Hello everyone, a quick one from me. I don't do this often, so please just spare me two minutes of your time to read through this A/N.

Firstly, it's come to my attention that I forgot to include a disclaimer in both my stories. Frankly, I think it's quite unnecessary because it's fairly obvious that I own neither Percy Jackson nor A Song of Ice and Fire. Both were written by men much more talented than me, and the above statement should be considered valid for the entire story because I cannot be bothered to do this more than once.

Next, I don't know what the bleed over is from my first story onto this one, but if you read Crossing Boundaries, then you know that I've not updated it in a while, despite only posting a single chapter. This is because my system crashed about a week after I first posted it, and it took all my prewritten chapters and all my other materials along with it because I was too dumb to back it up. Naturally, since I was well over a hundred thousand words by the time, you can imagine how that felt, and can envision my interest dying right there. It's taken me this long to work up the necessary motivation to start it back up and I'll probably be updating that story soon.

Last, I am well pleased with the fact that people read my story and are motivated to follow and favorite. However, my goal with fanfiction is to better myself as a writer as I plan on eventually expanding onto original works of my own, and I have noticed that only a very small percentage of those that favorited and followed actually left a review. Of course, I can't force you to leave a review, but I'm asking you to please try to do so. You like the story? Please, I'm well interested in why. You don't? Well, tell me why too. Constructive criticism is very much encouraged and appreciated. It motivates me to know what you think.

A shoutout to all those who reviewed, favorited and followed this story, thanks a lot for taking the time to do so. Of course, if you're inclined, you can also send me PMs, and I'll do my best to reply as fast as is convenient.

Enjoy the chapter!

CHAPTER 2

Perseus Jackson

One would have thought that the visitors swarming through the castle gates, a procession of humans three hundred strong, would have been the foremost thing on the minds of everyone there to welcome them and witness their entrance. Indeed it was quite a sight; a host of royals and bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders and servants, all resplendent in gold and silver and polished steel. Above their heads flapped over a dozen golden banners, the standards whipped into a frenzy by the chill northern wind, proclaiming the emblazoned crowned stag of the king for all to see, and claiming the undivided attention of almost all of the receiving party, nobles and commoners alike.

It was quite different for Percy; he knew none of these people, and had not the disposition to be as awed as the others because he shared none of their history, and had seen more awe inspiring sights in realms of men and gods. However even he could agree that they made quite a sight and his attention would have also been more on the visiting people but for one little detail; the host rode on horses. Destriers, coursers, palfreys, rounseys, mules, ponies; the horses were as numerous as the people they carried, and they were twice as noisy - to Percy's ears at least. They neighed at, and complained of, and insulted both their unsuspecting riders and each other. Stallions flirted with the mares and the mares ridiculed the stallions, and there were more than a few horses in the mix that reminded Percy of promiscuous Blackjack, and foul-mouthed Arion. By some quirk of his divine heritage, the voice of talking horses always sounded within his head, and with so many of such voices clumped together it was like a mob had invaded his psyche, a concentrated assault on his senses. The slight amusement he felt when he managed to pick out one or two funny statements amidst the chatter was not nearly enough to drown his annoyance and irritation, both of which were so great that Percy was unaware of the king until he realized everyone in the courtyard was kneeling, and slid his body fully behind the pillar he had been leaning against so as not to draw attention to his unbowed form. He became inflamed by the chatter, and deciding to do something about it, he pulsed his power.

"All of you shut the hell up for a moment." He muttered, and his voice barely carried to the person in front of the pillar - one of Stark's guards whose name Percy remembered not - but his power carried it in a wave of invisible aura, and it rang in the head of over three hundred horses, a command like a bell toll. There was blessed silence at first, and the demigod had never known anything so sweet, but then the chatter kicked up again, excited and frenzied, worse than before.

The welcoming dissolved into disarray as riders struggled to calm suddenly rearing, excited horses and most people fell off their mounts, cursing. It was chaos incarnate for a few jarring seconds; a huge wheelhouse, a double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses teetered and was almost upturned, grooms coming forward to relieve the visitors of their horses yelped and fell back and were almost stampeded, men roared and women shrieked, and it was nothing short of a miracle that nobody died.

"STOP! Calm down!" Percy yelled, heart pumping with adrenaline and wide eyed, pen in hand as a reflex action. Movement ceased all of a sudden, both horses and men alike, like someone had taken a huge pause button to reality, so authoritative was his tone. Then the moment was gone; the huge carriage crashed back down onto its wheels, horses went so deathly still it was surreal, and men started to pick themselves off their feet, cursing and swearing, and looking as bewildered as a Percy in algebra.

The individual statements were lost in the stream of rising voices but the general sentiment was clear enough;

What in the world was that?!

"Enough!" The bellow came this time from the fat turd of a king. He was a big man, taller than even Percy's six foot three inches, and had a girth to match. He had a black, coarse beard that covered his jaw to hide his double chin, and dark circles under his eyes. He looked as bewildered as anyone there, but luckily for him he had been off his horse when the chaos started and so began barking orders and soon had everyone of his retinue in motion. The rest of his company were not so lucky. Of the column of white cloaked knights that he had been riding ahead of, only two had managed to remain mounted, the rest were picking themselves from the ground, their ego severely bruised, their cloaks in need of change; his pride of bannermen and knights and nobles were also doing the same, steel plates of armor not so gleaming any longer, clothes wet with snow, incensed and wounded. The king's own family was amongst the worst of them; one of the white clad knights that bore her a remarkable resemblance was only just picking the scowling beauty of a queen from the ground, snow in her face and hair and clothes, and her children had gone down with her in a tangle of limbs as they sought to escape the wild horses. The tallest amongst them, an effeminate boy with dazzling golden locks like his mother was screaming bloody murder, and the remaining two were weeping like newborns till their mother shushed them all.

"Seven hells, Ned." Swore the king to the lord of Winterfell who together with his people was also helping with the commotion, his wife making apologies and giving courtesies to soothe egos and bruised pride.

"Indeed, Your Grace." Stark agreed, frowning deeply. "My apologies. I must confess I have no idea what could have caused such a reaction from the horses, and no idea what to say about it."

"Say no more Ned, I doubt anyone could have foreseen such. A freak of nature if I've ever seen one."

The queen came closer to them and it was clear she was displeased heavily.

"I wonder what it is about this frigid wastelands that delivers such an ill welcome to the king of the seven kingdoms." She began, and it was clear she had more to say, but the king interrupted her.

"Enough woman. It's clear this was an accident, some freak of nature."

"An omen, I say. The north seems to harbor ill will towards the throne." She insisted.

"Keep your superstitions to yourself. If anything, it's your rotten luck that caused this." Robert dismissed. "Ill will? Well here I am, untouched out of you lot. You're the one who looks like something fetched from beyond the wall." He scoffed.

The queen's gaze had frozen over, staring daggers at the king like she meant for him to fall down and die right there.

"Your Grace, please." Said Eddard Stark to the king. To the queen he said;

"Welcome, my Lady," and knelt in the snow to kiss her ring. Robert left them to it and went to embrace Catelyn Stark like a long lost sister. "My apologies for the... unexpected happenstance, but I assure you your stay in Winterfell will be as pleasant as any you've ever known."

"I sincerely doubt that." She sniffed but said nothing more. The children of both sides were brought forward and introduced, but by the gods it was an awkward thing. The king's eldest was glaring and scowling and shivering and his siblings were both weepy eyed still, frightened and cold. Of the Stark children, Sansa was the most courteous as usual, all grace and charm like the king's host had not just been thrown of their mounts and humiliated before her eyes, and the rest were not all that bad either, except for Arya. For the girl had despised having to show up in a dress, perform courtesies, and stand on ceremony. She had thought the whole thing dreadfully boring, and the commotion had been the only thing that had been truly interesting about the welcome; a source of mirth that she was finding hard to keep from her face much to Eddard and Catelyn's mortification.

"Take me to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects." The king said when the formalities were done with.

"Your Grace, we have been riding since dawn," the queen began to protest as Stark called for a lantern. "And with what just happened here everyone is tired and cold. We have wounded amongst out number that must be seen to. Surely we should refresh ourselves first, the dead would wait."

The king gave her a look that was as hard as stone and cold as ice, and her brother took her by the arm, and she said nothing else, staring ahead with a dead fury in her eyes.

"Go on without me then," the king allowed after several seconds. "But I will pay my respects." Then the command came for Eddard Stark to lead on, the king following behind.

From the back end away from the main family where he had taken position beside Eddard's household guards, Percy watched the whole thing with a vacant look in his eyes as his mind went over the trouble with the horses. It had been unexpected, to say the least. He'd had a similar reaction, though to a far lesser degree, when he'd chanced upon the stables at Winterfell, drawn by the voices of the horses. He had greeted them, and they had become startled when they realized that Percy could understand them, and them him. The demigod had met and conversed with many horses back where he came from but they had never expressed any confusion in his ability to do so, marking him for a son of Poseidon as soon as saw him. Percy was only just realizing how he had taken that for granted; the horses in Winterfell seemed to have no idea who Poseidon was and had no default recognition of his authority, yet that facet of Percy's inherited abilities worked on them still. He tried to put himself in their shoes. He was a stallion, proud and bitchy, talking up some doe eyed mare in preparation for some knockout roll in the hay, and all of a sudden walked in some one-eyed two-legged like he owned the place, talking horse with every word that came out of his mouth carrying a passive weight of authority unlike anything he had ever experienced, compelling and insidious. Yeah, Percy figured he'd flip his brains too.

Without recognition of Poseidon default in their brains, Percy's ability had transformed from something instinctually expected to an invasive foreign force, ramming through them and forcing them to his will. And it had been worse with the king's horses because he had not been making talk; he had given an order, actively enforcing his will, and with his power had compelled them to obey it without even realizing. Then the moment had passed, the order fulfilled, and realizing what had happened, the horses had freaked out.

Even as the welcoming dissolved into a river of host and visitors streaming inside in search of castle warmth, Percy was actively expending power to keep the horses calm and in line, not enough to truly bother him, but enough to be noticeable. It was something that had not happened before and it unsettled him somewhat. Were his powers on the fritz or was it truly as he thought, that he was much farther from home than he'd first realized to the point where even horses had no recognition of his father. Truly, Percy was uncertain as to which possibility gave him the most jitters.

The grooms were understandably unsettled and hesitant to go near the horses again, which suited Percy just fine. He went forward and took command of them, unbidden and uninvited, with a few whispered words that had the attention of all the horses snapping to his now visible form like a homing beacon. Come along, he beckoned, and led the suspicious horses, not fighting him as much now that they could actually see the person ringing commands in their heads, authority no longer coming out from what had seemed like thin air. The grooms, emboldened by this fell in beside him uselessly late, as with a hand tugging the reins of the kings horse and asserted authority over all the others, the horses followed him docilely like a litter of puppies, and not one went out of place. The rest of Percy's morning was very tedious as he helped the grooms settle the horses in the stables and watched as they were groomed while keeping a tight hold of them throughout, not wanting to risk letting up his metaphysical grip and having someone die because of a repeat performance of the earlier morning. When the grooms where done and gone, Percy went though the time consuming task introducing himself to over three hundred horses and explaining what he was, how he could do what he he did, and braving insults and comments of his lack of manners from them.

"Such a stupid two-legged stallion," muttered one prickly mare named Temper, for her temper, golden brown and strong and beautiful. "As stupid as the rest of them you are, didn't your mother ever teach you nothing? I do say that you can never get with any respectable mare with atrocious manners like that!"

By the end of it all, Percy was so exhausted that he went straight to bed and was out like a light before the springs had stopped squeaking.


Percy bit into a piece of chicken, succulent and tasty with hot sauce dribbling down his fingers, and moaned in delight. Like many others, he had been invited to the feast hosted in honor of the visiting king, and like many others, he was well pleased that he had decided to attend. Clad in clothing gifted to him by the lord of Winterfell, Percy sat on the bench amongst the guards and armsmen of Eddard Stark's household, the atmosphere of the Great Hall hazy with smoke and the mouth-watering scents of roasted meat, fresh-baked bread, roasted onions, and the sweet heady scent of wine. White, gold and crimson banners draped the walls of the hall and Percy could recognise the direwolf of the Starks, the crowned stag of the king, and a roaring lion that was the standard of the queen and her family. There was a singer playing the harp and sprouting some ballad that Percy was uninterested in deep as he was in his cups, wolfing down food enough for ten men. Besides, the singing could barely be heard above the roaring of the fire, the clangor of pewter, plates, and cups, and the mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

Invited by the captain of the household guard, Percy sat together at one of the tables with the likes of Jory Cassel, Hallis, Alyn, Harwin, Tomard, Varly, Wayn, and Wyl. They were of Stark's household guards and apart from Eddard's children, were some of the people that he had built something of a camaraderie with. He had often visited the courtyard to watch their training and had been unable to resist giving out pointers and tips, correcting stances and orally urging up their guards, falling right into the teaching role he'd had at Camp half-blood. One particularly frustrated boy, laid on his back for the fifth time by Jory Cassel, had challenged him to put his money where his mouth was and Percy, cooped up and eager for some action, had obliged him. Like with any sword that was not Riptide, the practice blade had felt somewhat awkward in his hand, too long, the weight off, the balance unlike what he was used to. Had Percy still been severely injured that handicap in technique might have given the boy a fighting chance but as it had been, the boy had not even realized he had been defeated before Percy was pulling him up from the ground. The men-at-arms had looked upon him with fresh eyes then, as though he had the look of a warrior with his missing eye and scars and godly physique, none of them had actually seen him fight. Percy had had a go at most of them, trouncing even Jory and Rodrik Cassel despite his unfamiliarity with the blade, and winning respect for his skill with a sword. So strong and fast had he been, a blur of steel and muscle and ferocity, that only the master at arms had actually realized that his actual technique with the blade was somewhat lacking.

"As fast as wind you are, and when you hit it feels like as though you wield a war hammer instead of a blade." Ser Rodrik Cassel had complimented, eyeing him speculatively and tugging at his whiskers. "However, despite my inability to take advantage, I noticed you negating your reach and overbalancing on some of your swings, almost like... a shorter blade? And I'd wager the balance was somewhat closer to the hilt than that of the sword in your hands right now."

Percy had been impressed with the man's ability to analyze his fighting style and see the holes, and his ability to hold his own for a while even with Percy's inhuman strength and speed against him. Mutual respect had been born, Percy had kept joining the men for practice, and friendships had been built. If not for that, the demigod figured he'd probably have been relegated even farther down the hall, along with the squires and everyone else who had bothered to attend, and stuck in the midst of green boys full of arrogance with drunken fantasies of fame and sex running through their heads, irritating him all night.

As it was, Percy had been enjoying himself immensely, swept up in the revelry of the night, gorging himself on meat and bread and wine. He laughed with Jory, teased Harwin, and even though he was still bitter about his eye, told increasingly outlandish stories about how he'd lost it much to the guffawing mirth of the men, and tittering pleasure of the women and serving girls.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself immensely." A man plopped down on the bench by his side when there was a lull in that part of the hall, and Jory and Tomard and Varyl had moved away to other places to dally among the ladies and fondle breasts and buttocks. He was a tall man with long thin legs, readily apparent even when he sat, with gaunt, sharp facial features and the long face of a Stark. He was dressed all in black but there was a hint of mirth in his blue-grey eyes as he took in the demigod's measure. Percy took a gulp of wine from the pitcher in his hand, eyeing the man with his lone eye over the rim, wondering what he wanted. He and Benjen Stark had never been introduced, but the resemblance to the Starks was unmistakable and Percy had spied him from afar a time or two after the man had arrived in Winterfell.

"It's been a fun night." Percy admitted, smacking his lips. "We've not been introduced, my friends call me Percy."

"Benjen Stark." The man accepted his handshake. "And what do your enemies call you?"

"Well, it depends." He shrugged. "Perseus, Tasty Demigod, Wretched sea-spawn, and sometimes I'm called Mercy too, right before I bury my blade in their skulls."

Benjen gave a small snort of laughter, amused.

"Well, Percy, word around here is that you're pretty handy with a blade."

"I know where to stab with at least. What about it? Wait, don't tell me Stark has been spreading gossip, didn't take him for the type."

"No, he isn't." Said Benjen. "I am in need of skilled men for the Watch though and he mentioned you in passing."

"Hmm," hummed Percy. "And did he also tell you that he offered me a post in his household guard and that I turned him down? I'm not sure if it's Ned's doing or not, but Jory still badgers me about that and my response hasn't changed. What makes you think I'll work for you and not him?"

"I wasn't aware of that." Benjen replied, and he was frowning slightly now. "Like I said, he mentioned you in passing and I also overheard things from other sources about your bladework. Why did you turn him down?"

"I'm not from around here, Benjen. Your brother found me when I was at the end of the line and helped me, but I plan on going back to my life, my friends, family and enemies, one day. I can't swear myself into someone's service when I plan on leaving eventually."

"Ha, I guess you can't be begrudged that. Where are you from?" Asked Benjen.

"New York. Know anyone from there who can point me back on my way?"

"New York? A strange name for a place. Can't say I've heard of it."

"I expected as much," Percy smirked. "It's really far away, even I don't know where it is in relation to Westeros."

"That is strange." Benjen told him, frowning thoughtfully. "How then did you come to be found by my brother?"

"Magic I think; the unwanted meddling of a god or two. I fully intend to send them to Tartarus when I get back though."

Benjen Stark was unsure how to feel about that statement, torn between amusement and bemusement, so he focused on the word he did not understand at all.

"Tartarus?"

"It's hell; where gods, titans, monsters and giants go when they're killed. Words can't really explain how horrible a place it is, not unless you experience it for yourself. Trust me, you don't wanna go there." Percy told him, shuddering slightly in remembrance, and Benjen Stark at this point was certain he was being japed at.

"Am I to believe that you have been to hell? To this Tartarus?" He asked, a wry smile on his face.

"Believe what you will," Percy shrugged. "Doesn't really matter."

"Well it was a pleasure meeting you, and a shame that you have other commitments." Benjen said, picking himself up from the bench. "We need numbers on the wall and a man who Eddard personally vouched for would have no doubt been a useful addition to our ranks. In case you change your mind -though I sincerely doubt you will- the Night's Watch has no shortage of open positions. Now excuse me, if you will, I think I spy my nephew over there, deep in his cups like a babe on teats."

Percy watched him go with an amiable smile on his face, but the conversation had turned his mind from the festivities of the night to other more concerning matters. He had planned to stay until the king had arrived out of simple curiosity and because he'd been hoping that within the amount of time that it took the visitors to arrive, he'd have had some form of contact with his divine family.

It had been almost four weeks since Maester Luwin had last given him a medical assessment, and in that time he had done everything he could think of to try to reach someone, anyone at all. Poseidon had been as silent as he'd never been before, the drachma he'd managed to fish out from the pockets of his ruined pants had dropped to the ground on the other side of the rainbow, and all his dreams had shown him were some weird, chilled-out zombies, some gaudy looking jeweled eggs, an endless expanse of snow and ice, and a stalkish three-eyed crow. Even if he left Winterfell now, then where would he actually go? How would he start upon his quest for home? He knew nothing of the land, had no money, no house, no supplies, no friends apart from the tentative friendships in Winterfell, no clothes apart from the ones gifted to him by Eddard Stark, and had no clue where he'd even begin looking for a way back to New York. The only things he truly had were his weapons, his battle skills, his brain -which many people that knew him generally agreed was full of kelp- and his body -of which he was already missing an eye. It was a dilemma he had not managed to find a solution to, and he did not expect that Eddard Stark's generosity would last forever. Even if it did, Percy had no plans to take advantage of that generosity. He wanted to go back to his world of monsters and demigods and gods as fast as he was able, not stick around in some medieval world where they shat in chamber pots and wore doublets and tunics and robes.

His mood truly soured now, Percy drained his pitcher of wine, pushed himself away from the table, and stalked out of the hall, evading the grabby hands of horny females and forcing himself through the wobbly clutter of drunken males. The difference between the Great Hall and the yard beyond was like night and day. He got a faceful of chill night wind that carried the scent of cold and freshness in its wake. The yard was empty and deserted, noise practically nonexistent save for the whispering voices of wind through stone, and the lingering sounds of music and revelry behind him that spilled through the windows of the great hall and faded entirely as Percy continued to put distance between himself and the building. He had been of the mind to head straight to bed before, but something about the night called to him and instead he made his way to the godswood, taking residence by a spring fed pool.

He had fallen into a melancholy state, and sought to amuse himself by tugging and drawing on the water, creating ripples and waves, forming shapes and constructs. The water swirled and rose, forming little fishes and prancing pegasi, transformed into a copy of the empire state building as detailed as he could make it, and when he grew bored with those, stretched the limits of his control by creating a watery war with a minotaur army on one side, and twelve beings that looked suspiciously like the Olympians on the other.

The first to die was the watery figurine holding a three pronged spear, gored back into the pool by the horns of three charging man-bulls. The rest of the miniature Olympians followed soon after. One minotaur, in a blatant disregard for the rules, swelled and grew and chomped down on a figurine holding a jagged ice blade, shaped like a lightning bolt. The minotaur army bulled through the measly Olympians, stampeding Hera, cutting Ares in pieces with their axes, and the rest of the war soon devolved back into formless water, swept away by a wave of Percy's hand in a fit of rage.

"Fucking motherfuckers." He cursed. "I hope Gaea comes back to grind you all to dust."

When the rage dissolved away, Percy sighed, emotionally drained, and submerged himself in the pool and slept there till morning.