Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,98
anglerfish, so Hephaestus didn’t look so bad to her. Sure, his legs were malformed and too scrawny to support his weight without crutches or braces. He had too much man fur, and he had to shave like five times a day, even as a baby. His face was red and lumpy like he slept in a hive of African killer bees. But his upper body was strong and healthy. He had clever hands and keen intelligence. As the young god grew, he developed a talent for building and crafting, just like the Elder Cyclopes. Give the kid a bucket of Legos—come back in an hour, and he’s made a functioning long-range ballistic missile.
Good thing Thetis didn’t want to take over the world. All she wanted was jewelry. She put Hephaestus to work making intricate gold necklaces, fancy bracelets of pearl and coral, and neon crowns that lit up and displayed various messages like HAPPY NEW YEAR and YOUR AD HERE, so that she always had the nicest bling whenever she went to parties.
Hephaestus spent nine years under the ocean as Thetis’s personal blacksmith. He enjoyed the work and loved his foster mother, but always in the back of his mind, he wanted revenge on Hera.
In his spare time, he worked on a special piece of furniture—a dangerous gift for his dangerous mother—and dreamed of the day he could return to Olympus.
Finally he finished his project and told Thetis good-bye.
“Beloved foster mother.” Hephaestus knelt at her feet, which wasn’t easy, since his legs were twisted and withered and encased in golden braces. “I must return home and take my place among the gods.”
Thetis had always suspected this day would come, but she cried anyway. “They will not appreciate you,” she warned. “They will only judge you by the way you look.”
“Then they are fools,” Hephaestus said. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. My mother threw me away. She must pay for that insult.”
Thetis couldn’t argue. She wished Hephaestus luck, and the god embarked on his journey to Olympus. He rode a donkey up the mountain, because he liked donkeys. They were ugly and stubborn, comical, but strong and sturdy. Hephaestus could relate to that. And if you underestimated or mistreated a donkey, you were likely to get your teeth kicked in.
Behind Hephaestus plodded an entire caravan of pack mules, loaded with special gifts for the gods.
Hephaestus rode straight into the Olympian throne room, and the other gods fell silent in amazement.
“Who is that?” asked Ares.
Hera made a strangled sound in the back of the throat. “It can’t be.”
Zeus choked on his nectar. “Did he just call you Mother?”
Hephaestus climbed off his donkey, his leg braces creaking. “Oh, did she not mention me, Father?”
(Actually, Zeus wasn’t really his father, since Hera had created the baby all by herself; but Hephaestus decided not to dwell on the technicalities.)
“Probably just an oversight.” Hephaestus smiled grotesquely. “You see, Hera dropped me from Mount Olympus when I was a baby. But rest easy. As you can tell, dear parents, I survived!”
“Oh,” Hera said. “How…nice.”
Hephaestus told his story about growing up at the bottom of the sea. “And I brought presents!” He unpacked the big bundles from his mules. “New thrones for everyone!”
“Thrones!” Ares leaped up and danced with excitement.
The other gods were a little more wary, but they got pretty psyched when they saw Hephaestus’s workmanship.
Zeus got a solid gold seat with cup holders on the arms, lumbar support, and a built-in rack for lightning bolts. Demeter’s throne was shaped from gold and silver cornstalks. Poseidon got a sea captain’s chair with a place for his trident and his fishing pole. Ares’s iron throne was upholstered in leather with lots of uncomfortable spikes and barbed wire on the armrests.
“I love it,” Ares said. “Is this Corinthian leather?”
“Mortal skin, actually,” Hephaestus said.
Ares got teary-eyed. “This is the nicest gift…I—I can’t even…”
All of the gods’ new thrones were fully adjustable with wheels, so in no time the Olympians were rolling around the palace and spinning in their seats.
“You made these?” Apollo ran his hand along the back of his chair, which was shaped like a giant harp. “They’re awesome!”
“Yep,” Hephaestus said. “I’m the god of blacksmiths and craftsmen. I can make pretty much anything.” He smiled at Hera. “Mother, you’re not trying your throne?”
Hera stood next to her new chair, which made of adamantine—a super-strong metal that glittered translucent white, sort of a cross between silver and diamonds. The throne was the most