic like every other god is.

“Thank you?” She ended up responding, baffled at the random turn of events.

He nodded tersely, “I will send for Priestess Deme, then you will journey to Delos. My birthplace will be a secure place for you, where I can visit often and bring the finest of treasures to. We can relocate my oikos there, build you safe walls, you wouldn’t need for anything, Princess.”

Her brain was still reloading ( he cleaned her up with his tongue oh my fucking gods— ) so it took her a few moments to understand what he was saying.

“Wait, sorry, what? Delos?” Rhea blinked, finally moving to wrap herself tighter in his deerskin cloak. “Another journey?”

“I will take you,” He said decisively. “You and my Olivia shall come with me in the Sun chariot.”

Uh, no. This whole conversation had gotten completely out of control, and Rhea wasn’t letting Apollo make her indebted to him for anything else. “And Deme? She is mortal, she cannot go in the chariot. I can guide a boat to the island. There is no need.”

“It is dangerous.”

“I have noticed,” she said dryly.

“And you would risk it?” 

“Godling lives are difficult,” Rhea hated to use this in an argument with a god, and she really hoped it wouldn’t bite her in the ass later. “I will teach her to not be treated like a princess made of clay. It is a boat, safer from men than walking, I can protect her. If anything truly happens, then you can interfer.”

“She is my daughter,” Apollo said. “And you–”

Rhea interrupted him, “Don’t break or bend easily.”

He stared at her for a long moment, lips pursed. She tried to pretend that his mouth hadn’t tasted all of her and his eyes hadn’t seen right through her intentions last night.

“Your journey will give time to build…” He considered it, hair twisting away from flames and into several braids of pure golden yellow. “Yes. I shall give you coin for the fare, and you shall sail to Delos.”

Rhea decided not to ask what he wanted to build and just call this a win. She had never interacted with a god who wanted to be so present and active, and she may be realising that there are people in this world that may actually attempt to out-stubborn her, not because they have more patience, but because they have more time and are far more used to getting their way. But Rhea wasn’t going to make it easy for him, and she certainly won’t let him learn the meaning of ‘compromise’ before she’s through with him.

“Right, good, Delos.” She confirmed, nodding. “Can we call the servants now? I am still bleeding and I need a new dress. And blankets. And maybe we need a new room.”

Apollo looked around, seemingly realising for the first time that half the room was burnt, the other half was cracked, and all the water had evaporated so they couldn’t even clean themselves. “Ah… we did get a tad carried away…”

She pinned him with a look, “I think I caused the earth to shake and you burned everything else up.”

Stunned, she watched as his skin turned a rosy-gold to a pure gold. Was he… blushing?

“I have called the servants,” He announced. “I will return to Olympus now, plans to be made and builders to be bought. I will watch over you as you sail. Goodbye.”

And he vanished.

Rhea had so made a god blush. She had never tasted a victory so sweet…

…until the servants arrived and stared in horror at her standing in the middle of a destroyed room, blood on her thighs and a cloak of a god around her shoulders. Of course he would leave her to answer all the awkward questions, the coward.

“ If we dream a thousand dreams, how many would you wish are true? I would wish for none, for I know that the truth is always a falsehood and that dreams are better to stay as sweet lies. ”

Chapter Text

“Are you sure we need all of this?” Rhea watched as the servants carried a trunk out of the temple.

“Princess Rhea,” Deme grabbed her attention.

“Yes?”

“Be quiet.”

Right, don’t irritate Deme any more than already done so. “Being quiet now.”

Rhea couldn’t tell if the priestesses of Apollo’s temple hated her, were scared of her, or were scared for her. Either way, nobody was meeting her eyes, and there were altars over flowing with sacrifices to Apollo. At least their room had been on the opposite side of the temple, and the earthquake had been very small and very localised. There was still a crack in the marble.

Deme had known what had happened as soon as she had laid eyes on Rhea. The other woman had pinched the bridge of her nose, handed Elaiwa over, then marched her (still only wearing Apollo’s cloak) ass to the bathing pool. Rhea has never been so mortified in her life, she totally gets why it’s called a Walk of Shame now, she was so happy when Deme attempted to drown her with her agressive scrubbing.

In other, stranger news, Rhea has found out how women from this time shave, because she made one sound about the crusted bodily fluids sticking her leg hairs together, and Deme took that as full permission to scrape at her legs with a flint. It didn’t exactly hurt, thank the Styx for her iron skin, but Deme had put enough agression behind the action that Rhea could’ve sworn her legs had started turned red. It was sandpaper to skin practically, and it didn’t feel good at all. Olivia had giggled when Rhea started swearing in english.

Deme hadn’t plucked her eyebrows though, and Rhea wasn’t liking the new monobrow situation. She’d seen other girls walking around with them, but she’s also seen girls wear this weird white chalk on their faces, so Rhea wasn’t going to be very eager jump on ancient trends.

At least Apollo had left her a new dress to make up for utterly descimating her last one. 

Beautiful blue and green fabric, so fine that Rhea couldn’t help but call it silk, embroidered with laurel leaves along the hem. It was quite clearly Eastern, not a Mycenean, Achean or Minoan design or shape. The blue skirt, embroidered, reached her feet and sat low on her hips, similar to her destroyed over-skirt that Lasthena had brought for her all those weeks ago outside of Delphi. Instead of multiple layers or a blouse or a ki-to on top, there was a long green fabric, like something between a saree and a dupatta. It was wrapped first around her waist, then pulled up and over her shoulder, before tucking itself around her back and looping around her chest several times to bind it. It was beautiful, like something made for a princess or queen, and Deme had been so practised at wrapping it, Rhea had dared risking her irritation to ask.

“My mother wore these,” Deme had said, fingers pleating a new veil for Rhea’s hair. It was a reddish orange, which should clash with her blue-green dress, but somehow didn’t. “Lord Phoebus’ brother comes from the same land as she did, the farthest lands, in between the border of Hittite lands, Egyptian lands, and the pastures of cattle beyond. She was moving East, searching for richer dyes for her craft as a weaver, when she was taken by the Hittites. I was born south of Ilium, and she still made these clothes for herself, and for Queen Hecuba. Far Eastern dyes and drapes are costly, even if they are barbaric here.”

Rhea knew not to pry any further.

Still, the trunk the servants carried was full of dresses and jewels and other fine things. Rhea held onto a pouch of silver drachma to pay the captain of the only vessel heading out towards Delos. This late into summer, closing in on the start of fall, not many ships were sailing anymore, still, this one captain spoke of trading cargo in Rhodes, and with a full pouch of silver, his greedy eyes seemed willing to risk taking the two women and girl on board. Rhea hadn’t liked the man the second she had laid her eyes on him, and neither had Deme, but they had to leave that very evening. Rhea wasn’t prideful, but she also wasn’t going to admit defeat to Apollo.

“Elaiwa, please,” Rhea sighed as her arm was tugged once more. “We’ll board soon.”

“Olivia! I am Olivia! ” The little girl whined, annoyed at not being called her super special nickname. “I wanna go on the water!”

“You will,” Rhea held fast to the toddler trying to yank her hand out of her grip. “Just wait.”

The captain didn’t disembark as the servants waded through the waist deep water to climb on board and place the trunk on the ship. There wasn’t even a small dingy provided for them, though one was rowing to shore for Rhea and her companions. If the waves were far calmer than they should be, and the water warm and steady, then that’s nobody’s buisiness other than hers.

The primitive port was busy, yet far less than the port of Kirra, with its bustling merchants and constant loading-unloading of passing ships. More people visit Delphi in the summer than Athens in the early Autumn, apparently.

As her eyes skimmed the port, catching on the boats docked and the men rushing to reload supplies, Rhea almost skipped right over the man in the wide-brimmed hat. If her instincts hadn’t already been on alert…

He was a short man, with skinny limbs made for elbowing his way through a crowd, yet with the subtle muscle of a cross-country runner. Toned calves of sun-tanned skin were bound by leather sandal straps that crawled their way up his leg to be knotted just under his knee, however, despite his physique of a traveller, his sandals shined, lacking all the marks of use. Furthermore, his clothes, while nondescript, showing neither class nor origin, were just a tad too perfect, the pleating around his waist did not shift as he slinked across the port. Worst of all was his hat, which cast a shadow across his face, yet still revealed a mischevious smile.

Shadows don’t work like that.

She should have been able to make out a facial feature or two, even a pair of eyes, yet despite the smile of the stranger, she couldn’t even identify a chin or jawline.

Rhea reacted on instinct, grabbing Olivia to clutch her to her chest and clapping a hand over the girl’s mouth so she couldn’t scream, and threw her body behind a stack of boxes, crouching low to the ground.

Hermes.

What the god was doing here, she didn’t know, but she did know that she didn’t want to be caught by him. She hadn’t wanted to be noticed by Apollo, but that ship had sailed straight off the edge of the world. Hermes? After his creepy possessed message given to her by some higher being, Rhea would swim straight to Atlantis before being in the same room as him. Besides, hadn’t Hermes been on the opposite side of the war to Apollo? Yeah, She’s not letting Olivia anywhere near him.

“Princess Rhea?” Deme gave her a look like she had gone insane.

“Deme,” Rhea said, voice hushed. “I need you to stay calm, but there is a god here right now.”

Deme stiffened, but otherwise made no other indication that something was wrong. “A god?”

“The traveller with the wide-brimmed hat covering his face,” Rhea confirmed. “Who is not on the best terms with our lord at the current time. Use the veil’s shade, look around casually, then tell me if he is coming our way.”

Her left hand was busy with keeping the indignant toddler’s mouth covered, her right hand’s fingers were wrapped around Riptide, ready to turn the pendant into a sword capable of harming gods.

Deme did what she was told, dark eyes scanning the port like she was just another woman impatiently waiting for her servants to finish, before coming back to look at the ship in the distance. “He’s heading out of the port, towards the temple.”

“ Fuck ,” She cursed. Good news and bad news, she guessed. “Why is he going there?”

Deme did look down at her at that, raising an eyebrow and saying in her driest voice: “Certainly not because the temple and surrounding city suffered the earth shaking and the sacred rooms of our lord catching fire twice in one night.”

Rhea went scarlet. “Right. That’s my bad.”

Deme pretended to fix her veil, looking out the corner of her eye to the roads up to the main city. “He’s gone.”

Rhea stood up, letting go of Riptide. “Good. Let’s hope that we leave here quickly.”

Her companion wasn’t looking at her face, but rather at Elaiwa, who was very determined to sharpen her teeth against Rhea’s hand. She couldn’t even feel it, embarrassing.

“No,” She scolded the toddler. “No biting.”

Olivia just stuck her tongue out back at her.

“Do you ever get hurt?” Deme asked, curiosity painting her features. “Your skin is like the gods’.”

Rhea readjusted her dress as she placed Olivia back on her hip, “Not really, I’d have to be basically smited? Smote? Or a really lucky and strong strike. Though I suppose that’s the same with the gods? It’s actually a curse, comes with a lot of small and irritating side effects, like the wish to sleep my life away. Very annoying.”

Deme looked at her like she was insane, “You are near impossible to kill and you find it annoying?”

Well, yeah. Rhea also once laughed like a mad woman while killing monsters, that’s not a good sign. She wonders if she went back onto the battlefield, how long it would take before she completely lost it. 

But also this would be so funny to mess with Deme about.

She sighed exhaggeratedly, “With great power comes a great need to take a nap, I suppose.”

Deme’s eye was twitching. 

Rhea turned down to Olivia, “This is why we have to listen and respect prophecies, but not live our lives around them. I didn’t need permanent nap mode, but my cousin listened too hard to a prophecy.”

Olivia nodded, obviously understanding nothing.

Deme looked like she might just strangle Rhea for being ungrateful even though the divine world was her everyday life. Jokes on her, Rhea had been ungrateful since day one.

“Oh look!” She said before she could be introduced to what strangulation felt like with the Achilles’ curse. “The dingy is here!”

Mildly soaked servants helped the three ladies onboard, one even following them with an umbrella to make sure they don’t tan or burn, which was very helpful of them. Rhea thinks their obsession with people being pale is weird, but then again, America likes orange tans, so she supposes she can’t judge.

The captain was waiting at the top of the rope ladder as Rhea climbed aboard, offering her his hand and basically picking her up to haul her on board. Two other men did the same for Deme and the servant carrying Elaiwa up.

“Welcome on my ship, Princess,” The captain smiled, teeth sharp. His accent was not local, yet still a native Hellae speaker, she probably would say that he was Minoan from his speech. “We hope your trip to Delos is enjoyable. Now if you follow this man, he’ll take you and your companions to your room.”

The man was a tall man for the era, roughly Rhea’s own height, with shaggy brown hair and beard, a long nose and windhewn brown skin.

“Thank you,” She told the captain. 

The man came and took the umbrella from the temple’s borrowed servant, standing close to Rhea as he escorted her inside and below into the ship.

“Have you made this journey before?” She asked the man casually, picking up her skirts so they didn’t catch on the rough wood floors.

The man twitched, like he didn’t expect her to address her. “Yes, Princess. It is a short and comfortable one.”

Rhea wanted to snort at the obvious lie. In this primitive ship? Three weeks of sailing on bumpy waters, minimum.

His accent intrigued her, however. He was clearly not Greek, and his features said Eastern in a subtler way than Deme’s or Olivia’s.

“I’m glad to hear,” She said, tucking Olivia close as she saw the rough conditions of the many men aboard. “What is your name?”

“Avraham, Princess,” He came to a stop outside an absolutely tiny room, and bowed. “These will be your quarters, if you need of me, simply call.”

And then he left, barely waiting for Deme to nod and dismiss him.

Rhea stared after him, brow furrowed. Her luck had been too good for too long, and while this could simply be paranoia, she didn’t think so. Something was wrong on this ship, and she was curious to find out what. 

“For all that my bones may be immortal, it is my heart that decides when it is time. A simple cardiac attack, and my skeleton is alone.”

Chapter Text

Rhea scowled down at the netting in her hands.

Captain Sabyllon, a rough man from Palekastro in Eastern Minoan-Crete, had kept the three women all but locked inside their room, insisting that it was improper for them to go wandering around in a ship full of men. Then, he had gone on and on about having no weaving for them to do, yet piled them with ropes and told them to make netting.

They were a trading ship, not a fishing ship, why did they need so much netting?

It has been barely two nights, and while they had sailed the equivalent of a week on the open waters, Rhea was itching to leave this boat. That wasn’t something that she thought she’d ever feel, but gods, Rhea was sick of the little cabin.

Every time she had left the room, there had been a different sailor right outside the door, armed, waiting to take her straight to the captain and escort her back. It was a miserable day where she couldn’t even sneak around.

“Careful Olivia,” She pulled the toddler away from the netting and onto her lap, detangling limbs and pudgy fingers as she went. “We don’t want you grabbed in that, do we?”

“Caught in that,” Deme corrected, barely more than a mumble.

Olivia responded by whining and kicking her legs, and Rhea sympathised greatly with the girl. She was also tired of being cooped up.

“Right,” Rhea stood, careful to not have her sandals or skirt tangled in the net. She heaved her charge up with her. “I think it’s time we go have some fresh air, don’t you?”

The responding squeal of happiness was a very in-depth answer.

“Deme?” Rhea asked.

Deme, who had her thick hands already cramping from the constant motion of tying knots, sighed and pushed her frizzing hair away from her face, readjusting her veil as she went. “Coming.”

Unlike Rhea’s hair that tends to slicken like oil when exposed to the constant humid sea, Deme’s, thicker and courser, exposed a forgotten history of wavy hair by becoming a ball of frizz. They’d combated it by forgoing the more popular hair styles for a mess of a hundred small braids, then consequentially braided once more using a ribbon. 

This time, when they opened the door, it was Avraham waiting outside, not a sailor. She made this distinction because their clothes were completely opposite. The sailors, she had noted, wore thick wool instead of plant-textiles or coarse wool, and had more fabric to their outfits rather than just the plain loincloths the other men wore. Rhea wasn’t stupid, she did have a level of awareness for different classes, but without the ability to have more than a small glipse every time she left the cabin, she couldn’t learn more about why this random ship happened to have so many servants.

“Avraham,” She greeted politely. “Would you mind escorting us up onto the deck?”

The man seemed to hesitate, “Princess, it is unsafe for you to wander so freely–”

“Oh yes,” She agreed, just to skip on the annoying copy-pasted speech that everyone tried to tell her when she tried to go stretch her legs. Honestly, it was a wonder she hasn’t snapped and gone to her New Yorker roots and started cussing people out. She’s learnt a good few new Hellae curses now. “Which is why you are coming with us. Elaiwa is feeling sick, and Deme is out of sorts. We need some air, we can’t spend all day in there.”

There was a different sort of hesitation in his eyes, a sharp fear of sorts. “It is not safe to leave your cabin, Princess.”

Looking into his eyes, Rhea knew that it was a risk for him to say anything, though if his fear of reprecussion was of Rhea, or some unknown factor, she couldn’t tell.

Still, she stood to her full height, which was truly gigantic for the era, and said softly yet firmly. “I understand, but I want to see the deck.”

Avraham lowered his chin, and led the way up.

Deme reached out to grab her arm, wariness of their situation in her eyes. Rhea looked back, begging the other to trust her. Deme nodded stiffly, taking Elaiwa from her arms.

The sun was so bright, it was almost blinding. 

Blinking rapidly, her eyes adjusted quickly from the darkness of their cabin to the blue skies of the deck. Elaiwa appeared to do the same, only shutting her eyes for one prolonged blink, like she was a cat. Deme, however, seemed to be suffering from a case of ‘mortality’ and hissed in pain at the sun’s onslaught, taking nearly a full minute to be able to keep her eyes open at a squint.

“Captain Sabyllon!” Rhea called, sticking one hand up in the air like she was hailing a taxi. 

The man visibly grit his teeth before forcing a smile on his face, “Princess Rhea! Haven’t we told you to stay in your cabin?”

“You have,” She agreed, sharp teeth bared in a mimicry of a smile. Her orange veil was just transparent enough for him to see the points of her canines, and for her to see how his eyes scanned up and down her body. “I found it too small, like a cage.”

“You have royal tastes,” He replied. “But this is a ship, princess, and we cannot afford such softness in the roughness of Poseidon’s seas.”

She very much did not flinch at the casual use of her father’s name. “The seas haven’t been too rough. I was hoping to be able to wander more often, I tire of the netting.”

The smile on his face was strained, “I try not to protect you from the waters, but from the men. You must understand, they are not used to a soft thing like you, they don’t know how to behave… It is hard to discipline that sort of thing.”

Every single hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Behind her, Deme shifted uneasily, cradeling the toddler in her arms closer.

“It is easy,” Her smile slipped off her face and replaced itself with eyes that held a storm of divine proportions. “You cut off their dicks and their hands.”

The slap was easy to duck, insultingly so.

“You dare tell me to unman my men!” He spat at her, wetting her veil. She took a step backwards, away from the man who seemed to be under the impression that his salivia contained venom and not just STDs. 

Rhea got right back in his face, hands balling into fists, “You dare tell me you would allow an affront to the gods and laws happen and go unpunished?”

“Where are your gods and laws?” He asked her, arrogant and cruel. “If you can’t listen when I tell you your place, then maybe you’ll learn it under me. Stupid bitch, travelling alone.”

Deme let out a cry. One of the sailors had grabbed her by the arm, and another was reaching out to yank her veil off. Elaiwa, silent, was watching with wide eyes.

“Let her go!” Rhea went to pull her knife out, but was thrown off balanced and forced to abort the move by the captain wrapping his hand around her braid and veil and yanking.

“When we break you in,” The putrid man breathed into her ear as he wrapped one arm around her waist. “You’ll make just as much of a pretty profit as the rest of these savages.”

Rhea made eye contact with Avraham, being shoved back below deck by one of the other sailors.

No, not sailors. Slavers.

Throwing her head back, she headbutted the rapist, making him curse. Blood stained her veil, and with a quick flip, it was on the floor, next to the captain laying on his back.

“Princess!” Deme cried, struggling against the men grasping at her.

She ran towards Deme, managing to fully pull her knife out, and did manage to swipe at the slaver who had reached out for Elaiwa, drawing blood from his forearm.

However, she was not expecting the man to howl and then stab at her with her sword.

Straight to the chest.

The blade bounced harmlessly off, however the force was no small thing.

Rhea stumbled backwards, right off the edge of the deck.

Now, if she was any other woman, this would be a death sentence. 

But Rhea was a daughter of Poseidon, and she was pissed .

Kicking her feet, she rose up and broke the surface with not even a gasp for air. Water churned and sloshed against the wood of the ship, tendrils grasping and sinking into the wood with living force, and like a spider with a fly, Rhea had the slaver’s vessel in the middle of her web.

The ship didn’t even rock with the wind, didn’t sway or sail. It was frozen in place, and the water level slowly climbed upwards.

How dare they.

Attacking her was just rude, but to threaten that ? And against Deme and Elaiwa too? Deme, who had escaped slavery so recently, who must be terrified, and all the men on the ship kept as slaves…

No, Rhea would not let this go unpunished.

The grasp that Rhea had over the ship was strong, easily displaying her power over the captain that dared attack her.

Then the ship rocked in a way that was clearly not her doing.

She pulled on the ship once more, keeping it steadily in place, if slowly dragging downwards. There is nothing more terrifying on the open sea than a ship that was completely still despite the waves.

Once again, the ship tilted dangerously to the side.

Rhea tugged at it once more, yet it continued to sway.

Okay, what the fuck is going on here?

She ducked under the water to see if there was a particularly irritating whale trying to attack the ship she was supposed to be attacking, and froze once she realised what, or, exactly, who had been stopping her from freezing the ship in its tracks.

Floating in the water and looking just as befuddled as her was a god. Long black hair tied low behind a pair of slightly pointed ears, being kept afloat by a pair of dark green tails. 

“What are you doing?” Rhea demanded. 

Triton has never liked to interact with any mortal. What was her godly half brother doing here?

Triton stared back at her, taken aback, canine fangs peaking out from green lips. “Who are you?”

Right, he didn’t know who she was. In fact, she hadn’t tried to contact her family at all, far too hurt by the thought of a father that wouldn’t recognise her. Though, at this point in time, with the way that gods were, he probably wouldn’t even blink at a woman that came out of nowhere claiming to be his daughter. However, with this whole time travel thing, she really didn’t want to accidentally make a paradox or something by meeting her father before she was born. That seemed like a bad idea.

“Princess Rhea,” She said, straightening. A small part of herself cringed at calling herself a princess, a bigger part of herself didn’t give a shit and just wanted Triton to either help her or get his ass out of her way . “Your half-sister.”

“My sister,” he said flatly, confusion swiftly morphing into coldness. “Yes, I can see father’s features in you, godling. I also see a lack of respect.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Right. Well, I’d love to get out of your way, Prince Triton, but you do appear to be trying to attack that boat that I was attacking. I doubt it’s for the same reasons as me, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just steal that—“

Her stilling of the boat was cut off once again by a large wave rocking it.

“This ship has insulted myself and our father by refusing to pay proper respect in return for safe passage, I heard them say his name like an equal,” He glared at her. “It is not yours to steal.”

“This ship’s captain also tried to rape me and my companion, currently has my child , and threw me overboard,” she bit back, flashing her teeth at him. “I do believe I have more right than you, and I have less time to drown him. Move.”

“So they insult our father twice over,” Triton concluded, ignoring the way that she was wrestling control once more. “Yet you refuse my right to sink it.”

“Feel free to help me drown the captain, but I will not drown Deme and Olivia and any of those slaves because of that foul man.” She snarled her words, swirling water with every syllable she hissed out from bared teeth, “It’s not you who got groped by that tiny-dicked idiot.”

“You are crass,” Triton ignored everything she just said.

“The world is fucking crass!” The ship rocked dangerously above them, and two men fell into the water. Immediately, sensing the presence of the slavers, water filled their lungs, pulling them under and below. “Will you help me or not?”

“I am your brother, the man presiding over your care as our father is currently unaware of your dilemna,” Triton said, self-important as ever. “I listen to your plea, sister.”

The flash of his teeth, the inky black of his grasping kelp hair, the pure white of his eyes like a blind anglerfish luring in prey… for a brief, chilling moment, her brother reminded her more of one of the fae from her stories than any god she has ever met.

The ship above them stills.

Then, chaos breaks loose.

Triton made the first move, the water reaching up and yanking one of the men clean straight off the deck. Rhea, not to be outdown, broke the surface to stand on the water as she dragged another man off, listening to him scream as his fate was sealed.

It became a competition and a partnership, two siblings getting revenge. Getting justice.

Triton drowned one of the sailors without even pulling him overboard, simply filling his lungs with water. Rhea stabbed another with a dozen small spears of water, feeling them turn red with blood before she flung the man off the ship.

Thirty slavers dead, and one captain left.

He shook pathetically, staring at them in horror. And, oh look at that, he’s pissed himself too.

Deme had grabbed Elaiwa the second that Rhea had resurfaced, tucking the girl’s face into her neck, and backing away. Her veil was on the ground and she was missing her outer skirt, but thankfully looked otherwise untouched. Avraham had pushed his way up onto the deck, and he wasn’t the only one. Several slaves, sensing freedom, had thrown their captors to the sharks.

“What are you?” The captain tried to demand, but it sounded far more like a prayer.

Rhea pushed the water up, dropping herself back onto the deck. “You asked me where the gods and laws were? This is divine justice.”

She didn’t go for the water, instead sticking her small silver blade straight into his jugular.

He was on his knees in a second.

He choked, blood burbling out, like a spring of saltwater. She pulled the knife out, and the liquid spilled down his body.

It didn’t touched the wood however, instead, it pooled above and slid across the deck to the edge, where Triton was waiting. The red crawled up his body, joining threads of pumping water, before slowly turning pink, then clear.

“A pretty sacrifice,” The god said, amused. “A fun one too. Why ever has father not claimed you yet?”

Rhea picked her veil up from the deck, the orange fabric ripped, but still determinedly clinging to life. 

Triton’s eyes narrowed onto the action, “I see. You escape notice, Princess Rhea. Who is the man who placed such a claim upon you without father’s word?”

“I don’t need father’s word,” She frowned at the strange saying. “I haven’t had it my entire life.” Poseidon had never shown up for parent-teacher’s meetings for her, what did he need to say about her quest?

“Rhea,” Triton frowned. “Who do you travel to?”

The mortals were looking between them with no small amount of fear.

“I’m going to Delos,” She said, confused. “Lord Apollon is to meet us there.”

Triton mouthed the name to himself, head tilting to the side, eyes narrowing from an anglerfish’s into a shark’s. “And father is unaware?”

“Why should he be?” She demanded, a spike of fear of the fact that her brother could snitch on her at any minute. “What kind of glory am I bringing him? Lord Apollon is my patron, this journey is to serve him.”

“I see,” Triton said, understanding dawning in his eyes. “I won’t tell him… yet. I want to see where this goes, and when he will realise the theft happening in his own domain.”

“Thank you.”

“I will be watching, however.” He added, “I will allow no disrespect to happen. You are a Princess of the Sea, even if you are a bastard.”

Now, the thank you she said came out far more sarcastic.

Her brother leveled her one more curious glance, and then he was gone, disappearing under the waves.

Right. Not her problem anymore.

“Deme, are you okay?” She asked her trembling companion and friend. “Is anyone hurt? Olivia?”

By the next morning, the ship was over halfway through its journey to Delos.

“The pen is mightier than the sword, yet when all is said and done, we all say that Peace was impossible to maintain and War was the only way.”

Chapter Text

There were a lot of injuries to heal after a fight.

Good news: Rhea knew modern first aid, Deme knew ancient first aid, and Elaiwa could slap healing into small cuts with her tiny divine toddler fists.

Bad news: all three of them were disasters and constantly contradicting each other.

“What?” Rhea yelped, covering Olivia’s eyes in case any of the men deciding to just whip it out. “Don’t pee on it!”

Deme scowled at her, “Piss or honey are the best way to treat a burn, and we are out of honey.”

Rhea made a noise like she was dying, a true drowned cat sound. “No! Wine is! Pour wine on it!”

“And worsen the burn? Wine attracts burning!”

The poor recently freed teenage slave, Brison, looked between them in indecision, wondering what was the best way to treat his second degree burns from working under the sun for days.

“We could do both?” Another man, named Ekrem, offered. He had midnight dark skin; he was a Nubian trader from the South who had gotten kidnapped from his trade in Crete three years ago. 

“No!” Rhea and Deme snapped at the same time.

Then, the bickering started again.

Rhea wasn’t an idiot, she knew that when you had an open wound, you had to kill the bacteria in it using alcohol, and adding bacteria-ridden pee was most definitely not–

“Perhaps some salt water is best?” Avraham interrupted, speaking up for the first time since he kicked a slaver overboard and broke the nose of another.

Okay, maybe Rhea is a bit of an idiot. How did she forget about salt water? It would burn like a motherfucker, but so would alcohol…

She had a floating ball of seawater in a second, pulling and yanking things out of it to clean it up. It was nowhere near as dirty as modern seawater, but she knew about germ theory and they didn’t, so excuse her while she cleaned things up.

Or not.

Olivia, now on the ground, decided to get involved by slapping Brison’s sunburn with a chubby toddler hand and smacking golden healing light into his skin.

“Olivia,” Rhea whined, dropping her arms to complain like the bedraggled teenager she is. “I had it!”

Olivia just yawned at her.

Rhea yawned back, partly out of pettiness, partly because she just watched someone else yawn. 

“The child has the healing magic of Isis,” Ekrem gaped.

Deme scoffed, “We are far from her lands. Elaiwa is the blessed daughter of our Lord Phoebus, god of plague and prophecy.”

“Hellenics,” Leon, a man who appeared to be the self-appointed guardian of young Brison, remarked. “Lord Apaliunas is always merciful to his followers, especially us of Wilusa.”

“Lord Paean is,” A different man from mainland Mycenae, named Dolops, agreed. “That we can all agree upon.”

Rhea was surprised for a moment at the varying men with varying origins all having their own names for Apollo. Sure, she knew the gods liked to wander, that’s something she learnt the very first time she met Apollo when Artemis had told them all that he was in a Haiku phase after visiting Japan, but that was different. All of them spoke of Apollo as if he was their god, their local one, not just a passerby. 

Which was just plainly ridiculous, because Apollo was her god. She was the only actual native Greek here, and other than Olivia, the only child of the divine.

“Right,” Rhea spoke up. “That’s nice and all, but he didn’t interfere. I did.”

Deme’s eyes flickered to the sky, but Rhea wasn’t to be deterred. “The gods interfere a lot, but this isn’t one of those times, I’m simply a daughter of the sea the same way Olivia is the daughter of my patron god, so if you don’t mind, I need to sail this ship in a direction. Where is home for everyone?”

Everyone was staring at her like she was crazy. It was like they were waiting for her to turn around and laugh like she made a ridiculous joke and say that she totally existed only as an extension of Apollo and Poseidon and was following their orders. Which she most definitely wasn’t.

“So? Home? Lord Apollon is waiting for me on Delos, but I’m a quick sailor, so whoever is on the way or nearby, I can probably get us there overnight. He probably won’t even notice if we stop at a different island.”

Leon turned to Deme, “Is she always so foolishly bold?”

“She can be worse,” Deme replied.

“Oh dear.”

Rhea just put her hands on her hips expectantly.

“Levi and myself are from Egypt,” Avraham spoke up. “We were workers in Abydos for the Pharaoh.”

Ekrem nodded, “My birthplace is Abu Simbel, though the Pharaoh has taken the land of my people. My sisters are likely lost to me.”

“You don’t know where they are?” She couldn’t help but ask. In her modern life of cell phones and emails, losing touch was much harder.

“I am a travelling trader, and information of Egypt travels slowly. He could have razed the land for all I know.”

“Same with Wilusa,” Brison piped up. “King Agamemnon may have torn down the walls and we wouldn’t know.”

Leon scowled, “Don’t say such things, child.”

“Right,” Rhea interrupted once she saw Brison wilt. “So Egypt, Wilusa, does anyone live a bit closer?”

“Mycenae,” Dolops offered. 

“That’s behind us,” She said. Why hadn’t none of them been picked up someplace closer to Delos? “By a lot.”

“I apologise for the inconvenience, Princess,” He replied swiftly, bowing his head. “If you would allow me to find another ship once we land on Delos—“

“I don’t have to allow anything!” She protested, cutting him off.

The men looked at her nervously. Shit.

“That’s not what I meant— I just— You’re free . I’m not in charge of you.” She waved her hands hurriedly, trying to reassure them that they hadn’t switched chains from a physical one to a debt one. “You can go where you want, when you want. I’m just trying to plan the best way to sail and still get to Delos on time. I can sail very quickly, we can get very far in one night.”

The men looked at each other, silently communicating. Deme, in front of them all, looked both fond and exasperated.

Eventually, Leon nudged Avraham to speak, the thirty-year-old elected to be their unofficial leader and ambassador to Rhea’s bullshit. “Perhaps it shall be best that instead, we continue to travel to Delos as planned, and we all split up afterwards and find employment on a vessel travelling to our respective homelands? See if we can hear news of our homes before we travel to potentially dangerous lands? That way you do not travel to Delos alone?”

Well, if he put it that way…

“Alright,” Rhea agreed. “That’s a good plan. Now, does anyone else have any injuries or can I go put Olivia to sleep?”

“Everyone should go to sleep,” Deme said, mildly grumpy but still soft enough for Rhea to tell that she was just tired. “Best cure for all injuries.”

At that, Rhea was given a side-eye that screamed that disagreeing would mean another impromptu swim.

“I didn’t say anything!” She protested, “This is, like, cruel. Targeted cruelty. I don’t know what the Hellae word is for bullying but this is it.”

Brison snorted at her indignation, but then wiped his face of all amusement at Leon’s glare.

“Oh I see,” She dramatically cried out. “I have no allies here! Targeted cruelty from the Fates themselves! Come, Olivia, let’s get away from these bullies .”

The toddler giggled madly at being swung up into the air by Rhea, probably not understanding a single thing that was going on.

“Sleep well, Princess!” Avraham called to her back.

Rhea waved a hand lazily at him in return, smiling proudly as the tension she had created had also been destroyed.

Luckily, Elaiwa was an easy child who enjoyed the rocking of the ship the same way most babies enjoy a rocking chair. Her soft breathing had filled the cabin, and Rhea didn’t even blink at handing the little girl her blanket. The girl was her ward now, her child to take care of. It was a strange word, ward , it translated so ill-fittingly into Hellae that Rhea would end up just having to tell people that Elaiwa was her child. There are so few words to describe relationships in Hellae, and in Ancient Greek; cousins were brothers and uncles, mothers-in-law were mothers, and foster children were your children. They didn’t seem to care about estrangement or legalities, just what they meant to you.

Deme had entered not long after Rhea had, apparently, delayed by speaking with the others, but she had drifted to sleep too. After telling Rhea off for being a bull-headed idiot who charged straight into danger instead of listening to any warning signs, of course. The words were said fondly however, so Rhea didn’t care much of them.

It was like the entire ship was asleep within an hour, peace finally being found for them all.

Yet, Rhea was awake.

Detangling herself from Elaiwa and Deme, making sure to tuck the blanket back around her friends, she slipped out from the cabin.

The rest of the men were sleeping strewn about anywhere there was space. Like the women, they were curled atop thin blankets and using each other for warmth. Brison, 17 and an overgrown golden retriever in his mannerisms, is sprawled half on top of hardened and reserved Leon. The older former guardsman cracked an eye open as Rhea tiptoed past them, but closed it as soon as Brison made a soft sound in his sleep. 

The air was getting progressively colder at night. Although they were travelling southwards, Autumn was determined to chase them. Not that the Mediterranean got anywhere near as cold as New York does. Did. 

Nowhere near as cold as her home.

Yet, it still wasn’t as cold as it should be.

“Why do you never visit when your daughter is awake?” Rhea grumbled, pulling her orange veil tighter around her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Apollo retorted, leaning against the largest ship mast. 

He looked mostly human, if very bright. His curls were a Scandinavian white-blond, and his skin was a shade of pale which shouldn’t exist anywhere in the sunny Near East, but his clothes were plain Greek princes' wear of bright dyes and small embroidery. The only thing that showed that he was anything but a very lost viking was the headlight glow of his pale blue eyes, a solid milky-blue sheen that simultaneously gave ‘blind’ and ‘cat caught on camera’. 

“I had it handled,” She said. “And you said you would interfere, not that I had to call on you first.”

He scowled, “I can not be watching you at all moments, I was busy. Obviously, I was wrong to trust you to put your pride aside and call for help.”

“I was also busy, Apollo, slavers don’t exactly slit their own throats,” She snarled, throwing her hands up in frustration. “It was pride, I’m able to exact my own revenge!”

He had a strange look on his face, “Apollo?”

She blinked, her angry stream pausing to a trickle. “That’s your name, right?”

He stared at her for a very long time.

“You are a mystery, Princess,” He said softly, glow dimming.

“I don’t understand you all that well either,” She crossed her arms, accepting the ceasefire between them. 

He made an attempt not to laugh, but with his glow, Rhea could see his lips quirked up in a smile. 

“Mysteries all around, apparently,” He commented. “Were you aware that your father doesn’t know you exist?”

Rhea froze. “He doesn’t?”

She tried to keep her voice light, but instead the edge of ‘ snitch and I’ll remove your vocal cords’ appeared.

“No,” Apollo pushed himself off from where he had leaned on the mast. “In fact, Olympus was in quite a tizzy trying to figure out why there had been an earthquake at my temple. Your father listed several sons of his and stated that none of them were in proximity to Athens. And when my twin asked him of his daughters, he told her that he had none.”

Oh shit.

“I never told you that my father claimed me,” She pointed out, twisting her veil so that it covered her neck more. “Only that my mother told me who he was.”

“Yes,” He acknowledged, glowing eyes turning up their light by 100%. “You also never told me you were travelling without a single man to protect your virtue. If your father does not know you exist, who was preventing you from being carted away to be a slave or to be buried without respect? Do you even understand the danger you have been in?”

“I can protect myself!” She snapped back, “I do not need any man–”

Apollo’s whole body began to glow, “Any man? You–”

She steamrolled right over his anger in favor of her own, “You said you were watching! You said you would interfere! Why would I rely on any man if it is always the same? This is why my mom raised me by herself, because you can’t expect anyone to go out of their way to support you! Much less a god!”

The waves were churning, but none hit the smoothly sailing ship. Even in her anger, Rhea didn’t want to wake anyone up when they’d just found peace and rest.

“Princess–” Apollo tried to reach out to her, but she stepped back.

“Why should I trust you?” She demanded, hands gripping her veil so tight. Too tight.

Both their eyes dropped to the tear that she had created in the orange fabric.

Apollo’s glow disappeared, plunging the night into darkness.

“Apollo?” She said, voice wavering at the sudden loss of vision. Was he still there? Did she piss him off enough to disappear? Did he…?

His answer rang through the night, voice barely more than a whisper. “Rhea…”

She waited, straining her ears to hear his voice.

“I claimed that I shook the earth after a priestess of mine disobeyed me,” He confessed to the stars. “My sister was furious that I did so in her city, but we are already on two different sides of a war, I do not care of the consequences. That was why I wasn’t watching you.”

Oh. 

He was trying.

“I’m sorry,” She apologised for yelling at him, even if he had started it. Mom had always been big on ending it. It’s probably why Rhea never could hold a proper grudge. “Do you still want to be my patron god?”

The words came out hushed, soft. She made the emphasis stronger on the verbs, trying to acknowledge his actions, and in return, dropped the words ‘you,’ ‘still’ and ‘patron’. Ancient Greek, and, by extension, Hellae, were languages that often skipped words and relied on the grammar to imply them. Chiron once drilled them all on this sentence that completely skipped out on any verbs, just a list of nouns and adjectives, but because of the declensions and possessives, you knew exactly what they meant. 

She nearly flinched when a pair of warm hands appeared from the dark to cradle her face and tilt her eyes upward, where she could vaguely see where an outline blocked the stars from shining. Yet, despite knowing their danger, she leaned into them.

“I swore that I would not put you aside, and I do not intend to break my vow. I have lost too many to let you go, my defiant Princess.”

A kiss brushed her forehead.

“You will have to let me go one day,” She pointed out, thinking of the home she’d lost.

The hands on her cheeks warmed. “Do I?”

He sounded sad, as if he was already imagining waving her off as she sailed off what the Greek’s believed to be the edge of the Earth.

“I miss my home,” She admitted.

“I am not your jailor,” Apollo responded. “Just your master. You can go anywhere I can, as long as you return.”

“You’re a god, you can go anywhere.”

“No, not everywhere. There are places even us gods cannot follow mortals to.”

Strange and ominous, Rhea didn’t like it. She didn’t want to go there if the gods would forsake it. Was it some dark pit, like Tartarus? Did she even want to know?

“Then I won’t go there,” She determined.

The vague form of a god chuckled, “I will enjoy seeing you defy the Fates.”

Before she could respond to that, he swooped down and stole a kiss from her lips, and disappeared. Only the taste of ambrosia on her lips signaled he was ever there in the first place.

As the sun rose, Ekrem and Deme joined Rhea on deck.

The two mortals stared at the demigoddess as she playfully manipulated the water to push them faster and faster south.

“Princess,” Deme spoke up. “What are you doing? Why are we speeding up?”

Rhea spun around, tired eyes still bright with excitement. “Change of plans! I’ve never seen Egypt, have you?”

Deme only sighed.

“Trust is sweet, like wine in a crystal glass. But drop the glass? A crack is created, and wine spills. A crack only gets bigger, so be quick, fill it with gold, and realise that Trust is sweet but spilled it is sour.”

Chapter Text

Egypt’s largest port was a busy mess of people, five times the size of anything she’d seen in Greece, and a mess of languages.

It reminded her of New York.

Leaning on the rail of their ship, she watched the tightly controlled entrance down the Nile Delta to the Nile proper allow different ships to enter and exit the Mediterranean. “So how long are we stuck here in Pikuat?”

Levi was tall, young, and disgusted at her constant bumbling. Rhea had heard him ask Avraham once on how long they were going to tolerate her inability to follow any etiquette and insult everyone and herself several times over in a single conversation. She tried not to be angry and humiliated; she did her best to fit in and accommodate all these differences and be a good Greek godling, and he didn’t understand how hard she tried to speak their language and wear their clothes and act like them . It was simply that. They didn’t understand her. She couldn’t force them to, couldn’t do tricks or tell stories for them until they realized that she wasn’t like them, so she let the humiliation simmer until it was just another time that someone in school had realized she wasn’t like them.

The young man side-eyed her, “Taking a ship down to Abydos and Abu Simbel is difficult, they will insist on a navigator, and taxes paid.”

“I am aware,” She said, forcibly light. “My question is, how long do you think it will take for us to get permission to pass? Avraham and Ekrem have been gone for a long time.”

“Half a morning is not a long time,” He scoffed. “I know princesses expect everything to be handed to them without delay, but things take time.”

Don’t snap at him. Don’t snap at him. Don’t snap at him –

“I grew up raising mutts and growing fruits,” She informed him. “I know how long it takes to train a dog, for a fruit to ripen, to muck a stable, and to fetch eggs. My mom did not raise me to be a spoiled little princess, I was raised to be a warrior who could survive on her own, even if gods were to hunt me down. Tell me, do you know how much force you have to put on your sword to kill a man or a wild monster? Do not judge me on the knowledge I lack because what I know is enough to make you pray.”

Levi looked at her, silent and wary, and Rhea was reminded once more that she was the one with all the power and he had just been freed. He’s lashing out, just like Nico and Thalia and Zoe and so many other people she’d known.

“Just… give me honest answers,” She said. “No insults. I am not stupid.”

“Forgive me, Princess,” Was his stilted reply. 

“Forgive-en…” She was distracted mid-word by a small mouse squeaking.

The little thing was a light brown color, with big round ears and sparkling black eyes. As a New York native, Rhea knew better than to be scared of a rat the size of a small cat running over her feet, but she must say she is quite surprised to see a small wood mouse sitting next to her sandaled foot, waiting for her expectantly.

Especially considering they were still on what had been a rodent-free ship until this very minute.

The mouse stared at her. She stared at the mouse.

And then it was scurrying past them, over her feet and across the deck to the bowels underneath.

“Excuse me,” She said, already moving and chasing after the little thing.

Her feet flew down the stairs of the ship, running after the strange sign, picking up her skirts to run faster. The mouse didn’t care to wait for her as it went straight for the cabin that she would sleep in.

It slipped through the gap of the sliding door, and so she pushed it open.

Only to get grabbed around the waist and pushed against the wall, pressed between wood and a warm body as a tongue slipped into her mouth.

For a second, her mind told her to thrust Riptide in a downward direction of her attacker’s groin. Then, it registered exactly what was happening, and her arms came up to circle their neck instead.

Moaning into his mouth, she let him slip his knee between her thighs, giving him a small encouraging grind down.

It felt like it was all too soon that they broke apart for air.

“Hello, Princess,” Apollo rasped, pressing their foreheads together so that their noses bumped against each other.

“Hello, Apollo,” She said with a laugh. “What brings you here?”

Apollo had visited three days prior to speak to Elaiwa, who he had apparently teamed up with to change her name to Olivia. The little girl was still sporting the braids with the ribbons he’d given her, delicately plaited as he spoke of controlling her healing powers and to be very careful when healing. It had been purely for the girl’s sake, yet he had still snuck some time to kiss Rhea and tell her of how beautiful Delos is. It was a strange change to their last argument and on-and-off bickering and flirting, but he seemed much happier the last time when she’d apologized for her planned detour.

“Can’t I visit my woman?” He asked, hands drifting down to grab at her skirts and lift them up.

Words in Hellae and Ancient Greek had so many meanings, reflections of cultures and grammar, relying on context to convey definition. Woman, or γυνή or gwuynie , could mean grown woman, bride, or wife, depending on the context. She’d also seen people use it for an older servant in their household, their grown and married daughters, and Dolops about his older sister. Truly, the ancient world didn’t quite seem to have enough words for everything it wanted to convey, and it was left about to the listener to interpret what the speaker meant.

“Hmm,” She hummed, enjoying his long musician’s fingers trailing up her thighs from under her skirts. “Your woman?” She teased.

“Yes,” He said seriously. “Mine.”

There was a possessive growl to it, like an animal staking his territory. Honestly, gods are no better than feral wolves. Still, while many animals mate for life, the gods were not one of them.

She ground down onto his thigh, a desperate little movement as his hands pushed her skirts to her hips and exposed her to him.

He seemed amused by it, ducking back down to kiss her passionately.

She moved her hips against him once more, quick little movements that sought friction as she gripped his shoulders with the force that would bruise a mortal man. He stopped those actions swiftly, grabbing her hips once more and shoving her back against the wall.

“So desperate for my affection, Princess?” He chuckled at her pout. “No wish to take command this time?”

“I took command last time because you were taking too long and being stupid,” She whined, wiggling her hips. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

“There's those demands of yours,” He said delightedly, pupils dilating until they covered his whole eyes in pure black.

Deciding that he really was taking too long, she held onto his shoulders and used them to boost herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Apollo was still overdressed, his ki-to a thin layer of fabric that was slowly getting drenched as she ground down on the hardness she wanted inside of her.

“Behave,” He snarled, gripping her even harder as he lifted her up and away from him.

“Or what?” She demanded back, digging her nails in.

Her answer was given in a swift and brutal thrust.

His ki-to disappeared in the same second he had brought her down onto him, slamming inside of her with bruising force. Still, her skin remained a gentle flushed pink.

She moaned and threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut. The thrust itself had been, truthfully, a bit too rough. Actually, just straight up too rough considering they’d only been kissing for a minute or two and they hadn’t used any lube.

His hips moved, as if to pull out, and she quickly hissed.

“Wait, wait!”

Apollo froze, “Rhea?”

Sure, Rhea liked the sting and roughness, she’d told him so last time, and she’d told him to hurry up and fuck her this time, and yet she didn’t account for her body not being as ready as her mind. 

She hissed, trying not to move. “Oil, please. I’m not wet enough.”

His eyes immediately softened and he pulled out fully. Fingers coated in what is likely olive oil replace his cock, gently coating her outer lips before prodding her entrance. “Sorry, Princess, I forgot.”

“I forgot too,” She admitted. “We’re both too eager.”

A finger slipped inside of her and she sighed, trusting him to hold her up and work her open at the same time.

“Look at us two youths,” Apollo joked, nipping at her lip.

She kissed him back, letting her hips begin to move with his motions. She could feel her own walls clench around his fingers as a second one joined the first, slow yet rhythmic. Dropping her mouth open at the same time as the fingers split, curling slightly as if to touch all of her. To paint all of her insides with oil just for him.

“I’m ready,” She panted, lifting her hips up so he could slip out, even though the motion meant the loss of her pleasure for a second, and that was torture in of itself. “Please, Apollo, fuck me.”

That set him off.

The first thrust was gentle, testing to see if she would find the drag too dry or painful once more, but the second she ground down even more, he was pulling back to slam back into her.

He had full control, picking her up to pull her back down onto his cock, seeking to see how far he could thrust into her. She moved her hips, only slightly so at each time she came down, but mostly she focused on holding on as she bounced on him, pleasure making her brain white out.

For what felt like forever, it was only the two of them moving together, searching the other’s body for pleasure, and nothing else in the world.

“You’re mine,” Apollo growled into her ear as he slammed back into her, her back scraping against the wood in a way that would have given anyone else some impressive marks. Instead, he was the only one with any marks on his flawless skin, dark gold lines appearing wherever she scratched and fumbled for purchase.

She moaned in response, squeezing her thighs around him as she felt the drag and sudden thrusts of his rhythm elicit a desperation in her. She was getting there, closer and closer with every movement, a pressure building up within her.

She clenched hard at a small change in angle, whimper being drawn from her throat at a better spot being found.

“Fuck,” She gasped. “There! Please!”

He sped up, grunts and wet sounds filling the small cabin.

In a move that surprised her, he shifting one hand to press down on her lower stomach, as if he was trying to feel himself inside her through her skin, and fuck it felt like it worked. His thrust felt deeper that time, like it had hit a thousand new nerves and every one of them was screaming at her.

She reacted on instinct, her teeth coming down to bite down onto the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Ichor blossomed in her mouth, but she simply licked it away, biting down a second time nearly on the exact same spot when he pulled the same move again.

“You like that, don’t you?” He groaned, his pace getting faster and more erratic now.

She spoke with a mouth full of glittering gold blood, “Yes! I like how you fuck me.”

His thrust stuttered, and she could feel him bottom out, boiling hot warmth painting her insides.

He dropped his face to her neck as he came, moaning her name in her ear.

She moved her hips while he was too busy riding his pleasure out to make her ride him, a small part of her brain crowing in satisfaction at making him cum.

“Fuck,” He finally said, stilling her and pulling her off him. Her feet touched the ground shakily. “You’re the perfect woman, aren’t you? So beautiful, you moaned so pretty for me.”

Rhea stayed pressed to his chest, his arm around her possessively, “If anything you were moaning for me, Apollo.”

His eyes were still a pure black as he pressed kiss after kiss onto her skin. Her skirt was still around her hips, his thumbs now rubbing circles on her pelvic bones.

“Always defiant,” He drawled. “Does that mean you don’t want me to clean up my mess?”

Her eyes widened as his left hand snuck down, parting her lips once more. “No!”

“No?” His fingers pulled away. “You don’t want me to? Use your words, Princess.”

“Please,” Rhea whined. She was flushed and fucked and leaking his cum. “Please clean me up.”

“There you go,” Quick as a flash, his hand slid up between her lips, scooping up her wetness and his cum, and he licked the fingers clean. Devouring them like it was the greatest meal on the earth. Then, with a smirk, he knelt.

“Ah,” She breathed, legs parting for him.

His tongue felt like relief, the lapping and sucking as he dug as deep into her as possible to clean her up of every last drop of him.

His hands kept her pinned to the wall once more, and she had to ride his tongue at his pace, feeling him trace his name into her with no ability to seek more.

Still, it felt like all too soon she was coming, whining his name as he ate her like a starving man.

And then, he didn’t stop.

“Apollo,” She whimpered.

He pulled away enough to chase a trail that had gone down her thighs, but only to lick it straight back up again to her entrance.

The pleasure was almost too much, and this time, she wanted to move her hips away from him.

He sucked and nipped at her clit, tongue tracing a circle, once, twice, and the third time nearly made her see stars.

“Apollo, please!” She begged.

He did pull away, face covered in shining slick. He looked up at her with a look of teasing condescension, “I know you’re shaking, Princess, but my mother told me to always finish my meals and to always clean up after myself.”

The high-pitched whine she let out was embarrassing, but she was too distracted to care.

He mapped out every single inch of her with his mouth, only stopping to pull away occasionally and lap at her thighs, searching out for any last trace of him on her.

With every move he made, the wetter she got, and the more vigorously he ate her.

It was at the moment that he shoved his tongue in again for what felt like the thousandth torturous time, twisting and licking the pattern of a α, π  then pulling out and up to follow it up with tracing an o at her clit, that she came for a second time.

She did see stars, her body morphing from tense to relaxed in a move like a breaking wave onto shore, and for a moment, she swore she blacked out in pleasure.

And then it was just Apollo and her, in the cabin, with a god on his knees for her.

“Holy shit,” She panted, letting herself gently fall to the ground next to him.

He looked so satisfied, like a cat who got the cream. Literally. “Feeling less stressed?” He asked her, nuzzling her cheek before pressing a feather-light kiss onto it.

She blinked, her mind slow and lazy. “Yes?”

“I’ve been watching,” He told her, glowing lightly like a pleased glowstick. “You’ve been getting more stressed the closer you got to this horrid land. I know you don’t want to lose the men.”

She wanted to get upset at him, but less than a week ago, she had yelled at him for not watching, and she really didn’t want him to get mixed signals. “I’ve lost too many people in my life.”

“I can order them to stay,” He offered, pulling her towards him so that she could lean on him. “They can serve you like my priestess does.”

“No,” Rhea gave him a look. “They want to go home. I’m not taking that away from them.”

Apollo shrugged, the action so eerily human. “If you say so. Even if that little flame-haired one irritates me. My priestess prayed to me and told me you’d get upset if he died. If you change your mind, I can leave my mice with you, they’ll bite him if he upsets you.”

“Please don’t give Levi rabies ,” She sighed. 

“I won’t be giving anyone rabies .”

“Please don’t let your mice spread any diseases,” She tried again.

Instead of answering, he pressed a kiss to the base of her neck.

That… was probably as close to a ‘I won’t murder anyone’ that she’s getting. Honestly, and she thought that Rachel ‘I throw hairbrushes at Titans’ Dare, Annabeth ‘I stab first’ Chase, and Conner ‘I break the gods’ rules for camp’ Stoll would be her partners that she’d have the most trouble wrangling.

“I should probably go check if they’re back yet,” She muttered, making no move to get up.

Deme, Olivia, and Brison were all on deck fixing the new netting onto the net holders, Leon and Levi were watching out for anyone approaching them, and the rest were on-shore. They had total privacy below deck.

“I’ll tell you when,” Apollo said, hugging her tighter. Slowly, he lowered them both down onto a mess of pillows and furs that most definitely had not been here a few minutes ago. “Stay with me.”

“Mhm,” She hummed lazily, lounging back further into him, ignoring the stickiness of her skin. “Will you be following us down into Egypt?”

“Yes,” He twirled one of her strands of hair between his fingers. “I will not leave you alone in a foreign land of foreign gods. Though we have treaties, I do not trust any of them with something as precious as my woman and my daughter.”

“I can probably stab one of their gods in mortal forms and get away with it,” Rhea mused aloud. She’d probably be able to stab Carter before he slapped her with one of those hieroglyphic spells, and the Nile was basically everywhere too…

“I’d rather you do not cause a war on purpose,” Apollo said lightly, yet with amusement, like he wished to see blood spilled. “If you have forgotten, I am currently fighting a war in Wilusa.”

“How’s that going?”

“Odysseus is a disgusting little pet of my sister, Achilles is an arrogant bastard, and Agamemnon is pathetic, always calling upon my power when I have given my favour to Wilusa.”

Other than the comment about Odysseus, Rhea could see how all of that would be happening. Translating the Iliad for Annabeth so many times does have its perks. “Ugh,” She commiserated with him.

“I have a young son in Wilusa,” He mentioned, voice distant, as if he was actually with the child. “Olivia’s age. I do not like him being near the fight, not until he’s older.”

She knew exactly what he was going to ask, “You’re the one building someplace on Delos for me to train Elaiwa, just add extra room for another child.”

His fingers stilled, “You do not mind my children, truly?”

“Why would I?” She thought back to Will, to Michael, and to Lee. “The way that you care for them, your visits to Elaiwa, your worry for your son, that is what I want. My mom raised me alone, I do not want that for any of your children. They are precious.”

It was a bit of a shock to see Apollo so involved without any alternative motive. Rhea has spent less time with her father throughout her entire life as Elaiwa has with Apollo in the past two months. She wanted to demand what changed, but he wouldn’t know either.

A kiss was pressed on her forehead, and when she raised her eyes and tilted her head back, she could see him looking at her with eyes far too soft. Fatherhood, it seems, was this Apollo’s weakness. 

“Just say the word and I will give you all my children,” He whispered.

She smiled back at him, “I cannot raise and protect them all. They have their own mothers too. I just want to see you be a father.”

His eyes were so human, she could almost forget he was a god. There were flecks of green and grey in the blue, a small freckle of amber next to his pupil. 

Then, he was pulling back to press another kiss onto her crown.

“Never demanding what I cannot give,” He murmured into her hair.

She didn’t even have to say a word; he understood.

Later, when she emerged from the bowels of the ship, the sun was at its highest, and the men were climbing aboard.

“How’d it go?” She asked, leaning over, grabbing both Ekrem and Avraham by a forearm, and hauling them easily onto the deck.

They took a moment to answer, a tad startled by Rhea’s feat of superhuman strength. 

“Oh, uh, anything we sell or trade for we pay a tax of one in twenty; we managed to get them to pass on a navigator because we were born in Egypt, and we picked up a stray. We’re free to enter the Delta when the sun is three thumbs above the horizon.”

Before she could ask them what they were talking about with a stray, tentatively hoping that they meant a dog, a stranger pulled himself up and onto the deck.

The first thing she noted, with no small amount of shock, was that he was taller than her by more than an inch. Six feet tall, he towered over the entire crew. The second thing she noted was that he looked just like Poseidon. The same tanned skin, wind-tousled hair, and sea-green eyes. 

For a moment of panic, she thought Triton snitched.

Then she noted his imperfections.

His beard was scraggly, he had crow’s feet around his eyes, and had scars and calluses on his hands from working with ropes.

“Hail, Princess,” He spoke with a distinctly mainland Greek accent. “I am Antitheon, son of Poseidon. I hail from Thebes, where I slaughtered sea monsters and defended my coastal village. I offer my protection in return for passage to Luxor.”

Great. She’s found another brother. Hopefully, this isn’t one of the ones that’ll try to kill her.

“Gentle and soft do not mean the same for all. The toughest of geodes have the most beautiful of crystals inside. The tallest of mountains are covered in lush ecosystems of life. Only humans and animals are soft within, with hearts of yielding muscle and blood of flowing life. Do not expect mercy to be in your language.”

Chapter Text

Rhea has never been one to be lured in by the promise of a shiny thing.

However, nobody had told Antitheon this, and he seemed determined to stop both Deme and Rhea from approaching any stall at all. Whenever a man or woman reached forward, hawking their sales at the passing group, Antitheon would glare at them and make his hand on his sword painfully obvious.

The man was mostly an irritation to Rhea. He drank, readily and often, all his water was mixed with wine and he never seemed fully sober. His jokes were crass, which she wouldn’t blame him for if it wasn’t for the blatant misogyny mixed in, and he talked loudly of all the places he’d visited and the monsters he’s fought.

Monsters he’d hunted down , to be specific. 

For Antitheon, there had been no Fury or Minotaur showing up at his home to kill him. The first ever monster he had fought was a baby sea serpent, far from shore but still disrupting some fishing boats. He had been seventeen and wanting to prove himself a man, so he had swum out and strangled it. Afterwards, he appeared to have developed a taste for monster killing and willingly goes out and seeks to fight new beasts of Tartarus.

Frankly, the entire idea sickened Rhea. She fights so not to get murdered, she just wants to be left in peace, and this fucking guy is actively searching it out.

Rhea felt resigned to never finding a sibling she can have a good relationship with.

“You do know I’m not here to buy, yes?” She snapped at her brother after he, once again, glared at a lady who pressed closer to them to show off her bowl of painted clay beads.

“All women say that, all women end up spending too much on some bauble or another,” Antitheon scoffed, his rough wool coat swinging as he strutted forward.

“Is that why you brought those ivory knucklebones in the shape of snakes earlier?” She asked sweetly with no small amount of rage.

His cheek twitched. Rhea had decided that her favourite way of dealing with him is the same way as she dealt with her dad: sweet tone as she sasses him and then bat her ‘who? Me? Why I never-’ eyes at him. Proven to work and annoy all men from the sea.

“Those, Princess , are an investment,” He drawled. “Do you know how many men lose money in a game of knucklebones? Now you get a good set of knucklebones, you truly know that set of knucklebones, and then when you play… well, plenty of money is exchanged.”

He chuckled at his own joke as she wrinkled her nose. He reminded her of Mr D, and not in a good way.

Deme, anticipating Rhea about to make some comment on Antitheon’s gambling, interrupted. “Can we please just find some place to eat?” 

Under the hot sun, Rhea and Deme’s usage of Eastern styles and thin veils were their saviours, while Avraham and Antitheon’s woolen Western styles made them suffer. 

Their small crew had split into two groups. Rhea, Deme, Elaiwa, Avraham, and Antitheon in one group, and Brison, Leon, Ekrem, Levi, and Dolops in another. Abydos wasn’t the biggest city, but it sure was an ancient one. 

They’d been walking all day, knocking on homes and asking about old residents and the such. Unlike Levi, Avraham didn’t have family in Egypt, he had come to work as a builder for the Pharoah on a contract and had strayed into a bad drinking den. For him, he was just looking for his old co-workers, men who could possibly find him space in the worker’s quarters and renew his contract. 

“There is a good eating place next to the Temple of the old Pharoah,” Avraham answered. He had volunteered to hold Elaiwa as they’d walked, claiming that both Rhea and Antitheon needed their hands free for their swords and Deme should rest. Well, he didn’t exactly say that about Rhea and her sword, just side-eyed her and said she should have her hands free to take care of herself. Since they technically couldn’t see where Rhea had been keeping her blades due to a combination of mist, magic, and her ability to always find a new place to hide her knives, she conceded that the side-eye had been deserved.

“Back towards the Nile?” She confirmed. It was a little past noon and she was getting sun sick. The ladies of Greece had the right idea with being followed by some guy with a giant umbrella every time they went outside. Rhea wasn’t keen to find out if the Curse of the Styx stopped sunburns too.

They had wandered to the South of Abydos, through the half-abandoned town of Wah-Sut to see if they could find anyone Avraham was familiar with, but there was little luck. The Ramessuem was in its final building stages and most of its workers had been made redundant, leaving them to travel to Upper Egypt in search of work. There were only painters and dye workers left in a small handful of houses, leaving the place a veritable ghost town. They had begun their walk back roughly an hour ago, passing a funerary temple a short while back.

“Food, then return to the ship,” Deme nodded. The hem of her green skirts had gone brown from dust and she had tucked part of it up and into her zona-belt to try and salvage the rest, exposing her calves.

The Gebel , the high desert cliffs, loomed vaguely in the background, a promise of a dry death for all those who wander too far from the river. Between the cliffs and the river sat a necropolis, tomb after tomb all positioned in honor of the sacred site of Umm el-Qaab , the symbolic tomb of Osiris where he had been mummified by his weirdo brother, Set. The Egyptians, weird as they were, symbolically re-did his burial rites all the time in Abydos, which made this land the best place to cross from the land of the living into that of the dead.

Rhea had religiously avoided eye-contact with the many barges in the river that appeared to be manned almost solely by House of Life magicians. Not her pantheon, not her problem.

Avraham explained things easily as they passed sites and sights, mentioning different jobs and stories of the land around them. Despite it also not being his pantheon, the man was well aware of the native culture. 

“Ha-wu-ne!” Elaiwa babbled to herself. The toddler had taken up babbling, which Rhea had to concede made sense, the poor girl was probably getting as confused by the many different languages as she was. Hellae, Wilusan, Egyptian, and even the occasional English got thrown about the ship often.

“ Hewuut-netchure ,” Avraham echoed her babbling in something that sounded more like a word. He pointed at a truly massive building surrounded by several smaller temporary tent-like structures. It looked like something they would pass in the distance, not anything they were supposed to be walking directly towards. “Temple, a house of a god. Good job, Olivia.”

Or maybe the toddler was picking up the local language better than Rhea. Great, she was officially not smarter than a fifth grader. Though, that’s not a surprise considering her grades at school…

Woah, wait a second, she doesn’t have to do the SAT . The ancient world has officially gotten so much cooler.

“I hope it’s also a house of food,” Rhea commented idly, thinking of the koshury place next to her mom’s old workplace. 

Deme smacked her shoulder, a hiss of rebuke accompanying the sound of her palm hitting Rhea’s skin.

Unfortunately, Antitheon found her thoughts hilarious, and loudly proclaimed it so. “Damn right! What I wouldn’t give to taste the food of the gods, even if it’s their leftovers.”

He winked at Avraham, like they were sharing some sort of private joke between them.

Avraham ignored his crass implication, “My G-d does not hide anything from their people that we are not capable of having, and if they does, then I am sure I can ask them why.”

“Talk with your god and ask them why?” He seemed to find the idea absurd.

Avraham, steady as always, shrugged. “What else are gods for if not questioning?”

“You can say that again,” Rhea muttered.

At the same time, Antitheon slapped his back, “Good one!”

Both siblings turned to look at each other, nonplussed at the idea of agreeing with each other.

A snort made them both turn around. Deme was trying to hide her laughter behind her veil, but the fabric was too fine and you could see her smile clear as day.

Antitheon gave a huff at being laughed at, but, like Rhea, wasn’t stuck up enough to actually complain about it. They were having fun, all of them. Nobody could complain about them finding a little bit of fun in their lives.

A double-take, nearly cracking his neck, Antitheon gaped at the temple that Avraham had helped finish. “I ain’t never seen so much paint in my life, not since my travels to India.”

Rhea was about to ask him what in the world he had been doing in India, but then she realised exactly what he was staring at. Turning the last corner, the sun had caught on the Temple of Pharaoh Menmaatre Seti, setting the carved images alight with life.

There was a massive courtyard surrounding the temple, with walls that stood tall blocking their view from the sacred temple inside, and a massive set of double stairs leading to the inside. However, this did not mean that the walls were bare. Hieroglyphs, iconography, and statues stood, carved and painted into stone, entertaining the masses that linger outside.

“I built this courtyard,” Avraham said with pride.

Olivia was the first to react with a happy clap of “Good job!”

It was a phrase that she had only seen Rhea tell her when she does her tasks well, but the toddler seemed pretty happy to pass the praise onto the thirty year old man talking about his life’s work.

“Very good job,” Rhea echoed, mildly teasing the man.

Avraham just grinned, “Would you like to go inside?”

“Can I?” She eyed the stairs with the urge to sprint up them.

Deme looked wary, “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

The eldest waved away the worry, “She’s a princess, she will be allowed. Royalty and priests only inside, and you two ladies may enter.”

“And a princess needs her royal guard and her servant, yes?” Antitheon jumped at the chance at going inside where he usually cannot.

“Exactly,” Avraham nodded seriously. “We’re a discreet household ourselves. Nobody will look twice, especially with the morning rituals finishing now.”

Rhea hastily started correcting her clothes and tidying herself up. “Yes! Come on, go go go!”

The group turned away from the direction of food (sad) to head towards the temple (awesome).

At the base of the stairs, two men stood, heads shaved and with white robes, hiding from the sun under a small shade made by the courtyard walls. Their speech was incomprehensible to Rhea, harsh consonants with curling vowels, like they were twisting their tongues as they spoke. Avraham replied in the same language, a notable accent to his words, the softing sounds of his mother tongue, Hebrew, evident in all his languages.

After a minute or so, they let them pass, eyeing Rhea with curiosity. 

“What did you tell them?” She leaned in to whisper to him.

Avraham leaned over back, hiding his movement by handing her Elaiwa. “That you’re the princess of Delos touring the known world to learn of the foreign arts.”

“I like that,” It was a pretty good lie, even if Rhea could barely draw a stick figure.

“Oh my,” Deme gasped, stealing their attention.

On one of the inner courtyard walls, as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, was a beautiful life-sized image of a man on a chariot carved into the stone. His horse was in motion, striding towards the temple like a returning victor from a war.

“That’s the Pharaoh, eh?” Antitheon nodded at the painted image. “Great warrior, heard about him in the Hittite lands, one man calvary.”

Rhea hummed in consideration. Unlike Antitheon, she’d actually been in a war, and she found no glory there. Yet, she had to admit that other leaders in wartime interested her, the actions that they take and what they sacrifice. Chiron made her study them as they prepared for her sixteenth birthday. She must admit, she wasn’t very impressed by many of the Greek leaders, but she didn’t know enough about the Egyptians to pass judgement. Yet.

She began climbing the stairs, leaving the others to catch up to her.

“Princess,” Deme hissed, irritated.

Rhea smiled in return, “Priestess.”

Luckily, the steps were shallow and easy to climb even with Olivia in her arms.

Every inch of stone was covered by hieroglyphs, telling stories and lineages that they couldn’t read. Occasionally, giant images of men, gods, men-as-gods, and gods-as-men interrupted the stories. Images of brown-skinned priests feeding a line of gods with elaborate crowns some ankhs, or life-symbols, was on the front wall of the temple. A blue-skinned god, wrapped up like a mummy, was basically everywhere.

Rhea pointed at the weird-looking dude, “Who’s that?”

Avraham grabbed her finger and lowered it, as if she was a rude toddler pointing at people in the supermarket and not a teenager wanting to know more about a piece of artwork. “The god Osiris speaking with the pharaoh. Don’t point at the gods.”

“It’s a picture,” She protested.

“The gods have eyes in every image,” Deme replied.

That was new. Or, old. Rhea has never heard of that one before, not even in the million times that Annabeth has scolded her about using the gods’ names back in her early years (before both of them gave up and started flipping off the sky).

“Is that why they want statues everywhere?” 

Antitheon shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. Like Avraham said, gods are for questioning.”

Fair enough. Apollo was an enigma and Rhea had no idea what he was doing half the time.

And, oh was the inside of the temple beautiful .

Pillars held up ceilings, black images of the sky-goddess, Nut (remembered by Rhea only for her silly name), and millions of yellow-white stars painted overhead. Despite only being in the first hall, she was already in awe. Then, they strode forward, ignoring the many priests and servants standing around the hall. There was the strong scent of incense, the type of rich smell that you get a whiff of when you hug a musty old grandmother who buys the expensive stuff from Morocco, which tries to find a permanent place in your nostrils. It was luckily mitigated slightly by the smoke of torches, but not enough, as there was natural light seeping in through small slits in the ceiling and walls, providing perfect glowing rays to cast light on the floors.

Standing next to a pillar, thrice her size and ten times her height, Rhea marveled at the ability of the ancient builders.

“And no magic was used?” Deme asked Avraham, awe coloring her tone.

“No more than the common magics of prayer and ritual,” He replied. “The house of life are advisors, priests, and healers. Us builders are our own people.”

She heard Antitheon go to ask his own question, but she did not hear him.

Against the back wall, several small rooms with decorated door frames and statues next to them stood invitingly, raised above the rest of the hall as if to taunt them all at their exclusivity, places only for gods and priests. Raised reliefs show a mother taking care of her son, images similar to Isis and her son Horus, reminding all that the Pharaoh’s family hosted gods within them, and that they are the only divine walking the sands of Egypt. Yet, the side room, flush against the lefthand corner on the raised platform, was the most intriguing of them all.

Shifting her grip on Olivia so that her little hands couldn’t touch anything she shouldn’t, Rhea followed her curiosity through the second hall, beelining towards a side room in which there were no lights or torches flickering. It was the door closest to the entrance, though a second path lay next to it closer to the back wall.

Her companions were left behind, and though the priests with animal skin coats side-eyed her path, nobody actually came forward to stop her from climbing up the stairs onto the platform.

It was a long corridor, skinny without any pillars, reminding her vaguely of the inside of a tube. There were square cutouts in the ceiling, allowing natural light to flow in, bathing the room in the softest glow. With the black ceiling of stars, the missing chunks looked like funnily-shaped moons, as if Artemis got bored and decided to let Ares try his hand at driving her chariot and it was going terribly.

However, on all the walls and even above her head, the same oval pattern appeared, as if a thousand times over, on an infinite loop. Squiggly wave, a reed next to a half circle, then sandwiched once more by another squiggly wave. It was followed up below with a large oval, each one holding a different set of icons, but then a man sitting below the oval. The pattern repeated once more below itself, with the oval once again holding a different set of hieroglyphs, before the lower half of the wall depicted a funky-carved bird, perhaps an owl or a fat falcon, and then two arms and the reed, half-circle, wave, and a new oval.

Her eyebrows raised when she spotted an oval that just contained two arms up in a surrender position and then three penises. How middle-school of them…

Heh, there are dicks on the wall though.

Olivia made a noise of protest when Rhea rocked back so she couldn’t try and grab the pretty painted funky-bird.

“No, Olivia,” She said. “I don’t know what these are for, but they might be important. It’s rude to touch.”

“They are the names of a hundred Pharaohs that came before,” A deep voice interrupted, thick accent curling around the room.

Rhea couldn’t help her shriek, heart pounding, her sword was out before she even registered who had snuck up behind her. 

It was a man, not a monster. He was dressed elaborately yet simply, like one of the high priests that Avraham had pointed out when they first got on shore and went a-wandering through the town. His linen was bleached a pure white that she’d only seen on Apollo in all her time in the past; too expensive to get fabric lighter than an off-white. Yet, it was simply linen, pleated to appear as if the drape was more voluminous and finer than it was. A leopard pelt was thrown over one shoulder and hooked around his waist, showing off his slim figure. His hair was covered by a fancy head wrap that rippled with striped colors of gold and blue. He looked around Avraham’s age, perhaps a bit younger, though it was hard to tell with all the kohl around his eyes.

He was leaning against the doorframe, calm and casual despite the sword being whipped out.

“The names are a reminder of all that came before, the way that the ancestry stretches further back than any other lands’, even if they shun our ways,” He eyed her slowly, considering. Sweeping from the golden laurel headband she had stolen off of Apollo’s head (it kept her veil in place far better than her bone pins did) down to her beaded corset-blouse that would expose her breasts if she didn’t wear a different thin blouse underneath it, and her skirt of cotton and flax-linen, colored brightly blue and yellow to match the blue clay beads of her blouse and the gold of her jewelry. He barely even glanced at her sword, and for a moment, she wondered if he could even see it or if the mist had suddenly decided to work again now that she was outside of Greece.

“You are from the northern islands, yes?” He pushed himself off from his position of casual lounging. “Where they grow olives and make the oil from them. You have the look, and you spoke the tongue, yet now you do not respond to me when I speak it.”

That made her lower her sword, Riptide’s point to the floor, but not fully away just yet. “I speak Hellae, I simply did not expect to meet other speakers so far from home. How do you know my speech?”

He grinned at finally getting a response, “My tutors and teachers were thorough in my learning, I know the tongue of all who trade with Egypt. Do you know the same?”

“No,” She didn’t sugar-coat it. “Hellae is my father’s tongue, English is my mother’s. I do not speak any others.”

“A pity,” He did look put-out. “The tongue of Egypt is far more beautiful. Though, your tongue’s speech is pretty. How did you enter the temple? The morning is only for priests to wake the god. I know you are no priestess.”

The way he said it, the cock of his head and the sharpening of his eyes, made Rhea finally realise what it was about him that was bugging her, and it wasn’t his non-reaction to her sword. There was a power within him, just like her durability betrayed her divinity, how Antitheon’s eyes shifted to reflect the water showed his, and how Apollo always glowed. He had the eyes of a falcon before a dive, though no bird-like features appeared.

The Egyptians did not have demigods, just gods, all held within the frame of a single lineage.

“I am not, Pharaoh,” She replied, sheathing her sword. “I am Princess Rhea of Delos. My god is Lord Phoebus Apollon, healer and prophet of Hellenic lands.”

The Pharaoh smiled, smug. “A pleasure, Princess, truly. I am Userma'atre'setepenre Ramesses. Though your people call me Ozymandias, and my inner circle, such as my wives, they call me Ramesses.”

“And which should I call you?” She asked warily. Levi had pulled her aside before they made land in Abydos, reminding her that she was terrible at etiquette and if she didn’t know how to refer to a person, greet a person, or just generally interact with someone, she should just ask.

“A beautiful woman of the divine? You should call me Ramesses,” The great pharaoh replied.

Rhea couldn’t help herself, “Did your tutors teach you how to charm women, or is it Horus in your head? Because whoever it is, you should stop listening to them.”

He froze, staring at her incomprehensively.

“I’ve got my own god waiting for me in Delos,” She kept going. “I’m just here to see the sights.”

He laughed, eyes watering with mirth. “A woman with wit! The gods bless us with your words. Come, Princess Rhea, if your speech is always so boldly manish, then you must share bread with me. Horus, too, is curious about what you and your daughter are doing so far from your lands.”

“Well, if the god decrees.” Her sass, usually far more badly received in the future, was apparently a novel toy for the gods of this time. And, golly, was she happy to mock them for a free meal. 

…Was this where court jesters come from? Is this why they exist? She’s cracked the code on clowning!

“We do,” Ramesses replied, an echo to his voice that no mortal would ever pick up.

“Then lead the way, Ramesses.”

“Sweet friendship, bless me with your love, your kindness, and your mercy. Let us walk together, hand in hand, until the light dims and dusk turns to darkness. May your golden light stay.”

Chapter Text

Ramesses emerged from the Hall of Names with Rhea at his heels, shrugging the leopard coat as he walked.

“Mery!” He called out, grabbing the attention of another man dressed near identical to him, missing only the leopard coat and fancy hat. “The god is awake, my duties are done, and I am hungry. Where is my wife?”

The priest, Mery, took the leopard coat from him, immediately placing it onto his own body. He answered in the Egyptian tongue, his expression showing a light puzzlement at the use of the foreign language to address him, but he bowed and spoke respectfully as he did, pointing outside in a clear message as to where the Queen of Egypt had gone.

Her companions caught up with them in a second, Avraham’s concern showing that they had been searching for her, and Deme’s eyes showing that Rhea’s hair is going to be soo roughly brushed tonight in revenge for disappearing. Then Antitheon did a double-take at Ramesses, and suddenly all three were kneeling.

“My wife has gone to the markets,” Ramesses turned back to her and offered his arm. “Are these your servants?”

“Oh, uh, yes?” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her lack of confidence in her answer. “I mean, they’re my companions. Deme is my lady, Antitheon is my guard, and Avraham is my guide.”

He appeared amused, “So well-paid servants with opinions? Very well, if they are your companions, then they may dine with us.”

Elaiwa fussed for a moment when Rhea went to pass her over to Deme, but Avraham was swift in grabbing and soothing her. Rhea had been raised to fade in the background while the adults were talking, especially when Gabe was talking, even though she hated it, but Olivia was nowhere near old enough to be able to stand her ground or protect herself, and so Rhea would rather pass her over to someone who could grab her and run if things go south. While Ramesses so far has been charming, he’s still a god-king, and if she knows something, it’s not to place your full trust in a god.

Unless they are predictable, like she is beginning to see in Apollo. She can predict his moods and his responses, and while she may not fully trust him, she can trust his responses.

Rhea took Ramesses’ arm. “I passed by the markets, but I did not enter. I’ve been told not to spend my coin.”

If the last part came with a quick glare at her half-brother, then that’s her business.

“Whoever told you that is correct.” Ramesses said, oblivious to how Antitheon’s eyes light up in victory and Rhea's smile became frozen. “A woman should never spend her own coin, that is what a man is for.”

And her opinion of him is going up.

“My god brought me this dress,” She informed him. “I love beading, and blue, though it is impractical for fighting. He’s always bringing me new things, I’m afraid I haven’t spent my own coin since before I met him.”

“My wives are much the same,” He replied, and her brain went over that little plural in confusion. “My great wife, my first wife in status, Nefertari, I have promised her that she will never spend coin herself, even in the afterlife.”

“You have multiple wives?” Rhea couldn’t help but blurt out. “Why?”

He looked at her in surprise, “Ah, I forgot, your people of the Northern Islands don’t do the same. I need heirs, Princess, as many as possible, and I cannot expect one woman to give me twenty heirs. Besides, some are from conquered lands and need a reminder of who rules them, and other allies need rewards. I have three wives at the moment, though I seek a fourth and fifth, it helps them divide their duties so they can enjoy royal life.”

Greeks weren’t exactly known for their monogamy, but they most certainly weren’t known for their polygamy either. There were very few cases of polygamy in Greece, and most cases weren’t polygamy either, like she’d come to learn, some of these supposed marriages are merely the presence of multiple women in high status within the same household, like the Muses and Apollo.

“And do they not fight?” She asked, “Us Hellae would never accept another woman of equal status to be treated fully as a wife, unless you had the patience and devotion of, well, beyond our Queen Goddess.” She went to say the patience and devotion of Penelope, but that hasn’t actually happened yet. And, look, Rhea knew that her and Apollo weren’t exclusive, but yeah, she’d be pretty upset if he brought home another woman and made those same scorching promises at them. 

He promised her Delos. Anyone else can have him, but on Delos, it will be only Rhea, Olivia, and Apollo. Perhaps that is what her stepmother, Amphitrite, felt; she never bothered Rhea or Sally on land, but the cold looks sent at her and her father when she dared to stray into Atlantis were obvious to all.

“Of course they do,” He laughed at her naivety. “But that doesn’t change which one I favor, nor the fact that only Nefertari is the hostess of a goddess.”

“I suppose,” She said, not agreeing. It was such a god thing to do, it left a bad taste in her mouth.

He led them outside, a large trail of servants scurrying like ants around him, following his steps and immediately pulling up a giant umbrella so they could walk in the shade. She followed him to what had previously been mistaken for being a very large tent, but it appeared to be more of a tent-lounge. It was like an Alaskan king-sized bed with a tent cover and on a giant wooden slate.

“After you, Princess,” He smiled, offering her his hand to climb inside like some sort of prince charming. 

She did, a bit befuddled as to why they were suddenly having a slumber party, not that she was complaining. The king climbed in after her, and Deme followed him, though Avraham and Antitheon did not follow them, instead, Olivia was passed inside and put onto Deme’s lap.

And then the servants outside grabbed onto the giant bed and lifted it up .

Her yelp of surprise made Ramesses chuckle and reach out to steady her, lightly tugging her down so she was lying down on her side like him instead of sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce. “Have you never traveled by litter?”

“No,” She said wide-eyed. Three grown adults and a toddler were surely heavy, but the dozen servants just continued to march onwards.

“You just walk everywhere?” He sounded surprised, “Do they not treat princesses as princesses in your Hellae lands?”

“Oh, trust me, if anything, I’m spoilt,” She was bedecked in what felt like a pound and a half of pure gold, and her fancy beading was breaking its own scale. “I have feet, don’t I?”

“You are truly a fascinating creature, Princess Rhea,” Ramesses eyed her up and down once more, licking his lips to get rid of the dryness the short walk from the temple to the litter had caused. “My wife will adore you.”

“It will be nice to speak to another woman once again. It has been only Deme and myself for too long, I’m sure we’ll like her too.”

Ramesses smirked at that, “If you are starved for conversation, I’m sure I can find many womanly companions for you. Only one lady servant is far too little.”

“We’re traveling,” Rhea pointed out. “Our ship is quite small.”

“Irrelevant,” He waved her very valid point away. 

Rhea shared a look with Deme, who was looking far more wary and scared than Rhea was. She felt like she was missing a very important something.

“So, how long have you been traveling?” Ramesses demanded her attention once more.

“Three new moons now,” She answered automatically in the ancient currency of time. The amount of time surprised her, has it really been three months since Kronos was defeated? “From Delphi to Egypt.”

He frowned, “That trip should be closer to seven new moons.”

“You have magicians sailing ships from the top to the bottom of the Nile in less than a week,” She rolled her eyes. “Do you expect me not to have divine assistance? It may be no magic, but all my ships sail faster than anything mortal, and they always get to land safely.”

“Forgive me,” He nodded. “I simply did not expect a Hellae woman to be traveling in such a way. The House of Life does not extend its services to those outside it.”

“Hellae divinity tends to enjoy meddling with those who are not divine,” She corrected him, no hint of irritation or her hatred for godly meddling in her words, merely facts.

“As you say,” His fingers trailed the edges of a pillow. “And what were you doing in Delphi? And now in Egypt?”

She hesitated, not knowing if she should lie or not. “I desired a prophecy for guidance now that I am a part of a new household, one of my god, and his oracle shared it. Egypt, however, is a different endeavor. Pirates came to bother me, and they are now dead. Their prisoners, however, are alive, and I wish to return them to their homes. Two were from this city, they worked on your temples.”

“Yet my temples are nearly complete, and most of my workers have left,” He sighed. “It is unlikely they will find their home here again.”

Avraham was following them, separated from this conversation by only a thin curtain, his steps perfectly in time to the litter. “Yes. We have noticed.”

“Well, if they seek re-employment, I wish for another great temple, one for myself and my wife, in Upper Egypt. It is the far South, but if they can tolerate those horrid Nubians, then I will pay them a fair wage.”

She pressed her lips together at the way he referred to the Nubian people, but this wasn’t her choice. “I will discuss their options with them.”

The litter stopped, and Ramesses cocked his head to the side, staring off into the distance.

Then he snapped out of it, “My wife is coming.”

Rhea moved to peek out from between the curtains, but Deme grabbed her hand, giving her a look that informed her that doing so would likely be rude. It’s not like she doubts the Pharoah’s word, she just wants to double-check!

“Horus has called for Hathor,” He informed her. “Unfortuntely, we will not be able to peruse the markets until after lunch. The sun is too high for a woman of your status to be under.”

She glanced at her well-tanned skin. It had turned darker in the many months of traveling, and she had begun to gain some freckles, though she wasn’t sure if that had been because she was sun-kissed or if she was sun-kissed.  “I feel like I should inform you that my god is Lord Phoebus Apollon, the god of the sun.” 

A woman climbed into the litter, “Ah, Phoebus, how is he nowadays?”

She was beautiful. Tall and willowy, she had the features of a supermodel and the bones of a bird, the type of woman who looked both fragile and fierce. Her skin was a dark brown, darker than Ramsses or Deme’s, but not as dark as a Nubian’s, and her black hair and eyes were both decorated with gold and blue glimmer. Her dress, however, was what drew Rhea’s eyes. She wore a blue bandeau and a matching blue mini-skirt pulled tight around her body, and overtop a fascinating beadwork net dress made of blue and green stones. 

Rhea knew exactly what she was going to ask Apollo about the next time he showed up.

“He is well,” Rhea managed to answer after a moment. “Your dress, however, is splendid. Please tell me who made it.”

“The royal beadworker and tailor,” She made an exaggerated pout of pity. “A shame, I can see you look lovely with beads. What is your name, dear?”

Ramesses jumped in, “Sweet wife, this is the Princess Rhea of the Hellae Northern Islands, she is sworn to Lord Phoebus. Princess, this is my Great Wife, Queen Nefertari of Upper and Lower Egypt, Host of Hathor, and the greatest beauty of the Nile.”

“A pleasure,” Nefertari extended one hand out to her.

Not knowing what the correct response was, Rhea decided to guess. 

“Likewise,” She replied, kissing the back of her hand like the prince from Cinderella does.

The queen lit up, a smile curling on her beautiful full lips. “Aren’t you interesting?”

“Interesting, or just a novelty?” Rhea tried to brush off their interest. As much as she liked a free meal, they were pushy, coming closer to peer at her with curiosity. That never boded well with gods. “Hellae would be a strange place to you, as it is to myself at times.”

“Then I am certain you shall feel the same about Egypt,” She replied as the litter was once more picked up.

Keeping his eyes on Rhea, the king moved to say something to the queen in the Egyptian language. Humming in consideration, the queen raked her eyes up and down, before responding in the same language.

Call Rhea paranoid, but she’s pretty sure they’re talking about her. Right in front of her. With zero shame.

Trying not to be petty, she turned to Deme. “How do you think the rest of the men are doing?”

Deme spoke demurely yet firmly. “The men shall be well if we have heard no word from them as of yet.”

“No screaming as of yet,” Rhea corrected. 

Olivia seemed to be falling asleep on Deme’s lap, enjoying the shade and gentle swaying. However, she was not going down easily, as hungry children never do. She moved forward and brushed a strand off of her face.

“Is she yours?” Nefertari spoke up. “Or your lady companion’s?”

“Mine,” Rhea turned back to the royal couple. “The best gift from Apollo so far.”

“Children tend to be,” Ramesses said with a sparkle in his eyes.

Back and forth, they made small talk, never veering into deep conversation. Rhea spoke of her travels and her companions (highly edited, of course), and learned much about the royals in turn. 

Nefertari was a very intelligent woman, reminding Rhea of Annabeth, if Annabeth traded in her skill with a knife for her skill in politics. Annabeth insulted Hera to her face, Nefertari would manipulate Hera into embarrassing herself, you could tell by the way that every word she spoke was carefully measured. She had the hunting movements of a feline, Annabeth was a stalking wolf.

Both were very dangerous women.

Rhea made sure to make them underestimate her, never mentioning her own godly heritage. Let them think that she can’t defend herself, that she relies on Apollo and Antitheon.

After minutes of shuffling, the litter came to a rest on the ground once more.

“We’re there?” She double-checked. A pair of charming smiles was her response.

Ramesses climbed out first, then offered his assistance to Nefertari and Rhea, keeping both women by his side as they emerged under the sun once more.

Avraham moved behind them to help Deme and Olivia, who took their places one step behind Rhea. The two men lingered behind, clearly staying in the space that denoted themselves as Rhea’s entourage.

They stood in front of the largest house in all of Abydos, with two stories and tall walls of red and black paint. Over the entryway was a carving of a sun with a snake chilling atop it, wings stretching out beside the sun. One servant at the doorway stepped forward and drew the thin curtain hiding the inside aside.

“Two of the royal food-workers came with us,” Nefertari informed her as they walked inside. “And I always insist on fresh honey from Upper Egypt. A spoonful a day for health and prosperity.”

“We believe the same in Hellae,” She informed the queen as they broke apart to find their seats around a low table, many soft cushions around for them to lay on. Well, she’s pretty sure that they believe the same in Greece, there was that story with Orpheus and the bull corpse that Grover had mentioned once.

The table was rectangular, so Rhea took her place at the king’s left, opposite Nefertari on the king’s right. Deme settled next to Rhea, and Antitheon opposite her next to the queen, to the poor man’s discomfort. Antitheon’s eyes lit up, and his chest puffed up when he realized that he sat on the other end of the table across from the king.

Then, servants moved in like buzzing bees, placing plates and cups for them to enjoy.

The plates set before them were a veritable feast.

Flatbread, sliced and plattered, was surrounded by dips of varying colors. There were figs and pears, cut into quarters and drizzled with honey. The lamb was freshly roasted too, the scent of spices and charcoal cloying.

Antitheon grinned, speaking up for the first time in front of the Pharoah in a way that was casual enough that even Rhea internally winced. “Pays to be king, huh?”

Ramesses laid on his side, lax like a lazed lion. “Pays to be a god,” He corrected.

Rhea was the first to reach for the food, ever starved since her drip in the Styx. She stole a grape and popped it into her mouth. 

“That’s true. Godly food is the best,” She spoke thoughtlessly as she eyed the spread hungrily. They were always lacking food in the past, every resource reserved in case of famine or siege or other such moments of desperation, but gods were above all such trival things.

“You eat godly food often?” Nefertari asked, Hathor echoing in her words. The queen was lounging partially tangled with her husband on her front, their legs intertwined around the corner of the table, naturally seeking to have their bodies touch. The pair watched her like two lions sunning on rocks.

“Sometimes,” She answered carefully, not daring to reveal more. She’d already said too much. “Only what I am given.”

The king hummed in interest, “Only what that god you mentioned gives?”

“Apollo? If he wishes to share,” She obscured.

“And if I wish to share my food with you more freely than he does?” There was a goblet placed into his hand by a silent servant with steps as soft as sand.

Rhea could hear the words that Annabeth had said to her years ago. There’s no such thing as a free lunch .

“I would thank you for your offer and return to my god, whom I am sworn to,” She answered very carefully. Deme’s fingers were ever so slowly reaching out for the fabric near Rhea’s elbow, ready to pull her friend to safety should the Pharaohs react badly to her words.

There was disappointment in Nefertari’s eyes, but also respect. “You’re a loyal one,” She remarked as she slowly slid a plate of sliced fruits towards her. “A pity for us, but a gain for him, I do suppose.”

“You suppose?” Rhea took the slice of pear offered, licking her fingers when the honey made a mess. “I would never think to presume to know a god’s mind, but I am inconsequential in the end. My loyalty is as the Fate’s made it.”

After all, in the end, it wasn’t even her who was the hero of the prophecy. It was Luke.

Luke, who was buried by the waves, just like Rhea will be one day. A bitter part of her laughs at how similar they will be in the end. Most of her, the part of her that banters with gods and climbs into the bed of one, refuses to ever betray everyone who had died defending camp. 

It wasn’t the gods who she fights for, and the Fates’ knew it.

“Inconsequential? Temptress, I would make you my wife.” Ramesses leaned forward, falcon eyes pinning her in place, her prey drive choosing freeze over fight or flight for what could possibly be the first time in her life. “A fourth wife, yes, but a wife of a god. You could have princes for sons and princesses for daughters, and feast every day for the rest of your life. You call your existence inconsequential, but I call you exquisite .”

Nefetari was not a woman to let her husband do all the speaking, “It is a pity another has gotten to you first. I think we would have enjoyed raising our children together, going on walks, bathing together naked in the Nile…”

She trailed off purposely, implying a lot of things that they could do together if she stayed.

But they are strangers. A meal does not convince her to stay forever with people she doesn’t know, when she at least knows her future if she continues with Apollo.

Deme’s grip on her elbow is heavy and grounding.

“It is a pity another has claimed me first,” She agreed. “But not for me. I am happy with my path in life.”

“Yes, she is.”

Several from the group startle, but not Rhea, and not the Pharaohs. 

“Lord Phoebus Apollon,” Ramesses greeted, rising to his feet alongside his wife while everyone shifted to kneel. “You’ve followed your woman to my kingdom.”

“King Horus,” Apollo inclined his head, godliness in full display. His hair, long and of pure gold, turned to licks of flames at the ends near his thighs, of which were only partially covered by the skimpiest of pure translucent golden wool, a ki-to made to showcase a godly figure. But his eyes, oh, how his eyes never failed to hypnotize her. Gold and blue swirled together, marbled rings lacking white, glowing like a venomous bioluminescent jellyfish. Beautiful and deadly. “You appear to be toying with what is mine.”

“They tear us apart, my love. Gouging their claws into your skin and dragging you away from me, and it is tearing you in half, but I cannot seem to let you go even as you cry. Yet, I cannot seem to hold you close either.”

Chapter Text

For a long moment, nobody spoke, the tension in the room climbing steadily upwards. 

Nefertari pouted, curling around her husband just so, her cleavage on show as she pressed herself closer. “You don’t want to share your toys?”

Apollo scowled, “She is not my toy.”

Rhea tensed, and, very carefully, detached Deme’s hand from her elbow and gave the other woman a small push. She was currently the subject of a godly pissing war, and she wasn’t naive enough to think that they’d care about collateral damage, though she’d do her best to remind them of it. Deme should flee, now, before it was too late.

But her friend refused to budge. She was curled around Olivia, covering the little girl with her body, but she stayed kneeling, face steely as she stared down at the floor.

“So why not share?” Ramesses (Horus?) grabbed onto his comment with a grin. “Come, Phoebus, are we not old friends, you and I? She refuses to consider us as long as you hold your claim on her, as is right–”

“Then do not push her,” Apollo glowed brighter as he stepped in front of Rhea, covering her from their view with his body. “Do not push me.”

Nefertari’s feline eyes narrowed, “We do not push, we play. Your Olympus is already embroiled in a war amongst itself; do not presume you can threaten us.”

“If you are aware of our war, then you know that it began with the overreach of a man towards a claimed woman.”

Okay, Rhea needed to shut this down right the fuck now. 

“While I am flattered!” Rhea spoke with confidence, squaring her shoulders and projecting her voice the same way that she would leap between her dad and uncles fighting, standing up in a rush. “Both Apollo and myself have said no, and I think the matter is settled, is it not?”

Ramesses eyed her carefully and the way that Apollo dimmed ever so slightly as she spoke. “It is. However, the offer stands if either of you ever changes your mind.”

“If the both of us,” Apollo growled.

“Yes,” Nefertari eyed them hungrily. “Both.”

Apollo did not stop glowing, but it did stop being so hard to look at him without seeing mirages of the actual sun.

“Inviting her for a meal and then ambushing her when you believed there were no men to protect her?” He asked, coldly.

Nefertari sniffed, “We are women, not infants. We make our own decisions, as you’ve seen. Now, will you sit and join us for the meal, or will you continue to rage?”

Apollo began glowing again, likely furious at the lack of respect from a fellow god, but Rhea reached out and laid a hand on his arm. 

Immediately, he dimmed. Breathing out roughly from his nose, almost a snort of derision though his manners would never allow him to act in such a manner. He sneered. “Unlike some, I do not need beer to calm myself, although I would not deny a taste of your dates. Even if ambrosia and nectar are better suited to the palettes of mine and my woman’s.”

Nefertari’s face dropped into something of a cold anger at the mention of beer, which was definitely a story that Rhea didn’t know, but, from Avraham’s flinch, was something she should ask about later, away from the queen’s ears. “Please,” She ground out. “Be our guest.”

Apollo did, folding himself down onto the pillows below, and taking Rhea along with him. She landed with a small ‘oof’ on the man’s lap, turning red when she realized how she’d just let herself get manhandled in front of everyone. Apollo didn’t seem to give a single fuck, ghosting his lips on her shoulder and placing one possessive hand on her thigh.

Ramesses had a look of vague amusement at Apollo’s peacocking. “Well, we were to ask your woman why she travels with such a small entourage, but I do suppose your appearance answers that.”

“As if you do not keep a careful eye on your own Queen,” Apollo reached out for a date and popped it into his mouth. “My Rhea enjoys traveling quietly and quickly; who am I to deny her when I know I can protect her?”

“There is always the guard,” Nefertari eyed Antitheon, who was only now daring to sit back up. He immediately ducked his head back down.

Demigods are so respectful now, Rhea mused to herself distractedly. Back in her day, they were waging wars against Olympus and yelling at their parents. It’s truly a shame. Rhea, personally, thinks she may throw a plate at the gods soon if they don’t stop insulting each other. That wouldn’t de-escalate the situation, but it would make her feel better.

“Her half-brother?” Apollo scoffed, “That’s her own doing, an offer of employment made from pity.”

Antitheon’s head shot right back up, his eyes searching for hers. Green met green, and she could see the emotions cycle through his face as their relationship was revealed. Shock, awe, hope, envy and confusion were laid bare to see, and she had to avert her eyes as her heart clenched, reminded of when Tyson was claimed.

“Hmph,” Nefertari huffed. “Well, it’s your own household, Rhea, you can hire whomever you choose. Though I do hope you take some of our Egyptian guards and servants with you, pad out your household a tad.”

Rhea quickly shoved a chunk of lamb into her mouth so to buy her some time before answering. “As lovely as that would be, my ship is small and I would have no way to return them to their families once I reach Delos. I can make do with what I have.”

“No need to return them,” Nefertari waved her concern off with a flippant hand. “They can be a gift.”

“They’re people with their own lives.” Rhea already felt enough guilt for dragging Deme around with her, even if the other woman had told her that she would follow whatever Apollo told her to do.

Ramesses laid a hand on his wife’s wrist, stopping her from insisting more when Apollo was tense enough as it was. “That is true, Princess Rhea, you have a great heart. We can discuss more about outfitting you for your journey at a later time.”

“Indeed,” She was quick to agree.

The rest of the lunch carried on much in the same vein, with Nefertari and Apollo throwing their own digs at the other and then Ramesses and Rhea having to calm their partners. The whole thing was tense and took far too long for the plates to empty, probably because only the mortals were steadily shoving food in their mouths while Rhea had to constantly stop and play mediator.

Ugh, she is so going to let them just start a fight at dinner if she has to keep stopping like this again.

When it was all done, Nefertari extended an arm out to Rhea to rise with her. Then, like the guiding hand of an older sister, she tucked the younger girl to her side by looping their arms together.

“Come, walk with me while they prepare our rooms,” The queen patted her arm daintily. “Uh-uh, leave your servants behind, they can join some of my own household in the servants’ quarters.”

Apollo and Ramesses stood directly behind the two women, each a silent guard for their partner. Both gave off a silent heat of contained divinity.

“They are my companions,” Rhea replied coolly, not for the first time correcting her on her friend’s statuses. “My daughter is with them.”

“A guest room then,” She replied with a slightly raised voice, carrying her message to the servants waiting on their pharaohs. “Come, we have a garden here.”

She walked away next to the queen with only a quick glance over her shoulder to Deme, a silent message to be on guard.

They did indeed have a guarden in the manse. In the center of it all, an open-air courtyard that contained a very small pool of water, no doubt a costly endeavor to constantly refill throughout the day from the Nile, and several desert plants surrounded it. Lotus flowers, in particular, seemed to be a favorite of theirs to grow, which didn’t surprise Rhea as she now recognized the royal couple’s perfume.

“I am sure you understand that now that my Rhea has recognized the futility of reuniting her companions with their families, we can continue on our way back to Delos in the morning,” Apollo spoke stiffly.

“And let you call us bad hosts for not allowing you to enjoy our Egyptian Hospitality?” Ramesses said with a smile in his tone. “Peace, Phoebus, how many years have Horus and you been friends?”

“ Myself and Horus?” There was a strange stressor as Apollo replied. “Only a short few centuries.”

“And Horus and Apaliunas?” 

That’s Apollo’s Trojan name; why are they making a differentiation between his Greek and Trojan sides? Aren’t they the same, like the Greeks and Romans?

“Longer.” Apollo said shortly, making Rhea’s brow furrow slightly in confusion. “Though, that is not to stay that way for many more years. The time of the Wilusians is nearly over, and so shall it be for the Hittites soon enough.”

Does he mean the Trojan war? Does he know the outcome of the war? Well, he is the god of prophecy, but does that mean he knows the outcome of every war or just this divine one? Did the Fates tell him this? What’s going on?

“Oh, I’m aware. Egypt will eclipse them, and other kingdoms will rise to overtake them,” Ramesses spoke. “Only a year ago, I led the charge in the Battle of Kadesh against the Hittites. Scattered them like the rats they are.”

Nefertari very visibly rolled her eyes and leaned over to whisper in Rhea’s ear. “The largest battle in the world, five thousand chariots and twelve thousand foot soldiers on our side. He’s going to be bragging about that until we pass, and Anubis himself tells him to be quiet.”

Rhea had to bite back her smile, “If mine starts to do the same about his Wilusian war, I will throw myself in the ocean.”

Ramesses is still talking about beating the Hittites.

“At least you have an exit strategy,” The queen gave a half-smile, half-grimace. 

They made eye contact, and both women dissolved into giggling. 

“What is so funny?” Apollo demanded.

Rhea tried to answer but was laughing too hard, and Nefertari had to step in. “Just comparing our jewels and dresses. Then I wondered if men did the same with their armor. Do you?”

His eyes narrow in suspicion, “A well-forged armor is the envy of all men.”

“Maybe I should replace my blouses with a breast-plate then,” Rhea recovered enough to speak. “I’ll have everyone looking at me.”

“You already have everyone looking at you,” Ramesses informed her with a boyish grin.

“I’d rather everyone stop looking at you,” Apollo sneered.

“Does that mean you’ll stop giving me jewelry more expensive than the last?” She raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

Nefertari giggled at Rhea’s eye roll. “Only a young woman would complain about receiving jewels. An older woman, or one with many sister-wives, would complain about not receiving any at all.”

“I like dresses more,” Rhea admitted, cutting out the men from the conversation once more. Still, she felt their eyes on them. “Nice clothes and pretty drapes, some decorative weapons. There’s none of those at war, but you find plenty of the practical things. And you can find jewels anywhere.”

“You’ve been to war?” The older woman frowned.

“My homeland was destroyed because of it,” She avoided the question. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

Nefertari hummed, “Then let us take a few more turns around the garden to settle our lunch before retiring to our rooms. Now, I noticed that you don’t paint your face other than these red suns of yours on your cheeks. Is this a Hellae trend? I have some blue pigment and kohl for your eyes if you would take them.”

As they took several more turns around the garden, Rhea was distracted from the two gods speaking behind them about war and the future. Occasionally, she would tune back in to hear them mutter something about the changing powers of the East, but then Nefertari would steal her attention straight back as they chattered about topics that Rhea used to go to Cabin Ten for. Used to go to Silena for.

Silena was great at distracting her about all her worries in the world, which was probably why Kronos recruited her in the first place. While you were with her getting your hair done, she learned where you live using only your favorite lipstick and what your favorite nail design is. 

“They will go down with dignity,” She heard Ramesses reassure Apollo near silently, the sound coming with a strong echo that made her think that it was more Horus’ words than his mortal shell’s.

“That doesn’t mean that they will not still go down,” Apollo replied. His voice was as mortal as Horus’, sounding far more like the whisper of arrows shooting across a field, that last moment of silence before the battle began.

Then Nefertari tried to steal her attention once again, asking what trade she expected Delos to have and if she could send a ship of with some housewarming gifts to her once she’s settled.

“I am feeling quite tired,” Rhea announced, stealing everyone’s attention. She’ll have to find a way to subtly interrogate Apollo on his talk with Horus later. “Your Egyptian sun is far too unhospitable compared to my Hellae one.” 

Stop preening Apollo, and help her escape these cunning royals!

“You must be quite taxed from the day you’ve had,” Nefertari was quick to croon, but it was Apollo who swept in and stole her from the Queen’s arm, tucking her into his side and supporting her with a palm splayed on the small of her back.

Right over where her mortal spot was.

She tried not to shiver as she felt the scalding heat of her god sink through her mostly-iron skin, tendrils of concern skipping over her healed scars and bones, before resting like a blanket over her barely-tired muscles. She failed horribly when she looked up to see his eyes shift from concern to understanding to support. For a moment, he looked fully mortal, the same eyes she saw in the future when he was disguised, helping her on the quest to rescue Artemis.

“Of course she is,” He agreed with her. “My princess has been dragged all over your city today, and you have yet to offer her a place to rest.”

It was like every time Apollo spoke coldly towards the queen, Rhea could see Nefertari’s carefully made mask of Miss Egypt’s Beauty Queen slip and the cold calculation was visible in her eyes once more.

“Then allow us to walk you to your rooms,” Nefertari’s mask was back in seconds, sickly sweet and caring. There was a true measure of care there, but it was far outweighed by her desire to support her husband and kingdom to be the best it could be.

It was a short walk to the deeper rooms, past columns that mimicked lotus flowers and painted interior walls. Here, more servants stood, waiting to open doors to a pair of rooms set next to each other.

Ramesses nodded his head to the closer room, where the servants moved the open the doors. “These will be your rooms for your stay. Ours will be next door if you… need anything.”

“I do hope you enjoy your stay,” Nefertari finished with a curl of her lips.

When she walked inside, she find a large airy room. There was a flat bed filled with many pillows and no blankets, and a thin gauzy curtain covering it, waiting to be closed and keep bugs out. There was plenty of furniture, too, like beads hanging from the ceiling, a loom to weave with, and a stool facing the bed.

The door closed behind them, and immediately Apollo’s hand was around her throat, pushing her against the wall.

It wasn’t hard enough to actually close her airways. Instead, the pressure and heat emanating from his hand were merely a means to keep her pinned underneath him. Still, she couldn’t help her soft choke at the sudden move, or how her fingers scrambled to his arm, tugging at him to give her more air.

“You,” He growled into her ear, bending down to say the words quietly so that their royal neighbors wouldn’t hear. “Find trouble so easily, little princess.”

He finished the words by biting her ear, making her gasp.

“You can’t blame me,” She hissed. “They came onto me.”

“And yet you let yourself be played,” His steaming breath made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “You walked around plastered against his arm and you flirted with his wife.”

Rhea pulled at his hand once more, “I did not . You were watching, weren't you? You saw me tell them no in a million small ways before I had to deny them twice loudly. I’m sworn to you, and I’m loyal.”

He chuckled lowly, “You are. You are so loyal, princess. You’re mine.”

The possessive had that bull-headed stubborn streak in her rearing its head. “I’m not yours. I am not yours to own.”

The hand around her throat tightened ever so slightly, making her whimper. “Is that so? Should I leave you here then, just another whore for their king to fuck? Or are you mine? Mine to take to Delos? Mine to give my children to? Mine to be my everything? You said in Delphi, princess, I would have your everything if I gave you my everything. And here we are, only halfway there. You tell everyone that you’re mine, but you don’t admit it to me, to yourself. I have prepared everything for you at Delos, yet I have yet to take you home and treat you like a queen. Are we each other’s everything yet?”

Rhea could barely swallow as she stared into the eyes of the god. Perhaps, if this was only a few months ago, she wouldn’t have been able to look into those rings of gold without catching fire, but now, it was a very different fire that those eyes stoked.

“Would you really be my everything?” She asked softly, leaning into the hand choking her. “You saw me sit in that same room as my half-brother, two different mothers, and I know the stories of how my father simply adores his wife. Can you do the same as I did today? Tell them no? I can love all your children as my own, but I cannot watch you say I have your everything then promise another the same. Please, do not make me.”

His hand squeezed tighter, and, for a moment, when he reached up to wipe away her tears, she didn't know if her eyes were wet because of his hand or his heart. Her breath was thinning, and her head was spinning; not in a way that made her think she’d pass out, but in the way that she thought that she would feel this moment forever, with his hand on her throat, pinning her in place and looking down at her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world. It felt like both a crutch and a brand, and her fingers were curled around his wrist like he was the only thing still keeping her upright.

When he kissed her, deep and slow, stealing the last of her air and leaving her gasping, she thought she might understand.

“I swear to you, you are my everything,” He whispered into the skin of her cheek, ignoring the way she gasped for air breathlessly. “I tell the truth, my love, always. If I am to roam, it is with the words of both of us. There will be no man nor woman above you in my eyes. Always.”

Then his hand let go of her, growing lax and drifting down, pressing his palm flat under her collarbone, watching her chest heave for breath, feeling her lungs inflate under his palm.

“Swear it to me,” She begged, feeling like she was on the verge of letting go of her final handhold before falling into a pit that she could never return from unchanged. “On the Styx.”

“I swear on the Styx,” His body was pressed against hers. His hand between their two hearts. “I love you, and I will always love you. You are mine.”

The thunder clapped as his hand slipped away, Rhea lunging forward to cup his face in her hands as she pressed her lips against his, opening her mouth so that he could steal her breath once more.

For the first time, she let herself face the truth, swallowing her pride on the notion that she would never understand why a mortal would love an immortal. 

She was falling in love with a god, and he was already in love with her.

“I am yours,” She prayed when his kisses strayed to her neck. “And you are mine.”

He gave a growl against her skin, and, without warning, clamped his teeth down on her neck. They did not break flesh despite how much she wished them to, but she moaned at the feeling anyway.

She was wet, she could feel it between her legs, the way that the slickness had already begun to stick to her upper thighs.

“I am yours,” She repeated again, spreading her legs and grinding her hips against his, seeking him. “All yours.”

He was animalistic, picking her up and throwing her down on the bed, wrapping his hand back around her neck to pin her down. She was choking, unable to breathe, but then again, neither could he the way that he attacked her mouth.

Despite her clothes staying on, every part of her body was being touched, his hand roaming up and down as he pinched and grabbed.

Then he let go, pulling on her hips so they were on the edge of the bed, flush against where his hips stood.

“You,” He told her. “Are mine. And you are going to tell everyone that tonight, aren’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” She whimpered, anticipating what was to come. She wriggled her hips and arched her chest, wishing she hadn’t asked for a modest blouse and instead chosen the one that exposed her breasts so that he could put his mouth to use. “Please, Apollo, I’m yours.”

His grip tightened around her hips. “Louder, princess.”

She knew what he was doing, she knew that if she spoke any louder the royals next door would be able to hear her.

“Please!” She mewled, uncaring. “I’m yours, Apollo, all yours!”

The self-satisfaction on his face made his mortal form almost appear to slip for a moment, and a being of pure buzzing light was underneath, but then the crack was gone when she slammed her eyes shut and panted out a moan as two fingers deftly slipped under her skirt and into her.

She moaned louder, letting herself be heard as those fingers began to pump themselves inside her, splitting apart and curling, hitting her in all her favourite spots. “Apollo!”

“Rhea,” he growled back, pushing her skirts up with his free hand, exposing her fully to him. He was still fully clothed, skimpy as it may be, but so was she. It was a need pulling them together, and despite the wildness of it all, she’d never felt so close to him. “Mine.”

“Yours!” She agreed, spreading her legs wider and pushing herself towards him, wordlessly begging.

He added a third finger inside her, choking her at the same time, and she saw stars.

She couldn’t breathe, he was all she had, all she could feel, and by all the gods, he was glorious.

She had to grasp and claw at his unforgiving hand to gain any air, not that she dared use it for herself; only shouting out words that had no meaning to her in the moment, but made his eyes darken with desire.

And then his hands were gone.

“Please, Apollo!” She gasped. “Fuck me, my god, please!”

And he was in her.

She held tightly to his shoulders as she bounced violently, moving her hips in her own rhythm as he moved to his, both of them rutting against the other with the desperation of knowing that they were the only people who could bring them pleasure now.

A litany of mine fell from Apollo’s lips as he fucked her, and, in turn, she responded with her own promise of yours every time he bottomed out.

It felt like both forever and not very long before Apollo came in her with a shout of her name and collapsed on top of her, only saving her from being crushed by the grace of his forearms coming up to brace himself above her.

She didn’t care for it, continuing to grind herself against where he was still inside of her, one hand coming down to rub at her clit while she panted and mewled his name. Soon, she followed him, finding her high from his body.

Her chest was heaving as she finally came down, hair wet from sweat and sticking to her forehead, and her breasts threatening to break the expensive beading of her blouse.

When she looked up, it was to soft blue eyes looking down at her in pure adoration, a smile on his lips as he nuzzled her with the lightest of kisses across her face.

“You’re mine,” She said, soft and mesmerized by the fact that somehow, against her every belief and understanding, she had fallen in love with a god, and he was in love with her too. 

“I’m yours,” He agreed. “Until the end of my days, you have my heart.”

She felt giddy, the schoolgirl part of her wanting to squeal and kick her feet, but she refrained, instead reaching up to loop her arms around the back of his neck and pull him down until he let go and rested his full weight on her body.

“Happy?” He asked her, all traces of that wild beast of a god gone. 

She hummed happily, “So happy that I think even you would struggle to put into words.”

“Doubting me again?”

“I said struggle, not unable to,” She corrected him with a smile.

They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the silence after they allowed themselves to be so loud, until…

“Ugh,” Apollo's lip curled as he side-eyed the wall that connected their room with the master bedroom, from whence they could now hear plenty of noises from within. “Exhibitionists.”

She snorted in surprise.

He gave her a look of puppy-ish confusion, completely lacking any self-awareness, “What?”

She burst out into full-body giggles, trapped underneath him and his utter ridiculousness, realizing that she was going to have to deal with him for the rest of her life and that she was looking forward to it.

“For all the claims of man, truth does not yield to their will. Truth escapes even the sweetest and most silver of lies, and it always comes out. Be wise, my dear, and speak the truth from the start; do not let your heart break when your lies come back to you, wounded.”

Chapter Text

They missed dinner.

If it weren’t Rhea’s own fault, she would be acting incredibly petty; alas, she was the one who fell asleep. Still, it was very nice to wake up curled up on Apollo, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the room.

“I knew you would be hungry when you woke,” Apollo said. The sun was gone from the sky, and the temperature had dipped to something reasonable for most mortals to endure. “I did not mean to tire you so.”

“I’m fine,” She answered, the words coming easily. Despite the choking and the bites, there were no bruises on her, no signs at all of what happened only hours before. 

When he handed her a plate of flatbread, he placed a small bottle of nectar next to it, like how she would have syrup next to her plate of pancakes. Immediately, she began to drown the bread in the nectar, trusting him not to have handed her a bottle with more than what she could handle.

A small noise escaped her lips as she sighed happily at the taste of godly food, the taste of her mother’s cookies soothing all her worries away as she was warmed from the inside.

“As good as last time?” Apollo watched her eat, swiping a finger in the nectar for himself.

“Always,” She confirmed, finishing the plate like a vacuum cleaner on crack.

But his next words made her freeze. “Funny. I never gave you nectar before, but I know you told the truth when you said you’ve eaten it before, multiple times. Your father doesn’t know you, nor does anyone else. Who gave it to you?”

Shit.

Can she lie her way out of this? Definitely not, she’s a terrible liar, plus he’s the god of truth. She could maybe bluff her way out of this, but then it’s just going to bite her in the ass later. Not to mention the fact that they’re in Egypt, with two foreign gods in the next room, and she can’t tell if they are their allies or enemies. Or maybe in between? She thinks that Ramesses is pulling a Switzerland with Apollo. 

“Would you believe me if I said that you gave it to me once?” She asked, tense.

He cocked his head to the side, confused. “I have to because I sense it to be the truth. Yet, I have no memory of this.”

“You wouldn’t,” She agreed. “It’s hard to remember things that haven’t happened yet.”

He froze, staring deep at her. Into her . She knew that, at times, gods would look through a mortal straight into their soul, but he had never slipped with her. No, this was purposeful, searching for answers that she was reluctant to give him.

His face shuttered, the kindness and tenderness disappearing. “Why?”

It was betrayal on his face. Something she had seen on her own face far too many times.

“We won the war, but by striking the final blow, I got cursed to never return home.” She swallowed thickly, the trace flavors of comfort gone. “I have no angle, Apollo, no tricks. In the past, in the future , we’d barely spoken twice. I barely recognized you that day in Delphi.”

“Too many people see a glimpse of the future, and they desire it with all they have,” Apollo’s eyes were gone. The sockets were empty as if burned out with acid. “Do you want me? Or do you want my future?”

She tried not to flinch as her own insecurity about their newly forged relationship was thrown in her face, “I want you. I want Apollo, the same man, same god, that you have always been and always will be. I am mortal; that future is gone to me, and I don’t want it from you. Please, Apollo, I swear to you I’m not lying.”

His eyes began to return, gold ichor filling the holes like water in a sink, and then those eyes settled on those almost-mortal eyes of gold and blue. “I know you aren’t. But I do not like you hiding things from me.”

His hands came forward to cup her face, forcing them both to lean in. “I need to know everything, Princess. I am the god of knowledge.”

A glimpse of understanding appeared in her eyes, “It scares you not to know, doesn’t it? It hurts.”

His eyes stayed soft, but his jaw clenched, and his grip grew hard. “It’ll hurt you far more than me. I am a god, I do not feel fear.”

“So you are not afraid of me leaving?” Her plate was put aside, her own hands coming to cradle his face in return. “That was not fear of a trick or a lie I saw?”

Her answer was a kiss of bruising force.

“Don’t,” He rasped once he pulled away. “Presume the thoughts of a god, my defiant Princess.”

“You didn’t answer me,” Her fingers were twisted in his hair. 

“And you did not answer me,” He tilted her head back, exposing her neck. “Will you hide things from me again?”

“Never,” She promised. It wasn’t the lies he was scared of, those he could sniff out in seconds, but hiding things… he was terrified. “Will you hide your emotions from me?”

He glowed hot, impossibly so, but she couldn’t look away. “Can you handle the true emotions of a god?”

“I can handle anything,” Green eyes stared into golden eyes. “As long as you love me.”

They were kissing again, sweet and slow, loving and tender. One hand was on her nape, the other guiding her face, supporting her as they made out. It was the closest she’ll ever get to tasting nectar in another’s mouth.

And then they promptly overbalanced, Rhea leaning a bit too far forward from where she was on her knees, and the two went sideways off the bed. She landed on top of him, but her wrist was trapped underneath his shoulder, and he had landed on her skirt, and they were a complete tangled mess.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, stunned by what just happened.

Then one of their pillows fell too, and so did their ability to keep a straight face. God and Godling giggled like children, showing their youth, as they clutched each other and enjoyed the comfort they brought.

“Oh gods!” Rhea gasped as she tried to sit up, “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Apollo was grinning boyishly, “I can. You’re incredibly clumsy for a hero.”

“You didn’t catch me!” She slapped his shoulder in offense. 

“Ah, of course,” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Let me correct myself.”

And the jerk picked her up! Bridal style!

She squeaked and wrapped her arms around his neck, “Apollo! Put me down!”

He laughed, a husky thing that reminded her exactly why she was falling in love with him. “As my princess commands.”

Then he proceeded to drop her onto the bed.

She glared up at him, “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“You should know better than to make deals with gods then,” He smirked as he sat down next to where she lay, pulling his legs up and onto the bed. 

“Too late, it seems that I’m stuck with one for life,” She grumbled.

“You chose me,” He answered, incredibly smug. Like a cat that got the cream. “Of everyone, of the past and future, you chose me.”

She snorted at the universal constant: the gods have massive egos. “ Sure did, ” She teased in English. “ You’re my specialist babygirl. ”

Have you ever seen one of those cats that have clearly never been so confused before in their entire little feline lives? With the ears twitching as their singular little crumb of brain try to figure out what that sound is, and they’re just left gaping? Yeah, Apollo was making a very similar face as he mouthed the word ‘babygirl’ to himself.

And Rhea was about to piss herself laughing.

“Princess, what does babygirl mean?” He demanded, absolutely bamboozled at the new term in his vocabulary. “Princess. Prin– Rhea, what does it mean? What did you just call me?”

“It means that I just found a limit for your powers picking up English and its slang,” This is almost too much power in her hands. She could finally understand what everyone was talking about with hubris. “I can call you so many pet names and you’ll have no idea what I am saying, won’t you, honey bun ?”

His face turned exasperated as he realized what she was doing, “No, I’m trying to hope that you’re not actually calling me ‘infant female-child’ and that I’m missing some context. Honestly, what on Olympus is a ‘tamed animal name’ and a ‘honey bread loaf’ supposed to mean?”

Frankly, the badly translated words were even funnier.

“Can I not tell you?” She asked between giggles.

“I do believe you just swore to always tell me everything,” He raised an eyebrow, leaning over her as she lay on the messy bed.

“You have no idea how much gossip you just got me to promise to share,” She muttered, then perked up with a cheeky grin. “A pet name is a half-teasing half, half-loving alternative name your lover gives you, and the more nonsensical and embarrassing, then the more they like you.”

“I can tell that that last part is a lie, Rhea.”

“Can you, pookie bear ?”

He cracked a grin, which he then tried to hastily hide. “I’m going to hide you from my younger brothers as long as possible, you three together would be an awful plague on the world.”

“The thief and the drunkard?” She shook her head, sobering up. “I’d rather be hidden from them forever.”

He frowned, “You do not wish to meet my family?”

“I’ve met them,” She reminded him. “I’ve fought with them. I watched some of them grieve their losses, and I watched others dismiss my prayers for help. I want peace, Apollo; you promised me that. You promised me a place to raise our children where war won’t touch us.”

His eyes softened, “And I promise you that it is still there, waiting for you. If seeing my family disrupts your peace, then they will never step foot on Delos.”

“Thank you,” She leaned up on her elbows and pressed a quick peck to his chin. “I am sorry to ask you that.”

“You should not be,” He dismissed easily. “Though I would like to warn you that while my twin rarely visits Delos, my mother is unpredictable and untameable, and I would not have any warning if she decides to learn more about why I am distracted of late.”

“What have you been telling them?” She asked, curious as to how he’d been excusing his absences. Disappearing all the way to Egypt has gotta be noticed.

“Everyone is too distracted with Wilusa and the Hellaes to notice me,” He waved away the question. “If they ask, I’ll say that I’m concerned with some of my children.”

“Does everyone know the outcome of the war?” She pressed. “Or just you?”

“You think I know the outcome of the war?” He appeared almost amused at her assumption. “My princess, I am not the Fates.”

“But you know the end of the Wilusians is near,” She pointed out. “I heard you out there with the pharaoh.”

“ That ,” He began, “Is different to who wins the war. My worship by the Wilusians has been waning for a long time now. I still watch over them, guide them, and answer their prayers, but more and more, it is the Hellae who pray and sacrifice to me. Every time the sun sets, I become more of Απολλων, and less of all the other gods that came before me. Those of the Hittite lands feel the same, their selves fading and drifting South and West.”

“The flame is moving,” She understood, recalling those words that Chiron told her on her very first day at Camp. “But… who were you before?”

“That is something I believe is best to be lost to time,” Apollo said seriously, eyes distant.

Rhea threw her head back roughly into the bed, grumbling as she did. “I have lost too much to time.”

His eyes flickered back down to her. “You will tell me of your war and the future.”

“Later,” She agreed. “When we are not in the middle of a foreign land with two far too aggressive gods flirting with us.”

“They were flirting with you,” He corrected immediately.

“The queen literally licked her lips at you.”

“Jealous?”

“You’re not baiting me into having sex again with you tonight,” Rhea informed him, rolling over to the side and tumbling clumsily out of bed. “In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I should probably check on our Elaiwa. I don’t like her sleeping so far away.”

Apollo pouted, “If I knew how often we would get interrupted by Olivia, then I would have convinced you to raise my children later.”

Rhea leaned over to kiss his pout away, “You would have had to work twice as hard to get me to fall for you then, you are at your most handsome when you’re with Elaiwa. I cannot wait to meet your son.”

Apollo gave her a look of pure adoration, gold mixing with a shade of pink, melted rose gold seeping into his hair like flowers in bloom. “You will love him.”

It did not sound like he was talking about her and his son, nor did it sound like an offhand comment, but she was already slipping out the door. 

“What keeps us youthful is love, pure and sweet like the honey from the hive. Bitterness ages, dries you like sand, and soon you will be forgotten like the grains in Death’s hourglass.”

Apollo before marriage vs after marriage

Chapter Text

Elaiwa was found in a completely different corner of the manse.

Rhea had gone from door to door, asking the servants that stood outside the rooms if they could point her in the direction of her daughter. More than one tried to inform her that there was a perfectly good nurse maid that they could fetch if she was worried about Elaiwa, but she kept insisting that she just wanted to check in on her.

In other news, she had discovered the concept of a nurse maid, finally understood why so many mammal animals kept getting involved with abandoned babies in stories, and would rather that her own baby (babies? Apollo has promised her another one soon enough) aren’t handled by anyone than herself in that way.

And, look, Rhea felt awkward at times with the best way to raise Elaiwa. She was, at best, her step-mother, and, at worst, the teacher who flirts with her dad. She was sixteen, which is definitely not old enough to be a mom, and all her plans of settling down and having children have been for after Kronos is dead and she finished school. But now she’s done both of those way earlier than she thought she would be able to, and Apollo kept talking about her settling down at his place in Delos, and now she was the guardian of one and one pending. If she felt quite honest, she was speeding through all those life goals that were far flung future dreams and now she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Yes, she did want to go to Delos and raise Apollo’s children, but at the same time she felt like she was nowhere near… well, enough to do that. She wasn’t like Annabeth, who had younger siblings and knew how to help raise kids, and she wasn’t like Grover, who had already discussed things like marriage and houses with Juniper. Her life was always on surviving today and dreaming about tomorrow, and now it’s tomorrow.

And she just had to get out of bed, check on her daughter, and then go back to her room that she was sharing with her partner and continue talking about what they wanted from the future and…

Oh look, this one is Elaiwa’s room.

“Thank you,” She whispered to the nice servant who had led her to the correct room, and then nodded at the two waiting to open the doors.

Such a strange job, to stand around all day and just open doors. She hopes they get paid well, because standing so still and not even chatting or fidgeting? Saints working the hardest job of all: boredom.

She wondered if she would ever get a job, or if she was doomed to be ‘Princess’ for the rest of her life. Was princess a job? What work went into being a princess? Is it all, like, politics and war stuff, like Nefertari was trying to hide from her? Or is she getting trapped in a tower (island) and told to sing to the birds (her children) as she paints (weaves) and writes poetry (listen to Apollo ’s poetry) until she’s like, grandma age and Elaiwa takes over?

Elaiwa was just a toddler now, sleeping on a thick pallet next to Deme, both right beside the window. In her sleep, Deme had curled a protective hand around the little girl, keeping her close, hiding her from the world with the bulk of her body. Deme was just like Rhea, loyal to a fault, and she prayed it would not become her fatal flaw too.

They breathed deeply, full of life, unaware of the newcomer to the room.

Avraham, similarly, had his own pallet near the two, and was fast asleep. She could she his hand curled around a knife, however, and he had no blankets or fabric that could tangle around his legs if he had to wake suddenly.

He was a good man, Avraham, and she mourned with him at the fact that his family was gone, leaving him to find his own path in life. They shared that in common, and in the morning, Rhea would offer him a path next to her on Delos too, and maybe he’ll be able to rebuild there like her.

And Antitheon…

Wait. Where’s Antitheon?

Rhea frowned as she scanned the room, realising that his pallet was empty, but then a noise came from behind her, and Riptide was unsheathed and pointed at the man.

Antitheon raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at her sword, even as his own did not lower. She had never seen his sword actually out of it’s scabbard, but now with it raised and aimed at her heart, it was clear why he never drew it. The metal had a sheen to it, as if the bronze had been forged with an alloy made out of mother of pearl.

“Nice sword,” He spoke, voice hushed. “Celestial bronze?”

“Yes,” She flicked her eyes down at his own blade, gesturing to it silently. “Undersea forges?”

“Cyclops made,” He confirmed.

The two divine blades were the only sources of light in the dark room, glowing softly with power.

“Mind if we take this outside, brother?” Her voice was even and steely, calm even in the face of danger. 

“Don’t want to wake the baby, sister?” He replied.

“You don’t either,” She pointed out. Putting a grumpy toddler back to sleep was evil, and calming a grumpy Apollo who had been dragged out of bed due to a grumpy toddler is probably a lot worse.

He considered it, then nodded. Slowly, both of them sheathed their weapons simultaneously.

“After you, Princess,” He waved at the door.

Normally, she would never show her back to someone who was dangerous enough to threaten her, but tonight she felt reckless. Well, that’s not true, she feels reckless every night, but tonight she felt especially reckless.

They walked in silence towards the courtyard gardens, where moonlight spilled over plants and the pool, the small statue of Khonshu glowing silver, a funny opposite to the statue of Re that glowed gold in the day. Not that she felt like the two bird brains were listening.

She paused at the edge of the pool, the ends of her skirts brushing over the water and sending ripples to bounce around the edges.

“Did you know I was your brother from the start?” He asked.

Neither weapon made a reappearance.

“You announced yourself as father’s son, it’s hard not to.”

“Yet you didn’t respond the same.”

“He hasn’t claimed me,” She crossed her arms. “Who should I announce myself as: the daughter of a man who doesn’t know I exist, or the devoted woman of a god who shows up when I merely think of him?”

And gods , was that a stark contrast. The man who told her that he regrets her being born and the man who promised her the world. 

Antitheon snorted, “You think he knows I exist? Men fuck a whore and don’t care for the whelp, it doesn’t matter if that man is a god or a mortal. My mother lost her husband, her dignity, and the protection of her family when I was born. The son of a god, and a woman that went from fisherman’s wife to prostitute. Then, I made her the mother of a fisherman, then the mother of a hero, and now she barely resents the King of the Seas because I earn enough to give her gold bangles.”

Sally had dropped out of college for Rhea, had married Gabe for her, but once she was a hero, well, now her mother is free of suffering because she made the mistake of loving a god. That didn’t mean that some days Rhea resented Poseidon far more than her own mother ever had.

“And do you resent him?” She pressed. “Do you resent the gods?”

“He did the same as hundreds and thousands other men do. It’s the way of the world to leave your children behind,” He scoffed, his cape swaying with the sound. He didn’t look at her as he answered. “My mother was foolish for lusting after him and believing his promises of gold, and you , little sister, are foolish for doing the same with a different god. Did you not learn from your mother?”

Her temper rose, furious at the implication that she was following her mom’s fate. “He swore to me–”

“Every man swears,” He drawled in return.

“–On the Styx?” The words came out hissed, as if her teeth were fangs and her tongue was forked. 

Suprise actually flickered across his face, the exact same expression that their father made whenever Rhea would pull a new stunt and somehow wiggle away without any (major) consequences. Then, it cooled, like a winter sea forming blocks of snow that smash the prow of foolishly brave ships. 

“So he’s sworn to take you back to his home, wed you, and keep you as his lover for some time, and ? You’re still mortal. He’s still a god. Father still won’t protect you. What happens if he gets bored of you, or beats you, or brings his mistress home? What happens when you die?” Antitheon seemed determined to point out every single possible flaw in her life plans.

“What happens when I live?” She snarled, snapping teeth and a head held high. “What happens when I love, and I lose, and I laugh? I have survived this long, can’t I simply live ?”

His eyes narrow, “As your brother, I cannot condone this.”

“What else can I do? Return to a home that does not exist anymore? Or should I call our godly brother and see if he has a place for me under the sea?”

At that, he winced, “I think it would be best for all our sanities that Prince Triton not be invoked in this conflict.”

And the tension was gone, because what brings siblings together more than making fun of each other?

“Oh, let me guess, he gave you that sword?” She pointed at his belt. “Did it come with a lecture on not being a disappointment and staying away from Atlantis?”

“You forgot the insults towards my manners, my honor, my mother’s honor, and the general distaste at me living so long,” He grinned savagely, teeth peaking from his beard. “I’m suprised he gave you a sword too, last I knew he approved of our sisters’ marriages.”

Sisters’? Marriage? Rhea, like most times when confronted with a family member, was suprised to discover a new relation. She had no idea that she had sisters. Or that they’re married. Or why everyone is acting like the second she steps foot on Delos, she’s hitched.

“He thinks it’s funny Apollo and I are together and father doesn’t know… and you can’t tell him either!” She quickly added on, pointing agressively at him. 

“How would I tell him, I’ve never met him?” Antitheon had the grin of a pirate, crooked and unashamed, the same smile that Rhea had that got her labelled a ‘troublemaker’ since first grade. “So, how’d you get a sword? I had to wrangle sirens, drag them away from my ship by their tails. He gave told me to just stab them next time.”

“It was a gift from a friend… a nymph,” She skirted around the topic of Zoe. “You had a ship?”

“Had.” His nose scrunched up. “There was a giant octopus hiding near the shores of Egypt, dragging boats down whenever a storm passed through. It’s dead, but it sunk my ship first. Had to swim to shore and seek passage from others.”

“And is Luxor going to give you a new ship?” It was curiosity now that drove the conversation, just a pair of siblings getting to know each other.

“Likely not, but it might give me employment,” He shrugged. “I seek the East, lands of dyes and gems, and only Egyptian tradesmen know the pathways there. The women are exotic there, I heard that there are women who ride horses. If they can ride those beasts, then I bet they can ride this–”

She smacked him on the back of his head, “Antitheon!”

He hissed in pain, clutching his nape, “Fuck! Woman, you have a rough hand, what would your man think of you smacking him around?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what attracted him to me, so how about your shut your mouth about things you don’t understand,” She glared at him, throwing her hands up in the air.

“My mouth has attracted many women, sister, thank you for your erroneous insight.”

“Were you paying for that attraction or did they think that was the only way to get you to shut up and go away?”

“I’ll have you know–!”

“What are the two of you doing ?” Triton interrupted the petty sibling squabble.

The two youngest immediately straightened at the sight of the eldest, hands flying to tuck themselves back at their sides and a foot of space appeared between them in an instant.

“My princely brother!” Antitheon laid the charm on thick, letting it ooze out like a soaked beach towel. “We had not noticed you there.”

Rhea immediately rolled her eyes at the thickheaded moron as she stepped forward to greet Triton with a sweet smile. “Triton! Antitheon and I were only talking about his appalling lack of respect towards women. What are you doing here, on land, in Egypt?”

He ignored her as he stared straight at Antitheon, “You are an abysmal escort and gaurdian for our sister. How have you managed to walk her into the walls of our enemies’ palace when I sent you to protect her honor until her wedding takes place? It was a rather simple task, does the mortal muck of your making truly muddle your mind so?”

“Send me?” Antitheon spluttered, “You didn’t send me anywhere!”

“Hey!” Rhea snapped her fingers in front of his face, grabbing his attention. “Don’t be a dick! I walked my own self here, well, actually I was carried here, but that is irrelevant! I make my own decisions, and what wedding? And my honor is perfectly fine too, I’m so honorable, I fight fine!”

Triton grabbed her fingers, sneering. “You are a loudmouth and will be a disappointment to Father if you are presented at Olympus as such. I’m simply saving him the further embarrassment of having you lose your maidenhood before you wed.”

She wanted to punch him, and also demand him to explain what the hell he was talking about– what wedding? – however Antitheon had beat her to it. “Did you sink my fucking ship?”

“Obviously.” Triton drawled. “I needed you to act as a male member of this family and protect our sister.”

“So you sent a kraken to drown me?”

“You cannot drown.”

Antitheon’s hands were fists, but thankfully not anywhere near his sword. “Would a simple meeting not suffice?”

“I am our father’s only trueborn male heir, I am busy.” Triton wrinkled his nose at the thought of actually interacting with his half-blood siblings.

“Well, while you were busy and not informing me of what my quest actually is, I’m rather certain our sister has been dishonored. She is far too crass and bold to be a maiden.”

“What?” Triton swivelled his head to demand answers from her, who he was still holding.

“Okay, for you’re information, I lost my ‘maidenhood’ a year ago, okay?” Rhea wasn’t taking any of their shit. “I am not dishonored, I am not nothing different because I slept with someone.”

“You have been taken advantage of,” Triton tried to correct.

“Excuse you, I kissed him first!”

“Did you truly ravage a god because you felt like it?” Antitheon asked in disbelief.

“Can we stop talking about my sex life?”

“You are unwed and not a maiden!” Triton’s eyes were pure black, his teeth long and sharp, and his webbed fingers freezing cold. “What if you get pregnant?”

“I can’t have any children!” She snatched her hand out of his grip. “And even if I could, it’s not any of your business. It’s nobody’s business but mine and Apollo’s. I am going to Delos, I am going to enjoy my life there, and I am going to not be bothered by irritating siblings who think they know best when they do not know me at all! If father wants to voice his opinion on me, he needs to first know that I exist, which he very clearly does not . Until then, I will not have either of you saying anything to him. This is my life and I will live it as I see fit.”

Both men stared at her, taken-aback by her heated speech.

Between them, the garden’s pool had a whirlpool spinning faster than any tornado, chunks of ice gnashing together as the water steamed and boiled.

“Now, if you are quite done, I’m going back to my room to kiss my lover and sleep in his unjudging arms.” She did not give them a chance to respond, spinning on her heel and marching out, picking up her skirt as she stomped up the short courtyard stairs.

They didn’t stop her, nor could they.

Apollo lifted his head off a pillow when she re-entered their room in a fury of skirts and jangling jewels. His cat-like eyes of greenish-blue narrowed as his hair faded from a coppery-orange to a rose gold. “My love?” His accent was thicker, similar to Deme’s, an enchanting lyrical growl.

She threw herself down onto the bed next to him, “I appear to share your sister’s opinion on most men. They are arrogant, meddlesome pigs who are far too much trouble to be worth it.”

“Is there someone I may kill for you?” He offered bloodshed to her anger like a gentleman would a coat in winter. His fingertips were stained brown, a tattoo of swirling patterns of flowers and suns that climbed up his arms, turning a deep pink at his shoulders. 

“Unfortunately, that would start a war with Atlantis, and we don’t need that.”

He sighed deeply, “Unfortunately. Can I take your mind off it?”

“Tell me about Wilusa?” Rhea asked, shucking off her anklets with a careless toe and removing the golden laurels off her head. She haphazardly placed it back on his head, where it did theoretically belong, even if she had been wearing the stolen halo for the past week. 

His grin was perfect, not a single crooked tilt or chapped lip in sight. His eyes were rimmed with a black eyeliner unlike anything she’d ever seen him wear before, but were popular the further East they travelled. “Certainly, my Princess.”

“Listen to lion’s roar. What does it tell you? Danger, or pride? Or is it simply a promise that you cannot win? I do not know, and neither does the lion.”

 Apollo and Rhea in Ch19 by Makiv on discord

Chapter Text

The ports of Egypt were always beautiful.

Built right on the water of the River Nile, the sparkling blue water– like dark sapphires under the sun– lept up and licked the structures made to ferry goods and people onto the passing ships. The ports were meant to be full of people, but due to their Pharoah’s presence, it was empty.

The ports were deceptive in a way. Under the water, Rhea could feel the life that teemed, including the crocodiles that lay in wait for the foolish birds or small children that thought them logs.

Her ship was being refilled with gifts from the royal couple, trinkets and treasures that Queen Nefertari had insisted would be helpful for her setting up her new household. Her own crew were also shuffled about and changed, with Levi not coming back as he had reunited with his family, and half a dozen servants joining them on their trek to Delos.

Antitheon came up beside her, “You know my thoughts on this.”

“And you know mine,” She didn’t turn her head to look at him. “There is no glory in the life of a hero.”

Here, she used the word τιμη, or tímê , the type of legendary glory and honor a hero gains through their many deeds that have gained κυδος, kudos the immediate glory given in battle as those perceive you. Most would speak of κλεος, kleos the divine glory and reputation of those that perceive you for the ages, but Rhea has spent enough time as a hero to know the difference between the two. Luke had the kleos, but Rhea fought for tímê, and she thinks that’s what set them apart the most in their search for their parents’ acknowledgement. Rhea still doesn’t believe she has gained tímê in her fighting, but she hopes there will be a type of honor waiting for her in Delos.

Her brother scoffed, “There is nothing but glory in the life of a hero.”

“I speak of honor, brother mine, not reputation,” She repeated those words for him, drawing out the vowels and digging her heels into the consonants. “Reputation is easy for all heroes to gain, but honor is given by the gods and by the most common of people, and impossible to gain in battle.”

“So you seek the easy honor of being a kept woman, raising other women’s children and opening your legs for a god?”

Rhea sucked her teeth, “If you ever come to your senses, or need help, you know where to find me. I won’t turn away family, we are all distant enough to each other as it is.”

Her mom once told her that the biggest problem in this world is that people don’t help each other enough. Rhea refused to become like the gods who think of kindness and mercy as weaknesses.

Even if Antitheon made it really easy to commit fratricide.

“And, sister, I suppose to you too. If you ever need my sword, know that I will not let you be thrown aside by our father’s household.” He placed his hand upon his sword, and Rhea itched to turn around and look at him, but she knew if she did, her resolve would break. She was always terrible at staying truly and properly mad at her family. Betrayal is one thing, her friends another, but her family did seem to always make a fool out of her whenever she looked for the best in them.

He left, walking back towards land as she stayed staring at the river.

Elaiwa ran by, giggling as she escaped the hands Deme who was trying to get the little girl to say a proper farewell to the rulers of Egypt.

“Leave her be,” She called to Deme as the priestess failed to grab the girl’s arm when she ducked underfoot of the servants. “It’ll be a long journey ahead of us and she’s just a child.”

“Princess,” Deme was slightly out of breath. “The water is dangerous.”

“She’s my child,” Rhea replied. “The water will not harm her.”

At that, she turned around and marched back to where Apollo is speaking lowly with Ramesses. She knew that Elaiwa not being hers biologically meant that the girl could drown as easily as any other child, but with herself and Apollo there, she also knew that no creature of the depths would dare approach. 

“Nefertari, Ramesses,” She greeted as she approached. Both royals turned towards her as one, identical in their movements, uncanny in a way for all mortals but typical for the divine. “I must thank you once again for hosting me.”

“You say that as if it was such a great ordeal,” Nefertari tutted. “You were far more of a gracious guest than I was a host.”

Apollo was smiling, but also glaring daggers at the queen as if he wished for her to drop dead at this exact moment please and thank you. Rhea beamed back at the other woman as she laced her hand into the crook of Apollo’s elbow and squeezed, hard . “Flatterer. A pity it doesn’t work on me or your plan of me staying forever could’ve worked.”

“I simply need patience,” She said slyly, “I’ll wear you down with time. One of the servants I’m sending you is a scribe, they can read and write messages for you so we can keep in touch. Perhaps in a few years you can revisit our great land, perhaps in a different settlement, one more of life than death.”

“Perhaps it can be the other way around,” She teased. “And you could visit me on Delos.”

Apollo made a sound of disgruntlement, but Rhea, the loving partner that she is, quickly turned it into a sound of pained agreement by digging her nails into his skin.

Nefertari, smelling weakness and a way to fuck with Apollo, grinned. “I would love that.”

Ramesses chuckled, leaning into Apollo as if to share some great secret. “That is the way of wives, I do suggest you give in and follow their lead. There is less pain that way.”

Apollo gave him a flat look, “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Nefertari was still going on about future plans, “And you said that your time of birth was at the end of the summer and the edge of winter when the wind grows biting at night, yes? I shall have to send a ship then at the end of every summer. If your daughter’s the same? I have two sons both born in the winter, near her age, when we visit each other we simply must introduce them. Olivia has been a delight here, perhaps we can find her a marriage here, with a man who respects a woman’s power. Like I have been raising my sons to do.”

“I think Olivia is too young to consider marriage for,” Yeah, no, absolutely not. Her baby is at least twenty years too young for that kind of talk.

Apollo butted in, “And if we were, then I must be the one who approves of such things. Now, forgive me, but I thought your eldest son was born in the summer, near nine years ago, while Olivia was born in the winter, four years ago in another two moons. That is not so alike in age, though I suppose when they are older it will feel like much less.”

Is he seriously fucking…? Absolutely not, we are not fishing for royal marriages today!

“Well, we are a thousand years apart and yet we look barely two years apart,” She smiled at him with a threat of sleeping on the couch in her eyes. “Everything will be up to Olivia to choose when she is older, much like I have.”

Ramesses watched both catty divine beings duck their heads at Rhea’s silent scolding, “I agree. If all is well, then the Fates and Stars will have blessed us with long reigns and plenty of time for the future. Nothing need be done today than saying goodbye.”

She had to admit; she liked this pharaoh.

“Ramesses, you’re my favorite,” She informed him as she let go of her god to bring the other into what was probably a very indecent hug. “Try not to die before I see you again; your level-headedness is rare as it is. Gods know I don’t have any.”

Hephaestus was made very aware of that fact when she blew up Mount Saint Helens because Annabeth kissed her. Well, not because Annabeth kissed her, but that was the most important part of that whole debacle in Rhea’s mind.

“Ah, but you have a desire for peace, and in our times, that is rarer than any silver or gem.” He hugged her back, pressing a kiss on either cheek before drawing away. “I eagerly await news of your prosperous reign in Delos, Rhea.”

Nefertari repeated her desire for continued friendship as she pressed her own kisses onto Rhea’s face, smiling girlishly despite their goodbyes.

“We must depart now,” Apollo intoned, pressing himself against her back. “Until the next time, Horus, Hathor.”

“Ramesses, Nefertari,” Rhea echoed in farewell.

They boarded with no further fanfare, the knots that tied the ship to the port undoing by themselves, a small fraction of her power readying the ship to sail.

“Olivia,” Apollo barked, making the little girl freeze from where she was climbing a wooden crate and allowing Deme to snatch her back and board. They were the last to come aboard the boat; though they were leaving some behind, they had gained many.

Avraham bowed low as the pair walked by him towards the prow of the ship, the man loyally following them to unknown lands where he was promised shelter, bread, and companionship. As she saw Deme come to stand beside him, gently indicating for the builder to stand and hold Elaiwa, she knew exactly what kind of company he longed for, and she hoped that he would find happiness with it.

At the very front of the ship, Rhea stood, staring at the sunset. The waves were shifting and pushing them forward despite the lack of wind.

Apollo pressed himself against her back, pulling her flush against him. “To home now, my love.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against him, “Tell me again of the home you’ve built?”

She could hear him open his mouth and the vibrations of his chest, but no words reached her ears.

And there was something winding around her neck.

Her eyes flashed open to see a coiled rope of brown speckled with black spots curl its way around her throat, and when she looked down, it was the head of an asp that rested against her chest.

The snake smiled, showing its pointed fangs, and spoke: “Your love will end your mortal life, and your grief will end hundreds.”

Rhea wanted to demand what it was talking about, who it was, whether it was a god in disguise or some monster she had never heard about, but it strangled the questions in her chest as it lunged. 

On her left breast, over her heart, the asp sunk its teeth into her skin before dissolving into green smoke, leaving behind only two small holes that dripped bloody venom.

What was that? Why is she bleeding? She shouldn’t be able to bleed. Where is Apollo? Where is her Apollo, she needs her Apollo, why isn’t he answering, please, Apollo–!

Apollo’s hand touched her cheek and she woke up with a gasp.

“Princess?” He spoke quietly, concerned at the way she shook in panic at her sudden awakening. “It’s just me, my love.”

Her fingers wrapped around her wrist and she pressed his palm against her chest, welcoming his warming power that seemed to flood through her body, checking in every crevice of her being to see if she is alright. Her chest heaved deeply, slowly but surely unwinding the ball of fear that wound itself into her lungs.

“I’m fine,” She eventually said. “A bad dream, that’s all. I got startled out of it.”

It was the day she had left Egypt, nearly two weeks ago, but the faces had all been blurred, features been hidden from her, and instead of the way that Apollo had held her as her reminded her of their future together, it had been some horrid beast that had attacked her at the heart of her fear for her powers. The dream hadn’t shown the way that Nefertari’s hair had kept flying into the Queen’s eyes, or how Antitheon had fidgeted his way through their conversation by scuffing his feet upon the ground, or how Apollo had worn a visage of beautiful ebony with hair coiled tight around trinkets and threads of gold that Olivia had spent so much time yanking at in curiosity that Apollo had to remove them all at risk of turning bald.

His eyes softened, curls of blue-green like the beach grass that grew too close to the waves and were now introduced to the salty sea. “Perhaps some fresh air? I have something to show you on deck.”

“Give me a second– where is my veil?– Oh thank you, Apollo,” She allowed him to press the bone pin into her hair as he secured the dyed fabric to her crown. Rhea, feeling a bit cheeky, gave him a quick peck, allowing her to sneak close and steal one of the sun’s halos to use as her own circlet.

“Do I not give you enough circlets and crowns that you must always steal mine?” He asked without heat as he eyed the tiara of pure light that she laid upon her brow. 

“Yours are prettier,” She teased, standing up and motioning for him to get up as well. She had shaken off the final vestiges of her nightmare, and really didn’t want to bring it up again.

They headed upstairs, where only Dolops stood watch, but he quickly scampered away the second that he spotted the god with her. 

“Come,” Apollo pulled her along until they stood at the very edge of the prow. It would be very easy for her to push him overboard, she thought as they stood together, so he better not pull one of those silly pranks he loved in the future right now. 

“Do you see that island on the horizon?” He motioned with a hand to the northwest, to a tiny blue-black smudge that could barely be seen against the first rays of sunrise. “That’s Delos. Our home is right there, my woman.”

Her eyes widened as she leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse of it. “Our home?”

“And I brought our son there as you slept,” Apollo continued. “Troilus is excited to meet his new sister and mother.”

“Troilus?” That name is familiar to her, but she can’t remember how. Probably became a hero of some sort, killing some monster or evil king, and became one of the endless lists of demigods in the stories that Rhea always failed horribly at remembering.

“My son with Hecuba,” Apollo answered. “She was happy to hear of you offering to take him in. She’s worried about the war, apparently, Paris’ stubborness is not what she has advised.”

“Paris does not listen to anyone but the Love Goddess,” Rhea wrinkled her nose at the mention of the prince. He had been a near-universally disliked hero in Camp. “The war won’t be over anytime soon.”

“I know. Yet we must all take our part in it,” He pressed his hand comfortingly on his back, but as his too-warm palm settled over her Achilles’ Heel, she couldn’t help but shiver.

His glow brightened slightly, the tan patches that mottled his brown skin turning gold as the air warmed around them. “Cold?”

She hesitated for only a second before she covered his palm with her own hand. “Just surprised at how easily you seem to find my mortal spot every time. Should I lodge a complaint with Lady Styx?”

His face turned into one of shock, “This is your…?”

She hummed as she nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pressed their chests together. “Careful when practicing your archery around me,” She teased, deflecting away from the vulnerability she had just revealed. “Or letting me practice archery. Neither of us want an arrow in my back.”

“Rhea,” He breathed her name like it was as holy as his own, his eyes only on her. “You humble me daily. I swear to always have your back, to shield and protect you. My love, your death will not be by my failure.”

“Good,” She leaned up onto her tiptoes to press a deep kiss onto his lips. “I’m trusting you, Apollo. With my heart and my life.”

“I love you,” He told her as he held her. “And the second we land on Delos, I will make you my wife for all to see.”

Oh.

Oh.

He hadn’t been calling her his woman after all. He had been calling her his wife.

Apollo had been calling Rhea his wife, and she hadn’t corrected him once.

She doesn’t think she wants to correct him.

“I think I’d like that,” Rhea said, looking up at her god with wide eyes of longing. “My husband.”

Delos welcomed them both home.

“Set the sun on the past, raise the sun on the future. The path we trodded upon is dark, but the way forward is full of light. The street sign says Hope, and we walk upon it.”

Chapter Text

“MAMA!” 

There goes Rhea’s peace and quiet. 

Beside her, Deme huffed as she wiped her hands roughly on her apron, setting down her bowl of dye they were making, “I swear if Alektos is messing with her again–!”

“She started it!” Alektos cried back.

Alektos, Deme’s eldest boy, and Antipater, Rhea’s niece, got along like a pair of feral cats.

When Antitheon showed up four years into her stay with a little baby girl with slick black hair and warm brown skin, Rhea knew that her brother’s desire to find India had been fulfilled with some extras. The drunkard had brought the girl to her, saying that he couldn’t afford a daughter, that he didn’t have the means for a good dowry for her, and that he wouldn’t be so cruel as to inflict the girl with the curse of being raised by his mother. Rhea didn’t care about any of that, she just knew that the little girl had no mother and she had room in her heart for another.

“Mama!” Antipater whined at Rhea even as Deme had grabbed her and Abraham’s son for a scolding. 

“What has happened this time, my little lion?” She asked her youngest daughter.

“He took my sword!” She pouted, feet slapping the smooth rock floor as she came to hug her waist. 

“Oh?” She hummed, , one hand briefly letting go of her ladle to pat her little girl’s wrist in acknowledgement. “And why did he do that?”

“Because I hit him with it cause he was being annoying!”

Rhea tried very, very hard not to show her own amusement because that is counterproductive. Very counterproductive. Do not laugh, Rhea.

“And how was he being annoying?”

Antipater jutted out her lip, widening her hazel eyes in the perfect imitation of a baby seal, the same look that Rhea has seen every member of her sea family make at some point or another. “He asked me to stop hitting him!”

Rhea had to bite her lip to stop barking out in surprise, “And why did you not stop?”

“Because I was annoyed.”

“So, do you think being annoyed is a reason to hurt someone?”

“No?”

Rhea nodded as she looked down at her daughter, “Then why did you do it?”

Antipater shrugged, “Daddy said he kills people for annoying him.”

Rhea twitched in irritation at Antitheon; Antipater may be his daughter, but Rhea was her mother . She named the girl, is raising her, doing all she can to make her successful in life, and Antitheon simply loved to undermine Rhea’s influence over her children. In his latest visit, he had snuck Troilus wine (watered down, at least), told Olivia about how many Indian girls from the coastal village her age walked around naked bar their tiny skirts or loincloths, and had given great monologues on his adventures to Antipater.

“And your daddy is a killer, and killers hurt others for any reason they can find to justify themselves. You are a Princess, Antipater, and you have a duty to help others. Would you like it if I hit you for annoying me by pulling my hair? Do you think I would be right to beat the servants for breaking a plate?”

“No,” Antipater shook her head as she buried her face into her stomach. “That’s mean.”

“Then you understand that you were being mean to Alektos?” Rhea pressed.

“Uh-huh,” Antipater nodded her head harder than a bobblehead on a trucker’s dash. “I’ll say sorry, mama, promise!”

“And you’ll give Troilus his sword back?” She added, knowing full well that her daughter’s sword was actually Troilus’ old wooden training sword. 

Antipater had this old tell, the same one as Antitheon, where she nodded her whole head up to meet the eyes of whoever she was about to lie to. “Yes, mama.”

“Go on then,” Rhea’s eyes softened as she watched her little girl run off.

Deme came back around the corner, clearly listening in. “Alektos is fine; he had his own sword. I told him to go ask Brison for more lessons if Anti is hitting him so often.”

“That’s good,” Rhea picked up her ladle again, mixing at the manjistha in her pot of boiling water, the wood a gift from her wild brother when he had visited briefly a month ago. “Do you think I was too harsh? She’s only five.”

“I think you give your brother too many chances,” Deme replied. “And if you are going to continue doing so, you have to teach her young so she doesn’t copy him.”

“He’s my brother,” She said. “I can see him trying to improve. He just…”

“Isn’t?” Deme replied. “Rhea.”

The other woman turned to lean her hip against the counter, showing the way that her body had changed over the past decade, the way that they both have changed. After three sons, Deme was a very different woman from the skinny, young, freed priestess that Rhea had met her as. She was confident and regal, with thick limbs and a softness in her face from good meals made for a royal. Her skirt fit low on her hips, tucked into itself, with a second layer on top, as if a cropped peplos, made for easy access when feeding her youngest son. It was easy to mistake her for Hittite royalty, despite her position as Delos’ high priestess of Apollo, Rhea always treated her like an equal in her household. 

“I can’t simply banish him,” Rhea protested.

“You’re the Queen,” Deme pointed out. “So what if he comes back with gifts and tales? He is not a good influence on the children.”

“He’s shown up four times in the past nine years,” Rhea bit her lip as the water flared up and started evaporating, which she had to quickly rush to cool so that her dye didn’t ruin. “It’s not nearly often enough to justify such a thing.”

“Yet Anti knows he’s her father,” Deme had disapproved of her choice to tell Antipater about her adoption two years ago, insisting that she should wait until she’s older. “Daughters always want their father’s approval.”

“Yet I am here and not with Triton,” Rhea replied, frustrated. “Antitheon isn’t raising her, Apollo is. He’s her father, Theon is barely an uncle to her. Watch her forget him until his next visit.”

“As you say,” Deme lets it go, turning back to straining the dye. 

The beautiful red color was starting to really shine through, a clear symbol of luxury. Not that Rhea would be wearing it, instead the threads they would be dyeing would be later used for Deme’s new dress and for Troilus’ new cloak. If they still had some thread left, Rhea would love to use it to decorate the cape Apollo wears into battle. She had taken to embroidering his clothes, one of the many hobbies that she would use to pass the time whenever the day was long, and her duties were short. She had learned from the young wives on the island, who had shown her their own tasks they had in running their households. Rhea had to allocate food and clothing and trade taxes, she had to lead prayers in the temple and help out when women were labouring and make sure that everyone was working, she had to be a queen, but she found that it wasn’t too hard. It was like being a counselor at camp, except scaled all the way up with some pretty bad consequences if she fucked up.

Rhea slowly stopped the boil she was maintaining, cooling the liquid down and then passing over the pot for Deme to strain it. “Where is Avraham?”

“My husband is assisting the shepherds again,” Deme replied absently, yet fondly. “The new hut they’re making.”

“Is Troilus with him?” Her only son was a diligent boy, always trailing after Avraham, Apollo, or herself, looking for a way to help them. When he was younger, Rhea suspected that he would toddle after them simply for the way that everyone would try and reward him with fruit for mimicking them, but now she can see it was less his sweet tooth and more his sweet heart motivating him.

“With Olivia,” Deme replied. “Ino fell again.”

Ino, the oldest woman on the island, appeared to be tempting the Fates again. Olivia has already healed that woman’s hip at least a dozen times in the past few years, yet she always finds a way to break it again. Ino is not deterred, she still climbs the hill to Apollo and Artemis’ temples every day, despite even Apollo interfering and telling the old lady that he can hear her prayers perfectly well from the comfort of her own home. Ino was traditional, devout, and frailer than a stick, yet her life continued with a good bit of divine interference. Nobody knew how old Ino was, and the old retired high priestess said Ino was already ancient when she was a young initiate to the temple.

And Olivia, her young healer, was determined to heal Ino so well that she became immortal. Olivia, who had managed to successfully wear Rhea down into changing her name into the futuristic translation, had grown up begging Ino for stories and the woman had always indulged her. Ino knew all the stories, from the story of Enkidu, to how Athena defended the castle walls of Crete in her first battle, and even Rhea was listening to her. When she was younger, with two young children and a whiny baby, she would walk all four of them to Ino’s hut and have a nap to the crone’s soothing voice while all three little ones were entertained by an expert.

“Getting to the temple?” Rhea guessed.

Deme smiled softly, “Dolops’ dogs. Brison apologised profusely and asked me not to tell you.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow at her best friend.

“I never promised I would!” Deme huffed, hands coming up to rest on her hips. “That boy shouldn’t let those hounds run free like that.”

Brison was hardly a boy anymore, grown and married, but Deme ignored that in favor of the man’s sheepish boy-like demeanor whenever he once again clumsily messed up.

“Well, I’m sure he’s tied them up,” Rhea smoothed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take advantage of the children being distracted.”

Deme hefts the bowl of dye that required settling up onto her arms, “Don’t swim too far.”

“I’ll be the island over,” Rhea promised. 

The island over was perhaps the most unexpected gift Rhea had ever received from Apollo. While it is common for all young women to be married off with a dowry of their own, something that is owned purely themselves without their husband’s ability to touch or trade-off, they also had the bride price, that what their fathers’ paid their husbands to marry them. Apollo had waved off the idea of a bride price without Rhea ever even hearing of it, only discovering later after a confusing discussion with one of the young Delosian women and an even more revealing conversation with Triton. 

However, Apollo insisted on a dowry, one that he would pay to her himself, for her to have in case she ever needs her peace from him for any reason. The island of Rhenea, located to the West of Delos, was a beautiful fertile land that Apollo had gifted to her. The island had been unnamed before, used only as a stopover for passing ships that needed frequent stops and a place to pick wild herbs by the local fisherwomen, however the island had no permanent residents and Apollo had demanded the purification of the land before handing it over to her. Now, it contained a singular small cabin with a singular bed, and Rhea called it her sanctuary. 

The sea between the islands was narrow and shallow, with Delos attaching itself to the nearby land once the twin gods had been born. As she passed through, schools of fish swam away from her, knowing she was a predator as much as any shark.

The land of Rhenea greeted her with bright green grass and beautiful flowers in bloom, displaying the summer season with glee. 

She should get some goats on the island, she thought, not for the first time. She had had to nearly beg her husband to allow goats onto Delos in the first place, the god vastly preferring his own red cattle that grazed the upper hills to the common goat. Rhea had to point out the fact that only him and his family were allowed to drink their sacred milk, much less make some good cheese out of them, and she wanted some fucking feta with breakfast, gods damn it! He caved then, pretty quickly, too, once she pointed out that they only had a dozen normal cows and they could never afford to sacrifice a single one. On Rhenea, she only had the food she brought over herself, and unfortunately cheese did not take to swimming as easily as flatbread or jerky did. 

Entering her hut, she was glad to see that the herbs she had hung up to dry last time hadn’t gone moldy or been eaten by mice, though her dough starter seemed a bit less springy than it should be. 

Sighing, she pulled out a pan from the plain iron set that hung from the ceiling, along with sea glass shards and knives. When she was younger, she never thought of queens having to do manual labour, and, honestly, she could never imagine Hera doing such a thing. But in this land, despite the many servants she had who could do everything, there were still some tasks that she had to do herself as there were still plenty of hours in the day, and she needed to be able to take care of herself and her children in an emergency. Weaving and sewing: although she had a seamstress, the clothes she made needed a personal touch sometimes, and it was seen as a wifely blessing if she made them herself for her family. Cooking and baking were basic survival skills and she couldn’t exactly drag any servants to the island. 

The sea glass that hung from the ceiling like a primitive chandelier briefly caught the sun’s light, turning the room a disco of golden-green-blue, before fading.

“Our children tire you out again?” Apollo murmured to her, slowly sinking onto her back and hugging her from behind as his nose tucked into her neck.

“Not particularly,” She cut the dough in even strokes, pressing the herbs into the gaps. “Antipater decided to justify hitting Alektos by saying Antitheon would do the same. Deme is upset that I still allow him to visit her.”

“He is her father, it is his right.” She could feel him frowning into her skin.

“Is it his right to teach her wrong?” She sighed. “I don’t know. I had to scold her for it and… I feel guilty, I guess.”

“Needless violence is uncivilized,” He said. “I would scold her the same. If she is to be our daughter, then she must act like it.”

“We would love her any way she is,” Rhea reminded him. “She just… I can’t leave the island for her to inherit if she takes after Antitheon.”

“Hmm,” His thumb drew circles onto her hips. “And Olivia and Troilus? I heard them praying for Ino’s health again.”

Rhea snorted, “She fell over because Brison let Dolop’s dogs off the leash again. I think Deme scolded the man to Tartarus and back.”

He huffed in amusement, “I am beginning to suspect that woman is a nymph’s daughter or such, she cannot be injured so often and survive.”

“You know, I heard her tell Troilus once that she met Autolycus in disguise as her grandson to steal some pearls she was shucking.”

“That would make her at least a hundred,” Apollo pointed out.

“I know ,” Rhea replied in disbelief. “That can’t be right.”

Apollo went silent for a bit too long.

“That can’t be right, can it? Apollo. Husband, tell me that woman isn’t over a hundred years old.” 

“Perhaps I should ask my mother how long Ino has been maintaining her temple,” Apollo sounded concerned.

Rhea groaned, leaning her head back to rest against his shoulder. “Please tell me your mother didn’t extend a mortal’s life because she’s devout. Please tell me that old lady isn’t immortal.”

“I’ll check with my mother,” Apollo repeated simply.

While Rhea has never met Leto, she has heard plenty about what kind of Titaness her mother-in-law was. Beautiful, strong, loyal, and she grew easily attached to her worshippers and those who loved her children. It was quite like her to randomly grow attached to an old woman and immortalize her.

Troilus had met her, though by accident. Rhea had taken both her girls to her island to show them how she gathered seashells for her strings of shells that she sewed into her dresses and left Troilus with his father. Apollo had been in the middle of showing their son how to properly saddle the sun chariot’s horses when she had shown up, apparently a whirlwind of complaining that some Achean had singed her temple south of Troy, before latching onto Troilus and cooing over him. Somehow, her son had ended up with six foals as a gift from his grandmother, and while Rhea was quite thankful for the woman introducing him to his love of horse rearing, her son had been 8 and far too young for it. Now, at 12, he was a far more deft hand at it than even Rhea, and she was the one that could actually understand them. 

Leto had never asked after Rhea nor ever showed back up again, but then again, for a five thousand-year-old Titaness, four years go by in a blink, and she probably hasn’t even noticed.

“Well,” Rhea sighed. “At least the children won’t be losing their favourite storyteller anytime soon.”

“I’m right here,” Apollo nipped at her neck.

“Mhm, you sure are,” She leaned a bit more back into him. She couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of his face at this angle, but she could see that his hair was a shock of perfect natural golden waves and that his tan was a light one. 

After so many years of marriage, Rhea had gotten more than used to her husband’s ever-changing face. She’s also learned to recognise them: the rosy-gold glow and darker complexion of the patron god of Troy, the light-skinned golden patron god of Delphi, the dark-skinned bowman of the hunter god of Minoa, and the mottled-skin midnight and moonlight-toned sun god of the African South. 

“How was Delphi?” She asked him.

He let out a deep groan of suffering, “My drunkard brother has still walled himself up inside the temple, refusing to join the fight at Ilium.”

Rhea failed at stifling her chuckles. Dionysus had taken up residence in Delphi from the moment that Apollo had left at the start of Winter during the very beginning of the war and was still refusing to come out until it ends. The god, probably not all that much older than Ino, was acting like a bratty little sibling and, as always, Zeus left Apollo in charge of taking care of his brothers.

“Is he still sulking in the cave?”

“Ughhh,” Apollo whined. “He’s half-mad in there, which is absolutely not helping Pythia give clear prophecies even with the Fates clouding the future of all our fighters, and Father is getting even more insistent that I drag him out. Like he’d fight at all, he’s as much a fighter as my Aunts. Let him stay there.”

“There, there,” She crooned, half-teasing. Picking up the pan she took the dough to the oven, leaving the warmth of her husband’s embrace. Without even looking, Apollo snapped his fingers, lighting the oven with instant bright flames, before he continued to rant.

“And can you believe that my muses are pressing me for permission to fly over the battlefield for a day so they can write a new song? They keep saying that I can protect them, as if I don’t have more important things to be doing on the battlefield . Hektor rides out as often as possible, and I cannot let him die, he’s Ilium’s only hope at winning, because Olympus forbid Paris-Aleksander ride out alongside his men–”

Rhea hummed along, watching as his face lit up, literally, in passion. His teal eyes shine and glow as his full pink lips continue to move. 

“He’s a coward,” She agreed. “And your muses know better. If Deme asked to follow me onto the field simply to write a new prayer, I’d ask her if she’d gone mad.”

“Exactly!” Apollo reached back out to her, pulling her back into his embrace. “Nobody should wish to be near battle. I could never allow myself to see you near such a bloody field. I could never see you in pain again.”

She could see the way his eyes slipped down to her upper arm, where a single deep burn lay, the size of a thumbprint. Four years ago, Rhea asked him to try and dig her birth control implant out of her arm. Due to her iron skin, the only way they could think to do it was him releasing his full godly power onto the small spot to see if they could burn the thin layer of skin away. It worked, but only a full hour of pure agony for Rhea, and Apollo tried to stop and pull away several times, but she refused to let him. They had been both crying by the time the little half-melted piece of metal and plastic had been dug out of her. That day, they had discovered exactly how invulnerable Rhea was, and while Apollo had been mollified by the fact that even his father’s Master Bolt would have difficulty smiting her on the first few dozen tries, Rhea had felt a slight sickness at the visual proof that she was far from mortal now. There was no going back to who she once was.

But that had been her decision, the entire reason why she had taken her implant out. She still feels disappointed that her periods, while irregular, never fail to show up every other month.

“I know you don’t,” She placed a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth. “You know I don’t like you fighting either.”

Rhea hated the fact that she had to teach her children to fight, that she still had armour tucked away in a trunk that were last fastened onto her by Annabeth, that she always carried Riptide and Annabeth’s dagger with her. Her children knew that while she taught them how to protect themselves, she would have no armour, no blades, no blood inside her home. 

He returned her kiss with a stronger intensity, snaking his hands around her hips to the small of her back, and lower.

When she broke the kiss, she murmured into his skin, “If you make me burn my bread, I’m making you sleep outside our bed.”

He laughed, the most beautiful sound she has ever heard, only secondary to the laughter of their children. “Oh? So I have a time limit?”

Rhea was already pulling her dress up to her hips, pulling back so she could turn around and lean over her table, exposing herself to him. “Since when don’t we have a time limit?”

The amount of secret meetings and rushed fucks they’d had since their marriage had increased exponentially, especially considering how the palace he’d built her lacked doors in favour of curtains and they had three children who loved to interrupt. Not that she’s complaining, she enjoyed the urgency of it all, and every once in a while they would hand the kids to Deme and Avraham and spend a week on Rhenea for themselves.

She felt him settle himself behind her, still fully clothed, kneading her ass with his hands. “So there’s no time for us both to cum?”

She yelped when he gave her a sharp spank, “I didn’t say that!”

“Oh good,” His hand drifted lower to inbetween her legs, a pair of fingers crooking ever so slightly with the curve of her, pressing almost into her entrance but passing over, instead rubbing at her. “I didn’t want to miss out on that beautiful little sound you make.”

She whined and pressed back into his hand, feeling how it cupped her pussy before drifting back and forth, rubbing at her from the outside. “Hurry up and get in me before I decide I don’t need you to get off.”

He gave a low growl and this time, when his hand pulled back, his two middle fingers slipped into her as he came back. “As my wife demands.”

She panted happily as his other hand came to press down on her spine, forcing her down flat against the table and unable to move, yet knowing that he would follow her every command. His fingers pumped her steadily in and out, curving and twisting to reach every little corner of her, making her whine and whimper in pleasure.

“Faster,” She commanded, needing more friction as she grew steadily wetter. The sounds his soaked hand made against her skin were obscene, and they gained a louder rhythm as he obeyed her. 

She moaned, face down on the table, clenching down around him as he went ahead and slipped in a third finger. The stretch was good, one of her favourite feelings, and she felt that pleasure in her lower belly grow.

“Please,” She gasped out. “I need you, Apollo. Please, fuck me.”

For a moment she was cursedly empty, but then he replaced his hand with a far more pleasurable part, and she whined at the intrusion of his cock in her.

Apollo set a brutal pace, softly grunting as he railed her against their table. Back and forth he moved, as always attempting to reach deeper into some part of her he had not yet explored.

She was nothing more than a warm hole for him to fuck for a few minutes of bliss, no thoughts passing through her head as her mind whited out under the sensations of him fucking her. Then, he reached his hand under, and his finger was rapidly circling her clit with a desperation she shared.

She whined and moaned as she came, clenching hard around her husband’s cock, panting as she was forced to come down from her high in the same position, unable to even writhe as she wished with him pinning her down.

“Apollo,” She whimpered as she continued to be fucked eagerly face down on the wood, hips wriggling as he inched her slowly past her limits. “Please.”

Her husband knew exactly what she was asking for, and his thrusts became all the more erratic, until he gave a final deep thrust into her, bending down to collapse on top of her as he spilled inside. His small groan of pleasure as she tightened around his still-twitching member made her smirk, despite the layer of sweat she had quickly accumulated.

“Good wife,” He mumbled into her back, lips slowly peppering kisses onto her salty skin. “So good to me. So perfect. So beautiful.”

“Mmm,” She hummed happily as he slowly pulled out of her, wishing that she would stop leaking what’s left of him out of her, but unfortunately gravity had already taken hold to paint her thighs glossy and milky. She straightened up shakily.

Eyeing the oven, she could tell from here that she still had plenty of time before her loaf was done. Personally, Rhea thinks that such things as ‘honeymoon phases’ were lies, because otherwise she has been enjoying a decade-long honeymoon with her utterly insatiable husband.

“My loving husband,” She turned and hopped up, sitting on the table and spreading her legs. “Would you be a dear and kneel for me? We should probably clean up our mess.”

Eagerly, the god fell to his knees.

“Build a home with four steady walls, a warm fire, and a kitchen where we can grow our love in the oven, adding all the ingredients for us to taste our happiness forever.”

Chapter Text

Rhea sighed and swam closer to the small dingy floating on the water, letting her arms hook onto the sides of the boat as she motioned for a servant to bring her a cup.

Searching for pearls was difficult work, especially in the Aegean Sea, with the best pearls coming from either further south, near Egypt, or on the other side of the still-to-be-discovered-known-world, where they would one day call it the Persian Gulf. But since she was dragging along five children with her, she was keeping them in home waters, barely a full half mile away from Delos. 

The seas were calm around Delos, the waters technically not under her father’s control but rather Apollo and Artemis’, granting them the sole responsibility on who can safely land (and leave) the sacred island. Between that and her own ability to make sure that the kids cannot drown, she was sure it would be fine to let them go diving.

The servant handed her the purple cup filled with a watered-down ale, the bronze goblet embedded with large uncut stones of amethyst, a trinket from Olympus that Apollo had brought. The ancient equivalent of accidentally stealing someone’s tupperware and liking it too much to remember to return it. Rhea is pretty sure it used to be either Athena’s or Artemis’ with the way an ‘α’ was scratched onto the stem, but either way, her sisters-in-law weren’t getting her favourite cup back. 

“So?” Rhea inclined her head towards the singular pearl that they had managed to find so far despite being out here for nearly the whole day. 

The mollusk it had been in had been half buried in a small rock formation, and Olivia had only noticed it due to the sea snails that had been attached alongside it. Troilus had worked hard to detach the shell from the rock wall with his knife, but the labour had been worth it.

“Nice roundness and lustre,” Ekhrem replied. “I think we can get a solid amount of gold for this. Perhaps seventy or eighty talents?”

More than an entire year’s worth of wages for the whole island, twice over. An extremely good find by her daughter. 

“And the mother of pearl?”

The thin iridescent material is far more common but still beautiful to work into jewelry. Apollo had taken some of the mother of pearl she had found down to Egypt so that they could work them into a set of thick gold bangles for her. Neffie had been delighted by the task, adding her own pieces of golden topaz to the matching pair, and Rhea had cried at the care and craftsmanship they had. 

Ekhrem tilted his head in consideration, “Ten talents for the lot, perhaps fifteen if sold in the inland North, between Mt Olympus and Dodona.”

She shook her head, the difference in price did not justify the risk of her traders sailing so far in temperamental waters nor the cost of the voyage. “Sell them to Sparta and Argos. I want them traded for cattle. A herd of goats, six mares, and the leftover in barley. Wait, no, six jugs of olive oil and then the leftover in barley. Sell the pearl yourself at your discretion.”

Ekhrem was her head trader, her second-in-command in all things to do with the economy and trade. The man had done many trips all around the Aegean for her in the past decade, and she trusted him with ferrying all the most precious things she owned.

“We wouldn’t have enough for much barley,” He pointed out. “We need to stock extra for the coming winter, your husband warned us it would be bad.”

Demeter was furious with her daughter; Persephone had walked through the walls of Troy and brought a wave of illness from spoiled fruit after the foolish Princess Medesicaste had failed to properly honour the goddess when her daughter was born on her sacred feast day. Demeter didn’t like her daughter going near the war, nor did she like her acting as the queen of the Underworld, and they were all dreading the day when Persephone leaves her mother to return to her husband. 

Rhea had never met the Queen of Troy, had never had the temptation to get near the lands of Ilium, but she occasionally had messages from Hecuba passed by Apollo. Hecuba was always short and simple when talking to her, nothing ever too familiar or fond for her ex-lover’s new wife, but she had known the grief of the fellow queen when she asked for Rhea to not allow Troilus to come for his customary monthly three-day visits until Winter returned and the war died back down again. She had felt greedy accepting that arrangement so easily, hogging her son from his other mother, but with the knowledge that the distant war would be over sometime in the next year and how majority of the Trojan Royal Family would die, you had to forgive her for it.  

Rhea frowned at the reminder of the bad winter, “Ten talents from the pearl can be split between buying barley and buying geese and ducks.”

Eggs were precious protein in their time period, especially since they had no chickens in their lands yet. You can’t go about killing your livestock willy-nilly for food, and even then, you had to use every single piece of meat and not let a morsel go to waste. Sure, Apollo made sure that nobody on Delos ever starved, and between the two goddesses of fertility, Artemis and Leto, the island never got hit badly in Winter. Yet, she knew they could never be so arrogant to rely on the gods. 

Rhea knew her own personal jewels, the ones that she wears now to swim in the sea, could feed her entire island for the whole of Winter, but Apollo would never allow her to sell them if there was another way to trade for food. And she had to admit, letting go of the jewels and treasures crafted by godly hands and letting them into mortal hands could go very badly for her.

“Mama!” Troilus resurfaced, a mollusk in one hand and the hand of Eli, Deme and Avraham’s middle son, in the other. “Eli found another one!”

Her look of tired leadership immediately morphed into pleased indulgence. “Good job!” She praised diligently, “What do my lovely boys have for me?”

“A pearl!” Eli cried out, the chubby toddler beaming. His curls were a downright mess from the salt water; the boy had decided to jump in face-first before Rhea had even finished explaining the rules and how their air bubbles would work. “Look!”

Troilus handed over the mollusk, “It’s a bumpy one though.”

It was bumpy and misshapen and rather small. But it shined very nicely and was a lovely pinkish colour.

“Great job, boys!” She smiled at them. “Look at how pretty it is!”

Eli didn’t quite seem to have an appropriate level of understanding of what pearls were, how expensive and rare they are, or how they were pretty, but Troilus was immediately making the appropriate noises of awe to prompt the younger boy to join in.

She couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, “Okay, time for little pearl-hunters to go back on the boat!”

Before either of them could protest, she had the water heft them both up and onto the dry wood. Ekhrem put a hand on Eli’s shoulder to stop him from trying to jump back in, “Their find can be used for the barley, my Queen. The good pearl can be used to bolster the treasury.”

Rhea gave him a tight nod. She wished she could keep the pearls the children found so they had their own personal trophies, but pearls were too expensive for her to indulge like that. She’ll let the kids keep the shells, at least.

“I’m going after the girls and Alektos,” She handed her goblet back to the same servant as before and pointed a finger in the direction of Troilus and Eli. “Stay on the boat.”

“Yes, mama,” Troilus chirped.

Eli pouted, “Yes, Auntie.”

Rhea sunk back down under the waves. 

Where other godlings fly, Rhea swims. Nowadays, it was easier than walking, than breathing. She made no effort to move her body to the currents, simply allowing the currents to move to her body. 

Following the small string of power that connected her to her children and the way she was keeping them alive underwater, she found Antipater and Alektos first.