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Percy remembered everything Luke had stood for.
He didn’t agree, of course he didn’t. Luke had points, Luke was right… in a fashion. But Luke wasn’t- he wasn’t looking at the Gods as Gods. He looked at them the same way he did his mortal mother, but with more demands.
Percy understood the feelings Luke had; he’d felt them at times… but he’d come to understand that the Gods didn’t want to leave their kids alone. The Gods wanted to help, and Poseidon had apologized several times for not being able to.
They were discouraged from getting close to their kids not because they were heartless, but because they would be all the more willing to defy Fate if they held their children close to their hearts.
So yes, Percy understood. He understood that even the Gods couldn’t defy Fate. He understood that they dearly wanted to, that they wanted to save their children from their Fates. But they couldn’t, mortals had to live their lives out.
The Gods could only act within the boundaries of Fate to aid them.
Luke was right, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right for children to have to fight. But it wasn’t like there was anyone else to fight. There were few adults amongst the Greek Demigods. Percy had only met one in all his time at Camp, and that one had been cheating Death.
It wasn’t fair, something needed to be done, but the Gods… their inability to interfere wasn’t their fault.
Yes, there was probably more they could do, but not much. The more they did, the more they cared, and the more it hurt.
Percy couldn’t imagine having to watch his children die time after time, living eternal while their lives snuffed out. That was his greatest nightmare.
So, Percy understood.
He understood Luke, feeling abandoned and wanting better for himself and everyone else.
And he understood the Gods, unable to defy Fate and unwilling to hurt themselves more than they must.
What Percy didn’t understand, was Camp Jupiter.
When Percy first arrived, he didn’t remember anything other than Annabeth’s face. Her blonde hair, shining gold in the sun. Her ringlet curls, tumbling down her back. Her shining, stormy, crystalline eyes glittering with mirth and love. Her smile, pointed at him, warming him down to the toes.
He only had her face, and so didn’t realize what he had walked into.
Camp Jupiter looked like paradise to a Greek demigod, or any demigod, at first glance.
It was a city, where they could live peacefully and happily. It had a college with people who understood the neurodivergencies over 90% of the campers had. There were stores, and cafes, and restaurants, and libraries, and elementary schools. There were even temples, as decrepit as most were, and an auger, as much as he didn’t seem pleased with the leadership of the camp.
The camp had everything one could want, it was safe, it had a barrier, it allowed adults to rest.
It was paradise, it was a utopia… and then Percy got his memories back.
Percy remembered Luke. Percy remembered Luke’s ideals. Percy remembered Luke’s rage at the Gods standing aside as children died.
Percy knew the Gods could not stop their deaths.
But Camp Jupiter didn’t have Gods ordering the kids to their deaths. Camp Jupiter had Mortal Adults.
Mortal Adults who sat back and lounged in their city and sent children as young as three years old to train in the legion.
Mortal Adults who refused to fight even when monsters were at their doorsteps, an invading force they expected and demanded the children hold off.
Mortal Adults who went to college, because there were no secondary or high schools, because all of the children were expected to be in the legion.
Mortal Adults who stood aside as children died.
And Percy was enraged.
Everything Luke had hated about the Gods, things the Gods couldn’t help even when they wanted to, were embodied by this camp.
The Adults ordered the children to their deaths. The Adults sat back and ignored their suffering. The Adults had children and then sent them off to the legion as soon as they were “ready”.
The Adults didn’t care if the legionnaires lived or died. They didn’t care that they’d once been there, they didn’t care that they’d sent their own children into battle.
The Gods cared, it was why they stayed away. They couldn’t handle the amount they cared, they didn’t dare bring themselves to care more.
The Mortal Adults at Camp Jupiter though?
They didn’t care.
They sent children to die and turned their gazes to other things.
Percy watched Octavian, the oldest camper he knew of. Octavian, who was 19 going on 20 and was refusing to retire, was trying to lead the camp. Octavian, who refused several children to enter the legion but was overruled by their parents and by Reyna because there was war coming and they needed soldiers.
Octavian, who was considered the bad guy by most of the camp.
Percy wondered if it was because Octavian didn’t seem content to let children take his place in this cycle of death. Percy wondered if it was because Octavian wanted to break the cycle and keep fighting as an adult to prevent another child from taking his place.
Percy wondered if Octavian would listen to him, if Percy spoke to him.
Percy stood before the Senate and knew he needed to speak of the war, he knew he needed to speak of his beloved Annabeth arriving with the other questers. He knew what needed to be done.
But Hazel stood there, all of fourteen years of age and already suffering more than most adults. But Frank stood there, only sixteen and already near death from his firewood. But there were more children on the ship arriving soon. But Nico, all of thirteen, was missing and possibly dead and had suffered more than any besides Hazel that Percy knew.
And Percy couldn’t keep quiet.
“What is wrong with you?”
It took a moment, a long moment of dead silence from everyone, even Octavian silenced in the wake of the words pointed at the room, before Percy realized he’d spoken.
Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.
“You have children leading the forces,” he said. “These ghosts around us, they’re all adults. Every last one of them. The Senate before us are adults, each and every one of you. The only children here are the ones who are being sent to fight and die for you. You have an army of children, you have an army lead by children except for Octavian, who’s words all of you disregard.”
Octavian jolted, and Percy acknowledged, silently and to himself, that defending Octavian’s point was likely not going to help him since Octavian wasn’t supporting him. But that wasn’t the point.
“We are children,” Percy snapped, voice raising. “Look at the soldiers in front of you, look at them.”
The Senate did not look. The Ghosts, Lars, whatever, they did not move. Percy’s rage grew.
“We are children,” he snapped. “You all- you all are adults- and you send your children to Fight and Die for you. This is what the war against Kronos was fought over!”
“No,” interrupted one snide Senator, older than many of the others. “That war was fought because Kronos wanted to overthrow the Gods.”
Percy snarled, a raw guttural noise he didn’t know he was capable of. His gaze burned onto that Senator.
“The war,” he growled, low and soft, “Was started by demigods, demigods whose feelings were manipulated by Kronos. And those feelings were that children should not fight.”
“That-“
Percy didn’t let them finish, he wasn’t about to listen to these selfish little cowards who didn’t even fight in the Roman’s mockery of a war dismiss what they’d gone through.
“Luke, the leader of the Titan forces, fought because he believed that demigod children shouldn’t have to fight to survive. He fought because he believed the Gods should step in for their children. But the Gods can’t, the Gods have their Divine Laws and Fate in the way. His feelings are right, they are fair and understood and his an-anger is correct.”
Percy let his gaze sweep across the room, rage so hot his skin was burning. His throat felt tight and his fists were clenched and if just one of them dared to speak then Percy wasn’t sure he would be able to hold himself back.
“But the target- the target of his anger was wrong. The Gods cannot act… but you can. You can act, you are mortal like us, but you still send children to fight rather than do so yourself!” his voice had risen even as it shook in tune with the Earth. “You are adults, and you send your own children, who are barely even ten years old, to fight and risk their lives and die for you! And you call it right!?”
Percy’s breathing was harsh, shaking his chest, clawing at his throat. He didn’t know what to say in the face of the idiocy he saw before him.
“I thought,” he said, slow and broken. “I thought, when I first arrived, that this would be a nice place to rest. But- but-“ his breath shook as he struggled to draw the words into place “-but how could I stand aside and watch children die to let me sip hot chocolate at a café?”
None had an answer, and yet Octavian was looking at Percy with new eyes.
Percy ignored it, ignored that none dared speak, and spoke over the ringing silence.
“How could I take college classes while outside my window, children are running drills to fight the same monsters I did as a child! The same monsters that killed my friends! The same monsters that would kill them! I could fight instead, I could pick up a blade and ensure the children get to be children, get to sit and rest and enjoy school! How could anyone stand by and watch that?”
“Exactly,” Octavian breathed, eyes bright with a fervor that Percy imagined matched Percy’s own. “That’s exactly it. That’s why- that’s why we can’t let the Greeks in. We can’t- there will be war- children will die-“
“Oh,” snapped on Senator, ignoring Octavian. “Then why do children fight for the Greeks? If you stand soooo strongly against it?”
Percy’s eyes narrowed and he zeroed in on the haughty, foolish, idiotic piece of trash of a Senator.
“The reason children fight amongst the Greek demigods,” he said, low, soft, strong enough for all to hear, “Is because we don’t survive till adulthood, and there are no adults to fight for us.”
Something seemed to click, amongst the Senators, and even Octavian faltered in his rage against the Greeks.
Percy turned to him then, knowing that Octavian’s words held more weight than any other in this time, even when all ignored and dismissed him.
“You’re worried about the Greeks, I understand. But they’re just children,” he nearly pleaded with Octavian to understand. “I can’t vouch for the ones I don’t know, but they are bringing Jason with them. And they’re bringing Camp Half-Blood’s head strategist with, who very much does not want a war.”
Octavian pursed his lips, eyes narrowed as he turned Percy’s words over silently.
“We’re tired of war,” Percy said. “Tired of children fighting for their lives. I can’t guarantee nothing will happen, but I can guarantee that Camp Half-Blood does not want war. If a conflict occurs, it is not a reflection of Camp Half-Blood.”
“If something happens,” Octavian said, slow and careful just like Percy’s own words. “Then you will turn the one who caused it over to us.”
Percy nodded, accepting that term. If something happened, they would give the one responsible to the Romans.
They did not want war.
“And-“ Octavian declared “-You will be your Camp’s representative to the Senate in all that happens. Not this head strategist, not the new ones, and not Jason.”
Percy nodded once more, more than pleased with that term. He would represent the Camp to the Senate. He would represent the Camp to the whole of New Rome if he needed to.
He was tired of fighting, but despite that… he would never allow a child to fight in his place.
And the first step to fixing that here was to bring peace.
“Also,” Octavian added, finger raised, “You can’t be praetor. You’re not Roman.”
“We just voted him in!” cried one Senator.
“He’s not Roman!” Octavian yelled right back.
“That’s fair,” Percy agreed. “I’m not Roman. I vote for Octavian to be praetor.”
“Oh, come on!” grumbled one.
The warship was nearly there, and the Camp couldn’t afford to look improper, and thus Octavian was accepted as Praetor (and was also the only one ready to give a campaign speech so no one could really face off against him) and things moved on.
But Percy was not done with New Rome, even with how many of the Senators glared at him, or how the Lars murmured amongst themselves, or how even Reyna looked betrayed.
The Camp was rotten from the inside, and he was not about to let children fight any more than they must.
He’d promised Luke.