Child Surprise - Chapter 17 - aphroditesfavorite - Percy Jackson and the Olympians (2024)

Chapter Text

These words are still ringing in his head when the soldiers escort him past the rich purple curtains and he is drowned in a rush of cheers. Suddenly he finds himself in an ocean of thousands of Athenians, all screaming his name so loudly it melts into pure sound. The grand stage stands before him richly decorated, its towering skene draped with cloths fit for sails.

“Prince of Seriphos,” Perseus turns and several steps above him stands the king with open arms. Behind him, ten thousand craning onlookers. “Perseus, son of Zeus, greatest of all the gods. You are well welcomed in Athens!”

King Cecrops II, according to Euthymius. The king is flanked by family first, then servants and finally soldiers forming a living wall between the royal entourage and the crowd of onlookers. Their spacious section is covered in lush rugs and furs. Little tables dotted throughout overflow with fresh fruit, bread and drink. Perseus lets his knee find the ground as he bows his head to the king. When he rises, the crowd’s roar is dulled by listening ears watching them intently.

“King Cecrops of Athens, it is an honor,” Perseus smiles, through his discomfort. “I’ve been very well received by your countrymen. The little I’ve been shown of your grand city has given shape to all good word I’ve heard prior.”

“You will not find a grander city in all of Greece,” King Cecrops says proudly. “Patroned by the maiden goddess herself who had hand in its creation. Come. Join my family for the festivities today. I would be honored to break bread with a legendary hero such as yourself.”

“The honor is all mine,” Perseus says as he ascends the steps.

“Father is that him?” a young voice draws Perseus’ eyes to a toothy brown hairs princeling.

“Ah,” King Cecrops smiles apologetically as the young boy bounds over. “My youngest, Pandion, has been eager for your arrival.”

“Are you Perseus?” Pandion’s eyes are bright with familiar hero worship.

“I am,” Perseus smiles at the boy. “Are you the esteemed Prince Pandion?”

“I am!” Pandion says, astonished, as his father and Perseus chuckle.

“My firstborn, Prince Talus,” King Cecrops beams as the dark haired boy approaches from his mother’s side.

“It is an honor to meet you Prince Perseus,” Talus greets him with barely, but well concealed excitement.

“The honor is all mine Prince Talus,” Perseus nods. “Thank you for inviting me to sit with your family.”

“Will you stay in Athens long, Perseus?” Pandion says, taking his hand.

“Longer than I expected,” Perseus chuckles, letting the child guide him to their seats.

“Will you live with us?” Talus takes his other hand gently.

“I haven’t worked out my living arrangements quite yet,” Perseus shakes his head, charmed by the unusually childlike, royal children.

“Now lads,” another man approaches, looking apologetic at Perseus’ predicament with the princes. “Let’s give our guest some room to roam, these seats are far too narrow, god forbid you should fall.”

Talus releases him reluctantly, but Pandion only switches to holding the edge of his chiton. The man bares a remarkable resemblance to the heir, sharing the same shining dark hair and painted gray eyes. Perseus would think he was Talus’ true father were it not such treasonous thought.

“Ah my brilliant brother in law,” King Cecrops introduces the man. “Daedalus of Athens, The Great Inventor.”

“Turned caretaker I’m afraid,” Daedalus gives a simple smile as servants guide the boys over to their mother the queen, another dark haired beauty. “It is an honor to meet the hero so favored by our city’s patron.”

“It is an honor to meet the goddess’ blessed inventor,” Perseus says earnestly. “Your brilliance has spread as far as my travels.”

“I’m not surprised,” King Cecrops laughs, clapping the inventor’s back. “Daedalus is a genius. Talus has already learned much under his charge.”

“A fortunate pupil,” Perseus nods at the young heir, who beams from the attention.

“Very much so,” Daedalus shakes his head, smiling.

“Come,” says King Cecrops. “Let us take our seats. Give our spectators something new to gawk at.”

They take their seats with Perseus besides the king, the eager princes besides their mother Queen Perdix who sits apart, a newborn in her arms and female servants watching her keenly. She pays little mind to Perseus, with that far off look that sometimes possesses new mothers.

“I’m curious,” King Cecrops begins. “What brings you to Athens, Prince Perseus?”

If only he knew, he wants to say. A task to be revealed in due time was hardly a reason to ask for months of room and board from a king and Perseus was unlikely to reveal to anyone much less royalty that his life would be forfeit at the city borders. He opens his mouth to say gods know what when a glint of gold catches his eye. A golden cicada, resting on the king’s shoulder. In the goddess’ voice, his father’s words seem to come from within his own mind

Perhaps you will be the one who convinces King Cecrops to resume this project.

“The gods,” Perseus answers, accepting wine from a servant. “I spent the early morning in conversation with my father… at the abandoned Olympieion.”

King Cecrops’ smile flatters and Perseus has a feeling he’s expected this reckoning for quite some time. For how many years did King Cecrops build the wealth and prosperity of Athens around a monument of neglect to the King of the Gods? Zeus was not a god known for any warnings, much less gentle ones for his impending wrath.

“Fear not. I am here to reassure you,” Perseus says quickly. “My father came to me in disguise and led me to the Olympieion where he voiced his… displeasure.”

“I see,” King Cecrops swallows. “What did he say?

“Laziness disguised as a fear of hubris, were his exact words,” Perseus says apologetically. “It is meant to be the greatest temple in all the world.”

“And it shall,” King Cecrops says seriously.

“Yes, it shall,” Perseus agrees. “I have been tasked with not only delivering this message, but remaining witness to the Olympieion’s completion.”

“Then I promise you this, son of Zeus, representative of the gods,” King Cecrops clasps Perseus’ forearm. “Your divine father will receive his just tribute. Tenfold, I promise this. The Olympieion, Temple and Sanctuary of Zeus will be completed in a year's time. Tonight I will hold a great sacrifice of cattle in his honor and commit this grand monument and vow in the eyes of gods and men.”

“You misunderstand King Cecrops,” Perseus shakes his head. “I have been ordered to winter in Athens until the first snow thaws at which time, the task will be complete or failed.”

The king blanches, too noticeably, drawing attention to their conversation. Perseus can hardly blame him. To complete such a project in a matter of months was nearly impossible in the kindest portion of the year. Winter had little kindness to spare. The season was notoriously devoid of construction and for good reason. It was an unfair demand and made Perseus feel a bit cruel, but not enough to clarify the deadline was of his own making.

“Remove your doubts,” Perseus squeezes the king’s forearm. “The gods always ask more of us than we think we can achieve.”

“Words easily said from a man blessed with the tools of the gods,” King Cecrops gives a humorless laugh looking suddenly much older.

“Words that should be easily received by a king blessed with the greatest mortal inventor, the richest Greecian state and the patron of the wisest of Olympus,” Perseus encourages him. “For it was our shared patron who guided me to Athens on dreams of olive trees and golden cicadas.”

King Cecrops gives Perseus a long searching look, before something passing for relief finally eases gaze. “Blessed Maiden Goddess. Athena Glaukopis. Before the first of the gnarled trees sprouted from the earth her priestess had seen with resting eyes, the golden cicadas in an olive tree. How foolish of us to fear omen! Allow me the honor to host you, son of Zeus. Your presence is welcomed in my home.”

“The honor is all mine, King Cecrops,” Perseus bows his head.

“We will discuss this further in the palace,” Cecrops takes a bracing breath. “Today is a day of celebration. Tomorrow will be of redemption. Let us enjoy the play.”

Wearily, the king places his hands on his knees and pushes himself to stand. Pulling a purple cloth from his sleeve he waves it in the air to signal the start of the play and the crowd cheers in anticipation. Gently, the orchestra drifts into the noise of the audience, hushing princes and common men alike. Breathing anticipation into the crowd, the chorus rises. Dancers sprout from the stage like flowers, spinning baskets, scrolls and bread over each other’s head. Imitating the bustling agora effortlessly with their weaving paths.

They sing of Athens, its beauty, its favor of the gods. They sing of Demeter’s fruitful blessings, Hepheteus’ meticulous guidance and Apollo’s shining ideal.

“But who?” They sing. “Of the shining gods to choose. Of the hundreds Zeus will pick two.”

The dancers turn their heads upwards to the background skene where an unnoticed man stands on a high arched window, his exquisite mask the image of Zeus. He peers down at the dancers and crowds and says:

“I think I’ll leave the rest to you.”

The crowd is enchanted and charmed as the dancers continue their song. Speaking directly to the Athenians' sense of pride, elation and excitement that day. To be the topic of Olympus. To be coveted by the divine. Perseus can almost feel the bliss of the moment as if he were there himself. Seamlessly the flock of dancers transforms into a crowd of citizens dressed with pride, their King Cecrops, at the head of them.

The growing song cuts off sharply, leaving only the soft elysiumal instruments announcing the Olympians' arrival. The citizens face the skene, then gaze upwards as two curtains fall from arched windows revealing the goddess Athena and god Poseidon in their elegant masks. Following their king’s example, the crowd of citizens fall to their knees with mesmerizing fluidity.

The Olympians step from the ledges and fall, inciting a gasp then cheer from the crowd as they are caught by rope. The deities descend delicately onto mortal ground to the rising chorus of praise and wonder. A hush falls over the crowd as the Olympians take to their platforms and address their mortal flock.

“King Cecrops II,” Poseidon’s voice is deep and carrying, commanding the attention of thousands. “Bless the day. Your lands flourishing with arts and riches and leisured peace have been coveted. Not by barbaric men nor envious neighbors nor commoners deity. Zeus Eleutherios, freedom giver, King of Gods, has heard the Olympians of his council and in his wisdom allowed his brother Lord of the Seas, the god Poseidon and his daughter, maiden goddess of warfare, of wisdom, Athena to compete in a contest of gifts to patron this city, worthy of the greatest gods.”

The Athenians in the theatron roar with cheer, clapping and stomping their feet with pride. King Cecrops shows no sign of their previous conversation as he beams with pride. In just the introduction, this play had already cemented itself as one of the greats. Even Perseus, who was no stranger to grand productions, growing up in King Polydectes palace, had never experienced theater of this scale. If the Athenians were used to such luxury they gave no indication in their unabashed celebration. Looking just as awestruck as Perseus felt.

King Cecrops’ actor stands on comically wobbly legs garnering a laugh from the audience. He bows too deeply and welcomes the Olympians to his fine city. Satisfied with introductions the divine nod and Poseidon begins the competition with a wave of his trident. The dancers again spin in a weaving circle as the chorus sings the praises of each god and ponders the benefits of each choice.

Distracted by song and spinning dance, Perseus can scarcely believe his eyes as a beautiful, rocky edged fountain is built in the center of their dance with nimble, learned hands. When they disperse the fountain is revealed in its entirety and the audience erupts into applause for the clever craftsmanship. This was no puppet theater. As the excitable audience finally dies down a delicate building chorus can be heard. Slowly the dancers begin to tentatively approach the sea god’s magnificent fountain.

“You should have seen the real thing,” King Cecrops whispers to Perseus reminding him that he might be the only one in the audience for whom this play was myth not memory

Slowly the dancers begin to tentatively approach the sea god’s magnificent fountain as the chorus sings of its beauty. Of the living mythology carved into its rocky face. Of the shining water, as clear as glass. Of the overbearing taste of salt??

A dancer turns to the audience and spits an enormous spray of water in the air, coughing violently. He turns to the audience, wiping his mouth.

“I’ve had better at the bottom of a fisherman’s bucket,” he says in disgust to the roaring laughter of the Athenians.

“He said that in front of a god?” Perseus whispers.

“No,” King Cecrops chuckles. “But he did spit out the water.”

Dancers recoil dramatically from the grand fountain. Mummers grow among them as they weakly sing their gratitude to the tune of awkward conky instruments.

“What craftsmanship! What beauty! To accept a poorly paired gift is a humble man’s duty.”

The Athenian disappointment is immense. They expected divine marvels not grand ornaments. Even Perseus' initial awe wanes as the realization builds that it was just a pretty fountain with very undrinkable water. The chorus moves on to the goddess Athena, attempting to garner excitement for her gift among the fog of disappointment still hung in the air.

Either unfazed or indifferent to the poor mood, Athena turns to the space between her uncle and herself. She deliberately raises her hand over it to the building chorus of anticipation. A rumbling can be heard from the stage as the platform pulls the Olympians apart. Dancers scramble back in surprise as gnarled branches emerge like an ancient clawed hand. Perseus watches in astonishment as the now familiar tree rises from the ground to the pitch of choral harmonies.

As the olive tree grows so does the sense of wonder, awe and anticipation. Before it finishes emerging the audience has already taken up their applause again, some even standing to their feet to welcome the divine tree’s creation. When the goddess completes her marvel, she turns to the Athenian crowd and utters a single word:

“Edible.”

Mayhem. The crowd literally goes wild and Perseus can’t help, but be swept up into the roar of ten thousand voices chanting ATHENS! ATHENS! ATHENS! The goddess raises her arms in victory and Perseus can feel ten thousand voices vibrating through his chest, the floor, the seats. Even the orchestra and chorus are drowned out by the roar of pride and stomping feet, gone on so long the play pauses as the actors are captivated and take up the chant ATHENS! ATHENS! ATHENS!

Finally King Cecrops’ actor takes his place and faces the crowd with raised arms, prepared to announce the obvious winner. As the crowd dies down, somewhat reluctantly, Perseus notices a faint glow begin to form behind the actor. Squinting, Perseus can tell the glow is of his father’s world and his excitement gives way to a sudden chill.

You have killed his creature and married the subject of his ire. With a start he remembers, this is Poseidon’s festival and Athens had chosen to ring it in with roars of worship to Athena on the heels of the sea god’s embarrassing loss. His breath catches as the glow builds behind the oblivious actor and crowds. It’s all he can do to not cry out in warning. Without his winged sandals he was as helpless as any mortal to watch in growing horror. But before the actor can speak, a small voice calls out from behind him.

Turning, confused, the king steps aside to reveal to the audience a dark and long haired boy in the fountain. Thrumming with obvious divine energy the boy’s back is turned to them, his face turned up to the god Poseidon. Slender and beautiful he could almost be mistaken for a virgin girl were it not for the cloth held draped over his shoulders and around his body.

The boy calls out again, to the sea god Poseidon, who has switched to a mask of pure bewilderment. Very deliberately, the sea god turns in a circle, unveiling his mask of great rage as he levels his trident at the boy. The audience, unaware of the deity on their stage, laugh at the boy’s squeaks of alarm as the sea god approaches, harshly questioning him for defiling his gift. The dancers scurry as the boy pleads with the god in his lovely voice calling him father.

The Athenian crowd cries out for the boy too, fully engrossed in the play, imploring Athena to act on his behalf and spare him the sea god’s wrath. Without changing her mask of confusion, the goddess approaches, laying a hand on her uncle’s arm. No words pass between them as she looks deliberately between the boy and the god. Poseidon’s mask is switched to confusion as he does the same, the wheels in their heads turning. Finally they straighten, turn from the audience, then again to reveal their masks of horror, backing away from each other while venomously denying involvement with the fountain child.

The audience roar with laughter as the gods bicker like an estranged couple. Several glances are thrown Perseus' way to garner his reaction to his namesake’s introduction. He tries to laugh along, but his focus is on the divine taken mortal form on stage. His first instinct told him this was the genuine son of Poseidon born from the god’s fountain. They were similar enough in build, but the god’s movements were just too effortless and graceful. There was a sense of intentional allure that Perseus struggled to picture of the dark haired boy from his dreams. He wondered if he was looking at an Erotes.

As if hearing his thoughts, the god turns from his feuding parents to give Perseus the briefest knowing glance. Vibrant violet eyes capture him. A curtain falls from the skene, breaking the moment and the bickering deities pause to look up at the newest Olympian arrival.

“Father would like a word,” the cheerful actor sings, as he steps from his ledge, yellow robes blowing in the wind. “About your ill-advised, child surprise.”