Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All characters used are copyrighted to Rick Riordan (except for Diogenes in chapter three, who is, in fact, a historical figure.) That is all.
Clarisse La Rue and the Spear of Panic
by
JMFearless
A/N: Before we begin the story, I should mention that I'm still working on the first Percy Jackson book, which means three things: 1) My characterization of Clarisse will be based on her portrayal in the second film. (Which I saw last night; it was awesome!) 2. While I am aware that there is a short story involving Clarisse and Phobos, we're going to just ignore that for the sake of this story. 3) I apologize in advance if I mess up any characterizations by the standards of the books. All right, that concludes my rambling.
Chapter One
Clarisse
Life is funny; a few days ago, I navigated the Sea of Monsters, retrieved the legendary Golden Fleece from a vicious Cyclops, and took on a giant Titan named Kronos with the fate of the world at stake. (Okay, so I didn't do much of the actual fighting, but I was there.) I should be feeling pretty good about myself; instead I'm just bored. I guess that's one of the occupational hazards of being a demigod: Once you've saved the world, nothing else really compares. Even the camp training exercises don't get me fired up like they used to. I've even taken to sitting and staring out at Long Island Sound to pass the time. The view is pretty nice I guess, but I'd rather be watching a good battle. When you're the daughter of The God of War, boredom is a pretty ugly thing. Too much time spent alone with your thoughts leads to you coming up with new and creative ways to injure people.
"Funny. I never really took you for the 'staring at the ocean' type. That's more my thing, don't you think?" I let out a sigh. I really want to tell Jackson to get lost, but seeing as he did kind of bail me out on my quest for the Golden Fleece, I at least owe him a little tolerance.
"What do you want, Jackson?" I ask him.
"You've been acting weird lately," he comments. "You haven't been as into the training exercises. I've missed your usual taunting." I glance up at him. The look on his face is somewhere between a wry grin and an expression of concern. "Are you okay?"
"I need a quest," I tell him. "A real one; these training exercises aren't cutting it anymore."
"Well, I don't have any quests for you, but how about we spar for a couple of rounds?" he suggests, offering a hand to pull me to my feet. I brush it away.
"No thanks," I say. "I'm not really in the mood."
"You're turning down a chance to beat me to a bloody pulp?" he asks, a note of incredulity in his voice. "This is way more serious than I thought."
"Your sparkling wit never ceases to amaze me, Jackson," I quip, rolling my eyes at him. He laughs.
"Now that sounds more like the Clarisse I know," he responds.
"Get lost, Jackson!" I snap at him. What can I say? It's nice that he's worried about me, but I think I've tolerated him enough for one conversation. He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Sure," he answers. "I'll leave you alone with your boredom." Maybe I should have thought this through better. The minute he walks away, I find myself wishing that he was still here. Not in some stupid, sappy romantic way or anything, but just so that there would be someone to fill the air with noise. Fortunately, the universe does not disappoint me. The sound of hoof beats alerts me that Chiron is approaching me.
"I've been looking for you everywhere," Chiron announces. "This arrived for you." He holds out a plain white envelope. "It was personally delivered by Hermes himself."
"I didn't know that he still did personal deliveries," I remarked.
"He does when the message is being sent by a God," Chiron informs me. "It's from Ares." A frown crosses my face. Dear old Dad isn't usually one for sending letters; when he talks to me at all, it's usually through telepathy. I take the envelope from Chiron, but wait until he leaves to open it and read the letter. Long story short, it says that he wants to meet me to talk about something important. Apparently so important that he couldn't just include it in the letter. Another thing he didn't think to include in the letter: A meeting place.
"Well, I thought that right here would suffice." I know without even turning around that the voice belongs to Dad, but I turn and face him anyway.
"Dad," I say, my breath catching a little in my throat. I'm not easily startled, but having the God of War suddenly appear behind you will have that effect, even if you're his daughter.
"Hello, Clarisse," he says jovially. "How are things?"
"Boring," I tell him. "I haven't had a decent quest since the Golden Fleece." He chuckles.
"Always looking for the next opponent to fight, just like your old man," he answers. "I might be able to help with that."
"What do you mean?" I ask him.
"To put it simply, I'm planning to retire soon," he answers.
"I didn't know you could retire from being a God," I comment, "Especially The God of War. I mean, there are wars all the time, right?"
"Yes," he tells me, "In fact, that's sort of my point. I've seen so many wars over the years that I've seen every possible strategy and outcome that one can imagine. After a while, there's nothing left to see. But I can't retire until I've named a successor." A lump forms in my throat. I'm beginning to understand why he felt that this warranted a face-to-face meeting.
"You're considering me as your successor?" I guess. He nodded. "What about Mark and Sherman?"
"I'm considering them too, of course," he answers, "But no one can be my successor unless they prove themselves. That's where your quest comes in."
"I'm listening," I tell him.
"You may have heard of my son, Phobos," he says.
"Sure," I answer, "The God of Fear."
"That's right," he tells me. "Phobos and I had what you might call an antagonistic relationship. We often clashed with each other. Phobos' secret weapon was a spear that could bring out the worst fears of anyone who got too close to it. Eventually, I managed to defeat Phobos for good, but the effects of his spear reduced my army to a pack of sniveling cowards. I attempted to claim the spear for myself, but Phobos was never one to give up spoils. He separated the tip of the spear from the shaft and sent them to different parts of the world."
"And you want me to find them?" I ask. "That's my quest?"
"Yes," he answers. "Anyone who would call themselves The God of War must have courage. Only someone with enough courage to conquer their fears will be able to take the pieces and bring them back together." At these words, I give him a confident smile.
"Bring it on!" I shout, pumping my fist. It may not be saving the world, but the thought of taking on a quest to become the new God of War is enough to get me charged up again. "Nothing can scare me! No Demigod, no monster, nothing!"
"You have confidence," Dad says, "That's good. You're going to need that. But remember, Clarisse, not all enemies can be killed with swords." I open my mouth to respond, but Dad is already gone. That's just like him; he always has to have the last word. I guess it's a God of War thing. Well, there's no time to dwell on that. I've got to get a lead on the location of the spear pieces and I know just where to start. Time for a visit to The Oracle.
