If music be the food of love, play on. - William Shakespeare

Artemis preferred the sounds of nature. The singing birds, the whispering trees, the rustling brush … that had always been more musical to her ears than her brother's antics.

One could only tolerate so much of Apollo's yapping over plucked cow guts and Athena's silly puff-faced shrilling before the experiences lost their novelty.

But music had its time and place, and she'd warmed up to it in the centuries since. There were many reasons her predisposition changed.

For one, the more recent varieties of instruments invented in the previous few centuries added much more flavor. Not to mention the many types of music introduced along with invention.

In Ancient Greece, there had primarily been the lyre, the flute, and rudimentary percussion. Hardly worth mentioning was the horn, but the level of sophistication at the time meant they could scarcely produce anything more than a signal.

Music hadn't really evolved significantly until the times of the Baroque and Classical—no more humdrum monk chanting and Latin prayers for all eternum.

The whole family of string instruments, the first harpsichord performances—she'd been there, drawn in by the tinkling waterfall of melody and harmony and fugue. That wasn't mentioning the introduction of full orchestras, or the whole host of woodwind and percussion instruments created.

Sure, she enjoyed string instruments, to a degree. But they were undeniably too much like the lyre, even if the introduction of a bow differentiated the sound. She could appreciate them—but they were a touch too familiar. Though the lower range of the cello gave such new depths of timber and weight.

But then there was the brass, so much improved from the singular horns of old. From trumpet to trombone to tuba (her favorite was the French horn, though), she could almost hear the human voice calling clear through looping tubes of metal to convey so much more than strings could on their own. Strings always sounded like strings, plucked or pulled. But brass?

The first time Artemis had heard someone neigh like a horse through their trumpet, she'd readied her bow and shot them.

Not her proudest moment.

He lived.

And woodwinds—oh, my. The modernization of the metal flute, in contrast to the atrocity of Athena's flute (which became the plastic recorder - somehow mortals thought it would be a good idea to mass produce that garbage). The creation of the lovely velvety clarinet, the conversational oboe (and it's deeper cousin, the bassoon). And of course, the most recently created, and thus what she currently enjoyed most in what she listened - saxophone.

The saxophone was almost two hundred years old by now—how time flew. But it sat perfectly in between the classical woodwinds and brass, with the exquisite voice of a woodwind and the projection of a brass.

That suave new instrument, along with the birth of jazz not too long after, had revolutionized music for her. It had been the introduction of wild rhythms and soul into music beyond expectations, and she'd enjoyed listening to the unique chord developments and dissonances ever since.

Even the more recent trends in music never held a candle to jazz for her. It was clear that they'd taken inspiration from what jazz had brought to the table, whether rock and roll or pop or even rap.

Of course, there was that last classification of instruments, percussion. It was why she was here. She'd spent over a decade mastering one.

Primarily, percussion only meant rhythms. And Artemis appreciated the beat, the intensity or ride or backbone—not to mention all the other handy toys.

But when Percy had taken her for a walk through the quieter sects of New Rome, they'd passed a mid-sized storefront, displaying none other than an array of musical instruments.

Artemis hadn't noticed the store at first, too absorbed in enjoying the warmth of Percy's hand in hers. It wasn't until he'd tugged her over, off route, that she'd looked to what had seized Percy's attention.

"What ya think? Should I try learning?" He'd said, pointing to a tenor sax, featured near the corner of the display stand.

But her eyes went past, beyond the glass and the instruments to the open space behind, to the largest instrument that dominated the surrounding space: a grand piano, gleaming white.

She'd absently pulled him in, and he'd followed, bemused and perhaps a bit too accepting and willing to follow her unspoken whim. She'd walked straight to the bench and pulled it out, absently adjusting it before sitting and opening the lid covering the keys.

And now she was psyching herself up, looking down at the unfamiliarly familiar rows of black and white, remembering. Remembering when the piano had utterly dominated the landscape of music only a few centuries ago, and finally finding the desire to learn how to play an instrument after hearing some of the greatest pieces written (or adapted) for the piano.

It had been a bit of bias, perhaps, because she'd been the inspiration for such pieces that she'd wanted to learn after hearing them.

Beethoven's Sonata, Quasi Una Fantasia, the herald of the Romantic era. Chopin's Piano Concerto no.1, Opus XI, Mvmt II - Romanza, drifting yet bold yet magnanimous. Rachmaninoff's La Nuit, L'amour, written for two pianos, not just one.

There was just something about the tranquil madness she inspired as the moon.

The piano was also so comprehensive, able to play all the notes and fulfill all the necessary voices. Able to solo yet also support, as a part of a whole or a whole of itself. Singing out, yet acutely private.

So she'd learned. It had been around the time of the War to End all Wars, though she'd ignored the conflict in favor of spending a decade on correcting her posture. Years of learning how this positioned there helped in providing the correct amount of pressure to create the desired sounds. Learning how to read the blurry sheets of black notes, the rhythms and accidentals and much more she'd never realized had been behind the melodies she heard. Learning to not abuse the pedal, to let each note sing for what it was worth before moving on, that music required absolute perfection, and that a single mistake could not be afforded because it ruined the whole.

A missed note jarred everything.

Unless it was disguisable through jazz, of course. But she hadn't devoted herself to learning that style of playing, yet. After a decade straight, she'd been worn out. Pleased, but not willing to learn. Also, jazz had been too new, not yet settled into something she could easily learn.

Of course, there had been a whole host of music devoted to her since then, and the desire to learn jazz piano had been in the back of her mind. Notably because of a certain Frank Sinatra's classic, even if that piece wasn't particularly a piano feature.

Now was the time to get back into it. Artemis didn't have forever to get to learning anymore. For now, though … she needed a refresher.

She took a deep breath, peripherally aware of Percy's observing gaze.

She straightened her back, raised her arms, and lowered her wrists. Hesitantly, she pressed down, adjusting to the piano and beginning a simple scale. She winced as her fingers fumbled but soon fell into muscle memory of years past. After one octave, she expanded into two. Then three. Then the minor, then the next scale and its minor up, and the next, and the next …

Eventually, moving up along the piano, her arm bumped into her companion.

"Budge off, you're in the way," said Artemis, engaged in her warm-up. Percy pulled away, moving back to give her the desired space.

After a few more scales and a handful of arpeggios, she moved her hands to the notes where the piece began. The piece that had cinched her desire to play the piano.

It had been far too long since she'd played it, since she'd made sure that she still remembered how to play it, memorized. But it was something that just stuck with her, ever since she'd first heard it, ever since it had drawn her to the ivory and ebony keys.

Five flats, plenty of accidentals. Though it changed to four sharps later, just for a bit. Andante, with some rubato. Only ever pianissimo and piano, but that didn't mean the melody couldn't sing. And morendo. "Dying away."

There was that poem that inspired the composer, Debussy. He'd captured the lines quite well.

All sing in a minor key

Of victorious love and the opportune life

They do not seem to believe in their happiness

And their song mingles with the moonlight

- Paul Verlaine

Wasn't that a familiar feeling?

Percy stands back, awestruck by the lulling music and sheer emotion that Artemis shapes from the piano.

It's a vision from a dream, watching her hands bend and twist and leap and dance from key to key, producing what he could only describe as a moonlit night in musical form.

His blood rushes through his body, his nerves tingle in vague contentment, his lips fall into a small, awed, and proud smile.

It begins, lilting, call and response, before slowly, slowly, expanding, deepening, widening, echoing. Then the droplets of tinkling stars began, falling, before fading into slow lift …

And then the waves begin, the flurry of notes pulsing and repeating under the melody that reaches higher and higher and higher, before … before returning to the beginning. The call and response, of a low, long, note, to the dreaming melody.

A few more gentle brushes of water, the dying tide lapping at the shore … a lull, a few more waves.

And then the ascension into nothingness, to the moon above.

Artemis holds on to that last note, letting it fade, and fade, and fade ... before finally letting go, and letting silence prevail.

Clapping startles them both, Artemis flinching on the bench and Percy bumping backward into guitar hanging from the ceiling, turning around just in time to catch it before it shattered into the ground.

"Clair de Lune," appraises an older woman of fading beauty, entering from a separate room. "Wonderful. You are either very talented, young lady, or practiced until your hands bled."

Percy places the guitar back, embarrassed, letting Artemis close and step away from the grand piano and speak for herself.

"Thank you," she responds, with a slight smile and nod.

The store owner scrutinizes Percy, before turning back to Artemis. "So, after that little performance, what can I do for you two?"

Artemis glances at him, meeting his eyes before looking back to the owner. "My boyfriend here was wondering whether he should pick up an instrument, and I thought I'd give him a little introduction."

"Ah—well then!" the lady exclaims, gesturing around the shop. "Let's get started!"