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Etymology and Historical Notes:
sson/dottir suffixes – Gendered suffixes for last names meaning "son of" and "daughter of" respectively. (i.e. Trygve Halvardsson = Trygve son of Halvard).
Raven-Fodder – A kenning used to describe someone as food for scavengers (like ravens). Usually attributed to someone slain in battle, as that is when many such scavengers would gather.
Whale-Road – A kenning used to refer to the ocean.
Frode – Name derived from the old Norse word "fróðr" meaning learned/wise.
Liv – Name derived from the old Norse word "hlíf" (protection) and adapted by the modern Scandinavian word "liv" (life) meaning life/protection. Technically pronounced as "leev", but if you prefer "liv" pronouncing it that way is fine by me.
Raven-Feeder – A kenning used to refer to a warrior.
King Halvard Njalsson – Odin's Rest, 880 CE
Snow drifted lazily from the clouds above, blanketing the training grounds in a powdery sheet of white. Chilling winds whipped the fallen snow about, raising swirling cyclones of frost as far as the eye could see. The icy nip of winter's gales flash froze the exposed skin on Halvard's face, tinting his cheeks with the rosy hue of sunsets and summer berries.
Across the field, Trygve was going to work against a straw dummy. He carved into the wheat-soldier using broad strokes and viper-like thrusts. Halvard watched the display in silence, save for the soft breaths of the slave-boy lingering by his side. The boy who, over the past week, had been as talkative as a man born with no tongue.
There was little to be done about the boy's silence, Halvard supposed. Thralls lived their entire lives learning to hold their tongues. If they spoke out, they risked lashings, extra labor, and worse. Halvard was not naïve enough to expect a few days to wipe away a decade of conditioning, no matter how much fire there was lurking beneath the surface.
The boy, for all that he was free, was in an uncomfortable position. Halvard knew that. The only people Perseus knew were the boy who despised him and a king who looked like he could uproot trees. Not exactly an environment for breeding loquacity. Still, justified or not, Perseus' vow of silence would have to end soon. Halvard had plans for the boy. Plans that could only be fulfilled by the passionate, fearless boy from a week ago. If that boy didn't show up soon, he would have to send Perseus back to the fields: A prospect he didn't find enticing in the slightest.
"Do you see what Trygve is doing wrong, boy? The mistake he is making?" Halvard asked, hoping to jar something from the former Thrall.
At first the boy didn't answer, and for a moment Halvard thought he'd wandered off. A quick glance to his side proved otherwise. Perseus was rooted in place, studying Trygve's movements in the distance. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his teeth nibbled nervously at the inside of his cheek as he pondered the question.
He was afraid of being wrong, Halvard quickly realized. Maybe he feared a beating, maybe he feared disappointing him, either way, Halvard couldn't let such an issue stand. In the battlefield, indecision and doubt would only get your men killed. At war, the only place for self-doubting men was at the business end of a raven's beak.
"Don't think about it. Just answer. What do your instincts tell you? What is Trygve doing wrong?"
Again the boy was silent. Almost disturbingly so. Then, just before Halvard could throw his hands to the sky, curse the gods, and declare the boy a lost cause, Perseus finally spoke.
"I'm not sure if I'm right." Perseus told him. He was speaking slowly, like his thoughts would dart away if he startled them. "Trygve has more combat training than I do, and you even more than him, but…"
"But?" Halvard echoed, giving him an encouraging nod.
"But it doesn't look like he's thinking about anything. He's just going through the motions. Attacking randomly."
The slave-boy looked up at him nervously. Worry that he'd said the wrong thing was written across his features. Halvard flashed him a small but encouraging smile, and suddenly Perseus was smiling too.
"You should trust those instincts more often. Nothing Trygve's doing is calculated. The movements are precise but ill-planned. I fight with a two-handed axe – a weapon far more forgiving to a berserker style – and still I must think on my feet. If I don't, I risk death. With any weapon, but especially with a sword, there is no room for the body to fight without the mind. You either have a plan or you become raven-fodder."
"I suppose that makes sense," Perseus agreed. "But shouldn't you be telling Trygve all that, not me?"
"I will, just not yet. I have faith that my son will not be maimed by a practice dummy in the meantime. For now, it's your thoughts that I'm interested in."
"Why?"
"Because you got into a scuffle with my boy and the only injury you had to show for it was a pair of bruised knuckles. I suspect you've a knack for fighting. One that will prove to be a boon for our clan in the years to come."
"I'm not so sure," Perseus told him, eyes locked on his own feet. "Trygve wasn't expecting anyone would dare to attack the son of the king. I caught him off guard, I-… I got lucky."
"You were lucky, yes, but not for the reasons you think," Halvard replied. "Besting my son was no fluke. The real luck was in challenging him at all. If you hadn't gone punch-drunk on him, you'd still be a thrall, and Trygve… Only the All-father can know such things for certain."
"Is that the real reason you asked me to be your ward? Not because I was courageous or loyal, or honorable like you told your men? You wanted me because you thought I was a fighter?"
"It was none of those things, though they certainly help," Halvard answered. "The truth is, I asked you to become my ward because you hit my son. The reasons you did it, whether you won the fight or not… Those things are of little consequence to me."
He didn't even have to look to know that Perseus didn't understand.
"If you wanted Trygve hit so badly, why not do it yourself?"
Halvard laughed at that. A deep, thundering guffaw that was damn near strong enough to rustle the snow from the nearby treetops. Across the yard, Trygve stopped his training to shoot his father a confused glance. Halvard simply waved the boy back to his drilling before turning his attention to the puzzled boy at his side once more.
"It's not that I wanted Trygve hurt, Perseus, but rather that I wanted someone willing to hurt him. That beating you gave him, and the ones I'm sure you'll give him in time, will be the best things that ever happen to my son.
If anything, Perseus looked even more confused than before.
"I… I guess I don't follow."
"Nor would I expect you to," Halvard replied. "Trygve doesn't understand either but he will in time… The truth is, Trygve has lived his entire life as my son. As a king's son. My men treat him like the royalty he is, and their sons treat him as if he dines in Valhalla each night. There is nobody to tell him no. Nobody to stand up to him. To push him and challenge him when he needs it the most."
"But what about you? Surely-"
"Surely nothing, boy." Halvard interrupted. "Try as I might, I have never been able to tell that boy no to anything that mattered."
"Why not?"
Halvard frowned for a moment. Already he'd told the boy more than he intended. But then again, Perseus hadn't been receptive to his more subtle manipulations over the past week. Perhaps to fit the boy into the role he wanted, he would have to take a more direct approach. He would have to give him the complete and unfettered truth.
"My father was as stoic and brutish as they come. His parenting made me a better man. It also made me hate him until the day he died. When Trygve's mother died bringing him into this world, I promised that I would never be as cruel to him as my father was to me. I wouldn't force him to grow up hating his only parent. Gods above, if the Saxons knew how much of a coddling sap the Bear-King of the Bjornar clan was, they'd forget all these petty skirmishes and march straight here."
"So you want me to fight with Trygve so you don't have to?"
"Aye, that and more. Like steel, the greatest friendships are forged in a blazing fire. It is my hope that one day you will fight with Trygve not because he insulted your mother, but because you cherish him like a brother and want what is best for him. You see Perseus, there is nothing more valuable to a man and to a king than a friend, a brother, who is as stalwart as he is strong. I believe you have what it takes to be that for my boy. Unflinching in your loyalty and unwavering in your pursuit of pushing him to do and be better. That is why you are here now and not working the fields like the rest of the slaves. I believe you are special, Perseus Thrall-Born. Prove. Me. Right."
Halvard could see the gears turning in the boy's mind. Could see the confusion slowly turning into understanding, and the understanding slowly turning into acceptance. Perseus looked up at Halvard with eyes far too ancient for a boy so young, and then he smiled. A wicked grin that clashed with his innocent face and his impossible eyes.
"I won't fail. I promise you that. Call Trygve over, and I'll show you that I'm worth your time."
Halvard balked at that. Only moments ago, Perseus had been filled with doubt. Suddenly he wanted a fight? It seemed that Halvard had drastically underestimated how much it meant for the boy to have someone who saw worth in him. That, or the boy was still royally pissed at Trygve for all his snide comments. Either way, Perseus was fully on board. There was just one small issue…
"As much as I'm sure you'd enjoy that, you won't be sparring Trygve today or anytime soon. There are still too many things we must take care of before you're ready. You're untrained, underfed, and undersized. Until all those things are rectified, Trygve will have to make do with the grain-man."
"I am not undersized." Perseus huffed.
He raised a challenging eyebrow at the boy. Perseus met his gaze with a defiant glare, puffing his chest and standing tall to try and appear big and strong. Alas, a rigid posture could not mask reality. His hair – while unnaturally dark – was painfully thin and straw-like just like the rest of him. His cheeks were sunken in like emptied moats and dark bags beneath his eyes stood out like bruises against his wintry skin. The only part of him that didn't look malnourished to the point of near death were his eyes, which were alight with the same chaotic energy as a swirling sea storm.
"You are undersized," Halvard corrected gently. "And thin and sickly too. Before this week, you'd never had a proper meal. It'll be some time before you're in any fighting shape. Until then, it would be best to focus on other things. Befriend Trygve off the training grounds. Argue with him about pointless things, take him on childish ventures, and teach him what it's like not to be revered. The rest will come in time."
Perseus shook his head.
"You said it yourself, fire forges steel. I'm ready to jump into the flames. You just have to give me the chance."
Halvard sighed. Is this what happened when you empowered a slave? When you encouraged them to defy your son? They immediately graduated to challenging you instead? By the gods, he would have to refrain from being so lenient in the future. But for now, he supposed a bit of trust on his end was in order.
"And you're certain you want to do this?"
The look in Perseus' eyes said everything. This wasn't just a matter of pride. This was a matter of survival. He understood the monumental task set before him, and he understood where failure would get him. He didn't just want to prove himself. He neededto. And he needed to do it now.
Halvard couldn't help but smile at a plan come together. This is what he needed from Perseus. His insuppressible will to do what he thought was right. To do what he had to do when nobody else would have the stones to do it. In Odin's name Halvard swore that if determination alone could sculpt the earth, Perseus would mold it into any image he liked.
"Alright, Perseus. Astound me." Halvard said. And then he turned to his son, still working away in the distance. "Trygve! That's enough dummy work for today, son. Come and join us."
Though visibly confused, Trygve didn't bother to argue. He jogged over – sword in one hand, shield in the other – coming to a skidding halt before the pair. He sent a quick sneer Perseus' way before looking back, but Halvard paid his childishness no mind. He was too busy retrieving a suitable weapon. It took a few minutes, but eventually he was able to stumble across an appropriately sized sword and shield among the seemingly endless racks of weapons.
"Here you are, Perseus."
He tossed him the shield first, and then the sword. Perseus swiped them both out of the air with surprising nimbleness, but the moment the sword's weight hit him, he started to frown.
"This feels weird." Perseus grumbled, giving the blade a few unenthusiastic swings. "It's so… Wrong."
Halvard frowned. He'd been certain the sword was the right size for a boy of Perseus' stature, or at least as close as they would be getting on such short notice. Then again, he was an axe man himself, so his opinion on the matter wasn't entirely infallible. Regardless, the awkward blade would have to do for now. He went to tell the boy as much, but it seemed Trygve was the quicker witted of the family today.
"It feels weird because slaves aren't supposed to hold swords." Trygve teased. "Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable with a sickle?"
Perseus' nostrils flared in quick-ignited anger.
"And perhaps you'd be more comfortable if I cut off your-"
"That's enough out of both of you!" Halvard barked. "You have a problem with one another? Settle it like men, not like squabbling children. It's the Saxons who argue with words. We argue with steel. Now, no maiming and no killing, but everything else is fair game. Understood?"
The boys nodded, but Halvard seriously doubted they'd heard anything he said. Both had just stared at the other, eyes aflame. Trygve was desperate to earn back his pride, and Perseus was desperate to prove his worth. Halvard knew all to well how desperation could cloud a young boy's mind. If nothing else, the next few minutes were set to be very entertaining.
"Alright…" Halvard started, watching as the boys separated by a few paces. As one, the boys stopped in their tracks and turned to face one another with wicked snarls. "…Begin!"
The two charged immediately. Whatever hope there had been of a strategical fight quickly vanished. Instead, Halvard was subjected to a ferocious brawl between angry children – which, Halvard supposed, made sense.
At first, the two fought each other to a stalemate. After only a minute had passed, Trygve began to take the upper hand. Only a few seconds after that, and Perseus' sword was sent careening into a snowbank a few yards away. Trygve, with all the bravado of a self-righteous youth, placed the tip of his blade at the thrall's neck.
"Dead," The prince told him. "And better off for it."
Perseus huffed in displeasure, but there was little else he could do in the face of such a decisive defeat. Trygve reveled in his victory, shouting jeer after jeer as the Thrall stomped over to his fallen sword. Just before the prince could mock his opponent again, Halvard chose to intervene.
"Enough Trygve. You're here to fight, not to gloat… Go again."
The sparring went on in much the same fashion for a while. Trygve and Perseus would cross blades, the two would go back and forth for a time, and then Trygve would inevitably come back on top. It appeared that while Perseus was showing a natural affinity for combat – along with surprising strength and agility for someone who looked so weak – he lacked the proper training to keep up with Trygve.
Thought the results had been unchanging, the nature of the fights slowly began to shift. Trygve's insults came fewer and further between. He was too tired to throw out snarky comments between ragged breaths and – at least Halvard dared to hope – he was beginning to harbor a small modicum of respect for his opponent.
On the other side, Perseus seemed remarkably well rested, even when Trygve was hugging and puffing. Unfortunately, his frustration had only been mounting, which kept him from taking advantage of his superior conditioning. No matter how hard he fought, he couldn't get the sword to work with him. After each fight he'd let loose a string of curses far too vulgar and complex for someone so young. After another loss, he grew so angry that he slammed the blade into the earth at Halvard's feet, refusing to fight another bout with such a 'wretched piece of metal'.
"Give me a spear. A hammer. Anything," Perseus begged. "Hel, I'll even use a damn sickle. Just get this thing away from me. I can't stand it."
Halvard, wanting to see this experiment through, decided to humor the boy. So, with a tiny smile hiding beneath his beard, the lumbering man made his way back to the weapon racks. He eyed all sorts of weapons for Perseus to try out: Swords, spears, lances, hammers big and small. Hel, he even considered a bow. They came in all shapes and sizes, and more than a few were the perfect size, but none of them spoke to him. Then, Halvard's eyes fell on the next rack over and he knew he'd found what he was looking for.
It was a simple hand axe. It wasn't a large two-handed behemoth like Halvard's own beloved axe, nor a beautifully engraved piece of art like Jørn's hand axe. It was weathered. Uninspired. An everyday man's perfect tool for woodcutting, combat, and everything else under the sun. A weapon universally loved by the poorer soldiers, and for good reason.
Because it was both a tool and a weapon – alongside being incredibly cheap to make and maintain – there was no better weapon for the everyday Vikingr than a hand axe. It was a commoner's weapon through and through. Perfect for a boy lower than common born. Self-satisfied with his matchmaking skills, Halvard toted his prize back to the boys with a newfound pep in his step.
"Perhaps this will suit you better." Halvard said, proffering the new weapon to the boy. "I have high hopes about this."
Perseus gladly took the new weapon, casting the sword aside like it was more repugnant than a pile of horse shit. He danced around the training yard for a moment, giving the axe a few test swings as he got a feel for its weight. Halvard didn't even have to ask if Perseus found the new weapon more comfortable. The wicked smile on the boy's face said everything he needed to know.
"Now this feels like a weapon." The boy muttered to himself. Then, he turned to Trygve with an eerily apt imitation of the prince's own mocking smirk. "You're finished now, you royal ass."
Trygve rolled his eyes.
"And you're one loss away from heading back to the fields."
It was a rather brutal exchange, that much was true, but their words did seem to lack some of the venom they'd had in previous spats. In fact, Trygve almost looked to be smiling when he hurled the taunt. Now that he had something comfortable in his hands, Perseus seemed far less offended by Trygve's jab. Halvard realized that his plan for a friendship forged in fire might not have been wishful thinking after all.
"Alright, one last time boys," Halvard said, sounding excited even to himself. "Begin!"
This time around, they fought with more speed, power, and grit than they had displayed in all their previous spars combined. They fought harder, faster, and with more skill than any boys their age had the right too. It seemed that with an axe in his hand, Perseus' natural talent had tripled. With a stronger opponent, the challenge had driven Trygve's abilities to new heights.
The seconds dragged into minutes as Halvard watched on. As the fighting continued, he grew more impressed. Not with Trygve or Perseus, but with the beauty of the fight itself. The two were finally thinking, adapting their styles as the fight wore on. Improving with each swing of their weapons. The fight seemed like it was going to last forever. Like it would become an endless cycle of back and forth that would entwine the duo for eternity. Then, when life on the training grounds was almost a foregone conclusion, some truly beautiful combat began.
Trygve executed a beautiful feint, forcing Perseus to raise his shield for an overhead swing that never came. Seeing his opening, Trygve thrust his sword toward victory. It was his eagerness that was his downfall. Perseus realized he could never bring his shield down to block in time, so he instead sidestepped the blow. Trygve, eager to end the fight, had committed too hard to the thrust, and when he hit nothing but empty air, he began to stumble.
To his credit, Trygve recovered from the error rather quickly – especially considering the uncertain footing from the snow – but it wasn't fast enough. By the time he turned around, Perseus' foot was already halfway to landing a powerful kick in Trygve's gut.
Like a longship being rocked by a massive wave, Trygve was stymied by the kick. He fell back from the force of the blow, landing in the snow with a massive explosion of white powder. He tried to rise, but Perseus was on him in an instant, straddling the prince and bashing him across the face with his shield. Then, the thrall raised his axe high overhead, let out a mighty roar, and brought his axe thundering down.
It slammed into the ground just inches from Trygve's face. The force of the blow left the weapon quivering in place, a threatening reminder of just how defeated Trygve was. The prince stared at the weapon in disbelief for a moment before finally giving a nod of concession to the victor of the bout.
Perseus rose with ragged breaths, each a visible cloud of mist in the frigid air. He turned to Halvard, who nodded at the boy approvingly. Then, seeming to remember his opponent for the first time, Perseus returned to the fallen prince. Trygve stared up the thrall with something dangerously close to acceptance, and suddenly pride began to swell in Halvard's gut.
"That was… A good fight… Trygve…" Perseus said between breaths.
The words seemed to come difficult to him – and not just because of the exhaustion.
"Aye, that it was. All of them were. I thought you would give up after the third defeat, but you just kept coming."
"You said it yourself. If I didn't fight well, it was back to the fields… I had to fight. No matter what you say to me, or what becomes of us, I will fight with you and for you. I'd rather die than become a thrall again."
Halvard saw what it was immediately. Not exactly forgiveness, but an olive branch. A promise that he'd try to be better, but only if Trygve would too. Halvard only hoped his son could see it, and more importantly, be wise enough to take it.
"I can respect that," The prince admitted. "And if we're being honest with each other, I'd rather fight with someone who has nothing to lose than someone who doesn't have the courage to help me while I'm getting my ass kicked… I've said some awful things to you, but I know now which of those two people you are. If you can forgive me… Friends?"
The prince extended a hand to Perseus, who looked at it in shock for a moment. It took him a while to recover, but eventually he regained his wits. When he did, the thrall-born boy glanced at Halvard. In his unnatural eyes, Halvard could see the weight of his words lingering in the back of the boy's mind. Halvard nodded encouragingly at him, and that was enough for Perseus it seemed. Decision made, Perseus grabbed Trygve's hand and hauled the defeated prince back to his feet.
"Friends." Perseus agreed. "And perhaps one day, brothers."
Halvard's pride-filled grin stretched from England all the way back to Norway.
Perseus Thrall-Born – Odin's Rest, 882 CE
Perseus studied his adoptive brother as they walked. It had been two years now since Halvard had first taken Perseus on as his ward, and words like 'brother' and 'family' still felt foreign on his lips. For all that he and Trygve had put aside their differences, and for all the Halvard had welcomed him with open arms, he still struggled to see them as family. For him, that title was reserved for his late mother. No amount of sparring, hollow speeches, or shared mischief would ever change that fact.
With all that being said, Perseus would be lying through his teeth if he claimed he hadn't come to like Trygve. It had taken some time of course – a single sparring session wasn't an infallible remedy for strife, no matter how much Halvard wanted it to be – but eventually the former enemies had come to an accord of sorts. Trygve respected Perseus' fight. Perseus needed Trygve's friendship to maintain his freedom. It wasn't the strongest basis for a friendship, let alone a brotherhood, but it had been enough for them to form a tenuous bond. One that had ended up blossoming from a half-assed façade into a genuine companionship.
Things were still rocky at times – one could never entirely shake the faults reared in their youth – but as the two matured, stability had become the name of the game. Trygve had slowly but surely begun to shed the brash, bratty shell molded by his pampered youth. Perseus' own temper, while still immense, no longer went entirely untamed.
With their worst traits softened, the two had found common ground: A love for combat, adventure, and of course, good old-fashioned mischief. All of those things were much more real than a year of pretending to be friends. All of those things were the basis of what they were now. It was a long journey they'd taken to normalcy, but Perseus wouldn't have liked it if it hadn't been a fight.
"So, what is it you think my father wants with us?" Trygve asked out of the blue, ignorant to Perseus' reflective musings. "Do you think we're in some sort of trouble?"
Perseus – who'd been too distracted to consider the subject of their summoning at all up until now – took a few steps to think before answering.
"I don't think so." He said, voice uncertain even to himself. "We haven't been bickering recently, and I doubt anyone has discovered our latest prank just yet."
Trygve snickered, no doubt thinking back to the nefarious little scheme the duo had devised just a few nights prior. When the moon had mingled with the stars and Halvard's snores had shaken the longhouse, the two of them had sneaked out and stolen some paint, using it to scrawl a rather feminine looking fairy onto the sail of Halvard's longship. It was immature, even for boys their age, but they found the idea of a fearsome Vikingr horde flying a pixie banner into battle rather amusing. And since the king had been far too busy to go raiding recently, they'd figured it was the perfect plan to execute and forget about until it reared its humorous head a few weeks down the line.
"I suppose you're right." Trygve managed to say between cackles. "He's going to be pissed when he finds out, isn't he?"
"Aye he will." Perseus agreed, coming to a halt just outside the door to the mead hall. "But so long as he thinks it was your idea alone, we'll get off fairly easily."
Trygve rolled his eyes.
"Oh, please. If my father thought it was your idea, he'd probably order that every sail be painted the same way. We'd be the magical sea-fairy clan by this time next week."
"And you would be the prettiest fairy to ever sail the whale-road." Perseus teased. "Now come on, we're already late as is. It'd be best not to give your father another reason to flay our backsides."
With that, Perseus pushed into the feast hall, knowing Trygve was following without even having to look. Once he entered, his focus immediately shot to the center of the room, exactly where he knew Halvard would be. As always, the king's imposing figure took center stage, dwarfing anything and anyone else. This time the unfortunate victim of Halvard's overshadowing presence was a man Perses didn't recognize. That was troublesome in a place where everyone knew everyone.
Whoever this stranger was, he was locked in a rather heated discussion with the king. Their words were hushed, but their body language screamed aggression. He and Trygve crept closer, hoping to get a snippet of the secrets being traded, but Halvard spotted them too soon. All Perseus had managed to make out before they were discovered was a rather uninformative comment from the stranger about the 'Saxon pigs' and their 'cursed God'.
"Ah, there they are." Halvard boomed. "Frode, allow me to introduce you to my son, Trygve, and my young ward, Perseus. Lads, meet Jarl Frode Stensson. His clan has recently been welcomed into ours."
The man – or rather, Jarl – turned to meet them and honestly, Perseus wasn't all too impressed. Compared to Halvard, or even the other jarls Perseus had met, this 'Frode' was laughably small. His hair was thin and thinning, with the color and texture of dried hay. His skin was pale and sickly, and his cheeks were unbelievably gaunt for a man of his station.
The only notable thing about the man were his eyes, which were alight with intelligence and wit. Those keen eyes – an unsettling pale green like weathered jade – lingered first on Trygve, before eventually swiveling to Perseus. His look was guarded, but even so it was clear to see that he was eyeing them not as friends, but rather as potential enemies. Perseus wondered just how paranoid one would have to be to see rivals in the faces of children.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both." Frode said once his staring was done.
From the tone in his voice, it was clear the man thought it was anything but. The scowl on Halvard's face told him that he'd picked up on it as well. Trygve, ever the sheltered prince, took Frode's false niceties at face value and smiled at the man. While Perseus wanted nothing more than to spit in the face of the man and his feigned kindness, he forced himself to grin dumbly right alongside Trygve. Halvard would no doubt thank him for his self-restraint later.
"Now that we've all met, I believe it's time we got to the matter at hand." Frode continued, unbothered by the clear animosity handing in the air. "The two of you-"
"Perhaps it would be best if you left the explanations to me, Frode?" Halvard interrupted.
He said it like a question, but the intent was clear as day. It was not a request.
"Of course, my lord." Frode muttered through gritted teeth. "We will continue our discussion at the next meeting of the jarls, yes?"
"I look forward to it… Oh and send your daughter in on your way out."
Frode nodded curtly, and Perseus swore he could almost see the string of curses trapped behind the jarl's clenched jaw. His spite was scratching and clawing to break out, but one long look at Halvard's massive frame was enough for the jarl to hold his tongue. Then, with a pompous air unbecoming of a man so feeble, the jarl stormed out of the feast hall, dragging with him a hefty sigh from the depths of Halvard's gut.
"Have I ever told you boys how much I despise politics?" Halvard asked as soon as the door swung closed.
Perseus thought back to the endless 'lectures' on the topic that Halvard had subjected them to over the years. He distinctly remembered one particular rant in which Halvard proclaimed a borderline psychotic desire to 'impale every last ambassador and power-hungry jarl in all of Midgard.'
"You know father, I can't say that you have." Trygve mocked, thoughts in the same vein as Perseus' own. "Perhaps you'd like to spend the next few hours introducing us to your trouble?"
"I'll introduce you to the back of my fist if you don't watch your tone, boy." Halvard countered, but there was no real venom to it. Only the same sardonic tone that his son had obviously inherited from him.
"Well then," Trygve replied, taking his father's threat in stride. "Do you mind telling us what that sickly scarecrow of a man is doing at the head of an entire clan? Or what his daughter has to do with us?"
"That 'sickly scarecrow' as you so eloquently put it is the jarl of his clan because he is wickedly intelligent. The only way you rule over a bunch of burly berserkers when you're built like that is by having brains bulkier than their brawn. Trust me, men like Frode are not men to be taken lightly… As for his daughter, well, she's the whole reason he's here. I've decided to take her on as a ward, just like I have Perseus."
Perseus' eyes widened as he started to put the pieces together. A disgruntled jarl that neither he nor Trygve recognized. A sense of animosity in the air and mentions of the dreaded Saxon armies that had been plaguing rightfully claimed Vikingr land for years now. This daughter wasn't being brought in to become a ward. She was a hostage in all but name. A tool to ensure that Jarl Frode's newfound allegiance to Halvard and the Bjornar clan's kingdom was absolute.
"You mean to use her as leverage, don't you?" Perseus asked.
Halvard nodded.
"Regretfully, yes I do. Normally I am above such political games, but in truth, we need Frode as much as he needs us. The Saxons outnumber us greatly and have proven to be far more resilient than we've given them credit for. Uniting under one banner, our banner, is the best way to protect us all. Frode knows this, but that doesn't mean I trust him. No man wants to go from king to jarl, even if the only other option is death by the Saxons' hands… Bringing his daughter into the fold is the only way to make sure he's with us until the bitter end."
Not a moment after he was finished, the sound of a creaking door filled the room. The three turned their attention to the same exit Frode had stormed through just in time to see her arrive. A girl unlike any Perseus had seen before. She was young, probably around his and Trygve's ages, but that wasn't what made her remarkable. Then again, there wasn't one singular feature that did that. It was more her… Well… Everything.
Long ringlets of honey-brown hair tumbled over narrow shoulders, strewn haphazardly about like a nest of coiled chestnut serpents. High cheekbones, a slightly upturned nose, and fair skin gave her the ethereal appearance of, ironically a winter fairy. An angular chin and gaunt cheeks – which somehow looked so much better on her than on her father – completed the image. Even more spectacular were her almond-shaped eyes, whose deep and verdant green struck a chord in Perseus he hadn't known existed until that very moment.
"Woah." Trygve muttered from beside him.
"Yeah." Perseus agreed.
The girl, unbothered by their gaping stares, floated her way over to them with doe-like grace. She passed them by, shooting them a half-smile, half-smirk that made Perseus' stomach flip, before coming to a stop in front of King Halvard himself. She flashed him a full, snowy white smile, earning shallow gasps from Perseus and Trygve along with a rumbling chuckle from Halvard.
"My father has told me a lot about you, King Halvard." The girl said, voice equal parts airy and respectful.
"Oh? I do hope I live up to his adoring depiction."
"Adoring isn't the word I'd use." The girl said amicably. "Scathing would probably fit better."
"I'm sure it would." Halvard agreed through a chuckle. "Luckily for us, there is little harm his bitter remarks can do here. He is returning home daughterless, and we are standing here with a new addition to our family. I'd say we are the victors today."
"The pleasure is all mine." The girl insisted.
"You say that, but it's only because you've yet to truly meet the boys. Why don't you introduce yourself fully while I make sure the servants have your room ready for you?"
The girl nodded good-naturedly, prompting Halvard to head off in the direction of the living quarters. The girl was smiling, but Trygve and Percy were exchanging nervous looks. With Halvard gone, they were expected to actually speak to the wintry delight standing before them. All of a sudden, Percy found himself cursing the fact that Halvard spent so long teaching them to fight when he could've been teaching them to flirt.
"So, my name is Liv Frodadóttir." The girl told them. She stuck a dainty hand toward them, the same teasing half-smirk reappearing on her face now that Halvard was gone. "And you two are?"
Alex Jackson – Cordova, Alaska, 2017 CE
Alex didn't like being back in Alaska. Nope, not one bit. The place was far too wild for his taste. Too dangerous. There were too many monsters roaming around unchecked. Too many chances for the terrain itself to kill you. Hell, even the air, supercharged with a suffocating and ancient power, was a pain to breath in. To his knowledge, Alaska was the closest thing the natural world had to Tartarus. Of course, the major distinction being that while Tartarus was a sentient body of pure hatred and suffering, Alaska was just colder than Boreas' balls.
Thankfully, he and Annabeth didn't have to waste any time traipsing through the wilderness blindly searching for one man among the millions of untamed acres. The gods had been insistent that the man they were searching for was somewhere in Cordova, which meant they could avoid such pains. Still, while limiting their search to the relative safety and comfort of civilization was a boon, it had its downsides. Namely, the harsh looks they were getting every time they asked one of the townsfolk for help.
They'd had little luck so far, even with such a limited search zone. It seemed that the people of Cordova weren't too fond of outsiders, and stopping them to say 'hey, seen any Vikings recently?' was about as helpful as a bum leg. While it was disappointing to say the least, they didn't really have any other options. All they could do was patrol downtown Cordova – if a town of about three thousand could even have a downtown – and hope that the answers they sought would fall into their laps. So far, the Fates hadn't been so kind.
"I'm just saying," Alex found himself muttering through frozen lips, "It would be a lot easier to find this guy if you let me call Mrs. O'Leary. She'd sniff this 'Perseus' out in about two seconds flat."
"And I'm just saying that we want to start off on the right foot with him, and there aren't many things less diplomatic than a tank-sized hellhound. If we show up with her barking up a storm and he's not in a sparing mood, there's a good chance you'll end up down one obscenely large pet."
Alex frowned bitterly. Admittedly, Annabeth was right, but that didn't mean accepting his defeat tasted any less sour.
"Okay, fine. You're right… Again." He mumbled. "But it's not like you've come up with anything bett-"
Annabeth raised a finger, cutting him off just before he could salvage what remained of his pride.
"Yes I am, and yes I have." She said with a smirk, nodding toward a building across the street. "Look there."
Alex followed her gaze, which led him to a small, rustic looking building nestled between a run-down inn and a tiny pharmacy. A wooden sign hung over the entrance, where the name Anna's Tavern was carved in a simple, dyslexia-friendly font. The place seemed to be fairly popular too. It was only six p.m. and there was already a decent hum of crowd noise emanating from the presumably packed interior.
"You think he's holed up in there somewhere? Alex asked, eyeing the bar with curiosity now.
Annabeth shrugged.
"Vikings like booze, right?"
"We're really going to boil down our search to a generalization like that?" Alex questioned with a growing smirk of his own. "That's not very 'daughter of wisdom' of you."
"Oh, fuck off." Annabeth shot back, giving him a playful shove. "We've been freezing our asses off for hours now. I'm too cold and frustrated to think properly. The way I see it right now, either we find Perseus in there, or we find some industrial heating. Maybe both."
"Heating?" Alex murmured, as if he'd forgotten the meaning of the word. "By the gods, Annabeth, why didn't you say so earlier? Lead the way."
And so, laughing at his theatrics all the while, the two trudged their way over to the crowded bar. Whether he was more eager to find their target or to escape the cold, Alex had no idea.
The first thing that jumped out at him when they entered? The place truly was packed. At least by small town standards. Almost every booth was filled, and the various tables strewn about the open floor were equally crowded. It seemed that the entire town had come here to blow off some steam after their nine-to-fives. The only place with any openings in the entire building was the bar itself, which was being manned by a tall, black-haired fellow in an ugly looking sweater.
"So, what's the plan?" Alex asked. "Do we just sit at some stranger's table and strike up a conversation, or…?"
"Bar." Was Annabeth's eloquent reply. "If there's anyone who would know where to find someone in a town like this, it's the bartender."
She took his hand in hers as she spoke, tugging him through the throngs of people toward the bar. Odd music was playing overhead as they walked, barely audible over the ruckus of the growing crowd, but definitely still loud enough to be noticed. It was… Strange.
The music had a rhythmic, almost hypnotic drumbeat, and was backed up by what sounded like flutes, a lyre, and maybe even a… Was that a horn? The singing was weird too; a deep and guttural droning in a language he didn't understand. The other patrons didn't seem to notice or mind it though, so maybe it was just an Alaskan cultural thing he didn't understand. Who knew? Annabeth, probably.
He turned to ask her about it, but when he did, he found she'd already dragged him all the way to the bar. Annabeth was sitting on a stool already, so he slid in next to her and waited while she tried to flag down the busy bartender. It took a while, but eventually the man noticed them and strolled on over. His clothes – namely a fire engine red Christmas sweater featuring a bear wearing a Santa hat – drew Alex's eye at first, but as the man stalked closer, he felt his gaze start to be pulled upwards until… It took all his power just to keep his jaw from dropping.
The man – who Alex had initially written off as an average mortal – was anything but. In fact, if Alex didn't know any better, he would say this guy was his long-lost cousin. They had the same black hair, similar facial features, and a familiar 'ocean-y aura'. There were differences of course, the most notable of which being the man's eyes. While Alex's eyes were an almost ethereal sea green, the man's eyes were a deep and foreboding blue, so dark they seemed to shimmer between black and blue with the changing light. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. This guy had godly blood in him. This guy was born of the sea, just like Alex was.
"Out of town-ers?" The man asked, noticing their overwhelmed look. The pair nodded awkwardly, wondering if the man knew he was the cause of their shock.
"I figured as much. Not many unfamiliar faces turn up around these parts, especially at this time of year… Anyway, what can I get for you folks?"
Naturally, Annabeth was the first to recover from her stupor. Alex was too busy marveling at the carbon copy of himself that spent less time tanning, and more time guzzling protein and human growth hormone.
"We didn't really come here to drink." Annabeth answered. The bartender frowned.
"Oh?" he raised a brow quizzically. "If you're not drinking, there's not much else we can do for you here. If you were hoping to find a room, there's a nice inn just next door."
"We're looking for someone actually." Alex said, deciding to cut to the chase.
Again, the barman frowned.
"I'm not sure how much help I'll be. But I suppose it couldn't hurt to try. Who is it you're hoping to find?"
"We're looking for someone who goes by the name Perseus Thrall-Born." Annabeth cut in. Her voice was friendly enough, but her eyes were stormy and intense. "We were hoping you could… point us to him."
The man blinked at them, shocked, but he covered up his surprise almost as quickly as it had surfaced.
"Well, you've found him." Perseus said, voice suddenly guarded. "Now, what can old raven-feeder do for you?"
Annabeth Chase-Jackson – Cordova, Alaska, 2017 CE
As it turned out, there wasn't much Perseus could do for them, at least not right away. Before the two could get a word in edgewise, a massive influx of new customers had tromped into the bar. Perseus had given them one last glance and a promise to meet them 'at closing time' before heading off to greet the new arrivals. So, with nothing to do but wait, the couple had left him to his work, somehow managing to claim an unoccupied booth in the darkest corner of the crowded bar.
The hours ticked by at a snail's pace, eating away at what little patience Annabeth had left. The frustration from their long search, coupled with her insatiable curiosity and the stress of the entire mission had culminated in Annabeth becoming one seriously unhappy camper. If Alex hadn't been there to crack jokes and tell stories to pass the time, she had no doubt that she would've ended up bashing her skull against a wall.
Eventually, after what seemed like days rather than hours, the rowdy crowd finally began to thin. It was only a little while later that the last of the bar's patrons stumbled out of the tavern and into the biting cold. With the mortals gone, there was nothing except for the howling wind outside and the soft scrape of towel against countertop as Perseus wiped down the bar.
In that small moment of peace and quiet, the insanity of the situation finally began to creep in. They were alone, out of sight from both godly and mortal eyes, with one of the most prolific demigod killers in history. As far as stressful experiences in her life went, this was definitely near the top, and that was saying something.
As it often did, the anxiety of the situation caused her demigod ADHD to act up to the nth degree. A single glance at Alex told her he was experiencing the same thing. For him, that meant fidgeting incessantly. For her, that meant scanning her surroundings over and over and over again. She took in every little detail. Her eyes lingered on the taxidermy moose head, then they swerved to the wobbly barstool with one uneven leg, then finally to the myriad of pictures hanging from the walls.
Most were of little interest – no wonder she hadn't paid them any mind up until now – but there was one in particular that caught her eye. It was an old photo – probably about fifty years old – tucked into a rather nondescript frame. What made the picture interesting was who was in it. On the left, a young woman with wavy brown hair and shiny green eyes. To her right, with an arm thrown over her shoulder and a broad grin on his face, was the very same bartender, the very same Viking they'd met just hours before.
He looked exactly the same then as he did now. Tall, muscled, and handsome, though in a different way than she was used to. Annabeth was familiar with the bad boy surfer good looks of Alex, the movie star chiseled face of Jason Grace, and the perfectly symmetrical handsomeness of the gods like Zeus and Poseidon. What she wasn't used to was the rugged, dangerous attractiveness that Perseus exuded. He was attractive in the way that skydiving or fighting monsters while armed with only a ping pong paddle was attractive. Enticing, but in the worst sort of way. She decided she much preferred Alex. Being a demigod was dangerous enough without thousand-year-old murder machines in Christmas sweaters.
"Who do you think that is?" Alex asked, nodding toward the girl in the photo. He must've noticed where she was looking, Annabeth realized. "A girlfriend? A wife?"
"Neither." The Viking's gruff voice interrupted.
Annabeth jumped, and she felt Alex do the same beside her. Somehow, they hadn't heard the man coming. Since when were Viking warriors sneaky? Or maybe he hadn't been quiet at all, and they'd truly just been that distracted. Either way, Perseus seemed quite amused by their shock. He chuckled darkly as he slid into the booth across from them. Seeds of doubt began to take root in Annabeth's gut.
"That's Anna Collins." Perseus continued, when neither said anything. "I assume since the two of you knew where to find me, you know of my… history?"
Annabeth nodded. The gods hadn't been too forthcoming with the information, but she figured she knew enough to make sense of whatever he was going to say next.
"Well, she was the one who released me from the ice. I nearly killed her at first, but… She reminded me of someone I once knew. It was a good thing I spared her, because she ended up teaching me everything I needed to know about the modern world. Modern English, for one, along with all the other crazy shit the mortals have come up with in the past millennium or so."
"So, not a girlfriend." Alex summarized.
"No, not a girlfriend," Perseus echoed. "but a friend when I had no one at all. We started this bar together, in fact. We called it 'Jupiter's Rest' at the time, but when she passed, I changed the name. It felt right. A bar named after the daughter of Bacchus, or I suppose Dionysus given present company. It seemed much more fitting than a bar named after an asshat in a marble throne."
Annabeth felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Not because he'd insulted Zeus, but because he'd just let slip that he knew not only that they were demigods, but that they were Greek demigods as well. Whatever upper hand they'd hoped to have by catching him unaware, they'd lost in only a sentence.
"You, uh, you know we're Greeks?" Alex asked, echoing Annabeth's own worried thoughts.
Perseus rolled his eyes at them.
"Please. I've killed more than enough demigods in my day – both Greek and Roman – to tell them apart by now."
The nonchalance with which he made such a statement sent shivers up Annabeth's spine. He wasn't just reminding them of how dangerous he was or that he felt no remorse for his actions. He was saying it goadingly, like he wanted them to get upset about it. To draw their weapons and defend the honor of their forebearers. It was like he wanted a fight.
She could tell that Alex wanted to take the bait – the tough set in his jaw and his white-knuckle grip on the table were proof enough of that – but she put a hand on his arm to restrain him. They couldn't risk challenging Perseus, at least not yet. For now, it was in their best interest to take the insults on the chin, even if swallowing her pride stung like all hell.
"Riling us up won't be that easy." Annabeth told him, even though it almost was. "We're here on a mission more important than your ego or ours."
"How disappointing. It's been too long since I've had a proper fight." Perseus drawled.
He leaned back now, placing two booted feet on the tabletop. It seemed with Perseus, if there wasn't going to be any fighting, there wasn't going to be even a tiny modicum of respect or decorum either.
"The gods sent us." Annabeth pressed on, unwilling to let his dismissive attitude delay their mission. "They, we, need your help, and they sent us to get it."
"My help?" Perseus asked. He raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested again. "Are you certain that whatever job they gave you wasn't just a pretense to send you two to your deaths?"
"What makes you say that?" Alex asked.
"The fact that they sent your little girlfriend with you. Sending a son of Poseidon makes sense. They probably figured you'd be able to convince me, one son of the sea to another, but her…" Perseus swiveled now, staring at her with those impossibly intense eyes. "Why they would send you if they actually wanted my help, I have no idea. They had to know how insulting your presence would be to me."
"Insulting?" Annabeth echoed hotly, suddenly on the defensive now. "Why would it be insulting? Do you have a problem with Athena, because-"
"I have a problem with all gods. Athena or Odin, it doesn't matter. They can all rot in the void for all I care… You see, it's not the goddess I have a problem with."
He dropped his boots from the table, slamming them into the wood floor. He slowly leaned across the table, stopping only when his face was inches from Annabeth's own. His eyes were narrowed now and filled with hate.
"It's her children who I despise."
That was it for Alex, it seemed. Any diplomatic bone he'd had in his body had crumpled to dust in the face of such a blatant threat toward his wife. The son of Poseidon jumped from his seat, stormed around the table, and hoisted Perseus by the front of his sweater. To his credit, Perseus didn't even blink as Alex tugged him from the booth and slammed him against the wall.
"Alex, stop!" Annabeth hissed.
She understood his anger, she was feeling it too after all, but if even half of what the gods told them about Perseus was true, then this guy was dangerous. Winning the fight would be hard enough. Succeeding in their mission without him? Near impossible. For better or worse, they needed the deliberately antagonistic bastard.
"Ignore her." Perseus said with a battle-hungry grin. "I have high hopes about you."
Without any further warning, Perseus shoved Alex off him with obscene strength. Alex was sent stumbling back, nearly tripping over a chair and then a table before he finally recovered his balance. While Alex was struggling to regain his footing, Perseus simply stood calmly, arms outstretched, waiting for… something.
Annabeth blinked, and suddenly, a shield and axe were flying toward the demigod, not unlike "Thor's" hammer from that Avengers movie Alex had made her watch a while back. The man, less surprised by his weaponry than she was, caught the equipment with practiced ease. Meanwhile Alex, who was fully recovered by now, drew Anaklusmos. Perseus' wide grin grew wider at the sight.
"Perhaps you will be the one who finally bests me, son of Poseidon. What a pleasant surprise that would be."
Annabeth wasn't sure what to do. If she jumped in and helped Alex, that might ruin any chances of getting Perseus' help. He may be willing to overlook whatever bias he had against Athenian children now, but after she crossed blades with him? But if she didn't help, she was leaving her husband to fight a crazed lunatic.
For the first time in her life, the weight of a decision left her entirely frozen. She was able to do nothing but watch on in abject horror as the Viking banged his axe against his shield and prepared to fight. Perseus, sensing her eyes on him, sent a terrifying smirk her way. One that said, 'watch what I do to your little boyfriend', and then the action began.
Alex made the first move, rushing the Viking with an angry war cry. He moved swiftly, with the trained grace of an expert swordsman, but it mattered not. Perseus, it seemed, had no interest in actually exchanging blows with Alex at all. Instead, the ancient warrior used the head of his axe to hook the underside of the nearest table. With a grunt, he scooped the table up and sent it hurtling through the air toward Alex, flipping about like some wooden, four-legged cannonball.
Alex, not expecting the unorthodox attack, barely reacted in time. Luckily, his demigod reflexes came to the rescue, allowing him to slice the table in two just in time. The halved table parted before him, crashing to the ground on either side of him with two heavy thuds. While he'd successfully dodged the opening move, the surprise attack had left him unprepared for what happened next. Perseus himself. With his opponent suitably distracted, the Viking had moved in and launched his first real assault; a deadly overhead swing from his axe.
"Watch out!" Annabeth shouted helpfully.
But Alex didn't need it. He backed away from the blow just in time, only earning the tiniest of nicks on his cheek for the error. By demigod standards, it wasn't even an injury at all, only for some reason, the tiny cut sent Alex stumbling back, clutching at his cheek and groaning in pain.
"Di immortales!" Alex growled out. "What did you do with that thing? Dunk it in pit scorpion venom?"
"Not quite." Perseus said with a chuckle. "But I'm glad to know my axe hasn't lost its edge."
Alex didn't bother to respond. Instead, he launched another attack, this one far more calculated than the first. He began with a feint toward the feet, and surprisingly, it worked. Perseus took the bait, lowering his shield to block the blow that never happened. Alex followed up with a swing up high, aiming to cleave Perseus' head from his shoulders. Then, with unbelievable speed, Perseus raised his shield, catching the blow at the very last second.
He had only pretended to take the bait, Annabeth realized, because now Alex's sword was caught in the impossibly tough wood of the Viking's shield. It had been a clever trick supported by both his equipment and his supreme physical ability. Not a move Annabeth or Alex would've ever suspected could be pulled off, even by themselves.
Alex, stunned by the sudden resistance of the shield, hesitated a moment before managing to tug his weapon free. It was only a blink, but it was all Perseus needed. Reaching down with his axe, Perseus hooked Alex's ankle and yanked as hard as he could, forcibly pulling Alex's foot out from under him. A knee to the gut was all it took to put Alex off balance entirely. He slammed into the ground with a heavy thud, and Perseus started to raise his axe for a finishing blow.
Time seemed to slow then. Seconds turned into hours, and everything moved at less than a crawl. Desperately, Annabeth ran through all the things she could do to save Alex. She wasn't fast enough to intercept the blow, but she was fast enough to stop Perseus with words, if only she could figure out what to say. She just had to think… Her mind was blank… What could she do…?
It was Zeus of all people that saved her. A tiny, seemingly insignificant comment that made all the difference now. 'Connection to the blackstone', Zeus had said, right? It was better than doing nothing.
"It's about blackstone!" Annabeth shouted.
Perseus' axe stopped just before he started to bring it down. The ancient warrior's gaze whipped to her in an instant.
"What did you just say?" he asked, eyes wide.
She saw shock, anger, and fear in there, all jumbled into one big ugly hodgepodge of emotion. His axe leveled itself at her, daring her to lie. Annabeth gulped.
"Blackstone." She repeated. "Someone is mining blackstone from the Mariana trench. We don't know why, but Alex needs your help to find out who it is and stop them."
Perseus looked at her, then to Alex, then back to her. The deep ocean blue of his eyes swirled at hurricane speeds. He let out a painful roar of raw emotion, and faster than she could track, whipped his axe at the far wall. It slammed into the wood-paneling with a thunk, sinking so deep into the wall that the axe head disappeared entirely.
"Not a fan of the stuff?" Alex – who'd just scrambled to his feet – asked.
"Fuck no." The son of Aegir snarled. "You wanted my help? You've got it and more. We're finding the madman responsible, and when we do, we're putting him down. Permanently."
Alex and Annabeth shared a look. If they had known it would be that easy, they would've mentioned the stuff the first chance they had.
"We're uh… We're glad to have you on board. We can leave first thing in the morning." Annabeth replied.
She wasn't actually happy about it– he was an antagonistic, two-screws-loose, homicidal maniac torn from time who'd just been seconds away from killing her husband after all – but she wasn't going to be the one to tell him all that. Instead, she opted for feigned cordiality. If not to be polite, then to be safe.
"No." Perseus countered. "We leave now. You want my help; we waste no time. Deal?"
Once again, the couple shared a look. Like they often did after so many years together, they understood each other without even a single word being spoken. Together as one, they nodded.
"Deal."
AN:
Some things I want to discuss. First, in the medieval chapters. Yes, I realize Liv's entrance is a bit over the top. Keep in mind though, that scene was written from Percy's perspective. His life has been spent exclusively with his mother, fellow slaves, and now Trygve and Halvard. This is his first time dealing with a girl his age who's not only pretty, but of high enough station to show it. Of course he got his socks blown off. As for Liv herself, I know she seemed a bit saccharin, but keep in mind she's a smart girl who knows exactly what she's been sent to Odin's Rest for. If you were a political prisoner, you'd probably be trying to win over your captors too. Anyways, her character will see plenty of expansion in the coming chapters, so fret not.
In the modern chapters, I wanted to talk about Percy. I realize there are a lot of questions. Why is he so angry? Why is he so antagonistic? What's the deal with his hatred for Athenian kids? And how the hell does he have Mjolnir rip off weaponry and a shield with wood strong enough to keep Riptide stuck? Are you starting to see why this story is told with both timelines happening at once? How frustrating would it be if you knew the answers to all these questions already? Does it piss you off that this entire paragraph is literally a bunch of questions?
All that aside, I really hope y'all are enjoying this story so far. I'm having so much fun with it, especially with the whole switching timelines thing. I think it's really interesting to see how Percy's changed before we see why. Also of note, Liv's arrival and Percy's appearance in modern day mean that all the most important characters for each timeline are on the field. It's full steam ahead from now on. Next chapter, be on the lookout for plot stuff and Percy finally being called Percy instead of Perseus. (You might not care, but typing Perseus was getting old, lol). Anyways, I love y'all, thank you for all the support. Stay happy, stay healthy, and until next time,
Peace