The Wedding

This was the biggest wedding of the millennium. There were over 800 guests. Humans, demigods, satyrs, dryads, nymphs, minor gods, and even some Olympians- all close and distant family members jammed together within the Big House.

Percy stood in front of the mirror in the cabin, trying to fix his tie, which hung loose around his neck. He'd tied it four times already and still couldn't remember if the wide end should sit left or right.

"You're doing it backwards."

Grover leaned against the doorframe, chewing a tin can. His dress pants ended two inches above his ankles, and his borrowed jacket strained at the shoulders.

Percy yanked the tie loose. "When did you become an expert?"

"Since I watched a YouTube video."

"You're a satyr."

Grover crunched the can. "Satyrs can use technology, Percy."

Percy turned back to the mirror. His reflection looked wrong in the pressed white shirt, like someone had cut him out of a different picture and pasted him here. The scar on his palm itched. He scratched it without thinking.

"She's nervous too," Grover said.

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't need to."

Percy picked up his jacket from the bed. The fabric weighed more than his sword ever had. He'd fought monsters, faced titans, held the sky on his shoulders once. This felt heavier.

The door burst open. Piper skidded in, her heels catching on the threshold. She wore a blue dress that matched the streak in her hair, and she held a coffee cup like a weapon.

"Annabeth began to lose her patience," she announced.

Percy's stomach dropped. "But... there is almost an hour till the ceremony!"

"She's been at the altar for twenty minutes. Thalia's trying to talk her out, but—you know Thalia. She's threatening to pick the lock with a hairpin."

Grover swallowed his can. "Is that bad?"

Piper looked at Percy. "She asked if you were having second thoughts."

"What did you tell her?"

"I said you were tying your tie." Piper set the coffee on the dresser. "I didn't mention the backwards thing."

Percy grabbed a pair of Winged Shoes. The last time he used one, it almost dragged him down into Tartarus. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Thirty seconds later, he arrived at the beach. Annabeth was watching the tides. She looked gorgeous in the white bridal outfit.

"I begin to think you're drowning somewhere," she said.

"Uh, is it a joke, a metamoprh, or..."

Annabeth sighed: "Forget it. Grover, please find Chiron and tell him the groom is here."

---

They held the ceremony by the canoeing lake. Someone had strung paper lanterns between the trees, and they swayed in a wind that shouldn't have existed, warm and smelling of sea salt. Percy looked at Poseidon, and his father nodded.

Chiron waited at the water's edge, his horse legs hidden by a long robe that kept catching on his hooves. The campers filled the benches, a motley crowd of demigods and satyrs and dryads who'd grown curious enough to manifest solid forms. Percy saw Nico in the back, dark and uncomfortable in a suit that matched his sister's would have, had she lived to borrow it.

The music started. Piper had chosen something with cellos. Percy felt each note in his sternum.

Then Annabeth was there, walking between the benches on her father's arm. Dr. Chase looked terrified, his glasses slipping, his free hand patting his daughter's grip like he was checking her pulse. Annabeth moved like she was calculating every step, like she was planning a siege.

Once they reached the altar, Dr. Chase placed her hand in Percy's and retreated fast.

"Hi," Percy whispered.

"Your tie's backwards," she whispered back.

"I know."

Chiron cleared his throat. The sound was part whinny, part cough. "We gather today—"

Percy stopped hearing him. He was looking at Annabeth's hands, still holding his. Her knuckles were white. She was holding on too hard. He held back harder.

"—do you, Percy Jackson, take this woman—"

"I do," he said, too early.

Chiron paused. Someone laughed, nervous and fond.

"Wait for your cue, Seaweed Brain," Annabeth murmured.

"Sorry."

"The ring," Chiron prompted.

Jason stepped forward, grinning, holding the band on a velvet pillow he'd probably stolen from somewhere formal. Percy took it. The metal was warm, already familiar, like it had waited for this moment longer than he had.

He fumbled it onto Annabeth's finger. It stuck at her knuckle. She pushed. He pushed. They got it there.

"—do you, Annabeth Chase—"

"Yes," she said, not waiting either.

More laughter. Chiron's eyes crinkled. "You may kiss—"

Percy already had. Her mouth tasted like the lip balm she always used, mint and something floral, and underneath that, the salt that never quite washed off either of them. Sally and Paul stood up and clapped their hands. The campers cheered. Something exploded—Leo, probably, something celebratory and borderline illegal.

When they broke apart, Annabeth's forehead rested against his. Her eyes were closed.

"We should find somewhere to consummate your wedding." Annabeth started.

"The guests—"

"Can wait."

They turned to face the crowd. The lanterns swung. The lake rippled without wind. Poseidon again, or maybe just the world adjusting to the weight of what they'd promised.

Chiron raised his hands for silence. "I present to you, for the first time—"

Thunder cracked. Not close, but definite. The sky split open in a perfect line above the lake, and something fell through.

Not a monster. Not a weapon.

It's a golden apple.

It landed in the midst of the party, where all the gods were sitting.

Then people noticed that there was a line inscribed on the shell of the fruit:

"For the most Fruitful".