Prized Possession
3: In Othrys
"You can tell a lot about a civilisation by the quality of the people found in its jails" - David Gerrold
When Percy wakes up from his fitful dreams of days lost, the sun is pricking at his eyelids and peering over the edges of the glassless windows outside the Empire State Building lobby. His clothes feel stiff and creased, sleep is gathered at the corners of his eyes, and his limbs are suddenly overcome with coldness and lethargy.
He groans, as he did the day before, and waits to see if this noise will once again draw Atlas' attention. No-one materialises, so he sits up, with effort, and looks at the room's other occupants.
There are guards standing by the doors and walls, but they seem disengaged and unfocused. Of most interest to Percy are Clarisse and Nico, lying just by the entry desk. It looks like Nico is still asleep, but Clarisse is awake, leaning against the desk and looking at Percy. As soon as he meets her gaze, she drops it to the ground.
Percy is embarrassed and ashamed of how clearly she's lost respect for him. They had never been friends exactly, but to be discounted in such a way still hurts. He knows that submitting to Kronos as he did cost him any regard she might previously have held him in, but this cutting off of contact seems especially brutal.
He knows that he should leave her alone as she so obviously wants, that he should let her mourn their lost comrades in solitude, but he is desperate for all the news of the world that he's been starved of by his time in hiding. As he heads to the other side of the room, he tells himself that he isn't only doing it to give excuses.
As it did the day before, his hand dips almost unconsciously into his pocket, but Riptide is still gone. He wonders how the titans have stopped it from returning to him, and what was done with it after he laid it at Kronos' feet yesterday.
When Percy sits next to Clarisse, he sees her profile stiffen and her neck tense as she leans slightly away from him. The fact that it looks more like a reflex than a real decision actually hurts even more: she sees him as the titans' creature now; as good as an enemy.
He realises as he slides his back down the desk to the floor that he has no idea what to say to her. The awkward silence is spared as she starts to speak.
"Why did you do it?" she asks. Her voice is hoarse and croaky. He suspects she didn't get much sleep. "Why did you betray us?"
They talk in whispers to let Nico sleep on.
"He was going to kill you. This was the only way to save you."
"That's what he said to Silena."
That stings, and Percy wants to say that she's being unfair, that he's been fighting for them all along and that he would never do anything that hurt them. But then, isn't that what Silena thought as well?
"I'm not working for him," he protests, and he mentally grimaces as he realises what a meagre response that is.
"Aren't you?" she asks.
Percy gropes around hopelessly for the words for a moment. "No. No, I'm not. I did… what I did yesterday to save you and Nico. I thought it would save the others too, but it didn't and I'm sorry for that, but I still had to keep you two safe. I won't apologise for that. I've lost too many friends to this war for me to let you die when I didn't have to."
Clarisse laughs bitterly, but still keeps it muted. "You saved us? Look around you, Percy, do you really believe that?"
It's the fact that she calls him Percy that really makes it sink in how bleakly she sees the world. Not 'Prissy', as it usually is. Not 'Jackson', as she calls him when she shows grudging respect or – gods forbid – a trace of actually liking him. She calls him Percy, and he knows it's because she sees no point in continuing with friendly antagonisms, either because he has sunk too deeply into Kronos' clutches or because she is so certain of their impending deaths. Neither bodes particularly well for him. He still responds, unwilling to let go so easily.
"You're alive," he points out. "That has to count for something. As long as you're alive you can fight back. Keep the rebellion alive, kill their monsters. Keep the flames of the west burning. For as long as there's a single demigod still fighting them, still resisting, the titans haven't won this war."
When Clarisse responds, it's in a mostly level tone that doesn't quite manage to hide the emotions bubbling up underneath.
"They burned ten people yesterday. It was supposed to be twelve, one for each Olympian, but they didn't burn me or Nico because you saved us." She spits the word out as though it's poison. He supposes it is, in a way. "They wanted one of each of their children, but of course they couldn't quite get their hands on the right half-bloods, so they had to make do. They had a hunter of Artemis they'd caught when she raided a supply train. She was called Jessica, and she only joined a few years ago and said she was still getting used to the idea of gods and monsters. It's a shame she only ever saw the monsters.
"There was Mitchell, from the Aphrodite cabin. I don't know if you ever spoke to him. I know I didn't until we were all locked in the cell together. He was nice and he was kind and he wanted a life in the mortal world as a fashion photographer. Our jailers just found it hilarious that Aphrodite had male children at all, and in the nights they took him away and raped him, and we could hear him crying in his sleep and shrieking over and over again that he wished he was dead. We couldn't help him, of course, but the titans did yesterday.
"There was another girl called Piper. She didn't know who her mother was as she only found out she was a demigod a few months ago, but we were pretty certain it was Aphrodite. Her dad's that actor, Tristan McLean. She said she didn't think he knew about this. I imagine he's wondering where his little girl's gone, right now.
"There was a son of Hephaestus called Shane. He only came to camp just before you went on that mission with Beckendorf, so you wouldn't have met him. He wanted to act. In the days we were all kept locked away he'd mess around, making us laugh and distracting us from the fucked up world outside."
Percy pretends he doesn't see the tears gathering in the corners of Clarisse's eyes, or hear the occasional tremble in her voice. Daughters of the war god aren't supposed to show weakness.
"The daughter of Athena they had was called Pallas. She just wanted to teach. Would've been good at it, too. Always had an interesting fact, could always talk about whatever was going on. Never could stop thinking about what would happen next, what we could do to make things better. She looked a lot like Annabeth."
That's how he knows that she's telling this story with the exact purpose of hurting him. He doesn't stop her or walk away. He knows he deserves it. He as good as killed these people.
"They burned Miranda Gardiner too. They joked she'd go up like dry grass because she was a daughter of Demeter. I don't know if you were watching, but she did, after they poured gas all over her.
"There was Pollux. He said you'd kept him safe in the Battle of Manhattan, that you were brave and he looked up to you and he knew you'd get us out of there somehow, because you're a hero, and that's what heroes do.
"Travis just kept joking and joking until the end because he's – was – Travis, and I spent most of the time wanting to murder him, and that was good, because it stopped me from noticing that we were all screwed.
"And Will patched us all up when we first arrived and told us that everything was going to be alright. He never faltered and never stopped encouraging us that things would get better. And he fell so much in love with Nico and it was so blindingly obvious to all the rest of us but he never told him, and now he's dead too.
"The last one was this other Hermes kid. I didn't really get to know him because he only got thrown in with the rest of us the day before yesterday, but he seemed nice enough. He wouldn't normally have been executed with the rest of us as they already had Travis for Hermes, but this kid was called Percy. Percy, not even Perseus, but so they decided that he'd be the perfect fucking substitute for the son of Poseidon that they wanted to kill, but wouldn't or couldn't. So he died because he was unlucky enough to have the same name as a complete stranger who he'd never even met. He died in your place, Percy.
"But you say you saved me and Nico. You say that because we didn't die in the flames, we're all okay now. So now we can go and spend the rest of our lives as slaves to the titans, and sleep at night in chains. And you say we've been saved, the day after you gave in to Kronos in front of the whole world. You single handedly destroyed all the resistance that was left, because that resistance looked to you, and then you say we've been saved. Every half-blood still out there has just been told that they don't matter and you don't care, every unhappy mortal who wants change has been shown that change is never going to come. If this is how you save people, then next time, leave me to die."
There are no tears on her face now, the tremor in her voice is gone, and her confidence and power have only grown with her anger. Any signs of more sorrowful emotions have been eradicated and replaced by pure fury towards Percy.
"You're disgusting," she says. "So many people have died for you, and died willingly, too, and yesterday I saw you get on that stage and turn around and say that each and every one of them died for nothing. You kept us all thinking you'd sort it out, but in the end, you were nothing."
He doesn't know how to respond.
"Ahem," says Atlas, standing over them. "I hate to break apart your touching reunion, but we must be moving. Lord Kronos does not appreciate slackers."
It occurs to Percy that the titan is mocking them, but he is too shaken to care. "Where are we going?" he asks.
"Back to Othrys, of course," he is told. "The celebrations here are over, but we've several days of feasts and parties to look forwards to back home. You'll be guest of honour, of course." Atlas glances at the other two, contemptuous, arrogant. "I'm afraid your friends will be lucky to get a seat… we weren't planning on an extra two mouths to feed. Perhaps I can feed them some scraps under the table."
Percy can sense Clarisse scowl beside him. He wants to tell her that it's not worth it; it won't achieve anything. Then again, he knows that telling her that is fairly pointless too, seeing how unlikely she is to listen to anything he has to say.
"You're coming with me," Atlas continues, gesturing at Percy, "but your friends will have to take a slightly more mundane route to their new home. You can prepare it to make them feel comfortable when they arrive!"
"Right," mutters Percy.
"Up," says the titan, jerking his head in the same direction.
Percy climbs to his feet.
"Arms out."
Percy extends his arms. Atlas snaps his fingers, and the chains reappear.
"You too, daughter of Ares," orders Atlas.
There is a pregnant pause, and the son of Poseidon feels as though he can pinpoint the exact moment when Clarisse chooses what to do, as the atmosphere turns acidic.
"Make me," she grinds out through her teeth.
"Guards," says Atlas, and the monsters lounging on the walls suddenly spring into action. They rush at her, spears levelled. She seizes the first, a young telekhine, and flips him over the desk, but as she does so, Atlas slaps her harshly across the face. She staggers back, and he grabs her by the arm.
Percy notices that she has the same cuffs as he does just as chains spring out of them and link together. Like his, they jerk her arms up to her neck as they connect to a collar which also appears.
Atlas lets go of her, and she is surrounded by armed monsters.
Nico, just stirring after the disturbance, is yanked up by the guards, and also cuffed and chained.
Atlas looks at the three with an amusedly patronising twinkle in his eye, and claps his hands, rubbing them together. "Well," he says, "onwards!"
When they arrive back in the titan stronghold, they appear by the main gates, a little way down the mountainside.
"Looks like a little walk for us then, Jackson," says Atlas, but there's some kind of energy in his voice that Percy doesn't understand.
Nor does he understand why the titan can't just teleport them up to the top if they got here by accident.
"Actually," said Atlas, "I think we can do without these chains, don't you? You promise not to cause any trouble, Jackson?"
Percy looks at him, blankly.
The titan clicks his fingers again and the chains dissolve in the air. There is a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as though he is trying not to laugh at Percy.
They set off along the newly created paved paths that look as though they could have been there for centuries. The citadel rises above them, a great black mass of earth and stone, casting shadow over all the land around it.
This part of Othrys is where the people live. Since the titans came to power, a town seems to have sprung up around their base, home to those that serve their new masters, along with various official buildings like temples and barracks. After the first came to live here, others followed, creating services and businesses for those living in the shadow of the mountain. As Percy and Atlas move up the streets, there were many buildings which wouldn't have looked out of place in pre-war California, like cafés and bars, but there is also a seedier side which seems to have been exposed by titan rule. Percy sees brothels on the roadside, stores selling previously illegal drugs, and everywhere seems to have a discount offer on Particularly Painful Poisons: See Your Ex Choke Slowly To Death, Because She Deserves It, The Bitch! or variations on that kind of theme.
The school they pass has billboards declaring that IF YOU DO YOUR BEST FOR KRONOS, KRONOS WILL DO THE REST FOR YOU. The hospital says that there is Free treatment for those fighting the demigod menace! and they pass a street stall selling tours of the mountain which encompass all of the titans' finest moments In This Golden Age And The Last!
The simple existence of these things is worrying enough for Percy, as he sees how easily humans have adapted to life under the titans. It is the reaction of the man at the tours stand which truly unnerves him though. He is a short, fat, balding man with a Hawaiian shirt that is noisily awful enough to rival those of Percy's father. He has no time to reflect on those painful memories, though, as the man steps out from behind the counter and bows hastily, first to Atlas, then to Percy.
"M'lords," he mumbles clumsily, the words tripping over his own tongue. Then he steps backwards – carefully not turning his back, as mortals sensibly do when facing immortals now – and resumes his position as a seller of tours of dubious value.
That he bowed at all is no great surprise. They have met a number of mortals who have offered some sort of reverence as they have gone along the streets of Othrys, but they have only bowed once, and to, Percy assumed, Atlas. After all, he was only a prisoner, a defeated rebel, worthless and only worth noticing in revilement or disgust, still wearing the shirt that declared Kronos' ownership of him. Wasn't he?
"Why did he bow to me?" demands Percy.
Atlas, looks almost surprised. "You're quite famous, you know, Jackson. Maybe he's an admirer."
"If it was as simple as that, you'd have killed him for it. What's going on?"
"Then perhaps he simply wanted to show respect to a worthy foe. Are all mortals so wary of worship? No wonder none of you ever seem able to hold on to power. I remember Charles the Fifth, back in the fifteen-hundreds – or was it the sixteeen – "
"Why did he bow, Atlas?"
The titan looks at him, coldly. "I was speaking," he says, then grips the demigod by the ear as though he were nothing but a naughty schoolboy, and twists. Percy gasps in pain.
"Anyway," continues Atlas, "Charles was Holy Roman Emperor, Spanish Emperor, and I seem to remember had some very fetching land in the Netherlands too..."
Atlas talks on, rambling of centuries long gone, and Percy part-wonders how the titan knows so much if he's been trapped under the sky since the first Titanomachy, but is mostly preoccupied with the citizens of Othrys around him. All who come close to them bow, and though five minutes ago he would have assumed it was only to Atlas, now he begins to wonder if it is to them both. There are others who, like the tour-seller, bow twice, and as he strives to hear the words spoken by those who offer a brief, quiet, verbal tribute, they always seem to be addressed to lords rather than a lord. Lords, as in plural, as in more than one, as in not just Atlas, but -
Why is he being treated as though he was the hero of the titans, and not of the gods?
The surreal experience continues as they arrive at the entrance to the fortress itself. The guards at the gates uncross their spears and bow deeply, and just inside, one of the servants – or perhaps slaves, as Percy isn't certain if they are paid for their work – flings herself to the ground and lies prostrated at their feet.
"My lords," she blurts out, "my brother. He stole some bread from the kitchens because he was starving, but he's been sentenced to death for it. Please, my lords. Show mercy. Show mercy!"
She grasps at Atlas' knees in the traditional Greek pose of supplication, but he shakes her off and carries on through the hall. She lunges for Percy's legs, wrapping her arms around them.
"My lord, please!" she cries, weeping and hysterical now.
Atlas grabs him and pulls him away before Percy can tell her that he just doesn't have that kind of power here.
They leave her there, sobbing on the floor, as they hurry through the black passages.
They could be going anywhere for all Percy knows, as the corridors all seem to hold the same shape, and at times he feels like they're going around in circles. Eventually though, he is marched through a pair of double doors and presented to a table of feasting titans.
It is a large table, and Percy quickly counts that there are seats for twenty six people, a long rectangle stretching across the length of the room. It is only about half-full, and Percy doesn't recognise all those sitting there. One of those he does recognise; however, is Kronos, sitting at the head of the table. He gestures for Percy and Atlas to come and join him.
As they move up the table, Percy identifies a few of the other deities seated there, some of whom he'd met before, and others which he works out from his vague memories of myths lessons back at camp.
Prometheus is sitting near the doors, and winks slyly at Percy as he walks past. Hyperion is there, and he assumes that the other glowing titan must be Helios.
Kronos points at the seat to his left, and Percy sits there, with Atlas then placing himself to Percy's left.
Opposite them are Pallas, who looks to have been in conversation with Kronos, and another, younger looking titan. Percy double takes at his appearance, thinking for a moment that this titan is his mirror image, with the dark hair and tanned skin. Then he raises his eyes, and Percy sees that they are red, with fire and anger convulsing around one another inside them.
Pallas seems to be talking to Kronos about something, but as Percy sits, he cuts off, looks angrily at the demigod, and abruptly says to Kronos "Excuse me my lord, I have much to attend to."
Kronos nods, and Pallas promptly stands and leaves.
"What is this?" asks Percy, and the table hushes, as though hanging on his every word. He feels like an exotic zoo exhibit.
"What is this..." Kronos opens his arms, inviting Percy to fill in the gap.
"Well… all of it. People are - "
Percy is cut off as Atlas slams his head down into the table. He gasps in pain and shock and reflexively swings out at Atlas. The titan catches his arm by the wrist, though, and, once more, twists.
Percy is pushed roughly back into his seat.
"No trouble, remember Jackson?" Atlas asks. "I believe you meant to call him my lord."
"Right," Percy says through clenched teeth. "My lord."
"It doesn't have to be my lord," says Kronos. "It could be sire, or Your Majesty, or some other title which reflects my position of power over you. Anyway, you had a question?"
"Yes. My lord."
"Ask away."
"Well, yesterday I woke up in a cell and then spent most of the day in a cage."
"You are my prisoner, Perseus."
"Right. But today I woke up and my chains were taken off, and there are people out there bowing and calling me my lord, and I'm busy wondering why, when all of a sudden I'm taken in here and asked to sit down at whatever this is."
Kronos raises an eyebrow.
"My lord," finishes Percy.
The eyebrow goes down again. "This," says Kronos, "is breakfast. Give your order to a slave, and it will be with you shortly. We could do it by magic, of course, but that doesn't really yield the same thrill from the looks they give you when they drop something. It's really quite hilarious."
"But why?"
"Because they're so obviously terrified out of their tiny little minds that I'm about to vaporise them, of course," says Kronos, before addressing the slave who has materialised at his elbow. "Now I'd like a proper cooked breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages, you know. Oh, and if you could lay hands on some black pudding, that would be wonderful."
"Black pudding?" asks Percy, wondering what it is.
Kronos just looks at him as though he's stupid. "Yes," says the titan lord.
Percy shakes his head and goes back to his original question. "But why are people bowing to me? And why am I eating breakfast with you? And, hang on, I thought you didn't even need to eat?" Then, to be safe, he adds "My lord."
"Make your order, Perseus. You're keeping the waiter waiting."
"Er," Percy begins, "what have you got? Is there, like, a menu?"
"We can get hold of m-more or less anything y-you might desire, m-my lord." stammers the man.
"Oh. Thanks. Could I have pancakes, please?"
"Of course, my lord." The waiter scurries away, leaving Percy feeling bad for scaring him, but still not knowing what he did. He wonders if they do food in blue, but knows better than to ask for it. He'll probably throw up if he sees blue food. Not that there's really anything left in his stomach to be thrown up, but still. Then he realises that he's actually starving as his stomach rumbles.
"Now, to answer your question," starts Kronos. "I imagine people are bowing for the same reason why that poor man almost had a nervous breakdown when you ordered. They are really rather scared of you. Almost as much as they are of me, it seems, which is quite impressive. We eat because we want to, not because we need to. After all, the war is won, and we are the victors. Now, that seat you are sitting in used to be my wife's. I don't know if you've heard of her or not, she's been laying rather low recently. Her name is Rhea. Sadly, she is no longer one of us, ever since she betrayed me. So, as my new most treasured piece of property, it seems only right that you should get her place at the table. Speaking of which, you ought to be introduced to the others here with whom you are not properly acquainted."
Kronos introduced each titan by name, going clockwise from Percy's left around the table.
"You know Atlas of course, but next to him is Krios, and then Mnemosyne. Sadly Oceanus and Tethys… prefer to spend their time beneath the ocean, and the next spot is normally Iapetus'. Then you can see Helios and Selene, Eos, Lelantos, and there are Leto and Metis' old spots before they chose to betray us by sleeping with Zeus. You've met Prometheus, and Epimetheus used to have the spot next to him. Then Menoetius, then Asteria and Astraeus, Phoebe, Koios, Themis, Theia is the one next to Hyperion, and that young titan who seems to bear a striking resemblance to yourself is Perses. You can call him Percy, though. We all do. I believe you've met Pallas, who left just as you arrived?"
"Briefly. My lord."
"And that, I believe, is everyone."
"But why are people bowing to me?"
Kronos gives him a look. "Perhaps because they believe you to be a rather cleverer enemy than you clearly are. Now, aren't you going to say hello to everyone?"
Percy looks at the expectant faces of psychopaths, murderers, and Helios, who just looks sweaty and nervous. "Hello," he says, "er, my lords. And ladies."
"There we are. I'm sure we'll all get to know each other wonderfully well over the coming years we're to spend together!"
The food arrives, much sooner after being ordered than it really has any right to. The waiter bows and scrapes as he places it on the table, along with the orange juice Percy then asks for. Percy picks at his pancakes. He has little appetite. Kronos, on the other hand, tears at his food, stuffing the contents of the oversized plate into the maw that opens up in his face.
"Might I be excused, my lord?" asks Percy. "I'm not very hungry."
"Someone went to great trouble to get you that food Perseus. Aren't you going to show a little gratitude by at least eating it?"
Percy has the surreal feeling of being a petulant child, and though he knows its ridiculous, he can't help but feel a little ashamed of his request. He knows he'll not be allowed to leave, though, and hunkers down over the pancakes, trying to force more of them down.
"Now, a few announcements," says the titan lord. "Percy, you'll be sharing guard duties for Perseus with Atlas. You can sort out your scheduling between yourselves. Make sure he is comfortable and happy." He smiles paternally at Percy, who feels his soul shrivel up and die a little. "In an hour or so, our day of gladiator combat starts, so I expect to see all of you in the royal box at some point over the course of the event. I am aware, of course, that you may have other commitments, but that is no excuse for sloppiness. Finally, I will be giving Percy the tour of Othrys tomorrow, so I would be grateful if you could refrain from bothering us too much as I show him around."
"It's an outrage."
All eyes turn to the speaker, whose name Percy scrabbles for in his mind, struggling to remember all the titans who had been introduced only moments earlier. He thinks that this one is Menoetius.
"Oh, really?" Kronos' reply sounds innocent enough, but Percy knows the titan lord brooks little argument with his choices. It is little surprise that when he looks back to Kronos, he can see the set jaw and narrowed eyes that threaten to turn, in an instant, to full-on wrath,
"You may be our king, Kronos, but you can't do anything you want. You can't give him a titan's privileges. You can't feed and clothe him like royalty. You can't give your little whore Rhea's chair and then parade him round Othrys for all the world to see, like he's something to be proud of. We should kill him, or if you can't bring yourself to do that, then leave him to rot in the cells with the others. Put him in the arena and see how long he lasts. But he's spent his life trying to stop us. I won't act like the boy is anything but scum."
Percy wouldn't be surprised if they'd had arguments about this before. It seems a sudden outburst for the titan to just come out with, and he's aware that he's been vying for the spot of public enemy number one over the last year or so. Eyes turn back to Kronos to see his reply, and Percy can't quite stop the shiver that runs down his spine when Kronos turns his eyes to him. There is pure evil in their golden shine. He is thankful when the titan lord looks back to Menoetius.
"I do not deny that the boy is scum. He is simply scum that I have a use for. I am able to put him to that use partly by virtue of the fact that, as you pointed out, I am your king, and partly because I caught him and he is my prisoner. Do not assume that I forget the wrongs that have been done to me. Everyone on this pathetic little planet will get what is coming to them, in time. Until that time, and as part of my means towards that end, I will do as I wish with Perseus. He is mine, mine alone, and all mine. He knows it, too. Where is that fire his is famous for? What can he do to us? He is bound by chains and magic, and cannot escape. It seems that everyone except you can tell that Perseus Jackson has rather gone… wet."
Kronos looks at Percy, who stuffs the remains of his last pancake into his mouth as an excuse not to talk.
"You can go to your room now," he says. "But you'll need to come to the arena soon. Atlas, show him the way."
As Atlas leads Percy out of the room, Menoetius' silent gaze pursues him out of the room as loudly as thunder.
There is a strange sort of peace in the quiet darkness of the room that is now to be Percy's home. He feels as though he is on an island, isolated and cut off from the rest of the world, the nightmarish land run by Kronos and his cronies.
He can half-sense the raging tides of war and death sweeping around him and assaulting his defences, but is apathetic towards them. They seem so distant and disconnected from him that they cease to be real.
He'd found a new set of black clothes on the bed, replete with statements of subservience to the titans. He feels like a racing driver dressed in overalls smothered in corporate logos, but one forced to wear them for losing a war rather than for any monetary gain. There is another Property of Lord Kronos on the back, but it is joined by Love Your Masters and various other slogans.
He lies on the bed, which is surprisingly soft and malleable around his body. He sinks into it and drifts into a semi-conscious state, where he remains, unmoving and uncaring.
All good things must end though, and this brief respite as Percy dozed on the bed was truncated by Atlas rapping on the door and then barging in without waiting for an answer.
"Time to go," says the titan. "Kronos is waiting."
Percy knows that nothing good can come of these gladiatorial battles, but, conscious of the cuffs still on his wrists, he doesn't know of any way to avoid attending. He follows Atlas silently along the corridors, brooding.
The titan, though, notices his silence, and drops back to walk beside him.
"You're very quiet today, Jackson."
"Oh? Should I try and look happier that I'm being taken to watch people kill each other? Is that what it would take to really brighten your day?"
"Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt," Atlas says mildly. "I like your ass, by the way."
Percy winces. The part of his trousers which cover up that particular area of his body declares that all onlookers should Hail to the King, Baby! It's neither a good look nor one with sentiments he can really get behind, and Atlas knows it.
He suspects once more that the titan is trying not to laugh.
They arrive at the arena somewhat sooner than he expected, meaning that it's surprisingly close to his room. He wonders if there will come a day when he can go somewhere on the mountain without needing to pack supplies for the journey.
The two of them emerge onto the front of a balcony lit dimly by the sun, which is largely obscured by clouds above.
It looks out onto an arena about the size of the Colosseum – which Percy knows all about from Annabeth (actually an oval, not a circle; built from 72-80AD; average attendance of 65,000 people; funded with spoils from the Second Temple in Jerusalem, and so on) – with a sandy base spreading for almost a hundred metres from side to side, and thousands of seats filled with a baying mob of monsters. The sand is, for now, empty.
When Percy looks behind him, at the rest of the balcony on which he stands, he sees that he is in the royal box.
The seats here are luxurious, rich leather and velvet moulded over smooth marble. Kronos lounges in the largest chair, in the centre of the front row. The seat beside him is empty. Most of the titans from breakfast are also there. There is another too, a woman who is standing by Kronos, speaking quickly and quietly to him. Both seem intensely focused.
Percy's ears just tune into her saying "...if we don't find Poseidon soon - " when Kronos cuts her off.
"Ah!" he exclaims as he catches sight of Percy. "Perseus, this is Tethys. I don't believe you've met? She rules the seas with her husband, Oceanus, who I'm sure you'll get to meet at a later date as well. Tethys, this is our most famous – or should that be infamous? – prisoner, Perseus. You've heard of him, of course."
"Many times." Tethys seems to give the impression of nodding her head slightly, but Percy, being without a microscope, is unable to detect any movement. It's a curious way of giving the impression of respect without giving any – well, actual respect.
The titaness turns and moves to her seat at the side of the box, while Kronos comes forward to the edge. Percy only notices that the crowd have gone silent when Kronos seizes him by the hand and raises it above his head as though he were some kind of champion, turning him to look out at the arena once more, and they begin to shout again. This time, they are louder than ever before, seemingly devolving into frantic ecstasy as they scream at the titan and the demigod standing on the balcony at the edge of the pit.
After a minute or so, as Percy's arm grows sore from the taller titan holding it up high, Kronos lets go and it is allowed to drop. Then the titan's arm snakes behind his back and around his waist, coming to rest just at the top of Percy's thigh. Kronos guides him to the seats in the front row which Percy assumes he once shared with Rhea, and they are seated.
Kronos signals to a herald at the side of the box, a pale, skinny man who'd made an attempt to dress smartly but had clearly come up several inches short. The clothes hang uncomfortably on his frame. The spectators calm as they see him step forward to make his announcement. He stands at the very edge of the balcony and bellows with a volume Percy had not known the human voice was capable of producing.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TITANS AND MONSTERS, TODAY, FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE, FOR ONE DAY ONLY, LORD KRONOS IS PLEASED TO PRESENT A WAR OF WARRIORS, A BATTLE OF BRUTES, A TUSSLE OF TERRORS AND A DUEL OF DEMIGOOOOOOODS! WE BEGIN WITH THE MOST EXCITING FIGHT TO COME TO OTHRYS IN CENTURIES, A BATTLE BETWEEN BRAINS AND BRAWN, BETWEEN THE SONS OF ARES AND ATHENAAAAAAAA!"
Percy feels his gut twist.
"ON MY LEFT, WE HAVE THE SON OF ARES!"
He recognises, from a distance, Sherman of the Ares cabin.
"AND ON MY RIGHT, THE SON OF ATHENA!"
When he sees that it's Malcolm, his stomach drops further. He knows Sherman, has fought with him and respects him, but he likes Malcolm, even if they're not quite the closest of friends either. The son of Athena is close to Annabeth, and Percy has spent enough time with him to know that he is clever and decent and doesn't deserve to die like this.
None of us do.
Both are armed with sword and shield, but Sherman's are both slightly larger than Malcolm's. He'll have greater reach and power, but will struggle to manoeuvre himself so well. Each also has a helmet in the crook of their elbow. Malcolm wears grey armour as befits a son of Athena, while Sherman is in fiery red.
The pair both look, understandably, tense, but Malcolm a little more so. They come and stand before Kronos' box, and bow stiffly. When he straightens up, the son of Athena glares at Percy. Then he turns to take his position facing Sherman.
"COMBATANTS, PUT ON YOUR HELMETS!"
"What do you think of Stentor?" asks Kronos, leaning over. "We picked him up from the remains of Hades' army last year. He fought in the Trojan War, you know. I thought it fair to give him another chance to work for the winning side."
"That explains why he looks half-dead," says Percy, absently. "He's very loud, though. My lord." His heart isn't really in the faint jibe. Pieces are falling into place in his mind.
The herald, Stentor, is silent for a while, arms waving wildly as he attempts to build anticipation for the moment when he will start the fight. Out of place and shaky as he looks in the titans' box, the monsters need little urging, and are whipping themselves up into a frenzy.
"BEGIIIIIN!"
Sherman rushes at Malcolm, swinging and striking brutally. The son of Athena suddenly seems lacklustre and lackadaisical. He parries weakly, and takes too many hits on his shield, so it dents slightly and his arm must be aching.
Percy turns his head away from the match, but Kronos notices, and says "Eyes front, Perseus." Perses comes and stands next to him, an intimidating presence.
"My lord, you've spent ages trying to make things comfortable for me," states Percy.
"Nothing but the best for you, Perseus. There can be no pride in showing off a decrepit shell of a demigod. We must keep you in prime condition, or else who will be impressed?"
Percy keeps his eyes fixed on the fighting. Malcolm is being pushed back by the sheer intensity of Sherman's attacks.
"That's the thing. I mean, effort's gone into this. There are new clothes, a nice room, good food. I seem to be getting everything that used to belong to Rhea."
Kronos' eyes flash. His arm jerks towards Percy and stops, as though he realised what he was about to do and stopped himself just in time. The arm is slowly rescinded and settles on the rest of Kronos' chair. The titan breathes deeply, points at him, and simply says "Lady Rhea, to you."
Malcolm is almost backed against the wall now, but a wild swing by Sherman allows him to duck out under the other's arm and find new space. The crowd roars.
"Lady Rhea. Right. I've been thinking, though. It's been nice enough, if strange, that you're doing these things for me. And I've been wondering what sparked it off."
"Haven't I already told you?"
Sherman hesitates a little before his next attack, as though he expects Malcolm to trick him or make an unexpected move. They don't circle, but they both shift their weight from side to side, and keep a little distance away from each other.
"No," says Percy. "No, I don't think you have."
"When I asked for mercy yesterday, Atlas said that you'd already decided they had to die, but when I said I'd do anything, you changed your mind, or at least part of it. You changed your mind very quickly indeed."
Sherman attacks again, catches Malcolm in a poor stance, and lands a glancing blow on the son of Athena's arm. The armour prevents the worst of the damage, but he drops his shield, and backs off holding the arm gingerly.
"You simply underestimate your importance to me, Jackson."
"I just misunderstood the way I'm important to you," continues Percy. "I thought I was just a trophy that you could show off, a spoil of war. But I'm not, am I?"
Malcolm seems to have been jolted into action by the injury. He attacks desperately, fighting Sherman side on, keeping his injured arm back, and makes cuts and thrusts almost like a fencer. Sherman is equal to them, though, and Malcolm fails to penetrate his defence.
"I have no idea what you mean, Perseus."
"Because all this, while you're being nice to me and giving me what I want – it's all in public view, isn't it my lord? I'm being treated less like a prisoner of war, and more like a collaborator."
Sherman is attacking again, now, but Percy doesn't know for how long. The balance seems to be swinging this way and that, as Malcolm danced around Sherman, putting in the more impressive strikes, but also more vulnerable without shield, and, Percy noticed, slightly lighter armour. Gradually, though, Malcolm was once more being backed towards the wall.
"As I've said, no-one will be impressed I've captured a weakling. We must keep you at your best."
"That's not it at all. You know that the resistance still exists, so you have greater priorities than just showing off. I'm their figurehead, so whenever I'm seen to be in league with you, it destroys people's faith in the old order a little more, and gives you more power. This is showing off to the mortals, but it's psychological warfare against the demigods."
Sherman has Malcolm backed against the wall now. He swings, but Malcolm dodges and the son of Ares is thrown off balance by the sword striking against the stone. Sparks fly. Sherman makes a hasty thrust in Malcolm's general direction, but the other half-blood is ready. He catches Sherman's sword with his hilt-guard, twists, pushes down, and all of a sudden Sherman has to stagger back, unarmed. It is the same disarming move Luke taught Percy all those years ago.
Percy carries on. "There are going to be demigods who still support me, and some who believe I've turned on them and are helping you. There might be some who try and rescue me, but they won't be a majority and you'll beat them easily. They won't be so motivated, they won't feel so strong, and all the while, as they fight amongst themselves, you get more and more powerful. You think that if you can convince them, or at least some of them, that I work for you now, then you'll win."
"I'm impressed Perseus. Clearly you're not just a pretty face. Yes, I am using you to divide the half-bloods. You are, to all intents and purposes, one of us now. Just remember, if you're ever thinking of not doing as I say, that you are not the only one you imperil. I will kill everyone you care about if it will keep you loyal to me. I have no qualms about this. Your friends you saved in New York are arriving tomorrow, and if I were you, I would think about them before you think of anyone else. Death comes easily to mortals, but they seem to find the deaths of others especially hard."
Sherman hurries backwards, blocking Malcolm's attacks with his shield, but he can't get around to his dropped sword. Malcolm always keeps himself between the two.
"You could not even bear to see your friends fight," says Kronos.
Sherman makes a last-ditch attempt to reach his sword. He rushes at Malcolm, dodging the first swing and leaping shield-first into the other half-blood's face. Malcolm falls back, but as he does so, brings his leg straight up, hard, between Sherman's legs. The son of Athena gets up, bloody nosed, just before the son of Ares, and holds his sword to Sherman's throat. The crowd cheer wildly. The pair on the sandy Arena floor look up at the royal box.
Kronos rises, and stands at the edge of the box. He raises his arms for quiet, and the noise is duly muted. He turns to look at Percy, and smiles. His face is in a slight shadow as he does so, and his teeth appear unnaturally white. "Allow me to demonstrate my point," he says.
He extends his right arm over the balcony edge, and, after a moment, points his thumb down. The monsters all around scream.
From his spot in the box, Percy can see Malcolm look along his sword at Sherman, who doesn't seem to react. Then Malcolm looks up at the box. He lowers the sword, and the whole stadium goes silent. Then he sticks the sword in the sand and helps Sherman up.
Percy's heart soars for Malcolm, because he has not given up, but then Perses is in the arena and Percy doesn't know how he got there and he brings his spear out and knocks Malcolm aside and then Sherman is screaming and the crowd are screaming too and Malcolm's being dragged away by the guards and Sherman is still screaming and Percy can't breathe and Kronos is standing there in front of him just relishing the bloodshed and smiling. Bastardbastardbastardbastard.
"You should remember," he finds himself saying. "No-one always gets what they want. Not even you, Lord Kronos."
The titan whirls around and before Percy can react he has been seized around the jaw and gripped tightly. "Oh, sweet naive innocent pure stupid Perseus. Don't you know I have ways of getting what I want?" The murder he just saw is written all over the titan's face. He looks as though he went mad many centuries ago during his stay in Tartarus. Maybe he has always been mad. "Anyone who doesn't give me what I want dies, slowly and painfully. It's invariably effective. You should think about what you want, and watch your tongue. For your friends' sake."
There are other events throughout the day that Percy is expected to watch, and so does, but the demigods involved are either ones he doesn't know or recognise, or fighters who somehow all manage to defeat the monster or animal they have to face. None make quite the same impression as the first match of the day.
When he leaves, escorted by Perses this time, he sees Atlas and Tethys move to speak to Kronos. Then they are gone from view, and he is back in the darkness of the corridors.
And there's another.
All reviews absolutely appreciated, constructive criticism is great, and if I've made any horrible mistakes, pointing them out to me would be wonderful.
I never expected this chapter to get this long, and it's great that it did, but it also made it a pig to edit afterwards. So sorry if there are problems.