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New Rome, 2009
Percy didn't really like the Romans that much. Both the ancients, and the modern-day successors. They had been way too cut-throat for his liking at the time, and nothing had changed in two-thousand years, from what he could gather on the rare occasion he ventured to the west-coast of America.
The Greek city-states had spent most of their time fighting each-other, but at the very least, they had never pretended to like each-other, and there were a few occasions when they put aside their differences to great effect.
Rome, on the other-hand, pretended to be a jewel of civilisation, when in actuality, had just been a nation of back-stabbers, crooks, and thieves, ruled by an elitist class that profiteered on the misery of its lowest denominators.
He had been venerated as 'Virtus', God of Bravery, and Battlefield Strength. On the face of it, they seemed like good epithets, but his association with the Roman Emperors of the day was largely embarrassing.
Worse still, the rise of Rome had brought forth 'marriage troubles'. Perseus and Artemis loved each other - Virtus and Diana did not. It wasn't helped by the fact that the Romans didn't seem to care for his 'Tidal' aspect.
Gone was the tether that had kept him joined at the hip with the Goddess of the Moon. Several hundred years of lonely nights, and playing 'Sink the Algerian' with his equally depressed 'father', Neptune. And then there was his mother… The less said about Minerva, the better, frankly, though he had never wanted for any knitted socks during that dark period. The 'Goddess of Weaving' had an endless supply.
It had been a massive headache, but he had been quietly grateful for the sacking of Rome in 411. It put the final nail in the coffin of that whole sordid affair, and the gods were finally free of their 'Latin jails', to return, for the most part, to their usual flawed, egotistical, vengeful, and chaotic, Greek selves.
All in all, there weren't many good memories to be found of that period. There had been a distinct lack of heroism.
That being said, perhaps he resented their success, more than anything. There was so much wrong with Rome, yet it had endured, for a little while anyway, and managed to spread its wings across a quarter of the globe. It was annoying.
As was the modern-interpretation.
'Tradition!', they clamoured.
If bribery, corruption, and cut-throat politics were traditional, and in all honesty, they probably were, then New Rome was the perfect replica of the meat-grinder it was based on, albeit toned down a little.
For the kids that made it to the city without being eaten, protection was conditional. Serve the legion, follow the rules, gain citizenship. It sounded great on the face of it, but Percy considered the military-style discipline quite abhorrent. Ranks bred elitism, and elitism bred corruption.
He was Greek through and through, in that regard. After-all, Camp Half-Blood never turned anyone away, and it was more or less a democracy. Representatives of each cabin made the decisions regarding camp collectively - when it came to Chiron and himself, they were only responsible for the safety of the campers, and their training. That was it.
The Roman system had its advantages, sure, but all in all, Percy considered the Greek way better.
Individualism versus collectivism. Camp Half-Blood versus New Rome.
It was an interesting match-up. If it came to renewed conflict between the two states, which, considering Hera's plan, was quite likely, then Camp Half-Blood would have to avoid a direct confrontation. The Twelfth Legion would win a pitched battle rather decisively, but they were not invincible by any means. They had numbers, they had cohesion, they had equipment, but ultimately, they were predictable, inflexible, and when it came down to individual skill, Percy rated that of the campers well above that of the legionnaires.
Bias? Maybe. His attitude towards the Legion wasn't helped by the fact that they seemed to have an undying hatred for all things Greek, which was a ridiculous notion, considering how highly they were regarded by the Ancient Romans. Perhaps it was a retrospective thing. The Civil War hadn't been too long ago, after all.
Either way, he stood firm in his distaste for the place, though that wasn't to say his negative attitude was universal. There were some interesting, and downright heroic individuals in the Legion, constrained by the rules and wants of the state they served.
That brought him to the two heroes strolling along the wide, open space of the Forum.
The girl, distrustful and reticent.
The boy, insecure and lost.
Both put up brave faces for the sake of their family, and both had made something of themselves, despite tragic pasts. For that, they had Percy's respect.
However, he questioned their willingness to sacrifice happiness for the sake of saving face.
People expected a lot from the son of Jupiter, and he had dutifully delivered, but the burden of leadership and responsibility was not necessarily one that was shouldered with open arms.
In a collectivist society, it was a rare thing to have such a reluctant leader, and whilst Percy wanted to believe that Jason had achieved his position based on merit alone, he suspected having Jupiter as a parent played a bigger part. For the good of New Rome, that wasn't a bad thing, and it certainly wasn't Jason's fault. Reluctant leaders were often the most pure of heart, and sometimes, a little thrust into a position of power was to the betterment of the individual.
In Jason's case, Percy wasn't so sure. New Rome was the beneficiary of the son of Jupiter's praetorship, but for the young man himself, Percy could see few upsides.
Hera's plan was dangerous, but if nothing else, the God of Heroes suspected it would give Jason the opportunity to discover himself, in an environment where he wasn't constantly suffering under the weight of command, and the various expectations that had been placed upon him.
The girl, Reyna, on the other hand, was an enigma to most, but Percy had been following her progress from early on in her story, not least because he was good friends with her mother. Well, as much a friend as was possible with the Roman Goddess of War. (He had driven her chariot into battle on occasion.)
He felt saddened by her past, and pitied her future, but ultimately held her in the highest regard. If ever there was a person who epitomised persistence, and strength of character, it was Reyna. Her journey from a scared, young, Puerto Rican girl, to a well-respected, meritorious Roman leader, was something that impassioned his immortal coil.
As with Jason, though, he feared she was searching for happiness in the wrong places. Venus had even told her as much, but even now, as they walked shoulder to shoulder with each other, Percy could the sparkle of attraction in Reyna's eyes - a rare moment where she felt comfortable enough to let her guard down.
It wasn't her future, though, and the approaching emotional turmoil he was about to subject her to was something he truly felt guilty for.
In time, he hoped she found her Xanadu, but he could only see it away from New Rome, and away from Jason.
He watched as they said goodnight, Reyna disappearing off to the praetorian, whilst the son of Jupiter lagged back a little, soaking in the night atmosphere of the city.
It was as good a time as any to make his presence known, Percy thought, silently thankful that he wouldn't have to kidnap the kid from his bed. Hera had wanted a no-frills extraction, but seeing as he was starting a war for her, he figured he could exchange a few pleasantries without any lasting repercussions. From her, anyway. Zeus was going to throw the book at him as soon as he found out what they had done. It would be one-hundred years with the Amazon's, instead of twenty.
The God of Courage shuddered, but pushed the image of himself stacking shelves out of his mind. The Gigantes were rising, and Zeus had failed to act...save closing off Olympus. Thus, it fell to those few gods willing to do what had to be done, and more importantly, the brave demigods who had no choice in the matter.
He materialised in the shadowy gloom, subconsciously fighting the urge to switch to his melancholy, and altogether boring Roman aspect.
Jason was seated on a bench down from, cardboard coffee-cup in hand, and illuminated by a nearby gas-lit lamp. Judging from his scrunched up expression, appeared deep in thought, and Percy was all too happy to interrupt, toting his usual late-teen form.
"Plain decaf, huh? I took you for a flat-white guy," the god hummed, unceremoniously plonking himself down next to the startled demigod, who immediately reached beneath the royal-purple toga he was toting, as if by instinct. The most impressive thing was that the coffee hadn't flown into the air.
There was a silent standoff, whilst the blonde-headed demigod seemed to try and work out if he was worth stabbing, and the full-blooded immortal merely held in his laughter. They were inside the Pomerium Line, so Jason's hand inside his jacket was a bluff at that point, but Percy nonetheless appreciated the thought.
"Uh, yeah. Caffeine after eight, and I won't sleep…" the kid eventually said, relaxing slightly, apparently deciding Percy wasn't going to stab him, or something, though he nonetheless inched a little further away from the deity, until they occupied opposite sides of the marble bench.
"So, Jason Grace, what's troubling you?" he asked nonchalantly.
The son of Jupiter, oblivious to the feelings of his co-Praetor, seemed to understand the vague implication of the question. Still, despite the look of suspicion on his face, he went with the flow.
"Just...my co-praetor acting a little off. Nothing major…" the kid replied, the whole 'saving face' thing out in full swing.
Percy gave a knowing hum, flicking his eyes towards the praetorium in the distance, where Reyna had disappeared for the night.
"She's one of a kind, that girl. Strong, dependable...a tad intimidating, at times. Exactly like my wife, come to think of it," he gave a small, far-off grin at the thought of those intense silver eyes affixing him with a lethal stare. It warmed the heart, truly. Artemis was out looking for the other lost hero, so they had little time together as of late. Shamefully, he had not informed her of Hera's plan...but it was on the to-do list.
Jason gave him a weird look, and Perseus blinked out of his momentary lapse of concentration. "So, what's 'off' about Reyna? You tried asking her about it?" he asked.
The demigod was silent for a few seconds, battling the inner-turmoil as to whether or not to pour his heart out to a stranger. He did, though, and Percy appreciated the honesty in the hero's soul. Talking with strangers was often easier than talking with friends or family, especially when it came to problems. Strangers often lacked the predisposition to be judgemental, and they were very rarely in position to do anything anyway.
"I don't know, just...ever since we went to Charleston last year, she's been acting strange around me. Just feel like we're not on the same wavelength at times, you know? And...that it's my fault..."
The god gave a sage smile. "It's not your fault. Venus talked to her. A visit from the love-goddess is rarely a good thing, no? Still, I wouldn't worry too much. Reyna will find her way, as will you. Things have a way of just...falling into place," he replied, thinking back to the moment he met Artemis. They were just...meant to be. Fate had decreed it, just as fate had decreed Reyna and Jason could not be together.
There was an awkward silence - well, for one of them anyway, before Jason gave a small sigh.
"I guess…" he muttered, seemingly not liking Percy's vague words. Sadly, there was little point in giving him anything more profound when it came to Reyna.
Percy slapped him with something closer to home.
"That's not everything, though, is it? You're uncomfortable wearing the purple, but you do it anyway because people expect you to. Sometimes, you wish you weren't a son of Jupiter, because it would mean less people looking to you for advice, guidance, or leadership. You could be...normal, almost. Enjoy life with your friends, instead of worrying about lists, and politics," he fired off, staring directly into Jason's electric-blue eyes.
The kid himself almost looked winded, and Percy almost felt guilty for his needless unravelling of a person's insecurities. But...perhaps deep down, Percy hoped Jason would remember his words after, fate willing, the coming storm had passed, and perhaps seek his own happiness, rather than that of other people.
"When you're alone in bed at night, you don't dream about 'normal' things like being on a cruise-ship - you dream about what it would be like to not be that guy. The guy facing Krios, one on one. The guy fighting indomitable sea-monsters. The guy with four-hundred legionnaires at his finger-tips. Men, women, kids who would fight and die by his order. You wish people would see the real you, but at the same time, you're afraid they'd sooner leave you and follow someone else, were you to stop meeting their expectations, or start breaking promises, as your mother did. In the end, all they see is what they want to see - the perfect Roman. Strong, faultless, authoritative - 'blessed by the gods'. Can't say I envy you, Jason Grace," the deity finished.
Even in the dim light of the night, Percy could see Jason had paled slightly. He probably hadn't expected such a profound conversation, in fairness, but ultimately, it didn't matter. Things would not be the same from the night onwards.
"W-who...who are you?" the Praetor eventually managed to stammer out, wide-eyed and perhaps a little dazed.
Perseus gave a small smile, and arose to his feet.
"The Roman's of old called me 'Virtus'. Scipio Aemilianus sang my name as he steadied the Fourth Legion against the Carthaginian onslaught at Tunis. The people of Rome thought I exemplified the courage, temperance, and strength that all emperors were to have… You can call me Percy, though," he winked, not particularly fond of those days, but...it felt good to brag once in a while. Especially to someone who wouldn't remember it after an hour or so.
Jason didn't reply, or couldn't - either way, Percy was glad of it. Things were easier that way.
With a sigh, his expression darkened, standing in front of the dazed hero.
"You're a good hero, Jason Grace, and I wish you luck for the future. I hope you find yourself, even if it's where you least expect it. And...I hope you can forgive me for this," he said, and though those familiar, electric-blue eyes widened further, and his body tensed, Percy had already snapped his fingers with an unceremonious click before the son of Jupiter could so much as utter a syllable in response.
His entire body went limp there and then, and Percy stuck his hands out - one keeping the kid from falling onto his face, and other catching the coffee-cup from his unclenched fingers.
He brought it to his nose, and gave it a whiff, before blanching. Decaf. Disgusting.
With one final, dejected sigh, the deity shook his head. Decaf and war. The game had begun for real.
"Your move, grandmother…" he whispered, before the duo were bathed in bright, golden light that lit up the plaza like the Fourth of July.
A second later, Praetor Grace of the 12th Legion 'Fulminata', and his immortal chaperone, were gone, leaving nought but a faint aroma of sea-salt, and disgusting coffee, in their wake.