When I woke, it was in the middle of a grassy plain.

I wasn't sure how I got there. There was nothing in my mind when I awoke, aside from the briefest vision—a stormy-eyed blonde, laughing as she threw her arms around me.

As I stirred, I could still feel the lingering sensation of her kiss upon my lips. And as my heart ached, I sought her name in my mind.

Annabeth, the wind seemed to whisper back.

I rose to my feet, the ragged clothing I wore rustling over my dirt-stained body. The grass stretched high around me, a light wind swirling through its flaxen tufts. It was tall, and overgrown, stretching several feet above my head.

Who am I? I wondered. And then I knew.

I'm Perseus Jackson. But my friends call me Percy

I frowned. What friends? I didn't remember any.

…What, exactly, had I lost?

Then my stomach growled—and so, pulling from instincts I hadn't even known I had, I focused my ears on the sounds of the wilderness.

To my left, not ten yards from where I stood, I heard the snuffling of rabbits in their warren—but they would be a meagre meal, if they could be caught at all.

To my right, quite a bit further away, I could hear yapping—the cries of hounds or jackals, happy to have found meat for the night. Theirs would be a crude meal, but it would satisfy my belly's growl.

But even as an amnesiac, lost in a strange land, it would seem that Fate had a plan for me. For just as I began to set out for the pack of wild canines, my well-tuned ears caught the sound of hoofbeats on the wind—and suddenly, I could hear that drumming rhythm speak to me in the booming tones of a hundred-thousand boisterous tongues.

We are the blood of your blood. We are your kin, a race born of your Father.

Come to us.

And, grim-faced, I did as the blood of my blood asked.

I ran through the tall grasses—not strode, not walked, ran until my feet carved divots in the grassy plain's sod—for what must have been hours. Yet to my memory-confused mind and still-hungering body, those hours held all the meaning of seconds.

And so in what seemed like moments, I stepped out from the grasses, pivoted to the left upon a well-beaten dirt track, and beheld the great plateau over which that great herd was passing.

But it was not just horses which strode over that rock—there were people upon their backs.

The men were clothed in horse leather, the women in woven grass. In the men's hands, there were curved blades and long whips and strong bows in the men's hands—and in the women's, the folded leather tents and carefully cured meat of a truly nomadic people.

So close, the sound of hoofs rang in my ears continuously. Yet though their blood had sung to me, the horses themselves did not speak to me, though I somehow knew they could. For in that moment, I could see that their hearts belonged to another—he who rode at the head of that grand host. A giant among men, sitting astride his bloody-red steed.

Perhaps others would have fled in that moment. After all, few are willing to stand against an army for the things they seek—even if that which they seek is all they once knew.

But although I could feel the threat inherent to this place, it did not matter to me.

The blood of my blood had summoned me before this army of horsemen—and if it brought me closer to that near-forgotten love of mine, I would carve my way through this horde in its entirety.

The horselord noticed me, then. His dark eyes narrowed. Doubtless, an unarmed boy barring his path was quite offensive to a man like this. His nostrils flared, his chest expanded—and with a mighty exhalation of breath, he kicked his horse into a gallop.

He was coming straight for me—riding me down.

And in response to the aggression, I could suddenly feel her, pulsing in the ether with the rushing desire to come forward.

Anaklusmos, The Current Which Takes One by Surprise.

And yet… this blade would not cut the enemies before me. I could feel it in her pulse, could feel it in the raw divinity my blade had been forged from—such simple, mortal beings as these horsemen were not worthy of being cut by divine metal. And so I did not draw it.

This horselord would have to be defeated by my bare hands alone.

How bad could he be? I thought in my head, a slight smirk sliding onto my face.

I think that may have been one of my most arrogant moments to ever occur.

For although I didn't know this with certainty at the time, I later learned that when a Dothraki horde comes upon most boys, a single corpse falls onto the grass, and the horses trample it until naught but mushed guts and bloody bones are left.

But then, there are few boys like me in any of the worlds.

And this I did know as that long-braided rider bore down on me—there was a power that coursed through my blood that day, something infused in my hard, bronzed skin which sang, You will not die today.

The warrior was but a dozen feet away now. Readying myself, I bent my knees, preparing to tackle the horselord from his mount. After all, I did not want to hurt the horse—only its rider.

Meanwhile, the rider had extended his left hand, carefully lining up the curved sword in it with my vulnerable neck. If he had it his way, my head would be in his hand in moments, a barbaric trophy to remember the impudent boy who dared to stand in his way.

But this horselord wouldn't be having it his way.

Six feet away. I tensed my legs, preparing to jump.

Five feet away. I leapt into the air, so quickly that I could see the rider's eyes lose sight of me. He kept charging, though—kicking up clods of dust and dried grass in his horse's wake.

Three feet away. Time to do this. As my body spun over the warrior's tall red stallion, I reached out with my left hand, taking the weapon from his hands—and with the other hand, I grasped at his thin leather armor, heaving him out of his saddle. As we fell, I flung the curved blade into the tall grass.

Together, the two of us tumbled onto the dry, cracked ground. Quickly, with a stiff elbow to the small of his back and a firm arm pushing down onto the back of his head, I wrestled him under me—for although appearances suggested otherwise, I was clearly stronger than him by an order of magnitude.

The horselord's left arm was crushed under him as I drove him into the ground, his legs quickly restrained as I stomped my bare feet on his flailing, meaty calves—but his right hand clawed backwards, pressing down onto my eye socket.

Yet although he pressed down with all possible strength and desperation, he could not penetrate by even the slightest margin. That power flowing through my skin would not allow him to.

Though… that was getting annoying. With my free arm, I grabbed his right hand, and pressed it to the horselord's side.

Finally, after what must have been a minute more of holding down the horde's straining leader, he stopped struggling. I kept holding him down, but now I could finally look away from the fight—glancing up towards the horselord's red stallion.

For a moment, the horse's eyes just bore into me. Then, his eyes flickered down towards his rider. He snorted, shaking his head from left to right, as his front right hoof stamped down on the dry, cracked ground.

The message was clear: this isn't enough. He is still our master, not you, blood of my blood.

My fingers flexed, and the warrior's right hand shattered with a disturbing crack that would haunt me for the next month.

Then I stood, yanking the horselord up with the knot of ebony hair in my grip.

Even amnesiac, even deprived of everything that made me who I was besides instinct and blood, I knew that a murder like this would haunt me. I shouldn't have even considered it, let alone begun to move my victim into the optimal position for it.

But… this man was not someone I loved. There were people I loved who were lost to me right now—Annabeth and heaven knows who else—and I knew only two things: the blood of my blood had called me here, and they would not speak to me unless their master was gone.

The decision was made. With a single twist, I snapped a man's neck.

The corpse fell into the dirt.

And the red stallion bowed before me.

"Remove the braid, my Prince." he whickered. "It is expected of you, the successor of the Khal."

I did nothing to the braid. I had questions—questions this horse would answer before anything else occurred, be it impromptu hair removal or his own untimely death.

"Why was I called here, blood of my blood?" I said, speaking a tongue I could not name.

The horse snorted. "Why does anything of divine origin come into the mortal realm? Prophecy, my Prince."

Divine? I was… there was something like that in me, but it was not all that I was. I could feel it in the substance of my powerful blood—my nature was just as much mortal as it was divine.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Explain." I demanded.

The proud horse did as I said. "There was a prophecy, made by the wise women of these people. It laid out a route—declaring that Khal Drogo, the man you killed, would find the Stallion who Mounts the World within the year if it was followed."

The Stallion who Mounts the World… in the almost-telepathic horse tongue, I could feel the shape of that title echo through my mind. It was the conquering mantle of this people, the Dothraki people's greatest warrior-king. It was the man that would unite them in their multitudes, and bring them victory in the war to end all wars—he who would be the ultimate savior of the horselord peoples.

Is that who I am?

It didn't feel right. But I had killed for this chance at knowledge, and so I would take this further before I abandoned it.

"Where did this route lead?" I questioned. "How long was it supposed to last?"

"The journey would have taken a year, a month, and a day, my Prince. In the end, we would have arrived in Pentos—a city of the fat merchant men, those called weak by Dothraki. They gifted the khal a great palace, one we would have settled in for a time."

…Interesting. If I followed this route, I would find myself in civilization by the end—a place for knowledge beyond that which my blood sang to me.

An idea came to me, then. "What would this khalasar do, if I simply mounted you and made for Pentos on my own? Would any harm come to its people?"

The horse's ears flicked back in annoyance. "The khalasar would disintegrate, my Prince. It would split apart into three or more smaller khalasars, and each of those would raid a dozen villages on the way back to Vaes Dothrak. Perhaps the Dothraki would be fine, but such could not be said of the farmers and wives that would be pillaged and raped in the name of regaining the khalasars' supplies and ego. Does that disturb you, my Prince?"

I glared. "Yes, it does. How can I stop such a thing from occurring, khal-mount?"

"Claim your rightful place, child of the Great Stallion," the horse explained. "Their khal of khals, the Stallion who Mounts the World, is the only one who could shift these Dothraki from their ways."

I sighed, looking up from the red stallion to focus on the great khalasar before me. As soon as I'd killed their khal, they had stopped their progress—tens of thousands of Dothraki, all frozen before me.

I didn't want to be their prophesied savior. It didn't feel right. More importantly, it would bind me to these people with chains of responsibility, and I could not be bound if I wished to someday return to those I had forgotten.

And yet… if I did not, innocent people would suffer.

I pondered the decision for a moment. But as I had ever since I awoke, I settled upon a course of action in a few minutes—in retrospect, a quite impulsive thing to do.

Still, I had decided: I would do the right thing.

(I wonder, did Annabeth ever mock me for that hasty tendency of mine?)

(She must have. I can hear her silvery laughter ringing in my ears as I think of it.)

I spoke to the horse hastily now, doing my best to act before the khalasar recovered from their shock. "If I wish to claim the mantle, what must I do?"

I swear, the horse smirked at me when I said that. "First, remove the braid and hold it high."

I sighed. I had no blade with which to cut mortal things. So instead, crying out to attract the great khalasar's attention, I tore the braid off with my bare hands—thrusting it above my head as my shout reached the height of its volume.

The red stallion reared in excitement, braying his next words out. "Next, repeat after me: Kohol hatif anna, yeri fin qoy ki tih Ave. Kohol hatif yeri khal, Vezh fin Saja Rhaesheseres!"

What a mighty thing, the horse-tongue. I knew the words' meaning immediately.

Bow before me, you who are the blood of my Father. Bow before your khal, the Stallion who Mounts the World!

It was a pompous, dangerous thing to speak before so many angry warriors. I declared it anyway—and before me, a great shift occurred.

As one, the horses of the khalasar were bowing before me. And among them, a new, sombre cry was being taken up—one begun by the red stallion before me.

"Hail, khal of khals," his strong lungs bellowed, flanks shuddering with fervor. "Hail, The Stallion who Mounts the World!"

And as the red stallion did so, I heard the cry repeated by the manifold horses of the khalasar.

"Hail, khal ki khals! Hail, Vezh fin Saja Rhaesheseres!" they neighed, lowering their heads to the dusty ground.

The people of the khalasar, meanwhile, were near-utterly silent.

"I take it this means I've 'claimed my mantle' now?" I asked the red stallion wryly, grinning down at his bowed head.

"Almost, my Prince." he murmured. "There are but a few things left. To where do we ride?"

Resting my palm on his head, I answered the question. "For Pentos, of course. There is a gift of knowledge that I require from the merchant men you speak of."

The horse brayed with amusement, straightening out of his bow to stand proudly once more."Then mount me, and let us be away!"

The excitement was contagious—such that I couldn't help smiling as I swung up onto his back, tangling my hands in his mane. Within moments, the stallion began to gallop, racing forward onto the dirt road with such speed that I could feel my hair being pushed back. It was exhilarating.

Then, at our backs, I heard the hooves which had drawn me here restart their drumming. Most of them seemed to be following us, but a few did not—and under the heavy percussion of the khalasar's collective gallop, I could just barely catch the distinctive tones of three human screams.

"What's going on back there?" I asked the horse, angling my body forward to speak directly into his ear.

"The horselords have forgotten much of what shall occur, the day the Stallion comes." he replied. "But the horses remember. Behind us, those bloodriders that are sworn to avenge the khal's death have been thrown off and trampled. And further behind us, the horses of the jaqqa rhan—the mercy men of the Dothraki people—ride with their lords forcibly in tow, to inform the other khalasars of your claim."

His ear flicked back, brushing across my nose. "It is good that we ride for Pentos—sheltering there shall give you time to learn our people's ways. For whenever we leave the city of the fat merchant-men, we will begin facing the challenges of the other khals. Soon, you will either command the whole of our people, or you will die."

Although the red stallion had certainly fulfilled my request to explain the… situation, I could barely keep myself from growling with pure, unadulterated frustration.

"Why did you not tell me of this earlier, horse!?" I spat out.

The stallion refused to flinch away from my rage. "I could not risk refusal, my Prince."

A sadness entered his voice, then. "You see, my people… we are an ancient race. The Dothraki are the oldest civilization to still exist in the Grass Sea. We are the last remnants of the cultures birthed in this cradle of humanity—here so long that among most, it is merely known as our sea. But the cultures beyond us are mighty. We survive only because they are rich, and would prefer to pay us off rather than exterminate us. But sometimes, the wrong khalasar attacks the wrong merchant-city—and the khalasar is the one that dies."

He brayed, deeply and mournfully. "My father's father was from one of those khalasars, and he barely escaped from the city's horse-slavers. Three thousand merchant-soldiers stopped twenty five thousand brave Dothraki that day, then sold their mounts to the highest bidder. Our people do not seem vulnerable, it is true—but to the men in metal suits, we are savage fools at their mercy if they ever chose to fight rather than bribe.

For a moment, the horse paused his story—once more merely galloping along the dusty path to Pentos. Then, with a great exhale, the red stallion sped up—suddenly full of fervour. "I would change that, Stallion who Mounts the World. But you are the only one who can change the Dothraki for me. Will you do that for me, blood of my blood?"

I chuckled into his ear. Apparently, I was a sucker for a good sob story—probably something else Annabeth always mocked about me.

"Against my better judgement… yes. I will." I said, a tinge of lingering amusement in my words. "And please, call me Percy. Or, if you really insist on being formal, I guess you can call me Perseus—though I'm pretty sure that's usually only for my enemies. What's your name?"

The horse's eyes glinted, suddenly filled with happiness. "Thank you… Percy. I have no name: the Dothraki do not think it is necessary for their mounts. But I suppose—were you to give me one—I have always admired the sun's light as it straddles the horizon. At its edges, it so closely resembles my own coat…"

For some reason, my eyes too were now alight with a strange happiness, shining as I answered my new friend in the horse-tongue. "The twilight. That is what it is called, my friend. Λυκόφως—Lykófos, in the tongue of my father's blood."

The stallion whickered with pleasure. "Then I shall be Lykófos, my… Percy. It is a good name. There is a Dothraki sound to it, but the end makes it distinct—a fitting name for a horse such as I."

I smiled broadly. "Indeed."

And for the rest of the day's ride, the two of us talked. There was no particular topic. Lykófos would share glorious stories of his father's exploits with Khal Bharbo; I would speak wistfully about what little memory of Annabeth was left to me. Eventually, both of us would discuss combat quite a bit—I seemed to have a quite-strong instinct for it, and Lykófos had served under Drogo in dozens of truly horrific battles. But in the end, we did turn to more practical concerns: namely, where and when we would be bedding down for the night.

Then, the night began to come—and as the sky turned to his namesake, Lykófos made the decision for us both, and stopped his gallop in a large clearing. It was, at the very least, clear of obstacles—its black, fertile soil clearly the semi-recent site of a quick-spreading grass fire. It would serve as a good camp for the night.

Once the rest of the khalasar had caught up, we did as we had discussed. I gestured towards one of the female riders, repeating the words Lykófos gave me. My tent was set up within the hour, and soon enough, I bedded down. Lykófos laid down outside—and judging by the low, murmuring neighs I now heard, he was already quite firmly asleep.

I wasn't far behind. Soon enough, my mind had slipped away into the darkness—only to find that, unexpectedly, the darkness of sleep was literal rather than metaphorical in my case. Once my brain had gone into sleep-mode, I'd become a glowing version of myself—rags and all—suspended in a three-dimensional void of pure shadow.

Except… it wasn't really pure darkness, was it? I was emitting a glow, after all. Where was the energy for that light coming from?

Then, looking down, I could see the light's source—a blue-green, barely-there cord of light trailing off from my navel.

I should have been worried by that. What kind of person brushed off the fact that their saving grace from a void of primordial darkness was some sort of mystical umbilical cord?

But for some reason, I knew that this light belonged with me. Now mind you, I wasn't sure why, or even what it was—but I was going to find out. Exerting my will, I pulled upon the rope, doing my best to force this spiritual form of mine towards the rope's point of origin.

For a while, it did nothing. But then, just as I began to feel a tangible strain in the grip of my will, I could feel something give—an almost-audible snap, a flood of force streaming down from my navel and expanding the rope until my entire body fit inside. In an instant, the swirling light inside had swept me with it, taking me to its point of origin.

I emerged in a pale white throne room below the sea, adorned with swirls of pink and blue coral. The very air was tinted beautifully, a living work of art created through the byplay of sunlight that danced through the great hall's watery skies.

In front of me, a bronzed giant with windswept black hair, a bristled beard, and strangely colorful garments sat upon his throne. As I watched, I saw his toes wiggle back and forth in his sandals—and then suddenly they were hooves, and he was a Great Stallion, perched upon its marble dais of worship.

Then he was a man again—Poseidon, my divine father, I realized as my blood sang to me—and I was even more confused than I had been before. Suddenly, Poseidon looked frantic—his eyes darted around, his left hand twitched towards the trident leaning the throne, and the very waters of the throne room began to churn.

Before I'd arrived, it was clear he'd been speaking to the half-fish god which was across from him in the hall. But apparently, my arrival had disrupted that conversation by panicking the sovereign of the Seas.

Thankfully, that panic dissipated soon enough. His pupils alighting on me, Poseidon's eyes tightened with an emotion I could not name—and the waters calmed. "...Oh." he said. He seemed shocked—and that didn't seem like an everyday thing for a deity of his stature. "Well, Percy, I see you've discovered one of my otherworldly counterparts."

"I'm sorry, what?" I said.

Yeah… I didn't get it. Although thankfully, I wasn't alone in my confusion—I mean, I was pretty sure the fishy god couldn't even see me.

Poseidon sighed. But he didn't (literally) blow me out of the water, so I'm pretty sure the conversation was going well. "Triton," he said, leveling his eyes at the part-fish god. "Leave us, son."

Triton did as he was told. I'll admit I felt a bit bad to force him out of the room… but only a bit. This conversation was too necessary to let guilt bog me down during it.

"Now, Percy," Father said, his tone amusedly reproachful now that I was the only one left to speak with. "I realize Hera has stolen your memories, but you really should be able to realize what I'm talking about using context. The Great Stallion is an aspect of me—the aspect of me which has spread the furthest in this universe, in fact, ever since I seeded horses throughout the stars."

In reply, I mouthed off to my divine father.

"Okay, who's Hera, Dad—and why the hell did she take my memories?" I said, my voice razor-sharp with helpless rage.

Shockingly, he didn't blast me into krill-food for my impudence after that. "Hera is Queen of Olympus, and also… unfortunately… my sister," he explained, sighing deeply. "She is one of the leaders of my pantheon in this world. So no, I can't tell you why she took the memories—that would be treason, and even among us gods, not many continue to live happily after doing stuff like that. I can tell you, though, that Gaia—Primogenoi of the Earth—was the one who stranded you over in that other place."

Dad paused, a strange smile crossing his face. "Damn good lover, that one, although I will admit a bit of disgust with her wartime strategies." Oh, no no no no no. "But damn does that freakiness play well-"

I cut him off before I could hear anything more about my dad's deviant sexual history. "Alright, got it. So how do I reverse the brain-blank and get home, Daddy-O?"

I'll be honest—I smirked when I said that nickname.

Then, the unexpected happened: Poseidon stepped off his throne, shrinking to my own size to look me in the eyes. "Well, first of all, never call me that again, Perseus. And as for the rest… I can't help with the amnesia. Treason, divine essence, spikes and nets—I'm sure you'll get it someday. But…" he hesitated, quelling the storm that had begun to brew in his eyes. "I think I might have an idea about getting you home, now that I understand what's going on with you a bit better."

I tilted my head impatiently, keeping my sea-green peepers locked on his own. "And?"

"There are but two things on each world which can send inhabitants away: the Earth Below, and the Heavens Above." he explained. "If I occupied either position in the hierarchy of your new world, I could bring you home now. But the Earth Below on your new world is too well-claimed, too full of memory for me to do anything." He winked, then. What was that about?

"And as for the Heavens Above…" he continued after a long, pregnant pause. Had I missed something? "...There is yet a war among the gods of Planetos for that role, fought between the great powers of Fire and Ice. Perhaps, were you to subdue those who serve as their proxies, I would be able to bring you home."

And now Poseidon bared his teeth, his determination clear. "But I won't force that upon you, Percy. I can see where that path leads for you—it is a cruel fate, one which must be your choice alone."

"Will it get me back to those I've lost?" I asked.

As tentative as any prideful god could ever truly be, my father slowly nodded.

The decision was made, then. "I'll do it."

Poseidon—Dad, I suppose—was unsurprised. "I expected as much," he said sombrely. "Just like everything else I gave you, you inherited much more of my reckless streak than I intended."

I could feel the tether starting to weaken, now. "Yeah, I guess so. And, uh… sorry to leave so quickly, Dad, but I think I gotta run."

He chuckled, the sound booming throughout his watery throne room. "Yes, I know, Percy. I can feel it too. There does have to be someone else on the other end of that connection, after all."

As my vision began to blur, I would swear he almost smirked evilly at me. "By the way, Percy—Good luck getting the salt out when you get back. Here's a hint: it never really leaves the material entirely—you've just got to live with it or get rid of it."

Then I was gone, vanishing back into the black void for another hour.

And when I finally awoke, my formerly-soft furs were soaked through—not by sweat, but by the pool of seawater that had formed around me in my sleep.


A/N: Daenerys I is already written. It will be released next week.