Percy Jackson: An Endless of Dreams (BL)

Lady Johanna Constantine accepted the task I entrusted to her—a decision that brought me more relief than I dared show. Even if I lied to her in some parts. Her agreement marked the beginning of a long and arduous journey that took her through France's hidden magical enclaves, down into its bloody streets, and into the heart of revolution, which was ongoing.

As she set off her search for me, I returned to the Dreaming to tend to my realm. I watched her through the eyes of Matthew, my raven, whose wings cast shadows upon both reality and dream. He followed every move she made. From my throne beneath the starry canopy, I observed her movements projected above me—each step illuminated like constellations in motion.

For a year, till the year was November 1799, Johanna wandered, following whispered rumors in crowded taverns and behind the veils of enchanted markets. The scent of prophecy lingered wherever she passed. Her greatest lead came whispered in an alley near the blood-soaked edges of the Revolution: a severed, speaking head was being sold by a dark wizard—a madman who claimed it could tell the future, sing of gods, and reveal fates. Which was partially true, but Orpheus's head is most an oracle to me as Dream of the Endless.

When Johanna caught wind of and found the dark wizard. A battle ensued between Johanna and the mad sorcerer that was brutal, wand against wand, will against chaos. Spellfire tore through the shadows until the wizard, broken and trembling, collapsed beneath her feet. I guess Ares was looking down on her for this fight, because it reeked of his essence and his joy of a very good battle. From the wizard, she learned Orpheus had been handed off—sold—to non-magical revolutionaries, who mistook him for a divine oracle that could ruin their plans.

She used everything in her arsenal that could make Artemis and Atherna proud of a woman like her. She infiltrated enemy lines under the cover of night, cloaked in spell and resolve. In a hidden crypt beneath Paris, guarded by blades and ignorance, she found him—my son—his immortal head silent, his expression pained yet noble. She grabbed the head and put his head in a sack.

On the rain-slicked cobbles of Montmartre, she carried the head concealed in a sack. Two guards halted her.

"What do you have in that sack? Food, perhaps?""I assure you, there is nothing in this sack that would interest you," she said."We will decide that. Open it."She did."Vile thing. Whose head is that?""An aristocrat," she lied coldly. "He violated my sister. I persuaded the executioner to hand over his head so my mother could spit on it."And she did—spitting onto Orpheus's cheek, laughing like a madwoman."Let her be," one guard muttered. "She's mad."

She returned to her inn, locking the door behind her. Gently, reverently, she cleaned the blood from his brow.

"I'm sorry," she whispered."The earring will bring him nothing but misery. It always returns to me," Orpheus said softly."Your ear... will it grow back?""Alas, no. Or the rest of me would've long ago."

He was still sharp, even severed. Still kind. Still my son. Still that smart and intelligent boy, who is so wise now.

The next morning, soldiers stormed her room. Robespierre himself demanded the head be surrendered.

"It is an object of superstition," he sneered. "A threat to reason. It will be destroyed.""And in doing so," Johanna replied, "you will destroy something far older than your revolution."

They locked her in the Luxembourg Palace to await the blade. That night, I came to her in a dream.

"You're having problems, I see," I said."Will you help me?" she asked."I cannot be seen to interfere." Also, I gave her the task to do with a reward."Your son's head... and mine... both hang in the balance." That is true, I thought.

We also spoke of Orpheus. Of his sadness. His song.

"He says he wishes to die," she said."He once told me the same," I replied sadly."But he listens. He laughs. He sings.""Did he sing for you?""No," she said. "'He will if you ask him to," I said.

The next morning, Robespierre returned right after Jhgoanna woke up from her dream.

"Where is the head?" he demanded."Where do you hide a flower? In a garden," Johanna said. "Where do you hide a severed head? Amongst others."

They brought her to the pit of the dead, where other severed heads lay.

"Bring me the head!" he ordered."This is the head of Orpheus," she said. "Whose song moved even Hades and Persephone?""The myths are dead!" Robespierre roared."No, Citizen Robespierre. There is much more than that."

She leaned down.

"Sing for them, Orpheus."

And he did.

He sang of liberty, of freedom, of love. His voice, severed though he was, echoed through blood and bone, through death and fire. Robespierre and his men froze, weeping, and stood there as statues. And all across France, something changed. Something awakened inside th.e people through Orpheus's song that sang of liberty and freedom. The next day, the blade fell—not on Johanna, but on Robespierre. With his head chopped off by a guillotine, the French Revolution came to an end.

She brought Orpheus to a hidden island, Naxos, cloaked by mist, where his temple and the Potter family waited. The priests received him with reverence.

"Feels odd leaving you," Johanna said."I've been here for centuries. I belong here."

"Will your father visit?""I don't know. I hope so. Will you tell him I miss him?" I will very sooner, then you think, my son."I will," said Johanna. 

When she was back in the mainland in Britain, I visited her. I came to her as promised, to repay her for her courage and sacrifice.

"What do you desire?" I asked."More time with Orpheus," she said simply. That is what I granted her.

And so, when her days ended, she grew old and died. She was buried among friends—beside the Potters and the priests had her name etched in the stone beneath the ever-singing winds by Orpheus's Temple.

Through her journey, I discovered the truth about who was clocking me. It was Gaia, and unknowly to her, with the help of the old titans that had worked with Kronos. Hyperion, Krios, Oceanus, Iapetus, and more. Also, Kronos himself. They were the ones who masked Orpheus from me.

Fools. I thought. I also, I would be impressed they did, so. But they took what was mind. It was also laughable that they needed all their collective might to do. They must be weaker in divine power now. They won't be able to make a move for a very long time because of so.

I used all my powers of the dreaming to curse their fallen low low-powered asses. I filled their dreams with fire and torment. I twisted their rest into a nightmare, and now that I have tasted their essence, I will never lose it again. I will never be fooled again because I will know they were around if they were.

No god, no titan, will hide from Dream ever again.