A/N: This takes place during Son of Neptune, so beware of spoilers if you haven't read it! A HUGE thank you to my absolutely amazing beta reader, bibliophile114, for even more help than usual on this one. Seriously, it was beyond invaluable. Let's just say if you like the story, it's probably not my fault! (And if you don't like it, blame Rick Riordan. This is what SoN drove me to write.)

Disclaimer: All characters below are property of Rick Riordan. I'm only borrowing them because he insisted on being evil about the SoN ending.

Enjoy!

Athena was not having a fantastic week. She found herself instinctively cursing Percy Jackson for that, because to be honest, nearly all her bad days recently could be traced to Percy Jackson. Not that it was entirely his fault; he couldn't really be blamed for being born and reaching age sixteen against all odds, after all. She blamed his father for that one. Athena was nothing if not fair.

Now the world was in jeopardy yet again, and yet again Percy Jackson was at the center of it. He'd proven himself with the last Great Prophecy, though, so she wasn't too upset that he had a role in the Prophecy of Seven as well. She wasn't thrilled, of course; she stood by her assessment that the boy was too loyal, and his adventures frequently seemed to involve putting her daughter in life-threatening situations. But if Hera felt the need to include the upstart son of Poseidon in her desperate gamble, Athena had no major objections. It was difficult to watch her daughter suffer, true, but she knew it was only temporary.

And then Athena had heard the harpy say those fateful words: "Wisdom's daughter walks alone, the Mark of Athena burns through Rome." You didn't need to be the goddess of wisdom to decipher that. (As was obvious when Percy himself had understood the implications. If a son of Poseidon can grasp the meaning, your prophecy could stand to be a little more cryptic.)

Athena had immediately gone to see Hera.

"You did not mention you'd chosen my daughter for the seven," Athena had said, trying her best to keep her temper under control. She was known for meticulous revenge, not hotheaded anger, but she was still an Olympian. Self-control was not their forte.

"I said I'd chosen the strongest demigods. Did you not consider your daughter among them?" asked Hera innocently. She clucked her tongue in mock disapproval. "You should really have more faith in her. Especially now that she'll be on her way to Rome soon."

Athena had turned on her heel without a word, because she knew another second facing Hera's arrogant smile would wipe away any hope of avoiding a war among the gods.

Hera had hit a sore point, however. Athena hadn't considered her daughter one of the seven strongest demigods. Her children were smart and quick, but she had assumed "strong" referred to specific powers. Percy, Jason, Leo, Hazel, Frank, and even Piper made sense in that regard. Children of the Big Three were always incredibly powerful. Why not add Nico or Thalia to the group? Why choose Annabeth instead?

The only explanation had to be Annabeth's past disrespect toward Hera. Hera wanted to prove to Annabeth just how much control she had over her life. Well, fine. Athena wasn't above using her own influence. Being Zeus' favorite daughter had its advantages.

But that hadn't gone well either. Now Athena was back in the war room of Olympus, trying to convince herself not to throw out every battle plan she'd drawn for the upcoming war. She had to weigh the look on Hera's face when the giants stormed Olympus against an eternity of pain and suffering at the giants' hands. It probably wasn't supposed to be a hard decision.

And then, as if her week hadn't been going poorly enough, she heard him enter the room behind her.

"I'm sorry."

She snorted. It wasn't a particularly dignified sound for a goddess, but she didn't trust herself to tell him in words exactly what she thought of his timing. "You must be happy," she said instead, ignoring his apology completely.

"About what?" he asked. He sounded confused, as if he didn't know what she was talking about. Perhaps he didn't. It would hardly be the first time he hadn't understood what she was saying.

"Your son," Athena clarified. "If all goes well, he'll be hailed as the savior of Olympus yet again."

It was Poseidon's turn to snort. "Yes, because things so frequently go well."

She finally turned to face him, acknowledging he had a point. For once. "Perhaps we should stop allowing Olympus to fall into jeopardy quite so often. But then what can we really do? We're only gods, after all."

This time he laughed. "And to think all these years I thought you had no sense of humor."

"It's a secret guarded almost as carefully as Lord Zeus' master bolt." The corners of her mouth crept up slightly despite herself.

Poseidon laughed again. "Sometimes I forget why we hate each other."

"Medusa. Athens. Your refusal to employ basic logic," Athena responded without missing a beat.

"Ah, I remember now. Your smug sense of superiority."

"It's hardly smug when it's deserved."

"A matter of opinion."

"I believe there's a mortal phrase for this: 'the truth hurts.'"

He rolled his eyes. Also a decidedly mortal action. That son of his had not been a good influence.

"Anyway," Poseidon said, "I imagine I'm as happy to see my son among the seven as you are to see your daughter."

She stiffened. "So you've come to gloat?"

Athena was surprised to see he seemed genuinely offended. "I see you think as little of me as ever."

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" she demanded, but her voice sounded weary even to her. Hours of arguing with Zeus earlier had gotten her nowhere. She was tired of fighting. "To show up here, now of all times? Congratulations. Whatever it is you've come to win, consider it won."

"Did it ever occur to you I might be here to help?" he asked angrily. "That maybe you're not the only one with something at stake here?"

Of course it hadn't occurred to her. She was only trained to consider viable strategies. It was an unspoken but firm rule: they didn't help each other. Not for millennia now. "You know Lord Zeus denied my request," Athena said frankly. It was as close to an olive branch as she was willing to get. Which was probably for the best, seeing as how the olive tree was still a bit of a sore point for them.

"Yes," he replied, his tone softening. He paused a moment before adding, "If anyone can overcome this, Annabeth can. She's one of the strongest demigods I've ever seen. You know it's why Hera picked her for the seven."

She gave another snort. "Is it?"

Poseidon didn't reply. She admired him—just a little, mind you, and she would never say such blasphemy aloud—for not immediately offering false reassurances.

Athena drew a breath, trying to get her anger under control once again. Having children certainly hadn't done her temperament any favors. "Annabeth's strength is precisely why Hera hates her, and I'm not convinced that hatred isn't clouding Hera's judgment. So yes, one way or another, I suppose my daughter's strength is to blame for her inclusion in the seven. But was she chosen because Hera believes she may succeed or because Hera hopes she will fail?"

"Hera is…vengeful when she feels slighted," he admitted. "But I believe she believes strongly in her plan. She would not do anything to sabotage it. Not with so much riding on the outcome."

"You mean she wishes to show her husband who is really the power behind the throne," she said disdainfully.

Poseidon looked around, his jaw tense. "You should be more careful. To say such things now where anyone could hear is not wise." A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it. He sighed in resignation. "No pun intended."

It was hardly a genuine pun, but she didn't comment on it. "What will Lord Zeus do to me? Or Lady Hera, for that matter? Punish themselves by making me sit out the coming battle?" She laughed again, bitterly, as another thought occurred to her. "Or perhaps they will even threaten my daughter's life!"

He glanced at her sharply. "Be thankful her life is still only threatened. And you do have other children," he reminded her.

Athena nodded. "True. I have grown too accustomed to assuming they will be left out of our squabbles. That has been particularly unwise of me." First she had assumed Annabeth would be left out of the prophecy and now this. Planning appeared useless in the face of children.

They were silent for a minute. Suddenly Poseidon asked, "Was my brother the one to deny your request?"

"Technically," she said. "Although Lady Hera was the one who convinced him it could prove 'potentially destructive' to her plan. He has essentially washed his hands of the whole affair. He is retreating and allowing her to do as she pleases. His official ruling is that I am 'too crucial to the war effort' to be allowed to leave. He is afraid I will be captured."

"Is it just me, or has he become even more paranoid since Hera's imprisonment?" he asked.

Athena sighed. "He has. An impressive feat, considering how paranoid he was before."

For a minute, Poseidon looked like he was going to scold her again for saying things she shouldn't, but he must have thought better of it. Very wise, she thought with satisfaction. Clearly she was a good influence on him.

"It would be extremely unwise to defy him," he said instead, clearly understanding Athena intended to do just that. She narrowed her eyes at him. She got the feeling Poseidon thought her father might have a point. If so, he'd be well-advised not to mention it. Suggesting the goddess of battle strategy might get herself captured was a surefire way to guarantee owls switched to an all-fish diet.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But what choice do I have? What's done is done. Regardless of the reason, Annabeth is one of the seven. I cannot change that, nor am I permitted to aid her in her quest. But if she truly is to be a pawn in Lady Hera's game…at the very least, she has a right to know her fate and make her choices accordingly. So if I must go against Lord Zeus' wishes to warn her, then that's what I shall do."

Poseidon sighed. "There's another way."

She fixed him with her fiercest glare. "I am not the goddess of strategy for nothing. I have already considered asking Hermes. Lord Zeus has him delivering pleas for assistance to anyone who might listen. He will not be available in time."

"I didn't mean Hermes," he said, slightly annoyed. "I told you I was here to help. I'm offering to help."

Well, this certainly violated the unspoken rule. Athena blinked at him (probably owlishly, she mused wryly). It had been many centuries since she had last been at a loss for words, but in her defense, it had been many more centuries since she had last heard Poseidon offer his help. She couldn't even remember when that was. The Trojan War, maybe? They'd been on the same side, but they hadn't interacted much. And after that he had spent the next ten years making Odysseus' life miserable. So no, on second thought, she wasn't going to count that.

"You want to help me?" she asked slowly, finally finding her voice.

"Don't flatter yourself," Poseidon said, still sounding annoyed. "I'm offering for his sake, not yours."

Ah. "You care deeply for the boy," Athena noted. For the first time, she noticed she wasn't mentally condemning him for it as she had in the past. Maybe because today that would have made her a hypocrite.

He didn't try to deny it. "He deserves a break. More than two months. You're not the only one unhappy with this latest development." Poseidon deliberately avoided her gaze.

At first Athena nodded, thinking he meant the Prophecy of Seven, but that didn't make sense. He'd known Hera had chosen Percy for the better part of a year now. As far as she knew, the most recent development was Annabeth—

"You don't think he'll be able to bear it if she dies," she realized, somewhat surprised. After all, children of the Big Three were known for their resilience. But then Percy Jackson had defied so many stereotypes. Including that sons-of-Poseidon-don't-date-daughters-of-Athena one she liked so much.

"I don't think he should have to," he countered. Looking at her raised eyebrow, though, Poseidon relented. "No. I think it would destroy him."

"Your children never have been the most stable," she agreed matter-of-factly.

He gave her a look that, for the first time, made her think of him as her uncle. He had never seemed that mature before. "Really? I thought we were finally getting somewhere here."

Athena considered apologizing, but she couldn't shake the mental image of him scolding her like a little girl. And anyway, what was the point of breaking her no-apology streak now? "You were saying something about helping?"

He nodded. "You need someone to warn Annabeth. I can do it without invoking my brother's wrath." Poseidon smirked, looking remarkably like his son for a moment. "Zeus still owes me for letting my brand-new game room be destroyed last August."

Athena channeled her own children and rolled her eyes back at him. "The importance of game rooms notwithstanding, Lady Hera would never allow it."

"The most my sister will do is tattle on me to Zeus," he said, waving a hand like Hera had no more power than a lowly nymph. "And Zeus won't stop me. He does understand the importance of game rooms."

She regarded him silently for a minute. "You would really be willing to risk their wrath to help my daughter?" A thought struck her. "You do realize she's my daughter, don't you?"

"I thought we'd established that, yes," he said dryly. "But we can't help who our parents are. My father had his army destroy my game room."

Athena refused to give him the satisfaction of rolling her eyes again. How had he kept the ocean as relatively healthy as it was with this irreverent attitude of his?

"I suppose I should thank you," she said instead.

"It's not necessary," Poseidon assured her, looking uncomfortable.

"I didn't say I would thank you. I merely said I supposed I should." She raised both eyebrows at him.

He scowled. "One step forward, two steps back with us, huh?"

"We could forget this conversation ever happened and save ourselves the exercise," she suggested.

"Agreed," he said. And just like that, they were done talking. Although at least this time they hadn't been forced to stop because Poseidon was unconsciously sinking Atlantis. That had been a tough one to explain to Zeus.

She watched him walk away, suddenly not sure if forgetting the conversation also meant forgetting his offer. Athena considered calling him back to ask, but she refused to allow herself to show such weakness (and to him, no less). Oh well. She couldn't say she didn't know where Annabeth had gotten that stubborn pride of hers. She pursed her lips, ready to turn back to her battle plans.

At the last second, though, Poseidon stopped and stared pointedly at her. "If anyone asks where I am for the next few minutes…"

She nodded, telling herself that definitely was not a lump in her throat. "This recent climate change is causing appalling damage to global marine life, isn't it?"

He smiled. "I'm just so busy doing godly ocean things."

With that, he vanished. Athena stared after him.

Thank you, Poseidon, she thought. She wasn't willing to say the words aloud, because Olympus knew he'd do something to make her regret it by tomorrow, but she was willing to compromise. She turned back to her battle plans, absently sketching the beginnings of a sea palace game room in the corner of a map of Athens.

Annabeth wasn't the only one with stubborn pride and architectural talents, after all.