Percy Jackson x Male Reader The Lightning Thief

We Capture a Flag

Percy's POV

The next few days I settled into a routine that felt almost normal, if you don't count the fact that I was getting lessons from satyrs, nymphs, and a centaur. The nice thing was that because we both were newbies Y/n had the same classes as me.

Each morning we took Ancient Greek from Annabeth, and we talked about the gods and goddesses in the present tense, which was kind of weird. I discovered Annabeth was right about my dyslexia: Ancient Greek wasn't that hard for me to read. At least, no harder than English. After a couple of morning, I could stumble through a few lines of Homer without too much headache. It also helped that Y/n could speak it almost fluently and was a good tutor. When I asked him how he knew so much. He mumbled something about his father. And despite his earlier jokey nature about that topic, I could sense he didn't really want to talk about it. So, I didn't push him.

The rest of the day we rotated through outdoor activities. Trying to find something that I was good at.  Chiron tried to teach me archery, but Y/n and I soon found that I wasn't any good with a boy and arrow. My teacher didn't complain though even when we had to pull an arrow from his tail.

Foot racing? No good either. The wood nymphs left me in the dust. They told me not to worry about it. They''d had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. But still, it was a little humiliating to be slower than tree.

And wrestling? Forget it Every time I got on the mat, Clarisse would pulverize me.

"There's more where that came from, punk," she'd mumble in my ear. But the first time that Y/n heard that he challenged Clarisse to a match. Which he won pretty handily, and she stopped taunting me after that.

Y/n even offered to teach me javelin throwing. But after I nearly impaled a passing satyr, we decided it was probably for the best to stop.

Aside from that the only thing I showed some promise in was canoeing, and that wasn't the kind of heroic skill people expected to see from the kid who had beaten the Minotaur.

I knew the senior campers and counselors were watching us, trying to decide who Y/n and I's godly parent was. I wasn't as strong as the Ares kids, or as good at archery as the Apollo kids. I didn't have Hephaestus's skill with metalwork. Or god forbid the gossipy flowery nature of Aphrodite. Luke said I might be a child of Hermes, a kind of jack-of-all trades, master of none. But I got the feeling he was just trying to make me feel better. Y/n told me to not worry about my father and just enjoy the camp. He didn't seem to be all that intent on figuring out who his mom was. But unlike him I had only just realized that my father was a god. While he knew that he was halfblooded since kindergarten. He had way more time then me to accept it all.

But despite all all of that, I did enjoy the camp. I got used to the morning fog over the beach, the smell of hot strawberry fields in the afternoon, even the weird noises of monsters in the woods at night. I would eat dinner with cabin eleven, scrap part of my meal into the fire, and try to feel some connection to my real dad. Nothing came. Just that warm feeling I'd always had, like the memory of his smile. I tried not to think too much about my mom, but I kept wondering: if gods and monsters were real, if all this magical stuff was possible, surely there was some way to save her, to bring her back . . . .

I started to understand Luke's bitterness and how he seemed to resent his father, Hermes. So okay maybe gods had more important things to do. But couldn't they call once in a while, or thunder, or something? Dionysus could make Diet Coke appear out of thin air. Why couldn't my dad, whoever he was, make a phone appear.

Thursday afternoon, three days after I'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood, I had my first sword-fighting lessons. Everybody from cabin eleven gathered in the big circular arena where Luke would be our instructor.