A/N: This is a joint account between two authors, mostly to post the story of Jem and Lyra. Feel free to check out our personal accounts as well. We will probably post about once a week.
Disclaimer: The poem is original. Jem and Lyra are original. Everything else belongs to the troll god.
The streets of New-and-Improved Rome are busy today. Everyone is coming out to welcome the Graecus visitors. Ever since the Second Giant War ended, high and mighties like Airhead Jackson & Jason The Greek lover have been spewing a lot of nonsense about "intermingling" and "understanding each other". That's why Greek & Roman demigods/legacies have been visiting the other camp and adapting their lifestyles.
What a load of centaur poop. There are two camps for a reason- and that reason is Greeks and Romans have always been and will always be different. People can cry about the Roman copycats all they want, but that doesn't change anything. And as far as I'm concerned, the Greeks would do well to stay up in New York in their little rustic summer camp.
Of course, no one cares what I think. I'm still just a probatio. I'm the son of Bellona- a respected Roman goddess- which makes me Praetor Reyna's half brother. That's where my fame in the Twelfth Legion begins and ends. I hate fighting with a pilum, and I hate working in a team, which makes me a pathetic legionnaire. That's what the centurions of the 2nd cohort tell me anyway. I'm only in their cohort because they're afraid of Reyna, otherwise I'd be down in the loser 5th- or former loser 5th. Currently they're still enjoying the post-war fame.
The entire Twelfth legion are a bunch of schists. Reyna couldn't care less about me- she barely knows I exist. And playing favorites isn't the Roman way- unless you're a part of the Senate, of course. I couldn't care less about what cohort I'm in, or whether I ever become a centurion or a halfway decent legionnaire. I know that I can easily beat the stuffing out of the entire 1st and 2nd cohorts in a fight, and that's all that matters. Not what anyone else thinks.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
I fight through the crowds. Everybody is at the Little Tiber to see the Greek visitors. There are about six of them arriving today. Even though I don't like the whole exchange program thing, I do like to know who the Greeks are. It helps me know who I should avoid when I'm not training.
I bump into a girl. She's one of the Greek visitors- she's wearing the orange T-shirt and the dazed expression all of them have when they first see New Rome. No doubt their own camp pales by comparison.
"Watch it, Graecus," I snap at her. She seems startled by the name calling. She must have thought all the Graecus haters are gone- not that I consider myself a full-blown hater. She has a willowy build & knives sheathed at her waist. I sneer at her deer-in-the-headlights look and melt away into the crowd.
I slip up a tree at the back of the crowd & perch lightly on the first thick branch. It's always much easier to observe people from a higher vantage point. There are seven Greeks, one more than I expected. The girl I ran into is easily the most terrified looking one. She's standing close to a brunette, who had her hand set protectively on the girl's shoulder. There's an Asian girl who's pretty enough to be a Venus- sorry, Aphrodite- camper. There's a couple of mischievous looking boys who are obviously brothers. I can also see Di Angelo (a somewhat bearable Greek) and a blond boy in a surgeon shirt who somehow still manages to look as though he'd be right at home on the surf. Should be easy enough to avoid- especially if they keep parading around in those loud orange shirts. Who thought demigods should be so visible when unarmed?
I notice my sister going to greet them. She exchanges words with Di Angelo. She seems easy and casual with him, like they're old friends. I guess transporting a priceless ancient relic across the globe does that to people.
Reyna will be making her customary "welcome to our slightly better camp" speech soon. I ought to clear out- if I hear it one more time I'll fall asleep. I have it completely memorized, forwards and backwards. down to her gestures and facial expressions. Gods, I need a life.
I shimmy down the tree, dropping and landing lightly on my feet. Some Greeks have described me as having cat-like agility when they think I'm not listening. Even if I'm not a good Roman legionnaire, apparently I'm excellent by Greek standards. Not entirely sure how I feel about that.
I take my time walking up the hill to my mother's shrine. Bellona, the goddess of war, the sister of Mars, the Roman counterpart to little known Greek goddess Enyo. Shrines are not her favorite thing- she prefers to be honored on the battlefield than through worship. I still come here though- to try and connect to her, to get some peace and quiet. To think. . . and to write.
My poetry is my secret. After all, what son of war writes poems? I've tried to create some battle verses, but it never turns out right. Probatio were left behind when the legion marched on the Greeks. I don't know what war feels like. Is it thrilling? Terrifying? Some combination of the two? Not knowing the answers to these questions makes it difficult to write about battle.
Mostly I write about my feelings. Using poetry to express myself is something my grandmother taught me before the wolves came. She used to sit me on her lap- when I grew older I sat by her feet- and talk to me in Korean, a language my father never fully learned. She used to tell me that words were my most powerful weapon, not a sword or a spear. I think she knew my mother was a war goddess.
I settle down by one of the pillars. This way I can see anyone coming up the path before they see me. It's unusual for demigods to hang out at their parent's shrine. I'm enough of an outsider already- besides, I like distancing myself from my family. Reminding people that my grandma is North Korean and that my sister is the praetor generally has negative effects.
My journal is purple and worn out. I've opened it so many times. I've had since I turned ten- a gift from my grandmother. I'm not feeling in the mood to write today. I just read what I've written out sometimes to make myself feel better. Well, not exactly better. More like not alone. Not a disaster.
I flip the pages to a poem I wrote when I first came to camp. It's concise, and one of my favorites. I hesitate, then I begin to quietly read aloud.
When the bed feels too cold
and the food doesn't taste like home
When you're snatched out of your only world
and forced into another one
That's when your eyes burn
That's where the heartache starts
I stop. The next verse is about getting better and looking forward, but I'm no longer as optimistic. I scratch out the entire stanza and pencil in more accurate feelings.
When it doesn't get better
though everyone said it would
When the scorn of the others
stings like an open wound.
When what makes you special
is a barrier to the outside world
That's when the tears fall
That's where the hope ends.
I stop, embarrassed to realize that I have tears pricking my eyes. A Roman legionnaire should not be this soft. I glance around, hoping no one noticed or heard me. I'll finish my poem later. I should get back to camp before someone starts looking for me.
I stand up, stretching my limbs. I'm not quite done at the shrine yet. I kneel in front of the statue of Bellona. It's so odd to think of her as my mother. I've never even met her.
Mother, I know I'm not a good legionnaire. But I've been trying. I really have. If you're listening, give me a chance to prove myself. I am your son. I am a soldier of Rome. Just not the traditional kind. Let me show the legion that.
I get up, wondering if Reyna ever prayed to our mother. Maybe. And maybe Bellona answered.
I sprint down the path to New Rome. I end up tripping on a loose cobblestone and tuck into a roll to avoid skinning my face and knees, managing to come up standing. I just barely avoid smashing into a blonde Greek. I recognize her. Daughter of Athena, Annabeth Chase.
She blinks at me, as though startled by what she just saw. I don't make a snippy comment- I sort of respect her, though I wouldn't admit it even if I was held at sword point. Instead, I nod at her and run toward Terminus.
"Jem Kendrick," he greets. " You're not on the list for the Senate meeting."
"Senate meeting?" I don't remember hearing anything about a meeting today. Did I simply forget?
"Emergency meeting," he grunts. "Some unusual activity not too far from here."
"Unusual activity" is generally code for "a stronger than usual monster". My eyes widen as I realize the Senate would probably be sending out a quest. Maybe my mother heard me!
"I'm not interested in the meeting," I tell him, lying through my teeth. "I just have some off time."
"Right," he says, rolling his eyes. "The guards ought to keep you out. You know the drill. Hand over the blowgun."
I groan, but give it to Julia. I don't like parting with my blowgun. It's a very un-Roman weapon, but it's strictly for emergencies and extremely effective. The darts are Imperial Gold.
"You're free to go," he says. "And cut your hair." He knows I won't.
I make like I'm heading for the bakery. I'm hungry, and the smell of fresh brownies is appealing, but the thirst to show everyone how wrong they are about me is even more pressing.
Once I'm near the edge of the path & out of the sight of Terminus, I dart into the back ways & soon, I've managed to sneak around behind the Senate building. This meeting shouldn't be soundproofed- monsters are pretty common. I press my ear to the wall and strain to hear what's going on. I hear Reyna speaking.
"Cyclops….three...dawn…" They're sending out a quest of three at dawn for a Cyclops? Oh come on.
A different voice speaks. I can't make out any of the words, but it sounds like a request. Reyna swiftly denies it. Must have been a stupid one. I hear a chorus of 'aye's from within, and Praetor Zhang declares the motion passed and the quest on.
If the quest goes well, they'll be able to take out the one-eyed brute. The centurions will never put me in the quest- they know what an awful legionnaire I am. The only solution is to beat the others to the Cyclops and take it out myself. Once I do that, I'll be famous, even if I get in a little trouble for disobeying commanding officers. All I have to do is find out where the Cyclops is.
A/N: Like it? Tell us. Constructive criticism? Tell us. Just click the little review button.