Chapter Text
By the time Percy woke from his dream, Annabeth had heard enough about this place to recognize the god he hurriedly described. As he recounted every part of the dream to her, Frank, and Pylos, both she and the Maester made the connection to the parent of Elenei, wife of Durran Godsgrief- the ancestor of the Durrandon Kings, and therefore the Baratheon Lords. The gods of this world did not want Stannis and Renly at each others’ throats. Annabeth dismissed the Maester, and the demigods returned to their rooms to await their summons by the King. Aly and Elinda brought them a light breakfast of strange medieval food just as the sun began to come up, and the demigods gratefully wolfed down their portions.
Annabeth had hoped their parents existed in this world, that Athena or Poseidon or even Zeus could send them home, but she knew it was a vain, foolish hope. Percy had described the sea as feeling beyond his father’s reach. None of them could manipulate the Mist, which didn’t seem to exist at all. The Olympians had given no sign of their displeasure with anything they’d done. Percy was contacted by a local deity, rather than Poseidon, who was doubtless worried for his favorite son. Annabeth had even tried to quietly swear an oath on the River Styx, just to hear the thunderclap such oaths always drew out. After she threw a crust of bread into the fire, she prayed.
She’d promised to properly marry her boyfriend, in the eyes of gods and mortals alike, as soon as possible once they returned home. She’d meant it, too. Hopefully, it would stop Poseidon from killing her as soon as he learned she’d been claiming to be a Princess of Atlantis. Alas, the skies had stayed blue and silent. Annabeth would be just one more false royal, it seemed. This continent had enough of those already, one more wouldn’t be anything special.
Although, as she was quick to inform Percy, they were technically married by Athenian standards. Cohabitation was the greatest part of marriage in Ancient Athens, and they’d been living together since they moved into college. If Poseidon lost his shit, she could argue the technicality. Besides, the god of the sea had forgiven his favorite son for sitting on his throne before, and grudgingly came to approve of Percy and Annabeth’s relationship. He would surely forgive this too. She was not, however, stupid enough to put on a crown, or have Percy do the same. Some risks, even she didn’t want to take.
“I can’t believe this,” Frank muttered, after Percy had laughed and declined to make a sacrifice of his own. “I thought finding you two in the stables was bad. You’re going to be even more insufferable now.” Percy had blushed prettily while Annabeth cackled with laughter, but neither of them denied it. She could tell he was as pleased by this as she was.
Mere minutes after their breakfast was finished, a knock on the door sounded, and four men-at-arms entered. The demigods were led in silence to the central keep of the castle, and up winding steps to the highest floor. Annabeth marvelled at the gargantuan table in the center of the room, painted and sculpted from wood, showing Westeros as it had been in Aegon’s day. Pylos had told her about this place. The maester was sitting near Skagos, gazing out the window and over the sea. Stannis was seated near Dragonstone, unsurprisingly, with Axell Florent to his right by the Vale. A man whose sigil was a black ship with an onion on its sails sat near the Stormlands, while a variety of other lords, marked with a seahorse, crabs, colorful swirls, a telescope, a swordfish, and a few others without sigils, sat around the table. Three seats were left open, directly across from the King. Oppressive silence reigned as the demigods took their seats: Percy in the middle, flanked by Frank and Annabeth. Stannis seized the three of them up in the light of day, looking between them with a mix of scorn and interest.
“You will tell me who you are, what you want, why you’re here, and who these gods of yours are. Melisandre attacked you, I will not begrudge actions taken in self-defense. She should have known better than to start a fight she could not win. I allowed you the night to acclimate yourselves, and Maester Pylos tells me you have used it well, but I will know everything about how you came to be in the skies above my island, and I will know it now.” Stannis was a hard and bitter-looking man, but he spoke with the authority of one who was used to being obeyed, without the haughtiness she expected.
“The three of us are demigods, children of a god and a mortal. We come from a world different to this one, although there do seem to be some similarities. An old enemy of ours caught up with us, and cast a spell that sent us here. I think the intent was to make sure we could never return home. Our gods don’t seem to exist in this world, and yours don’t exist in ours. You are as in the dark as we are, Your Grace,” Frank answered.
“Yet you claim to wish to help me? Melisandre declared me to be Azor Ahai reborn, and it was her holy mission to serve my cause. Yet the three of you had never even heard of Westeros before last night, by your own admission.”
“It’s in both of our interests to see Westeros united and stable,” Annabeth argued.
“And why is that?” Asked the seahorse-marked Lord. A sigil-less man who shared his silver hair and general appearance sat to his right, and Annabeth realized these must be the Velaryons. Pylos had mentioned their crucial support of the Targaryen dynasty. Annabeth drummed her fingers on the table, and started to recount the history the demigods had spent the night learning. Only Lord Monford, however, had the Valyrians’ unnatural purple eyes. Annabeth had many questions about the genetics of this strange ethnicity, but they could wait.
“Alright. Here’s what I’ve learned, correct me if I’m wrong. You, Stannis Baratheon, are the late King’s brother. You allege the Ling’s three children are bastards born of incest between his queen and her brother, which, ew. From what I’ve heard, I believe you. And from the stories of his brutality, this Joffrey sounds like a terrible King anyway. Your brother got the throne by overthrowing the three-hundred year old Targaryen dynasty, who conquered the continent with their dragons. Robert’s claim derived from your Targaryen grandmother and his military skill. Any mistakes?” She directed the question to Pylos, who shook his head.
“None, princess.”
“Good. Your brother Renly has allied with the richest and most populous region of this continent, declaring his own claim with no legal justification. He’s well-liked but inexperienced. You’re experienced but not well-liked, and have the fewest troops. The Lannisters have the Crownlands and their home Westerlands. The Northerners want independence, and have two Kingdoms. The Vale and Dorne are neutral.” Annabeth pointed out each kingdom on the table as she spoke.
“Every child on this island knows all of this,” Axell Florent spat.
“Yeah, well, yesterday I was designing a palace for my uncle, the god of war, so cut me some slack if I’m not up to date on the politics of a new continent. Stability here is in everyone’s best interest, especially ours. If we help you win this war, you’ll give us all the resources and knowledge we need to find a way home. Do we have a deal, Your Grace?” After a long moment of silence, Stannis nodded. Half the room seemed to slump their shoulders in relief, and the other half raised their hackles. Annabeth ignored them both. From the flinch that Axell gave off suddenly, and the way Percy tensed next to her, she guessed he was using his patented, Lupa-issued wolf stare on the asshole.
“We do, Your Highness. In exchange for your magic tricks, the three of you shall be treated as any other noble commander in my ranks, provided you prove yourselves. Regardless of your sex.” There was another ripple of discontent at that, but Percy’s grunt of approval and Annabeth’s own tight smile silenced it.
“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to send your forces, led by me, Percy, and some of your trusted commanders, to siege Storm’s End. At least one of those commanders will be Lord Velaryon. Percy will take the castle using his powers, and you and Frank will land inside the curtain wall, along with me. That little stunt should prove our usefulness. Renly will send his forces to meet you. You’ll have a parley, no doubt. You guys do that here, right?” Lord Velaryon seemed shocked by this pronouncement of what he would do, but from the way he leaned back in his chair, he had no complaints.
“We do, though I will not parley with my brother while he takes up treasonous arms against his rightful King,” Stannis said.
“Then you’re throwing away a key opportunity, Your Grace,” said the onion-ship guy. Stannis ground his teeth, but said nothing outwardly denying the man’s statement. Annabeth noticed the fingers of one hand were stunted. Was that a birth defect, or was he maimed?
“Which do you value more, pride or victory?” Percy asked. Stannis grimaced, but inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point.
“Taking back my castle was my plan as well, though I admit I’m curious to see if you can achieve this. The Red Woman had a vision of Renly’s death, and the fall of Storm’s End.”
“No, we don’t want him dead. That’s the worst-case scenario. If Renly dies, your possible forces are divided. Plus, Percy had a dream from one of the local gods, your ancestor, who doesn’t want you killing each other.” Annabeth’s pronouncement sent another ripple of interest and confusion around the room, but Pylos gave his confirmation, and it was silenced.
“I was under the impression that the three of you had no stake in the goings-on of this world, and none of the attachment to prophecy that the Red Woman had. It was almost enough to make me start to trust you,” Lord Velaryon remarked with a smirk. Percy laughed and shot him the same grin that always made Annabeth weak in the knees.
“The god of prophecy and his oracle are close personal friends. All our lives have been guided by prophecy too many times for our liking. I acknowledge the power of prophecy, Your Grace. In this world, however, we have no prophecies. Apollo isn’t here, and I have no idea if you are this… Prince That Was Promised. Honestly, I don’t care. I just want to go home.” The defeat in her boyfriend’s voice was heart wrenching, and Annabeth squeezed his thigh under the table.
“Then what would you have me do?” The King demanded. Annabeth took a deep breath, and continued to recite her plan.
“Frank will turn into a dragon, and fly you to Storm’s End after we lay siege to it. The Tyrells, Targaryen supporters in the last war, will be awed. Renly will be surprised, if nothing else. Use Frank as a symbol of legitimacy. Even once he turns into a human again, it’ll have shock value, and demonstrate the power at your disposal. Parade around us and the Velaryons. I’ll forge armor and weapons for the three of us to make our identities clearer to his party. I understand your nobility puts a great deal of emphasis on houses- their sigils, their history, all that. I can work with that. Houses Jackson and Zhang will stand behind you, on your world’s terms. Storm’s End is by the sea, Percy can use that for shock and awe too. Act like a Targaryen, like a King. The Reacher Lords were Targaryen loyalists, even if the Stormlords weren’t.
“With a dragon and three demigods, plus making him your heir and your Hand, you can get Renly to swear to you. That gives you the Stormlands and the Reach. Work together rather than killing your brother, Your Grace. Take the capital, end the Lannisters’ reign. However, there will be no mass executions, no raping, reaving, looting, sacking, burning, or murdering by your troops, or we’ll take care of it ourselves. All three of us are experienced commanders, and can help, in addition to using our powers to assist with attacks by sea, and invigorating your forces. Frank can greatly improve your land forces by training them, and Percy can make your ships run smoother than they ever have.” Stannis looked closely at both of her companions, and they nodded their confirmation of their skills. If any of the Lords of the Narrow Sea had complaints about her plan, they kept quiet.
“And the North?” swordfish-guy asked. That was Lord Bar Emmon, if she was remembering correctly.
“Cut a deal. Sounds to me like their independence is justified at this point. You have a common enemy in the Lannisters. If you can get the Starks to agree to fight with you, taking King’s Landing together will have a lot of weight. If not, sending them Joffrey’s head and their hostages will be a necessary gesture of goodwill. But even though we’ll help you depose the murderers, we won’t help you put down a revolt by an oppressed minority region. Nor will we subdue any particular religion, or promote any other. That’s not our problem,” Frank said. None of the three of them were big fans of subduing revolts of independence when they were completely justified. Their aid would only go so far.
“I will not give away half my Kingdom to a Usurper, no matter what you and your gods have to say about it,” the King bit out.
“Then you won’t have our help securing that half of your kingdom. Like I said, not our problem. But we will help you against the Lannisters,” Annabeth said.
“And in exchange for your assistance, what do you want? Aside from just going home.” This was from the man to Lord Velaryon’s right, the sigil-less one who Annabeth assumed was his brother.
“Oldtown,” she deadpanned. Stannis snorted with laughter, but he did not sound amused.
“An entire city? I might have given you a small keep for your services, if you achieve all you can say, but House Hightower has not as of yet been attainted. If I followed your plan, they would likely be rewarded for their services. Lord Hightower has not come down from his perch for years, but the Fat Flower’s wife comes from his house. Oldtown would thrive with Renly as Hand and heir, and Margaery as his wife.”
“No, I just need access to its libraries and learned men. Plus the ones here and at the Red Keep. We want to go home, Your Grace. We all have lives and families to return to. Frank has a wife, Percy and I have parents and siblings. We have friends and responsibilities. This world is not our problem. We’ll help you only as far as we need to. We won’t compromise our morals or principles to give you a leg up. Quite frankly, this whole monarchy thing is a terrible idea,” Annabeth explained. Stannis considered it for a moment, as his Lords watched him carefully.
“Your gods are detached from the affairs of mortal men?” The King asked. Annabeth laughed without humor.
“You have no idea. I can, however, give you and your people knowledge. Better city designs, medicine, science, that sort of thing. My mother is the goddess of wisdom. Our world’s technology is far better than yours, I’ve learned a great deal about a great many topics, and I never forget something once I’ve learned it. Some of this knowledge can be passed on to your people as well. In exchange for certain other concessions, of course. Lands, incomes, more independence and distance from outside constraints. You understand.” The demigods wouldn’t actually have any use for a castle, servants, or farmland, but they had no idea how long they would be here. Setting up a base of operations that didn’t smell like Tartarus or involve the Queen’s Men staring over her shoulder might not be the end of the world, and Percy had pointed out that they were more likely to seem trustworthy if their motives had the appearance of being less than altruistic. People were always more willing to accept selfishness than charity as a motivation. If Annabeth had just said she wanted to stop people from dying of disease that was easily preventable, she’d never have been believed.
“Perfectly,” said Stannis.
“I’ll also need access to your forges for a couple weeks, to make us all weapons and armor. Our styles are very different from your own, and none of what we brought with us can harm mortals.” Annabeth had her drakon-bone sword, and honestly she had no idea if it could hurt mortals, but she didn’t really want to find out. Percy only had Riptide, and while Frank had a bow, all his arrows were tipped with Imperial Gold. They’d agreed that, while none of them wanted to hurt or kill mortals, they had the potential to end a bloody war much faster by taking a handful of terrible peoples’ lives. Some, like Gregor Clegane, definitely deserved to die.
“What will the two of you be doing while your wife is wasting my time in the forge?” Stannis asked Percy. Annabeth ignored the thrill that being referred to as married sent through her spine.
“Making sure your army and navy are competent,” Percy said.
“Are you implying that they aren’t already?” Axell Florent shouted, his face turning red. Percy rolled his eyes at the man.
“I’m stating it outright. I know everything there is to know about every kind of ship ever made. Yours could use some work,” Percy drawled. Stannis ground his teeth so loudly Annabeth could’ve sworn she heard a cracking sound, but he nodded his agreement.
“Aye. Talk to Lord Velaryon. You will have access to the metal you need, and will be assigned servants as befits visiting nobility of your station. As foreigners, you owe me no fealty. I am not your King. But know this: disloyalty, treason, or sabotage will not be tolerated. You may not burn, Percy Jackson, but you do bleed. You will be my guests only so long as you uphold your end of our agreement, and violation of it will be met with the punishment for treason. As my Onion Knight will tell you, I reward loyalty and punish crime in equal measure. Do not do anything foolish.” Annabeth nodded her agreement. That was, by demigod standards, relatively fair. Ser Axell snorted, jabbing an accusing finger at Annabeth.
“She killed a Priestess of the Lord of Light, Your Grace. These people are heretics, foreigners, and sorcerers. They should all be put to the sword, if they will not burn. Do not renounce R’hllor now.” Stannis waved a hand dismissively, attention turning back to the Painted Table.
“I gave my devotion to the Red God, good ser, because Melisandre promised she could bring me my throne. If she lost her life to a trio of striplings, clearly she could not deliver on those promises. Perhaps these three can, perhaps not. Either way, I will not place my faith in gods to do what only men can accomplish ever again. Men win thrones, Ser Axell. Swords, and fire and blood. The Praetor, Prince, and Princess have pledged me their swords, I will not break faith with professed allies. Nor will I convert to the worship of their parents, or ban the worship of the Red God. You may continue your prayers to R’hllor, but do not expect me to do the same. And do not persecute the followers of the Seven either. There are too many gods on this island.” The King stood, and walked to the window, gazing out over the sea. Everyone in the room took that for the dismissal it was. Ignoring one last glare from the Castellan, the demigods hurried out of the Chamber of the Painted Table, and began to get to work.
-
While Percy and Frank made Stannis’ army as efficient as possible, Annabeth put some of her less-used skills to work. This was a world that ran on image and circumstance, and the demigods would need to do the same if they wanted to survive. With Frank and Percy’s input, she was able to weave banners for their ‘houses’ in a manner of hours, shocking the locals with how quickly her hands moved over the loom. Percy just smirked and watched proudly, while Annabeth reveled in being able to weave again. The result was two banners, one for House Zhang and one for House Jackson- which she was a member of now, apparently. Frank chose a purple field, blazoned with a golden laurel wreath and the crossed spears of Mars below it, also in gold. Purple was ridiculously expensive dye in the ancient world, but apparently here it was more abundant. She was informed by Pylos that houses Dayne and Dondarrion used purple in their banners, and the uniforms of their men-at-arms.
Her and Percy’s new sigil was easy to come up with. The banner was Camp Half Blood orange, the same shade as the shirts they’d spent much of their lives wearing, with a silver owl clutching a dark blue trident in its talons. The colors clashed rather garishly, yes, but there was no better symbol for their House. Besides, if she and Percy were going to play the game that these people seemed so invested in, they might as well do it well. As soon as the sigils had been designed, all the strange medieval clothing they were given was covered in it- either by Annabeth’s hand or by Aly’s. The girl seemed to have been assigned as their primary servant, likely because of her Targaryen-silver hair. Annabeth strongly suspected that she was a dragonseed, in all likelihood seen as closer to the gods than the non-Valyrian Lords were. Frank and Percy had each been given a squire as well, with a handful of additional female servants for each ‘House’. It was deeply awkward, but the demigods slowly became accustomed to it. Frank seemed to be fairly comfortable in the colors of the legion and his father’s symbol, while Percy seemed thrilled to be wearing the familiar orange, and a sigil that united the two of them. With any luck, her mother wouldn’t kill him for wearing an owl. He had, however, kissed her deeply when she suggested it, so clearly he didn’t mind. Annabeth would be lying if she claimed not to take any joy from wearing a trident either.
Far more important than weaving herself and her friends banners, however, was making them weapons. She’d thought herself a terrible smith until she saw just how slow the mortal blacksmiths were working, even with regular steel at their disposal. It took them hours to do what Beckendorf, Leo, Nyssa, or even Harley could’ve accomplished in seconds. Most of the smiths worked in two- or three-man teams, one person striking the metal with a hammer as others held it in place and shaped it. As a child of Athena, Annabeth’s focus was in architecture and sculpture, but she had learned to forge weapons and armor too. She’d worked with Celestial Bronze back at camp, and was laughed at by the Hephaestus kids for how clumsy and slow her work was. Now, surrounded by mortals and working with steel, she was stared at in awe. Annabeth could do the work of three people on her own, far faster and smoother than mortals. Her demigodly strength allowed her to work the metal with ease. Steel warped under the lightest touch, practically bending itself into the shapes she imagined. Intricate designs appeared with a modicum of effort. Dye bonded to the steel far quicker than it normally would, with brighter colors as the result. She used the basics of Hephaestus Cabin-style forging she knew to enchant the steel. It was nothing compared to Celestial Bronze, Imperial Gold, or Bone Steel, but every kid in the Camp Half Blood forges could make even mortal metals lighter, stronger, and more durable than normal. The blades she made were sharp enough to shave with (as tested by Percy, who refused to grow a beard on the grounds he would look too much like his dad), and would only rarely need to be honed or sharpened. While still heavier than Celestial Bronze, it was lighter than normal steel, with plate able to stop a longbow’s arrow, and blades that could cut through stone. Annabeth really didn’t think it was all that impressive, but Frank assured her it was abnormal even by demigod standards.
She, Percy, and Frank easily fell into a routine. Annabeth spent her days making proper weapons and armor for the three of them, then collapsing into bed next to Percy when the sun went down. Her boyfriend/husband spent his own at the docks, making friends with sailors and the Velaryons, improving Stannis’ ships. Some days, he helped her in the forges, providing a second pair of hands when she needed it. His resistance to heat was invaluable. Frank drilled the sellswords and conscripted men in proper Roman discipline. On occasion, he too helped with the weaponry, as his powers as a child of Mars gave him some control over the weapons and armor closer to completion. The three of them took meals together, sometimes with the rest of the nobility in the great hall. At night, they each filled the others in on what they’d learned and accomplished, and polished off their plans for war.
After a few days without getting their throats slit, the demigods agreed to be moved to separate chambers. Their new rooms had solars and baths (thank the gods), with more servants doting on them. Annabeth had gathered that, despite the luxury of their original room, Ser Axell had meant its ‘sparseness’ as a slight. Clearly, he wasn’t used to living with a dozen siblings in a cabin for a decade. Now, however, she and Percy had a suite to themselves, and Frank had his own right next door. When she wasn’t in the forges or the library, Annabeth was planning the war in her new solar, or washing away the soot she tended to accumulate after hours in the forge. Even though Dragonstone had no running water, Percy was able to use his powers to easily fill baths for the two of them and Frank, which the servants seemed incredibly grateful for.
They made a mistake, however, three days after being given their own rooms. Not long before the sun was to go down, Annabeth stumbled back into their room, dreading a dinner with the nobility. She was exhausted from hammering metal all day, and knew that Percy and Frank almost certainly were too. The three of them had done more manual labor since arriving here than they had in years, but no one else was trusted enough to hand over their tasks to. Her wonderful boyfriend, however, surprised her with a picnic basket stuffed with food stolen from the kitchens. Clad in orange-dyed linen shirts and leather breeches, they made their way to the west-facing docks, hand in hand. Both of them had gotten used to the castle’s layout, and were able to do so without a guide, despite the constant offers from servants and knights to show them around. Annabeth wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be an attempt to spy on them, get into their pants, or both, but she was tired of it.
Passing through the main courtyard of the castle, they walked past fifty or so men praying at a nightfire, led by Queen Selyse. R’hllor’s worshippers had lost some of their fervor since their priestess’ death and their King’s apostasy, but they remained loyal to the Queen, and to their god. None of them did more than tolerate the demigods’ presence, and Axell Florent in particular absolutely hated them. Percy steered her along the edge of the courtyard, as far as possible from the glares of the worshippers, and she allowed him to do so. The wind, however, was not in their favor. A sharp gust came off the sea, causing the fire to flare and the smoke to be blown directly into Annabeth’s face. For a couple of seconds, it was just a mild annoyance. Very quickly, however, her chest began to tighten. She took deeper and deeper breaths to try to fill her lungs, but nothing seemed to work. Fighting down a panic, she grabbed Percy by the forearm and dragged them both out of the smoke, still gasping for air. He was clutching his free hand to his chest, wheezing just as badly as she was, and the naked panic in his eyes broke her heart.
Under the watchful and silent eyes of the Queen’s Men, they stumbled through the rest of the courtyard, still wheezing, until they all but stumbled into the man with the onion-sailed ship on his doublet. Percy had told her about the man: he was apparently named Davos, and he was friendly to him.
“Your Highnesses, are you alright?” He asked with concern. Annabeth just shook her head, and Percy managed to wheeze out the word sea . After a moment’s hesitation, Davos threw one of each of the demigod’s arms over his shoulders and hurriedly led them the rest of the way to the docks. It took no more than a couple of minutes, but Annabeth’s breathing only marginally improved. She was starting to get lightheaded, and the panic was becoming harder to keep down. As soon as the ocean was in sight, Percy pushed himself free of Davos and grabbed Annabeth by the hand, taking another couple of steps towards the water. Immediately, a massive wave swept them into Blackwater Bay, leaving Davos behind on the shore, doubtless shocked but still dry. As soon as they were underwater, Percy formed a bubble around them, just like he had at the Sirens’ Island, and under the lake at Camp when they’d first started dating. He closed his eyes in concentration, and Annabeth could practically feel the air getting cleaner, as the scent of smoke in her nose was replaced by salt. After another minute, her breathing finally steadied, and Annabeth was able to take gulps of clean sea air without feeling like her chest was in a vise, and only like Hannibal the Elephant had decided to sit on her.
“The fuck was that?” Percy coughed again, stuck his head out of the bubble, and took a deep breath of water before re-entering the bubble. He took another rattling breath, but it sounded easier for him now. Annabeth, who had no such healing powers, was still wheezing rather pathetically, trying to fill her stubborn lungs with air. She couldn’t speak clearly enough to answer him, but she already knew the answer. Gods, what she wouldn’t give for nectar or ambrosia right now. Percy rubbing circles into her back was soothing, but didn’t help with an asthma attack. When she finally was able to breathe deeply again, tears stinging her eyes from the oxygen deprivation, she collapsed onto the bottom of the bubble, wrung out and exhausted. A passing fish tentatively approached her, but it darted off when Percy laid down next to her, still breathing more deeply than normal. She’d noticed the occasional pang in her chest or difficulty breathing over the past few years, but it had never gotten this bad before.
“Do you remember how, when we got back from the Pit, Will told us to avoid any lung irritants?”
“Yeah…”
“The fires at camp are smokeless. We’ve been surrounded by smoky hearthfires for a week now, and we haven’t been eating any godly food like he prescribed. I think we’ve both got asthma, or at least we will if we’re not careful.” Every meal in the great hall, every hour in the forge, every physically exerting activity they’d had to do to prepare for a medieval war, had been made worse by the thick black smoke of the nightfire. Percy groaned, and buried his head in his hands. Come to think of it, it was probably worse for him than it was for her. They’d both been in Tartarus, and he could heal with the sea, but Percy had been surrounded by cigar smoke for a good chunk of his childhood. He might’ve been at risk for a while. Her boyfriend offered her a hug, which she gladly accepted, and they stayed in the undersea bubble in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he spoke.
“Did you see them?”
“The Queen’s Men? Reaching for their swords? Yeah. I did.”
They were careful to avoid the nightfires after that, for several reasons, and made sure to stay close to windows in the larger halls. It took two days before they went back to their work. Annabeth kept a scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth at the forge, even if it was incredibly uncomfortable. Percy made a habit of drinking seawater, in the hopes it would help his lungs. Annabeth wished eating olives could have the same effect on her.
A week after the incident, Percy and Annabeth had remained as secluded as possible, trying to rest and avoid the Queen’s Men. They’d had another couple of attacks each, but without the massive amount of smoke inhalation, they were far easier to deal with. Without inhalers in this world, however, they had no way to actually treat their symptoms. Frank, however, was having none of it. He came to their room one day, still drenched in sweat from his training, and surveyed his surroundings with a raised eyebrow. Maps, books, and papers covered every surface, with designs for everything from the swords she was making to sewage systems. Percy was looking over a blueprint for a ship, while lying down on their bed with his head in Annabeth’s lap. She had a tome on the history of Westeros open, and was struggling through the dense script.
Frank coughed to get their attention, and Annabeth waved him in.
“Are you guys alright? The servants and men are starting to talk, you know. Something about how the power of R’hllor stole your breath.”
“Did you explain to them that-”
“Yes, Percy, I did. I told them you two walked through the worst of the Seven Hells and survived. That shut most of them up, but since these people see disabilities as cursed anyways…” Frank trailed off, not knowing what to say. Annabeth groaned, and shut the book she’d been reading. The Dance of the Dragons wasn’t going to be of much help to her now.
“Then we need to show that we’re strong. When’s dinner?” Frank smiled and smoothed out his shirt. The cloth was linen, dyed the same rich purple as his banners, with the golden laurels and crossed spears he’d taken as a sigil stitched over his heart.
“Twenty minutes. Come on, show the Queen’s Men that you’re not dead. And yes, I know you’ve been doing your forging and ship stuff the past week, but that’s bare minimum for these people. They’re surprisingly like the Senate back home, image is everything.” Percy groaned in annoyance, but Annabeth just nodded her agreement. He was right, of course. She’d been scared shitless by the revelation of just how badly Tartarus had scarred her, but they couldn’t afford to show weakness in front of these people. So she and her ‘husband’ dressed in their court-appropriate finery, and walked with Frank to the great hall. As they always did, the murmurs of conversation fell silent when the demigods stepped into the room. They took the seats that had become customary at the King’s high table, despite the glares of the King’s Men. To her surprise, however, it was Pylos who engaged her in conversation first.
“Princess, you’ve spent so much time studying the histories and stories of our people. What of yours?”
“My what?” She asked between mouthfuls of stew.
“Your people’s stories,” the Maester clarified. They’d drawn the attention, by now, of Lords Velaryon, Sunglass, and Bar Emmon, as well as Aurane Waters and Davos. Annabeth paused, thinking it over.
“Well… that’s complicated. The mortals in my world have written plenty of stories, and there’s many to tell about the gods as well.”
“Are your mortals’ stories not about the gods?” Lord Sunglass asked, scandalized. Percy chuckled, but allowed Annabeth to answer. He was too busy gulping down seawater and trying not to freak out over how much alcohol was in the room.
“Some are, some aren’t. The gods that Percy and I’s parents are, they’re called the Olympians. They were worshipped about three thousand to two thousand years ago, in a place called Greece, and all the many lands it conquered. We’re Greek, my mother and Percy’s father are Greek gods. Our mortal parents are from a country called America. Many other peoples have their own gods, and most people today don’t believe in any god at all.” That scandalized absolutely everybody.
“Praetor Zhang is not one of these… Greeks?” Pylos asked.
“No, I’m Roman. Well, my mortal mother is from a nation called Canada, just to the north of America. But my divine father is Roman. The Romans built a great empire, they conquered Greece and adopted its gods, under different names. My father is the Roman god of war, Mars. The Greeks call him Ares. The Greeks and Roman gods are similar, but not identical.” Annabeth nodded her agreement, and was thankful he’d left out the ‘legacy of Poseidon’ bit. That would’ve been confusing.
“My cousin’s father is a Norse god, from a different group. I’ve met Egyptian gods before as well. It’s like… imagine that Percy and I are Ghiscari, Frank is Valyrian, my cousin Magnus is from the North, and these siblings we met once are… I dunno, Yi-Ti or something. Does that make sense?” She asked.
“It does. So this language you speak is… Greek?”
“Ancient Greek, yes. The modern nation of Greece speaks a different version of the language, and mostly worships the god of the Christians. That’s Earth’s largest religion, Christianity. It replaced worship of the Olympians in Rome. We all speak Latin too. Latin was the language of the Romans, Frank speaks it intrinsically. Percy picked it up when he was with the Legion, but we’re all fairly certain he’s some sort of Roman legacy on his mom’s side too, he learned it too fast. I’ve been living in New Rome for two years, so I learned Latin the old fashioned way.” She did take pride in that. The Latin alphabet was just as difficult for her to read, whether it was in English or Latin.
“So, do your Greeks have any stories of your gods you can tell?” Aurane asked with a laugh.
“I can think of a few,” Percy mumbled. No doubt, many of those were about the two of them. Annabeth laughed, but looked to the King for approval. He gave a gruff nod.
“Go on, then. I confess I’m very curious.” Annabeth smiled thinly, and thought for a moment about what the best introductory option would be. She decided that these people still needed to understand how dangerous the demigods were. They’d come to see her and Percy as vulnerable, and that couldn’t be allowed. So Annabeth began the story that would illustrate the rage of Poseidon and the cold cunning of Athena better than any other.
“Tell me about a complicated man, Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy…” Annabeth recited an English translation rather than the Greek original, as these people needed to understand what she was saying, or else the purpose would be defeated. It lasted nearly half an hour, with the entire hall falling silent as she recited the poem. Even Percy and Frank stared open-mouthed at her. Annabeth’s perfect memory was almost always a boon, but it was rare that she got to show off like this. Finally, the first book wound down. “...he slept the night there, wrapped in woolen blankets, planning the journey told him by Athena.” She ended the story to thunderous applause, and smiled weakly, taking a sip of (fresh) water offered by Percy to ease the pain in her throat. She’d barely touched on what Athena and Poseidon had been up to, but there would be time for that. No doubt, the recitations would continue on other nights. Demand seemed to be high.
She was not bothered again by the Queen’s Men, or by a major asthma attack, for several more days. Her work at the forge continued, and she recited another two books at subsequent court meals. Percy was becoming more and more close with the Velaryons and Ser Davos, while Frank was drilling the sellswords and peasants into a unified fighting force with typical Roman efficiency. All the while, Stannis planned and prepared, and the war in Westeros dragged on. Just two days before her crafting was to be finished, however, Axell Florent and two of his men walked into the forge. The other smiths had eventually come to pay Annabeth no mind, and she’d come to consider some of them friends. They all looked with apprehension at some of the few men who still wore the fiery heart instead of the prancing stag. The Queen’s Men, still stewing in their misery, had become a nuisance to every reasonable person on the island, and they were walking straight towards her. Annabeth put down the half-finished sword she was making, still glowing from the heat, and pulled her scarf down below her mouth.
“Can I help you?” She asked drily. Axell smiled cruelly, and pointed an accusing finger at her.
“You. You killed Melisandre. She was a priestess of the one true god.” Annabeth rubbed the soot from her hands and rolled her eyes. She really didn’t have time for fanatics right now. She knew the man was important, she just didn’t care about what he had to say. In the weeks since their arrival, religion on Dragonstone had proved to be a jumbled mess. Stannis had quietly walked back his conversion to the Lord of Light, and the statues torn from the Sept were replaced there. The Queen fumed and yelled, but it seemed the King had never been a true believer. Many servants, Lords, and knights had asked the demigods about their parents, and she’d heard rumors that worship of the Olympians had begun despite Percy’s own advice to the contrary. The Merling King, some obscure local deity, apparently had also seen an increase in worshipers. Despite all the turmoil, the Queen’s Men stayed fervent in their devotion to the late Melisandre and her Lord of Light. As their influence waned, however, she had had less and less reason to fear what they might do. None of the demigods feared a knife in the dark from Stannis any longer. The fanatics might, however, be crazy enough to try something anyway.
“She tried to kill my husband. It’s not my fault she didn’t know what she was getting into.” Axell turned red from more than just the heat of the flames.
“You may not burn, but you are too weak to handle smoke, the product of fire. You are an enemy of the Lord of Light,” one of the men said. Waving a hand dismissively, Annabeth drew herself up to her full height, and tried to look as dangerous as possible. With a half-finished sword in her hand, it wasn’t difficult. The three men took a few steps back before they caught themselves, and Annabeth began her story as she drew her new dagger from her belt, and began to sharpen it.
“You know, there was a Titan called Hyperion, he was the Lord of the East. Titans are an ancient race of evil gods, overthrown by the Olympians like my mother. They tried to tear down Olympus a few years ago, and Percy led the war against them. Anyway, this Hyperion guy. He glowed, looked like the sun actually. His armor, skin, everything. Golden and glowing. His skin looked like it was fire itself. He was the father of the moon and sun gods.” All the blood had run out of the man’s face, and he and his followers were glancing at each other.
“W-was?” one of the men asked. Annabeth grinned viciously, seizing her opportunity.
“Was. You see, he fought with Kronos, the King of the Titans and Percy's grandfather, in the Second Titan War. Percy and I were sixteen when Hyperion led a chunk of the Titans’ forces against us. My husband defeated him. He was banished back to the lowest depths of Hell, Tartarus. When my husband and I were there, he was destroyed again, for good this time. The god of the Pit, Tartarus himself, wiped him from existence, and another Titan. Percy, Frank, our friends, and I have all fought Giants, Tartarus’ children, and won. So tell me, Ser Axell. Why should I fear one Lord of Light, when I’ve already seen one destroyed, and my husband was able to defeat him four years ago? How much more powerful do you think we’ve grown since then?” Annabeth was exaggerating, of course. Dozens of demigods, Hunters, and nature spirits had worked together to defeat Hyperion. Annabeth had spent most of the Tartarus encounter running from the protogenos of the Pit. But the Queen’s Men didn’t need to know that. She and her friends would survive in this world only so long as they were respected, and to be respected, they must be feared.
Ser Axell and his cronies ran. They likely would have called it an organized retreat, but they left the forge so quickly that the other smiths jeered and laughed. Addam, the chief armorer for the castle, granted her a rare smile. She grinned at him in return and got back to work.
The next day, after weeks at the forge, her work was complete. She’d endeavored to make all three of them weapons and armor that suited them best, trusting demigod speed and strength to make up for the weaknesses of Classical armor compared to full medieval plate. For herself and Percy, she’d made hoplite armor like they had had at Camp Half-Blood, tailored to their specifications. They both had cuirasses, greaves, and Korinthian-style helmets. She’d refrained from adding any ridiculously-colored plumes at Percy’s request, but the cuirasses were both richly colored. She’d dyed most of the metal Camp Half-Blood orange, with their house sigil on both of their chests. The owl retained the steel’s natural sheen, with the trident dyed a rich blue. Percy’s cuirass had waves etched closer to his waist both on his chest and back, with a large trident over his spine, all in blue. Annabeth had instead used olive branches, with the aegis on her back. Her recreation of Medusa’s head was horrifying enough that the other smiths had all blanched when she finished it. The steel was magiced, and would hopefully hold up well enough that she wouldn’t need to repair the intricate designs very often. It had been shockingly easy to make, but that didn’t mean she wanted to go through it again.
At Frank’s request, his armor was simple Roman legionary gear, unadorned aside from his purple cloak. He’d gotten a galea and lorica segmentata , just like he wore at Camp Jupiter. As his bow was already to his liking, and arrows were a dime a dozen, Annabeth had only had to make him a simple gladius for a weapon. She doubted it would see much use. The point of all this fancy armor, after all, was to win fights with intimidation and reputation rather than having to kill any mortal soldiers.
She and Percy, however, needed more comprehensive weaponry. Both their alleged royal status, and lack of weapons dangerous to mortals, meant Annabeth had had to make them blades. For her boyfriend, she’d forged a three-foot xiphos, much longer than was typical for such a blade, but exactly the same length and proportions as Riptide. She’d etched the hilt with entwined olive branches and waves, but otherwise left the blade alone, aside from its magical strengthening, of course. Maybe she’d make him a trident someday, if he ever decided he wanted to use one. His resemblance to the Merling King might win some more respect from the Lords of the Narrow Sea. Her own weapon was the best replica she could make of her old dagger, long since lost to Tartatus. An 18-inch triangle of steel, she shaped the pommel to look like an owl’s head, and carefully wrapped the hilt in leather. Scabbards were easy as well, leatherworking had turned out to be well within Athena’s wheelhouse, far more so than Hephaestus-controlled forging. Simple metal sheathes adorned with worked leather would suffice for all three blades.
Annabeth appreciated that, if nothing else, she had all the skills needed to thrive in this hellish place. She’d always taken pride in a job well done, especially in creating something wonderful and important. Making weapons and armor was very different from designing palaces for the gods, but she could see why the Hephaestus kids liked it so much. From what they’d told her, the other demigods had found a similar sense of odd fulfillment in their own work.
With the help of Aly and a couple of the other servants, she had all three sets of armor, and both blades, carried back to her room, where Percy and Frank were waiting for her. As soon as Annabeth dumped their armor and weapons on the floor, Percy and Frank grinned at each other like kids on Christmas and began sorting through the pile and strapping on their respective gear. Annabeth laughed, dismissed the servants, and joined them. Seeing herself and her friends armored in their new gear, dressed like the Greek and Roman soldiers that they were, adorned in their sigils, she could almost believe that they were the medieval royalty they claimed to be. This War would be different from everything else they’d been through. There were no monsters, only sparse gods, and very few of the people they’d come to rely on.