How do the characters sound? It's been a really long time since I read/watched them
Slightly less exciting than the less chapter, but hopefully it's not boring

Also someone asked about timing and about Kratos:
this is set some time after the Last Olympian, so Percy still has the curse of Achilles. As RR never went into much detail (that I can remember), I always assumed it meant invulnerability but sensations were still present. For example, he could feel the pressure and discomfort from something but remained unharmed.
Kratos is not from / inspired God of War - I've never played and I actually had to look up what it was. If there is any similarity, it is coincidental. He is a figure from Greek mythology, though if you want to keep the suspense, his backstory will come along in time.
-historical information at end of chapter

Merlin didn't trust Annabeth and Percy. He couldn't explain why exactly he thought that, except that every time they slipped out of his line of sight—thanks to a particularly large tree or a bend in the path—a numbing cascade of chills washed down his back. A distant warning that something was about to go terribly wrong. Maybe he was just being paranoid—the possibility that every stranger new to Camelot meant its destruction was not only improbable, but historically false. Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival had all been strangers to the citadel before they became one of her fiercest protectors. But then again, her enemies hadn't exactly been few and far between.

Matters had only been made worse by the fact that Mordred had been incessantly trying to get Merlin alone from the start of this venture. So, to say Merlin's nerves were on edge was an understatement. His sanity was about as solid as a fishing net, and every little nudge and needle was another thread cut.

Percy and Annabeth were in full view, the two holding onto one another as they gawked at the approaching citadel. They seemed like ordinary youths now, venturing from the countryside to the city for the first time, with nothing odd about them except their near incomprehensible accents and strange clothes. Then Percy adjusted his sword, which had been swinging loose from the loop acting as a sheath—what kind of swordsman doesn't have a proper sword belt or sheath, especially one of the boy's caliber?

Another chilling wave coursed down Merlin's spine.

From the moment he and the knights had entered the vicinity of Baile-Avon, a wall of power rose up to envelop him, seeping into the grass and making animals in the soil and sky sing. The air hummed with it, burning like those intense moments before a thunderstorm. At the time, Merlin had thought it was because of the monsters, strange beasts from another world, burning with black auras, running rampant through the town. But after the monsters fell and the party had set off back to Camelot, the cloud of power didn't dissipate.

It followed.

It embraced the two youths, swirling around them as if it were alive. It centered on them, like when someone drops a stone into a lake, and the water chases it down to the dark depths below as it sinks. Again, Merlin wasn't sure how or why, but he knew the source of it all was in their blood.

The two strangers, splattered in red and gold, wearing the strangest assortment of clothing, brimming with inexplicable power—how could he not be suspicious?

Then there was the matter of their bronze weapons, Percy's ability to emerge entirely unscathed from a vicious battle, and their insistence that they accompany the knights back to Camelot. Merlin scowled just thinking about Arthur taking it further and extending an invitation to stay at the castle itself.

Approaching the outer gates, Merlin abandoned his self-appointed post at the tail end of the party and urged his mare forward. He weaved through the flow of caravans leaving the castle—the merchants grumbled and shot him rather distasteful glares as he forced them to veer off course momentarily—and fell into step with Arthur. The king's roan whinnied hopefully and nestled her snout into Merlin's arm, only to snort and toss her head when he failed to produce an apple.

Arthur's lips twitched, but he schooled his tone into something admonishing. "I thought I noticed her slowing down a bit. Now I know why."

Merlin patted the animal's side thoughtfully. "I'm not sure it's her treats we have to worry about."

"I know you're not calling your king fat, Merlin."

"Never," Merlin scoffed. "Sturdy, maybe. Thickset or bovine." He grinned wolfishly. "But not fat. Fat would imply I need to bore a new hole into your belt, and I haven't done that in a year. Month, at least."

Arthur stopped short and narrowed his eyes. "It's like you enjoy being put in the pillory." He looked Merlin up and down with a pitying, worrisome expression then gave a slight tug on his horse's lead, leaving his servant to scamper after him and catch up.

Merlin frowned, though a grin tugged at downturned corners of his mouth as he breathed in the city air.

The lower town was bustling with activity as they made their way through. The market had been gradually growing over the past few weeks, relishing in the warm Spring days and early blooming crops, and it seemed to have reached a peak overnight. Every corner, every street was full of merchants competing with one another to draw in the throngs of patrons and people going about their daily business. The smell of livestock hung thickly in the air, in competition with the delectable aroma of smoked meats and drying herbs. Shawls, cloaks, frocks and jerkins of all colors were laid out on tables for everyone to admire; wooden furniture and carvings, horseshoes and metal tacks, and endless crafts drew in the largest crowds. Even one vendor had a large collection of books and rolled sheets of parchments—probably maps and star charts—though fewer people seemed interested.

The sight of it all was as exciting and thrilling as it had been when Merlin had first set foot within the city walls, the amusement and wonder of seeing new people and their wares never dulling—he was painfully aware of the hypocrisy of the sentiment but refused to back down from his suspicions.

Merlin angled through the crowd, which had parted respectfully for the king and promptly reunited.

Arthur gave him a sidelong glance. "Something the matter, Merlin?"

"Yes, actually." Merlin checked behind him to make sure that Annabeth and Percy were well out of hearing range. Thankfully, they were still strolling through the stalls, accompanied by Percival and Gwaine, none the wiser to Merlin's forthcoming complaints. "I don't trust them—"

"Is there anyone you do trust?"

"—We know nothing about them. They could be ruthless killers who planned the monster attack in the first place, for all we know!"

Arthur looked back just in time to see Percy stroking the snout of a billy goat and offering it a dandelion that he'd somehow managed to find fully intact, within the bustling city no less. The king moved on without dignifying that with a response. It might have just been him, but the nonreaction gave Merlin the distinct impression that Arthur didn't share his views.

"Don't you think it's a bit—convenient that they arrived when they did?" Merlin pressed, dodging yet another merchant and his stall. "These monsters, with only vague reference from a tome we can't even read, suddenly appear in Camelot, and Percy and Annabeth just happen to arrive, not only in time to expel an attack, but know exactly from where the beasts come and what they're called?"

Arthur didn't respond as they crossed the last street of the lower town.

Immediately the feel of the city was tempered by the minute distance. The rushed sense of living for the day and bustle of the market all but faded away and lulled into a relaxed ambient of the middle and upper class. The houses and complexes grew in size and expense, the shops becoming less manual and labor oriented and more of the fine arts. Even a city such as Camelot experienced a separation between the poor and the wealthy, a natural barrier that came from buying safety through proximity to the castle.

Arthur examined one wooden sign in particular, a hefty slab of wood that had been carved from a cherry tree. It was a high-end smithy that specialized in metal links, from something as durable as chainmail to as fragile as jewelry. From what Merlin could remember, the king had never had dealings with the blacksmith before, though the tradesmen would undoubtedly preen at the opportunity. He was a portly, nasty man with an obnoxious sense of self-importance.

"What motivation would they have for such an attack?" Arthur prompted finally, moving on to study the next shop on the block. "Why kill their own army?"

That was the question, circling back to why Merlin felt this way in the first place. Not that he could tell Arthur about the raw pulses of power teeming off the young man and woman. He had no proof that either of them had done anything more than help Baile-Avon; something every villager had attested to, when Merlin had been tending to a few of the graver injuries and had posed more than a few inquiries.

They were selfless heroes. Jumped headfirst into danger. Stayed when they hadn't needed to. Didn't ask or accept any coinage as a reward or thanks. It almost made Merlin feel guilty for automatically connecting power with danger.

"To gain your trust. To receive an invitation here." Merlin kicked a small stone from the pathway before it could lodge itself in the soft tissue of a horse's shoe. "It would not be the first time that someone has done so."

Arthur didn't respond.

The portcullis was already raised for them as they entered the citadel proper. Servants raced forward from all corners of the courtyard to begin caring for the travel-weary horses, while others relieved the knights of any gear they were carrying. Merlin, as furtively and casually as he could, studied Percy's and Annabeth's reactions to the castle.

Wonderment. Amazement. Disbelief. Nothing negative or even remotely related to triumph or another emotion that screamed a dastardly plot.

Annabeth spun in the center of the courtyard and gripped Percy's arm so tightly that her knuckles paled. She shook his arm, grinning so broadly and happily, quaking from excitement. Percy's full attention was on her and could only be described as complete adoration. Mordred stepped into his line of sight, and Merlin turned away, instead focusing man, clad in red and silver, jogging down the steps. Leon headed straight for the king, his usual manner grimmer than before.

"Sire," the knight called. "Welcome back."

"Leon." Arthur tried not to make it too obvious that he was looking past the knight in case someone else had decided to greet him as well. "What news on your front?"

Leon grimaced. "Bad, I fear. Three more villages have come to us with stories similar to Nama's. And, my Lord, the attacks are getting closer to the citadel. Less than half a day's ride at most."

"Saxons?"

Leon nodded. "As well as more of the beasts with one eye and…snake women," he broke off with a barely restrained scowl. His thoughts were clear: they had already dealt with a woman who shared aspects of a snake, and even though Merlin had seen the differences between the dracaenae and Lamia, it was hard to overlook the similarities. Especially considering how much pain the serpentine siren had wrought on the knights. "The Queen ordered a few regiments to the region of Locksley, but I fear it—" Leon stumbled as his eyes landed on something over Arthur's shoulder. "It won't be enough. —You haven't returned alone?"

Arthur followed his gaze. "No. And they are to be our guests," he added, shifting his gaze to Merlin, eyebrows raised as if expecting him to challenge his king's words. Receiving nothing more than an owlish gawk, he turned his attention back to Leon. "Have any of the patrols returned yet?"

Leon continued to study Annabeth and Percy appraisingly as he answered. "No. I instructed them to clear the woods before they returned. I suspect they will return within the next day." If they aren't first killed went unsaid. "None of the attacks sounded as pressing as that in Baile-Avon, but the monsters' presence seems to be spreading. They slaughter anyone and anything in their path."

"Word hasn't spread of these attacks?" Merlin questioned incredulously, thinking back on the packed streets and thriving market.

"No, though I fear that leaves many at the Saxons' mercy."

Arthur took the news in silence. Merlin could practically see his mind at work, figuring how he could both combat the new threat, which was sure to end in violent confrontation, and protect his people from certain death. "Alert me the moment they return. I want to know the numbers and what other creatures are out there. We will have to send word to the outlying towns and warn them of what is coming. And, Merlin," —the ghost of a smug smile tugged at his lips— "prepare some rooms for our guests. And find them some new clothes."

Merlin frowned, unamused, but even he had to admit the second request was somewhat necessary. Percy might have been seemingly immune to harm, but his clothes certainly were not. And Annabeth's…Merlin had seen women in men's trousers and tunics before, but hers were something else entirely. He couldn't even identify the material, which was both rough and fitting, dyed impossibly rich colors. And that was on top of being torn to shreds

Grumbling under his breath, Merlin left to do as he was told. Or rather, to pass the instructions along to someone else and find Gaius to apprise him of the most recent developments. He was brought up short, however, midway up the steps, when the king's words drifted upwards, despite him obviously having intended to keep them from his servant.

"Keep an eye on Percy and Annabeth. It may be nothing, but I want to be prepared for anything."

For once, Merlin took the high road and continued on without commenting, allowing himself the smallest smile in triumph. He succeeded in part, at any rate. Even if nothing came from it, they would have been prepared.

He raced through the first few hallways, set on finding just about anyone to pass off his duties to. It didn't take long at all either, the whole castle having been alerted to Arthur's return. Servants and attendants were scampering every which way, but it was Colm and Orla, some of the newest additions to the staff, who were more than eager to complete a task requested by the king himself—by proxy of his manservant, but the idea was still there.

It meant that Merlin was free to search out Gaius, who would undoubtedly still be in his own quarters, anxiously awaiting news. He jogged through the labyrinthine corridors, weaving through the servants who were torn between wanting to tend to Alban Eiler preparations and realizing that the recent attacks might affect the celebration.

Despite all the activity within Camelot's walls, Merlin was unprepared for turning the corner and running straight into someone else. More specifically, into Mordred, who had been tending to his own horse back in the courtyard moments before. With a startled yelp, Merlin jumped back, his face already twisting into an annoyed scowl.

"What—are you trying to kill me?" he demanded, clutching at his chest.

"You've been avoiding me," Mordred said plainly.

Merlin huffed and tried to go around the druid blocking his path, but he only managed to create a human shadow. All he could hope for was that Mordred would be just as silent. A hope that was promptly dashed.

"You felt it too, did you not?" Mordred stated, just loudly enough for his words to be reflected by the tunnel of stones.

Before he could let anything else slip out, Merlin snatched the knight's arm and dragged him across the corridor to an alcove occupied by an ancient set of armor. "What are you doing?" he hissed. He stuck his head out enough to see whether there was anyone around then leveled the man across from him with scowl.

Mordred met his glare evenly, without contrition. "I wouldn't have needed to, had you not been avoiding me. What has you so convinced that I am the enemy? The circumstances of our births may have been different, but we are the same, you and I."

Merlin set his jaw. A vision of Mordred surrounded fire and clouds of ash, sword dragging along the soot as he approached a battle-worn Arthur. We are not the same.

Mordred sighed and looked down both ends of the hallway. It was still empty, save a tiny brown mouse that had made its home in the foot of one of the empty knights guarding the corridor. "I know you felt it too," he repeated, fixing his unnaturally blue eyes back on the warlock. "First in the woods, then again in the town. This all connects to Percy and Annabeth somehow."

Despite himself, Merlin found his voice saying, "have you ever…" he paused, the urge to check once again to make sure they were still alone eating at his gut. "Have you ever felt something like this before?"

"There were…stories I heard as a child." When I was with the Druids. "They spoke of some Helladans having abilities, though they were different from our own. It frightened them, my people, how powerful those individuals were. What they could do."

"Different how?" Merlin's mind raced through the possibilities: were they fae, warlocks, sidhe, or something else entirely? What was so special about these Helladans?

Mordred opened his mouth to respond, but the sudden sound of footsteps on stone gave him pause. A young servant girl came into sight, with arms full of linens and embroidered bed covers. Eyes wide, she averted her eyes from the two men standing silently in a cache as she walked by, smothered a smile, and scurried away just as quickly as she'd appeared.

Merlin grimaced. It wasn't the weirdest predicament anyone had ever found him in, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Thank you for the help," Merlin said tightly and slipped out of the alcove, ignoring the knight calling after him. He marched through the last few corridors with a little more speed than necessary and thankfully didn't have far to go before arriving at the physician's quarters. Candlelight was already seeping out from the crack under the door, signaling that Gaius was indeed inside—or he was trying to set the castle alight, which depending on what had happened in the last day, it could be a distinct possibility.

"Merlin," Mordred caught the warlock's sleeve. "You can trust me. I want nothing more than to serve Arthur."

Merlin bobbed his head jerkily and extracted his arm from the grip. Then he stepped inside and shut the door. Taking a moment, he breathed out deeply and fell back against the shoddy wooden door. It creaked under his weight, shifting just enough to send a flicker of apprehension through Merlin's mind that maybe this was the day it crumbled underneath him, but it was also comforting in its predictability.

"All right, Merlin?"

Merlin opened his eyes to find Gaius peering at him from across the room. He looked to have been perusing through his myriad of little jars of poisons, venoms, and cures, holding one nearly empty vial up to the light of a torch. The liquid inside refracted the firelight.

Merlin nodded tiredly.

Gaius knit his eyebrows in concern and gestured for his ward to take his usual seat at the table, which had yet to be cleared of the scrolls and tomes from the day before. If anything, there seemed to be more antique parchments. Merlin all but collapsed into the chair and nudged the nearest book to see it better. The dark hounds stared up at him from the page, surrounded by its charred emerald cloud, crimson eyes centered in its face. Whilst the hound he had seen earlier that morning shared certain, Merlin could say for certain he hadn't faced a Gwyligi or a Cú sídhe. A hellhound. A hound of hell. But what was hell for that matter—somewhere in Hellada?

"Gaius, have you ever heard of somewhere by the name of Hell?"

The old physician pondered the name for a moment, setting down his vials and reordering them the way he preferred. "I can't say I have."

Merlin gestured to the hound on the page. "The Black Dogs Nama spoke of. They're called 'hellhounds." He looked up to find his guardian watching him closely, brow furrowed inquiringly. "When we arrived in Baile-Avon, there were already two foreigners there, fighting against the Saxons. They recognized the beasts, called them hellhounds. The girl, Annabeth, said they were from Hellada."

"The hounds or the foreigners?"

"Both. And you were right about the giants. They have a single eye, right in the center of their brow." Merlin demonstrated the placement on his own face.

Gaius hummed. "I must say my own discoveries are less so." He unfurled one of the scrolls that laid on the top of the pile. Like some of the other items in the physician's possession, this appeared to be in a language Merlin didn't quite recognize, with swirling letters curling into its neighbors and accent marks that were foreign to Merlin's own. Something about it, however, seemed familiar, like a distant memory.

Merlin squinted at the page then looked to Gaius helplessly.

"Whilst you and Arthur were away, Geoffrey of Monmouth and I spent many hours poring through some of the more neglected scrolls in Camelot's library." Gaius trailed a finger gently over the lines of colorful ink—reds, greens, blues, and blacks—none of which seemed to have been neglected in the slightest. He hovered over one paragraph, one word in specific: Graecus.

"Graecus? Is that a name?"

Gaius hummed approvingly. "Years ago, when Uther's father, Constantine, first sat upon the throne of Camelot, the island of Albion was beset by a powerful empire from the east. The Romani. The specifics of the campaign is not of vital importance to you, Merlin—although you would benefit from taking your historical studies more seriously." He pinned Merlin with a judgmental eye, a look which Merlin accepted silently. "The other past kings of Albion banded together to expel the foreign army, as well as raze what was left of the coloniae Romanis. Very little would have survived, if not for King Constantine. It was he who founded the Royal Library."

Merlin leaned forward to examine the scroll again. The penmanship flowed expertly, the ink having been carefully dried with chalk before it had a chance to smudge. Even the trim along the sides were flawless. The writing covered the entire length of the scroll, although it was impossible to tell where one word began and another ended. Merlin's mind cast about for possible incantations that could translate the foreign words. He had never attempted such a spell, but he couldn't imagine it was an impossibility.

"I don't suppose Good King Constantine commissioned translations for his spoils," he said hopefully.

"Lingua latina," stated Gaius. He turned the script to better read it for himself. "I learned some as a young man, so as to perform certain rituals. Although I doubt I would be much use speaking to an actual Romanus, I remember enough to understand what is written here." He scanned the scroll, despite having certainly read it enough to tell Merlin exactly what it contained. "This particular account describes a land inhabited by the Graecus, a nation that came to call itself Hellada."

Merlin suddenly felt much more enthusiastic about Gaius's history lesson. "Does it say anything about the monsters there? The Cyclopes, or—or dracaenae or harpies?"

"Yes, although unfortunately nothing that would be of significant help to you. It seems Helladans believe such creatures are the offspring of gods and magical beings. Titanes, nymphe, naiades, to name but a few." Drawing a finger across the page, Gaius read, "'A kuklops, a circle-eyed giant, is oft born out of the affairs of Neptune, king of the high seas, and those who reside in his domain. Rejected by Olympus in Thermai, they live as mere shepherds, dwelling in caves alone with their flocks of sheep, and feasting on the flesh of those who have the misfortune of stumbling across their land.'"

Merlin's stomach rolled. Though he had felt the beginning pains of hunger, the feeling quickly vanished as he thought back on what Nama had said the day prior. By the river's edge we found the corpses. Or what remained of them. It seemed the hounds weren't the only beasts taking part in the villagers' deaths. Gods, monsters, circle-eyed giants, flesh eating cave-dwellers—

"Wait, Gaius. If cyclopes or kuklops are Helladan shepherds who only kill those they happen to come across, what are they doing in Albion, taking orders from Saxons?"

Gaius settled himself back into his favorite chair, cushioned with a thick quilt so as to ease his aching back. "That I cannot answer," he conceded with a shake of his head. "If only we could ask the Helladans you met. Perhaps they would have been able to shed light on the matter."

The older man must have read something in Merlin's face because he raised an eyebrow with all the inquisitive power of an actual question.

"They are staying here, at the castle, at Arthur's invitation," Merlin bit out haltingly, tracing a dark stain in the oak. If anyone were to have a chance at understanding what Merlin felt, it was Gaius, but he had to explain it right. "Something feels different about them. Everything about this day—it feels wrong. Like it's not meant to have been." Merlin relayed everything with as much accuracy as he could: from Nama's entrancement in the great hall, the disturbance in the forest, to the power flowing off of Annabeth and Percy. Unfortunately, Gaius's expression remained unreadable as he processed the information. No matter the situation, the older man always appeared a little concerned, so there was no way to tell whether Gaius had thoughts on the matter or not.

"I understand your fears, Merlin, but there is caution to seeing enemies in every corner, especially if these two were actually aiding the town in the fight against the Saxons." Then Gaius paused. "Unless there is something else," he prompted.

Merlin worried at the sleeve of his jacket and almost laughed to himself. He felt so absurd that a dream, seeming unrelated to everything else going on, had him at wit's end. "I had this dream. Last night. Something about it seemed almost…familiar? Like a memory, but it wasn't mine."

He looked to Gaius to see if any of what he said made sense, but the older man just waved for him to continue.

"I was in a field, inside an enormous cavern, and there was this river. A woman carried her baby to the water's edge and—and tried to drown him. She held him there, under the water, holding by the heel." Merlin scowled. "I couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch. Not long after she…the father realized…Achilles found the—" His voice caught. He blinked. "Peleus, rather. The father, his name was Peleus. He found them and stopped her, and she became this horrifying, fanged woman with green skin and red eyes. And she was definitely not human." Merlin had devolved into rambling by the end, as he pictured the inhuman being that had wailed the future loss of a child she had tried to drown.
He knew parents did desperate things when the feared for their child's life, but that didn't change the absolute revulsion at seeing a mother try spare her son pain through an early death.

Gaius, for once, didn't reach for his books for an answer. He was completely still, though Merlin knew for certain that the man had been listening keenly to every detail, despite Merlin's fumbling description. His eyes studied the young man across from him with restrained concern, though when he spoke, it was with a slow, cautionary tone. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, Merlin, that dreams are sometimes more than imagination. It could be that someone is trying to tell you something of great importance."

Merlin nodded thickly.

"You are more connected to the world than anyone I have ever met, in ways I cannot hope to understand. I suggest you listen to what it has to tell you."

Annabeth tugged at the silver belted girdle hanging loosely at her waist, torn between feeling limited by the gown's restrictiveness and slightly giddy about the fact she was dressed in a silken robe, in a castle, in Camelot. It was inconceivable and staggering to say the least.

Not ten minutes after they had set foot in Camelot's courtyard, two servants had materialized next to Annabeth and Percy and proceeded to usher them through the halls. Respectfully, courteously, devotedly, as if she and Percy were more than two teenagers wearing ripped jeans and stained t-shirts. The girl, a servant not much older than fifteen, led Annabeth through one door—tugging gently more than once when Annabeth had strayed to admire a coincidentally perfect view of the clerestory—while the other servant dragged Percy further along down the hall.

What followed was a collage of overwhelming fussing, pampering and ministrations that left Annabeth's head spinning, and ended with Orla gently combing through her hair—which admittedly was the best part of the ordeal. Of course, washing away the grime, ichor, and blood was freeing, but there was something soothing and hypnotic about someone methodically working through her hair. It was something her own mother had never had the chance (or desire) to, and she had been too old for her stepmother to consider, given they only managed to see eye to eye the past few summers.

Another woman, older with grey hair and kind eyes, had come in not long after and dropped off a folded bundle of deep crimson, which was how Annabeth now found herself: staring into a metallic mirror, confirming, and reaffirming that this was, in actuality, really happening.

If it weren't for the pain and adrenaline of the past two days, she would have sworn she was dreaming.

Annabeth walked over to the glass-blocked windows and looked out over the city. It was dark—the kind of dark that didn't really exist anymore thanks to light pollution and smog—but she was able to make out flickers of torchlight and pyres that lined the streets at night. The castle was so high up, her room even higher, that most of the noise from the city was either washed away by the wind or muted by the distance. Not that there would be much clamor at this time of night; probably some rowdy laughter and drunken calls surrounded the various taverns and 'red light' districts, but everything else would have to close down after dark due to the lack of (yet-to-be discovered) electricity.

If Annabeth pressed her face to the glass, she could just see the balustrade of the chemin de ronde, and once again, a smile, as it had been all day, slipped across her face. All she wanted to do was wander the halls and examine every nook and cranny—as cliché as that sounded. But she couldn't, not yet at least.

Before Orla had left, she said she would come back to fetch her and Percy and escort them to the great hall for supper, and although Annabeth trusted her sense of direction enough not to get lost, she didn't want to risk it and be late to a dinner with a king.

The king. As in the king of legends.

For once, the difference between reality and the legend didn't bother Annabeth. For some unknown year in the Middle Ages, the people and nobility were surprisingly not as sexist and racist as the rest of history would suggest, if the knight Elyan were any indication. True, she had only been in this time for twenty-four hours at this point and she would only have been subjected to gender biases, but neither the villagers, nor the knights had dismissed her outright. It was a promising start if anything.

So, no, she was not opposed to a little change if it meant less pointless hatred, but Annabeth couldn't help the pang of disappointment at one difference in particular.

Merlin. The wizard seemed to hate them, and for no apparent reason ex. She hadn't failed to notice that he, a servant and not a sorcerer/counsel to the king, freaked out whenever she and Percy disappeared out of sight—

Sharp rapping at the door knocked her out of her reverie.

"Yes?" Annabeth would have opened the door herself, but the moment she stepped forward, the silky fabric slipped under the tread of her sneakers. "It's," she growled and hiked up the gown to around her knees, "it's open."

A familiar mop of unruly black hair poked through the door's opening. Percy grinned at her and stepped fully into the room, and Annabeth's breath caught. She didn't know what she expected, but for Percy to be dressed like a rogue from some Hollywood movie was not it. He was dressed in a loose, cotton shirt and a heavy leather jerkin. His trousers were a similarly dark fabric and probably much tighter in certain areas than he was used to. They'd even given him a proper sheath, the celestial bronze faintly glowing, unrestrained. The best part of the ensemble was the pair of modern Nike sneakers.

Annabeth couldn't help it. A laugh bubbled up and out of her throat before she could stop it. She clapped her hand over her mouth a second later. "I'm sorry."

Percy tugged at the jacket, grinning like a proud idiot. "What?"

"Nothing. Nothing, it's just," she broke off again to stifle another laugh. "I just never pictured you one for role playing, but I think you'd be able to pull it off nicely."

"Too bad Nico isn't into Mythomagic anymore," he grinned. "We could've coordinated our costumes." His grin morphed into something coyer, and he crossed the room in a few long strides, tucking a loose curl behind Annabeth's ear and kissing her on the cheek. "You look gorgeous," he whispered.

As he stepped back, Annabeth plucked at the long, silken fabric covering her legs self-consciously. She missed her jeans. "I fully intend on stealing pants tomorrow. But thank you."

Percy snorted, and then an expression of pure childish wonderment seized his face. He practically skipped over to the window Annabeth had abandoned just moments before. Except, to Annabeth's surprise, he didn't look down and out, but up. He gazed up at the sky, intently, unblinking.

"Percy?" Annabeth came up next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?"

Percy shook his head and smiled at her, so blindingly wide and brilliant, wrapping her in a warm, gentle bear hug and tucking his chin into the crook of her neck. "Just looking. You would never see the stars like this back home."

Annabeth hummed in agreement and sank back into the embrace. She was content to sit and bask in the comfort of the moment—feel the peppering beat of his heart, take in the soft breeze that still carried a hint of the winter's chill, and gaze up at the flashing lights in the sky.

"I didn't know you liked star gazing." She felt, rather than saw, Percy shake his head.

"Whenever my mom could scrape together enough cash from the store, we would go out to this beach in Montauk. We'd stay in this tiny, creaky, old cabin, and every night, we'd cook smores and binge on candy and stuff. The stars would be just like this." He hummed, sending a soft vibration through his chest. "Just a good memory."

Annabeth craned her neck around and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Sounds like it."

She had never been one for astronomy—found it interesting when it came up in her science lessons and had taken care to learn the stories behind the constellations, but she had never gone out of her way to learn more. Then after Zoë's death, Annabeth had spent countless nights, staring up at the Huntress with a leaden seed weighing in her gut and the cold whisper of what ifs playing in the back of her head; gazing at the stars for pleasure seemed absurd.

Now, with Percy, she could at least pretend for a few minutes.

"I thought the constellations moved."

"What? Like the portraits in Harry Potter?" she teased.

Percy laughed, screwing his face up like he did when trying to recall a lesson from a while ago (and one that he had more than likely not been paying attention to begin with). "No, like, where they were in the sky. You know, cause a lot of time passed. I don't know."

Annabeth shrugged. "I think a lot of time has to pass for that to be true. That is, unless one of the gods gets bored and decides to mess around with the sky. I bet that's happened at least once over the years."

"My bet was during the sixties. Everyone was just too high to notice." Percy stepped away to explore the room, leaving Annabeth chilled from the sudden change.

There wasn't much to look through, however. The massive canopy bed was planted front and center, with a gold accented corona suspended above it. A wardrobe stood at the far end of the room, a chest and vanity table on the opposite side, a velvet armchair forgotten in the corner. It was obviously meant for a guest, and not one of great importance if the tight quarters were any indication. That being said, it was still grander than anything Annabeth had stayed at; although they were vastly different, its elegance reminded her of their suite at the Lotus Casino.

Percy opened each of the cabinets and drawers with the curiosity of a hungry cat. He scrunched his nose at a particularly musty cabinet and let it fall shut with a click. "Least that tells us we're in the same universe," he said, waving a hand at the window.

"I didn't know that was a theory."

Percy moved onto the wardrobe. It held a basic set of linens and nothing else—Annabeth had already done the same exact bit of snooping as soon as Orla had left. Satisfied with nothing else to poke around at, he shrugged. "You never know. It was one explanation for why things are different from the stories. I think your rooms bigger than mine," Percy added.

Annabeth ignored the last statement with a roll of her eyes. "I guess it kind of makes sense the legends don't match up with reality. I mean, some of the Greek myths are different from the present, and there are so many variations out there that it's hard to tell what's fiction and what's reality."

Annabeth could practically see the cogs churning in his head, though what they were producing was the question. Considering he went from wondrously gazing up at the stars to debating the probability of them getting knocked into a parallel universe, it could be anything.

"Any other good theories?" she prompted. She caught sight of herself again in the mirror and, frowning, readjusted the neckline that seemed determined to fall off her chest. If she had to fight in this stupid dress, she was going to throttle someone.

"Gods are having a laugh, someone trapped us in a storybook, I somehow managed to find a psychedelic at the supermarket, and time-travel," Percy ticked off on his fingers. "Kinda hoping it's the third one cause I've never done mushrooms before."

"It would make getting home easier," Annabeth agreed; she sincerely doubted it was drugs, though. "Though, on the off-chance it's time travel, I think we should establish some rules."

"Don't kill any ancestors."

Annabeth pursed her lips. "Pretty sure that was given, but yeah, not killing anyone is definitely number one. No mention of technology or future events is a good one."

Percy nodded, falling back into the plush, velvety chair. It groaned worrisomely; he grimaced. "And probably best not to mention any of the stories about Arthur and the Round Table."

Annabeth bit her lip. All they had to do was cover their bases. If Hollywood's time travel rules had any semblance of truth to them, their being there had already screwed up the timeline. At this point, they just had to minimize the outcome—while also making sure King Arthur didn't get eaten by a cyclops. Even though there was no physical evidence that Arthur Pendragon, or even Camelot for that matter, even existed, she was pretty sure him becoming Greek fodder wouldn't do their history books any favors.

"And I guess make sure none of them die by Greek monster? And keep up the ruse we're from Greece—or Hellada, I guess."

Percy shrugged as much as he could, given he had sunk to an almost horizontal position in the chair. "Feel like that covers it."

"Yeah, maybe—" Annabeth cut herself off as soon as she heard someone knock at the door. That's all they would need. Any amount of preparation going into their backstories and not trying to screw over their futures, and someone overhears them. A true historical treatment of such an insane claim as time travel would surely be death by fire. Or death by insane asylum. Neither were her preference.

"Miss?" a soft, accented voice called through the wood. "I've been sent to fetch you."

"Be right there," Annabeth answered back with forced control.

Percy had already righted himself. He offered her a reassuring smile, as well as his arm, like a gentleman. "The king awaits."

Translation / information

Ἑλλάς, Ἑλλάδα - Hellas, Hellada - Greek name/term for their land

Graecus – Greek tribe (origin of Latin term for nation of Greece)

Romani – (pl.) Roman

coloniae Romanis – colony/settlement of Romans

Lingua latina – Latin language

Τιτᾶνες, νύμφη, ναϊάδες – Titanes, nymphe, naiades

Κύκλωψ – Kuklops – round eyed (Latin term = kuklops)

Olympus in Thermai – Mount Olympus is located in the Gulf of Thérmai (Modern Greek: Thermaïkós)