Percy only truly saw it now. The knights sat at the table all wore the same immaculate white tunic with a golden belt, the same strict braided hairstyle, and the same lofty expression belonging to people who were a little too afraid of accidentally having fun. They shared a discussion which, if not lively, was at least structured, with each speaker taking turns. It was a stark contrast to the boisterous ambiance of the rest of the tavern. When Valeria approached them, they glanced at her with an air of disdain that would have chilled Percy to his core, but which she ignored without the slightest effort.

"Excuse the intrusion, gentlefolk. My companions and I are in need of a place to stay for the night, and were told every room in the inn is taken by you. Are you all staying in separate rooms? Would any of you kindly consider sharing a room, so that the three of us might have one? I'm sure you'll understand, what with the fierce fucking storm outside."

A long silence of shared glances and chair fidgeting settled about the table. A third of them seemed to consider Valeria's request; another third pretended to consider it; and the final third did not even pretend.

"On another occasion, madam, we would be delighted to" one of them started, joining his hands over the table, "but as it is, I am afraid you do not present us with a worthy enough quest. It would not give us a high enough score."

Valeria's imminent anger was delayed by her confusion.

"A high enough score?" she repeated.

"For the report."

Standing behind Valeria, Percy and Evans exchanged a contrite look. Trying to placate her mounting rage would no doubt be the honourable thing to do; but the honourable thing to do had been left outside in the stables with the horses, and would only be allowed to return once they were dry, fed and rested.

"What fucking report?"

"To get funding from the head of our guild" the knight replied, raising his eyebrows and nose and voice, lifting them high lest they brush against the muck of Valeria's language.

"What guild? Funding for what?" she asked with waning patience.

"To help those less fortunate than us" declared the man.

"Guild of chivalrous knights" announced another.

"If we don't perform enough heroic acts this semester they'll slash our funding" chimed in a third.

Valeria stood very still for a moment before turning her head just enough to catch a glimpse of Evans. With a short sigh, she mouthed the word "sorry" before facing the assembled knights again.

"Well, my apologies for not presenting you with a glorious enough quest, but you'll still be kind enough to have just two among you bunk up so that we may have a room. Seeing as he's the chosen one" she said, pointing at Evans with her thumb, "and I'm sure that leaving him out in the rain on a night like this would look terrible on your report."

A scattering of shocked gasps erupted from the table, but, to Percy's surprise, the knights' standoffish attitude only worsened.

"Oh, he's the chosen one, is he?" said the knight who had first spoken, crossing his arms over his immaculate white tunic. "What are his credentials, then? Is he a member of the guild?"

Percy heard the little scoffing sound he made himself, and only then realized, to his utter surprise, that he was outraged at the knights for dismissing Evans so readily. He cleared his throat and hoped a feeling of neutrality would wash over him soon, to no avail.

If he felt outraged, he could hardly imagine whatever fumes Valeria was distilling now. Of course, Evans was quicker than him in bringing the honourable thing to do back from the cold outside. He stepped towards her, placing an appeasing hand on her shoulder.

"Valeria – "

"Barkeep said this was a gathering. So what are you all gathering about?"

Her voice sounded dangerously flat and reined in, and Percy's body clenched in anticipation. But the knights didn't know her, and seemed to take immense pleasure in speaking about their deeds.

"We're submitting tales of our exploits to our peers. We're convening about our destiny" the first one said.

"Communing, you might say" added another.

"Would you like me to commune your head with the table?"

Valeria's voice had sounded so matter of fact that it took them a moment to catch up with her words. And then, the leader of the knights laughed, and made a mistake.

"A feisty lady, I like it!"

"Finally, something we can agree on!" she joined in cheerfully before grabbing the back of his head and smashing it against the table.

Like a flock of startled sparrows, the knights scrambled up from their seats with their swords drawn. Percy mirrored their gesture, but Valeria held up her hands with a smirk.

"Please, good knights, this is a tavern! First rule of tavern brawls, no weapons beyond whatever furniture you can grab. Shall we settle this honourably, then?"

Most of the knights let their swords clank down on the table, but one of them charged at Valeria with his blade glinting with firelight. She dodged him with a speed that stunned Percy, and tripped the man over with an expertly placed foot before twisting his arm behind his back and kicking his sword away.

"My nanny days will never be over, will they!" she bellowed.

Percy turned to Evans, dumbfounded.

"Did she do this too when she was your nanny?"

"Well, not to me – "

Evans' voice ripped out of his throat with a yelp as one of the knights swung a punch at him. The conversations in the tables around them shattered as the first throes of the fight rippled through the tavern. The knight turned his attention to Percy, who, still in no hurry to do the honourable thing, kneed him between the legs before dodging the fist of an enraged colleague.

It was only then that he fully realized the situation they were in. He hadn't counted how many knights there were exactly, but there were far more than three. And somehow, in that mysterious way that tavern brawls had, the fight absorbed other patrons until it morphed into chaos. The flailing of arms and legs surrounding Percy soon lost all coherence, becoming a crashing and smashing of limbs, wood and glass. A corner of his mind registered that the musicians had switched to an outrageously lively tune.

He knew how these things ended: with everyone battered, bloodied, bruised, and bonded, hugging shoulders at the bar, swinging pints of ale and drunkenly toasting to a friendship that was inexplicably forged over fisticuffs. They'd be alright in the end, and he was not in the least interested in the whole process of getting to that end.

As he searched frantically for a way out, a punch knocked the air out of his lungs and flung his body back, sending him stumbling wildly until he slammed against a table in a corner of the tavern. Percy choked in his pain as he scrambled to lift himself off the floor. Through a ringing haze, he saw the man who sat at the table jump from his seat. It was the cloaked shadowy figure he had spotted earlier upon entering the tavern.

"This is ridiculous!" the man hissed, the hood of his dark cloak slipping back and revealing his face.

"Couldn't agree more" Percy coughed as he struggled back up.

"I'm meant to wait here to give someone a quest! Now the ambiance is ruined!" the man complained.

"You'll forgive me if I don't particularly give a shit at the present moment" Percy wheezed, bending down with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

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"I can't rebook now, he's coming to this tavern specifically, tonight!" he went on.

"Well then help us out with these idiots so we can be done with this faster, and maybe you'll have a nice quiet tavern by the time your hero gets here!" Percy snapped.

The man turned to him slowly, a pondering look on his face. A largely unremarkable face, now that it did not have a hood to cloak it in mystery.

"Or... I join them and dispatch you three, that might be quicker" he said.

They shared a very long, very still stare, before each darted for the nearest chair. The man got to it first, and knocked it against Percy. He fell back down on the ground with a snapping sound that he dearly hoped had not come from himself. He rolled left, then right, as he swerved to avoid the man's shoddily aimed kicks. At the third attempted kick, Percy shuffled out of the way just enough to grab at the man's foot and yank him down to join him on the ground.

The man stumbled with a groan. They fought for a while in a writhing, squirming entanglement of limbs, until Percy's outstretched hand reached for a wine bottle that had rolled off the table. He whacked it on the mans' head. He expected it to smash; it didn't, but the man went limp long enough for Percy to wriggle free of his grasp and stand up clumsily. He remembered what Valeria had told him when they had first met. The palace seers had seen him next to the chosen one in his adventures. He hated to think they had also seen the indignity of the past two minutes.

When his breath and vision returned to him, he looked about the room. He quickly spotted Valeria, who was sporting a bloodied cheek while holding one of the knights in a chokehold. Not far from her, Evans was somehow pushing away three knights at once with a brute force that Percy tried, and failed, not to be awed by. Both Evans and Valeria looked battered, but, impressively, so did the knights, whose tunics were now far from spotless.

The tavern was still a convulsing mess of feet and fists. At least the other patrons looked like they were having a good time, urged on in their frenzy by the unrelenting energy of the music being played by the bards. Percy squinted at them. A second later, he beelined towards the trio, squirrelling under outstretched arms and over toppled chairs. The hollers and groans crowding his ears were enough for him to feel like he was being trampled.

When he reached the musicians, he gripped the arm of the drummer, who was grooving away with his eyes closed and a wild smile on his lips.

"Could you please stop playing?" Percy asked over the racket.

"What?"

"Could you stop playing so they'll stop fighting!" he shouted.

The blond lute player turned to them.

"Jon, what the hell, we were jamming so well, why'd you stop?"

"Yeah, what gives Jon, we need that beat" the flutist stopped playing as well to voice his protests.

Percy waited for the absence of music to unsettle the room. Little by little, the thrashing of bodies and furniture eased off, in a sabotaged choreography that awkwardly settled back into stillness. A few confused heads turned to the squabbling musicians, and in the dying din, a man's voice sounded with alarm from a corner of the tavern, "stay right where you are, Lewis, I dropped my glasses!". A chair that a woman had raised high above her head in anticipation of her next blow was now gingerly lowered back onto the floor, with a delicate thud that was mercifully audible.

Percy smiled through the pain of one punch and several kicks. He'd thought that might work. When people said music moved them, they usually meant it in a loftier sense; but that did not mean it did not also apply on a more practical level.

"Right" Valeria's voice reached him. She let go of the two knights that she had just grabbed to smash against each other. "I think Reginald here would greatly appreciate a round of mead. Isn't that right, Reginald?"

She made her point by tapping the leader of the knights so hard on his back that he coughed out some blood. Percy stared at her.

"How do you even know his nam – "

"Come on Reg, let's get you to the bar" she guided him gleefully to the counter.

Percy watched wordlessly as the pair stumbled towards the bar. He jumped a little when he heard Evans speak right next to him, having discreetly navigated the mess of overturned patrons and chairs.

"Apparently one of the knights agreed to bunk with someone else and gave us his room" Evans said, still huffing from the fight and wiping sweat off his brow. He held up a bronze key in his hand.

"How did she even do that?" Percy babbled, still staring at Valeria.

"Yes, I know. 'How does she do that' is something people often say about her. Come on."

"Wait, before you go" the flutist grabbed Evans' hand and shook it heartily. "The boys and I would like to thank you, that was a hell of a fight you gave us. We get paid extra whenever we play through one, and Leo here had composed a new piece specifically for brawls that we'd been wanting to try, but these bloodless bastards hadn't started one for ages. Here, have a tip from us."

"I'm – very glad we could be of service."

"Right, what do you reckon now lads, drinking song?"

Chatter rose anew in the tavern as men and women crowded the bar or sat back down at their tables with a few fond bruises and scratches. Percy looked at Valeria as she stood at the counter, pouring ale for the assembled knights.

"Should we... go up without her?"

"She'll want us to. She likes to have some time for herself" Evans smiled.

They climbed up the stairs to the deserted second floor of the inn. Percy tripped into their room and collapsed on the floor. He heard Evans close the door behind them. The room had every comfort he could ask for: a small fire that rumbled peacefully in a salamander stove, a window that the rain drummed away on, a plump bed that made him feel comfortable just from looking at it, and blankets that would keep him warm when he inevitably insisted on sleeping on the floor instead, because sooner or later, he did need to do the honourable thing. There were two chairs by the window, but he had instinctively sat on the floor to be as close to the warmth of the fire as possible. Slowly, it soothed the cold that ground his bones.

He watched as Evans sat on the bed and took from his bag a cloth that he used to wipe the blood off one of the bruises from the fight.

"Shall I... help you with that?" Percy mumbled.

"Do you want to?"

"That's not the point, the point should be whether that's an... attendant's job or not."

Evans raised his eyebrows as he stared at him.

"I know that's what Valeria told you you were, but Percy, you're not my personal assistant or anything like that."

He'd spoken with a smile in his voice, but his words were unexpectedly hurtful to Percy, who nearly coiled into himself as he sat by the fire, hunching his shoulders and burying his face deeper in his crossed arms.

"Then what the hell am I?" he snapped.

"I don't know – I haven't known you for long enough, but whatever you are, I don't think you will be what you do. Well, yes – you are what you do – I mean, it won't have anything to do with your usefulness to others."

Percy glanced at him. Evans had a way of meandering about his words, even when he already knew what he meant to say. But his meandering never sounded like a frustrated hunt for the right words. He spoke sometimes as though he strolled through a forest with a path he already knew, but which did not stop him from wandering just for the pleasure of it.

"Easy for you to tell me I don't need to have a purpose, when you sit there full of glory and destiny up your own arse" Percy muttered.

Evans stopped dabbing at his bruise and turned to face Percy, who promptly cowered. Evans' full attention, as well meaning as it was, was not for the faint of heart. It had a way of engulfing someone so entirely that they became blind and deaf to everything else.

"I didn't think you'd be jealous of that" he said.

"Oh, spare me" Percy felt the acrid taste of his own voice and spoke it out, like spitting out sour milk. "You thought that after a whole life being told I was the chosen one, I wouldn't be jealous of someone who came along in full regalia claiming that role instead? For fuck's sake, look at me and look at you. You even have the face for it. The Chiselled One, more like."

Evans' focus on him barely flinched at his words. Percy fidgeted restlessly. He had often before felt he was the object of someone else's curiosity; his life had been filled with dinners and parties where he was amply shown off. But he had never felt it as intensely as he did now. He already regretted his words. It was disconcerting to realize that Evans was watching him with the same kind of implacable focus he had applied to a bit of weird-looking moss they had come across in the forest just yesterday. But there were people in the world who got treated worse than Evans would ever treat a bit of weird-looking moss, so Percy supposed there was still some hope for him.

"No, I didn't think that at all" Evans said eventually. "I thought you'd be relieved."

"Relieved?"

"That you didn't have a purpose – that you didn't need to be useful anymore."

He resumed cleaning his wound, pausing at times to stare at the drops of rain weaving patterns on the window. His focused look hadn't left him. Percy watched him intently. It was a good way to avoid having to watch himself, and confront the shame he was already starting to feel for his behaviour.

"So that's what Valeria meant" Evans murmured.

"What?"

"Before we reached you, she said I should be careful around you. That you might wish me harm."

Percy shook his head weakly. Had he been more capable, he might have wished that. But he wasn't.

"No, I never wished to harm you."

"That's not the same" Evans smirked.

He stood up and, without warning, removed his tunic, baring his chest. Percy wasn't quite sure why he would even have needed a warning – he had seen that sight twice before. But the glow of a fire reflected onto skin did things to a body; tempted touch in a way that moonlight never could.

Evans stood with his hands on his hips, inflating his chest with an air of mock pride. He did not once hesitate at the possibility of looking ridiculous.

"'The chiselled one', you said?" he grinned.

"Shut up – it was a stupid thing to say, no need to rub it in. I'll never outlive it" Percy mumbled.

"You don't know that. You might live to be very, very old."

Percy chuckled despite his best efforts not to. A word was beginning to stir restlessly inside him. It was one he had been taught with much reluctance by his parents, as it risked making him look weak in front of others. But, strangely, right now he did not mind so very much the thought of looking weak in front of Evans.

"Sorry" he murmured eventually, and heard it as the loudest sound in the world. "Let me make up for being an ass. I'll take the floor tonight."

"If it makes you feel better" Evans smiled.

"It's to make you feel bet – nevermind."

He made a nest for himself by the fire with a few of the blankets and curled up in it. He heard Evans settle on the bed with a satisfied sigh.

A few moments later, Evans' voice came to him in tiptoes.

"Good job with the musicians downstairs. I wouldn't have thought of that to stop the fight" he said.

"I'm glad it helped."

"Hey, Percy?"

"What?"

"This mattress feels great against my chiselled body."

"Fucking hell."