Percy knew he was dreaming. There was just something in the air. A feeling that he just couldn't place. It wasn't among the wisps of breeze blowing through his hair. Wasn't the gentle sea spray or the water lapping at his feet. However, as Percy sifted sand through his fingers, he knew this wasn't real life. But it felt so, so real. He wanted it to be real. Why did he want it to be real?
As if to answer his question, a red bird flew out of a nearby bush and landed on Percy's shoulder. His dream self wasn't surprised, and Percy looked down, seemingly for no apparent reason. The salt in the air welcomed him. The musty smell of the ocean filled his nostrils with memories he hadn't yet received. The bird pecked his cheek, but Percy sat still. With what seemed to be a huff, the bird flapped its wings and flew off towards the ocean, turning larger, fiercer, deadlier with each flap. Percy felt himself leaving his subconscious with a dawning realization. It was an eagle.
Blinking his eyes slowly, Percy let out a yawn. The room he was in was dark. All the curtains were drawn, and the thick fabric let no light penetrate through. It could be midnight. It could be noon. With another yawn, Percy swung his legs over the soft, yet firm mattress. Only one way to find out.
The floor was cold beneath his feet, a welcome relief to the blistering heat that managed to find its way into his sheets. California was seriously hot during the summer. He scratched his head, looking down at his wrinkled camp shirt and sagging jeans. In the corner of the room, Percy spotted a closet, and walked towards it. With a tug, the door creaked open to reveal various sizes of clothes hangers, but only a couple of shirts. And, Percy noticed curiously, they seemed to be of the female variety. Whose room was this anyways?
Suddenly, a knock resounded through the air. Percy's head turned towards the door, and with a curious expression, approached and turned the knob.
"Well morning, Perseus," she greeted, "I see you've woken up."
Drowsily, Percy mumbled out a confirmation.
"It's about time too," she said, rolling her eyes, "you've come to help and yet here we are. Half past eleven and you've just woken up."
"Reyna," Percy mumbled, rubbing his eyes, "Come in. The sunlight burns too much."
The praetor scoffed, "It's my room, you don't need to give me permission to come in."
That seemed to wake Percy up. With a start, he yelped, "This is your room? Oh gods, Reyna," he apologized, "I'm sorry. I was tired, and all the buildings look the same and -"
"Hush Jackson," she interrupted, "it's fine." Then, with a frown, she scanned his apparel. "You need to change."
"Wow, Reyna, and here I thought you liked me as I am."
"That's not what I meant," Reyna clarified, with an exasperated sigh, "You look like you've been dumped in a blender and put on puree. Now Perseus," she said, tossing him a bundle of cloth, "Go change. You can pay me back later."
Percy nodded dutifully and opened the door wider. "Again," he muttered, a tint of pink reaching his cheeks, "I'm sorry. I'll go change in the baths." Reyna rolled her eyes and stepped through the threshold. With another yawn, Percy stumbled down the steps and stopped. Which way was the baths again?
"Take a left, Percy," came Reyna's voice once again, "Gods, you were better off without your memory."
Looking down, Percy contemplated whether the praetor had a point or not before trudging his way towards the baths.
On his way to the baths, Percy noticed the stares burning holes in his back. All the campers looked at him warily, and some of the younger kids even looked away when Percy caught their gaze. He frowned, was it because of the shirt he had on? The orange did look awful and it definitely stood out in a sea of dark purple. And it was a Greek shirt. Percy quickened his steps, and soon enough, stood outside the doors to the large, Roman baths. Just like the rest of the buildings in New Rome, it had arches and columns and other designs that Annabeth would rave about. Annabeth. Percy took a deep breath, and tried not to slip on the slick marble floors.
Sinking into the water, Percy leaned his head back. The high, domed ceiling had paintings of the good ol' roman days with lots of sex, alcohol, and, of course, war. As Percy stared at a particular painting of baby Romulus and baby Remus, he let his thoughts drift off. What was up with him and Annabeth's relationship anyways? Were they broken up? Or still together? Or, gods forbid, taking a break? Without his consent, Percy's mind replayed the fight. It was such a stupid thing to fight about too...but she had told him to go. To go and to never come back. Did she mean it? If not, why would she -"
Percy sunk under the water and yelled in confusion. And then he yelled again - literal waves of anger running through the water. And if a couple of tears blended in with the warm, fragrant liquid, so what?
Percy emerged half an hour later to find Reyna eying him with a raised eyebrow.
"What?" he growled.
"Nothing," Reyna responded coolly, "We have business to discuss. Get dressed and get it together, yeah?"
"Yeah, fine," Percy muttered, making a shooing motion with his hand, "You can go now."
Reyna left without another word, and Percy looked at his hands, frowning.
"Huh, I still get wrinkly underwater. Didn't know that."
Percy emerged from the showers five minutes later in a purple shirt with a golden SPQR logo and a toga draped across his shoulders.
As soon as Percy stepped through the lavish oak doorway, two shiny metal dogs were upon him, growling and snarling. Percy backpedaled quickly, driving his back into the - painful - doorknob. Raising his hands in surrender, Percy shot a nervous grin at the dark haired girl behind the desk.
"Reyna, um, call off your pets," Percy pleaded, rising to his tip toes, "If you wouldn't uh, mind."
Reyna looked on, amused, hiding a snickers behind the palm of her hand. Discretely of course. "Argentum, Aurum," the praetor called, "it's fine. Leave him."
The dogs retreated, Argentum - the silver one - giving one last snarl. Percy gave the dog a childish stick of the tongue. Aurum shook his body as if drying off from a bath.
"Oh, look," Reyna commented, "You fit right in."
"And I think you've been spending too much time with the Hunters."
"..."
"Yeah, yeah," Percy mumbled, plopping down into one of the lavish chairs in the principia, "So, what's up?"
"Well, for your information, I have not been spending time with the hunters. No, I've been swamped with -" Reyna stopped, and Percy looked up from the candy bowl, a handful of blue jellybeans in his palm.
"What?" Percy defended, "They're there for eating, right?"
Reyna snatched the jellybean bowl and put it under the table, ignoring Percy's protests. "As I've been saying," a glare, "the people are unhappy with my leadership skills these days -"
"Oh?" Percy interrupted, his speech muffled by the jellybeans, "I think you're a fine praetor. A little bit of a downer, but fine."
"That was an insult."
"No, it was a -"
"Forget it," Reyna sighed, "Anyways, not everyone is exactly willing to get along with the Greeks. Octavian's minions mostly, but even some who fought in the war don't want anything to do with the Greeks."
"But we're awesome."
"Gods, Percy, shut up and let me finish!"
"Okay, so maybe it could be an insult."
With a growl, Reyna rubbed her forehead, "Long story short, anyone who wants to get along with the Greeks are looked down upon by the majority of New Rome, and apparently it's all my fault. Everything is my fault."
Percy scrunched his eyebrows, reached over, and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, "It's not your fault. I mean, it's not all your fault. Really, it's mostly Hera's fault. Kinda my fault too. And Leo. And -" Percy paused, seeing Reyna's disbelieving stare that said what-the-Pluto-do-you-think-you're-doing? and then some. "Well it's not your fault," he finished lamely, pulling his hand back.
Uncomfortable silence.
"Now that that's settled," Reyna finally spoke, dismissing Percy's display of terrible people skills, "we need to induct you as my co-praetor."
"But we just went over how much the Romans hate the Greeks," Percy noted, "Would it really be such a good idea to make me - a Greek," he clarified, pointing at himself, "a praetor?"
"Trust me, Percy," she muttered, "I've asked myself that a thousand times. But yes, you're the best choice for the job. Plus," she added, "the majority of New Rome don't see you as a true Greek. Their first impression of you, after all, was a Roman war hero."
"But," he said again, "I'm not Roman."
"Fake it 'til you make it, Perseus," Reyna said dryly, "Now, let's gather the legionnaires to the Field of Mars. We have an announcement to make."
