A Casualty of Ancient History

AN: This story is written for the Veritas monthly prompt. The prompt was the one thing any character wanted but couldn't have. So I picked the boy who Percy tried to warn on the boat, he's always intrigued me.

To want fame is to prefer dying scorned than forgotten.

~ E. M. Cioran

Eve wanted the apple, Washington wanted to cross the Delaware, and the Confederacy wanted to succeed. Eve ate her fruit, Washington became president, but the Confederacy lost the war. Still, two out of three was good. Henry was prepared to take that chance. One day is name would join Washington's and Grant's. Even if he was loped in with Stonewall Jackson and George Custer at least he wouldn't be unknown. He hated to be forgettable, pushed off to the side as if he was nothing.

Nobody took him seriously. He had given up entirely on trying talking to people. They would take one glance at him, a tiny boy with shaggy hair and a squeaky voice, and they toned him out. He was just another little kid who wanted to play war, nobody important.

But there was a whole complex named after a famous man who happened to be vertically challenged. Great things came in small packages.

Actually, there was one person who gave him a chance. Her name was Twilla, an odd name for an odd girl. She had mousey brown hair, freckles, and chewed gum all time, often cracking it obnoxiously. Sure she was no wise guru but she listened and gave meaningful answers back.

"So you want to be renowned and have textbooks written about you?" She had said once. It wasn't the reply Henry had been looking for but she hadn't said it teasingly or sarcastically.

"Wouldn't you? I'd love to have monuments built in my honor. I thought most people would," he said.

"Not if it means becoming a pincushion like Julius Caesar or the "Scourge of God" like Attila the Hun. Being a historical figure sounds nice but I'd rather have a full life and not be hated for the rest of eternity," Twilla said mater of factly. It sort of made sense the way she put it. But Henry couldn't imagine his life being just one of millions, nothing to set him apart from the rest. Was having a lifetime of just living better than having a few years of blazing glory? It wouldn't get him Elysium, that's for sure.

Twilla continued on, "Plus if you join the army or something you're most likely going to become a casualty. You might get your name on a wall somewhere but I don't suppose that's the kind of recognition you're thinking of."

Henry frowned, "Well at least I would have contributed to a cause. The Spartan mothers had a saying, come back with your shields..."

"Or on them," Twilla interrupted, her eyes were sad, "as victors or dead men. Is that really how you feel Henry?"

Henry didn't know how he felt about that. It would be better if he died as a hero but what if he did die as an unknown?

He shook his head, his blond hair bouncing in his face, "It doesn't matter how I feel about it. I'll take any opportunity that passes by to become a hero."

Twilla nodded, "I think your fatal flaw might be ambition. You know it's called fatal for a reason. You've got to do something about that."

"Presidents are ambitious. Movie stars are ambitious, not that I want to be one but still!" He protested. Her warnings were unnecessary. He hadn't been planning on taking over the country or anything. She made it sound like ambition was a bad thing, like he was delusional and stupid like everybody else thought.

"Dictators are ambitious. Fallen warriors are er, were ambitious," Twilla countered, "If you're not careful Henry, you might fall into that category," then she had left without another word. She soon faded back into the crowd as much as she could and they never spoke again.

Henry convinced himself that she was wrong. She was just trying to get him to be like everyone else, another sheep in a herd when he knew he was more than that. He was destined to be a great hero. He would try everything he could to get a quest, and soon he would be great.

The quest never came. The Titans did.

Henry decided that it didn't matter that he wasn't fighting on the side of the Gods. What had they ever done for him? Ignore him that's what. At least on Kronos's side he was valued, in a way. He was a soldier. The first step in becoming a famous hero.

It wasn't meant to be. The time wasn't right. He was fortune's fool. However you say it all that matters is that it didn't happen. Henry was on the Princess Andromeda when he met Percy Jackson, he told him to get off the ship with the other demigods.

As he tumbled down the stairs he thought that maybe he should. Then he quickly rejected the idea. That would be cowardly, he could never live with himself let alone go back to camp. But a saying was stuck in his head, he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. The meaning was pretty clear but was that really the best policy to follow. He would be a deserter, which in many previous wars would mean a criminal. Totally fine if the Gods won but that wasn't the outcome he would bet money on.

An emotion he had never felt before suddenly flooded him. Shame. He was staying on the ship, not out of loyalty, but out of fear. The greatest barrier to success was fear.

Not actually true. The greatest barrier to success was and is death. Because when you're dead you're done. You'll never be anything else, just what you were the moment you died.

So when Henry died he honestly didn't know what he was. A weak coward or a loyal fallen warrior?

Definitely not famous and renown. He doubted that anyone outside of Camp Half-blood even knew his name. The Titans most definitely didn't care either, he was just another casualty.

AN: As a matter of fact, naming him was really hard. Henry actually means powerful leader and it was the name of another character in a book that wanted power but died in the process so I went with that. Give yourself a pat on the back if you know what book I'm talking about.