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Notes and Etymology
Holmgang – A Viking duel used to settle disputes. Rules varied depending on what the fighters agreed to, but the duels were usually fought in a confined area and were often recognized as legally binding.
Forseti's Favored – A kenning used to refer to diplomats. Used in reference to Forseti, the Norse god of Justice and Reconciliation. Could be meant insultingly depending on context.
Languages – While the entire story is written in modern English, it should be noted that Old Norse is the language being spoken in most historical scenes. In this chapter we will finally meet some Anglo-Saxons, who will instead be speaking Old English. This is an important note, as the idea of language will play a small (but important) role in this chapter. From this chapter onward, assume any scene with only Norsemen is using Old Norse, and any scene with a Saxon involved in the conversation is using Old English unless otherwise specified.
Freya – Norse goddess of love, beauty, fertility, war, death, and sorcery.
Leofric – A name derived from the old English words 'Leof' (beloved) and 'Ric' (ruler) meaning Beloved Ruler.
Cynefrith – A latinized variant of the name Cynefrið derived from the old English words 'Cyne' (royal) and 'friþ' (peace) meaning Royal Peace.
Bear-Shirt(s) – A kenning typically used to describe a berserker.
Liv Frodadóttir – Odin's Rest, 884 CE
Trygve's plan was a shoddy one at best, though Liv supposed that was typical for ideas born from months of cabin fever. Most well-adjusted fourteen-year-olds would've laughed in his face, but when he'd come to her with a plan to do something besides sewing with the noble girls of Odin's Rest, she hadn't bothered to ask any questions. Instead, she simply ditched her needle and cloth and donned her cloak.
With Liv on board, Trygve took her to execute the next step in his rule breaking masterplan. Unsurprisingly, it was the one step present in all of his plans. Together, the pair set off to find the one person just as willing as they were to do something reckless in the name of fun. They set off to find Perseus Thrall-Born.
One of the best things about Percy – other than his utter refusal to abide by any rules he felt were arbitrary or otherwise unjust – was how easy it was to find him at any given moment. The guy spent most of his time on the training grounds, and if he wasn't there, it was a virtual guarantee that he could be found at the docks or in his room.
In truth, the former thrall didn't do much, which made him the perfect person when you needed an accomplice in a moment's notice. Much to Liv's excitement, that fact still seemed to hold true, as the moment the training fields came into sight, so too did the final member of their infamous triumvirate.
He was standing amid a cloud of freshly kicked up dust, axe in one arm, shield on the other. His axe, always polished to a painfully bright sheen, twirled around in dazzling circles as he moved about, slicing his way through an army of invisible foes. His movements were fluid beyond possibility. Precise beyond belief. Practiced to a level that should've been unattainable for someone as young as he was. The display was, in a word, beautiful.
A year ago, she wouldn't've been so appreciative of his ability. A year ago, all fighting would've looked much the same to her. Now, after all her tutelage from both Percy and Trygve, she could see exactly how skilled he was. She'd learned a lot from the both of them. Improved a lot. While she knew she was good, and Trygve was better, neither of them would ever be able to emulate the artistry of Percy's axe strokes. Somehow, some way, Percy had turned his bearded axe into a paintbrush made of carefully molded steel.
Though they were relatively rushed, the pair silently agreed to let Percy finish what he was doing. By now, they had both gotten used to the former thrall's quirks. One of them being that each fight against his armies of invisible Saxons was as real to him as the haft of his axe. Interrupting him before he 'won' would only put him in a sour mood, and the last thing they needed was for him to soil their precious free time with his pouting.
It was a while before Percy finished his session, but eventually he 'killed' his last opponent. They watched on as he slid his shield onto his back and dropped his axe into a loop on his belt. A hand wiped sweat from his brow and he turned to the watchful eyes he no doubt felt on his back. Then, suddenly, all the waiting was worth it, because he saw them and flashed that all too familiar smile that Liv had come to find so annoyingly endearing.
"Trygve. Liv," he greeted, giving them both a nod as he jogged over. "To what do I owe the presence of such esteemed royalty?"
Trygve shifted uncomfortably. He always hated being reminded of his higher status. Liv was pretty sure that's why Percy mentioned it so much. Brothers being brothers and all that.
"My father fears that if we leave you alone for too long, you'll end up with your fist down Geir's throat."
"It's more likely that my boot winds up so far up his ass he tastes leather," Percy joked. "But in all seriousness, what brings the two of you here? I thought you already had plans for the day."
Trygve grinned.
"My father called an emergency meeting of the jarls this morning. Something about the Saxons growing bolder. You know how much he worries about those Christian bastards… Point is, he's too busy to lecture me, which means the day is ours to waste."
"And what of you?" Percy asked, turning his gaze onto Liv. "I thought Halvard was forcing you to play nice with the other girls in the longhouse."
"He was never forcing me," Liv corrected. "More so heavily suggesting it. My father has taken issue with how I've been spending my free time, namely that I've been spending it learning to fight with you two. King Halvard merely pointed out that it was in our mutual best interest to keep my father happy, lest he end up doing something stupid and finding himself in a holmgang against Halvard himself."
Percy's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
"You think your father would dare to challenge Halvard? He would be split in two like firewood."
"He would," Liv agreed. "Which is why he would never issue the challenge himself. But if he were angry, he might grow foolish enough to insult King Halvard in front of his men, at which point the King would have no choice but to challenge him himself."
"And yet you're still with us now." Trygve pointed out. "Have you decided that dear old Frode isn't worth the trouble?"
"I decided that if it came to that, my father would likely force one of his soldiers to face King Halvard in the holmgang in his stead. I weighed the chances of my father doing his own dirty work against the chances of sewing practice literally boring me to death and, well, here I am."
"A damn shame," Percy said with an exaggerated frown. "I only ended my training because I thought we were going to knit a quilt."
"Next time, my friend," Trygve replied with a laugh. "Today we were planning to venture out into the forest for a while. I overhead one of my father's men mentioning a hot spring a few miles away. We wanted to check it out. Are you on board?"
"Am I on board with a trip outside Odin's Rest that isn't ruined by a babysitting battalion of three dozen soldiers? Trygve, I'm deeply offended you even felt the need to ask me that question."
"We thought you'd say as much," Liv said through an excited smile. "All we need now is a way to get out of the city without being caught. Trygve figured you'd have an idea about that."
Percy's brow furrowed in thought as though he were contemplating something. A few seconds passed before the creases in his forehead smoothened, seemingly coming to a decision.
"I think I've got just the thing," He told them. "Follow me."
And so they did. With Percy in the lead, the trio navigated their way through the bustling midday streets of Odin's Rest. It was slow work, but manageable. So long as they blended with the crowds and stuck to the shadows, they were able to sneak their way past the obscene number of guards Halvard had posted throughout the city. Even at their measured pace, they still made it to the outskirts of the city before Trygve could get too impatient.
When they reached the wall, Percy led them along the structure until they stumbled into a patch of unusually untamed shrubbery pushed up against the stones. They ducked behind the bushes, where Percy peeled back a hanging sheet of canvas to reveal a hole going beneath the wall. It was a tight squeeze, and Percy was unnaturally tightlipped about when he'd dug the hole – or if he'd even been the one to dig it at all – but it served their purpose, so they held their tongues.
Once they were out in the forest, Liv finally felt the freedom she'd been craving for months now. There were no constricting walls, watchful soldiers, or overbearing nannies making sure she played nice. Just an endless expanse of rolling hills, towering ash trees, and prickly berry bushes as far as the eye could see. The smell of baking bread and molten steel that hung in the air of Odin's Rest was gone, replaced by the crisp, honey flavored scent of the autumn wind. With Percy and Trygve by her side and with such beauty ahead of her, Liv decided that this was most certainly worth ditching her needle work.
"Alright, I've done my part," Percy said. "Now, which way to the hot spring?"
"That way." Trygve answered, pointing off in a seemingly random direction. "The soldier said it was a few miles to the north."
Liv rolled her eyes and reached over to nudge Trygve's arm ninety degrees to the left.
"North is that way." She corrected.
"Why must you always get so hung up on the details?" Trygve complained. "Can't you just let things be fun?"
"Details are important," Liv chided. "Hot springs are fun. Wandering aimlessly through the forest and never finding a hot spring isn't."
"We'd best get moving, yeah?" Percy asked, stopping whatever retort Trygve had in the works. "Halvard will notice our absence soon enough, and I'd much rather he catches us on the way back than on the way there."
Trygve grunted in agreement at that. Then, with the idea of capture freshly planted in their minds, the trio set out on a breakneck pace. The ash trees, while tall and thick, were widely spread, leaving cracks in the canopy that let light through like veins flowing full of liquid gold. With such distance between any obstacles and such invigorating beauty overhead, they were able to cover a lot of ground very quickly. Before they knew it, they'd managed to put a heap of miles between themselves and the looming walls of Odin's Rest.
Eventually the three of them stumbled across a flowery glade. In it, a field of hastily assembled tents stood like canvas daisies. Armor clad men armed with spears, short swords, and small round shields milled about. The men were smaller than the soldiers of Odin's rest, and many had bare faces.
Sentries were posted around the camp in pairs, each watching different sections of the forest for movement. It was only by sheer luck that they had gotten so close unseen. Based on the number of tents and the number of men, at least half the encampment's soldiers were off somewhere else, leaving their watch undermanned. Even still, there was a pair of sentries dangerously close by, and just a single glance over the shoulder would spell trouble for the three of them.
"Saxons?" Trygve breathed, sounding bewildered. "What are they doing so close to Odin's Rest?"
"Your father says that they've been pushing into the outer reaches of his domain. I never imagined they'd manage to get so many men this deep into our territory though… This is bad. We should warn the Jarls." Percy whispered back.
Liv shook her head.
"Not yet. One of us needs to get closer and find out what they're doing here," Liv told them. "Knowing if this is a just a large scouting party or a part of a greater raiding army will help them plan."
"Smart," Trygve complimented. "So, who goes?"
Immediately, Liv's eyes slid to Percy, just as Trygve's own gaze locked on his adoptive brother. Percy, whose attention was on the Saxon sentries, didn't notice at first. When no one spoke, he turned back to them, only to see that they were both staring at him. Realization dawned on his face, and almost immediately his eyes grew stormy.
"What? Why am I the one being volunteered?"
"Because Trygve's as quiet as a pregnant goat and I didn't bring any weapons. If one of us gets spotted, it's better that it's the person with a chance of fighting back." Liv explained.
Percy shook his head.
"This won't work. I-"
"All that time in the practice yard and suddenly you're afraid of a few Saxons?" Trygve asked. "Percy, trust me, you can take those English fucks in your sleep."
"I know I can. And you should know that's not my issue." Percy grumbled.
Liv reached out and grabbed his shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze.
"It'll be alright, Percy. We'll be right with you if anything goes wrong."
Percy's eyes shot skyward in a 'I-swear-these-people-will-be-the-death-of-me' look. Then, he let out an exaggerated sigh before unslinging his shield from his back and tugging his axe from his belt. He gave them both a pointed look as he shrugged his shield onto his arm.
"Fine, I'll do it. But I reserve the right to gloat when this ends up being a waste of our time."
And with that tremendous vote of confidence, Percy embarked on his 'waste of time'. He moved sluggishly, creeping his way through the underbrush like a wolf on the prowl. It was slow going – especially compared to the feverish pace they'd been traveling at before finding the Saxon camp – but before long he was halfway to the sentries, who hadn't so much as thought about looking his way.
"What are they saying?" Trygve whisper-yelled over the distance.
Percy whipped around and shot him a glare, placing one shushing finger over his lips. He crept a few steps closer to the Saxons, putting him only a stone's throw away, before glancing back. He tapped his hand against his ear a few times before mouthing, 'I can't hear them'.
Liv frowned at that. He was well within hearing distance by now. Unless the Saxons were whispering or Percy had been half-deaf this entire time without anyone noticing, something else was going on. Still, there would be time to discuss the issue later. She waved him back, deciding it was best to trust Percy's gut if he was feeling that uneasy.
Nodding in appreciation, Percy started to move back to them. He glided across the terrain for a few steps, and for a while all seemed well, but then disaster struck. Stepping a bit too carelessly, Percy brought his foot down on a dry twig. It crumpled under his weight, snapping in half and letting out a crack louder than anything Liv had ever heard before. For a blink, it seemed the Saxons hadn't heard the noise, but then…
"Christ! They've found us!" One of the sentries shouted in hurried English.
A lot of things happened at once after that. From within the camp, a hunting horn echoed. Someone had heard the sentries cry and sounded the alarm. Ahead of them, the two Saxon soldiers brandished their spears and readied themselves to charge. Closer by, Percy was already springing into action.
His arm cocked back, his throat let out a guttural cry, and then his axe was in the air. It spun end over end, glinting in the sunlight as it soared toward the unprepared Saxon soldiers. The axe buried itself in the nearer Saxon's face with a sickening crack, sinking deep into his skull and earning a shout of horror from his compatriot.
Not waiting for the other man to recover from his shock, Percy followed behind his thrown weapon. He was on the Saxon in seconds, wielding his shield like a hammer to bash away at bone and flesh. The Englishman screamed in pain as he was battered toward unconsciousness. After only a few swings he joined his fallen friend on the forest floor.
Liv and Trygve didn't have time to waste. The Saxons in the camp were already taking up arms, and the sentries from around the glade were already headed their way. With nowhere else to go, the pair ran over to Percy's side. They scooped up the weapons dropped by the slain soldiers, mindful to avoid the pooling blood leaking from the first man's cleaved face. Trygve looked a bit uncomfortable with a spear instead of a sword, and Liv wished it were her own weapon she was holding, but there wasn't much to be done. Borrowed spears from bloodied men would have to do for now.
"Fuck, Percy!" Trygve hissed. "Why didn't you just run?"
"I don't know if you know this or not, but spears can be thrown too." Percy snapped.
Almost like they were aiming to prove his point, one of the approaching Saxons decided to launch his spear their way. It whizzed through the air like a shooting star, whistling as it closed in. Percy threw his shield up to block it, but was only fast enough to divert its path, not stop it outright. The weapon glanced off his shield, narrowly missing his nose and instead leaving a cut on his cheek as it hurtled by. Percy snarled in pain, banged his axe against his shield, and then charged the approaching Saxons.
"Percy, there's too many of them! We need to go!" Liv shouted. He didn't answer her. He just kept running. "He's going to get himself killed!" She cried.
Trygve raised his spear.
"So, let's save him then."
And then he went to join Percy, who had just made contact with the fastest of the Saxon men. Liv shook her head in sheer disbelief at the foolishness of the boys. Then, resigned to whatever happened next, she readjusted her grip on her salvaged spear and charged toward the approaching Saxons. There, she took up a place on Percy's right wing. Together, the trio took on the brunt of the Saxon force. They fought, and fought, and when that was done, they fought some more.
She wasn't sure exactly how long it lasted. All she knew was that by the end of it, she'd felled more men than she had ever thought herself capable of. Percy and Trygve were even more devastating than her. They fought more like monsters than trained men, despite being only boys themselves. It was evident that the Saxons were beginning to fear all three of them. Then, just when it seemed like they were about to rout the Englishmen, a hunting horn rang out through the forest once more.
This horn blast, unlike the first, wasn't an alarm. It was an announcement. All around them, the men who'd been missing from the camp began to emerge from the forest. It was as if the trees themselves had birthed an army of Saxons to cleanse the forest of its Nordic interlopers. As skilled as the three were, and as devastating as their teamwork had been, they were all beginning to feel the effects of fatigue. Worse, there were now more men than there had been when the killing started.
"By Freya's tits," Trygve said between ragged breaths. "What do we do now?"
Percy twirled the crimson stained axe in his hand.
"Now we kill a few more Christians."
Liv placed a placating hand on his arm.
"Not this many more, Percy. We have to surrender. It'll give Halvard time to find us. If we fight, we'll be cut down for certain."
She could tell by the fire in his eyes that he wanted to argue. That he would rather dine in Valhalla than lower his weapon. But when she let her spear drop, and Trygve soon followed, the fight died in his eyes. He would risk his own life to fight it seemed, but not if they were unwilling to risk theirs. He would not force them into such a decision.
"A wise choice, pagan dogs." One of the Englishmen called out. "Now perhaps it is time to see what truths we can pry from the mouths of savages."
Trygve Halvardsson – Anglo-Saxon Encampment, 884 CE
The Saxons had not been gentle in taking the three of them prisoner. With hearts full of vengeance and spite, each man had been frothing at the mouth to have a go at their captives. It didn't matter that none of them had seen their fifteenth winter. It didn't matter that one of them was a girl or that one of them was a prince. When the Saxons looked at them, all they saw were savage beasts who, with malice in their hearts, had sent their fellow Englishmen straight to hell.
The beatings were harsh. Harsher than anything Trygve had ever felt before. He received more than Liv, and Percy even more than him. It seemed the Saxons thought themselves humanitarians because they only hit Liv twice for every three times they hit him. It seemed they thought themselves harbingers of justice because they only hit him once for every four times they hit Percy. They were cruel bastards who thought brutalizing kids would somehow bring back the men they had lost.
Eventually, even bereaved men grew tired. When the sun started to set and their exhaustion began to outweigh their fury, the long hours of abuse finally came to an end. The three of them had been bound at the ankles and wrists with rope wound so tight Trygve could scarcely feel his fingers. Then, two posts had been driven into the ground. He and Liv were tied back-to-back around the first one, while Percy had been given his own. It seemed like a luxury at first, but really it just made it easier for the Saxons to give him a kick as they strolled past.
Immobilized, the trio had been left to wallow in their agony. Two men had taken up watch over them, though they stood only just within earshot and rarely looked back. There wasn't much for them to watch in all fairness. Percy was only conscious by the loosest definition of the word. His lucid moments came few and far between. For the most part, he just sat there with an eye swollen shut and a layer of dried crimson on his face, breathing as uneven as his welted skin. As for Liv and Trygve, well, there really wasn't much to do when you were tied up except sit there and wait for something to happen.
"Did you hear about the royal edict we received from King Leofric?" One of the guards said, drawing Trygve away from his half slumber. "He intends to put the prince in charge of the armies."
The other guard visibly recoiled at that news.
"Cynefrith? But he's mad! What purpose does driving the savages from our land serve if we let another lord over us?"
"Mad or not, the lad is undeniably brilliant," The first guard pointed out. "I heard he's the one who led the assault at Saint Albane's Abbey."
"And so what? He may be brilliant, but the bastard is too unhinged for my liking. He spends all his days in his dungeons, playing with prisoners and potions. He's a fucking dark wizard, that one. The sea-wolves may be savages, but they don't take magic nor crazy lightly. If the Bear-King ever comes to the negotiating table, I pray it's Leofric's level head discussing terms."
"You're more likely to see the Norsemen throw down their axes and start a church," The first man snarked. "Rumor has it that Leofric has taken ill. Within a few winters, Cynefrith will not just be general, he will be king. There will be no level heads when our sides meet for peace."
The second man shook his head in dismay.
"Then may God help us all."
The conversation derailed quickly after that. The soldiers stopped discussing leadership and started discussing stew, as if coherent conversation was a mere fantasy. With nothing more to learn, Trygve stopped his eavesdropping and turned to his friends to see if they'd overheard the same things as him. Percy seemed pretty out of it – Trygve doubted he was hearing much of anything right now – but Liv's wide eyes told him she'd heard every last word, same as he had.
"My father needs to know King Leofric is sick," Trygve whispered to her, careful to keep his voice lower than the Saxons' conversation. "It could turn the tide of the war."
"True, but unless you've figured out a way to get us out of here, we have more important things to worry about."
"I've got a knife in my boot," Trygve said. "If you can reach it, you can cut us loose."
"Seriously, Trygve?" Liv hissed. "You've had a knife this whole time? Why didn't you mention it before?"
Trygve rolled his eyes, though she couldn't see it.
"Sorry, I must've forgotten to mention it while they were beating the piss out of us."
"You know what… Just bring your foot here." Liv sighed.
Trygve did his best to oblige. Slowly so as not to draw any attention, he drew his feet as close to his body as he could. Liv, tied opposite him, reached back as far as her bindings would allow. Her fingers stretched and stretched as Trygve scrunched himself into a ball. They drew closer, but their flexibility had its limits. For all their efforts, her fingers were still about an inch away from the cuff of his boot.
"We need to move the post," Trygve decided. "You lean into it and I'll pull forward."
"Right."
The two sprang into action immediately. Trygve threw his body forward as hard as he could while Liv drove her back into the post. The rope bit into Trygve's skin as he pulled. All the while his aching, well, everything screamed in protest. Veins bulged in his forehead as he forced himself to hold in his cries of pain. The duo strained and strained, and then the post started to wiggle in the earth. Trygve redoubled his efforts, going beyond what he thought himself capable of and then, finally, the post moved.
It was only a small change. A slight tilt in the angle of the post, but it was enough. Liv was able to back into the post a few more inches, and though Trygve was now forced into a permanent slouch, he knew they'd done it. This time, when they attempted the handoff, Liv's extended fingers were able to claw their way to his boot, scrape against his skin, and wrap themselves around the handle of his blade. She tugged it out with a near silent schwing. Not a moment later, the sound of a rope slowly being sawed away told him all he needed to know.
"Thank the gods these Saxons are idiots." Trygve whispered through a grin. "All this time beating us senseless and not one of them bothered to search me."
"I'm not thanking anybody until we get out of here." Liv told him.
"Have a little faith, Liv. By this time tomorrow we'll be back in the mead hall joking about-"
"You two! Enough chatter!" A new voice rang out.
It was the same man who'd hinted at interrogating them earlier. The Saxon with evil eyes and fists as heavy as a longship full of plunder. He was the leader of the Saxons it seemed, and perhaps the most intimidating of them all. He stood as large as most of the Vikingrs Trygve knew, and he understood exactly how imposing it made him, especially among his more human sized men. Of all the Englishmen holding them hostage, he was the last one Trygve wanted to see.
"Stop cutting." Trygve hissed through the side of his mouth. "Hide the knife."
Liv didn't answer, but he knew she heard him when he felt the ropes go still. The Saxon leader stalked closer as Trygve mustered his best innocent face. When he reached them, the man circled the posts a few times, eying them with a contemptuous scowl all the while. When he seemed satisfied with his demonstration of disdain, the hulking Saxon halted his pacing in front of Trygve. His lumbering frame blotted out the waning moon overhead, trapping Trygve in his suffocating shadow.
"I have a few questions for the three of you. Whoever speaks first gets to die with dignity. As for the rest…"
He dropped one hand to the hilt of his sword and waited, letting the threat hang in the air. It was obvious he thought he was going to intimidate them into giving him the information he wanted, which was stupid for two reasons. First, they'd just been beaten for hours straight without giving anything up, and second, they didn't know anything useful in the first place.
"Oh, you think I'm bluffing?" The man asked. "Because I assure that I'm not."
He drew his sword, but all he got in return was a scoff from Liv and an eyeroll from Trygve. Percy looked up at the man as well, but it was only a second before his chin fell back to his chest. He was either unthreatened by the man or simply incapable of holding up his own head. Either way, the Saxon leader didn't appreciate the disrespect. The white-knuckle grip on his sword hilt and the twitch in his eye were proof enough of that.
"Perhaps you need some proof. I suppose I must make an example out of one of you then… But who?"
He started circling them again as he spoke. His tongue licked hungrily at his lips and his eyes flashed with bloodthirsty glee. He walked in silence for a while, savoring every second he spent lording over three battered children. Eventually, the man's footsteps stopped while he was out of Trygve's vision. A second later and Liv's breathing began to quicken. Trygve's stomach dropped.
"Maybe I'll choose you." The man murmured. His voice was so close that Trygve could taste his breath. "You are quite pretty for a savage girl. A bit young for my taste, but I suppose my men could enjoy you before I kill you."
Liv shuddered so hard Trygve could feel it through the ropes that bound them.
"Or maybe I'll choose you." The man continued.
Liv let out a sigh of relief and then the man was back in Trygve's vision. This time, he was stalking towards Percy. He stopped in front of him and dropped into crouch, almost daring Percy to challenge him. Surprisingly, Percy didn't even bother to look at the man. A fact the Englishman didn't like one bit. With a snarl of rage, the Saxon leader clamped Percy's face within an iron grip, forcing him to meet his eyes. Despite all the cuts, bruises, and blood, Percy's eyes were still alive with a defiant glow.
"You murdered more of my men than either of your friends, boy. Each and every man still left alive after your savagery is begging me for the chance to have you at the end of their sword, and me… I pray to the lord almighty that you give me a reason to kill you here and now, so please, don't answer my question… Now, what can you tell me about-"
Percy spat in the man's face before he could finish. Well, it was more blood than spit, but it didn't matter what it was really. All that mattered was the defiance. The unabashed disrespect. The same complete refusal to submit to a bully that had earned Percy a spot in Trygve's family. It was something Trygve and Halvard had learned about Percy quickly. It was a lesson the Saxon leader was learning now. Perseus Thrall-Born couldn't be cowed. Ever.
"You little shit." The Saxon growled.
He yanked Percy's head towards him and then slammed it back into the post. Once, twice, three times Percy's skull collided with the stake he was tied to. The Saxon man dropped his head just as the light vanished from Percy's eyes, leaving his unconscious form slumped in his bonds.
"Witness now what your defiance will reap!" The Saxon shouted, glaring at Trygve and Liv with wicked eyes. "Men! Do with this pagan scum what you please."
A round of cheers erupted from all the Saxons within earshot. In seconds, a parade of vengeful Englishmen was streaming towards Percy's post, gathering around in one impenetrable horde of hatred. The sound of kicks and punches were drowned out only by men shouting which body parts they wanted to carve off. It was a heinous scene, more like something from a myth meant to terrify undisciplined children than something from real life.
"Percy!" Trygve shouted in desperation. But it was a pointless cry.
Suddenly the clamor died down and Trygve heard ropes being cut. The crowd of Saxons hoisted Percy's unmoving form overhead like a palanquin. He was bleeding from a few fresh cuts on his face, his chest was barely moving, and his left arm looked bent out of shape. All in all, he looked worse than shit. Trygve was starting to wish that they'd just fought and let the Saxons kill them. It would've easier than seeing Percy like this any day.
As the men sauntered off with Percy overhead and their leader in tow, Liv resumed her sawing. This time, she wasn't subtle about it. Her hands worked at a frenzied pace, slicing so quickly Trygve was half afraid she would cut clean through the ropes and into his hands. Still, even chopping as recklessly as she was, it wasn't fast enough. Percy was halfway to the victory bonfire the Saxons had thrown together before she was halfway through the rope. As eager as the Englishmen were to see Percy dead, Trygve had a sick feeling the fire was going to be Percy's final resting place.
"We've got to help him," Liv muttered, almost hysterical. "They're going to kill him!"
"I know that. Just keep cutting. You're almost through."
"We won't make it in time. He's-!"
A war horn sounded in the distance, startling the sleeping birds from their roosts among the treetops. Over by the bonfire, the Saxons' overjoyed cheers were quickly supplanted by cries of shock and disbelief.
"Is that…?"
Trygve couldn't grin any wider if he wanted to.
"It has to be. My father is here."
And sure enough, a stampede of angry Vikingrs came bursting from the shadowed tree line with a cacophony of fearsome battle cries. There were a lot of them – more than Trygve had ever seen in one place before – and they all looked hungry for blood. Trygve saw foot-soldiers, blacksmiths, and bear-shirts, and at the head of the pack, as tall as the trees themselves and wielding an axe fit for a giant was Halvard Njallson; The bear-king of Odin's Rest. Trygve's father had come to save the day.
What followed was an ass-kicking that the gods themselves would've been proud to claim. With the Saxons disorganized, unarmed, and unprepared, the men of the Bjornar clan massacred them all. It was a beautiful sight. Trygve was pretty sure he watched his father literally bisect a guy. And then, when all was said and done, the father Trygve had gone out of his way to disobey tossed the head of the Saxon leader at his son's feet.
"Next time you three clean up your own mess." Halvard said through a blood-stained grin.
Trygve swallowed.
"You're… You're not mad?"
"Oh, I'm furious." Halvard told him. "But that doesn't matter now. I'm just glad you two are still alive."
"And… And Percy?" Liv dared to ask.
Halvard frowned.
"The boy still breathes, though I've no idea how. It seems that he refuses to take orders from even death herself."
Trygve couldn't help but laugh.
"He's one stubborn bastard, isn't he?"
"That he is my boy," Halvard agreed. "That he is."
Liv Frodadóttir – Odin's Rest, 884 CE
Liv hadn't seen hide nor hair of Percy or Trygve over the past few days. Ever since the incident with the Saxons, Halvard had taken to posting guards outside their doors at all hours of the day. It wasn't to keep enemies out, but rather to keep them in. He said it was for their safety, which was just a diplomatic way of saying he didn't trust them. And so, for better or for worse, the three of them had been confined to their quarters. Tonight though… Tonight that was going to change.
Early in the morning, Halvard and his Vikingrs had won a great victory at Crimson Ford. As custom demanded, the Bjornar clan decided to throw an extravagant feast. Liv, still under lock and key at Halvard's orders, had been forced to eat her portion in solitude. Alone in her room, she had listened to the clamor of the feast echoing from the mead hall, and she had known how she would escape.
Only an hour after the feast ended, her guards had been replaced by a new pair. A pair that, judging by their boisterous conversation, had drank half their weight in mead at the feast. It wasn't long before they fell silent. Chances were they were either trousers-at-ankles drunk or fast asleep. Either way, they wouldn't stand a chance of stopping her if she wanted to see Percy. So, with the halls of the longhouse shrouded in quiet, she seized her opportunity. Moving as quietly as she could, she crawled out of her bed, tiptoed to her door, and stepped out of her room for the first time in far too long.
Her two guards were cozied up together on the floor like suckling babes, just as she expected them to be. The two massive Vikingrs cuddled up to one another in the cold was an amusing sight, but not one she could afford to savor. She stepped over the slumbering soldiers with a barely stifled giggle before hobbling her way to Percy's door. Just the short journey pained her, even now. She could only imagine what Percy was going through, or if he were going through anything at all. Hell, for all she knew he could still be comatose. She sincerely hoped that wasn't the case.
Like her bedroom, the door to Percy's quarters was guarded by two snoozing drunks. Unlike her bedroom, the door to his room was already slightly ajar. She hesitated for a moment, worried that perhaps Halvard was waiting for her inside, but she ultimately dismissed the idea. If Halvard were here, he would've been ripping the lazing guards a new one. That meant someone else had come to see Percy, and she could think of only one person who would do that. Deciding a reunion of the trio couldn't hurt, she crept past the slumbering Vikingrs and ghosted her way into Percy's room.
Sure enough, she found not one but two people inside. They were sitting with their backs to her, lounging in comfortable chairs and speaking in hushed tones – barely audible over the crackling of a dying fire. She watched the scene unfold for a moment, waiting to be noticed, but it never happened. Growing impatient, she cleared her throat to announce her arrival. The conversation stopped immediately.
The nearer of the two shadows rose to greet her. When he limped closer, the tiniest bit of his features began to show. Just as she suspected, it was Percy's other horrifically injured friend that had come to visit him.
"I was just leaving." Trygve whispered to her.
He started to shuffle to the door, but she reached out and grabbed his arm, halting him in his tracks.
"You can stay," She told him. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"He'd never say it himself, but he would," Trygve said, voice quieter than a whisper. "He's… He's in bad shape. One person at a time is enough right now."
"You're sure?"
"I am. Just… Take it easy on him, okay?"
Liv swallowed something – was it fear, worry, or something else? – before nodding. Trygve stared her down for a moment like she was his enemy, not one of his closest friends. Then, when he decided that she wasn't going to break him, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. After that, she watched him walk to the door in silence. Just before he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gave her a small smile.
"I'm glad you're okay, Liv. Truly."
The door swung shut before she could even say, 'you too'. Just like that, she and Percy were alone.
For a while she just stood there listening to the dwindling fire. For some reason, she couldn't muster the courage to step forward. Couldn't find it within herself to walk into the light and see him again. Somehow it would make everything real. Everything done to her, to Trygve and to him. His brush with death. Hell, the things they'd done to those soldiers. None of it would be a nightmare anymore. It would be reality. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face that. But she had questions. Things she needed to get off her chest. It didn't matter that she wasn't ready. She let out a breath, and then she walked into the light and sat where Trygve had been only moments ago.
When she looked at him, she almost cried. Looking back, she remembered seeing his blood covered form and thinking it was the worst thing she'd ever seen. Now she realized it had been a luxury. Without the blood, without that beautiful blanket of crimson, she could see everything. Every half-closed cut. Every lump of purpling skin. Every welt and every burn. All his damage was bare for the world to see. The sight made her soul ache.
He wouldn't meet her eyes. He didn't have to for her to know that his were alight with shame. She knew him well enough to know how much this was hurting him. She knew that he saw this as weakness. That nothing would make him feel worse than having his closest friends see him at his lowest point. She just wished that he would look at her and see that she was damaged too. That he wasn't alone.
"Percy." She breathed.
He didn't answer. Didn't so much as glance her way. She knew he was listening all the same.
"I thought you were dead," she began, voice uncertain. "When they dragged you away, I… I freaked. All I could think in that moment was 'I don't know what I'd do without him'. I still don't know. Trygve and I… We need you. I think we always will."
"I'm sorry."
His voice was weak. Hoarse. Choked. He sounded absolutely awful, and yet it was exactly what she needed to hear in that moment. He was still there, even after everything.
"You don't need to apologize Percy it's just… You live your whole life angry. Angry at fate because you were born a thrall. Angry at the world because they don't see you as anything else. Angry with the gods because they took your mother from you. You couldn't just run when we had the chance because you were so mad and… Your anger isn't just going to get you killed Percy, it's going to kill your soul. It'll take and take until you're nothing but a hollow shell of a person. You can't live like that. Not forever."
If it were possible, Percy sank even deeper into his chair. His face looked harrowed, especially in the angry orange light of the fire.
"It felt good to kill those men," Percy murmured. His voice was hollow. "They were trespassing on our land. On our home. A small part of me knew that I was too young to be killing men. Too young to lovedoing it. But it didn't matter. They were a danger to you, to me, and to Trygve. To us. They were putting my family at risk, and I was just so mad… Believe me Liv, I know exactly what this anger does to me, but I can't just let it go. It's what's driven me since my mother died. It's all I have to keep me focused. To keep me sane. I have nothing else to cling to."
"That's not true and you know it." Liv snapped. "You have me. Trygve. Halvard. We all care about you in our own way… Look, you'll never be able to take vengeance for all the pain you've been dealt. That's just the truth. Those are beings beyond your reach. But you can choose not to let that fire in your gut control you. You can learn to let go and live beyond the anger and spite."
Percy looked up at her for the first time. Where she expected anger and denial, she saw only a faint smile.
"So much for taking it easy on me, eh?"
She didn't even stop to wonder how he'd heard Trygve's comment, because of course he had heard it. So much for being half-deaf.
"Yeah, well, I'm not going to let you stew in self-pity. Your life has been shit, and shit lives breed dysfunction, but that doesn't mean you're made out of glass, does it? You're more like… You're like the ocean. This massive, unstoppable force with infinite opportunity, but with no direction. You don't have to be a hurricane all the time, Percy. There are calm seas too. You know that, right?"
For a while he didn't say anything and then, "Liv, I… I need to think."
Liv sighed. She should've expected one conversation wouldn't change things, and yet she'd dared to hope. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze – though if he felt it, he didn't show it – before rising from her chair and walking to the door. Just before she left, a thought struck her. 'So much for being half-deaf'. She paused in the doorway, looking back to where he sat, still watching the dying fire.
"Why didn't you want to spy on those lookouts?"
Percy peeked at her over the back of his chair.
"I told you. I didn't think I would hear anything worthwhile."
"You didn't think you would hear anything worthwhile, or you didn't think you would understand anything you heard?"
His silence was answer enough.
"Percy, did Halvard not teach you English?"
"He didn't teach me to read or write either. What's it matter? I'm here to be a brother and a soldier, not a scholar."
Liv fought the urge to scream. Of course Halvard didn't teach him English, or how to read, or anything that wasn't fighting or friendship. Because while Halvard loved Percy, he loved him because of what he was for his son. It was the same way he loved Liv. He loved them like one would love their axe or their boat. He loved them like tools. The only difference between them was that Liv was raised a jarls daughter.
Liv was expected to be smart. Expected to speak with their English adversaries on a level playing field. Percy wasn't. He was expected to be a weapon against the Saxons. A tool to help Trygve grow and eventually, rule. For all that he'd been accepted into the family, he was still expected to be inhuman. Maybe Percy had been right two years ago. Maybe he would always be a thrall to the people of Odin's Rest, no matter what happened.
"As soon as Halvard lets us out of our rooms, come find me." She ordered.
"Why?"
"Because Trygve, gods bless his heart, probably never thought about it. And because Halvard won't bother. Because I care, and I don't want you to feel stupid and embarrassed because of something you can't control ever again."
"What are you saying?"
"What do you think I'm saying?" Liv asked him. "You taught me to fight. It's time I returned that favor."
Alex Jackson – Camp Half-Blood, 2017 CE
Alex had never been on a more uncomfortable taxi ride in his life, which was saying a lot considering he'd once hitched a ride with the Gray Sisters. It was hard to make conversation with a guy that just told you he wanted you to kill him, and their cab driver didn't help matters by leaving the radio on some weird whisper-talking commentary channel. By the time the taxi pulled up at the base of Half-Blood Hill, Alex had been looking forward to forking over the obscene charge it took for a cab to drive from Manhattan all the way to 3.141 Farm Road.
"This is a nice place you Greeks have here," Percy commented as he stepped out of the taxi. "I like your dragon."
"That's Peleus. I can take you to meet him later if you want. For now, we have a meeting to go to."
"By all means." Percy told him, gesturing for him to lead the way.
And so, with Percy in tow, Alex walked the same trek he'd walked so many times in his life. Up the hill, past Thalia's pine, through the camp, and straight to the Big House. He probably could've made the walk with his eyes closed by now, which he would've been proud of if he hadn't fought Medusa as a kid. After that fiasco, doing normal people things blind just seemed a bit below his pay grade.
When they reached the Big House, Alex made sure to stop Percy on the porch. While some of the younger counselors would be accepting of an outsider, the senior campers wouldn't. The veterans from the Titan and Giant wars – people who'd seen spies, camp invasions, and death – would be wary of him. The future was uncertain right now. Demigods were disappearing and the gods were silent. Any new face would understandably set off a few alarm bells among the more paranoid campers. He just needed to be sure Percy wouldn't go all psycho axe murderer if they insulted him. And by 'they', he of course meant 'Clarisse', and by 'if', he of course meant 'when'.
"So, listen," Alex began, looking anxiously between Percy and the Big House door. "When we get in there, some of them will probably-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. They won't trust me. They'll insult me. They'll be a general pain. Whatever. Contrary to what the legends would have you believe, I can put up with a bit of Greek every now and then."
"Like you put up with it in Cordova? Because I seem to remember you throwing a table at me."
"Not because I was irritated. I just wanted to see if you were worth my time. Plus, it's been decades since I last tangled with a Greek."
"Wait, decades?"
"What, you didn't think you were the first demigods who came looking for me, did you?"
Alex nodded, and the smirk on Percy's face told him just how hilarious he found that notion.
"You two were the first in a while, sure, but you weren't even close to the first. After Anna freed me in the sixties, I made sure my presence was known. By the seventies, demigods – both Greek and Roman – were coming to fight me and prove their mettle. They stopped coming in the nineties."
"How come?"
Percy shrugged.
"I assume both camps noticed none of the campers ever made it back. They probably decided that it was best not to tell young, ambitious, impressionable teens that there was an unkillable man waiting to be beaten in the land beyond the gods."
"You killed them?" Alex dared to ask.
"Oh, gods no," Percy said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. "I served them drinks… Then I killed them. Now come on. They're probably getting antsy waiting for us."
Alex's eyes widened. The way the gods had described it, Percy had been a scourge to the demigods of medieval times. But here Percy was openly admitting to getting his serial killer on as recently as when leg warmers and perms were still in style. Alex was so shocked that he didn't even think to stop Percy as he moved past him and sauntered into the Big House. It wasn't until he remembered exactly how abrasive Percy was that his brain kicked back into gear. In a panic, he dashed into the Big House and darted straight to the rec room, but it was already too late.
Around the table, each and every camp counselor was staring at the impossible scene with mouths agape. The spectacle in question? Chiron – the perennially kindhearted, diplomatic, and fatherlike figure of the camp – had his bow drawn. The arrow? Aimed right between Percy's eyes. Chiron's hands were trembling, and his face was contorted into an ill-fitting scowl. Alex hadn't seen him look this distressed since he'd faced off with Kronos in the battle of Manhattan so many years ago now.
"Chiron, stop!" Alex shouted, hoping to defuse the situation. "He's on our side. It's safe."
"I don't know what he's told you Alex, but this man is no friend of yours."
"Chiron, please." Alex begged.
When Chiron didn't waver, he did the only thing he could do. He deliberately stepped into the line of fire. To shoot Percy, Chiron would have to shoot him first. The campers all shared looks of disbelief, while Percy chuckled at the gesture. Chiron was the only one who didn't change. His grip held strong. The bowstring didn't slacken.
Alex started to worry that Chiron was legitimately considering shooting him. That fear was almost enough to make him move, but thankfully his legs won out over his mind. After only a few more seconds of the standoff, Chiron sighed and lowered his bow. Notably, he kept the arrow nocked.
"Alex, my boy, you must realize who that is. You must see what foolishness bringing him here was."
"It wasn't his call, horseman." Percy taunted over Alex's shoulder. "Your beloved Olympians are the ones who had him fetch me from Alaska."
Across the room, Clarisse – always the levelheaded diplomat of the bunch – slammed her fists on the ping pong table.
"Learn some respect or I'll teach it to you myself." She growled.
Percy chuckled like the threat came from a child instead of one of the fiercest warriors in Alex's entire demigod generation.
"There are about three or four camps' worth of reasons why that statement is laughable, war-daughter."
There were a few confused looks around the room. One of the younger counselors – Ben, Alex was pretty sure – was the quickest on the uptake.
"Chiron, he doesn't mean…?"
"Unfortunately, he means exactly what you suspect… Campers, meet Perseus Thrall-Born. The most dangerous demigod the world has ever known. Coincidentally, he's also one of the most despicable."
"Well now you're just being intentionally hurtful. What about that son of Hermes that invented coleslaw? He's the real bad guy." Percy joked.
"And what about the son of Aegir who killed so many Greeks that his own gods started to fear him? The man who crafted a weapon worthy of Tartarus himself because it wasn't enough to just kill demigods, he wanted them to suffer too. What was he if not a monster wearing human flesh?"
For all that Percy seemed to be taking this whole thing lightly, that particular jab seemed to strike a chord in him. Rather than responding with another joke, he stomped past Alex and right over to Chiron. He towered over the wheelchair-bound centaur, using his impressive height to physically place himself above the ancient trainer of heroes. Then he leaned in close, and he spoke with a voice as frigid as the prison he'd been locked away in for over a thousand years.
"And what about the cowardly son of Kronos who sent his pupils to face a demon? Do you remember how many children you sent to stop me? Because I do. I remember all of them. I remember their faces when they realized they couldn't beat me. I remember their anguished cries when they bled out at my feet. And I remember the way they begged and cried for you to save them. But you never did, did you? You just sent more and more to meet the same end. So, tell me Chiron, who is the real monster between us?"
Chiron stared up at Percy with a hard-set scowl, but his guise of toughness was quickly crumbling. There was shame, sadness, and regret in his eyes. It didn't take a genius to see that everything Percy had just said, Chiron had already told himself a trillion times over. If he couldn't even win the argument in his own mind, what chance did Chiron have against the man who openly owned the darkness of his past?
"I grieve for every student that I've lost. Every day I regret the children I sent to face you, but the truth is you gave me no choice. You and your people forced my hand the moment your longships first touched on our shores."
"There's always a choice. You Greeks and your damn hubris. My clan was never after you. We didn't even know you existed. We were after the Saxons who were trying to push us from England. But then, you inserted yourself into our war. You started sending demigods to fight the Saxons' battles. You started working with that sadistic son of Athena! That's when I started hunting your pupils. If you'd just stayed in your camp, each and every one of them would've lived to be sent to their deaths another day. No matter which way you slice it, you killed your students just as much as I did."
Chiron, in an act of childishness entirely unlike anything Alex had ever thought him capable of, turned his head and spat on the floor. With one last glare, the centaur wheeled his way to the door, where he stopped to look at the assembled campers one last time.
"You are all my students, and I care for each of you deeply. Like those that came before you, those that he killed, I see you as my children, but hear this. So long as you work with this man, I will not work with you."
And then he was gone, and Alex was left with Percy and a group of slack-jawed campers. None of them could believe the fire they'd just seen from Chiron. Nobody had seen that level of frustration from him before. Fear, regret, and sorrow were all things Chiron wore on his sleeve, but petty rage? If Alex wasn't privy to some of the darker parts of Percy's past, the things that filed Chiron with such hate, he would've been gaping right alongside them.
"Does anyone have any idea what just happened?" Connor, the first to recover his wits, asked.
Alex sighed. He desperately wished Annabeth were here. She was the only other person with a shred of understanding about the situation and she was much more well-spoken than him. Alas, she'd left the camp duties to him. As it stood, either he or Percy was going to have to explain, and if the recent display was anything to go by, Percy was not an option.
"You guys may want to buckle in." Alex breathed out. "This is going to take a while."
Alex Jackson – Camp Half-Blood, 2017 CE
Alex wasn't exactly sure what Clarisse had been thinking challenging Percy to a duel. According to her, Percy needed to prove his toughness before the camp lent him their resources. When he'd asked Percy, the Viking had told him that Clarisse's challenge had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. That she was looking to prove something to herself.
Personally, Alex found both ideas equally stupid. The campers had already agreed to help Percy, and Clarisse had already proved herself to everyone a thousand times over. Alex thought Clarisse had outgrown her borderline obsessive drive to be the best a long time ago, but apparently people didn't change as much as he once thought. Worse, the camp was playing into her decision. The campers had been swept up by the idea of a duel, and once the mob was on Clarisse's side, there was no stopping the fight.
It was the crazed frenzy of the camp that brought Alex to the arena, and gods was it insane. In all his time at Camp Half-Blood, Alex had never seen the arena so packed. The entire camp had shown up. Nobody wanted to miss the 'spar of the century'. Past vs Present. Norse vs Greek. Hero of the Titan War vs Demigod Scourge. Somehow, in a camp full of Athena campers and wise immortal centaurs, Alex was the only person who realized how monumentally stupid this whole idea was.
For the first time in his life, Alex was the one playing buzzkill. He was the one telling Clarisse that Percy was too dangerous to be fought. He was the one telling Percy that embarrassing Clarisse would only piss the campers off and make working together that much harder. He was the only one telling the camp that it would be so much better if they all got a good night's rest instead.
Naturally, nobody had listened to his pleas. So, deciding if he couldn't stop the madness, he could at least moderate it, he'd offered to referee. Now though, as he stood between a battle-hungry Clarisse and a, well, normal Percy, he found himself wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. Standing between the two felt far too much like being trapped between a wall of buzz saws and a nuclear bomb for Alex's taste.
"No armor?" Clarisse asked as she tightened the strap on her helm. "That's a mistake."
Percy shrugged.
"I haven't bothered to put on any armor since I got out of the ice. I see no reason to change that now."
"First to draw blood wins," Alex reminded him. "Now might not be the time to insist on the bear sweater."
Percy glanced down at the sweater in question – this one a navy blue with a dancing bear on the front – before grinning to himself.
"I like it." He declared. "The bear sweater stays."
"The bear sweater is getting carved to pieces." Clarisse snarled.
Somehow, Percy was more affronted by the threat to his beloved sweater than he'd been by the challenge itself.
"Were you not listening when Chiron was playing pin the genocide on the Vikingr?" Percy asked. "I've been killing Greeks since the years were still in the triple digits. You can't seriously think that some random daughter of Ares actually frightens me."
"I'm not a random daughter of Ares." Clarisse growled. "I've led my cabin in two wars. Wars that ended up saving the entire planet. I retrieved the golden fleece! I killed the Lydian Drakon!"
"And both feats would mean a great deal to me if I were a Lydian Drakon who needed his laundry fetched from the cleaners, but I'm not. Trust me girl, you don't want this. At least not with all of your friends watching."
Alex couldn't believe what he was hearing. Percy, the killer of demigods and lover of all things battle, guts, and gore, was offering Clarisse an out. It was an overwhelmingly compassionate offer – albeit delivered in an insultingly condescending way – from a man whose compassion seemed to have died in the ice he'd been trapped in. Unfortunately, Clarisse was not the type of person who would accept such an offer.
"Oh, believe me. I want this. And once your blood touches the sand, you'll regret underestimating us. I expect you out of this camp by the morning."
Clarisse turned on a dime and stalked away after that. Percy and Alex watched her go, Alex with frustration, and Percy with disappointment. She turned to face them. A clear invitation for the fight to begin.
"That was a nice thing you did, offering her the chance to back out." Alex told him, ignoring Clarisse's impatient shouts.
Percy looked over at Clarisse with something dangerously close to sympathy.
"She's young, angry, and proud. She thinks that by fighting me, she's helping all of them. She believes somewhere deep down that by taking on an impossible challenge, she's going to fix everything that's wrong with the world… She's not the first demigod to think like that. I was just hoping she would be the first to learn they were wrong the easy way."
"And now?" Alex asked.
Percy unslung his shield and twirled his axe.
"Now she learns the same way I did. She fails."
He started walking towards Clarisse after that. There was no grand announcement. No countdown or final challenge issued so loud the gods could hear it. Just the sound of his footsteps on the sand.
The crowd noticed his approach, and suddenly the dull thrum of a bustling crowd became a cacophony of excited cheers. Alex heard insults shouted in ancient Greek. He heard last second tips being hollered in English. He even heard a few of the visitors from Camp Jupiter yelling their support in Latin. The entire camp was enthralled. Alex was willing to bet Olympus was tuned in as well.
On the battlefield, Percy continued his approach. Clarisse raised Maimer 6.0 and pointed the tip at Percy's chest. Percy banged his axe against his shield. The sound of metal on wood rang out through the din, and then the fight was on.
Clarisse opened the bout with a stab aimed right between the eyes – a natural choice for a spar meant to end on first blood. Percy leaned away from the attack just in time. The crackling point of Clarisse's spear skimmed by his ear with only an inch to spare. Clarisse didn't worry about her miss; she just brought her spear back and attacked again. This time, she swung her spear low, forcing Percy to jump back or face losing his shins.
With Percy on the retreat, Clarisse began to push the advantage. She unleashed an endless storm of oppressive thrusts, slashes, and more thrusts. Each attack was faster than the last, and Percy could do nothing but retreat in the face of the onslaught.
The crowd was eating the spectacle up. The air hung thick with their cheers. It looked like Clarisse had Percy on the ropes. The crowds' cries somehow doubled in strength. The crowds' cries were foolish. They were so enamored by the showing of their champion that they missed what no trained eye should've missed. Percy wasn't even trying to attack.
The longer the fight went on, the clearer it became. Percy was toying with Clarisse. Showing her just how outclassed she was. The craziest part was, he was doing it with only his feet. He hadn't raised his shield. Hadn't swung his axe. And yet, the only people who seemed to know what was going on were Alex, Percy, and – based on the glower beneath her helm – Clarisse.
"Quit running!" Clarisse snarled.
"Quit stabbing." Percy mocked. "You're going to tire yourself out."
Clarisse did not quit stabbing. In fact, she actually started to stab even more. Yet for all her efforts, the endless peppering of viper-strikes never managed to land. Percy dodged every last blow. It was like he was peering into the future. Like he heard Clarisse's inner thoughts before she did. Alex had already been on the receiving end of Percy's all-knowing combat skills. Fighting it had been a nightmare, but watching it? Watching it was a privilege.
As Percy continued to toy with one of the greatest fighters in the entire generation of demigods, Alex was reminded of all the people he'd crossed blades with. He remembered learning swordplay from Luke, who many had regarded as the finest swordsman in three hundred years. He remembered fighting Chrysaor, who had made him feel like an amateur twice in a matter of minutes. He remembered fighting Reyna, Thalia, and Annabeth. Jason and Nico. The best Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter had to offer. Percy was better than every last one of them.
It was a hard thing to admit, even to himself. He wasn't particularly arrogant, but Alex had lived his demigod life believing he was among the select few chosen to push the bounds of capability. Percy though? He shattered that belief. He was an example of what it meant to be truly extraordinary. To push the limits of demigod physiology to their max. To practice beyond reasonability. To gather so much experience that every fight was a rerun of a battle you'd already won a trillion times over in your head. The truth was, Perseus Thrall-Born was exactly what the legends said he was. Perseus Thrall-Born was the single most dangerous demigod to ever walk the earth, and worse? He damn well knew it.
It seemed that Clarisse had come to the same realization as Alex. Her attacks, after so many near misses, were beginning to lose their precision. Her ferocious flurry of stabs rapidly devolved into a storm of desperation. Percy hadn't even swung his axe, and already he'd won the battle. All there was left to do was to draw blood, and both fighters knew it.
Clarisse thrust her spear towards Percy's shoulder with a desperate shout, and that seemed to be all Percy needed. For the first time, he didn't dodge. He used his shield to smack the shaft of her spear, diverting the attack up and over his shoulder. Clarisse recovered quickly, pulling her spear back for another attack, but it didn't matter.
Percy raised his axe so quickly Alex could barely track it. Using it like a hook, Percy dug the heel of the axe into Clarisse's shoulder. He tugged her in close – so close her spear was basically useless – and then he pulled off the single most psychopathic move Alex had ever seen from a demigod. He reared his unclad head back and slammed it against her helmet. Hard.
The crowds cheering died as Clarisse stumbled back. Percy strolled toward her, allowing her to recover her balance. She thrust again, and this time he used his axe to divert her spears path. He pulled it across her body, forcing her to travel with it or lose her weapon entirely. With her momentum shifted, Percy brought his shield around and easily clotheslined her. Sand exploded in plumes of white.
Tired hands scrabbled for a dropped spear as Percy stalked closer. A booted foot stamped out the electric spearhead just as Clarisse's fingers closed around the shaft. Percy stared down at the daughter of Ares with pity in his eyes. She met his gaze with a defiant glare, but the fire in her eyes had been dampened by the burden of defeat.
Percy squatted beside her, and in a whisper that Alex could barely hear over the silence of the stunned crowd he said, "Must I really cut you, or is your shame not blood enough to win this bout?"
Clarisse looked down and away, and with that the battle was conceded. Percy rose, slung his shield over his back, and turned to face the slack-jawed crowd.
"In life, there is no greater mistake than choosing the wrong enemies." Percy told them. "This girl has reminded me that Greeks can be fierce and formidable. Alex Jackson has taught me that Greeks can be friends and allies. In their pursuit to destroy you, your enemies have chosen to become mine own. I believe it is time we both showed them just how grievous a mistake they've made."
And then he left the arena, leaving soaring hopes and a tenuous alliance in his wake. Whoever was mining the blackstone, whoever was spiriting demigods away from the Camps, whoever was working against the divine world… Whoever they were, they'd made the most dangerous mistake since Gaea had inadvertently united the Greeks and Romans. They'd brought Perseus Thrall-Born to the side of the angels. Alex had no doubt the billion demons in their ten million hells were cowering in fear.
AN:
And there you have it. The longest chapter I've ever posted. I really loved writing this chapter for a lot of reasons. For one, I got to put a ton of stuff in to expand on Percy, Liv, and Trygve's characters, alongside showcasing the "Us .vs. The World" sort of friendship they've developed. In the modern chapters, we got to see more of how Percy's changed along with the things that haven't (He's always going to be snarky lol). One thing of note regarding the modern section: I realize Percy is ridiculously OP here, but ya gotta trust me on this one. Alex's generation has some of the greatest demigods in centuries, but Percy is likely the strongest demigod to ever live. That being said, challenges are coming, and Percy needs to be OP to not get instantly bodied by them. He will find the danger he can't find at CHB. You just have to be patient ;)
Now, on a more general note, I hope you're starting to draw some connections between both halves of the story. Some pieces are beginning to fit together, and some hints are being dropped even as more questions present themselves. Expect more of the same next chapter, as it will be a while before anything is concrete in either plot. Faceless enemies is the name of the game (for now). Anyways, I really hope you guys are enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing. As always, I wish you all the best in the world and, until next time,
Peace