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Notes and Etymology
Hanged God – A kenning used to refer to Odin.
Huginn and Muninn – Huginn and Muninn are Odin's ravens. Each day they travel to Midgard, observe the world, and return back to Odin with information.
Fannar – Name derived from the Old Norse word fǫnn (Snow Drift).
Straw-Death – A kenning used to refer to death by old age or disease.
Perseus Thrall-Born – Asgard, 887 CE
Odin's private garden was one of Asgard's most curious mysteries. Odin guarded his sacred land jealously. No being other than a select few among the gods were ever granted access and even then, only rarely.
The enigmatic nature of the grounds had fostered a considerable amount of hearsay among the people of Asgard. Some said the land was filled to the brim with the rarest plants and wildlife from all the nine realms. Others theorized it wasn't a garden at all, but rather a place for Odin to strengthen his all-sight in ultimate quiet. Some would even whisper in shadowed corners, claiming that the garden was a place for Odin to practice dark rituals created to secure his supreme power over the rest of the gods.
While Percy had never been a rumormonger – he'd always been more interested in the concrete rather than the speculative – he had admittedly found himself a bit caught up in the mystique. He often spent nights wondering if he would ever see the garden. If he would ever have the chance to tread where no mortal had ever trodden. It was a more than welcome surprise then when, this morning, Odin had extended to him the most coveted invitation in all of Asgard.
The garden – which Percy was quickly learning to be more akin to a forest – was so far proving to be worthy of its unofficial title as the hidden jewel of Asgard. It was filled with an endless abundance of unknown flowers, each as unique as it was stunning. They dazzled the eye with their splendor and tickled the nostrils with their pleasant fragrances. The trees that made up the forest were tall, thick, and strong, and each was imbued with an intense magical energy that was palpable even through the godly aura that enshrouded the forest.
Wildlife roamed the land, unafraid of Percy or any other dangers. He saw caribou with horns of silver walking alongside bears with claws of gold. The flowing rivers and glittering ponds housed elegant fish and brutish crocs, swimming in tandem like the fastest of friends.
The air itself was tinged by peace. Overflowing with invigorating energy and inspiring splendor. Percy could see why Odin wanted this realm to himself. The purity and gentle beauty of Odin's garden caressed and eased Percy's soul in a way that no place had ever managed to before. Had he been offered all the time in the world, he still would've overstayed his welcome. Nevertheless, he had been summoned by a higher power than comfort, so he was forced to push on.
Eventually Percy stumbled across a peaceful glade sequestered deep within the garden. It was there he found his summoner, Odin, flanked by the same four gods that had greeted Percy what seemed like a lifetime ago. A hole had been dug at their feet. Rectangular, shallow, and unnervingly human-sized, there was no mistaking the hole's purpose. It was a grave, and Percy could only speculate as to who would fill it.
He tried his best not to let his gaze linger on the empty grave as he approached, but his mentors didn't make it easy. The way they were watching him – with grim expressions and serious auras – made the grave seem downright pleasant. When he came to a stop before them, his last step sent a clump of dirt tumbling downward, falling until it landed with a gentle plop at the bottom of the hungry chasm. His mind screamed at him to stare into the ominous pit at his feet, but through sheer will alone he managed to force his gaze towards Odin's ever unreadable face.
"You know why you have been summoned here?" The hanged god asked.
Percy shook his head. Odin nodded to himself like he'd expected as much.
"In your lessons with me, we have spent a great deal of time looking forward. While our gaze has been trained ahead, Huginn and Muninn have kept watch over the present. From what they tell me, I believe it is time that you made your return to Midgard."
The words took a moment to process. For months, Percy had been waiting for this moment. Waiting to hear that he could finally return to his home. Return to Trygve and Liv and the life he'd been destined to live until the gods had become real. In his visions, the moment had always been one of joy. Now though, as the weight of Odin's words sank deep into his bones, he did not smile. He was not happy. He was terrified.
To return to Odin's Rest meant that his preparation was over. There would be no more practice. No more lessons learned or failures without consequence. Once he returned, the enemies Odin had foreseen and the nightmares Percy so loathed would become reality. He had grown much under the tutelage of the gods, but still he was unsure if he had learned enough to truly change things for the better. Unsure if he had the strength to do what was asked of him.
"Has something happened?" Percy asked. "Or has our time reached its natural end?"
"Much has happened since you have been with us. Some of it good, most of it bad." Thor answered. "Perhaps we might have delayed a bit longer, but circumstance often dictates what desire cannot."
Naturally, Freya was the first one to see through him and realize the heart of his worry.
"We understand that this is not something you could ever be fully prepared for, but we do believe you fit for the task, Percy. There is no other we would rather entrust."
"It matters not if he is ready. If he is, we prevail. If he is not, we die. We can merely send him and wait." Loki said.
"Loki is correct, though crass." Odin averred. "The enemy has been ravaging Halvard's forces for too long now. You must return and make yourself known to them. Ensure through steel and blood that they fear your very name. Only then, when they would rather turn on their own than face you, will this war finally end."
And with that, Odin disappeared in a flash of light. Thor and Loki were soon to follow, teleporting away only after they'd offered Percy their own words of 'encouragement'. With them gone, Percy was alone in the glade save for Freya, his father, and a shallow grave.
"He wasn't truly considering burying me here, was he?" Percy asked when the lingering scent of Odin's aura had dissipated.
"The grave was not Odin's idea." Aegir grumbled. "It was mine."
Percy frowned.
"And it's here because…?"
"It is here to remind you that a deal has been made. Look down and know that by the time you are finished, this grave must be filled. You and fate alone may decide who fills it."
Aegir had scarcely finished speaking before he disappeared in a cloud of sea mist. Percy couldn't help but scowl at the space his father had just occupied. He had received no 'goodbye'. Been offered no 'good luck'. All his father had cared for was to remind him that if he didn't do what had to be done, he would die. His friends would die. It was as typical of his father as anything the god had ever done.
"He speaks unkindly, but he speaks true." Freya murmured. "We have done much for you, but such generosity cannot be accepted without reciprocity. We ask much of you in return. Fate will ask much of you. I fear that you may be asked for more than you will be willing to give. I pray that you are strong enough to endure nonetheless."
He quirked an eyebrow.
"Is it even possible for a goddess to pray?"
Freya shrugged.
"Why would it not be? Is a goddess incapable of hope? And what is a prayer but hope given direction?"
"I always thought a prayer was a conduit for speaking to the gods."
"It is, but does that matter more than the hope itself?" Freya challenged. "Do the gods listen to your prayers? How many times did you pray to be free before you shed your shackles?"
"You know, you don't exactly inspire much faith in the gods."
The goddess smiled a somber smile.
"Because we are not to be trusted." She answered, as if it were that simple. "We do our best, but for all our divinity, we are still imbued with the humanity of our subjects. It makes us better in many ways, but it also makes us fallible. Now, enough talk of depressing matters. There is something I must give you before you depart."
"And should I trust that I'll enjoy this gift?"
Freya chuckled.
"I believe you should. Now close your eyes."
He did as he was bid, shutting off the outside world and studying the back of his eyelids. As soon as he was in darkness, he heard Freya approach. A soft hand grabbed his forearm in a tender embrace and lifted his hand to a… Was that the haft of an axe? He opened his eyes to peek, but Freya's fingers blocked his view.
"No cheating." The goddess chided. "Extend your senses. Tell me what it is you feel?"
Percy nodded, closed his eyes once more, and began to focus. He felt the moisture in the air. Sensed a river flowing in the distance. His attention grazed over the forest, then to Freya, and finally to the rough wood clutched in his own hand.
There was a strange familiarity to it. It felt… It almost felt alive. Water still flowed through the wood. Magical power sat heavier than raw iron beneath the bark. The energy signature felt familiar. Like an old friend, or rather, like an old foe. But it couldn't be… Could it?
"Yggdrasil?" Percy guessed. "The haft is of Yggdrasil?"
Freya removed her hand from his eyes, revealing to him a glamorous smile and eyes aglow with far too many unreadable emotions to count. She slowly nodded, and Percy felt his eyes widen. He glanced down at his hand, where an axe crafted from a branch of the World Tree now proudly sat. The bark was still on the branch, and it was still curled into the unorthodox shape that only nature could create, but it already felt more comfortable and more powerful than any weapon he'd ever held before.
"You'll have to finish it yourself." Freya told him. "The axe is the self, and its edge is the mind. The handle must be fit for your mind and body alike, and not even the finest craftsman may hope to emulate one's familiarity with oneself. The task is yours and yours alone."
Percy looked up, already moving to embrace his dearest friend on Asgard, but was stopped by a sight as wonderous as his new axe. Freya held in her hands the most beautiful shield he had ever seen. The wood was smooth and glistening, adorned with the painted image of a bear. It was so intricately designed and so expressive that Percy could've sworn Freya had captured a living beast and ensnared its soul in the wood.
"The second half of my gift to you." Freya said, answering his unasked question. "Like your axe, it is crafted from the gifts of Yggdrasil. I believe the unique properties of the wood will make some otherwise unwise combat opportunities quite effective."
Percy grinned so hard he thought his cheeks might split.
"So, I can throw my shield again?"
This time, it was Freya's turn to smile.
"A worthy gift, no?"
He didn't answer, because words could not do his immeasurable gratitude justice. Pushing his gifted shield out of the way, Percy threw himself at the goddess, embracing the woman who had made Asgard something more than a training ground. She smelled of all the unknown flowers in Odin's Garden, and her slender arms around him were the most comfort he'd felt since leaving his home two years ago.
"I cannot thank you enough for what you've done for me." He whispered into her hair.
Her voice came muffled from her place in his shoulder.
"Thank me by succeeding. By living to see another day, and ten thousand days afterwards."
He pushed off her, leaving one hand on her shoulder as he looked into her divine eyes. Golden tears trailed down her cheeks, and her eyes were filled with a myriad of emotions too complex to understand. The only thing he could make out was the same emotion he felt now. The stinging pain of loss that came with parting.
"I will survive." He promised. "If only so that I may return and beat you in a spar once again."
Freya chuckled, but her laughter was tinged with the wetness of loss. Pulling away, she maneuvered to the edge of the grave, putting the chasm between them. There, she reached into a pouch at her belt and extracted a fine, cosmic looking powder. She muttered a short incantation in a language Percy didn't understand before throwing it into the grave.
There was an eruption of purple fire, followed by a plume of smoke. When the cloud dissipated, Percy peered into the grave, only it wasn't a grave anymore. The bottom had fallen away, revealing a hole that reached the bottom of Asgard. So far below it was almost beyond his vision, Norway's snow-covered landscape – dotted by blots of blue – stared back at him.
"I look forward to that day." She murmured. "But until then, our time is at an end."
"This is goodbye then?"
Freya nodded.
"It is."
Percy looked at her. Studied her unreadable eyes and saw the mist in them. Saw the agony on her face and felt the pain emanating from her divine soul. It was too much for a simple parting. There was sadness there. Guilt there. A million emotions and too few reasons for them to exist in such magnitude.
"May we meet again." He forced out. "Be it in life or in death."
And then he stepped over the abyss and fell back to the world from which he'd once risen.
Acke Agmundsson – Norway, 887 CE
Acke loathed feasts. They were a tactical nightmare, confining all the clan's strongest men into one space, where they guzzled mead and ate smoked meats until they were as lethargic as they were drunk. Moreover, the cacophonous cheers of rowdy men had always grated him. He found no joy in revelry. The pleasures of war, women, and worship had always taken precedence over sweet drinks and celebrations of valor. Alas, his position as the king's foremost advisor, warmaker, and bodyguard demanded constant vigilance, which in turn demanded his attendance at each trivial banquet Jökull chose to indulge in.
The good of it was that no attention was paid to men in the shadows at functions such as this one. He was free to cloak himself in the tenebrosity of the room's edge, blending into the backdrop and becoming invisible amidst the chaos of the noticed. His eyes could scan freely over each cheery face, searching for any signs of treasonous intent hidden within their glassy eyes.
"Acke!" He heard his king call through the din. "Come out from your hiding place!"
As remiss as he would be to abandon his surveillance, Acke was honor-bound to obey. Muttering to himself about Jökull's severe lapse in judgement, Acke forced himself from the shadows and into the bustling crowd. He maneuvered deftly through the writhing bodies, reaching the side of the king before the man had the chance to pick him out from the crowd.
"What is it you require?" Acke asked.
The king jerked in his throne, nearly spilling his mead as he turned to face Acke.
"By the gods," Jökull hissed, "Must you always do that?"
"A force of habit." Acke apologized. "I will strive to be less discreet next time."
"See that you do." Jökull began, placing a hand on his rounded gut as he spoke. "Now, there is-"
Jökull's request was never voiced, as his words were silenced by a great crash at the far end of Fannar Hall. By the time Acke had drawn his axe, two dozen of Jökull's own men had burst through the open doors. All eyes were cast upon the tactless entrants, each guest curious as to the nature of the soldiers' abrupt arrival. The vikingrs had their weapons drawn but not one was raised in animosity towards the king. The biting steel was instead pointed at a lone man standing amidst the sea of watchmen, each weapon threatening to dole out the death penalty should he show any sign of resistance.
The sheer number of guards escorting the man set Acke on edge. Immediately he began to study the man, coming to a great many realizations in only a breath. First, the man was scarcely a man at all. He was tall, true, but not towering. His body muscled and his face chiseled, but both still bore the last vestiges of a fading youth. Many would've written him off as a boy dreaming of manhood, but it was Acke's deeper observations that took credence over the false implications of the boy's appearance.
There was much that spoke to the boy's potential. His physique told of countless hours of rigorous training. His eyes bore the same analytical look that Acke saw in his own reflection. Twitching fingers told of barely restrained combative instincts. A confident posture and weathered palms promised that if he were to draw his axe, it would be with the skill of a man far older than he. As far as Acke could tell, this boy was no boy at all. He was a warrior ahead of his own time. A danger and a mystery. The exact type of outsider Acke most loathed to see striding into Fannar Hall.
"Þórgnýr," Jökull snapped, miffed by the interruption to his festivities. "Who is this man you bring before me?"
Þórgnýr stepped forward, removing his helm to reveal uncertain eyes. His gaze flickered between the king and the mystery man for a few moments, as if he feared they were a spark to the other's tinder. The sight made Acke's arm hairs rise. He had never known Þórgnýr to be a cowardly man, and yet now he stood before the assembled masses as terrified as an unblooded boy before his first raid.
"He- He's our prisoner, sir."
"He doesn't look to be a prisoner." Acke pointed out, nodding towards the man's unshackled hands.
"And yet a prisoner I am." The man said, speaking far too confidently for someone trapped within a cage of swords and spears.
"See, he's a prisoner." Þórgnýr insisted. "He agreed to come peacefully so long as we didn't try to shackle him."
"And you acquiesced to such a demand?" Acke snarled, blown away by Þórgnýr's foolishness. "You dared to risk your king's life over damn shackles?"
Jökull placed a meaty hand on Acke's arm, pulling down his hefted axe and abating some of his burgeoning anger.
"Be at peace, Acke." Jökull ordered. "I'm certain that he would not shirk common procedure in such a manner without good reason. Do I speak truly, Þórgnýr?"
"Absolutely!" Þórgnýr quickly agreed. "This man defeated over a dozen guards – each injured but left alive – before I arrived with reinforcements. As you can see, he did so without suffering a single scratch of his own. I decided it prudent to accept his offer of peace before he grew tired of fighting with mercy."
"A wise decision indeed." Jökull hummed before turning to their uninvited and, evidently quite dangerous, guest. "Tell me, if my men lower their weapons will you uphold your offer of truce?"
The prisoner nodded, and Jökull grinned.
"In that case, I would ask that Þórgnýr and his men allow you free will."
The soldiers were quick to comply with Jökull's wishes, sheathing their weapons and stepping away from the prisoner. Notably, none of their hands were far from their weapons, and each man still eyed the prisoner with intense scrutiny. The sight made Acke proud. He had trained the men well.
"So, now that we are speaking like civilized men, tell me. Who are you to intrude upon my lands?"
"My name is Perseus Thrall-Born." The prisoner declared. "Though my friends call me Percy."
That explained the lack of chains, Acke noted. There was no one more unwilling to clasp irons on their wrists than the man who had borne them for most of his life.
"And is that what you hope to be? Friends?" Jökull challenged. "If so, you've chosen a rather unorthodox path."
"Have I?" Perseus said, stepping to Jökull's challenge. "You see, I know much of your clan, King Jökull. I know that your people, more than any other clan in Norway, value strength and honor. I know you adhere to the old ways as a wolf stalks a stag through the forest. I know that had I entered your city speaking like Forseti's champion, I would've been laughed from your hall."
"And so you attack our men but leave them their lives. You demonstrate your strength but leave us ours." Acke finished. The prisoner nodded.
Acke had to admit, this Perseus fellow was impressive. He had a keen understanding of the ways of the Fannar, and the might to thrust himself upon them. Had this man not already had a cause, some unrevealed motive that brought him to Jökull's door, Acke might have offered him a place among his men. He could do with more soldiers with minds as sharp as their steel.
"I thank you for staying your hand." Jökull said. "Your mercy has earned you the right to be heard. Tell me then, for whom do you speak?"
"I represent King Halvard of the Bjornar Clan. He has sent me to Norway in search of allies. For two years now I have travelled our ancestral homeland, treating with each of the great kings. Each has rebuffed my offer in turn, and so I have come to you."
That statement certainly didn't endear him to the assembled crowd. There was an outcry of jeers and hateful rhetoric, as each Fannar in turn voiced their objections. 'We are no man's compensation prize' one man called. 'You dare speak with us after breaking bread with the other clans?' another hissed.
"You have courage to speak so callously among strangers." Acke commented. "Do you believe us willing to take such insults?"
Perseus quirked an eyebrow.
"I don't remember issuing any." He remarked. "In my travels, I quickly learned that none of the other kings were the man I sought. Still, I learned much from speaking with them. In particular, I learned much about the Fannar clan. About this clan. They described you as a bug too mighty to be squashed, too bothersome to ignore, and too small to truly fear."
Again, there was an uproar of upset onlookers, but this time Jökull raised a hand to silence them. It seemed he too was gaining interest in the thrall-born warrior-diplomat before them.
"The words of the other kings pointed me to you." Perseus continued, turning back to King Jökull now. "In heeding their words, I realized that your clan could provide mine with a unique opportunity. Your people are small in number, but hardier than any I have ever seen before. I believe you to be the ideal allies."
King Jökull leaned back in his throne, rubbing a hand over his chin in thought.
"Well Perseus, you've piqued my interest." The king admitted. "What is it your king asks of us?"
"Like your people, the Bjornar Clan has been locked in war for too long now. The Saxons resist our advances even after so many years. They cling to their half of England as though it were their mother's teat. Already we have united all the Norse in England under our banner, and still the Saxons persevere. King Halvard asks that you lend your aid so that all of England may finally come under his control."
"You ask much of us." Jökull said. "Your people are the descendants of cowards too weak to vie for land here in their true home. Now, after fleeing to a land of weak Christians, still you struggle. What do we stand to gain from helping those unable to help themselves?"
If the blatant insults to his people bothered him, Perseus didn't show it.
"The same things that we do." He answered. "Land. Strength. Honor. Your clan is small, true, but your warriors are more formidable than any in Norway. It is why you have survived so long surrounded by larger clans, and it is why even a small contingent of your soldiers would make all the difference in our war against the Saxons."
"And the strength you offer us in return?"
"An oath on my honor that once the Saxons are under our control, the Bjornar will return the favor tenfold. King Halvard's bear-armies will flood your shores and win you Norway. Then, when the fighting is done, we will depart your conquered lands, leaving you as the sole king and as our dearest ally across the sea."
Acke couldn't help but frown. The boy spoke beautifully, but it seems his offer could not match his sly tongue nor his strength in battle. A shame that one so talented had so little to bargain with.
"You ask me to send men now in the hopes that Halvard will do the same later? Or that after he does, and our victory is at hand, his men will simply uproot themselves and leave the lands they died for?" Jökull asked. "It is not my intention to insult your honor, but I cannot send men to die on the back of a promise."
"Nor would I expect you to." Perseus replied, unfazed by the refusal. "Which is why I am also offering you resources. While Halvard is in need of men, the lands of England are still overly ripe with everything a clan could ever desire. In return for your aid, the Bjornar will supply you with the materials you would normally accrue from raiding. Meaning-"
"Meaning that we would no longer have to waste our time and soldiers raiding. We would recoup the men we are sending to you twofold." Acke realized. "The Fannar would be stronger than we've been in years, and still we'd have the promise of the Bjornar bolstering our ranks in the years to come."
"Exactly." Perseus agreed.
"A brilliant proposal." Jökull complimented. "Though I must insist one amendment be made."
"Name it."
"While I trust in your honor and valor, I do not trust in that of King Halvard, nor of the Bjornar. If I am to send my men to England with you, it will be under the stipulation that my most trusted man, Acke here, accompanies them, and that while in the charge of King Halvard, you and you alone give instruction to the men of the Fannar. That way I can be certain that my men and my interests are in good hands."
Perseus furrowed his brow as he contemplated the surprising demand. Acke imagined he looked something like the young man, as he himself had not expected to become part of the deal. Were he a less committed man he might've protested, but he was nothing if not loyal to the Fannar and, by proxy, King Jökull. If Perseus accepted, he would have no choice but to lug his axe to England.
"I've not been authorized by my king to agree to such terms. But I've also been told it is essential to gain your aid…" Perseus began, speaking slowly. "And so, I believe it is in our mutual best interest that I accept your terms."
"Excellent!" Jökull cheered. "Now come, Perseus, and drink with the Fannar as enthusiastically as they will spill blood with you!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, and Acke felt something stir within his soul. He was going to England, and he wasn't sure if he found that fact exhilarating or terrifying…
Perseus Thrall-Born – Odin's Rest, 887 CE
The heavens wept high above, drowning the world below in their mysterious sorrow. Percy knew not who the valkyries mourned, but he felt their despair even through the thick wool of his cloak. Were he alone he would have willed himself dry, but such a display would never go unnoticed by the longship's crew, let alone by its overly observant captain.
The captain, Acke, was an interesting man. He spoke rarely, and never without purpose. His loyalty to the cause of the Fannar was resolute, and his eyes hinted at a keen ability to understand much even when observing very little. Such qualities made him the ideal ally. Such qualities also made him a poor conversationalist.
As trying as Acke's presence was, the journey across the sea had provided Percy with ample time to acclimate. He learned to swallow every jest and to embrace every weighty thought, and before long he had turned the tight-lipped vikingr into a bonified songbird. Or, at least by Acke's standards he had.
It had been an arduous task – and one Percy had often doubted the value of undertaking – but as Odin's Rest appeared on the horizon, he was glad to have found a friend in the stoic man. The sight of his one true home filled him with a great many thoughts, most of them too complex even to himself, and to have someone willing to speak words of meaning did much to ease the burden on his mind.
"I always imagined that it would look different upon my return." Percy remarked to his blank-faced companion. "Seeing it now it looks… Unchanged. As if time turned to sap when I first took sail."
He heard Acke adjust his weight, adapting to the rocking of the sea. The man hummed to himself, pondering Percy's words as the sky-tears continued to fall. On the horizon, a tiny city grew bigger and bigger with each passing breath.
"Most men are rain, a small few are waves." Acke answered. "You, my friend, are a wave. Change follows in your wake. Enemies are swallowed and shores are transformed by your will. With each step you exact your divine purpose upon the world. Other men are not so impactful."
Acke shuffled again, leaning his back against the keel of the ship as he gathered his thoughts.
"The rain does not often act in grands gestures." he continued. "There is the occasional flood or dampened fire but normally rain's duty is much more subtle. What is a patch of nourished grass to a city decimated by the ocean's wrath? A watered field to a ship battered down to Aegir's hall? If you wish to see change in your home, look not for the hints of men like you. Instead search for the touch of rain."
"And if I find nothing?" Percy asked.
"Then your eyes are closed. Change exists within us and within our world. It is as constant as time itself. Recognize this, and you will be better equipped to face the next great transition."
Percy merely grunted in response. The older man had given him much to think about. Thankfully, Acke did not linger after imparting his cryptic wisdom. He instead retreated towards the prow of the ship, stopping along the way to inquire about the preparedness of each and every man. Acke's absence gave Percy time to ruminate over his words. So much time in fact that when Percy was finally ripped from his cogitations it was done not by a man, but by the sound of hull scraping against dock.
Immediately his attention was drawn to the greeting party awaiting him. A sizeable number of troops lined the docks, leading up to two familiar figures standing where wood met dry land. Percy peered through the wall of crying sky, seeing beyond the water and to the people whose wellbeing had first driven him to accept the gods' offer. Seeing them now, Percy realized how right Acke was. Change was everywhere. And more than he'd ever anticipated.
Trygve had grown much in two years. Where once they had stood nearly equal in size, Percy now found himself staring at a man nearly large enough to threaten Halvard's title as Bear of the Bjornar. By his side, Liv stood more beautiful than ever. She too had grown, and she seemed to be taking quite well to womanhood. Had he not spent the past two years in the presence of the divine embodiment of beauty, he might've been as tongue tied as he had been when Liv had first arrived in Odin's Rest all those years ago.
"Trygve! Liv!" Percy shouted, making a hasty approach.
The pair did not move to greet him, but he didn't mind. Leaving his sea-fairing army behind him, Percy rushed to his oldest friends. He embraced them without a thought, using an arm each to tug them in as close as his strength would allow. When at last he had conveyed everything he could through one tender moment, he pulled back, stepping away to see familiar smiles on the faces that had not once faded from his mind in two years away.
"Percy," Trygve greeted, speaking with a voice one or two octaves lower than Percy remembered. "It has been far too long."
"That it has brother. Have you been waiting at the docks for my return all these years? That would be quite embarrassing."
"A watchmen saw the ships approaching." Liv answered, speaking for Trygve. "When we heard of a battalion of longships flying banners of peace, we knew you had returned."
"And returned you have." Trygve added. "Quite an impressive fleet you've compiled."
Percy's response was silenced by the sound of bootsteps approaching. The uniform cadence and the lack of shouted greetings made the new arrival's identity obvious.
"Trygve, Liv," Percy said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "allow me to introduce Acke Agmundsson, right hand man of King Jökull of the Fannar Clan. He is as fierce as Thor, as wise as Odin, and as stern as Aegir. Acke, meet Trygve Halvardsson and Liv Frodadóttir. They are fine soldiers, and even finer people."
There was a brief moment where the two parties said nothing as they sized the other up. Trygve looked Acke up and down, likely calculating the chances of beating him in a brawl. Liv studied Acke's eyes, searching in them for whatever it was she saw through strangers' gazes. Acke, as usual, observed his new allies silently, standing as unmoving and unrevealing as a man-sized stone. This continued for a while before finally, Trygve intervened.
"The Fannar Clan, eh?" Trygve asked, stepping forward to grasp Acke's forearm. Acke returned the favor in kind. "I've never met one of you lot, but I remember hearing stories about your ferocity. It will be a pleasure to fight alongside the Snow-Drifters."
"If you fight as well as your man Percy speaks, I've no doubt the pleasure will be mine alone."
That certainly garnered disbelieving looks from Trygve and Liv. Percy felt himself blush beneath their gazes, as if he were a young boy once again now that he was among friends.
"I learned much while I was away." Percy said, answering the question in their eyes. "Diplomacy did not come easily. Had it, I would've managed to bring more than only one clan. Still, the Fannar are beyond strong, and I believe them more than enough to turn the tide in our favor."
Trygve and Liv shared a look – one that Acke clearly mistook for skepticism if his snarl was anything to go by – but Percy knew the look well. It was a look of relief, but relief born from disappointment. The same look they had shared when Halvard had uncovered one of their childhood schemes but inexplicably doled out a particularly lenient punishment. The unforgettable glance that said, 'finally, something has gone our way.'
"Be at peace, Acke, they mean you and your people no insult. They're simply surprised to have been granted such a boon. Which raises the question. What's gone wrong while I was away?"
Again, Trygve and Liv glanced at eachtoher, only this time the look was unreadable. It appeared they were having some sort of silent war, and neither could seem to gain any ground until…
"It's my father." Trygve said. "About two weeks ago, he fell ill. There's been… He's…"
Liv placed a comforting hand on Trygve's shoulder.
"He's dying." She finished.
The words hit Percy like a blow from Mjolnir itself.
"That… That's…"
He wanted to say that they were wrong. That it was impossible. Halvard, for all that he was flawed, was still the closest thing to a father Percy had ever truly had. Aegir was a mentor. A being of incomprehensible power dispensing orders from high above. Halvard was the man who had pulled him from nothing and given him everything, and now…
"We didn't want to tell you." Liv continued; voice choked. "The Jarls are a monster without a head, and we can barely face the truth ourselves. We wanted to keep it from you, to ignore it for a day. To let your return be as joyful as it should've been, but… He wants to see you as soon as you're able."
The wind roared and the rain continued to pound the earth and sea, but Percy heard none of it. He didn't hear Liv's words, or feel Acke's consoling hand on his shoulder. His mind was nothing but a high-pitched whine. A banshee's wail drowning out everything but two words. 'Two weeks'. Exactly how long it had been since he'd left Asgard. Exactly how long Halvard had been sick. The words of Freya rang in his ears. 'Fate will ask much of you'. Only now they sounded exponentially more poignant than they had back then.
"Take me to him." Percy demanded.
"Of course." Liv agreed.
"You, Ǫlvir," Trygve snapped, pointing to the nearest soldier. "Find lodgings for Acke and his men. The rest of you, return to your homes. Your day's duty is done."
All around, vikingrs rushed to comply, but Percy paid them no mind. He barely spared Acke a wave before allowing himself to be tugged away by Trygve and Liv. They pulled him through the pounding rain, leading him deep into the city. They took him passed the common folk, through the center of town, beyond the longhouse, and directly to the medicine woman's hut.
His companions stopped outside, citing something about Halvard wanting to see him alone. Percy scarcely heard them though, as he was already through the door and bursting towards where he knew the beds to be.
It was there he found him. Too large for any normal man's cot, they had been forced to push two beds together to accommodate his burly frame. He looked unwell, even for a dying man, and the fire that had once burned in his eyes was nothing but a dwindling pile of embers now. The medicine woman, Kára, was at his bedside concocting a potion of some sort, but upon seeing Percy quickly made for the exit. Just like that, Percy was alone with the shadow of the once great king.
"It was never supposed to happen this way. The gods were supposed to prevent this." Percy muttered, more to himself than to Halvard. He looked skyward, eyes burning with anger. "Was it you Loki? Or was it Thor? Father? Which of you is weaker than any mortal man?"
A thunderous boom was his only response.
"Do not speak ill of the gods." Halvard chided, voice uncharacteristically weak. "It is only a short time before I meet them. I prefer they be in pleasant moods when I do."
His voice brought Percy back to reality. Faster than he'd ever moved before, Percy shot to the man's bedside.
"Do not waste your mind on such thoughts. You will walk away from this as sure as you have any battle."
"Not so." Halvard replied. "I've been dead since this cursed plague first took to me. Now that you're here, I may finally die. You may finally kill me."
Percy physically recoiled. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he could form no words.
"Trygve and Liv, they hold on to hope. They think I may still recover. The Jarls would never risk their chances of advancement by killing the Bjornar's most beloved king. But you… You know that the world is cruel. You know that killing me would be a kindness."
"A kindness? You're delirious! You're-!"
"Do not speak to me like a normal man!" Halvard snapped. "You are Thrall-Born. You know that life is the true injustice. You know that death is liberation. Do not leave me here to die a straw-death."
Halvard stared at him with pleading eyes, and Percy could see that his request was real. Two sides warred within Percy then. His younger self told him to spare Halvard. To stay his hand and keep the blood of his pseudo-father from his conscience. His older self, the man who had seen the beauty of Asgard for himself, knew he couldn't doom Halvard just to protect his own soul. Who was he to deny the Bjornar's greatest king his chance at Valhalla?
"Trygve will never forgive me for this." Percy grumbled.
But he moved anyways. Using all his demigod strength, Percy hoisted Halvard from his rest and to his feet. The Bear-King leaned against him, allowing Percy to bear the brunt of his weight as they maneuvered from the warmth of the medicine hut and out into frigid rain. Liv was the first to notice their death march, and Trygve was not long after.
"Percy? What's going on?" Liv dared to ask.
The look on her face told him she already knew the answer, so he just kept walking.
"Percy. You can't do this!" Trygve shouted, moving to intercept.
Percy drew his axe using his free hand, leveling it at Trygve's throat as he approached.
"King Halvard has challenged me to a holmgang. Would you tarnish your father's honor by preventing it? Would you doom him to Hel?" Percy sighed, before continuing in a softer tone. "I am doing what you know needs to be done. Only this way you will not be the boy who killed his father. I hope you can understand."
Whether Trygve understood or not, Percy had no clue, but he did move out of the way. Tears streamed down his face, and Percy felt his own start to fall, camouflaged by the water tumbling from overhead. Still he marched on. He walked and walked until they reached the training yard, gaining followers with each step so that by the time Halvard's feet touched the muddy field, a crowd as large as any Percy'd ever scene had gathered.
"Can you stand?" Percy asked.
Halvard grunted, and Percy took it for a yes. Slowly, he released his hold on the king and slipped from beneath his weight. There was a moment where the man started to teeter, but by the time Percy had drawn his weapon and positioned himself opposite Halvard, the giant of a king had gained steady footing.
"Quickly now!" Percy called to the crowd at large. "Someone get him an axe!"
Not a soul moved. The only sound was the pouring rain.
"An axe!" Percy shouted. "Now!
This time, a man did move. He rushed to the weapon racks, returning with a weathered two-handed axe. The man thrust the weapon into Halvard's waiting hands before quickly disappearing into the crowd.
"Perseus Thrall-Born." Halvard began, voice hollow and weak. "I've challenged you to this holmgang, and you've accepted. By law, only one of us may leave these grounds alive."
"So be it." Percy breathed. And then it began.
He moved slowly at first, walking towards Halvard and giving the king time to ready himself. Halvard did not raise his axe. Percy started to jog, and his own axe found a resting place against his shoulder. Still Halvard did not raise his axe. Percy was close now. He hefted his axe, bringing it down in an overhead swing. The axe fell from Halvard's grasp as he tried to raise it.
"Fuck." Percy hissed, stopping his blow just before it broke skin. "Someone get him something else. A sword. A spear. Anything. Hurry!"
There was no response. All anyone could do was watch on as their king, once the strongest among them, failed to lift a finger in his own defense. Blood rushed in Percy's ears, and anger coursed through his veins. Who were these cowards that had replaced the fearsome Bjornar? Cursing to himself, he turned to retrieve a new weapon for Halvard when…
A thud behind him. A heavy body colliding with a pool of mud and murky water. Percy whirled in an instant, rushing to the fallen king. He lay motionless, eyes glassy as he stared into the grey-clouded skies. His massive chest moved with infinitesimally small breaths, and Percy felt his eyes start to sting.
"Get up!" Percy shouted. "Halvard! Get up! You will not die a normal man. Get up and fight me! I will send you to Valhalla! You need only stand!"
"I…" his next words were incomprehensible beneath his rasping breaths.
"Damnit!" Percy screamed, throat running raw with his rage. "You can't die yet! Not before-"
Halvard gave one last shuddering breath, and then there was nothing.
Silence dominated the field at first. Then, as slowly as rain brings change, shock turned into horror, and horror into despair. Men wept for their fallen king. Children cried as they saw their first death. And there, standing at Halvard's head, was Trygve. The prince with the most to gain from the king's death. The boy with the most to lose from his father's demise. On his face, Percy saw only one emotion. Pure, inconceivable, immeasurable anguish.
Percy did not move to his found-brother's side because he could do nothing. He did not speak because he could say nothing. Halvard was gone. Denied Valhalla by a single too-heavy axe. There was no longer any returning to the world Percy had once known. Odin's Rest would never be the same. It seems fate had answered Percy's complaints. He had found his precious change.
The Alchemist – ?, 2017 CE
There was truly no better place to admire his handiwork than the catwalk. High above the factory floor, The Alchemist was able to see the culmination of all his arduous labor. A symphony of machinery churning out his grand vision one vial at a time. There was conquest to be found in the materials of the divine. It only took a brilliant mind to find it. His brilliant mind.
As he watched his great project unfold, he couldn't help but to feel a sense of pride. For many years he had known this to be his destiny, but it was only now that he could see it beyond the confines of his own mind. His dream was quicksand now, and the world the oblivious traveler about to stumble into misfortune. All he needed was time, and with it he would ascend far beyond his station.
He would've stayed like that all day – admiring himself and his genius – were it not for the sound of approaching footsteps. They were barely audible over the deafening thrum of machinery in action, but The Alchemist was attuned to this place like no other. He saw all when he was here. Knew all. And so, despite the quiet approach of his subordinate, he was already speaking before the boy could announce himself.
"What have you learned?" The Alchemist asked.
The boy averted his gaze, staring down into the vats of bubbling liquid below. Much to The Alchemist's irritation, nobody ever had the courage to look him in the eye.
"Our spies tell us that Alex Jackson has returned to Camp Half-Blood. Apparently, him and that viking managed to capture one of our men while he was collecting from the Phlegethon."
"I thought Jackson and his new pet were joined at the hip. Why part ways now?"
The informant shrugged.
"We don't know. But we're certain he passed Thrall-Born and their captive off to Nico di Angelo."
"To do what?"
"They're planning on visiting Piper McLean." The boy said. "They think she can charmspeak our man into revealing what he knows."
"And how much does he know?"
"He's one of our newer recruits, so not everything, but…"
"That's… troubling. Not to worry though."
"Sir?"
The Alchemist fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes he forgot that most of the grunts couldn't grasp the bigger picture. To expect them to understand what information truly mattered was a pipe dream. That's why nobody knew the most important things except for him. Well, him and his movement's benefactor.
"We have countermeasures in place for charmspeak, you know this. You've all been trained against it and–"
"Not against McLean! She's the strongest charmspeaker in–"
He reached out and smacked the boy, stopping his interruption in its tracks. In The Alchemist's army independent thought was encouraged, but insolence? There could be no rebellion against the hierarchy, no matter how small. The road to revolt was paved by small acts of disobedience. A messenger with a bloody lip would always be better for the cause than even a sliver of unpunished disrespect.
"You've all been trained against it and–" He stressed the word, ensuring the boy knew exactly where it was he had erred. "There is nothing he knows that can harm us. All collectors provide to us though dead drops. He hasn't the faintest idea where his contributions end up."
"But what about the things he does know?"
"Like what? My name? How does that help them?" The Alchemist snapped. He was growing increasingly tired of the messenger's incessant questions. "Or were you talking about our goals? As if they couldn't guess what it is we want. Believe me when I say that I would never trust you idiots with anything of importance. Everything that matters is handled by me or our patron."
The boy cowered beneath The Alchemist's rage, nearly throwing himself over the railing in his fear.
"Go." He instructed the boy. "I need to think on the news you've brought me."
The messenger was halfway down the catwalk before he had even finished speaking. Again, he was alone, but not long enough for him to relax. Only seconds after the messenger disappeared from sight, a new presence took his place on the catwalk. The Alchemist recognized the new arrival immediately, and though it wounded his pride, he turned and bowed.
"Mother." he greeted.
"Stand." It wasn't a request.
He rose from his submissive position, meeting her unsettling gaze with an unwavering stare of his own. To show fear in front of her would be to show weakness, and to show weakness was to show worthlessness. He couldn't afford to be worthless. Not to her. His mother was not one who got caught up in the sanctity of blood.
"You've been busy while I was away."
He turned to his factory. To his grand achievement. It was much easier to look at that than her bone-chilling stare. Those eyes, all sclera and bloodlust, had always terrified him. Unfortunately, the worst part of her presence wasn't as avoidable as her manic smile or her disquieting stare. Her aura, like a blanket woven from barbed wire, made his very soul yearn for escape. Standing next to her, even in spite of their shared blood, made him feel defeated. Dominated. Lesser. He hated it with every part of himself.
"Yes, well, idle men never conquer."
"They do not." She agreed, leaning casually against the rail of the catwalk. "And neither do men without armies."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that you should not have been so harsh with your man there."
"That wasn't harsh. I barely even yelled at him." He protested. "And besides, insubordination must be punished. You taught me that yourself."
"I also taught you to think." She snapped. "Fear is a tool. Nothing more. A little fear is good. Too much fear and your men stop asking questions. You need questions. Questions force you to think about everything, even the things you know you understand. Smart generals need idiots asking questions just as surely as they need their own wits."
"Would you have preferred I let him speak over me until it's him who's giving orders?"
"I would've preferred if he left here without reeking of piss."
"You do realize how ridiculous it is to hear you of all people preaching about compassion, don't you?"
The goddess shrugged.
"It's only ridiculous if you're shortsighted. Compassion is a tool more powerful even than fear. Men who fear you will fight for you, but men who believe in you and your cause will die for you. If you want to win the coming war, you will be in need of the latter."
"The demigods are no threat. My project will make them obsolete."
His mother gazed out over the factory floor, watching as his victory was slowly being manufactured, one stolen piece of divine energy at a time.
"Maybe so, but the demigods are not alone. The Thrall-Born will be a threat no matter what you manage here."
He waved a dismissive hand.
"He's just another demigod on the list."
This time, he was the one getting slapped and, unlike him, his mother struck with all the strength of a fully-fledged goddess.
"Fuck." He hissed.
He coughed up blood and spittle as he reeled from the blow. His cheek blazed with pain, but the fire in his flesh was nothing compared to the inferno in his mother's eyes.
"That 'demigod' is not some child playing at warfare. I was there when he first took to the field in England. I watched as he razed fields and slaughtered men. I still remember the day he exacted his vengeance on Saxons and Demigods alike. Perseus Thrall-Born has only ever failed because the gods forced him to, and now you face him with the divine at his back. The day will arrive when he comes for you, and when he does, you'll want an army willing to die standing between you. That way, when he reaches you, he may just be starting to tire."
And then, in a plume of red smoke and blood-curdling screams, his mother disappeared. He stared at the spot she'd vacated, silently fuming over her scolding tirade. Even now, after all he'd accomplished, she still treated him like a child. Still treated him like he couldn't handle one stupid demigod. Fine then. She didn't have to believe in his genius. In time, the Thrall-Born would come for him and then… Then she would see the conqueror she had created.
Nico di Angelo – Oklahoma, 2017 CE
Nico had never actually been to Piper McLean's home before. In fact, he hadn't even seen Piper once in the past three years. Perhaps he might've if he was a bit more social, but Nico had always been something of a loner. And after Piper removed herself from the demigod world, only keeping in contact with her closest friends, their pseudo-friendship had fallen to the wayside.
He didn't regret letting things end up the way they had. Nico was content with the people in his life. Will, Hazel, and a few close friends were more than enough for him. If anything, he thought that Piper deserved her space after all she'd done during the war with Gaea. And the whole thing with Jason? Nico could only imagine how he would react if he found out his love with Will was just a byproduct of some divine meddling. He would've wanted to get away too.
Admittedly, being closer with Piper would probably help with what he was about to do. Knocking on her door late at night with an ancient viking warrior and a captive demigod in tow probably wasn't the best 'good to see you' in the world, and a little goodwill would've gone a long way. Unfortunately, all Nico had to help him now was a faded friendship and a trust in Piper to do the right thing.
As they approached the house, Nico found himself hoping that she was home alone. He and Percy carried the intimidating presence of two powerful demigods, and their image certainly wasn't aided by the bound and gagged teenager resting on Percy's shoulder. If they knocked and someone besides Piper answered, even the mist would have a hard time smoothing things over.
The wood creaked as they stepped onto the porch. Nico winced at the sound. He much preferred silent approaches. It was a child of Hades thing.
"What do you think?" Percy asked when they reached the door. "Should we wait until morning?"
Nico quirked an eyebrow.
"I didn't take you for the patient type."
"I'm not." Percy said with a shrug. "But if she's going to turn us away for good because we woke her up, it'd be better to wait until morning."
Nico shook his head.
"Piper's not that petty. Either she helps us or she doesn't, and if she doesn't, it won't be because we ruined her night."
"Perfect."
Then, as if the burden of a fully conscious, struggling, teenage demigod didn't bother him at all, Percy reached out with his free hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. It wasn't long after that someone's footsteps could be heard from within. There was the sound of a lock being turned and then, for the first time in years, Nico looked into the face of Piper McLean.
She looked good. Better than she had the last time Nico saw her. Less heartbroken. More comfortable in her existence. Her kaleidoscope eyes fell first on Percy, widening a bit when they saw his unusual package, before finally resting on Nico. Again, her eyes widened, but this time not out of shock, but joy.
"Nico!" she cheered, reaching out and pulling him into a hug. "It's been so long."
Nico didn't bother to fight against the embrace. Will had long since taught him that sometimes hugs were impossible to avoid.
"Too long." He agreed. "Unfortunately, I didn't come here to catch up."
Piper glanced at Percy and his captive before giving Nico a pointed look.
"You don't say." She deadpanned. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, it's kind of–"
He was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice shouting from deeper within the house.
"Piper? Who is it?"
Piper spun around, a look of alarm in her eyes.
"Just the neighbors asking for a favor. I'll be right back."
There was a muffled response about the 'lousy neighbors' and their 'midnight favors' – something that earned a hearty chuckle from Piper – before the voice ultimately agreed to wait for her. Piper turned back to them, suddenly a whole lot less worried than she'd been moments before.
"Sorry." She murmured. "Dad's here to visit and he's not really a fan of the whole 'demigod' thing. We better take this out back."
Piper pushed passed them without waiting for an answer, giving them no choice but to follow. She led them around the house and across an open yard, taking them to a dilapidated shed resting just at the edge of an endless wheat field. The doors swung in on rusty hinges as they entered and the entire place reeked of mildew, but Nico figured as far as interrogation sites went, they could've done worse.
"So, Nico." Piper began, eyeing Percy as he dumped the son of Mercury onto the floor. "You mind introducing your friends?"
"Right. This," Nico said, pointing to Percy. "Is Perseus Thrall-Born. As for the kid, well... That's why we're here."
Piper turned on Percy fully, a newfound understanding in her eyes.
"Thrall-Born?" She asked. "Annabeth's mentioned you a fair bit. Last I heard, you were hogging her husband."
"I was." Percy answered. "But apparently spending time with his wife was more important to him than stopping another war, so he dumped babysitting duties onto Nico."
Piper laughed.
"Sounds on-brand for Alex. Well, except for the babysitting part. Usually, he's the one who needs supervision."
Percy shrugged.
"The campers don't approve of my 'murderous past', so they decided it was best that someone keep an eye on me."
"For good reason." Nico pointed out. "You wanted to feed this kid his own fingers."
"Not all of them. Mercury kids need their hands to steal. He would've given us everything before he even tasted ring finger."
"You see why we're here?" Nico asked, turning to Piper. "We need someone to get some information from this kid, preferably without causing irreversible physical trauma."
"I assume this kid belongs to the same shadow organization Annabeth's been telling me about?"
Nico nodded.
"Alright. I can help." Piper said. "Just tell me what it is you need to know."
"Everything." Nico replied. "Who. What. Why. Where. You know the drill."
"Easy enough. Sit him up."
Percy was quick to oblige. Using one hand, he hoisted the kid by the collar and threw him against the nearest wall. Percy stalked towards the dazed demigod, drew his axe, and pressed the metal against the demigod's face. He made a single, tiny cut in the demigod's cheek, but it was somehow enough to set the kid screaming into his gag.
"I'm going to remove your gag so that our gracious host can ask you some questions. If you scream, if you resist, if you disrespect her in any way, I make some cuts in far nastier places than your face. You understand?"
Never in his life had Nico seen someone nod so vigorously.
"Excellent." Percy grinned. He quickly cut away the gag and stepped clear, waving to the demigod in a grand gesture. "He's all yours, McLean. My axe and I will be here should you need us."
Piper gave Percy a small smile and a quickly murmured 'thank you' before, quite literally, turning her charm on.
"Who are you?" She demanded, lacing her voice with charmspeak.
Nico felt the charmspeak wash over him. Had Piper been speaking to him directly, he would've been hard-pressed to resist her. Even as a bystander, it took a fair amount of willpower to keep from spluttering out his name. It was evident that even if she had retired, her powers had not. A fact that made it all the more impressive when the son of Mercury didn't immediately give in.
"I'm not–"
"I said, who are you?"
That one did it. The son of Mercury sat up rigid, too enamored to resist any longer.
"My name is Caleb Pearson." He said, voice devoid of emotion.
"And who do you work for, Caleb?"
"We call him The Alchemist, but his real name is Adrian Hale."
Piper looked back at Nico, but he just shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. Perhaps Alex or Hazel would know.
"What else do you know about this 'Adrian'?"
"Not much." Caleb said, sounding genuinely upset about letting Piper down. "He's a demigod. Don't know his parent though. They call him The Alchemist because he's working on some weird chemistry project. Says it'll win him the world."
"Do you know what the project is?"
Caleb shook his head.
"No one does. I don't even know the other ingredients. Collectors only know the one thing they're assigned to collect. All he tells us is that our faith will be rewarded."
Piper looked back at Nico again, frustration clear on her face.
"Is any of this helpful to either of you?"
"Not so far." Percy admitted, beating Nico by only a second. "Ask him where this all goes down. What Adrian wants."
"You heard him." Piper said, turning on Caleb once again. "Talk."
"Don't know where. I've only been to the factory once for initiation. We were picked up from a blacksite and driven there in a blacked-out panel van. We were blindfolded before they let us out. All I know is that it smelled like the forest."
"And what Adrian wants?"
"The same thing we all want. A new world order."
"So, you're in a cult. Awesome." Percy commented drily.
"It's not a cult, it's–"
Percy waved a hand. A new gag, this time made out of water, silenced Caleb's ramblings before they could truly begin.
"It's a cult." Percy reaffirmed. "Now, no offense Piper, but we need some information that's actually useful. Any chance you could charmspeak him into remembering where the factory was?"
Much to Nico's surprise, Piper didn't even look mildly perturbed by the comment.
"Sorry. I can only charmspeak him into giving us what his brain thinks he knows. If you want to pull something from nothing, you need magic, not me. Hazel might be able to help."
Percy frowned.
"My sister." Nico said, answering the question on the ancient demigod's face. "We'll head to New Rome next. Thanks for the help though Piper, really."
"Any time." She chirped. "And make sure you visit again once you're finished with this whole cult thing."
"Will do." Nico answered.
Piper grinned and then she was gone, leaving Nico in the darkness with Percy and their captive cultist. It wasn't until Piper disappeared from sight that Nico realized that she'd been looking at Percy the entire time she'd been leaving and, even more surprising, her parting words had been laden with charmspeak.
"Was she…? Did she just…?"
Percy just laughed.
"I'm not sure." he admitted. "But let me just say. Your friend might be the only interesting thing in the entire damn state of Oklahoma. Now come on. Let's go talk to your sister."
AN:
Huzzah! A new chapter in UNDER TWO WEEKS. Truly, I am a man of the people.
Anyways, this chapter was B-I-G big. Big revelations in both plots and of course I had to get my killing on. I did tell you that things were going to go wrong fast for our dear Percy. Other than that, I'd love to hear all your speculation about Adrian's origins, his ultimate motives, his secret project, his mother, and all that jazz. Be sure to tell me all your crackpot theories and (because I haven't asked in a while) tell me how you've been doing.
Small side note: If you're hungry for more PTB action and can't wait for the next chapter, check out const3llations' story called Stormbreaker. Our resident viking may or may not (spoiler: he does) make a small appearance in the fifth chapter. Anyways, I love y'all, I hope you enjoyed and, until next time,
Peace