1. DISCLAIMER. The obvious. I do not own anything. Thanks to Mr Riordan for giving us such wonderful stories.

2. As some of you know this is a repost of sorts of an old story I have written when I used the HarryBond007 username. It is me, I am not stealing it.

3. Thanks a lot to NessaRoseFangirl for helping me beta this story. Also thanks to Ana-DaughterofHades who helped me a lot with a prior version and Kendra PJO and Derek Chase who helped on the first draft of this chapter.

4. Any error here is mine and not from my reviewer. If you spot anything or have a doubt about grammar used or plot just PM me, I'm always swift to answer.

5. Enjoy

Hours before chaos exploded at camp, Grover was already looking like a nervous wreck.

He felt as if he was in a crowded bus filled with rabbits, heading for a ten-hour long field trip, with no food or bathroom breaks whatsoever. Nancy Bobofit sitting next to him, poking his ribs. Something along those lines, only that ten times worse.

Okay sure, maybe he was a bit over-dramatic, but his situation was truly awful. Ever since he woke up Grover had been receiving tons of bad news and he couldn't see the end of it yet.

Everything went downhill after they left that Greyhound, up until that point things were moving just fine. At least to some extent. Grover found it hard to believe that only yesterday he was at Yancy Academy trying to follow the plan as best as he could, and today, he had walked out of the Big House barely being able to call himself a keeper.

If he hadn't gone to the bathroom at the wrong time things might've turned out differently. He wouldn't have lost Percy at the bus terminal. Maybe they would've made it to camp before any real threat appeared. More importantly, Percy's mother would still be alive.

Grover had really ruined things this time.

Yes, Percy was safe at camp but not thanks to him. In fact, Grover couldn't even remember doing anything useful when that monster came after them. What kind of protector is dragged all the way to safety by the guy he was supposed to protect anyway?

Taking a long breath, he went on with his task, trying to avoid any curious glance. Surely the other campers already knew all about his most recent failure and Grover didn't want to go over the details with them.

Grover just couldn't believe his luck, every time he was on the brink of fulfilling his mission… BANG! Something happened that brought it all down. Considering all the creatures and mystical forces out there, it was a surprise Grover was even alive.

Truth to be told, Grover's story was not easy to explain, which was understandable considering all the talk about monsters and mystical forces. It's hard to accept at first, it could seem extraordinary or unbelievable, maybe even foolish. However, for Grover Underwood, all of it was his world. He was not a normal boy. He was really a keeper, a protector. A small part of a larger and fantastical reality.

Grover was a satyr.

A satyr was a creature from the old myths, a fantasy, some people would say. Grover was quite real though. He had hairy goat legs that couldn't be easily explained if he went to the beach someday and a cap to hide a pair of tiny horns that were still growing up. Yes, Grover was truly a satyr, yet it was nothing to be afraid of. There were far more powerful forces dwelling out there; monsters, magic, gods…

Actually, the world we live in is not alone, it hides another one beneath it. A world where the Greek gods and monsters exist, yet a world with heroes too. The Greek myths have been evolving with this world, merging together. It may be difficult to notice at times, especially for normal people - the mortals. Even so, those myths were there, Grover had to deal with them every day. He wouldn't be lying if he said a pegasus had eaten his shirt once.

Anyways, Grover was now at camp, and one way or another Percy was there too. Even when the situation could be a million times better, it was at least refreshing to see Thalia's tree up in the distance. Crowning Half-blood Hill with its ever-lasting aura of courage and power.

Camp Half-blood was no ordinary summer camp. It was a place magically concealed from the eyes of mortals. Heroes, who were the mortal children of the gods, were able to train there in safety. As every other satyr in camp, Grover had the task of bringing half-bloods — or demigods — to camp in one piece. By doing so, he might be granted a seeker's license one day.

Well, maybe that was over now since that wouldn't be happening after his latest task.

"Fantastic job, Underwood, top-notch keeping right there", Grover muttered to himself as he reached the top of Half-Blood Hill.

He had just woken up less than an hour ago and went to check on Percy right away. The black-haired boy was not looking good and it was Grover's fault he was stuck in bed. The least he could do was get that thing for him. His spoils of war.

In Grover's world, spoils of war were tokens left behind by monsters once they were defeated. They might not look like much, but sometimes they could prove useful in a quest. They reminded a hero of what had been achieved and, most importantly, of what had been lost in the path to achieving it.

Percy had lost his mother, the price had been the highest one for him. Finding that thing wouldn't be much for Percy, but it had to be done. The boy was going to get what was rightfully his, even if Grover had to turn over every single stone in Half-Blood Hill to find it.

That was just a saying though. Percy had defeated the Minotaur, the same from the old myths who — as every monster — had the ability to regenerate from time to time. It was a given that Percy's spoils wouldn't fit under a rock.

Cautiously optimistic, Grover started his search. Considering the size of the Minotaur, the satyr had thought he would find those spoils rather quickly, however, the better part of the morning went by without much luck. He couldn't remember where those spoils had fallen and he had an appointment he couldn't miss. In spite of it, Grover didn't stop searching.

As time passed by, the satyr turned more and more anxious. At noon he had to present his report to the elders of the satyr council, the report of his failure with Percy. They were going to deny him the seeker's license, forever most likely.

"There has to be a way," he voiced to no one. "It was not my fault. Well, maybe it was, but Percy got safely to camp, that must count for something, right? Or maybe If I just— Oh who am I kidding!?"

Grover didn't consider confidence as one of his greatest strengths. Actually, being able to play a couple of songs in his reed pipes was his one and only skill.

As he tried to clear his head, Grover took a look down at the camp in all its splendor. Demigods and satyrs were moving on with their days, wearing their orange Camp Halfblood T-shirts proudly. Some were playing at the volleyball court while others moved towards the lake. Farther away, on the other side of the Big House, the sun brightened the strawberry fields with its golden touch, making the camp look majestic.

Grover had never felt as far away from the other campers as at that moment. He had the same orange T-shirt design, but the satyr's worries were different. What if the meeting went wrong? Could they really exile him? Or would they sentence him to scare bugs from the strawberry fields for the rest of his life?

He needed that seeker's license, he had wanted it since the day his father had told him what it meant. Grover needed to go and try to find the Lord of the Wild by himself. Someone was ought to find it eventually and he wanted to do his part, as his father had done before him. He knew Pan was still out there, somewhere.

It was not only about the license though, there was also Percy. The boy was his job and it was Grover's obligation to be there for him. Still, they got along pretty well and Grover even considered himself to be Percy's friend.

"Well, that's long gone. He's not going to want to be around me anymore." the satyr said, kicking a small rock away. "How am I even going to tell him about his mother? 'Look, Percy, sorry for sleeping while your mother got killed'? Wonderful choice of words, Underwood."

This was not his first failure though. There was also Thalia.

Grover's eyes turned to the large pine tree in front of him. The tree was in silence, yet the slow rustling of its leaves sounded like whispers to the satyr. It was full of life and magic, the type you could not properly see but it was easy to feel. In Lord of the Rings terms, it was more like the gorgeous trees at Rivendell than the walking stone-throwing Ents — not that he was against nature sticking up for itself, not at all. Anyway, the point was that Thalia's tree had a subtle glow of its own, with energy flowing from its deepest root to the highest leaf. Grover was speechless as he admired it, not for the first time.

Thalia Grace didn't die, not in the proper way she didn't. Zeus had turned his daughter into this big pine tree the instant before she fell to the army of monsters; the ones sent by Hades, Lord of the Dead. Thalia's tree had been protecting the camp with its magical barrier ever since, reigning proud on top of Half-Blood Hill.

That was five years ago. Five years and Grover still remembered it vividly. She gave her life to save them all, sacrificing herself just a few feet away from safety. Grover had failed then, and, because of it, they had lost her.

As a daughter of Zeus, Thalia would have been a wonderful addition to the camp. However, Grover remembered her more as a friend. She had been a little rough around the edges but always cared about those close to her. Grover still missed her, surely Luke and Annabeth missed her even more.

Grover didn't want to lose Percy too, but the boy would soon be starting a difficult path of his own. Hades was after him now, that much was clear. And here was Grover, complaining about a silly report meeting.

At that moment the satyr lowered his eyes, and he saw it. Only a couple of feet away from the base of Thalia's tree, shyly hiding behind a patch of tall grass. Grover saw what he had come looking for. A large object, black and white. It was rough and it ended in a deadly point. It belonged to Percy now, his spoils of war.

Grover saw the Minotaur's horn.

For a while he just stared at the horn, surprised by how big the monster must have been. In the night it had looked terrifying, but the light of the day made it possible to realize the full extent of its size. The thing before him was huge considering it was only the broken tip of the horn, and it felt heavy enough to be used as a hammer. How in the gods' name was Percy able to break that thing off? Unarmed. There was certainly something special about him.

"He has to be the one," Grover said to himself.

Suddenly, as he put the horn away on a large shoebox, Grover felt something all around him. An unearthly feeling, as if the ground trembled and the very time stopped. His body seemed to be commanding him to be afraid of something, and all the hairs on his arms stood up. Even so, the nasty feeling was soon gone, and it had been so brief that Grover wasn't sure if he had imagined it in the first place.

However, as he hurried downhill using his goat legs skillfully, he kept looking behind his back. Still afraid.

o0o0o

It was almost time for his report to the Council of Cloven Elders, so Grover headed directly to the woods. He was anxious, a combination of the report he had to give with whatever happened at the hill. Grover wished he had an old soda can to chew on, that always helped. The satyr felt so uneasy that once he put his first hoof in the forest he imagined a hole opening below and swallowing him whole. He was optimistic like that.

The satyr made his way through the trees, with the sound of a nearby creek at his side. It was not long before the forest had surrounded him entirely. The wind there had a wild smell to it, tender and untamed at the same time. The animal whispers that reached him soothed his doubts, if only a little.

This was the wild. A small part of it, yes, but it was a reminder of his reason to go out there. His purpose. These were troubling times, nature was in danger and only Pan — the god of the wild — could restore it to its former glory. Grover had to find him, or at least try.

He took a deep breath and continued, keeping the heaviness of the shoebox against him. Soon his ears found a playful forest tune, a melody woven out of reed pipes. It sounded like a whirlwind of leaves and fresh dirt, with a small pinch of cinnamon.

"Hey, nice one there," Grover told another satyr, who was seated on what was left of a hollow tree.

The other satyr stopped playing his pipes and raised his eyes, "Thanks. It's 'Saria's song'. You know, from Zelda."

"Neat."

Grover smiled. Woodrow was one of the few satyrs who didn't look at him reproachfully. On the other hand, Woodrow was a music teacher, so maybe he had been so focused on his classes that he hadn't even heard anything about Grover's failure.

"Is it time for your hearing yet?"

Or maybe he did.

"Yeah, heading that way now," Grover answered, looking away as he moved a hand through his curly brown hair.

He wanted someone to hear him out but he wasn't sure if Woodrow was the right set of ears. Grover had not seen many people since returning the night before, and Chiron was the only one he had talked about it so far.

Woodrow scratched his head uncomfortably, he could tell Grover was worried. "They're not exiling you. You didn't really break any rule."

He did have a good point. "I'm not getting a license though."

Woodrow's eyes were suddenly more interested in the bark of the nearby trees, his silence was clearer than words. Grover's face showed his disappointment.

"That might not be such a bad thing, Grover," Woodrow said at last, "You can do plenty of other things here at camp. You might find you like them better."

Woodrow did lots of good at camp but Grover doubted that was the life for him. He had no special talent, not like Woodrow he hadn't. Well of course he could conjure some basic woodland charms, but every satyr could do those as well. His true calling was to go out there and look for Pan.

"Have you heard me play? I kind of suck."

Woodrow stood up, making a low bleat sound, "I could teach you a tune or two but it doesn't have to be music for you. It could be some other class or even the fields. We can't all be Jeff Sprout."

Grover had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Jeff had never really said anything rude to Grover, probably because he didn't even talk to him. Still, Grover couldn't really stand hearing about Jeff at the moment.

Jeff Sprout was the coolest satyr in camp, he had his seeker's license already but he hadn't formally started his search yet. He was always interrupting his plans because he kept finding lost demigods on his path all the time. He had the record for the most half-bloods retrieved or something like that. A ten-times winner of satyr-of-the-month.

Grover released a sigh. There was no point in comparing himself to Jeff though, as even an average satyr was doing way better than Grover. He could think of a dozen names, all of them more talented keepers.

"Being a seeker is what I want. My father and grandfather were seekers before me too. I have to be a seeker."

Woodrow nodded,but he didn't look like he believed Grover could get the license. It didn't matter, Grover wanted to be a seeker anyway. Who said he had to be as good as Jeff Sprout to get a license? Jeff was not the only one out there.

He also thought of his mother, a red oak dryad who he barely remembered. One of many nature spirits who fell because of the battle between pollution and nature. Grover had to try, now more than ever.

The solstice was coming as well, the world was at great risk. Searching for Pan might not put Zeus at ease but at least it was something positive Grover could do.

Grover gathered all of his courage, readying himself for the meeting. Although, before he could say goodbye to Woodrow, something caught his attention.

"Hey Underwood, heard you were back. Found any demigods around?" said a joking voice, Grover winced.

Three new satyrs were approaching, they were wearing orange Camp Halfblood shirts, not unlike the ones Grover and Woodrow had. They were somewhat young but still ten or so years older than Grover, give or take. Wyatt and Wesley were at the sides, laughing their hoofs off as if they had just heard the funniest joke ever. The one in the middle had light brown hair and looked like a satyr out of a Disney movie, fat and balding. His name was Geórgios, but everyone just called him George. He was probably Grover's least favorite satyr at camp.

"Ha! That he did," answered Wyatt who was drinking a carton juice with a straw, a strawberry flavored Hawaiian Punch.

"And lucky for him, he had someone to protect him, didn't he?" Added Wesley, he was taller and had darker hair to him.

Grover wished he had a comeback, but they weren't lying. Grover did fail and Percy did save him.

Woodrow turned to Grover and shrugged, as if telling him not to mind the three of them. Grover wished he could just go away and make as he didn't see them. He turned in the direction of the council, his report suddenly felt like the lesser of two evils.

"Err guys, it is good seeing you and all, but I have something that—" started Grover, sounding a little more annoyed than he intended.

Wesley's and Wyatt's booing interrupted him, yet George cut them off. "Guys, guys, easy. Maybe we got it all wrong, you know how unreliable rumors are. Maybe Grover did make a terrific job looking after this Prancy boy."

"Percy, his name is Percy," corrected Grover, snorting loudly.

George continued, walking around as if he was not paying Grover much attention. "Whatever, a single half-blood. I have to recognize the elders for giving you a second chance, a nice gesture. Maybe they thought you couldn't handle last time because they were three strong demigods, a daughter of Zeus was among them after all. Wonder what they will say now that you failed with this Percy boy, a son of some minor god most likely."

Grover gritted his teeth. Oh, George had no idea. Percy was something else, he knew it at once, otherwise he wouldn't have reached Chiron about him. Moreover, the boy defeated the Minotaur all by himself, without any training or even an appropriate weapon.

He still didn't know who Percy's father was but he thought Percy was the one Chiron had been looking for. A child from one of the Big Three. Chiron surely considered it as well, he wouldn't have gone to Yancy to look after him if he didn't. Percy may complicate things with the current situation but it was way better to have him at camp than somewhere out there, alone and without any means of help.

Grover had a strong feeling in his gut. Something big was coming and soon. Maybe it had something to do with what he experienced at the hill, or maybe it was just that he hadn't got a proper breakfast this morning, who knew. Either way, they had to be prepared.

A part of Grover wanted to shout all of that at George, but he was not about to betray Chiron's trust like that. George was nothing more than a bully wasting his time, he could just ignore him.

"I failed. There, I said it. Are you happy now?"

George rolled his eyes.

"It was bad luck. Don't be so harsh on him, at least he tried," added Woodrow.

An expression appeared on George, he made it look as if he was very offended. "And what? We didn't? That's what you're trying to say?"

Wesley and Wyatt jumped as if their pride had been hurt. "We could have done it! If we wanted to."

Surprise was shown on Woodrow's face, he didn't like to be put in the spot. "I didn't say that, I just—"

"It's not our fault he was stubborn enough to go out there. Again." continued George, frowning as he pointed at Grover, "He should have learned his lesson. He knew he was not good enough back then, what made him think it would be any different now? Maybe if he had left the job to someone else the boy would have been safer."

"Someone like Jeff," added Wyatt, while Wesley nodded at his back.

All of a sudden Grover was left speechless, as if a thunder had stricken him with each one of George's sentences. Anger turned into regret. Maybe they were right, maybe he should have let Jeff or some other satyr handle Percy's situation. It was not a simple one after all. Maybe another one would have done a far better job. Maybe someone else could have saved Percy's mother. How could Grover think his seeker dreams were more important than Percy's wellbeing?

An arm appeared over Grover's shoulder, George's. "Look boy, jokes aside, I'm just trying to give you sound advice here. Listen to me. I have more experience.'' The chubby satyr leaned a little, as if trying to make Grover notice that his horns couldn't be hidden under his hair as easily as Grover's.

"Yeah right, and I'm Achilles."

Wyatt tried to laugh, at least until Geroge cut it off with a menacing look. Then Wesley pointed at Grover, "What do you got there by the way?"

Grover followed his finger to the shoebox on his arms. "Err, nothing."

The horn. It felt uneasy in his arms. Spoils of war were the prize for defeating monsters, that was a hero thing, definitely not something Grover could earn.

George snorted, deciding to ignore the shoebox. "Things are like this Grover, the problem was you trying again. If you had realized how everything was from the beginning you could have saved yourself a good chunk of effort and frustration. The strawberry fields are comfortable, we could use you there, teach you a thing or two."

"Listen to them Grover," said Woodrow, "You tried, it was not meant to be. Maybe the camp is the right place for you."

"Jeez, thanks for the advice."

He moved away from all of them, including Woodrow. He needed some space. Woodrow might mean well but Grover knew he had similar ideas to the others. For years Grover had heard stuff like that, about not being strong or tall enough, about not being good enough to get a license. He had thought Percy was the opportunity to prove them all wrong but he had failed, as he had failed before, as everyone had said he would.

What if the problem was not everyone else? What if he was truly stubborn and couldn't recognize he didn't have what was needed for the job? He was maybe getting in the way of someone who could do more good than him. Grover was not athletic like Jeff, he was not as skilled in woodland magic as Woodrow either. If he couldn't even trust the decisions he had taken, what did he have?

He hurried away, trying to remember his arguments for the meeting. He couldn't go to the meeting with all those thoughts in his head.

"Here's free advice then! You could have gotten that precious license of yours already, you're just too dense to see what you had to do," George shouted.

That stopped Grover dead on his tracks. He turned to them, halfway out of there. "What do you mean?"

"The first time. You messed it up. With Zeus' girl."

Grover looked visibly confused. Thalia? He took some bad turns on his way to camp then, that's true, but George didn't look as if he was going to provide navigation tips.

"You should have left them. The other two," said George, "Thalia Grace was the important one. You knew that."

The whole forest seemed quieter somehow. All the other satyrs seemed surprised. Wyatt wide-eyed, still loudly drinking from his juice though it was clear the carton was empty.

The other two? Did he really mean...? Annabeth and Luke?

For a second Grover imagined himself leaving them, Annabeth and Luke dying victims of some cyclops or any other monster. Then, a crowd of satyrs and the council congratulating him on his task of bringing Thalia safely to camp, giving him a seeker's license.

Grover couldn't stand it. It made him sick. He frowned at George but didn't answer back. Instead, the satyr huffed and stormed toward his meeting, hardly remembering what it was about for a moment.