La Vie en Rose // Percy Jackson

iv. percy's team captures a flag

The next few days Percy settled into a routine that felt almost normal, if you don't count the fact that he was getting lessons from satyrs, nymphs, and a centaur.

Honestly, the fact that he kept complaining about it was rather irritating.

Each morning Percy took Ancient Greek from me and Annabeth, and we talked about the gods and goddesses in the present tense, which he found kind of weird. He discovered Annabeth and I had been right about his dyslexia: Ancient Greek wasn't that hard to read. At least, no harder than English. After a couple of mornings, Percy could stumble through a few lines of Homer without too much headache.

The rest of the day, he'd rotate through outdoor activities, looking for something he was good at. Chiron tried to teach him archery, but we found out pretty quick Percy wasn't any good with a bow and arrow. He didn't complain, even when he had to desnag a stray arrow out of his tail. Foot racing? No good either. The wood-nymph instructors left him in the dust. They told him not to worry about it. They'd had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. Excuse me! But still, it was a little humiliating to be slower than a tree.

And wrestling? Forget it. Every time Percy got on the mat, Clarisse would pulverize him. I winced every time and could barely look.

Clarisse always mumbled something on Percy's ears that caused him to look afraid.

The only thing Percy really excelled at was canoeing, and that wasn't the kind of heroic skill people expected to see from the kid who had beaten the Minotaur.

Percy knew the senior campers and counselors were watching him, trying to decide who our dad was, but they weren't having an easy time of it. He wasn't as strong as the Ares kids, or as good at archery as the Apollo kids. He didn't have Hephaestus's skill with metalwork or-gods forbid- Dionysus's way with vine plants. Luke told him he 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 Percy feel better. He really didn't know what to make of him either. Frankly, I didn't either.

Despite all that, Percy seemed to like camp. He 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. He would eat dinner with cabin eleven, scrape part of his meal into the fire, and try to feel some connection to his real dad. But it didn't seem he didn't feel anything.

Percy was looking like he was starting to understand Luke's bitterness and how he seemed to resent his father, Hermes. And I'm not sure that was a good thing.

Thursday afternoon, three days after Percy had arrived at Camp Half-Blood, he had his first sword-fighting lesson. I decided to tag along as I had nothing better to do. Everybody from cabin eleven gathered in the big circular arena, where Luke would be the instructor.

Percy started with basic stabbing and slashing, using some straw-stuffed dummies in Greek armor. I guess he did okay. At least, he seemed to understand what he was supposed to do and his reflexes were good.

The problem was, he couldn't find a blade that felt right in his hands. Either they seemed too heavy, or too light, or too long. Luke tried his best to fix Percy up, but he agreed that none of the practice blades seemed to work for him.

They moved on to dueling in pairs. Luke announced he would be Percy's partner, since this was his first time.

"Good luck," one of the campers told Percy. "Luke is the best swordsmen in the last three hundred years."

"Maybe he'll go easy on me," Percy said.

The camper snorted.

Luke showed Percy thrusts and parries and shield blocks the hard way. With every swipe, Percy got a little more battered and bruised. "Keep your guard up, Percy," he'd say, then whap him in the ribs with the flat of his blade. "No, not that far up!" Whap! "Lunge!" Whap! "Now, back!" Whap!