Chapter Text
𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙼𝚎𝚐
𝙸 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍
𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚢
“𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆?”
Not for the first time today, I found myself being peered down at, Meg’s glasses perched at the edge of her nose in a way that resembled a displeased school teacher, though I didn’t know what Meg would teach. Environmental studies? Sword skills? The know-how of a street waif? Whatever class I was failing at, Meg was judging me critically.
She had come across me outside, in the dirt, searching around the area I’d landed earlier in the day. Checking in with Herophile had been a bust. She had politely declined my request for a tarot reading under the guise of me ‘having all the tools I needed.’ Knowing my luck, it was because she figured I would pull out a death card and wanted to spare me the grief. I was getting tired of that word, death.
So it brought me here, looking for something. An ID? A wad of cash? A loose bag that said ‘Apollo’s missing memories’? I didn’t know. I just felt like I was missing this important tool I was supposed to have. And some spare change to help me on my way would really come in handy.
I remembered how quickly our supply had run out when I was travelling with Leo and Calypso. Leo was the most money savvy member of our party, and that wasn’t saying much. Us other two were former immortals with little to no grasp on modern currency. In my experience: it was all relative. In Leo’s experience: none of us could budget properly.
And then, again, whilst with Meg. Our provisions from New Rome ran out much sooner than they should have thanks to a certain someone. Long story, involved Meg re-attempting dandelion travel, realising she couldn’t take a plus one unless it was the arrow of Dodona (which nearly became a permanent addition to a scarecrow), and scattering nearly all of our supplies across the country. Except our coffee beans which hardly seemed fair. I was sconeless and I had to deal with a heavily caffeinated Meg.
We’d had to resort to busking for money. Now, I knew Meg had put her heart and soul into those lyrics back in the cave of Trophonius, but her vocals could use some work. Thankfully for our pockets, she did not want to repeat this performance publicly. Meg had instead opted to DIY some maracas using the seeds from her pouch, and was content to shake along to my acapella rendition of ABBA’s ‘Money, Money, Money.’ It was a little on the nose, and most definitely could have done with an accompanying tune from a dearly departed combat ukulele, but it got the point across nicely. We came out a little more richer, by which I meant we could afford to home grow our next meal.
Small victories.
Oh so much time would have been saved if I had been allowed to keep my Olympus express card. Alas, I had been grounded in more ways than one.
And this time was even worse than before. No starting fund! Perhaps Zeus (… or whoever) had recalled how quickly I had been mugged, and had decided to do away with the cash altogether. It was just me, and the plain looking clothes on my back.
And, well. I supposed Meg.
She was still looking at me expectantly, and I realised she had asked me a question. What was I doing? Wasting my time, clearly. There was nothing here.
“Nothing important,” I said, getting to my feet.
“I know,” she agreed. Rude.
“Hmmph. Did you actually want anything, or are you here to poke fun at me?”
“I’m always here to poke fun at you.” Meg smirked. “You make it easy.”
“Excuse you! I do not.”
“Do too.”
“So that’s a no for wanting anything.”
Meg kicked at the dirt with her shoe. You could tell she had done this often because their original colour was obscured almost entirely by brown muck. “Nope.”
“Nope?”
“I’m here to claim you as my servant.”
I furrowed my brows, perplexed. “Dear Meg. We already tried that. You know that didn’t work.”
I didn’t get why she thought trying again would accomplish anything. It’s not like we would get any different results—business hours shouldn’t have any effect on the claiming process. That would be the definition of insanity (though Dionysus says that’s only one of many).
I wondered if it was because she was a demigod. Should I be asking the dryads? Lu? Would they be able to claim my service?
I couldn’t say.
“Yeah. But I don’t care. The new rules are stupid and broken so I’m claiming you anyway.”
“Meg—“
She jabbed a finger into my chest. I swallowed my words.
“I’m claiming you,” Meg reiterated with such vehemence that I couldn’t help but want to go along with it.
Sure, we weren’t bound. Yet, in many ways, we still were.
I must have been dropped in Aeithales for a reason.
“I—“ I felt my shoulders relax. I gave a soft chuckle. “Very well then, Meg. You’re the boss.”
She backed up, grinning, all crooked teeth. “Got that right.”
Privately, I resolved to look for more answers later. Give some meditation a go and see if I could unlock any repressed memories that way. Perhaps even give Chiron an Iris message if things didn’t get any clearer (and whilst I was at it, I’d need to let my children in the Me cabin know why I wouldn’t be responding to their prayers).
There had to be a reason the master/servant bond wasn’t activating.
For the mean time, though, I would take it easy. Given that Meg hadn’t claimed me in the eyes of Zeus, I didn’t actually need to follow her commands. We were just co-operating.
For however long, I was free to spend my time as I chose.
I wondered if I should pick up a new hobby. There were so many things I had been meaning to—
Before I could plan my calendar any further, I realised Meg had taken my hand, and was tugging me back inside.
“Wait—where are you taking me?” I spluttered as I stumble-walked.
“To your first task,” Meg said, leaving out the very much implied ‘obviously.’
“My task?!”
“You said you needed to do tasks, right?”
Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I was not about to do her laundry. Or her chores. Or anything of the sort. I was not about to be her maid. I didn’t even have the proper attire!
“Well, yes. However—“
“So let’s hang out or whatever.”
I blinked, stopping in my tracks. “What?”
Meg shuffled on her feet. She looked oddly self conscious. “You heard me.”
“Yes, I know. But I seem to recall you saying it didn’t count as a task.”
She shrugged, nonchalant. “New rules, remember? Maybe it does this time. Maybe…” Meg got this grumpy look on her face, like she was personally offended she even had to say this next bit. “Maybe I wanna make the most of my dummy brother being stuck around here.”
It dawned on me exactly why Marcus had referred to me that way. Hestia’s hearth couldn’t have warmed me more.
I was used to knowing all the gossip about me, being a god had your attention pinging off more than a businessman’s phone notifications every time someone so much as mentioned your name. It was something we could suppress, of course, as we didn’t need to know when some random school children were entering their mythology unit, when mortals were discussing a certain spacecraft, anytime a random internet user was hit by the dodgeball of prophecy or what our family members were getting us for Christmas (read: nothing). But I paid attention when it mattered. Given that Meg often referred to me as Lester, though, any mentions of myself from her often slipped me by (unless she yelled Lester heavenward several times to get my attention. And believe me, she had).
It was hard to swallow, but there was a chance that Meg had been saying nice things about me behind my back. Nice enough to swap Lester out interchangeably with brother.
“Ah,” I said, sounding a little strangled. Emotions—they’re always tying knots in your throat. The type Artemis would teach her newcomers to the hunt, or the Poseidon special of fisherman’s knots (remarkable how he managed to shape it into a trident against all logic).
“Yeah…”
Struck by fondness as I was, I ruffled Meg’s hair until she swatted me off. It could have come across as annoyed, but I knew that expression. “I like the way you think, McCaffrey. Lead the way.”
According to Meg, Luguselwa had set up a projector a few days ago. It wasn’t the suite life many of the demigods here were used to, rescued from a cushy place of flat screen TVS and room service. But the new feature had gone over with them quite well. Everyone already had a favourite cushion or beanbag to sit in, and someone had left a stash of snacks to be enjoyed in a wicker basket.
Large white sheets had been draped over two bowing branches to be projected upon, leaving the room with a tent set up, or a cosy den. I ducked under them after Meg, and chose the yellow beanbag next to her green one. Lucius? Cassius? I had no idea who had claimed this one.
Meg started up the projector as I got comfy.
How nice it was to not be running for my life as Lester. I was out of emperors, oracles, and serpents to fight and rescue. If I didn’t think too hard about things, it could almost be a holiday. I wasn’t expected to be up with the sun the next morning, I was away from Olympus. Perhaps Lu really was on to something.
Me and Meg spent a good five minutes scrolling through what we should watch. I was about ninety percent certain she was about to settle on a horse girl movie, which I honestly wouldn’t have minded. But then she began to grin wickedly as she selected—oh villainy.
That glory hog had struck again.
“Hera—Hercules?” I read, aghast. “Absolutely not.”
That only cemented what we were watching for the night.
I cast my mind back to when the film first came out. We Olympians had all known it meant trouble when Zeus extended an invite (read: forced) Hades into attending our movie night. He never did that. Ever. Hades had left halfway through grumbling about the new fad of making him the ‘bad guy’ and his counterpart’s ’flaming blue hair’ and how it would ‘never work with his helm.’ Privately I’d thought that, if Ares could wear sunglasses over his flaming eyes, it probably could work with his helm, and it wasn’t like anyone could see the result. But you should never take fashion advice from him. Or Hephaestus—the god of fire. Aphrodite had all the style in that relationship.
I’m pretty sure Hades had dealt with his frustration by having a few Disney sets conduct a ghost problem. But that was tame, all things considered. In times of old, us gods had done worse to playwrights we hadn’t agreed with. Trust me, if you named any god in your performance, they would be in the crowd of one of your shows, the critic you wanted to appease the most. We hated bad press, so we dealt with it in ways that would… give us even worse press.
Zeus meanwhile loved it. I knew for a fact he had a custom made Zeus bobble head from the movie, right alongside all of his arcade machines and other Zeus themed memorabilia (I had been invited to too many awkward get togethers in his palace). He probably liked how it made him look like a faithful husband, a loving father, and a just king in its one and a half hours of runtime. Because honestly? Where had TV Zeus been all of my life? The real one had to have been watching the screen with his eyes closed if he thought he was anything like that.
And then there was Heracles. His fictional counterpart was way off the mark. I had no idea what he thought of the movie, though, considering his schedule hadn’t aligned with ours. Something about doorkeeping duty. If he had been free, I’m sure it would have managed to make the event ten times more awkward than it was. And it was already sitting at a solid get me out of here on the scale.
That guy had major beef with us sons of Zeus. It was already a good portion of the council.
I wondered if perhaps he was projecting.
“Do you know him?” Meg asked me before we began. It was like asking someone if they knew what a McDonalds was. He was everywhere.
“Do I know—you realise who you’re talking to, right? Of course I know of him.”
I wasn’t pleased about it.
“Duh. But have you met?”
Oh, I realised what she was saying.
“I once gave him a bow,” I explained. It had been one of those party favours I passed around. I really hadn’t remembered doing it at all. Trust me, if I had known I would have taken it back. “And he tried to steal my tripod. Hardly seems fair.”
At least Heracles had been put on dish duty for that. No one stole from me and go away with it! (Unless you were Hermes, I guess. But I had let him off the hook because I’m such a great brother.) I had tried to get a state of the art security system installed in Delphi after the event, just to stop thefts like that from ever happening again. But I had been a few centuries short of security cameras and laser grids.
Meg wrinkled her nose. “Why would he want that?”
“Now that, my dear, would be a long story.”
As the movie started up, we were greeted by the Muses, and I was reminded of all that I respected about the movie. I’m a music god. I appreciate a good musical, and gods, did this film have music. Sure, I was slightly bitter that the director never responded to any of my emails requesting they hire me as a music consultant (even after I had linked my song portfolio! I really did work on all of those lyrics—not my fault everyone conveniently forgot to credit me). But even without my involvement, I’ll admit, they had created some hits. I had even sung a cover of I Won’t Say I’m In Love (you can find it on Spotify if you’re interested. You should follow me).
“Do you know them?” Meg asked, pointing to the women singing on the vase. I wondered if she would ask me about every character that appeared on screen. If so, we would be here a while.
“Yes Meg, I know the Muses. One of them—Terpsichore—she’s Lavinia’s mother, remember? I taught them everything I know.”
Perhaps I should even introduce them to Meg sometime.
“Just like you taught Percy?” She smirked.
… Or not.
“Shut up.”
The movie continued, revealing its adaptions of gods like Zeus (too nice), Hera (also too nice), Hermes (too—hah! No notes, actually) and of course the protagonist of the story. Narcissus also made an appearance (which I pointedly ignored).
Meg squinted as the scene played out.
“Which one’s you?” she asked, looking at the colourful array of gods to choose from. You would have thought I would have been depicted as I usually was in the eyes of mortals: gloriously golden. But they didn’t want me outshining Hercules so of course he got to hog the best colour.
No. I had been made purple. And for what reason? I couldn’t fathom.
I did not know what it was with modern retellings of the myths making me purple. Twice it has happened, I tell you! Twice. And that was twice too many.
Thankfully, presented as fiction in the way that they were, these retellings did not shape our present day selves. Full gold was one thing, but if I had to deal with being purple…
Eugh.
No shade to the colour, but it simply wasn’t me.
“Go back a bit,” I said, gesturing to the projection. Meg picked up the remote. “Back—there. See? The god in purple.”
“Why?” she asked simply.
“Why indeed.”
“… Is that Nico’s dad?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome.”
Meg looked at the screen, baffled, as the Fates made their grand appearance. I couldn’t blame her. They almost resembled a certain other terrible trio, sharing their communal eye. But they had been introduced as the Fates.
“Aren’t they the cab ladies?” she asked.
“I suppose they were victims of downsizing. Happens to the best of us.”
“You’re chewing too loudly,” I bemoaned as I had to deal with the ear-sore that was Meg eating packet popcorn. Pure torture, it was, and I had been tortured.
“Naw,” she said, mid crunch. “‘M nom-t.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Oh,” said Meg as Hercules was kidnapped from Olympus, and poisoned out of immortality. “He’s kind of like you.”
Never in four thousand years did I think I would ever hear that from someone I didn’t smite, yet alone agree with it. But I found myself relating to this fictionalised version of Hercules, if only a bit.
I groaned into my hands. For a film so inaccurate, it was starting to feel all too real.
“Who’s this Phil guy? Do you know him?”
“His counterparts, yes. Technically that should be Chiron, and you’ve met him. Philoctetes…” I trailed off, realising Meg was no longer listening to my words of wisdom she had specifically asked for, distracted by, no shock here, Pegasus flying in.
Maybe we were watching that horse girl movie after all.
Meg gave me a look as, onscreen, Megara introduced herself.
“Is she why you thought my name was Megara?”
“It’s not uncommon for modern demigods to receive ancient Greek names.” I shrugged. “You could have been a Megara.”
“I’m not.”
“I know, Meg.”
“… Would’ve been cool, though.”
Meg winced as a certain something became clear with Hades.
“I don’t like that he’s using Meg to betray Hercules.”
It really was all too real.
And then it wasn’t again.
You had Zeus tell Hercules that he was doing him proud—and I was done with him, I really was, gone were the days that I expected anything of the like out of my father. But there was a small, traitorous part of myself that thought: Gods, do I wish that was me.
“Are you… sniffling?”
“No.”
You had the love declarations (Lester had all the exes, none of the dates).
And then in true, Percy Jackson-esque style, Hercules gave up immortality for it. He wanted to stay for those he’d grown to cherish from his time on Earth. He wanted to be human, born a god, but feeling no need to return to it.
For him, it was the right choice. It was clear. He knew where his home was.
But me? Not so much.
Remaining mortal would have been like giving up. I had to keep fighting for my immortality. I would keep my throne. I would keep my promises.
But my home was not in the clouds where all of that lay.
I didn’t have a home. Not a true one. But if I did…
I thought it would feel something like this. Meg by my side, curled up on beanbags. It was comfortable, cosy. I could feel myself drifting off, safe and content to just be.
I supposed I always did want what I couldn’t have.