AN: Just needed to get this idea out of my head. Unsure if I'll continue but I hope you enjoy this little one-shot.
The last thing Percy remembered was facing off against Kronos on the shattered steps of Olympus. The sky above them had a blood-red hue and lightning crackled ominously as the battle raged around them. The once majestic hall of the gods now lay in ruins. Pillars had toppled and the marble floors were stained with blood.
With his fist clenched around Riptide, Percy ran forward. Determination and desperation fueled his every step. He had to finish it. He needed to stop Kronos, no matter the cost. The noise of the battle faded into the background as Percy's focus narrow to the Titan before him. His heart pounded in his ears and his body screamed in protest, but he surged forward anyway.
Just one strike. One clean strike and it would be over.
AS Percy closed the distance, time seemed to slow. He could feel the power course through him, urging him onward. Kronos turned to face him, and there was a brief flicker of surprise in the Titan's eyes, a flash of something that wasn't invincibility.
Percy's muscles coiled and he swung Riptide with all the strength he had left. The celestial bronze blade sliced through the air toward Kronos' chest. He was inches away from ending it. He could feel victory in his grasp.
Then Kronos raised his hand. Golden light erupted from his hand, a blinding searing wave of raw power that blasted into Percy's body with the force of a hurricane. He had no time to react, no chance to deflect it.
The light burned his skin. His bones. His soul.
The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as if he was being ripped apart.
He was thrown backward, his body careened through the air like a ragdoll. The world around him spun violently as he crashed into the broken marble before he skid across the floor until he came to a stop against a crumbled statue of Athena.
The wind was knocked out of him, his limbs numb and unresponsive. The taste of blood filled his mouth and every breath was agony.
Through the haze of pain, Percy saw Kronos standing tall, the golden aura still surrounding him. The titan towered over him, a smug, grotesque smirk on his face. He raised his arm and dread pooled in Percy stomach.
He tried to move, tried to push himself up but his body wouldn't listen. His vision blurred, dark spots danced at the edge of his sight. The sounds of battle faded into nothing and was replaced by a ringing in his ears.
As the darkness closed in, Percy felt the sensation of his body being pulled into the void. Pain overwhelmed him, every nerve on fire, then his vision went black.
A strange, muffled silence surrounded Percy. He blinked, trying to clear his head, and was shocked to find that he wasn't on solid ground but on the bottom of a lake. Through the dim, blue-tinged haze of water he could see the surface far above him, faint light filtered through like thin beams of sunlight.
His heart skipped a beat in confusion. The cool water felt soothing against his skin. He shifted, rolled onto his stomach, and felt the soft, sandy floor of the lakebed beneath his hands. He pressed down and propelled himself upward. He ascended with ease, like a leaf drifting on a gentle current.
His fingers finally broke the water's surface, and he let out a slow breath as his head emerged into the biting cold air. The contrast was startling. The quiet calm of water gave way to harsh, frigid wind. He spun in place to take in his surrounding. The lake stretched around him, vast and still, its edges bordered by rocky cliffs dusted with snow. In the distance, to the west, he spotted the shoreline. It was a narrow strip of land that seemed impossibly far but at least it gave him some direction.
Percy began swimming. His strokes methodical but smooth, the water parted easily around him. He pulled himself forward with a grace that came from his connection to the sea and made every movement feel effortless.
As he finally reached the shore, Percy dragged himself out of the water and onto the frozen sand. He took a moment to catch his breath, running his hands through his hair.
The landscape around him was barren. Snow covered rocks and frozen earth stretched out in all directions. The window howled in his ears, sharp and biting and he felt the weight of the cold pressing in on him.
There was one small mercy. At least Percy was dry. His powers had kept the water from clinging to him, preserving whatever heat he had left. His bare arms though were already starting to sting in the subzero temperatures. His breath came out in white puffs that disappeared into the wind as quickly as they formed.
The wind howled louder, carrying with it the promise of a brutal night. He had to figure out where he was and how to get back.
Percy's thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable clash of swords ringing through the air. He froze, ears straining to catch the sound. It was distant, muffled, but there was no mistaking the metallic clang and sharp grunts of combat. Relief washed over him. He wasn't alone. He was still close to Mount Olympus. He had only been shot off the mountain. He grimaced at the thought of climbing back up, but at least he now knew where he was.
Or so he thought.
As Percy trudged closer to the noise, weaving between the jagged rocks and snowdrifts, a sinking feeling set in. As he rounded a bend, his eyes widened at the sight before him.
The scene was nothing like he had seen before. Instead of the modern world it looked like something plucked straight out of the Middle Ages. Men dressed in leather and metal armour, some wielded crude axes, other bows, and they were fighting in a chaotic brawl. Horses whinnied, rearing in fear as the battle surged across the open plain.
Percy ducked behind a large boulder, his eyes scanned the crowd. His instincts screamed at him to dive in and help, but he hesitated. He had no idea who these people were, and more importantly, he didn't know who the good guy or the bad guy was. A group of men in chainmail locked shield in a defensive formation, while another, clad in rough furs and wielding savage-looking weapons, charge at them with brutal force.
The scene was chaotic, violent, and Percy couldn't make sense of it.
Then, amid the battle, his eyes caught something that made his decision for him.
A woman, visibly pregnant, was struggling to protect two young children who clung to her skirts. She was trying to usher them back toward a carriage at the edge of the battlefield, but her movements were frantic, and fear painted her pale face. The children whimpered, too terrified to move quickly.
A man was approaching them, a hulking figure draped in fur, with a jagged, blood-stained sword in his hand and a sneer twisting his scarred face. He was closing in fast, eyes fixed on the woman as she shielded the children with her body. The desperation in her movement was palpable, and Percy could see there wasn't much time.
Percy's hesitation vanished.
Without a second thought, Percy's hand shot to his back and his fingers closed around the familiar cold metal of his father's trident. His eyes locked on the man approaching the woman, his heart pounded in his chest. The man was mere second from grabbing her, his hand already stretching towards her arm, the sneer on his face predatory.
Percy didn't hesitate. With a single, fluid motion, he swung the trident free and hurled it through the air. The trident cut through the air, each prong gleamed as it caught the faint light. Time seemed to slow as the trident sailed toward its target.
Just as the man's hand clamped around the woman's bicep, the trident struck. It hit with such force that the impact echoed across the clearing. It embedded itself deep into his shoulder. The sheer velocity of the strike drove the man backward, slamming him against the side of the carriage with a sickening thud. His scream pierced the air, raw and guttural, as the trident pinned him in lace. Blood spurted form the wound, staining the snowy ground beneath him.
The woman, still reeling form the incoming attack, froze in shock. Her eyes wide, pupil blown with terror as she stared at the man, his hand still locked around her arm. Her body rigid with fear.
That was when Percy took his chance.
Percy sprinted toward her, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as the cold air filled his lungs. He didn't slow as he crossed the battlefield, his sense hones to the chaos around him. The ground beneath him shifted from frozen earth to slick snow and his booths kicked up flecks of ice as he closed the distance.
The woman's head snapped toward him, her expression a mixture of panic and disbelief. She flinched and stumbled back as Percy approached but he raised his hand in a calming gesture.
"Hello," Percy said with a playful smirk. His eyes glinted with confidence, utterly careless of the agonize screams that cam from the man pinned against the carriage by his trident.
Without a shred of hesitation, Percy gripped the trident's shaft and yanked it free, the sound of metal scraping against bone mingled with the man's guttural cry. Blood poured against the snowy ground, but Percy barely blinked. He turned, and with a swift motion, knocked the man out cold with the pommel of Riptide. The man slumped against the carriage, unconscious.
"Now," Percy began, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather, "Which men are with you? Wouldn't want to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow as he waited for the answer.
The tension in the air was palpable but Percy remained calm but his grip on his weapon remained firm.
The redheaded woman, still wide-eyed and trembling, snapped out of her stupor. Her gaze darted to the battle ahead then back to Percy.
"My husband's men," she cleared her throat, pointing toward the fray, "They carry the direwolf sigil on their shields."
"Got it," Percy gave a quick nod. He spun on his heel to face the battlefield once more. He hadn't been here long, but the situation became clearer.
As he stepped forward, Percy made sure to stay within throwing distance of the woman and her children. He wasn't about to let her get ambushed again, not while he had anything to say about it. His sharp eyes scanned the chaos. Sheilds smashed together. War cried filled the air.
With the trident back in his hand, Percy moved with practiced ease. The bandits were skilled, but they were no match for him. He ducked under the swing of a rusted sword, disarmed the attacker with a quick twist and knocked the man unconscious with a well-timed strike to the temple. His movement were fluid, effortless. Another bandit charged at him, screaming, with an axe raised, but Percy sidestepped the blow with a pivot and swept his legs out from under him, sending the man crashing to the ground.
Once after another, Percy dispatched the bandits with little resistance, rendering three unconscious before he paused for a moment to catch his breath.
Percy realized too late that the chaos of the battle had settled, and he was surrounded.
The clank of armor and the thud of boots caught his attention. A group of soldiers had gathered around him in a loose formation that cut off any escape route. Their shields were marked with the wolf sigil, the one the woman had mentioned. They were her husband's men and regarded Percy with suspicion, their weapons raised, and their eyes narrowed.
Percy slowly crouched down as he placed his sword and trident gently on the ground. He ensured that his movements were calm and deliberate. He raised his hands in surrender, palms open and facing the men that encircled him.
Percy stood tall as he straightened back up to his full height, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Umm…hello," Percy said, his voice hesitant, unsure of what reaction he would get.
The men around him did not move, their swords still poised to strike, and their eyes were sharp, assessing. He could feel their suspicion, the weight of their mistrust pressed down on him like an invisible force.
One of the men stepped forward. He was taller than the others, his presence commanding, clearly the leader. His sword gleamed in the dim light, and the way he held it suggested experience.
"Speak quickly," the man growled, his voice low and gravelly, "what are you doing in these parts?" His eyes narrowed are he studied Percy with wariness.
Percy shifted, glancing at the weapons still pointed at him. Seven swords, all aimed directly at his chest, the edges glinted like a silent threat. Instead of panicking, Percy forced himself to remain calm. He knew panicking wouldn't help his situation.
"I, uh, woke up just over there by the lake," Percy said, jerking his thumb back toward the direction he had come from. His eyes scanned the group before him, noting the stern expressions and tensed muscles of the men around him. He swallowed before continuing, "Took a blow to the head and…well, I'm not actually sure where I am."
His words hung in the air, but the man remained unmoved. His gaze bore into Percy, scrutinizing every word, ever movement. There was no sign of sympathy or understanding. Just cold suspicion.
"Ned…" the woman's voice rang out, soft yet commanding and it cut through the clearing. Her tone was full of warmth and familiarity that pulled the leader's attention away from Percy. His head turned sharply at the sound and Percy saw relief flood his features the moment he laid eyes on her.
*o*o*
"Cat," Ned sighed in relief, his shoulders sagged as if a great weight had been lifted from his. He left the stranger behind, trusting his men to guard the stranger, and made his way toward his wife. His long strides closed the distance between them quickly.
AS soon as he reached her, his hands instinctively sought hers, his left hand drifted to rest on her swollen belly.
"Are you alright? Robb, Sansa, the babe?" he questioned, the concern in his voice was palpable.
Cat smiled softened, her own hand came to rest stop his, "Robb and Sansa are safely inside the carriage and the babe is fine. Kicking up a storm. I think they wish they were out here, fighting with you."
Her smirk held a touch of mischief, but beneath it was a deep sense of comfort, a reassurance that everything was as it should be.
Ned couldn't help but chuckle, the sound low and filled with affection, "I'm glad to hear that."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the carriage, "We'll be on our way soon enough, once the rest of the bandit are dealt with…and the stranger."
Ned's gaze drifted back to where the young man stood, still surrounded by his men.
Cat's expression grew more serious, her fingers curling against his chest, "Be gentle with the young man, Ned," she urged, "He saved my life. He saved the children's lives."
Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Her gratitude and respect for the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere was clear. Ned's brow furrowed slightly but he nodded his agreement.
As he approached the stranger, the scene was almost amusing. The young man stood with his hands still raised, though he clearly had begun to ramble. The young man's voice rose and fell with every random thought that seemed to pop into his head, his gaze flicked between the swords pointed at him and then men's faces.
"Enough," Ned's voice boomed across the clearing.
*o*o*
Percy immediately shut his mouth, mid-sentence, eyes wide as he spun around to face the man behind him.
"I don't recognize your sigil," the man said, his eyes sharp as they eyed his deep blue cape that was draped over his shoulder, "What house are you from?"
Percy blinked, the question confusing him. It was not one that he had been asked before.
"Uh…" Percy began, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "House Poseidon…I guess."
"I don't recognize that house," the man said, his brow furrowing deeply.
Percy shifted his weight uneasily under the man's intense scrutiny, "My house is from far away…" he started but his eye drifted toward the men that stood behind the man, swords still in hand, "possible across the ocean."
Percy could tell that his vague answer did little to ease the concern of the soldiers, and he could sense a growing tension. The man's gaze remained locked on Percy, and he waited for further information.
When Percy made no move to explained further the man stepped closer, "What is your name, boy?" he asked, his tone taking on a more formal tone.
Percy blinked, "Perseus Jackson," he said, his voice firm, "and you?"
The man seemed surprised that Percy didn't know him, but the stern demeanor didn't waver for long, "I am Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell.
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