Chapter Text
After everything had gone to…schist…as the Lord of Time had once predicted, Jason now found himself waiting by the Little Tiber for the ‘him’ that the gods were allegedly hoping he’d never have to meet.
If Jason was right about who it was, then the two-meter-deep river of white and icy blue was the ideal place to wait for a son of the sea god. Then again, if Percy Jackson had done everything he thought he’d done…
…killed a Fury, mailed Medusa’s severed head to Olympus, defeated the god of war in a duel, recovered Zeus’ Master Bolt, and probably more…
…then maybe meeting the man without advanced warning was a terrible idea.
Each of those was more than most Legionnaires accomplishments across their whole lives. Now he was of two minds about it, flipping IVLIVS in his fingers without letting it fall either way.
Heads.
That is absolutely terrifying and I hope to never meet this person.
Tails.
If this man has not gone stark-raving mad with power, I need to see this for myself.
Reyna approached and sat next to him. Her armor caught the evening light and shone brilliantly. It only made her mutter under her breath and move her ‘cape’ to cover the bronze.
“The war’s already over and Apollo is still doing his best to—”
She paused, shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. None of it does.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, lending her his strength the way she’d lent so many others hers.
“It does matter. It matters to me. That’ll have to be enough.”
She stiffened, but didn’t push his hand away. Her brown curls fell down to frame her face as she gave her twin blades a thousand yard stare. She didn’t say anything. The Legionnaire with no respect for authority. The Praetor who’d gotten her position by attempting to kill Bryce Lawrence in vigilante justice.
Did. Not. Say. A. Word.
“How many?” He asked, knowing that would be the only thing on her mind. The task she sentenced herself to because it was her duty to Rome.
“Seventeen down. Four to go.”
For a full minute, they let the ash from the funeral pyres, wafted on the autumn wind, burn their nostrils as they tried to forget. Tried to shut out the pain. Tried to do anything to make the world stop hurting so much. It was a fool’s errand and they both knew it. That many people in the ground wasn’t going to stop hurting. Today was the easiest day among those ahead.
It’s funny. The day you lose someone isn’t the worst. At least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead.
“How’s your side handling things?” He asked, trying to take her mind off of things.
A knife to the leg would’ve been less startling than what she said.
“The entire Fourth resigned. So that’s been fun to handle.”
“They can’t just resign—” He retorted, leaning forward, then she finished anyway.
“—oh yeah? Good luck finding a man willing to convict them of desertion. I’ll be waiting.”
The Reyna-branded snark was back in possibly the worst place it could ever be. They both coughed as the winds caught a small cloud of ashes and blew it onto their armor, swatting it away. The sky brightened for a moment, which made Reyna check her watch.
“By Jove…Jason, it’s 2 in the afternoon!”
His mouth actually hung open for a moment. It wasn’t evening at all. There was just that much ash in the air. Footsteps beat ash-dusted grass back. Reyna stood to her full height in her armor, sheathing her blades. Jason stood alongside her, feeling the grass crackle beneath their feet.
Well Octavian wasn’t lying about their lineage.
The two children of Pluto that reportedly “walked across the Little Tiber like it was a minor inconvenience” twenty minutes earlier approached them. He’d been so lost in his grief that he’d missed arrival entirely. On the left, the one that Octavian had said was called Nico was the color of dried bone with short black hair. He wore a t-shirt with a skull on it and raggedy jeans.
At his belt, a sword made of Stygian Iron hung. More than Jason had ever seen in one spot, forcing a step back. Either the Son of Pluto was immune to the life-draining midnight black metal…or didn’t have enough life left in him for it to matter.
He wasn’t the son of the sea god, but Jason wasn’t disappointed. Pluto and Neptune, after all, had a lot in common.
“Nico, Hazel, I am Reyna, daughter of Bellona and Praetor of New Rome. I have a duty to provide you with everything you require to succeed as Legionnaires.” His co-Praetor gave the canned speech. Her heart wasn’t in it, and they all knew it, but nobody commented.
Jason had spent way too much time in the past 48 hours doing site evaluations for burials, coordinating counseling for families, and comforting families who’d lost loved ones…
…burying their dead…
…to care about a lack of enthusiasm. He just gave her a look of “I pick my battles”.
By that standard, they supposed that Pluto’s timing was perfect in a morbid way.
“I…I do not intend to become a Legionnaire, though Hazel may do…as she pleases.” Nico said, voice stiff with unmistakeable sorrow. Even a Roman—not known for their ability to read people—could sense the waves of pain radiating off of him. Both of them.
Hazel—a girl of dark skin, amber hair and golden eyes who didn’t even have a weapon—looked at Nico with slight contempt.
“I intend to join the Legion, whether I’m accepted or not. I’ve come too far to stop now.” She growled at them in a way unmistakably…familiar.
Before Jason could even get words out, Reyna glared at him in anticipation, which only proved his point.
“Remind you of anyone you’ve met before?” He asked.
“Not. Now.” She muttered.
The minor respite that harmless teasing had provided was gone just as quickly as it had come. Nico was still staring back at him.
“Pluto has sent an Ambassador.” Jason noticed.
The Son of Jupiter whose sister had been killed on Half-Blood Hill by Pluto should have been angry. Pluto had taken 147 good people from them in a single night, and now sent an Ambassador—a diplomat trying to paint over the blood that now drenched their boots. Instead, with everything they’d lost today, he found another thought digging at the back of his neck like a parasite.
If her death had been able to prevent this, I would have taken that trade.
He clenched his left fist, stared down at the rage building, then switched to clench his right.
Nico nodded in confirmation.
“To make peace. Maybe the only way to get peace.”
Reyna took a step forward, only to find her gesture matched in Hazel.
“I think you are mistaking peace with quiet.”
He wasn’t even sure which one of them said it. Reyna, or Hazel.
“No arguments today.” He said, his voice ringing with authority. “One hundred and forty-seven good men and women lost their lives yesterday so we could have peace. In the wake of their sacrifice, the very least we can do is not poison it by arguing over their headstones.”
Nico’s eyes widened at the figure. “One hundred and—”
Focusing on the number seemed to trigger something within the son of Pluto. He got a waft of the smoke from the funeral pyres, turned to his side, and vomited into a trash can sitting next to one of the watch towers.
“Nico, are you okay?” Hazel asked. A moment passed. She frowned in what Praetor Jason now understood to be worry.
An angel puking. But he doesn’t look like an angel.
Nico stiffened, steadying himself against the railing.
“I’m… I’m fine, Hazel. I just… there’s just so much…I had no idea how high the death toll—”
Reyna looked the two over and interrupted him.
“Son of Pluto, do you need to be taken to the infirmary?” She asked.
Given his face had turned bone-white, it was a fair question.
“He’s fine! He said he’s fine!” Hazel insisted, standing between Reyna and Nico like a human shield.
A human shield. Jason thought.
The memory bit at him fiercely. Mount Othrys. His men. The sound of lightning—
He recovered himself.
”Oh, she’ll be a real piece o’ work when she gets to you. Anger, pain, grief. Don’ hold it against ’er. She’s been through a lot.”
Staring at the girl, Saturn’s words from four years ago held a very different weight.
Centurion Dakota stepped in, seeing the commotion.
“Is there an issue here?” He asked.
Jason found himself looking back at Dakota with a near-fondness.
“No, just…a private dispute between officers.” He said.
Both of them cracked up a little, with the remaining Praetor and the two children of the god of the Underworld left to stare at them, baffled.
“You know, Jason, the last time you had a private dispute between officers—”
Praetor Jason Grace of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata could only smile.
“Oh, I am aware.”
I stood accused of treason.
Dakota turned to Nico, taking mental inventory.
“Ambassador to Pluto? Then you’re going to be busy.”
“Busy?” Nico asked, but realized he already knew where this was going and did not like it.
The funeral pyres rose in a shadowy tower of grief and death that threatened to blot out the sun.
“Busy. There are a lot of people who’d like a word with your father tonight.”