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Frank watched Percy as they moved through the valley. He wasn’t trying to, kept trying to mind his business, but found his eyes drifting over towards the newbie again and again.
Sure, Percy‘s tan and some of his facial features made him look more Greek than anyone else in the camp, but there were reasonable explanations to answer why; explanations that certainly didn’t warrant the stares and blithing comments the lares pointed in his direction.
What if Percy’s mortal parent or grandparents were from Greece? Then the lares would have to feel some remnants of shame at the way they were currently treating him, right?
For really, Frank had never seen the ghosts that haunted New Rome look at anyone with such hatred or… Was that fear? Was that an inkling of fear that Frank saw across their facial features?
After what happened this morning with the gods, were the ghosts afraid of Percy?
But that wouldn’t explain their muttering about curses. Muttering about a curse for Percy specifically.
He tried to pay attention to Hazel’s tour of camp and Percy’s reactions -- which shouldn’t have been hard given that English was Frank’s first language and he hardly knew any Latin, even after spending months at camp -- but he just couldn’t tune out the whispers around them.
“Puer exsecratus,” one whispered, calling Percy a cursed child. “Faex Graeca,” another spat, translating to Greek scum. “Mortis symbolum,” another declared. “Filius diaboli,” said another. On and on they went.
Other whispers, other hushed words, other hidden conversations, not all Frank could understand, but when one of the lares declared that Percy would be “omnium nostrum mors,” or the death of us all, Frank decided he’d had enough.
“Excuse me,” Frank spoke up eventually, turning to the lares lining the roadways to get a look at Percy, like a new curiosity had come to town for them to poke, prod, and make fun of. “What is your problem?”
“Our problem,” a lar spoke lowly, quiet enough that Frank’s companions couldn’t hear, drifting closer to Frank, enough that the transparent face was inches away from Frank’s own, “is that a Greek with a curse bestowed by the primordials walks amongst New Rome, and none of you legionnaires so much as bat an eye to the obvious danger afoot.”
Frank’s protest sprang forward, but memories of Percy crossing the river carrying a goddess, of a primordial protecting him and deeming him worthy, and a look back at the man staring confusedly at Frank, hair windswept but body immovable, had the words dying before they could pass his lips. How could Frank, in good conscience, fully support and embrace this man that he knew nothing about? That knew nothing about himself?
The lar, contrary to what Frank expected when he turned back around, didn’t look victorious.
No, they looked imploringly at Frank, like they wanted nothing more than for him to understand, then almost fearful as they stared past Frank’s shoulder to Percy.
And, as quickly as the lares appeared in the courtyard, they disappeared, every last one of them, leaving the courtyard feeling far too empty and far too quiet.
Frank swallowed. What he thought to have been unease toward someone new turned out to be pure fear instead.
He didn’t know what to do with this information, what to do with the concerns and trepidation and borderline terror the lares regarded Percy with. It was hard to reconcile it himself, when he looked back over at Percy and saw Hazel tell him something that caused him to snort so loud, a nearby fawn turned to look in disgust, which just caused more laughter from the duo.
Frank just shook his head. Lares were a cowardly and superstitious lot who loved gossip more than anything; Frank certainly had his fair share when he first joined Camp Jupiter, but only he and Reyna knew why.
Now, the lares had a stronger and more adverse reaction to Percy, and now, only the lares knew why.
~~~~~
Hazel pulled them both along, sprinting to the formation lines already settling in place around the Field of Mars, answering Percy’s numerous questions about the game as they ran along. They arrived just in time as Dakota called the first of their names.
The set up was nothing they hadn’t already drilled a few times before, but even though the basic building design was the same, the engineers always found new ways to improve the design or add something new, so the players could never be entirely sure what they would find on or inside the walls.
Even though Percy insisted he’d never played war games before, his armor was strapped together correctly and he stood at a ready stance. The only piece of him that stuck out -- other than his Greek looks and general unease-inducing aura -- was his bronze sword held at the ready. The sword was bright, enough so the nearby light from lanterns and setting sun bounced off it in a way that Frank was sure to blind someone.
The plan, as announced pessimistically by Dakota paired with a faux-optimistic tone from Gwen that not even she believed anymore, was the same as always. “They’re throwing us at the walls first to soften up the defenses.”
Dakota went through the standard plan with a goblet in his hand and koolaid staining his lip. The whole thing was so routine that Frank almost zoned out -- until Gwen added on that Frank and Hazel were in charge of watching Percy, which meant they could “just do whatever,” as so eloquently put by Dakota.
A couple of questions poised by Percy and answers shared by Frank later, and the makings of a plan started to form in Frank’s mind.
Water canons.
The wall had water canons, and the fifth cohort had a newly introduced son of… whoever and could control water.
And with a daughter of Pluto, who could basically control everything underground, there was no way they wouldn’t win.
~~~~~
The trio took off from the rest of the cohort, some other members shooting glances their way and turning their attention back to the impending game, not even bothering to ask what they’re doing or demands to get back in line.
Which was… fine. It gave the three of them more time to sneak away without drawing attention from the other cohorts, at least.
Hazel dug her tunnel deep within the earth, finding old tunnels from years ago still stable and navigating through the maze like it was second nature. They were close enough to the surface to hear shouting and the impacts of weapons against buildings/large clusters of people, but deep enough that the ground surrounding them only shook slightly as a consequence.
Frank watched as Hazel led them around, then gave a heads up that the opening was only a few meters up ahead. When they arose from the ground, not one person in the first or second cohort noticed them, all too busy either lounging or making fun of the fifth.
Percy was the last to rise from the hole, and just as Frank had notched his first arrow to knock a guard from off the wall, the water cannons blew up down the line, one by one, sending people scrambling to not be tossed from several stories in the air and into the awaiting claws of hawks.
The members of the first and second cohorts started running further down the wall, trying to get clear of the water’s blast radius, but Percy then directed the water already swirling around in the air to knock them away.
When Frank glanced over — in horror or awe or something else entirely, he couldn’t say, but all he knew was that he’d never seen a display of power like that before — it seemed like Percy himself was almost confused by his abilities.
Still, with a smirking twisting up one side of his face, he nodded his head in one direction and gave a simple command: “go, I got this.”
Frank and Hazel didn’t need to look back to know it was true. The oohs and awes coming from the other side of the wall was indication enough.
Instead, Frank turned his arrow to the rider of the closest horse charging at them, knocking them off and giving Hazel the opportunity to hop on the horse as if she was born to ride. In one move, she turned her horse around, aimed her sparta at the closest opposing legionnaire, and knocked them off the horse as well.
Side by side, Frank and Hazel charged into battle, mindless of the drizzle that started.
Hazel was able to stop most legionnaires charging toward them, but some slipped past, enough that there were groups checking out the torn apart water cannons bereft of any water left to shoot.
One glance over his shoulder showed Hazel confidently tearing through the crowd, so Frank shot out an arrow with a grappling attachment and climbed up the wall to deal with the stragglers.
A quick blow to the head for each of them was enough to knock out the distracted soldiers, all looking off in the distance further down the wall.
Frank didn’t have time to pay attention to their distraction, else he end up just like they did; instead, he looked down to the huddled remains of the fifth cohort, some with their shields still raised to protect them from the rain growing steadily heavier and heavier.
“Well?” Frank screamed. “Attack!”
A few members — okay, maybe it was more like half of the members — of the fifth cohort looked back in the direction the other distracted legionnaires were looking. Frank looked over just in time to see an entire section of the wall be blasted, the rain significantly heavier over there.
Frank didn’t have time to dawdle, however, and turned back to his cohort. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
That at least snapped Dakota out of his stupor, enough to yell, “you heard the man! Charge!” It didn’t take much more for the fifth cohort to rush toward the gap in the wall, all with a smile on their face during War Games for the first time that Frank can remember.
He hopped off the wall and raced toward Hazel where she was surrounded by incapacitated soldiers and ordered him to “go inside and get the flag! I can handle these guys.”
Frank nodded and headed for the entrance, kicking it open easily and striding down the hall with ease, no one to oppose him. Once he found the room the “guards” were hiding in playing cards with the flag tossed carelessly to the side. He knocked an arrow and pulled it back, ordering them to “stand down, you’ve lost.”
The guards stared in shock for a solid three seconds, then a couple shook their heads as they stood and reached for their weapons while the rest went back to their cards. “Just get him out of here,” one guard said, picking up his cards only to groan at the hand he’d been dealt.
Just as Frank prepared to release his arrow, the strangest thing happened.
It started raining indoors.
“I would listen to Frank, if I were you,” a voice called out from behind him, and there. Percy. With what looked like a half-formed hurricane circling around him, arms crossed over his chest and sword gone, looking for all intents and purposes like this was the most boring thing he’d ever done.
Frank — like everyone else in the room — waited for his next move, waited for him to waltz up, grab the flag, and leave.
But, against all odds, against all expectations and requirements and standards placed upon Romans, against everything any other person in Camp and New Rome would have done, Percy didn’t grab the flag and announce victory for himself after demonstrating and proving himself to be the most powerful person in the valley.
No, instead, he looked to Frank. “It was your plan,” he said, “it’s your win.”
Frank felt his confusion radiated from every corner of the room, “you’re not going to…” he trailed off, not entirely sure what he was implying Percy would do.
“Nah, man,” Percy waved him off, a careless grin making another appearance, and the hurricane slowing down. “It’s yours. You deserve it.”
Frank could only stare for a moment, confused by the sentiment. Any other Roman in camp would have pushed Frank out of the way without hesitation to secure the victory for themselves. Any other Roman at camp would have looked out for themselves first and foremost, then give any remaining afterthoughts to anyone left. Any other Roman would not carry a dual-bladed, bronze sword; would not flaunt water powers, even if those powers were amongst the most impressive at camp; would not stand so carelessly in the middle of battle.
Any other Roman would not look at Frank with the care and admiration that Percy did, like he was worth something, like he deserved to win this.
Frank turned back to the guards, put his arrow away and held his bow loosely in one hand. He held his other hand straight out, eyebrow raised expectantly.
Glancing back and forth between Frank and Percy, the closest member of the first cohort grabbed the flag and placed it delicately in Frank’s hand, a shared look of misery and embarrassment passing through the rest of the guards.
Diminishing the hurricane entirely, rain ceasing, Percy threw an arm over Frank’s shoulders and they walked out into the open air together.
Hazel caught up to them first, hopping down off of Hannibal the elephant and catching them both in a hug.
The rest of the fifth was not far behind, taking the flag and raising it high above their heads, calling Frank’s name over and over again in a chant started by Gwen.
They exited the playing field like that, cheers and jubilation drawing the attention of the third and fourth cohorts, the first and second sullenly following the celebration. “Wha- what? How,” Frank barely heard one member of the fourth stammer out of the chants.
It was enough that even Reyna hid a small smile unsuccessfully as she circled the legion on her peguses, declaring the fifth cohort as winners of the game. Another round of cheers went up, until a blood-curdling scream tore through the joy.
The crowd split around Frank as he rushed forward, Percy and Hazel on his heels, until he saw Gwen lying on her side, staring blankly ahead with a pilum sticking straight out of her chest. He contained his gag, danced his way around the blood until he realized he couldn’t avoid it and knelt down next to her. Healers came by with their powered unicorn horn and extensive first aid kits, but Frank knew it was a lost cause long before they started.
Gwen wasn’t moving. Her skin was already losing its pallor, turning ashy gray.
A medic stood and shook their head, confirming what everyone already knew to be true.
Gwen, despite surviving the games, had become a casualty.
The cheers ceased, the glee vanished, and in its place was a desperate question, a startling confusion, a blossoming grief.
The once loud valley was deemed silent in one fell move; Frank could still hear the trickling of leftover water that Percy hadn’t taken from the water canons, the rain being drained away, the muffled sobs of members from his cohort.
Reyna solemnly started down at the crowd, head lowered as she addressed everyone. “There will be an investigation. Whoever did this, you cost the legion a good officer. Honorable death is one thing, but this ... ”
Frank reached down and closed Gwen’s eyes, feeling it was the least he could do after everything she had done for him. He looked down at the weapon, saw the inscription, and knew someone from the first cohort disagreed.
Plenty of people from the first didn’t like the fifth cohort, but very few would act on that aggression, especially in such a violent way. Frank scanned the crowd, and saw Octavian suspiciously without his pilum.
Just as he felt the anger churn in his gut and start to make itself known, Gwen groaned. She blinked her eyes open, her skin regained its color, and she looked utterly confused as to why everyone was staring at her.
After some convincing to get Gwen to stay still and for Percy and Hazel to help, they managed to remove the seven foot long weapon from her gut. When Gwen insisted that she felt fine, Hazel gently took her hand and said, “there’s no easy way to say this. You were dead. Somehow you came back,” which did nothing to help Gwen’s confusion.
They were all left to ponder how such an act was possible; the first and most obvious answer drew everyone’s attention to Nico, only for him to vehemently deny any involvement from his father, stating that, “Pluto never lets people return from the dead.”
Then, a voice boomed across the valley: “Death loses its hold. This is only the beginning.”
Frank stiffened, remembering the last time a voice called out to them all from beyond, or the primordial entity that made its presence known and claimed Percy Jackson as its own. Could this be similar? Could this be another primordial, coming to demand something of the legion, or to declare Percy as its own? Could this be-
“Ugh, I know that voice,” Percy groaned, rolling his eyes.
Okay, so maybe not a primordial like the Styx. Good to know.
And suddenly, a tall man about 10 feet in height appeared before the gathered legion, dressed in combat gear Frank recognized from his Mom’s uniform.
The man radiated power, intimidation, violence. He was everything Frank didn’t want in a father, and he realized with a sinking dread as he watched those around him step away, that he was inexplicably and unexplainably drawn to the imposing figure.
He took a step forward, wishing his feet would move in the opposite direction. Then another. Then another. Then another.
When Frank didn’t think he could get any closer without burning himself from the sheer heat radiating off the man, he knelt. He knew deep down in his bones that -- even if he wasn’t a primordial like the one who appeared for Percy -- this man was powerful.
One by one, like a tidal wave cascading out from Frank’s starting point, the legion all fell onto one knee.
“That’s good,” the man said, nodding approvingly at the crowd before him, “kneeling is good. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited Camp Jupiter.”
But, to Frank’s complete and utter horror, one person was not kneeling.
“You’re Ares,” Percy accused, leaving Frank to ponder his choice of names given that Ares was not the Roman name for any god. Frank felt himself pale as he looked over and saw with his sword drawn again. “What do you want?”
Frank closed his eyes as a gasp went up through the crowd. He didn’t want to see the new kid get smited, not when Percy hadn’t even been at camp for a week yet. You simply couldn’t talk to a god that way, not if you wanted to end the conversation alive.
Yet, the god did something Frank never expected.
He laughed.
“You’ve got spunk, demigod,” the man said, grin stretching across his face in amusement. “Ares is my Greek form. But to these followers, to the children of Rome, I am Mars—patron of the empire, divine father of Romulus and Remus.”
“We’ve met,” Percy said, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion, like he was trying to recall a memory just a bit too far out of his reach. “We…we had a fight.…”
Frank felt his horror grow tenfold. He was silently begging Percy to just shut up.
The god scratched his chin, then shrugged as if whatever fight Percy was hopefully making up wasn’t something he could remember, thank the gods. “I fight a lot of people. But I assure you—you’ve never fought me as Mars. If you had, you’d be... Well, maybe not dead. I can sense a certain curse on you that'd make it hard to kill you, but I'm sure I could find a way. Now, kneel, as befits a child of Rome, before you try my patience and we figure out just how quick it would be for me to find your anchor point.”
The ground started to boil, flames erupted, and although Frank’s brain was ultra-focused on the fact that a god just threatened to kill Percy, he managed to hiss out, “Percy, please.”
With a sigh ripped directly out of a movie starring a petulant teen, Percy kneeled, keeping his glare directed at the god instead of his gaze respectfully on the ground.
Then Mars began to talk, of being sent by Olympus, of the dead raising, of monsters not returning to Tartarus as they should, of Thanatos being chained by giants, of a quest being demanded to right this injustice and free Thanatos so the dead can stay dead.
Questions were asked, clarification was given, but Frank only really honed in on the conversation when he heard Percy say, “you’re the god of war. Don’t you want endless carnage?”
Mars’ very being seemed to glow brighter, his muscles seemed to bulge, his weapons seemed to grow in size, his anger had the ground shimmer with heat. “Insolent, aren’t you? Perhaps I have fought you before. I can understand why I’d want to kill you. I’m the god of Rome, child. I am the god of military might used for a righteous cause. I protect the legions,” and Frank had to restrain himself from grabbing Percy’s hand and lowering it for him when he sleepily started rubbing at his eyes. “I am happy to crush my enemies underfoot, but I don’t fight without reason. I don’t want war without end. You will discover this. You will serve me.”
Even though it wasn’t directed at Frank, he still felt compelled to follow the god’s words to the letter. Which is why he was ready to strangle Percy when he said, “not likely.” What didn’t Percy understand about not talking back to a god?
Frank braced himself for Mars to draw one of his weapons, to aim at Percy and shoot until he was reduced to smithereens. He waited for Mars to grow so large, for his anger to burn so hot, that he burned the valley alive with everyone inside. He waited for a reprimand, for a punishment, for something other than the smile he grinned in Percy’s direction, like they were old war buddies catching up after returning back home from being overseas.
“I order a quest!” Mars announced, and outlined the terms of the quest, or going to Alaska to free Thanatos from the giants and issuing a warning of Gaea. He listened to Hazel ask for clarification on going to the land without gods, of Mars declaring what a great honor it would be, or Octavian asking for a prophecy, of Mars reprimanding the entire 200 person legion because no one carried a pen with their uniform, and to Octavian reading the prophecy aloud: “this just says, ‘go to Alaska. Find Thanatos and free him. Come back by sundown on June 24th or die.”
“Yeah,” Mars said with a shrug, “a prophecy. Is that not what you asked for?”
He only tolerated listening to Octavian stammer for about a second or two before moving on before pointing at Frank, and Frank could only stand there in shock as Mars showered him in praise. In front of the entire legion. Mars called Frank’s mother by name, complimented her in front of everyone, then gave him a spear with a dragon tooth as its tip.
And, in front of everyone, announced that Frank, his kid, would be leading the quest.
He could only stand there in shock as Mars announced that Percy was also going on the quest, as Percy spluttered in outrage in the middle of a yawn, as Mars teased Percy for something Frank didn't understand -- how was 'extreme rest needed' a joke, and why would that impact the quest? -- as lighting flashed up above and Mars was called away, as Reyne addressed him with a new title and called him the son of Mars.
Any joy he felt for winning war games was gone, never to return, because Frank had unfortunately found out who his father was, and his father told him he was going to die.
Still in a haze, he watched Percy yawn again and rub his eyes. "Hey, it's gonna be alright," he said, yawned again, then stumbled as he tried to walk forward to Frank to presumably provide some comfort. Clearly unsteady, he slurred, “actually, I think I’m gonna take a quick nap,” and passed out before anyone could catch him.