Chapter Text
Peace had been kind to Percy. It was kind enough that he almost believed he deserved it. But on the fifth year mark after the Titan War, the nightmares returned with a purpose. He could smell the ashes of Manhattan burning. He could hear the last breaths of friends he’d sworn to protect.
Kronos had found him in his sleep.
The dream began mildly then. Mostly about the fellow demigods that died just so Percy could live it all over again in the morning with panting breath and painful twist in his gut. He'd had five years to compose himself, to mourn everyone he'd lost. Now, he was forced to rip open the chasm he thought he'd closed, filled with an ocean of regret and feeling of inadequacy.
Percy took a deep breath. His eyes were wild as he scanned the dark room. The clock on his bedside table showed that it was two in the morning. At times such as this he wished for a soothing presence next to him, to hold his hands and tell him that things would be all right.
Perhaps it was a wishful thinking for him to wish so. Despite having almost two years worth of peace, Percy knew deep in his bones that a hero was not fated for peace. His father had expressed his deep regret for making him bear a hero's fate—one that only so rarely ended with joy.
With a shaky hand, he reached for the glass on the bedside table and gulped down the water in one go. This was the fifth time Kronos had taunted him with memories that left his chest hollow. The dreams were more or less the same. Now, he was left with thoughts and guilt eating him up from the inside.
He should talk to someone, he decided. So he closed his eyes and whispered into the darkness for a presence.
"Are you okay?" The voice asked, tone thick with worry.
Percy didn't trust his voice enough to answer, so he just nodded his head. His eyes were wild, still full of shock. The throbbing in his chest showed no sign of ceasing, subjecting him to a pain as if constricted by something so tight.
"What's wrong, my love?"
The other's presence made the room feel larger and brighter with light. Breathing became a little easier for Percy as the man strode and sat on the bed next to him. Percy closed his eyes, tethering himself with the presence to steady his breathing. His shoulders sagged, relaxing from the tension seeping out of his pores.
When he opened his eyes, a pair of golden irises looked straight to him; fiery, beautiful, and rich with divinity. He managed to flash a small reassuring smile, though it served more purpose for him rather than for the beautiful man with golden hair next to him.
"I'm fine, Apollo. I just had nightmares." Percy tried to sound brave, channeling the ocean within to imbue him with its power.
The man, nay, god—Apollo—didn't seem convinced. His gaze lingered on Percy's face, searching for a sign of harm. "You seemed distressed when you call for me. What sort of nightmares did you have, Percy? You can talk to me."
Percy swallowed a lump the size of a bowling ball in his throat. For a second, he was hesitant but the need to tell someone about the ghosts of his past far outweighed his worry at the moment. He didn't expect a solution for all he wanted was to be heard.
"Kronos haunts me in my dreams. I don't know where he is. His presence was not as daunting as it used to be but he can still show me tragedies I'd rather not relive."
Apollo's brows knitted, forming a frown on his otherworldly handsome face. "Kronos has been visiting you through your dreams?" Percy nodded. "What exactly has he been showing you?"
"Just the deaths of my friends I couldn't prevent." Percy's voice grew heavy as the words tasted bitter in his mouth. "I should've tried harder to save them."
One of Apollo's hands reached out to cup Percy's cheek, caressing it gently. Despite the low light, Apollo's presence made it a tad brighter for he was the very embodiment of the sun himself. All Percy could feel was warmth spreading throughout the blood in his veins. Naturally, he leaned in to the touch.
The gaze Apollo settled on him was gentle. The words that followed it even more so. "You know that none of them blames you for their end Percy. It was a war and it demanded casualties. You tried your best. They do not blame you."
At the soothing words of Apollo, Percy nodded his head, letting his consciousness digest them as they were supposed to.
"Will you stay with me tonight? I think I'll feel better with you in my arms."
Apollo flashed him a big, bright smile that made his dark room glow. Percy scooted over to make space for the god of many talents to lie down next to him. This time, he claimed the big spoon with Apollo's face nuzzling his neck.
The shift in their relationship still made no sense to some people. Even to him, it still didn't sometimes considering the circumstances. Everything just flowed naturally like a river.
Percy remembered the thoughts that were privy to him when he was in love with Annabeth. He was younger then and thought that his love for her was bound to be forever. Being with her had been easy until it wasn't. He never blamed her for walking away after Tartarus showed his dark side. It was for the better. He didn't want to subject her to fear each time they locked eyes. Besides, she'd always have a piece of him.
Then Apollo was punished for his involvement in the Giant War. Zeus punished him to become a mortal, no less. That's when their paths crossed once again. When he sought shelter and assistance, the first person he thought of was Percy. Though what he felt was exasperation at that time, he was glad to have met Lester Papadopoulos. Apollo showed him that god was capable of change, too. And it made him view the gods a little differently now.
Admittedly, Percy was adamant to steer clear of Apollo's advances at first. It was his insistence and persistence that made Percy give in. He saw the changes in Apollo, in how he began to care for his children—Percy's friends. The god of light also seemed to care more about humanity. Though he wouldn't admit doing it, Percy knew that he sometimes cared for the homeless.
Their relationship began slowly. It was mostly due to the fact that Percy was oblivious. He couldn't tell if someone was into him to save his life. Annabeth had to spell it out for him one afternoon after he and Apollo hung out in the woods.
"He likes you, Percy. As in, he wants to pluck the stars out of the sky and give it to you. He and I are friends too, but have you ever seen him rest his head on my shoulder?" Percy's words died in his throat, then. "Exactly, Seaweed Brain."
After that, it was easier to navigate what he had with the Sun God. They went on several dates where they planned their dates in turn and decided to be in a relationship not long after.
When they first started getting together, it was not easy. A lot of people were against it, his father included. Poseidon wouldn't even listen to reason. Though he loathe to admit it, it came from a place of love.
"I don't want you to become a tragedy, Percy." Poseidon had said that day as he cradled Percy's face in his hand.
He remembered saying, "I won't let it happen, Dad. I will protect myself."
That was one and a half year ago. His father hadn't said anything regarding his and Apollo's relationship after that. Poseidon wasn't the only one. Zeus had tried to poke fun at him, too. That uncle of his claimed that Percy wasn't worthy of Apollo. Fortunately for him, his boyfriend was more than ready to fight his own father for him. It was sort of romantic.
Being with Apollo was almost effortless.
It was not without its trials, of course, but Percy had never felt something like this with anyone before. Apollo brought him security, comfort, and tranquility. He understood Percy's needs to protect. He never objected when Percy put himself in the line of fire, which, knowing him, was a part of his daily life.
What Percy loved most about his boyfriend was the fact that Apollo never flaunted his godhood to him.
It was peculiar at first, knowing who Apollo was before they got together. When Percy asked, Apollo smiled at him blindingly like he radiated sunlight (being the god of the sun, he might as well did) and said that Lester had marred his soul. He'd gotten appreciative to doing things the mundane way where possible. It was a small thing he did to honor Jason Grace's memory.
Being with Apollo like this, Percy never felt safer. As he drifted to Morpheus' domain, he remembered the bliss enveloping his heart.
"Farewell, hero."
Percy had woken up to various unusual surfaces. He'd woken up on top of a rock in a cave, on the soft sand of the beach, on the back of a metal dragon, and other kinds of surfaces. But he had never, not even once in his life, woke up face down while floating in the water in the middle of the ocean. Especially not one so clear that he could see the marine lives below.
Being the son of Poseidon, Percy had the perk of breathing in the water, so this was a non-threatening situation. What's odd was the fact that he remembered nothing about being anywhere near one of the beaches in Long Island Sound. He knew that he went to bed with Apollo in his arms, in his own bed. Did he sleep walk all the way to Long Island from Upper East Side? That seemed unlikely.
Percy was about to will the water to bring him to the shore just so he could go home when something that absolutely felt like a tentacle wrapped itself around his ankle. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket where the extension of him arm was stored. It was a small relief finding Riptide there. Ever since he found out that the pen would always come back to his pocket, he made sure to always wear pants that had pockets even to bed.
Once Riptide was uncapped, he swung it without hesitation, cutting the tentacle so it lost its grip on him. Before he was dragged to the ocean floor, Percy managed to break free and bent the water to his command, creating a small tornado to get him out of there. His relief was, unfortunately, short-lived. Now instead of one, there were two large tentacles wrapping themselves around both his feet. Before he could swing his sword, another tentacle seized his body, trapping his hand. He was quickly submerged. Whatever this monster was, it seemed that Percy would have to face it.
Mornings such as this would be deemed most unusual by other people. It was an unfortunate thing that he was Percy Jackson. Something like this happened more often than he could count. At one point, he thought it odd not to wake up in the middle of danger. Surely being a demigod had altered his brain chemistry somehow.
The tentacles slammed his body against the floor of the ocean. The pain wasn't so bad, considering there was no hard surface around. Percy rose, stood on his two feet immediately. When he was aimlessly dragged against the current, he had imagined the monster on the other end of the tentacles. He thought it'd be a giant octopus or a squid. What he saw before him was neither.
It was his father.
Or at least, the top half was his father. The bottom half was eight tentacles. Poseidon stood before him, all six meters tall that had it not been how accustomed he was with his father's form he wouldn't be able to recognize the god. Percy wasn't sure if it was out of courtesy, but his father shrunk to a human height where he stood a head taller than Percy.
Now Percy could see his father better. The god before him did bear the face of his father but something about him seemed distant and cold. This wasn't the Poseidon that usually looked at him with gentle affection. This was different. It made Percy question whether he'd done something recently that insulted Olympus.
Poseidon was not wearing his usual Tommy Bahamas shirt and Bermuda shirts. He was wearing nothing, all tanned skin bared to Percy. His hair was curly black, with a length that seemed unusually longer than the last time Percy had seen him which was just last week. This Poseidon looked regal and imposing that it reminded him of an untamed sea.
"Dad," Percy called, slowly taking a step forward towards Poseidon.
The response was something Percy never thought possible. Instead of a warm smile and open arms, Percy was greeted by the pointy end of his father's trident.
"Who are you?" Poseidon asked, half growling that it sent shivers down Percy's spine. "I sense my blood flowing through your veins, yet I know nothing of your existence."
It took a while for the sentence to register to Percy's brain. Then it hit him that his father was not speaking to him in English.
Poseidon had just spoken to him in Ancient Greek.
"Dad, come on. Is it my birthday soon? No, it certainly not. My birthday has passed two months ago." Percy began, his head recounting the event of his birthday where Apollo baked him a blue cake. "Is this a prank? Is Apollo in on this?"
Anger flashed in the god's face. One that Percy had witnessed once. "What is this tongue you are speaking, child? Are you mocking me?"
Percy's instinct went overdrive. He knew that the figure in front of him was not his father. Sure, he might be Poseidon, but somehow he wasn't the Poseidon that Percy was used to. This one meant malice and his battle instinct told him of danger.
However, before he could flee, he was reminded of Annabeth. She would know what to do in this situation. Though he was never one to be acknowledged for his brain, he could be smart when the situation demanded it. This situation right here was one of those.
"Forgive me, Lord Poseidon," Percy began, reaching out for the courage he knew was in his core. "I am indeed your son. My name is Perc—Perseus."
Percy could visibly see Poseidon's expression softened. There was no malice nor anger in his eyes. All Percy could see was cautiousness. Now, somehow Percy was convinced he was having a lucid dream for there was no other logical explanation to this.
"Perseus." Poseion repeated like it was an afterthought. "Have you come to pursue glory in the war? Is that why you are here?"
If Percy was confused earlier, now consider him extra confused. "War? What war, Father?"
"Surely you have heard of the war between the Achaeans and the Trojans? It is year nine of the siege." Poseidon quirked an eyebrow, his trident was no longer pointed at Percy. "Isn't that why you are here? So you can aid the Achaeans?"
Percy's mouth went dry. He'd read the Iliad and the Odyssey at the request of Annabeth a few years ago. Surely that was not what he was dreaming about?
"I am not sure why I'm here, Father." Percy honestly admitted.
In his capacity, Percy tried to remember. He remembered calling for Apollo after a particularly nasty dream sent by Kronos. He remembered sleeping next to his boyfriend. Then… what?
Then he distantly remembered a sinister voice saying 'farewell, hero' before he woke up in the water.
Percy felt the cold weight of dread settle in his stomach. The voice that whispered that farewell before sleep had not been Apollo. It hadn’t been kind, or warm, or amused. It had been ancient. It was older than the Greeks. Much older than the gods. A voice that he'd heard whispering in his sleep when he was merely a boy, forced to embrace a destiny written long before he was born.
Kronos had just left him stranded in the oceans just outside of Ilion—Troy.
"Father, I am not from this time." Percy forced himself to speak without stuttering. "I come from three thousand years in the future. I was sent here against my will by the King of the Titans."
Poseidon didn't respond immediately. Perhaps his father thought of himself a lunatic. It wouldn't be far fetched, considering he did sometimes feel a little crazy.
"I see," Poseidon said. "Had you been anyone else, I would have smote you. Strangely, I do believe what you said to be honesty. Your clothing is not from this time. You speak with a language I am not well versed in. And I can sense the blessings of nearly all the Olympians on you, one thing that's sort of impossible."
Tension left Percy's shoulders. It was no small feat to be believed by Poseidon. If stories were to be believed, the gods were known for savageries. They cared not for fickle human lives. The worth of a human was to be earned through glory.
Poseidon moved closer to him until he was right in front of Percy,only an arm's length away. "What had you done that earned you the ire of the Titan King, Perseus?"
From the many time traveling movies Percy had seen, he knew that the first rule of time travel was to not speak of the time where you hail from. Yet, he couldn't bear this knowledge alone in a strange land and in a strange time.
"He rose from his slumber to overthrow the gods and I defeated him. It was prophesied. Now, I believe he was seeking vengeance upon me, leaving me stranded here for a purpose unknown to me."
Poseidon’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in contemplation. The current around them shifted, swirling tighter, as though the sea itself leaned in to listen. "You've brought yourself glory. I find solace in knowing one my offspring was not a beast and was fated for something great." Poseidon paused for a brief moment. "Yet it is most unsettling that the Titan King sent you to this time. This is year nine of the siege. The gods have grown restless. They ought to intervene sooner rather than later. Were you brought here to end the war?"
"I am not sure, Father. But do you think I should aid the Achaeans? I know you favor them better than the Trojans." Percy stared at his father in the eyes, watching as the same sea green eyes stared back at him.
"For now, that appears to be the best course of action." Poseidon answered. He extended his arm to squeeze Percy's shoulder. "I shall introduce you to them for better leverage. You may decide whose settlement you want to be in. Though, I would very much prefer you stay with Achilles son of Peleus and Thetis. He is the only one that is your equal."
Hearing his father say that unnerved Percy a little bit. In his time, his father would never belittle mortals by saying that demigods—especially Percy—were above them. Nevertheless, Poseidon had wanted him to be with Achilles, the hero that he had met in the Underworld just before he submerged himself in Styx.
Percy nodded his head. "I understand, Father." Then one thing crossed his mind. "However, I do not wish to fight. I refuse to kill fellow mortals. It is against my principle."
That seemed to get Poseidon's attention. "Very well, you may fight to your heart's content. I shall dress you appropriately then." Poseidon then nodded his head. "I will have one of my servants deliver your armor later from my cyclopes' forge. One that is fitting for the son of the Sea God."
Just like that, Percy's pajamas transformed into a traditional Greek chiton in the color green. The fabric felt soft against his skin. Percy wouldn't doubt that his father gave him a chiton made of the finest fabric. His bare feet were given sandals. Somehow he knew he'd need to get used to this feeling on his feet.
Percy capped Riptide back into a pen. Now that he was short on pocket, he clipped the cap on his necklace. All the while, Poseidon seemed to be intently observing him. Being under the gaze of his own father felt weird. This made him feel like he was twelve again, being in Olympus while returning Zeus' master bolt and meeting Poseidon for the first time. It seemed like his father didn't know what to do with him.
"Brace yourself, son. We shall make haste before the Achaeans leave for battle."
Poseidon raised his trident, and the sea answered.
The water around them surged upward in a spiraling column, lifting them gently at first, then with increasing force. Percy had ridden hurricanes, typhoons, and whirlpools, but nothing compared to being carried by the will of the Sea God himself. The current wasn’t violent. It was purposeful. As if the ocean had become a throne room that moved with its king.
As they sped forward atop the rising water, the coastline sharpened into view—wooden palisades, blackened cooking pits, half-collapsed tents beaten by years of wind and war. War cries and clashing bronze rang faintly in the distance, a reminder of the world he’d been thrown into without warning.
Percy’s chest tightened.
This wasn’t Camp Half-Blood. These weren’t sparring partners. These were mortals fighting a war they believed was righteous. A war Percy knew would end in blood and legend for centuries to come.
Poseidon must have sensed his unease. “You carry a heavy burden for one so young. I presume you were merely twenty.”
Percy managed a humorless laugh. “I recently turned one and twenty, Father.”
“Still so young.” Poseidon said, looking rather wistful. “For now your burden is simply to endure. Aid them if you choose. Refuse if your conscience demands it. But you must not reveal too much about the future. Even gods fear to disrupt what is fated.”
Percy looked up at him. “Even you?”
Poseidon hesitated then nodded once. “Even me.”
The wave slowed as they approached the shallows. Sand scraped beneath Percy’s sandals, grounding him in this alien time. He inhaled the salt-heavy air. The faint smell of pitch and metal drifted from the ships pulled onto the beach.
In the distance, a cluster of figures gathered, drawn by the sudden surge of water. Warriors with broad shields and polished bronze helms murmured among themselves, spears poised. Percy suddenly felt painfully aware of the chiton, of his bare legs, of how absurdly unprepared he was for being introduced to the people he'd read in all Homeric epics.
Poseidon placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Stand tall. You are my son.”
Percy straightened despite himself.
Poseidon guided him forward. “Come. Let us greet them. The tide waits for no war, nor for the son who must walk into it.”
And with that, they stepped onto the shore of Troy, the sea roaring behind them like an omen.
The murmuring of soldiers grew louder as Percy and Poseidon approached. Bronze shields shifted uneasily. Spears lowered, not out of defiance but out of instinctive awe. Mortals knew the presence of a god when they felt it for it was like pressure in the air before a storm breaks.
One soldier stepped forward, helmet tucked beneath his arm. A grim beard framed his mouth, and exhaustion lined his face.
“Lord Poseidon,” he said, kneeling on the sand. “Your arrival is one we did not expect.”
Poseidon’s voice rolled across the beach like distant thunder. “You are not to question the intention of the divine, Diomedes of Argos. I charge you to summon Achilles, son of Peleus. Tell him the sea brings him a guest.”
The person—Diomedes, King of Argos—blinked, glanced warily at Percy, then sprinted nodded his head. He rose from his kneeling position and walked towards one of his soldiers, no doubt passing the command to a lesser man.
Percy shifted in place. His gaze drifted from person to person. Every warrior on the beach stared at him in awe. He knew that it was unusual for a god to reveal themselves among men. It was even more that Poseidon had a mortal man in tow.
From what he could remember from the stories, his father was rather known for having monster children. He rarely partook in a brief romance with a mortal. If he remembered correctly, there were only two notable heroes sired by Poseidon, namely Theseus and Bellerophon.
Somehow, he was afraid that he'd make it to history books now that he was here. It brought shivers down his spine just by that thought alone.
Before Percy could drown further in his thoughts, a ripple went through the gathered crowd as two people approached. The warriors parted instinctively, like a river making way for a ship.
Achilles stepped into view. He looked as handsome as Percy remembered his shade being. Perhaps, he was more beautiful now he was here in the flesh, at his peak of powers. Achilles stood with confidence. His golden hair was left untied, framing his face to perfection. Now that he was not a shade, Percy could see the emerald green eyes in their brightest. He really was as beautiful as described in literature.
Next to him was a man slightly taller and with wider shoulders. He was handsome, too. If Achilles' eyes were sharp, piercing, and always on alert, this man's eyes seemed kind and gentle. There was no mistaking that this was Achilles' famous companion, Patroclus, one that Percy hadn't had the privilege to meet before.
Achilles bowed before looking at Poseidon. “You summoned me, Lord of the Sea?”
“I did,” Poseidon said. “This is my son, Perseus, prince of Atlantis.” Poseidon’s hand came down on Percy’s shoulder, firm and unmistakably proud. “I have brought him here as an addition to aid the Achaeans to victory.”
A murmur rippled through the soldiers. Achilles’ expression didn’t change though something flickered in his eyes. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was a challenge. Percy did not really dwell long enough to find out.
Achilles stepped closer until he stood directly before Percy. The hero’s presence was overwhelming and unpredictable like a wave.
“Greetings, Perseus son of Poseidon. I am Achilles son of Peleus and the immortal Thetis, Aristos Achaion.” Achilles said with confidence. “Are you a warrior?”
Percy swallowed. He rarely felt intimidated but Achilles somehow managed to make him feel small. “Yes, I am good with a sword.”
Achilles tilted his head, studying him with unsettling intensity. “We shall see how good you are through a sparring session, then. How about a spear? A bow?”
"I am unfortunately lacking in both weapons. A spear is something I am not used to. As for the bow, Chir—my trainer mentioned that I might be a lost cause." Percy hoped that none of the men there noticed how he almost mentioned Chiron. He remembered that Achilles was trained by the centaur, and he would like to avoid the conversation if possible.
"I'll see to it that you are trained in the art of spear-bearing and archery. I am not a believer of a warrior using just one weapon." Achilles' gaze was sharp, and Percy had to hold himself back from cowering.
Poseidon spoke again, voice cutting through the tension. “Achilles, I would have you take Perseus into your host. He needs a place among the Achaeans and none of these mortals I trust more than you.”
Achilles nodded understandingly. “It would be an honor, Lord Poseidon. In return, I hope you'd give your blessings to us Achaeans.”
“My blessing shall be yours in time of need.” Poseidon agreed.
After a moment, Achilles nodded. “Your son shall be received among the Achaeans with honor. I shall see to it that he is properly treated.”
"Very well," Poseidon turned towards Percy. "Call to me when you are in need and I shall come."
Percy nodded his head. Poseidon cupped his face, his expression softened and became gentler. For a moment, he was reminded of the Poseidon of his time, the father that he dearly missed. Before Percy could utter a word, Poseidon vanished into sea foam.
Once Poseidon left, Percy shifted his attention towards Achilles who seemed to observe him with an intensity that burned his skin. He was not sure how he was supposed to fare in an era that was three thousand years before his existence.
Achilles fixated his gaze at him motioning Percy to follow. “Walk with me, Perseus. If you are to stand under my banner, I must know what manner of warrior you are.”
Percy followed Achilles as the golden-haired warrior ventured deeper into the camp. “Actually, I would much prefer not to kill anyone. I have vowed not to hurt mortals."
"How would you lend your strength if you refuse to finish the Trojans, then?"
The question surprisingly did not make him unfazed. With confidence, Percy answered, "I shall injure them but I will not take their lives with my hands."
"I like him, Achilles. He and I will get along swimmingly." The dark-haired man finally spoke. He smiled at Percy and he radiated kindness. "Ah, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Patroclus. I am Achilles' companion."
The word that Patroclus used was therapon. And this was the first time he understood the weight behind that word.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Patroclus. I do hope we can get along."
Patroclus flashed him another smile. "Where do you hail from, Perseus? Your Greek is commendable even with an accent."
Percy faltered. Patroclus’ question was gentle, harmless even, but it struck him like an arrow all the same. Achilles’ gaze sharpened, clearly interested in how he would answer. Around them, the Achaean camp bustled with life, but Percy felt as though the entire world had gone silent, holding its breath for his response.
“My home is… far from here.” Percy chose his words carefully. “Across the sea. A place not yet discovered by your map.”
Patroclus hummed. “A wanderer, then. But you are half mortal, are you not?”
“Yes. My mother is a mortal. She is a commoner, not of nobility.” Percy forced a small smile.
The face of his mother came to mind. A wave of longing rushed over him. He missed his mother; her kind eyes, gentle touches, and reassuring affection. He wondered if time back home moved the same as it did here. If he were to be stuck here for a long time, he would have to miss his mother for a long time, too, and it made his heart ache.
Patroclus’ expression softened. “Most great men are born of common mothers. Nobility of spirit is rarer than nobility of blood.”
Percy swallowed tightly. Mom would’ve liked him, he thought.
Achilles, however, was still watching him with an intensity that bordered on intrusive. “Wherever you came from,” Achilles said, “you will soon need to name it before the War Council. Agamemnon will demand it.”
Percy blinked, taken aback by the surprise. “War Council?”
Achilles resumed walking, motioning for both Percy and Patroclus to follow him. “You arrived with a god at your back. That alone makes you an oddity and perhaps a threat. The High King Agamemnon does not handle either well.”
Patroclus sighed as though this were a constant irritation. “He will want to know why Poseidon himself appeared today.”
Percy winced. “I was kind of hoping to avoid that.”
“You cannot,” Achilles said plainly. “But you are fortunate. Diomedes was the one who met Poseidon when he emerged from the sea. He holds higher standing with Agamemnon than I.” Achilles’ tone cooled, but he did not elaborate and it forced Percy to remember the first chapter of the Iliad.
Patroclus stepped in helpfully. “Since Diomedes witnessed Poseidon’s request and heard him name you his son, he can vouch that you were sent here under divine decree. That alone may spare you suspicion.”
“That,” Achilles added dryly, “and the fact that Agamemnon values Diomedes’ words slightly more than he values mine.”
Patroclus elbowed him lightly and with a grin. “Only slightly.”
Percy tried not to let his anxiety show but the thought of facing Agamemnon, of being questioned by men who shaped history, made his stomach twist. However, he did not get the chance to dwell on that thought as Achilles stopped abruptly near a large tent upheld by well-forged spears, turning to face him fully.
“You will present yourself tomorrow,” he said. “The High King will demand an explanation for your presence. But until then, you are under my banner. My protection.”
Percy’s breath caught. Achilles’ certainty was like a force of nature—unyielding and immense.
Patroclus placed a reassuring hand on Percy’s shoulder. “Do not fear. We will prepare you. Agamemnon may call himself High King, but he is not the only king in this camp.”
Achilles nodded. “Rest now. At dawn, I will test your skill with the sword. And after the Council, you will learn the spear and bow.”
“Whether I want to or not?” Percy asked weakly.
“Precisely.” Achilles turned away, his golden hair catching the sunlight like flame. “A man who bears the blessing of Poseidon must not embarrass the god who sired him.”
Patroclus chuckled, guiding Percy toward the tent. “Do not mind him. This is how he shows concern. Regardless, we are grateful for the blessing of Lord Poseidon. And if he vouches for you, then you are welcome among us.”
“Patroclus,” Achilles said, his tone turned gentler when he addressed the dark-haired man. “Have Automedon prepare another tent for our guest. In the meantime, he will stay with us.”
Patroclus nodded and slipped away to find Automedon, leaving Percy alone with Achilles.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Achilles studied him openly and unashamedly, the way a warrior assessed a new blade. Not cruelly, but rather critically, as if determining where Percy might bend and where he might break.
“You carry yourself like a man who has been in a war,” Achilles said at last. “Not like someone who was a stranger to it.”
Percy nodded, flashing a small smile. “I've experienced enough. I know the cost of it and have paid a great expense.”
“Why are you here, then?” Achilles questioned.
“It is not exactly my will to be here.” Percy sighed, longing for the comfort of his own bed. “I am not able to tell you now. Perhaps in time. But I am here to find out what my fate ought to be.”
Something flickered in Achilles’ gaze. Acknowledgement, perhaps, or curiosity sharpened to a finer point.
“I know of fate.” he said. “It is not exactly kind to us bearing the blood of an immortal.”
At that, Percy nodded his head in agreement. His mind wandered to the war against Kronos, how he lost so many demigod friends to fate. He remembered Luke who died from a knife handed to him by Percy himself because it was written decades before neither of them was born.
Before him, stood Achilles, the greatest warrior to ever live. From what Percy knew, he was also a victim of fate's cruelty. It made him sympathize.
Before he could speak, Patroclus returned. “Automedon will see to the tent. It should be ready by nightfall.”
Achilles nodded his head understandingly. “Until then, you will eat with us. Speak with no one else other than the Myrmidons.”
Patroclus stepped beside him, his expression softer. “Come. You have not eaten, have you?”
Now that he mentioned it, Percy’s stomach twisted loudly, betraying him.
Achilles huffed, clearly looking amused. “The sun is almost at its peak, yet you have not fed yourself?”
Patroclus squeezed Percy’s shoulder lightly. “The cooks set out barley bread, figs, and cheese at daybreak. Come. Before Achilles starts thinking you require an entire regiment just to stay upright.”
“I heard that.” Achilles said, but the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.
They walked toward the makeshift tables arranged outside the Myrmidon encampment. Smoke curled from cook fires, the scent of roasted meat mingling with the salt of the sea. Patroclus handed Percy a clay cup of watered wine and a plate piled with food, watching carefully to make sure he actually ate.
As Percy bit into warm bread, Achilles’ attention snapped toward the shore, where his armor-clad Myrmidons were preparing their chariots. Automedon raised a hand in greeting and Achilles returned it with a nod.
“I must go,” Achilles said. “The raiding party waits.”
Percy swallowed hastily. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yes,” Achilles replied. “We shall collect more resources to feed the army.” His gaze sharpened, assessing Percy once more. “Until then, you remain with Patroclus. He will tend to the wounded today. You will accompany him.”
Patroclus stood up as Achilles was about to leave. He caressed the golden-haired warrior's cheek with so much affection and tenderness.
Percy sure had heard about the tales of Achilles and Patroclus. There were different takes on whether their relationship was romantic or platonic. Now, Percy could argue with Xenophon and tell him to eat shit because he was clearly wrong. Plato was really onto something when he made Symposium.
"Return safely, my love." Patroclus said, his eyes not leaving Achilles'.
Achilles took Patroclus' hand from his cheek only to press a chaste kiss on the back of it. "You know I will always return to you."
Seeing them being so affectionate sparked a bitterness in Percy's gut. He knew the feeling well though he was rarely subjected to it. He could recognize jealousy even if he was blind and deaf.
Somewhere, Apollo was here. Perhaps he'd bear the same face as his Apollo but Percy wouldn't be able to love him the same. If his father was cold and distant, he couldn't imagine how different Apollo must be, especially knowing they were on different sides of the war.
Percy missed Apollo terribly. And he wished for him to be here.
"Who are you?"