The Battle of Olympus | III

4. In Which Zeus Blames Everyone But Himself

Okay, so, disclaimer: this chapter is very short and dumb but whatever.

Also, this is very Zeus-bashing. Do I care? No. Zeus is an a**hole. The other gods I tried to make cool—even Ares and Dionysus, who I don't like because of Percy Jackson, not but Zeus. He was too much of an a**hole in the original Greek myths for me to bother to make okay. He's okay in my Retold Greek Myths, but you know what? I'm not gonna here.

The throne room was buzzing with energy.

The first time I had seen it, only Zeus had been inside, and even just his power had been enough to prickle my skin, but with the entire council present... well, it was a miracle the entire room didn't implode on itself. Perhaps Hephaestus had been commissioned extra for that.

Speaking of Hephaestus, the god of blacksmiths didn't seem very interested in the council. He was fiddling with something in his hand as Zeus spoke, as if only half-concerned with what was happening. He hadn't even bothered cleaning himself up—he was still covered in grease, his clothes dirtied and ragged, his hair a wild mess, a stark contrast from his wife.

Aphrodite sat upon her pearl and seashell throne with a bored expression, twirling her curly, pink hair with her index finger, though her cold, calculating, narrowed eyes spoke differently about her true feelings. Dangling from the belt of her ripped black jeans was a long, white, bejeweled silver knife, possibly a gift from Hephaestus. When Zeus mentioned Paris' name, her hand drifted slightly to her weapon, as if she were imagining stabbing the prick. I didn't blame her.

Hades was lounging comfortably on his black throne beside Zeus', rolling his eyes occasionally whenever Zeus said something. He and Poseidon exchanged looks and stifled laughter behind their hands, only quieting down when Demeter glared at the two of them. For someone dressed in overalls and had dirt smeared over her clothes, her glares were surprisingly terrifying. Hades and Poseidon still shot each other silly faces behind Zeus' back, though.

Hermes had shot me a wink when I had first entered, but now he was splayed across his throne, looking very much as ease, though I could tell, from him furrowed eyebrows, that he was actually paying attention to what Zeus was saying. Dionysus looked bored, leaning back on his purple throne, a belt of grapevines wrapped around his shoulders to keep him from face planting on the floor when he fell asleep, though it was a bit amusing to see him snap his head up quickly every minute or so.

From beside me, Ella was twitching whenever Zeus said something... well, I didn't want to say dumb, since he was the king of the gods, but yes, whenever he said something dumb. Or whenever he tried to pin the blame on us. Something about how Paris was back to kill.... uh... Achilles-Paris or was back to take Ella or... actually, I wasn't entirely sure anymore.

Zeus was scared. It wasn't hard to see. It might've been jarring to see who most considered the most powerful of gods actually terrified of something, but I didn't blame him. Even Zeus couldn't say that he could fight a primordial deity and even have a slight chance of winning. No god could.

But to try and shift the blame away from himself and on everyone else? He might've been somewhat subtle, but I could see right through it, and judging from the murderous glint in Apollo's eyes and Athena's uncomfortable expression, they knew it too.

I was willing to take much of the blame. It had been me, after all, who had defeated them in battle, conquered half the known world, and generally made such a big mess as Galeria that the power dynamic had been completely ruined in the Roman Republic, giving rise to the Roman Empire. It had been me who made so many enemies, enemies who were willing to see me and anyone who helped me crushed underfoot.