Chapter Text
Ever since she had woken up that morning, Clarisse had been feeling antsy. Not even nerves, she wasn’t anxious or anything like that, but she just felt restless. It was easy to walk up to Percy and say, “You and me, Prissy. Best two out of three.”
If there ever was a way to work out some excess energy, it was in a couple of matches against Percy Jackson. Sure, she could always ask one of her fellow siblings, but it was inevitable that they’d be beaten down by her, or get fed up of eating dirt and walk away. But against Percy, she didn’t have to hold back, could lash out and strike back as many times as it takes, and he would understand, and even give as good as she could take too.
She wouldn’t ever call the two of them friends, and would pummel anyone who said so, but they didn’t need to use words to know what each other needed. There was something about physically working out their differences, to know how the other was feeling in their training matches, that words just couldn’t convey.
So when she walked up to him and essentially demanded a fight, he just nodded and followed her. It only took a moment to visit the armoury and grab a couple of training spears (she would not use her favoured weapon against him, she’s learned from that mistake) and a shield, before heading to the arena.
Percy had already started on stretching, apparently also eager for their match. Clarisse set her spears and shield to the side so she could stretch properly, impatient to begin.
Whilst she was warming up, she couldn’t help her thoughts wandering slightly. It hadn’t seemed obvious at first, as Percy was always ridiculously good when it came to fighting, but there had been a steady increase in his battle prowess that she couldn’t explain.
He didn’t seem to train any more than she did, and he never used anything other than his sword. But he was quicker, more agile. And his strength had increased too.
Clarisse didn’t know if anybody else had noticed it, as it seemed she was the only one willing to be one-on-one with Percy (especially if they were on opposing sides of Capture the Flag; there had definitely been moments where she would see a camper spot Percy, and immediately turn back around to flee).
But it made her excited too, because if he was improving and still training against her, if he still lost in their matches, then it meant she was improving too. And any chance to be at the top of her game, she would take.
Stretching all done, Clarisse and Percy stood opposing each other, weapon of choice in hand.
“Is it first blood drawn, again?” Percy asked, twirling Riptide, looking every bit as relaxed as anybody could be. She wouldn’t fall for that, knew that at any moment Percy could suddenly charge at her and strike.
“Of course. Prepare to lose, Prissy,” she taunted, raising her shield into a defensive position. Percy took the bait and immediately charged, quickly shortening the distance between them. Once he was close enough, he swung, directly for her chest.
She raised her shield to block the move, and felt the force of his strike travel all the way up her arm and into her shoulder. She grit her teeth against the pain, and thrust her spear towards his unprotected side.
Already he had moved to parry her with Riptide, forcing the spear up and away from him. They jumped apart, to eye each other up again.
Clarisse knew she had the advantage, with her longer range and her shield. But Percy had unpredictability, and the uncanny ability to almost detect what her next move would be. She couldn’t overwhelm him, as he was used to fighting multiple enemies at once, and she couldn’t overpower him anymore, loathe as she was to admit that (and only to herself of course).
And as much as she had a genetic advantage, with her father being the God of War and Battlelust, Percy had experience, far more than she had. Sure, she’d fought in the same wars he had, but he’d fought against Gods, Titans, and Giants, and had survived. She would never begrudge him of those victories, of his on-the-go battle strategies, which is why she felt it so important to train with him, to enhance her own abilities.
Not that she would ever admit any of this to him. Wouldn’t be good to have his ego grow too much.
This time, she made the first move, darting forwards. He dodged by rolling to her right side, her spear arm, and slashing upwards from where he was crouched. She only just managed to twist out of the way in time, determined to not lose the first battle.
They continued, neither giving the other an easy win, the clang of metal meeting metal ringing around the arena. If anyone had been watching, neither of them would have known, too absorbed in the back and forth, the dance they had found themselves in.
Luck seemed to favour Clarisse today, as she struck down, managing to catch Percy’s thigh. A thin line beaded, just visible from the slice in his trousers. Both stopped, pulling back from each other, catching their breath.
“Lucky shot,” Percy said, wiping his forehead of sweat with the back of his hand.
Clarisse scoffed. Guy was a sore loser, seriously. In response, she hefted her spear up again, and pointed it at him. Percy shuffled his feet slightly, getting back into position, ready.
Round two started. The ache Clarisse started to feel in her muscles was welcome, compared to how she felt in the morning. She would feel sore later, but she would ensure her victory here and now, consequences be damned.
Another clang, as sword met shield. Clarisse stabbed her spear towards his chest, forcing him to stumble back and lose balance. And she saw her chance, the opening she had forcibly made, and took it.
It happened so fast, she almost couldn’t believe it. One moment she was thrusting her spear again to where he had stumbled, the next his foot had caught it, slamming it towards the ground and breaking her spear in half. Her momentum carried her forwards, and in her shock, she couldn’t stop herself from crashing to the ground.
As she lifted herself up with her arms, shield forgotten on the ground, she felt the cold tip of Percy’s blade touch her neck. She froze, not able to even tilt her head to look at his undoubtedly smug face.
“Yield?” he spoke, breathing heavily.
“Yield,” she replied, equally as breathless. The sword moved away from her neck, allowing her to twist round to sit on the ground properly. She rested her arms on her knees, and looked at Percy, who had sat down a couple of feet away from her, capping Riptide back down to a pen.
She had to catch her breath for a moment, before speaking, “What the fuck was that, Prissy?”
“What was what?”
“You know what. That wasn’t a normal parry. It’s not even practical.” Seriously, this guy was infuriating. It seemed like every week he was pulling out some new bullshit move, forcing her to recalculate their training matches. Sure, it helped hone her own combat skills, especially with his unpredictability in fights, but it was still annoying.
“Instinct, I guess,” was Percy’s answer. Of course it was. She was going to stab him. “You went low. Only felt natural to parry that way.”
“Can’t help it when you’re so short,” she teased. He glared at her in response.
“Those are some fighting words, Clarisse. Round three?” He stood up, patting his legs briefly to remove dirt, then uncapped Riptide. He took a few steps back as Clarisse also stood up, shield in hand. She grabbed the broken spear, quickly throwing it to the side, before picking up her spare. Percy had this terrible habit of breaking her training spears, saying ‘it was tradition’, asshole that he was. She always brought a backup with her to training just in case.
They stood opposing each other, just watching, waiting to see who would make the first move. It seemed Percy was impatient, as he rushed at her, swinging his sword straight for her head. She ducked, took a large step back to increase their distance, then thrust her spear forwards.
Percy dodged to the side, and ran straight for her again. They parried and dodged each other’s attacks for a couple of minutes, when Clarisse saw another chance.
For a brief moment, Percy’s eyes trailed over her shoulder, like he had been distracted by something. She propelled her spear forwards again, almost expecting him to dodge, but was surprised when her spear managed to graze his shoulder.
First blood drawn. She pulled her spear back, and watched as Percy hurriedly covered his bleeding shoulder, tilting it away from her. Wimp.
“That’s two out of three. I win today,” she gloated. It always felt good to best Percy in their matches.
He glared at her, then said, “Only because some asshole distracted me.” He nodded once, causing her to look behind and towards the other side of the training grounds. Her father, Ares, stepped out from the shadows of the trees, clapping his hands sarcastically.
“If you get distracted that easily, brat, I’m surprised no monster has killed you yet,” Ares said, crossing his arms and smirking at Percy. Clarisse could only stand there, warily. She had no idea why her father had made an appearance, certainly not now. And she wasn’t exactly on the best of terms with him anyway. “Truly impressive, really.”
“I’ll show you truly impressive,” Percy muttered, as he walked away to where a couple of water bottles sat to the side of the arena. Clarisse followed him, still watching her father, who only stood there, still grinning. She couldn’t tell, with his sunglasses on his face, whether he was looking at her or Percy.
Cold water did wonders for Clarisse’s parched throat. She didn’t know how long they had been fighting for, but she could tell she was done for today. The aches in her muscles were beginning to be impossible to ignore, and she knew she would need to have a good soak to soothe them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Percy gently tip the bottle on to his arm, facing away from her. It was odd, lately, how Percy seemed to hide his injuries from her, even though it was usually his suggestion to fight until first blood drawn. But, whatever. If he felt it necessary to tell her, then he would.
Percy turned to Ares, and said, “Why are you here?” Clarisse didn’t wince at his words, not exactly, but she certainly pursed her lips. She knew Percy had a disdain for her father (and while she understood now, it hadn’t helped her animosity towards him when they first knew each other), but being rude to any God wasn’t going to help. Especially when it was Ares.
But to her surprise, her father only chuckled. “Thought it was about time for a rematch, brat.”
...Rematch? It had been years since their fight, surely her father wasn’t challenging Percy again for something so long ago. Ah, but she knew where she got her pride from, and the Gods’ perception of time was always skewed compared to the demigods and mortals.
Percy winced. “Ah, shit. Has it been two weeks already?”
What? Seriously, what the fuck was going on? This felt like a fever dream, all of a sudden. Clarisse had no idea the last time she saw her father, only now here he was, propositioning Percy for a battle, which they apparently did regularly. She felt like screaming.
It must have shown on her face, as Percy looked at her apologetically. Before he could say anything, Ares had already moved, clapping a hand on to her shoulder.
“Good form today, kid. You’re improving quickly,” he said. Clarisse couldn’t help but stand up straighter, feeling slightly rejuvenated. Ares hardly ever spoke to her, let alone complimented her. And with it came the small realisation that her father had been watching her, for who knows how long.
Against her best wishes, she couldn’t stop the blush rushing to her face.
“Now you get to see me knock this brat’s ass to the ground again,” Ares said, practically oozing smugness.
Percy sputtered slightly, before replying, “I’m in the lead, asshole. It’s currently 12-10 to me.”
Ares growled, taking several steps back to get in to a fighting stance, shirking his leather jacket and tossing it to side without a care. Clarisse hurried to the side of the arena, desperate to watch how this went. She felt almost light-headed, so she sat down roughly, keeping a bottle of water with her. This day could not get any weirder; suddenly finding out that Percy and her father had regular matches, enough to keep count of who was winning, was bizarre.
She could only hold her breath, waiting to see who made the first move. There was an intensity to the air, one not dissimilar to when Percy faced hordes of monsters or even Titans. Where the odds were against him but he managed to pull through anyway.
Clarisse spared a thought in the hopes that no other camper would come towards the arena. She had no idea what sort of carnage these two would cause, and certainly didn’t want anyone else to get caught up in it.
And carnage it was. The two of them traded blow for blow, dodging and charging at such speeds that Clarisse almost couldn’t keep up with it. Each strike seemed to reverberate through the arena, rattling her very being, and for one second, Clarisse felt as though she was watching two Gods fighting, ones who had no care for their surroundings, only focusing on their opponent.
It was only a brief thought, there one moment and gone the next. Clarisse would think nothing of it the next day, only believing it was a simple battle of strength between a demigod and a God, and that she was exhausted from her own fights.
She took another small sip from her water bottle, watching closely for any gaps in defence or any mistakes that could cost the match. Percy was utilising his speed and agility, making sure to stick close to Ares with an onslaught of stabs and slices, each of which Ares was parrying only to strike back with his own sword, strength behind every move.
There was the occasional taunt, from Ares saying, “Too slow,” for every move he dodged, to Percy’s joyful, “Missed!” in retaliation. It almost seemed like a game to the both of them, wearing big grins on their faces. And it occurred to Clarisse that they were bonding.
She may be a small bit jealous. But there was also another part of her that was angry, at her father for finding the time to train with Percy rather than with her, yet also at Percy, for two reasons. One, for never telling her about this either. But two, because it seemed like he was holding back against her.
And it infuriated her, because this whole time she thought she was keeping up, actually winning against him. If he was throwing his matches, if he wasn’t using his all against her, she would kill him. Murder him in his sleep. Find some way of drowning him.
Clarisse kept watch of the match as she stewed in her thoughts. Perhaps she was overthinking it. She could admit to herself that her pride had taken a small hit, but she wasn’t a mind reader of any kind, and truly did not know how Percy worked. It seemed as though he was taking all of their fights and training seriously. And all of this would certainly explain why he had been improving so quickly.
Eventually, Percy managed to nick Ares on his forearm, causing ichor to bleed. The match stopped instantly. Clarisse stood up and walked over to them.
“13-10 to me! You’re slacking, asshole,” Percy said, capping Riptide and placing it in his pocket.
Ares grumbled, “Brat, you got lucky.” Percy only laughed in response, and when Clarisse drew near, threw an arm around her shoulders. She quickly shoved him off, rolling her eyes as he stumbled then straightened up again.
“Your daughter beat me twice today. You’re just weak,” Percy smirked. “Maybe she should be teaching you a couple of things.” Clarisse tensed slightly, in disbelief that Percy would even suggest such a thing.
And to further that disbelief even more, her father grunted, as if Percy hadn’t just insulted him, as if he was considering it. When her father’s attention turned to her again, she stood ramrod straight.
He eyed her up and down, briefly, then nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Not today, but soon. It’s not every century I get to personally train one of my own. Think you can keep up, kid?”
“Yes, sir,” Clarisse replied, almost shaking in excitement. She forced her muscles to keep still, not wanting to seem too eager.
Ares chuckled, “Good. I’ll let you know when.” He turned to Percy, who just scowled when Ares looked at him. “Until next time, little godling.” And with that, and a bright flash of light, Ares vanished.
Percy’s scowled deepened, as he muttered, “I’m not little. I’m above average height.”
Clarisse stood next to Percy for a moment, basking in the cool evening air, then punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow! What was that for?!” Percy rubbed at his arm, as Clarisse started storming out of the arena, picking up the spears and shield along the way. Some of her earlier fury had come back.
“Have you been holding back on me, Prissy? Thinking I can’t handle it?” she spat, venom coating her tongue. Percy almost had to jog to keep up with her.
“Gods no! What gave you that idea?” he replied. Clarisse stopped suddenly, whirling round to face him. She jabbed a finger into his chest.
“For fuck sake, you’ve been training with my father!” She almost couldn’t believe how much this angered her. Just earlier she had tried to reason herself with what was happening, what apparently had been happening for a while, but she had always been led by her emotions, by her pride. To her horror, she felt a stinging sensation in her eyes, but she refused to show Percy how much this had affected her. She turned her head away, looking at the trees, gritting her teeth.
She would not show weakness.
Percy sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, Clarisse… I’ve not been… entirely honest.”
“Yeah, no shit. Get to the point.”
“I’ve been… struggling. To control my strength, lately.” Percy took a deep breath, and continued, “Ares offered his help.” Some sort of surprise must have shown on her face, since Percy gave a wry smile in her direction. “Yeah, I was surprised too. But it’s been… useful. And it allows me to continue training with you. Because I need that too.”
Okay, this was perhaps reaching the point of too much emotional vulnerability than she could handle. She gave a begrudging nod, and punched his shoulder again, but lighter this time.
He still rubbed at it, as if it hurt. Still a wimp.
“You don’t have to say anymore. Seriously, don’t.” She started walking to the armoury again, Percy trailing after her. There was an amicable silence between them as she placed the weapons and shield away in their rightful place.
It gave Clarisse some time to think some more. There was clearly something big that Percy wasn’t telling her, and it certainly had something to do with what Ares had called him earlier. Little godling. Percy had joked it away as a comment about his height, but Clarisse wasn’t stupid. There was definitely more to it.
But she wouldn’t pry.
Whatever it was, Percy wasn’t comfortable telling her the whole truth. The thing that mattered most to her was that he wasn’t looking down at her, seeing her as weak. That was what she cared about. That they would always have each other’s backs, that they would keep striving to increase their potential, to keep each other at their very best. So they didn’t have to lose anyone else important to them.
And as they headed towards the dining pavilion, tripping and needling each other along the way, Clarisse hoped that it would all work out in the end. It had to.