The Last Olympian

done, my son. And Percy—” His face turned stern. He wagged his finger at me, and for a second I was afraid he was going to zap me. “I even forgive you for sitting on my throne. You have saved Olympus!”
    He held out his arms and gave me a hug. I realized, a little embarrassed, that I’d never actually hugged my dad before. He was warm—like a regular human—and he smelled of a salty beach and fresh sea air.
    When he pulled away, he smiled kindly at me. I felt so good, I’ll admit I teared up a little. I guess until that moment I hadn’t allowed myself to realize just how terrified I had been the last few days.
    “Dad—”
    “Shhh,” he said. “No hero is above fear, Percy. And you have risen above every hero. Not even Hercules—”
    “POSEIDON!” a voice roared.
    Zeus had taken his throne. He glared across the room at my dad while all the other gods filed in and took their seats. Even Hades was present, sitting on a simple stone guest chair at the foot of the hearth. Nico sat cross-legged on the ground at his dad’s feet.
    “Well, Poseidon?” Zeus grumped. “Are you too proud to join us in council, my brother?”
    I thought Poseidon was going to get mad, but he just looked at me and winked. “I would be honored, Lord Zeus.”
    I guess miracles do happen. Poseidon strode over to his fishing seat, and the Olympian Council convened.
    While Zeus was talking—some long speech about the bravery of the gods, etc.—Annabeth walked in and stood next to me. She looked good for someone who’d recently passed out.
    “Miss much?” she whispered.
    “Nobody’s planning to kill us, so far,” I whispered back.
    “First time today.”
    I cracked up, but Grover nudged me because Hera was giving us a dirty look.
    “As for my brothers,” Zeus said, “we are thankful”—he cleared his throat like the words were hard to get out— “erm, thankful for the aid of Hades.”
    The lord of the dead inclined his head. He had a smug look on his face, but I figure he’d earned the right. He patted his son Nico on the shoulders, and Nico looked happier than I’d never seen him.
    “And, of course,” Zeus continued, though he looked like his pants were smoldering, “we must . . . um . . . thank
    Poseidon.”
    “I’m sorry, brother,” Poseidon said. “What was that?”
    “We must thank Poseidon,” Zeus growled. “Without whom . . . it would’ve been difficult—”
    “Difficult?” Poseidon asked innocently.
    “Impossible,” Zeus said. “Impossible to defeat Typhon.”
    The gods murmured agreement and pounded their weapons in approval.
    “Which leaves us,” Zeus said, “only the matter of thanking our young demigod heroes, who defended Olympus so well—even if there are a few dents in my throne.”
    He called Thalia forward first, since she was his daughter, and promised her help in filling the Hunters’ ranks.
    Artemis smiled. “You have done well, my lieutenant. You have made me proud, and all those Hunters who perished in my service will never be forgotten. They will achieve Elysium, I am sure.”
    She glared pointedly at Hades.
    He shrugged. “Probably.”
    Artemis glared at him some more.
    “Okay,” Hades grumbled. “I’ll streamline their application process.”
    Thalia beamed with pride. “Thank you, my lady.” She bowed to the gods, even Hades, and then limped over to stand by Artemis’s side.
    “Tyson, son of Poseidon!” Zeus called. Tyson looked nervous, but he went to stand in the middle of the Council, and Zeus grunted.
    “Doesn’t miss many meals, does he?” Zeus muttered. “Tyson, for your bravery in the war, and for leading the Cyclopes, you are appointed a general in the armies of Olympus. You shall henceforth lead your brethren into war whenever required by the gods. And you shall have a new . . . um . . . what kind of weapon would you like? A sword? An axe?”
    “Stick!” Tyson said, showing his broken club.
    “Very well,” Zeus said. “We will grant you a new, er, stick. The best stick that may be found.”
    “Hooray!” Tyson cried, and all the Cyclopes cheered and pounded him on the back as he rejoined them.
    “Grover Underwood of the satyrs!” Dionysus called.
    Grover came forward nervously.
    “Oh, stop chewing your shirt,” Dionysus chided. “Honestly, I’m not going to blast you. For your bravery and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah, and since we have an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the Council of Cloven