Chapter Text
Poseidon didn’t know how, but he was sure this was Zeus’ fault. Actually, he knew precisely how: Zeus just had to go and get with Hera of all people. No wonder their son had turned out like this.
Ares had been equal parts headache and entertainment since his conception and it seemed his nephew was determined to continue that legacy.
He just wished it didn’t have to be Percy he picked fights with.
And what a surprise that had been, only a few short years after initially rejecting godhood, his son had ascended, all on his own. Poseidon couldn’t have been prouder! And with such nice domains too; him, the father of Loyalty! Oh, how he’d gloated that day. Involuntarily, a smile dared to breach his face. He did his best to school his features back into a mask of carefully bored bemusement.
Percy had flourished at Camp Half-Blood, young Dionysus gladly offering him the role of Camp Director to wiggle out of his punishment. It had all worked out quite well, if he did say so himself.
Except … he winced. Well, predictably, Ares and Percy got along like oil and water. That is to say, not at all. What had been slightly concerning and endlessly bemusing when his favorite son was still mortal, had quickly turned into a nuisance for everybody in their vicinity. It seemed that his son couldn’t help himself. If Ares was within eye -or ear- shot, they were going to fight. Thankfully, especially for the safety of Hera’s prized marble statues, they’d mostly stopped getting physical altercations after the first couple of months. Whether that was because every god did their best to keep them apart, or because they had calmed down, was anyone’s guess. In any case, Poseidon wagered that Olympus would’ve already been razed to the ground if Percy had been forced to reside there.
“You are an unbearable, slimy, bastard of a father!” Percy shouted, and Poseidon winced. His son was nose to nose with the war god who towered a good half a foot above him. Percy hadn’t quite gotten the hang of physical transformations yet and Ares was abusing it shamelessly.
(For his peace of mind, Poseidon graciously chose to ignore the mounting tension between the two gods. Aphrodite was having enough fun as it is, observing the shouting like a table-tennis match, head turning left and right with every added insult.)
What this fight was about? He had no idea. He’d stopped listening about an hour ago and had started to wonder if this was what he and Zeus seemed like to everyone else. He certainly hoped not. Idly playing with his trident, he did his best not to notice just how red Percy had gotten, his chest heaving with big breaths he no longer had to take. He wondered if his son knew that Ares was toying with him. The contrary boy voted against every single suggestion Percy brought in front of the council, just to get a rise out of him. He probably did know, he supposed. His son was by far not as oblivious as some people chose to believe. And neither was Poseidon for that matter.
Hermes was tapping away on his phone, Apollo had his legs swung gracefully over the side of his throne, strumming a lyre whilst staring into the air. Perhaps he was constructing a new song. Even Athena -ugh- the dutiful advisor that she tended to be, had clearly stopped paying attention. The first few times they’d fought, she’d tried to offer wise counsel, but neither of them had been interested in listening.
Perhaps Percy was also doing this on purpose, for reasons Poseidon would rather not consider.
He supposed this solstice argument had begun over funding for the camp. When Dionysus left, the fields dried up so understandably, Percy had demanded more aid. Poseidon would’ve granted him as much as he wanted, if he’d only asked, but their relationship had been… rocky.
Not for the first time, he scowled thinking of Zeus’s non-interference law. He was sure Percy would’ve been a water deity if he’d been allowed to visit Atlantis whilst mortal. And besides, perhaps his choice in companions would've improved with a little fatherly care. He did have to question his son's taste in this – though admittedly, Poseidon had little room to judge. But Ares? Though he supposed they may not be companions yet, as evidenced by this frankly exhausting amount of foreplay disguised as righteous fury. Ugh, he shuddered involuntarily. He could’ve offered Percy his choice of Naiad or Nereid, perhaps even a nice Merman – but no, Zeus just had to make Poseidon distance himself and now he couldn’t in good conscience give one of his sea-born citizens to a god who lived exclusively on land. Damn you, he thought, and hoped Zeus heard. Judging by the glare he promptly received, he did.
“I can’t believe you! You would betray your own children and for what? Huh?” Percy declared furiously, voice echoing loudly in the council chamber. Ares raised one hand up to Percy’s forehand and … flicked. Internally, Poseidon groaned. Have children, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.
“Because it pisses you off, pipsqueak” Ares said and grinned. The scar that ran alongside his mouth today only served to make him look more condescending. His soon-to-be-ex favorite son took a step back and dug a finger into Ares' broadly-muscled chest. Opening his mouth, presumably to reiterate some of the points–or insults–he’d said earlier, and suddenly: CRASH!
There was a bright flash in the middle of the room, and had Poseidon not been a god, he’d have surely been deaf now. Nevertheless, he winced and rubbed at his throbbing ears. What had happened now? Had Percy exploded another statue in his rage? It wouldn’t have been his first and likely wouldn’t be his last. He still couldn’t see what had happened, the bright light flaring outward. He started worrying for Percy. His son might’ve caused this–though Poseidon would deny it until he turned blue in the face–but surely that couldn’t be good for a – practically still – newborn god. He consoled himself with Ares' presence. His nephew might be younger himself, and not on the best of terms with Percy, but he would protect him, should the need arise. Of this, Poseidon was sure. (Ares knew full well what would happen should he dare not protect Perseus if he was in need, but somehow, he didn’t think he’d ever have to follow through on the implied threat. And the threat was always implied.)
Finally, the blinding light dissipated. In its wake were a shell-shocked Percy and Ares, standing shoulder to shoulder, argument forgotten. (Not for long, never for long.)
They were staring at… Poseidon blinked. Was that a child?
There, sitting on the marble floor of the most divine building in the western world, sat a toddler, by the looks of it no older than four. Clad in a traditional peplos dyed a bright teal, black hair wind-swept. She had an uncanny likeness to – well, Poseidon would know his own grandchildren anywhere. He began to grin.
The initial glee began to fade when he realized just whose eyes this child of Percy’s wore. Red, fiery pupils, just like her father. Well, as he said, Poseidon couldn’t be the one to judge in any case. He had a granddaughter to spoil. And an entirely divine one at that, if her conception was anything to go off of.
His son was evidently still processing whatever had just happened and yet, Ares didn’t need any more time. He threw his hands up and cursed so wildly and creatively even Poseiodn’s ears began to burn. Hera, his useless mother, and Poseidon’s second favorite sister (Sorry Demeter, he’d heard enough about wheat when they’d all been stuck in that thrice-damned stomach, he never wanted to hear another sentence about the importance of cornflakes ever again.) predictably did nothing but chide her son gently. This was why Ares turned out the way he did. Zero child-rearing was done on this gods-forsaken mountain.
Apollo began to guffaw, laughing wildly and loudly. The noise broke Percy out of his stupor. His son, now a father in his own right, gaped. “Is that…” he didn’t even finish the sentence before his daughter gained a mind of her own and bounded forwards. Yup, that sure was Percy’s kid. She hid behind his chiton covered legs, wild red eyes peeking curiously at the gods. Poseidon did his best not to coo. He failed.
Absently, Percy’s hand found her hair, caressing it softly. His son had always been good with children, and as the Patron of Demigods, that ability had only improved. It was a scene right out of a picture book, if only those infernal sons of Zeus could shut up.
“And what, pray tell, is so funny, golden-haired nephew of mine?” Poseidon asked sweetly. He saw nothing funny about this. Apollo gasped for air – entirely performatively, mind, because again, they didn’t need to breathe. He was surrounded by a bunch of theatrical bastards.
“May I present to you, dear gods of this council, the Goddess of Recklessness and Self-Sacrifice. Congrats Percy, Ares, it’s a girl.” He pointed to the girl with a flourish. Poseidon blinked. Well… A sheepish grin crossed his face. He allowed it to stay. His son had considerably paled at the words. Served him right. (Never let it be said that his son-of-questionable-taste-in-romantic-partners had been an easy child to rear. Even with him only being able to watch, not act, Poseidon swore the boy had caused him to prematurely grey with his antics. And Gods. Didn’t. Grey.)
Ares buried his head in his hands and resolutely ignored the child currently climbing Percy like a tree or a particularly large statue. His son followed her wordlessly with his eyes, taking care to not let her fall. Oh, Triton was gonna love her.
“I’m sorry… she’s the goddess of what?” Percy asked incredulously.
Apollo grinned brightly, flashing rows of perfectly white teeth so bright they would blind a lesser man.
“You heard me, dear cousin o’ mine, Recklessness and Self-Sacrifice. Quite fitting, considering her parents, I'd say.”
Percy looked like he wanted to argue. He opened his mouth, looked straight at Poseidon and closed it again. Probably for the best.
Ares still hadn’t said a word, which was quite uncharacteristic for any nephew of his – Not so much for his nieces, as Artemis had been known to enjoy a quiet moonlit night. There was a reason she was in his top three favorite children of Zeus. Though, let’s face it, the list wasn’t particularly competitive.
Evidently, Zeus had noticed the quiet as well. “Son-?” he prompted.
His grandchild, meanwhile, was now openly staring at Poseidon. He waved. She waved back and burst into giggles. He was charmed. How had such a lively child come from a nephew like Ares? He supposed the ocean’s genes had always been stronger. He would have to think of an appropriate gift for his newly favorite granddaughter. Mayhaps she’d like a crown of sapphire and aquamarine? Some pearls that would return her back to Percy – or better yet, back to Poseidon? A sword like her father’s? Hopefully she’d refrain from wearing such a dreadful thing as a helmet. He shuddered. He’d been glad once helmets went out of style, the helmet-hair afterwards had been a nightmare.
Finally, Ares turned away from his newest child, a child, Poseidon noted, that had yet to be named.
“This is the brat’s fault!” he declared and pointed at Percy, as if there had been any doubt about whom he may be referring to. His-easily-provoked-son predictably gasped.
“Why would you say something like this when it was clearly you that-” and off they went again.
Poseidon sighed. Admittedly, it was far more entertaining watching his newly born granddaughter explore the world around her, then listen to her father argue with his badly-hidden – what do the young kids call it these days? – ah yes, situationship. He should know, he is the uttermost authority on all things -ship.
“You both deserve this blessing,” Poseidon interrupted. It wouldn't do to ruin his granddaughter's self-esteem so shortly after her birth. These first few hours were often key in the proper raising of a god. Just look at Hermes!
“What shall we call her?” Artemis came to his aid, perhaps sensing the imminent distress of the young maiden in front of her.
Percy stared at his daughter, who’d reached his shoulder by now and was eagerly pulling at his hair. He made no move to remove her.
“Zoia, I think”
Ares looked like he wanted to protest, presumably because he’d never quite gotten along with Zoe the elder, but one look at Percy had him wisely hold his tongue. Perhaps Perseus' choice in bed-mate wasn’t quite so questionable.
“Sorry, really quick, are you seriously calling the Goddess of Self-Sacrifice ‘alive’?” Dionysus interrupted, looking endlessly bemused. The goblet of wine in his hand came dangerously close to spilling over the edge.
“Yes. Does anyone have an issue with that?” Ares challenged the other gods in the room. It seemed he’d finally found his back-bone, good for him.
Dionysus shrugged. “I mean you do you, I guess. Not my circus, not my monkeys, yes?” Artemis didn’t hesitate to reach over and ram her elbow in-between Dionysus ribs. Poseidon winced in sympathy. Artemis' elbows were criminally sharp.
It seemed Percy’s plan had worked out, as Artemis, the protector of young girls had indubitably bonded with the newborn goddess already. Little surprise there.
Absently, his son lifted Zoia up and settled her on his shoulders. His granddaughter beamed and began waving frantically at all of them.
“I’m Zoia!” she declared.
“Yes, child, we have ears.” Zeus said. Poseidon took an example from his niece and shoved his own elbow in the soft spot beneath and just to the left of his littlest brother’s ribcage. The reaction was a satisfying ‘oomph’. He grinned.
“Now Zeus, is that any way to greet your granddaughter?”
Meanwhile, Percy and Ares had started bickering again. They never learned.