PERCABETH ONESHOTS

oneshot #86: crooked insignia

There was a man standing in front of him.

The perfect model of an Olympian guard: aloof, detached, emotionless. His brown hair was cut rigidly to perfection, every article of clothing conforming to the edges of his physique--a perfect fit, everything straight. Everything as it should be.

Percy nodded at the guard taking his place. Had it been one of his friends, he'd have let his stoic demeanor slip for just a moment to smile at them in thanks. But he didn't know the man for this shift. He seemed nice enough. It wasn't that Percy didn't like being friendly with his fellow guard. He was always glad for the rest. It could be the god of hell himself taking his place and he'd be relieved. Sleep was within his grasp.

Percy clasped his hands behind his back as they exchanged places. Then why am I so reluctant to let him have this?

He glanced briefly at the insignia pinned to the guard's chest to ensure he was, in fact, working for the king. They shared a glance, broke it, and Percy turned to leave.

How had he gotten here? Perseus Jackson, the princess's own bodyguard. His mother would have laughed, and he would have laughed right along with her. He'd grown up rebelling in every way he could possibly manage, a handful of trouble for his family and the perfect example of a boy who should be far, far away from royalty. Snobby, stuck-up, and conceited, he'd think. They were the words the older children whispered behind the guard rounds in the village, curling their forefingers as fangs and bossing the younger ones around. 

Percy had made the mistake of picking up a sword in front of an audience. He'd been swept away from his simple, modest life and thrown into one of schedules and training. He had 'potential,' they'd said. The crown wanted people like him. Percy was assigned a personal trainer, a member of the guard who'd been discovered with the same raw talent years before. They trained together until, at fifteen, Percy could knock the sword from the hands of every trainee in the arena. His final test had been to best his mentor more than he lost. Before long, he was a member of the royal guard.

He'd never hated it. There were still crumbs of freedom for him to taste, no matter the rigidity of a guard's day. Sleeping in wasn't a problem if he made it to breakfast on time. Evading the wrath of his captain was nothing less than thrilling. He could see his mom multiple times a year and he had friends at the palace. 

"The king has offered you a promotion. You will be the personal bodyguard to the new princess."

What.

The captain took one look at his face and sighed, sliding the paperwork across his desk. "You will shadow her starting tomorrow, but the official introductions will be forty-eight hours from now. And Percy? Try not to mess this up."

He hadn't had much of a say in the matter. A so-called "offer" from the king was a gentle word for "order." In other words, you'll do it or you will be in direct contempt of the king.

Guarding the princess herself put him in much closer proximity to the actual royal family. Longer hours, night shifts standing still as a plank, and above all, toleration of the princess. Percy had seriously considered contempt. 

His friends sent him away with thumbs up and fox-like grins. Except Frank. Frank pat him on the shoulder.

Percy spent his last night trying not to conjure up an expectation. He didn't want to think about how she'd look down at him or what color her hair would be. There had been whispers of her beauty for years now. She'd been separated from her family at a very young age during an attack on the palace. He remembered the wreaths the townspeople had set out on the water for an entire week. He remembered taking one from his mother, leaving a trail of white blossoms behind him as he laid it in the canal. White, his mom had said, for life.