Percy – III

The sound of footsteps echoed as Percy walked through the forest, lost in his thoughts.

From what Percy could recall from his minimal attention in the history classes taught at camp half blood, the Achaean forces had gathered at Aulis, near the eastern coast of Greece, before sailing for Troy.

He had been walking towards his destination for more than a day. For the past fifteen minutes, he had heard distant sounds of civilization and had been skirting the forest edge to avoid unnecessary interaction with the locals.

Percy glanced at the sky as he reviewed his plan. He intended to reach Aulis, slip into the back lines, and infiltrate a lower-priority phalanx, with hopefully no one attentive or wise enough to question his sudden appearance. It seemed simple, perhaps too simple, Percy thought, but considering the chaos created by the onloading of ships for an army fifty-thousand people strong, he figured it might work.

He distinctly thought that he could perhaps travel through the ocean alone, and help from the sidelines, but there was the possibility of the Achaeans thinking he was a spy if he suddenly appeared from nowhere. He needed alibis, and a more solid way to get involved in the war. He guessed the best time to join them would be before they sail.

Percy sighed as he looked at his hands, a new fabric covering his body. He had borrowed some tunic from a vendor who should have been paying attention to his supplies rather than ogling nearby ladies. His fault, Percy thought. He couldn't very well roam in his modern clothes unless he wanted to draw attention to himself.

Currently Percy wore a black chiton with a red rope around his midsection. He had come to the conclusion that the clothes were comfortable and mobile enough and thus shouldn't affect him in any fights. His watch cum shield, which thankfully he had developed a habit of to wear at all times after his brief stint in Tartarus, still rested on his hand with a thick layer of mist covering its presence. Most of the people would not be able to see it, and those who can, well, were already intertwined with immortals in some way and would already be accustomed with weird divine trinkets.

Well, speaking of divine, Percy's luck was divine too, in a bad way, as a shout called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. Percy sighed and turned around as he saw a man in his forties marching towards him in full armour, looking somewhat angry. His hand reached towards riptide, which was fastened safely to his belt.

"Oi! Where do you think you are running of to, brat." The man shouted as he reached Percy and grabbed Percy's chiton in his fists. Percy calmly raised on of his hand as his other one pointed subtly at the man, his pen in hand, ready to spring open and skewer the guy.

"Hey, hey, sorry, I was just roaming around nearby. Why would I run, anyway?"

"Do you think I am a fool?" The man breathed out, too close to Percy's face for his liking. "You are not the first coward to run away from the war, you little piece of shit. This generation of Lebadea are little bitches, running away with tails between their legs. You shall answer to Hippodamas for your cowardice.

Percy cocked his head as he heard what the man had to say. Running from the war, huh. He decided to be dragged by the big man in front of him, rather roughly, to his annoyance. Percy concluded that whoever he was being brought to, was a relatively important person in this region, and they were somehow related with the war. He supposed he could get some information out of this unfortunate interaction, and if things went south, he could very easily get himself out of this, peacefully or though violence, whatever he may have to resort to.

Percy looked around as he was dragged into the city line as people milling about stopped their work to stare at the commotion they created. Soon they reached a military establishment of sorts near what appeared to be a half-broken city gate, where he was dragged through the hoard of armoured people and pushed into an opening.

On a chair sat a younger person with blond hair and a maintained beard, probably in his mid-twenties, presumably Hippodamas, his captor's leader. Hippodamas shook his head and sighed at the scene in front of him.

"Phobos, as I have already said before, you cannot go around bulling our soldiers without cause."

"But he is a scoundrel, my king. I found him at the city borders roaming around the forest line. We cannot afford to lose more people, Hippodamas. Not if we want to restore the legacy of-"

"You, talk to me, about the legacy of my forefathers," Hippodamas breathed out, as suddenly all the commotion stopped, and the king's voice echoed in the clearing, "Know your place, general."

Phobos' mouth twitched as he tried to form a response, but just rested in an angry grimace.

Phobos looked at the king as anger seethed in his skin. He was the strongest warrior of Lebadea, at least until Hippodamas was born. He didn't like the king. He thought the king was too soft. He didn't strike fear in their battalion, not like Phobos did. A king needed to be feared. But Phobos was powerless. Hippodamas was loved dearly by their people, and this was not the time to retaliate. Phobos would abide his time, till an opportunity comes to show that he is the strongest. The leader.

"I will overlook this disrespect for now, cousin. Do not make me lose my temper." Hippodamas replied calmly as he stood up and folded his hands behind his back as his eyes roamed over to Percy.

"What is your name, young man?" Hippodamas asked, as his eyes scourged over Percy. Percy could see the courage and authority in the blue eyes of the king, which somehow seemed familiar to him, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

"My name is Percy," Percy replied as he looked around at the angry faces of the crowd.

"My king." Percy swiftly added. Percy didn't like the deference, at least to those hadn't earned it in his eyes.

"After Perseus, I presume?" He asked as Percy nodded in reply.

Hippodamas looked around at the gathered crowd, looking into the eyes of each and every soldier.

"As a king, it is my duty to safeguard the citizen of Lebadea. Yet," Hippodamas paused, eyeing a young boy, clad in armour, a spear in one hand and a shield in another, at an age when he should still be learning the art of hoplomachia, the art of spear fighting.

"And yet, like an uncaring leader, I have called upon all the able men above the tender of fourteen, to join this war. Do you know why?"

"Trophonius," he continued, "my ancestor, was a legendary figure, a seer of Apollo, the pride of my city, our city. He was the one who constructed the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, the first one among us to be blessed by the gods. And the last."

Hippodamas looked around as he let that sink in, as the faces of his soldiers saddened.

"Five hundred years ago, that is how far in the past the peak of Lebadea existed. And since then, our city has only fallen down. Look at our city gates," Hippodamas said as he pointed towards their sorry state.

"Our city has befallen grave times, Thebes, Thespiae, and many others have taken advantage of the difficulties faced by us. They have fed upon us like vultures. So, what should we do about it?"

Hippodamus looked into each of his soldier's eyes, each face crestfallen at their state.

"WHAT DO WE DO?" Hippodamus shouted into the silent gathering. He sighed, as he collected himself. Hippodamus knew this needed to be done.

"Do we stay on our sorry asses, like we have been staying for centuries? Do we stay living with those lifeless eyes, history book without glory, our carcass hunted upon by others?"

"No." Hippodamas concluded, as everyone looked at him, all eyes searching for answers in their leader's voice.

"No. We will not stay like this. Will Lebadea stay sunken? Absolutely not. Not while I am alive."

The crowd erupted in murmurs, their voices rising in a chorus of defiance. Shouts of "No!" spread through the gathering, as unified voices started to echo through the crowd.

"Will we be called the fallen kingdom? No. Will we crush the adversaries in the name of Lebadea, in the name of Greece? Yes."

The voice of the army started to get louder as the words of their leader ringed in their ears.

Hippodamus looked around, proud of his Lebadea, as he put his fist to heart, showing his dedication to the cause.

"Will our carcass stay dead? NO! WE WILL FUCKING RISE FROM THE ASHES AND DESTROY OUR ENEMIES! FOR LEBADEA!" Hippodamus shouted as he unsheathed his sword and raised it high.

Hundreds of spears and swords rose in solidarity to their leader as the shouts of determined victory rang through the air.

Percy watched, impressed, as the king made his way towards him in chaos of the crowd, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"So, what will you do, boy? Will fight through your fears for your home? Will you become a man and bring glory to your motherland?" Hippodamus asked as blue and green eyes stared at each other.

Percy cocked his head to the side as a smile made its way to his face.

"Yes, my king."

Hippodamus nodded with a smile as he moved along, skipping the angry and jealous Phobos to be received by the crowd that he inspired.

Percy turned around to watch the retreating figure of Hippodamus.

He remembered now, that familiar calm and confidence in those blue eyes. The characteristics of a born leader, something that he himself possessed. The characteristics of an Imperator.

Jason.

Being on a constant move had become a habit for Percy after years of life-threatening quests for Olympus. So, walking for days did not bother him anymore. The sound of de-synchronized feet and the occasional swearing of horses after carrying their rider for far too long was quite familiar to him.

Horses had a dirty mouth, Percy had discovered.

Percy walked in a line along with hundreds of soldiers as they marched to Aulis to join the Achaean forces. He was currently placed in a phalanx that was relatively further into the battalion, perhaps due to his age or lack of an identity. He had swiftly countered the few questions about his appearance by saying he was an orphan, living relatively remotely.

Most people didn't care, some who did still thought poorly of him for 'running away'. Well, Percy didn't care either. He wasn't about to sit down and explain to a random mortal how he was a time traveller and the fates had a fucked sense of humour, where apparently the string of his life which contained a happy retirement from immortals just didn't exist.

Percy shook his head as he tried to distract his thoughts from stabbing all the three fates like marshmallows at a camp fire. His eyes locked onto the crown of blonde hair that led their way on a white stallion.

Percy narrowed his eyes as he thought about the possible connection he had discovered three days ago.

Jason.

That is who Hippodamus reminded him of. The blonde hair, the striking blue eyes and the aura of a leader.

But just to satisfy his unsure mind, he had asked around the phalanx regarding their leader to confirm his suspicions. And he was right, partially at least.

According to stories that were passed around in the subjects, Hippodamus' mother, who was sister of the then king, was unwed, and his father was not known. Hippodamus was exponentially stronger to someone his age and become the strongest warrior of Lebadea at the age of seventeen. He was never seen using any divine powers related to his rumoured father's domain. Although, people have apparently seen his sword sometimes coursing with electrical sparks.

Thus, his father is believed by the commoners to be none other than Zeus himself.

Percy scoffed at that thought. Of course. In the absence of any vow to abstain from fathering children, it was not surprising that there were multiple progenies of the biggest whore on Olympus running around the world.

Percy was jarred out from his thoughts as their marching slowed down. As they descended a hill towards a valley, Percy eyes roamed towards the massive organization of the army right below them.

About fifty thousand soldiers milled about the valley, preparing for their sail towards Troy. As they reached the valley, Hippodamus and the other generals left the battalion to greet the leaders of this expedition.

Percy sat on a nearby rock with his fellow soldiers, as they decided to rest after their long journey. Percy looked around the encampment of the army. The place was surrounded by hills on all sides, but still, chilly air somehow managed to find its way to the valley. Strong winds continuously blowed inland, the Achaean flag waving around erratically, like it was attacked.

Percy's jaw clenched as the dark memory of what this indicated continuously swam through his mind. Artemis was angry. The winds were not suitable for sail, as it had been laid out in the history that he remembered.

Percy's leg bounced thoughtlessly as he played the possible upcoming events in his mind. Till now, his influence to the war was nothing. Thus, considering that the events following now would be same as those in his timeline, an innocent life was going to be taken, just to appease the ego of a goddess.

To Percy's dismay, soon word was distributed among the camp that the journey was to be delayed. Instead, they were to prepare for a 'wedding'. A wedding between Achilles and king Agamemnon's daughter, Iphigenia.

Percy scowled at the clear hypocrisy of the events taking place before him. A war, declared to bring back the wife of a king, is going to be started by sacrificing the daughter of another. Who was to say that the life of Helen of Troy was more valuable than a princess of Mycenae, Iphigenia. Why was her life worth sacrificing to embark on a war, just to feed the power-hungry minds of kings like Agamemnon.

To sacrifice one's own daughter for strategic and economic reasons, just for conquering and controlling a rich land was an offense that Percy couldn't forget. It reminded him how lowly he thought of Agamemnon as a human.

Percy's mind raced erratically as he thought about his actions. Thousands of deaths in a war something that Percy thought was not necessary.

But, it was something that he respected. He had been in many wars, opposite monsters and demigods. He had killed, and he always felt sorrow for the dead, but he respected death, especially in a battleground. Hades, in his opinion, had the most respectable domain from the Big Three. Death is a curse that cannot be lifted. And he respected Hades for regulating it, delivering the correct judgement to the souls. Rest for the good and condemnation for the evil.

Afterall, first and foremost, Percy was a warrior. He had been one, since the age of twelve.

But death of the innocent, those who did not want to be involved, by deceit, was something that Percy couldn't accept.

But what was he to do? Percy was powerful, he knew that. He could power through the winds and sail the boats to Troy, but that would only anger Artemis, whose vote he might need when he meets the Olympian Council. He could potentially be able to escape the camp, escape from all the fifty thousand soldiers consisting of legendary demigods, with Iphigenia, and save her from her fate. But then what?

How was he supposed to carry on into the war. How was he supposed to prove his merit, complete the conditions set by Athena and meet the Gods and explain the predicament he was currently in?

What about his fate?

If here to save someone, that is fated to die, what actions will the fates take? How long could he defy the fates? How much could he anger them, before they decide it is not worth helping him reach home, reach Annabeth,

Annabeth.

Percy closed his eyes as her memory floated by his eyes. Her grey eyes staring at him, expectant, intelligent. Percy wanted to see those eyes again.

Percy bit his teeth into his lips as they bled out. It was to keep him tethered, tethered to his goal. Tethered to his fate. Tethered to Annabeth.

Percy sat still, as he decided to let the history repeat again.

For better or worse, Percy let a part of himself go. Yes. He may have the power to change fate. But he wanted to change his fate to end at his goal. He wanted his string to end at Annabeth,

For Annabeth,

The sun rays broke through the hill as the sun chariot reached their part of the world.

The hills were bathed in orange light as the people in their base stood outside their tents, their jaws set tightly, eyes alit with something hollow yet fierce. Determination. Hunger. Indifference. Glory. Sacrifices.

The scenic skyline was accompanied by screams of betrayal. Screams of horror. Requests of a daughter, begging for mercy. Ringing in the ears of thousands of people. No voice was raised in opposition.

Except two.

The mother.

Who loves her daughter more than her life. Pleading. Begging. Crying. Angry.

And the father.

But contrary to his counterpart, his voice is raised for the opposite reason as his wife, as his love for conquest far exceeds the love for his daughter.

And soon, like the orange skies, the ground is soaked.

Red.

The screams slowly stop.

Hollowness takes over.

The mother grieves.

The loss of a child is a pain no parent wants to experience.

The father regrets. He will move on, partially, to make the sacri- no, murder, count. To make the enemies pay.

But it will haunt him forever. For he was the enemy to his daughter.

The mother. She will never forget.

A mother never forgets.

She will not forgive.

Hades observes. The payment will be due. The crimes will be answered.

And all the others, will blame the king. Trying to justify. It was not them, but the father himself. They have no power.

But they have tongues, and their silence will weigh them, for they are, truly, accomplices.

Their hands are covered too. In blood.

And Percy was one of them.

The winds blew the sails, as Percy looked at the sea from the boat. The winds had more or less favoured them. Well, more for his boat. Being the Son of Poseidon had its quirks.

Their boat sailed right behind the boats carrying the King, which was strategically placed in the middle for safety. Percy could see, and sense, Agamemnon on his boat. Agamemnon was one selfish bastard. But he was tough. And he had lust. Lust for power. He regrets his actions, but will powerfully lead the Achaean forces once the time comes.

Percy still hated him. Hated the person Agamemnon was.

Hated himself.

He had the power, but he hesitated. What was the power to be used for if not saving others?

Percy shook his head as conflicting thoughts clashed in his mind. Percy fisted his hands as he remembered what he had decided. In a way of thinking, the deaths are imminent, as seen in his timeline. Thousands are going to die, by the hand of one soldier or another. It didn't matter, if it was Achilles or Percy.

Was it a bit twisted? Yes. But there was nothing else he could do to justify what he was about to do. He had to make a mark on the battlefield to satisfy Athena's conditions.

He would not do it immediately though. Suddenly revealing his power would not be wise and would attract unnecessary and negative attention. At least, not his complete power. He could very well flood Troy using his powers, washing away all the traps, people, houses, everything.

Poseidon was feared the most for a reason, after all.

But no. His demigod powers, he may hide. But his skills with his sword…

That was something he could use, slowly but surely.

There were many mortals, who could defeat a demigod in battle. Their shear skills and determination powering through the demigod's blood, especially in this era.

He could make himself known. He could earn a name in the battlefield. That should cover the conditions set by Athena.

"What are you day dreaming about, you coward? Get back to work. A weak person like you would probably die anyway on the first day of the battle. You better do your life's worth of work on the boat." Phobos shouted as he pointed Percy to a dozen barrels of water that needed to be shifted.

Percy sighed as he moved along, trying not to point out how green Phobos looked due to his sea-sickness.

A courtesy of yours truly.

Percy pretended to pick up the barrels as he used his powers to carry them down to the storage. It would take one more week to reach the shore of Troy.

The tensions in the boat were high, as the people chatted about the multiple ways in which the Trojans might have used their time to prepare for the war.

Whatever it may be, one thing was sure.

No Achaean will forget the sacrifice made that day. Especially Agamemnon. Whether for glory, riches, or anything else, the Greeks were about to bring destruction in the lives of the Trojans, the consequences of the actions of one stupid prince.

And whoever will oppose the victory of Greeks, will face Perseus Jackson.