A Tent of Silver and Stone
Their first night as a triad was not spent in temples or palaces, but in a clearing where forest met marble ruins. Artemis raised a tent of woven silver leaves; Athena conjured pillars of white stone to steady it. Percy simply spread his cloak across the earth and said, "Here is enough."
It was awkward at first. Artemis paced, restless, unused to stillness beside another. Athena sat stiff-backed, as if this union were a debate yet to be won. Percy, patient as time, waited for silence to settle.
Finally, Artemis dropped onto the cloak with a huff. "If I am to share this… arrangement, then you will not snore."
Athena quirked a brow. "You presume he will lie beside you first."
Percy chuckled, lying back between them both. "You'll find I belong to neither, and both."
The night passed with little sleep, but much warmth. The Hunt whispered of it for decades.
The Huntress and the Scholar
Days later, Artemis took Percy hunting. Wolves darted through the trees, their paws a rhythm of loyalty. Athena followed, robes shimmering into armor—too proud to admit she wanted to see what Artemis saw in him.
The chase was swift—a boar, tusks like spears, crashing through the underbrush. Artemis' arrow flew, Percy's hand bent time to slow its charge, Athena's spear struck true.
When the beast fell, the three of them stood breathless, victorious together. Artemis looked at Athena with grudging respect. Athena met her gaze with quiet triumph. Percy simply smiled, wiping blood from his hands.
That night, Artemis allowed Athena to share the fire she once kept only for her Hunt.
Library of Stars
Another night, Athena drew them into her temple. Scrolls filled the hall, constellations mapped in gold above. She tested Percy with riddles, challenged Artemis with puzzles.
Artemis grew frustrated quickly—"Words are snares."
Percy nodded. "And time cuts snares." He tore the scroll in two, smiling faintly at Athena.
Athena should have scolded him. Instead, she laughed—soft, shocked at her own voice. Artemis stared, stunned. Athena had not laughed like that in centuries.
In the silence that followed, Artemis leaned closer without thinking, shoulder brushing Percy's. Athena, watching, did not pull away when her hand brushed his.
The three of them lingered under those stars longer than any mortal night.
Small Scandals
It did not take long for Olympus to whisper.
Aphrodite spread tales that Artemis' tent smelled of wine and olive oil. Hermes swore he saw Athena's owl perched beside a wolf at dawn. Even Apollo grew uneasy, sensing his twin's vow unravelling.
The Huntresses muttered among themselves. Artemis silenced them with a glare, yet her cheeks flushed when Percy brushed her arm in passing. Athena's philosophers noticed her tone softening when Percy was near, her patience stretched for his interruptions but snapped at theirs.
The three did not speak of it directly. They did not need to. Their bond was becoming its own language.
The Moment of Quiet
One evening, after a long day of chase and debate, Artemis fell asleep against Percy's shoulder, bow still in her lap. Athena, watching, set aside her scroll and leaned in on his other side, silent but present.
Kaal circled above, silent flame in the sky. An owl dozed on a wolf's back. The night was peaceful.
Percy looked at the stars, his wives breathing steady on either side, and whispered to himself:
"Even gods need a home."
And for the first time, he felt he had one.