It was on one of those rare occasions when the palace was quiet, when all the gods had left and all the nymphs and deities had retreated to their respective homes and left Olympus silent, did Hades even think of treading these halls.
His raven black hair had been slicked back, the ends straying, falling in tufts, swaying as he walked. The shoes he had carelessly slid on, their soles pressing against the ground, pattering and thumping against the white marble floor, the sound echoing through the halls on repeat. His cloak draped casually around his shoulders, the sleeves pulled up to his elbow and the ends billowing behind him, the watery black material falling in pools dragging against the very floor in which he walked. He ignored the looks sent his way, he took no head, displayed no reaction at any onlookers feeble attempts at suspicion.
He was a god on a mission and no being on Earth could even dream of stopping him.
It was a while before he reached the door he wished to see. The room tucked away in the corner, hidden, shielded from sight. The white wood of the door faded, its paint and structure blending in, relying on the walls for its shelter and the surroundings as its cloak. He reached out, his hand laying flat against its wood, the cool surface vibrating at the simple touch, creaking open with a gentle thud at his push. The golden doorknob glistened in the light, its appearance in stark contrast with the monotony of it all. The sunlight caught on, the rays skimming the surface gently, his reflection slowly appearing in his view and he stared down, his face seemingly unrecognizable in its luminous surface. He looked happy.
His fingers brushed over the doorknobs surface, the simple touch clouding it all, the sun dying and his reflection disintegrating in the span of mere seconds before he allowed himself to delve deeper into the reason behind it all.
He knew why.
The room was bright. Its windows wide and large, looking over the vast city that lay below, the buildings seeming so tiny and insignificant in the eyes of any onlooker. Sunlight flooded in, the bright rays reaching their tendrils out, covering every inch of the space, enveloping the room in an ethereal yellow light. He wondered not for the first time how anyone slept peacefully here.
His feet seemed to have a mind of their own. His boots thumped against the soft carpet floor skillfully dodging the large colorful toys and blankets that lay scattered, discarded without a thought. He knew who this room belonged to.
It wasn't until he reached the crib did he stop. The hairs on his arms raised on end and he reached out, his thin bony finger gently caressing his son's cheek. A smile seemed to deposit itself on Hades face and for not the first time did Hades allow it to stay.
This was his son.
This was his son. The very thought brought alone a new raw indescribable mixture of emotions. Fear being at the forefront. He did not know true, nerve racking fear until his son had been placed in his arms, his stature so small and his face screwed up as he slept, unaware of the extent to which he had just altered their lives. His son was so small. His arms weak, unable to grip more than his fathers fingers and his legs too small and unstable, unable to carry his body, unable to run. What if he dropped him? What if he hurt him? He did not know how to be a father. It became painfully aware then that out of all his brothers, he had the least experience being a parent. The definition of fatherhood, of compassion and love seemed foreign until then. He loved Nico, he loved Bianca, he loved Maria, but this was different. He knew they were unreachable, too far gone for him to intervene now, to far from his grasp to become anything other than a disfigured, broken family. His son was not unreachable. His son lay in his grip unflinching, unchanging, content to stay in his fathers arms. His son would stay. He would not make the same mistake this time round. He would not let another one of his children go. Never again.
It had been their mothers idea.
Their mother who had grown weary of her son's bickering, weary of her grandchildren's differences and immaturities, weary of Olympus's instability. And so she thought, her eyes fixed on the window outside her house, watching as Nymphs twirled, their children laughing and the sparkle of innocence, the very innocence and joy that never failed to brighten an onlookers day, that never failed to bring people together.
She knew what to do and how to do it. She knew what she wanted to do and how to push. She knew how not to take no for an answer and when, after the ritual was her grandson placed into her awaiting arms, she knew she hadn't made a mistake.
Hadrian Olympia. Prince of Olympus. Son of the Big Three.
The fates whispered in her ears, their voices intermixing, weary with age and their burden, as they declared her grandson the prince and it was only when they told her of his fate, of the challenges that lay ahead did she feel the pit of regret in her stomach.
He was the son of Poseidon, Zeus and Hades. Their blood flowed through his veins, his all powerful fathers passing on their power to him. She should have known that hardships were inevitable.
Hadrian Olympia. Prince of Olympus. The soon to be lost son of the big three.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hi! Welcome to my story! Hope you liked the beginning. I promise it gets better...and sadder ...much sadder
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The Lost Prince of Olympus
FanfictionHarry Potter had always known he was different. His parents never looked enough like him, his powers could never be passed off as magic, and his life could never be his own. He knew there was something wrong, something abnormal, but every time he go...
