MelkorTheBlackFoe: So first it was a good chapter as always. I especially find your idea for this story good because I am a big fan of both Percy Jackson and Game of thrones especially the books. A small question who is your favourite person in Game of Thrones? My favourite is Jon Snow although I like book Jon more.
Ps: I hope my English is not too bad. / My favourite is Daenerys and her dragons. Nope, your english is good.

thegoldraven: Just curious, who's your favorite Game of Thrones character? / Daenerys.

Flaming eyeball (chapter 1): this is amazing I love the is story and love both all of rick Riordan's books and game of thrones will Kronos be the new 'mountain'? (you know the guy that beat the prince guy in trial by combat? / Hah no.

thegoldraven: Ahahaha I feel sort of sorry for the guy. Every being in that pantheon seemed high on nectar. Slavers? Good lord. Is he going to Meereen or one of the other free cities? I'm kind of rooting for Kronos to escape to Westeros and find himself in the War of the Five Kings/Queens. Kronos probably knows nothing about current Westeros. He left long before even the Long Night. The Andals weren't around when he left either. All there was when he left was the starting of Old Valyrian Empire and some settlements of the First Men and the Children of the Forest. Well, he's in for a surprise. And where in Westeros did Kronos and his siblings live? / Lol, yeah that part my friend wrote :). Yes, Kronos is. He'll be meeting Daenerys. Exactly, he's completely unaware. They had the entirety of Westeros and Essos to themselves.


Chapter 3

Morning brought throbbing pain. And along with throbbing pain came fire, blood and anguish.

His stomach aches, his nose, jaw and generally everything in his pathetic mortal body aches.

Kronos takes in a deep breath and promptly winces at the pain in his lungs from the battering he took the day before. Slowly, he moves stiffly to lift up the bottom of his shirt, revealing the dark purple bruises littering his stomach. He exhales and rolls over, moving to sit up. The slavers are already awake around him, packing up their gear and dampening down the fire. The length of rope around his ankles has rubbed him raw during the night, as has the one around his wrists, the pink flesh of his mortal body evident from his struggling. He's currently bound to a spike set into the ground by the length around his ankles.

He waits until he's approached by the slaver, looking up at the man as another man takes the spike out of the ground and rolls up the rope, handing it to the slaver. His ankles are untied, but before he can even try anything the length of rope is tied securely to his wrists.

The slaver doesn't say anything, he simply turns and makes his way over to the horses, leaving Kronos to clamber to his feet and stagger helplessly after them. He spies Backbiter and his pack tied down on the back of the black horse he'd thought of stealing the night before. The black horse must belong to the man he killed, Kronos muses.

"On the horse," the slaver orders, gesturing with a hand. "We don't have time for you to walk behind us."

Kronos winces as he does as ordered, his bruised stomach paining him. He struggles initially, trying to mount the stallion, but once he's settled on the horse, they move off riding towards the beach.

Every so often, Kronos grimaces as his stomach is jostled, and he can certainly feel the throbbing pain from his nose and jaw. He ponders at the thought of escaping, he's on his horse - which he's now claimed as his, but it's pointless, knowing that his hands are bound and the slaver has the other end of the fucking rope. He sighs in exasperation

Several long and boring hours after they set off, the men pause for lunch. Kronos bristles as they take food out of his pack, leaving him tied next to the horses, and tuck into the meagre amount. Even more importantly, Kronos' stomach rumbles.

The slaver glances over at him, smiling. "Hungry?" he calls.

Kronos had only had a small piece of bread the night before, and nothing that morning. They had been riding for several hours in intense heat. Of course, he was bloody hungry. He nods slightly in response.

The slaver just continues smiling, "Good."

A million insults run through Kronos' brain as he watches the slaver taunt him, stuffing the last of the food in his mouth, smirking at Kronos with a stuffed face. Kronos groans shutting his eyes, letting his head drop back against the log they'd bound him to. The sun smoulders down upon him, cracking his lips and leaching water from his body.

"Boy."

He cracks open an eye, jerking upright when he sees the flask of water in the slaver's hand. He drinks slowly, expecting there to be little water. If they're not giving him food, then they'd give him the bare minimum of water too. There's a little under three mouthfuls left in the flask, enough to leave him wanting more and not enough to quench his thirst.


"Jeez that's harsh," Annabeth watches on, Hecate nodding in agreement with her. "He's not gonna last three days at max."

"It's what he deserves." Zeus spits out, folding his hands and rolling his eyes at his father's patheticness. "A taste of the mortal life."


A few minutes later, and Kronos is untied from the log. He struggles back onto the horse, the men waiting impatiently.

The dependency of a mortal body on food and water was catching him off-guard. More than expected. It was a lot easier for an immortal to refuse food and water; they didn't need it to survive.

The heat saps at his strength.

Every time the men stop, they replenish their energy with food and copious amounts of water, but only allow Kronos no more than three mouthfuls of water. They consistently refuse him food.

By the end of the day, Kronos doesn't bother to resist when they drag him over to the fire they'd started, nor when they bind his ankles together again. But he twitches violently, mouth snapping open and a furious curse flying from his lips when he feels a hand thrust down the back of his pants. He shoots daggers at the surrounding men as snickers erupt from the men around him, but they make no other move otherwise to touch him.

The slaver takes the end of the long rope again, wrapping it around his hand so he has a secure hold on Kronos before he is finally given water again.

Any resemblance of food is still absent as Kronos slips into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, the men untie his ankles and lead him straight to the horses again.

They curve towards the sea.

It takes Kronos several seconds to remember that the Primordials have no true influence over this world; he doubts his Uncle Pontus would be able to kill him - saving him from this misery. A hiss escapes his clenched teeth as he's pulled off the horse, landing on the sand with a solid thud. He's practically dragged to his feet, before the men march him down the beach towards the sea.

Once in the surf, they force him to his knees. Kronos is held still as they use the seawater to wash away the dried and crusted blood over his face. After several long minutes of choking and spitting seawater and blood out of his mouth, the slaver grabs his chin and studies him. His nose is still swollen and broken, and it hurts to breathe through it.

Kronos yelps out - bastard he curses in his head, as the slaver breaks it back into a normal position, blood again trickling down. One of the men starts wiping the new blood away with the seawater, but the slaver stops him as he scans Kronos' cracked jaw - the only reason he'd been so quiet the past day.

"That can stay as it is," the slaver remarks, brushing a finger down Kronos' jaw.

The former deity jerks away from the offending finger, but only glares at the mortal.

"The ship's waiting for us around the corner," the slaver says as he stands, making his way back up the sand to the horses and waiting men. "I've no doubt Malko will pay a good price for the boy."

The length of rope which Kronos is really starting to hate - really wanting to strangle the assholes with - is handed back to the slaver, and the men help Kronos back onto the horse. Kronos - thirsty and starving - lets his head drop to rest on his chest, watching the ground beneath him as they trot north-east up the coast.

Sure enough, when they round a headland Kronos sees the ship anchored offshore, a small rowing boat on the beach.

The slaver dismounts. "Off the horse, boy," he orders, reaching for Kronos' sword and dagger. They'd broken Kronos' bow, used it for kindling for the fire and had decided to keep the dozen or so arrows of his. Kronos had nothing left except his precious Backbiter and the dagger.

Kronos dismounts and is promptly unceremoniously tugged over to the rowing boat and the dark-skinned slaver standing beside it.

"Malko," the slaver greets. He doesn't wait for Malko to respond, instead turning to nod towards Kronos. "We found the boy two nights ago - skulking around our camp. He took out one of my men, and held the rest of us off for almost fifteen minutes."

Malko - the captain of the slaver ship - studies Kronos. "How old is he?"

The slaver shrugs. "He hasn't yet said." He gestures towards Kronos' jaw. "He took a few hits in the face from my men."

Malko nods slightly. "Seven golden honours."

The slaver scowls, yanking Kronos to his knees with the length of rope. "He's worth at least nine!"

"Eight," Malko says, his lips firmly pressed together, wanting to secure a good offer.

"Deal." Kronos is kicked forward from the slaver behind him, falling to his hands. The slaver hands over the rope to Malko, Kronos is dragged up by the rope binding his wrists, and the money is exchanged. The slaver - fortunately - hands Backbiter and the dagger to Malko. "These are his."

Malko drops them into the rowing boat as the slaver retreats back up the beach.

Kronos is pulled closer to Malko, the rope gathered up in the dark-skinned slaver's hand. Malko doesn't say anything, he only passes the rope on to another slaver at his side who pulls Kronos right over to the boat and takes hold of him. Kronos tenses at the touch, as he's pushed into the little rowing boat.

A hiss escapes him as he's shoved over to drop onto one of the benches.

He sighs when he's tied to a little iron ring in the hull of the boat, hunched over due to the non-existent slack in the rope. His wrists give him burning pain, rubbed raw from the two days of constant chafing - he was sure his hands would fall off his mortal body at any given time.

"How old are you, boy?" Malko demands as they set off towards the ship anchored offshore.

Kronos blatantly refuses to answer, keeping his mouth firmly shut. Malko nods to the man across from Kronos, the one who'd tied him down. He punches Kronos in the gut, causing him to grunt and double over as much as he can, the pain from his previous abuse increasing tenfold. He gasps in precious oxygen, the air burning his parched throat.

"It would be wise to listen to us, boy," Malko states. "Since you'll be with us until you're bought."

Kronos considers his options, which are practically non-existent. His eyes bore slits at the man. "Fuck off." He wasn't going to bow and scrape at this dark-skinned mortal's feet. That was beneath him.

Malko merely shakes his head, looking up at the boat as they pull alongside. Kronos is untied from the little rowing boat and led onto the deck. Malko frowns at him, noting his defiance, yet how he sags as he stands. "Someone get him water and food," he orders.

Kronos is surprised when he gets handed an entire flask, half empty, but still sufficient to finally quench his thirst. The bread is stale and almost rock solid, but it's food so he stuffs it down his oesophagus hungrily. After Kronos has eaten, he washes the stale bread down with the water. His eyes narrow suspiciously as he watches Malko walk down the deck of the ship, studying the various slaves manning the oars of the ship.

The former immortal stiffens when he sees a slaver approaching with a thick, black metal collar and manacles. Instantly, he tries to jerk away from the men holding him, but one grabs his cracked jaw to keep him still and a hiss of pain escapes him.

The collar snaps shut around his throat, a cold and heavy weight that settles on the top of his shoulders. He lets out a wordless roar, twisting before they can snap the manacles around his wrists and punches the man within the closest vicinity to him. It's hard to punch with his hands bound, but Kronos manages well, shattering the man's nose.

The other slaves on the deck watch on emotionlessly, the ones rowing not daring to falter in their rhythm.

"I'm not a slave," Kronos snarls furiously. He was a King!

"Let me go." The slavers ignore his order, much to his chagrin. Kronos growls when hands grab him. "Get off - damn it - you bastards!" He jerks around and throws another punch, again aiming for the face.

A grunt escapes his lips when one of the slavers use the chain attached to the collar to pull him back.

"Fuck off," Kronos snarls at them, struggling in their grasp. His eyes flick furiously back and forth judging the number of men now surrounding him.

"The boy is as useless as nipples on a breastplate," one of the slavers laughs at him, throwing a kick into Kronos' ribs.

"You little cunt!" Kronos hisses at the fury erupting in the side of his body. The slaver spits at his face in retaliation, taking a few steps back as Kronos staggers forward, forcing himself away from the slaver that's holding him back.

"Guess who's the whimpering cunt 'ere?" the slaver smirks, cocking his head to the side.

"Curse you to the depths of fucking Tartarus and back!" Kronos' voice is harsh, finding every single possible way to insult the slaver's dignity. The last thing he wanted to do was return to Tartarus, at least he'd send a few fucking mortals in his wake from this hellworld he was in, back to the Primordial's company - and not himself.

The slaver spits out a laugh, ignoring the former Titan and not having a clue on what Kronos was saying, "There is no cure to being a cunt." He turns, walking away from Kronos, not giving a shit about his morals. "You'll have to do better than that."

"Fuck you and your tiny little cock," Kronos bites out sharply. That certainly draws the slaver's attention as he stops, turning to face Kronos' ungodly body. He paces over to Kronos, bile in his veins, directly looking the former immortal in his haunting gold eyes.


"Ooooh burn," Hecate hisses out, a predatory smile sent in Hermes direction as he glares back at her.

The pavilion is in absolute silence as the gods and demigods watch eagerly at the shit that is about to break out.

"This should be entertaining," Ares cracks his knuckles, leaning in intently.


"Say that again," the slaver bites out, his offence showing in the sting of the syllables that drop from the trap on his face.

Kronos smirks, seeing as he's finally popped a vein. He leans in, his face mere inches away from the slaver's deathly face.

"Fuck you," he pauses, gold pools glaring at the slaver's green ones, "and your tiny little cock."

An unearthly silence engulfs the deck as the standoff continues between the pair. Not a word is said as the men stare on blankly having seen a fellow slaver insulted in such a way. No one dares laugh or snicker, or it'd be their neck on the line - balls indeed included.

The pair stand there, minutes pass as eyes are locked on each other seeing who would lose it first. The slaver clenches his jaw, pissed and staring on at Kronos' cooly collected form. Kronos holds his ground for a few moments, not giving in. Oh, how he just wanted to headbutt the shit out of the slaver in front of him right now. But just as tempting as it seemed to be, he controls his temper - for once.

"Seize him," the slaver growls losing it at Kronos' cocky expression. Men throw themselves at Kronos' form pinning him down to the ground. Kronos struggles under the pile of mortals on top of him, rendering him immobile. He spits in a couple of their faces, blinding them momentarily, as the slaver he had merely insulted moments ago returns.

Kronos eyes widen at the object in his hands, the manacles he was struggling to avoid. One of the slavers pins his head down to the wooden deck of the ship, his arms pinned beneath his own bulk. His torso is kept pinned down as his head is pulled up. The slaver Kronos had insulted abruptly produces a strip of leather from apparently nowhere, and forces it into Kronos' mouth. The ends are tied tightly behind his head, almost tight enough to give him an instant migraine.

Whilst Kronos is distracted with the taste of the leather - cured in cow's shit - suddenly shoved into his mouth, the slavers take hold of his arms and pull them out from under him. He shakes his head and lets out a muffled growl, struggling against them. But he's only mortal, and cannot hope to take down the several men holding him down. The rope binding his wrists is swapped for the metal manacles, the cold biting into the raw skin beneath. A short chain links the two manacles together.

"Bring him over here," Malko's voice calls. "We'll swap this one out," he adds, gesturing to a slave who looks half-dead as he rows.

No. Great Chaos, no. Kronos thinks, his eyes widening. The slavers all get off him, allowing him to put his hands beneath himself. He's unsteady on his feet, but isn't given time before he's pulled over to Malko by the chain. He inhales through his nose, only to flinch slightly - his nose is still healing and it hurts to breathe.

Malko roars for the slaves to stop rowing.

As Kronos watches, the slavers detach the slave from the oar and the line of slaves. The former Titan resists when they try to drag him over, only to promptly be pulled over by the chain, the metal of the collar digging into the base of his neck, making him slightly choke on the oxygen he gasps for. He shifts when they tie him to the other slaves, his chain attaching to the back of the collar of the slave in front of him, and the slave behind him being tied to the back of Kronos' collar.

His jaw tightens when the chain link between his wrists is untied from one manacle, trailed through the metal ring struck into the oar, and then tied back to the manacle. Leaving him bound to the oar.

With him securely tied to the oar, the slavers lumber off.

Malko smiles, putting a foot up on the edge of the rower's bench and leaning towards Kronos. "We're heading to Volantis, boy. That's a long row. When you stop fucking about, we'll take that off," he says, gesturing to the leather gag.

Kronos' eyes narrow at him and his hands fist against the smooth wooden handle of the oar. Fucking bastard.

Malko apparently knows what Kronos is thinking, because his eyes narrow at Kronos in return. Then he smiles faintly before his hand collides with Kronos' cheekbone. Kronos' head jerks back from the force, snapping his head back to see the slaver already turning away from Kronos, making his way back up the deck. His sharp golden eyes glare holes into the slaver's back, wanting to stuff his hand down the slaver's throat and rip his guts out through his own mouth - though that was impossible with the manacles he was forced to wear.

Malko calls for rowing to begin again, only this time former Lord of Time is amongst the rowers.

Kronos continues to give death stares at the slaver, willing him to spontaneously combust into a pile of ashes - as expected, nothing happens, but it was worth the try.

A muffled grunt tears from Kronos' throat, as he feels a whip collide with his back, ripping the thin fabric of his measly t-shirt open - the solid force making him hiss and twist away from the leather whip responsible. His flesh ignites as if it's literally on fire suffering from the agony, even though he's still wearing his thin t-shirt - or was wearing what remained of his t-shirt - not giving him any protection at all.

His fingers curl, digging into the wood as he clenches the oar he's chained to, trying to withstand the affliction he has to put up with. Kronos hisses, feeling the slick warmth of his mortal red blood trickle down his back, staining the remnants of the clothes he wore.

Having a body that was intentionally just a sack of meat that was being worn, this savagery was brutal to him - but he'd felt worse in his long existence. Zeus had cut him into a million little pieces before. Of course, a mortal body was far less forgiving and a cut throat was bound to kill him, not merely slow him down.

Before Kronos can start moving to row, the whip again cracks down, only this time on his unprotected stomach. His stomach which is already mottled with a palette of different colours from all the abuse over the past few days and Kronos is sure that he's got a fractured rib somewhere in there too. He cries out against the foul leather gag, the pain already in his stomach flaring up angrily, making him clench his abdominal muscles involuntarily when the whip ruptures him once more. Kronos inhales sharply, even though he struggles to draw breath into his lungs and starts rowing obediently, perfectly in time with the other slaves.

The slaver who'd whipped him into action walks away down the line of slaves, pausing to crack the whip against the back of another slave further up the line. Kronos glares daggers at him, wanting to throw a pitchfork into the man's back.

But he can do nothing, chained to the oar as he is.

The leather gag in his mouth tastes foul, the taste of cow-shit instinctively making him want to retch, drying his throat out even faster and the sun overhead in the sky isn't warming up to him anytime soon. Well, it was warming up to him - making him bloody shrivel up, but it wasn't warming up to him in the case that they'd be friends anytime soon.

Kronos angrily draws the oar back to his chest, fighting against the force of the sea to do so, and knows that he is thoroughly beaten. He cannot hope to escape as he is.

He inwardly curses the god of the sun and sea - Apollo and Poseidon, knowing they won't hear him.


Back at the pavilion, the two said gods rise from their chairs, looking towards each other.

"I have the sudden urge to kill that guy." they say simultaneously, both pointing a finger at Kronos on the screen.

"Why?" Percy and Will both look towards their dads in utter confusion.

"You'll understand when you're older," the pair of gods grumble, before taking their seats again, Percy's and Will's face blank at their dads' comment.


Kronos glances to his left, towards the mast of the ship and the slave chained down who had previously been rowing where he currently was. In doing so, he slows his movements slightly when he catches the other slave's eyes. Unfortunately, a slaver behind him notices the change in pace.

Fucking cunt, Kronos snarls as another whip cracks against his back.

He pours his anger into rowing.


MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

I know. Lovely chapter. It'll get better for Kronos, I promise.