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The birds chirped softly in the background as Jason sat down on the park bench. It was so… peaceful. He couldn’t help but think that this was wanted he’d wanted from the Legion.
Not war. Not losing people. Just sitting down on a park bench, having conversations with interesting people, having children one day, being a father.
At first, he’d thought Reyna was that path for him. They’d grown close over the years, even if her initial devil-may-care attitude had been difficult to manage. They had sharpened each other. He learned when to take authority, she’d learned how to give it to others.
Reyna. Now a Hunter of Diana. He remembered, giving a gentle sigh as his shoulders sagged. Oh… she would’ve hated that while she was a Legionnaire!
He tried to imagine Reyna “I’m a daughter of Bellona—I do what I want!” Ramirez-Arellano swearing an oath of loyalty to a Greek goddess. The image wouldn’t take.
He laughed, a gentle, amused sound that weaved through his chest and up through his mouth.
Then he heard footsteps. The moment he recognized the gait, which was instantly, his smile widened.
“Octavian. I’ve been looking for you.” He said, looking at the man who had once given the most beautiful speech Jason had ever heard.
Octavian was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt… and a white toga that stretched from his shoulders to his ankles. The jeans and t-shirt were only visible through the sides of the toga. Because Octavian was himself, the ‘Pontifex Maximus’ symbol on the former Augur’s toga had remained.
Octavian whistled.
“Even without a uniform, you still manage to be the very image of Roman authority.” He said, and Jason realized it was… a joke.
“Elaborate?” Jason offered, patting the space on the bench beside him.
He just sighed, sitting down on the bench next to him.
“Your authority is so innate…” He said, pointing at Jason’s end of the bench, which was sagging slightly due to the mud of the recent storm, “…that even the bench is kneeling.”
A beat passed. Jason laughed, a deeper sound.
“Okay, point taken, Augur.” Jason waved the remark off.
“I still can’t believe you revived a position that hadn’t been used since the days of the original Rome just so you’d still outrank me.” Octavian snorted.
“That was not my intent, friend, I assure you.”
“Intent. I have thoughts on intent.” Octavian replied, adjusting his toga with that particularly Apollo-esque flavor of self-righteousness.
At least, Apollo-esque before Apollo had become mortal.
“Do you?” Jason asked. “Well…”
For a full minute, neither of them said a word. Jason’s fingers shifted in his lap. Octavian bit his lip. The birds chirped, somewhere in the distance children were singing. Octavian breathed slowly and deeply, in and out.
A second before Octavian could open his mouth, Jason finished his sentence.
“…I knew you had good in you, Octavian.” Jason said.
Octavian’s eyes furrowed, trying to figure out how to respond. His lip trembled slightly.
“I… I know you did. You still do.”
Octavian straightened himself, and met his eyes again.
“To answer the question you’re trying to work towards, I pled insanity.” Octavian recovered.
Jason looked off in the distance, giving no visible indication of surprise…but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. “I expected nothing less. That’s the case I would’ve plead.”
Octavian’s mouth twitched slightly.
“When did you… first figure it out?”
“Octavian, I knew from the day a month after the Battle at Mount Othrys, the day you started using bribes and threats, that you weren’t in your right mind.”
The mere mention of that battle threatened to lower the temperature of the whole park thirty degrees. Jason stiffened immediately because of how long he’d been spending at the Greek camp. Octavian didn’t show it to the same degree, but Jason knew it was there anyway.
147 dead doesn’t just go away. He thought. You can’t hide that.
With Mount Othrys and Octavian always came the same question. The same name.
“How is she?” Jason asked, more softly.
The former Augur bristled uncomfortably, then smiled again.
“Kylie is… fine. She was never angry at me. She made it to the Isles of the Blest, she visits regularly.” He answered.
“Isles of the Blest?”
Octavian looked down at the bench.
“Yes.”
Another beat passed.
“I guess nobody remembers their previous lives until they finish their current one. There would be no way to tell. Or… would there be? I’ve been here a few days, and I still don’t under—” Jason said, but Octavian coughed.
“Jason. You’re getting sidetracked. Think through the social script.”
Jason looked at the dirt, and then back at Octavian.
“Right. What was the first thing you did when you got here?”
Octavian rubbed his temple thoughtfully.
“Her.” He said, then amended his statement. “I checked on her.”
“After that?”
“I asked about you. If you’d died, where you’d gone. The judges told me you hadn’t arrived yet. So… you could say I waited for you.”
Octavian paused, watching Jason’s face.
Jason only nodded.
“I nearly destroyed both camps, and still… you continue to see the best in me.”
“You are far too complex of a man to be either good or evil. What scared me was that the Judges wouldn’t be able to see that.”
Octavian sighed as he shifted on the park bench, leaning back. Turning his gaze. Looking Jason in the eyes.
“Were you angry with me for what I did during the War with Gaea?”
Jason narrowed his eyes, matching the body language… then he steadied himself again.
“Octavian… you did many things I did not want to see you do. Many terrible things that hurt a lot of good people. At the end of the day, though, the line between what you did and what Apollo manipulated you into doing and what Gaea coerced you into doing is… something I can’t measure. Emotions are complex. I couldn’t make any assumptions about your intent, good or evil. Just respond to your actions, and try to do the right thing.” Jason said, stroking his chin in thoughtful contemplation.
“Alright,” Octavian replied, starting to get curious about this new angle, “then I’ll ask you a similar question. What was the first thought in your mind when you heard that I had died?”
Jason didn’t need to think about it.
“Grief. I didn’t know where you’d gone, or under what circumstances you’d died. I knew you’d destroyed Gaea, or assisted in her defeat at minimum, but… I didn’t know how much was accident and how much was intentional.”
Octavian’s mouth closed again, looking at the dirt in deep though. Jason gave him space to think. Seconds ticked by in the silence, only broken by the same birds chirping and the wind blowing.
“You once taught me a long lesson about how a good man need not make friends of his enemies, but he need at least have tried and failed. A lesson in intent. That your attempt, regardless of success, is what makes you good.” Octavian began.
“Yes?” Jason asked, furrowing an eyebrow, but clearly anticipating where Octavian was going with this.
“But suppose for a moment… how do I word this…?” Octavian muttered, fiddling with the end of his toga as he planned the words out in his mind.
Jason gave Octavian time to think this through. No judgement, no impatient, just letting a student approach the board and study the problem without interruption.
“A wealthy man is conflicted. He seeks to make a donation to the local orphanage, but worries that he’s doing it out of pride, or arrogance, or some deep-seated need for recognition.” Octavian said, starting to get his momentum going.
Pride, arrogance, or some deep-seated need for recognition. Is he… going where I think he’s going? Jason wondered.
“He runs to the local priest, a rabbi they call him, and presents his dilemma. Not wanting the man to feel like he was taken advantage of in his conflict, the priest tells him to think it over through the night and look within himself.” Octavian went on.
Jason nodded. “Fair enough. If the Pontifex leaps at the opportunity while the man is conflicted, the man will feel manipulated. That won’t do either of them any good.”
Octavian nodded in agreement. “Yes. The wealthy man agrees, and goes home…”
Jason smiled, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.
“…he think it over, and realizes his true reason. He runs to the priest, and apologizes, saying that he’s realized he’s donating out of a need for recognition and praise. To be seen as generous with his wealth, rather than true generosity. And the priest says…”
Octavian looked at Jason, waiting for him to finish the story.
Jason smiled ear-to-ear, taking the cue, and the Pontifex of New Rome answered.
“…do you think the orphans care?”
Octavian smiled. Not a smirk, but a contented smile.
The wealthy man opened his mouth.
“No,” he said, “I suppose they don’t.”