heroes get remembered (legends never die)

Fitz leaves the amphitheater as soon as the glowing red hammer disappears from over his head. Both Jemma and Skye try to follow him, but he shakes them off; after having the whole camp stare at him, he’s not sure he can deal with anyone looking at him, not even the two of them. He walks towards the Hermes cabin in a daze, collapsing onto the bed he hasn’t slept on in weeks.

Glancing around, he realizes he should probably get ready to move to the Hephaestus cabin. Fitz tries to remember the name of the head counselor, or any of the other Hephaestus campers, but his mind is drawing a blank all around. His new siblings, and he can’t even remember their names.

“I’m guessing that’s not the first time you’ve done that,” Coulson says, and Fitz looks up to see him and May standing in the doorway. It takes a few seconds, because his hands are shaking, but he holds his arm out and lets a flame jump to life in his palm. He closes his fingers to damp it when Coulson sits down on his bed across from him.

“I didn’t think so. It’s quite the trick, you know. There hasn’t been another demigod who could do it in centuries, right?” he says, addressing the last part to May, who is leaning against his bedpost.

“Almost 350 years,” she answers, and Fitz lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He had already figured out it was rare, even if he hadn’t quite admitted it to himself completely. No one in camp could do it, but he’d thought maybe there were older demigods, adults who had outgrown camp, who could. Fitz doesn’t feel special; he feels terrified.

“You need help moving your stuff over to Hephaestus cabin? I bet Anne Weaver’s there already. You probably know her, at least a little,” Coulson says, and Fitz nods numbly. Now that he’s heard her name, he can picture the head camper for Hephaestus. She spends a lot of time around the forge, had complimented him on Pyrrhos’ new scabbard.

The Hephaestus cabin is right next to Hermes, but Coulson still insists on carrying Fitz’s bag, leaving him with his backpack and his sword belt. Anne Weaver is standing next to the door, even though Fitz can still hear noise from over in the direction of the amphitheater. She smiles when she sees them, and he tries to return it, though he’s pretty sure it just makes him look vaguely sick.

“Welcome, Fitz. Probably should have known you belonged to us when I saw your work down at the forge. We’ve got a bed at the back with your name on it,” Anne says, and he follows her in. Coulson dumps his bag on the bed with a smile, while May pulls the Hephaestus counselor over to the side to talk to her.

“You’re still welcome to hang out in the Hermes cabin, if you ever need to,” Coulson says, his smile faltering for just a second before he fixes it on his face again, “If you’re settled, I think I’ll head back to the bonfire. See you at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Any questions?” Anne asks, looking away from her conversation with May. When Fitz shakes his head, she continues, “I think I’ll head back too. You coming?”

“I don’t- don’t think so,” Fitz says, shaking his head, staring around the cabin to avoid having to look at any of them. That would mean acknowledging that they’re all staring at him still, and he knows that if he goes back there will only be more stares. He waits until he hears them leave to turn back towards his bed to start unpacking the few possessions he has.

“You’ll train with me starting tomorrow,” May says, and Fitz jumps. He hadn’t realized she was still there, and he takes a few seconds to catch his breath before turning to where she’s standing in the doorway.

“With the Demeter cabin?” he asks, confused.

“No, just with me.”

“Why? Shouldn’t I train with my own cabin, now that I’ve got one?”

“The Hephaestus cabin won’t be doing the kinds of things you’ll need to know for what you’re going to have to do.”

“What do you mean, what I’m going to have to do?” he asks, not understanding, and she gives him a look that he’s pretty sure is meant to convey that he’s not going to like it when he does understand.

“Just meet me at the arena, after you’re done for the day,” she says, and then she’s out of the cabin and gone before he can say anything else.

Fitz knows he should probably unpack his stuff, especially since he’s now in what he supposes is his permanent home, but between the scene at the amphitheater and May’s mysterious instructions, the past twenty minutes have been as exhausting as anything he’s done at camp. He pulls his blankets out of his bag, then stows it with his backpack and his sword underneath the bed before curling up as close to the wall as he can manage.

———————

The man in the golden armor is in his dreams that night, arms ablaze. But he’s not screaming or laughing or tugging at his bonds; he’s completely still, staring upwards at something outside of Fitz’s scope of vision, and the grin on his face is worse, somehow, than the screaming or the laughter or anything else to this point. There’s a knowing quality to it that sends a chill down his spine, even dreaming.

He jerks awake, shivering. The laughter from past dreams echoes in his head, and when Fitz closes his eyes again, he can see the image of golden armor burned against the back of his eyelids. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it must be late, since he can see the shapes of his siblings- he wonders if it will ever stop being strange to think of them that way- in their beds. For a second, he considers going out to the strawberry fields, but he figures that he can’t really use the excuse that he doesn’t feel at home anymore; this is supposed to be where he belongs.

The whole cabin has a soft mechanical hum, and Fitz concentrates on that and taking deep breaths until he falls back asleep.

——————

Jemma is waiting outside of the arena when he shows up the next afternoon, and Fitz can’t help the sense of relief that wells up in his chest.

“Hello,” she says when she sees him, smiling, “Were you looking for me? I’m waiting for May.”

“To train with her?” he asks, and Jemma nods, looking confused, “Me too. Did she tell you why?” This time she shakes her head, and opens her mouth to say something when the Hermes cabin emerges from the arena, Coulson bringing up the rear. He smiles at the two of them and breaks away from his siblings.

“Hey, guys. You settling in alright, Fitz?” he asks, and Fitz nods, “Good. Are you guys waiting for me?”

“May, actually. We’re supposed to- she told us to meet her here to train when we were done for the day,” Jemma says, and Coulson’s smile drops. It seems like he’s about to say something in response when someone clears their throat from the entrance to the arena, and Fitz turns to see May standing there, arms crossed. She and Coulson stare at each other before he turns back to the other two.

“I’ll see you guys at dinner,” he says, and then heads towards the cabins without another backwards glance. May nods toward the arena, and Fitz and Jemma follow her in. There’s no dummies or other targets set up, just May standing in the middle with her sword.

“Fitz, you’re up first,” she says, and he glances towards Jemma, unsure.

“Up first for what?”

May rolls her eyes, “Show me what you’ve got,” she says, pointing at his sword. He’s barely got it out of the scabbard before she jumps at him. Jemma scrambles out of the way, and Fitz throws his weapon up to block May’s swing. He manages it just barely, stumbling backward with the force of the blow; she doesn’t give him a chance to get his balance back before she swings again.

This goes on for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few minutes. Fitz manages to hold on to his sword, and block the majority of May’s attacks, but that’s about it. Eventually, she stops swinging, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from collapsing directly to the ground in exhaustion; he can feel bruises forming in the places along his ribs where May had whacked him with the flat of her blade, and he’s pretty sure he’d sprained his ankle during one of his backward stumbles away from the swings.

Fitz limps over to where Jemma is leaning against the arena wall, looking at him with sympathy and holding out a canteen. He takes it with a nod and as much of a smile as he can manage; he’s not surprised anymore that the contents taste like tea, the way his mother makes it, and he’s careful not to drink too much of the nectar, even as thirsty as he is. Fireproof as he is, he doesn’t want to test just how much of the god’s choice of drink he can withstand.

He watches Jemma and May fight with a smile. Jemma has always been better with her knives than he has with any weapon, even Pyrrhos, and she holds her own much better than he had. May has little trouble blocking the few attacks Jemma manages, but she can’t get around Jemma’s knives either. Eventually, she stills, considering the other girl, still poised to block further attacks, and smiles slightly.

“Good,” is all she says, but Fitz, even after spending only a month at camp, knows that’s a pretty big compliment coming from May. Jemma knows too, if the grin that breaks across her face is any indication. They cross the arena floor back over to where Fitz is sitting, and he holds out the canteen, which Jemma takes, still grinning.

“Let me see your sword,” May says, and he waits anxiously as she examines it. He hadn’t really realized how protective he was of Pyrrhos, but he doesn’t like the sight of it in someone else’s hand much at all. Fitz tries not to breathe out audibly in relief when she hands it back.

“If you’re going to use that sword, you should learn to take advantage of that hook, and the notches. And we’ll stop by the armory to check your shield in on the way to dinner,” she says, and Fitz looks up from where he’d been studying his sword.

“Why?”

“It’s no good having a power that hasn’t been seen in three and a half centuries if you don’t have a hand free to use it,” she says, and Fitz nods. He’s never really thought about it, but the Demeter kids’ plant-based powers are probably as close as anybody in camp gets to his own. May doesn’t carry a shield.

“Come on. We’ve got an hour to work before dinner,” she says, and Fitz tries not to groan as Jemma helps him to his feet. He tests his ankle and it holds, the nectar having done its job, then follows the two girls across the arena floor.

Fitz keeps waiting for May to explain why he and Jemma are there, but she’s silent except when she’s demonstrating or correcting something. When the hour is up, she walks with them towards the dining pavillion, still not saying anything. Jemma asks Fitz questions about Hephaestus cabin, which he answers as best he can. They reach the cabins, and he can see Coulson standing in front of Demeter, arms crossed.

May sighs, “I’ll see you two tomorrow, same time.” With a final nod, she heads towards her cabin and the Hermes counselor.

Fitz isn’t sure what to do when they reach the dining pavillion. That morning and at lunch, he’d sat at the Hephaestus table, and Jemma had sat at the Athena table, leaving the unclaimed table empty for the first time in a month, but Jemma hadn’t looked comfortable either time and he didn’t think he’d looked any better. He’s saved from making a decision when he realizes that Trip and Skye are already sitting at the unclaimed table, and are waving them over.

“I can’t believe none of you told me,” is the first thing Trip says when Fitz sits down, and continues when they raise their eyebrows at him, “About Fitz’s superpower.”

“It’s not really a superpower,” Fitz says, blushing, “Especially not around here.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of people walking around camp casually lighting themselves on fire with their minds and walking away unscathed.”

“We were looking for you guys, before dinner, so Trip could stop complaining to just me. Were you hiding?” Skye asks, and Jemma shakes her head.

“Training with May.”

“Really? You guys invited to some sort of special training session with Demeter?”

“It was just the two of us,” Fitz says, “She wouldn’t tell me why, except that I wouldn’t get the kind of training that I would need with Hephaestus. For ‘what I’m going to have to do.’ Her words, whatever that means.”

“That’s cryptic, even for May. Wonder what she knows.”

“She took off after you pretty quickly, before even Coulson or Anne, after you left the bonfire. And Raina was saying that she and Coulson got into a fight last night, or at least an argument,” Skye says.

“They had one the day you guys showed up at camp, too. A big one, from what I’ve heard,” Trip inserts, and when Skye turns to him, he shrugs, “Hey, the Aphrodite campers aren’t the only gossips in camp. What did May tell you?” he asks Jemma.

“Just that I should meet her at the arena when I was done for the day. She caught me as I was headed back to my cabin last night. I was so surprised I didn’t really think to ask why.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re really going to need to know how to fight, for whatever reason. May’s the best fighter in camp, right?” Skye says, and Trip nods, but he looks puzzled.

“It makes sense for Fitz, I guess, since Hephaestus kids pretty much always prefer a jar of Greek fire to a sword, but it’s not like they get no training. And Jemma’s mom is the goddess of battle, she’d be getting some of the best training in the camp, next to Ares, probably.”

“Speaking of Ares, you two aren’t the only ones who had someone volunteer to help them with their fighting. Ward stopped me on my way to breakfast, said that if I ever wanted some help or just some extra sparring practice, I should let him know.”

“How, in the retelling, do you manage to make that sound like he was asking you out on a date, instead of just offering to be your training partner?” Trip says, and Fitz smiles, which earns him a whack on the arm from Jemma.

“Leave her alone, you two. That’s very nice, Skye. Did you take him up on the offer?”

“I told him I’d think about it and let him know. Figured I could let him stew for a few days at least,” she answers, and sticks her tongue out at the two boys when they stifle their laughter. Jemma glares at them until they sheepishly turn back to their food.

—————-

“Maybe she’s decided to give us a day off?” Fitz says, and Jemma gives him a disbelieving look. They’ve been at this for a week now, and he wouldn’t mind a break. Nothing he’d done with Hermes was as exhausting as the work May was putting them through. Fitz wishes she would tell them why.

“Maybe you should go look for her,” she replies, and he sighs, pushing himself up from the ground outside the arena while Jemma stays put.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“One of us should stay here, in case she shows up. Then she won’t think we tried to skip.”

“And why do I have to be the one to go looking for her?”

“Because you’re already standing up,” Jemma says, grinning, and Fitz sighs before setting off towards the cabins. The Demeter cabin is deserted when he peeks in, as is the dining pavillion, and he figures that his best bet is the Big House; even if she’s not there herself, someone there might know where she was.

As he approaches the front of the house, Fitz can hear arguing, recognizes Coulson’s voice.

“-we never tell people about prophecies!” he says, and Fitz is surprised at how angry he sounds. He’s never heard Coulson more than vaguely annoyed before.

“And I haven’t told them anything!” He’s found May, and if Coulson’s anger had been shocking, he’s not sure what the word is for May’s, “But I’m not just going to let two kids walk into this with nothing, and this is the best thing I can do for them if you won’t let me tell them!”

“May,” Chiron cuts in, sounding much calmer than either of the two demigods, “This is how we’ve done things for a very, very long time. I speak from experience concerning prophecies, and their subjects.”

“So do I,” May replies, and she sounds more sad than angry now, “If I’m not allowed to give them information, I can at least give them skills.”

Fitz hears Chiron sigh as he comes around the corner of the house, Coulson and May trailing him. They freeze when they see him, and Fitz rubs at the back of his neck.

“I was- Jemma and I were waiting, and we didn’t know where you were.”

“Sorry, Fitz. I must have lost track of time,” she says, glancing at the other two, who won’t meet her eyes, “I’ll come now, if we’re done.” Chiron nods, and Fitz follows May off the porch.

“Sorry,” he says, once they’re a little ways from the Big House.

“For what?”

“It seemed like I might have interrupted something.”

“Don’t worry about it. I should have been paying attention to the time.”

“Is, um, is anything wrong? Can I, uh, help somehow?”

May smiles softly, shakes her head, “No. Coulson and I disagree on something important to both of us, and there’s no compromise. Now come on. We’ve wasted enough time already.” She starts to jog towards the arena, and Fitz barely manages not to groan as he follows her.

——————

There’s a bonfire that night, and Fitz is a surprised when Ward sits down next to Skye. He’s never seen the older boy sit with anyone but Garrett, who is across the amphitheater with May and Coulson. Garrett and Coulson seem to be doing most of the talking, glancing over at Ward and the others occasionally; Fitz assumes they’re just as surprised about Ward’s seating choice as he is.

“Oh, Fitz,” Skye sing-songs, and he turns to where she’s sitting between Mike and Ward.

“What?” he asks, suspicious about her tone of voice.

“The bonfire is really far away,” she says, grinning, and he sighs, stretching out his hand and letting a flame sprout in his palm, just large enough for Skye to hold her marshmallow over. Her grin grows, and Fitz lets the fire spread across his entire palm when Mike and Ward hold up their marshmallows too.

Across the crowd, he watches May stand and slowly make her way down the stands. Coulson watches her go with a frown until Garrett pushes at his shoulder with a laugh and he glances over, catching Fitz’s eye for a second, before turning to the other older boy. It doesn’t look like he and May have figured out their disagreement; Fitz wonders how many arguments like the one he’d overheard today they’ve had in the past week.

They’d started fighting the night he was claimed, according to Skye and her siblings in Aphrodite, and he feels bad that he may have contributed to whatever is between them right now. Coulson hadn’t looked pleased the next day when he’d found him and Jemma waiting for May outside the arena either, or afterward, when he’d been outside the Demeter cabin. If he had any idea why May was insisting on training him and Jemma, maybe he could figure out why the two of them were fighting.

We never tell people about prophecies.

I haven’t told them anything.

I speak from experience concerning prophecies, and their subjects.

I’m not just going to let two kids walk into this with nothing.

“Fitz!” Jemma says, alarmed, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he realizes that the flame he’d created to toast the marshmallows has started to creep over his wrist and down his arm.

“Sorry,” he says, looking not at Jemma but over at Coulson and Garrett, and then towards the entrance of the amphitheater where May had disappeared.

Whatever they were fighting about, it concerned him. Him and Jemma and, apparently, a prophecy of some sort, which Fitz doesn’t necessarily like the sound of. He’s about to ask Jemma if she knows anything more than he does when Ward speaks up.

“How long have you been able to do that? The fire thing?”

“Since I was little. Seven,” Fitz clarifies.

“And you’re totally fireproof? And you can keep anything from burning?”

“Er, as far as I know.”

“Can you do a full body burn?”

“Um, I’ve never really tried? Probably.” No one besides Jemma has ever been even close to as curious about his powers as Ward appears to be.

“Ward, stop badgering him and let him enjoy the bonfire,” Skye says, laughing, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not ‘badgering him.’ I’m just curious.”

“Would it be possible for you to act like a normal person instead of a robot for like half an hour? You can bother him some other time, they’re about to start the sing-along, and Trip will never shut up about it if we talk through it.”

Fitz stays through most of the sing-along, but he’s still one of the first to leave. He’s spent the entire week sleeping in the Hephaestus cabin, usually too exhausted from May’s training sessions and the rest of the day to even consider moving out to the strawberry fields. It’s supposed to be his home anyway, where he belongs at camp, and he’s been trying to adjust to that idea. Plus, there haven’t been any dreams since that first night, which is the longest stretch of peace he’s had in quite awhile, which he appreciates. But he doesn’t think he can bear to stay there tonight, and he grabs a couple blankets and heads out to the fields.

——————-

He expects to see the man in the golden armor; he’s gotten fairly good at knowing what nights the dreams will come. But instead it’s just the campfire, and the small figure next to it.

The contrast between the two scenes is huge. The campfire gives him the exact opposite feeling of the man in the golden armor; like home and warmth and safety. There’s something familiar about it now, outside of the repetition in his dreams, like he’s seen it in real life, though he can’t place exactly where. Fitz used to think that maybe it was a memory, unlike the other images, that it was Jemma’s silhouette, but he can tell it’s something different now. Someone different.

——————-

It’s one of the best nights of sleep he’s gotten at camp, and he wakes up to find Jemma curled up against his side. She stirs as he stretches, and smiles up at him sheepishly.

“You looked strange when you left the bonfire last night. I was worried,” she says, and he nods, “What’s wrong?”

He tells her about May and Coulson’s argument, and his theory that it was about them. That all of the fights have been about them. She listens quietly, playing with a loose thread on his blanket.

“Why wouldn’t May be allowed to tell us, if she knew something about us because of a prophecy, or whatever it is?”

“Chiron and Coulson both said that they never tell people. May wasn’t too happy about that, but she said that she hadn’t told us anything.”

“Which is true,” Jemma says, and Fitz can’t help but smile at the tone of grumpy tone in her voice, “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just not like you to be upset that you don’t know something,” he replies, and she whacks him with the blanket in retaliation.

“It’s bothering you too.”

He nods, “Yeah. But on the list of people I don’t want to annoy in camp, May is at the top of that list. And I feel like asking her a bunch of questions that she can’t answer is a good way to end up on her bad side.”

Jemma sighs, then stands, helping Fitz to his feet and grabbing one of the blankets.

“Come on. We’ll take these back to your cabin and then go to breakfast. I’m sure Ward has more questions about your pyrokinesis,” she says, and Fitz groans.

———————

Fitz jerks awake when someone kicks his foot. He sits up, reaching for his sword, before he sees May standing over him, wearing a black hoodie over her orange camp shirt.

“Come on,” she says, glancing around.

“Where? What time is it?” he asks, fumbling for his sword belt.

He’s been sleeping in the strawberry fields for three days now; none of his siblings have said anything, not even Anne. Most of them still seem to be avoiding him, like he could burst into flame at any minute, but a few of them besides the head counselor have warmed up to him. They’re impressed by his work at the forge, at the very least, but none of them have felt the need to comment on the fact that he’s not spending much time in Hephaestus cabin right now.

“The Big House,” May answers, and Fitz freezes halfway through putting his belt on.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No. But you will be if you don’t get moving,” she says, then pauses, “Well, probably not. The harpies seem to have a soft spot for you, for whatever reason. But I’ll be in trouble, and then you’ll be in trouble.” Fitz swallows, hard. It’s not really the sort of thing you want to hear from someone who regularly swings a sword at your face, even if he thinks he can see her smiling slightly in the dark.

“How’d you get out here without getting caught then?”

“My boyfriend’s dad is the god of thieves. I’ve picked up a thing or two about sneaking around.”

“If I’m not in trouble, why are we going to the Big House at,” he glances at his watch, “two in the morning?”

“It’s time you got some answers,” May says, and Fitz stumbles in surprise. She turns and catches him by the elbows before he can fall, giving him an exasperated look.

“Answers about what?”

“You’re not stupid, Fitz. I’m pretty sure you know exactly what.”

He has a pretty good guess. “The prophecy. The one that you and Coulson were arguing about, the day you were late.”

“Yes.”

“Chiron and Coulson said that you don’t tell people,” he swallows hard, “You don’t tell subjects about prophecies.”

“Yes.”

“That you’ve been doing it that way for hundreds of years.”

“For the most part, yes.”

“Why? I mean, why don’t you tell them?”

May sighs, “Prophecies are vague. Almost always. And trying to interpret them, with incomplete information, before their time, it can cause problems. It can get people killed.”

“Then why do you want Jemma and I to know? And why aren’t you telling her? Why me?”

She stares at him for a long time in the darkness, and Fitz stands as tall as he can, forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Because I believe people have a right to know about their own destinies. That it’s just as dangerous to leave them in the dark, when having information could help them. Could save their lives. And I don’t think it’s too early anymore,” she says, and she sounds sad again for a moment, before she takes a deep breath and continues, “And I’m telling you because the prophecy is about you. Jemma’s there too, and I’m pretty sure that whatever’s coming, she’s going to be right beside you, but in the end, the prophecy is about you.”

They’re standing by the back door to the Big House now, and Fitz stares at it, forcing himself to breathe. Destiny. Prophecy. You.

“How do you know? How do you know it’s about me?” he asks, and he fights down his embarrassment at the way his voice shakes.

“I don’t know. But I’ve thought about this prophecy a lot, and I haven’t been this sure about one in a long time.”

“What if I don’t want to know? What if I just want to go back to sleep?” he asks, and May lets out a long breath, her eyes closed.

“The Oracle is the attic,” she finally says, “Through the door, up the stairs to the top, right near the window. You’ll have to be quiet, because Chiron and Mr. D both have apartments in the house. Go or don’t go, Fitz. It’s your destiny, so it’s your choice. I just got you here so you could make it. But I think if you’re brave enough to run into a burning building, you’re brave enough to walk up a set of stairs.”

“Fire can’t hurt me,” he says, not really knowing why he does. Probably because it sounds better than I’m scared now. This isn’t fire.

“It’s still your choice, Fitz. Maybe I’m wrong, and it’s not about you, and the Oracle will just sit there silently. Either way, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,” she says, and then turns back towards the camp. He watches her go into she disappears into the darkness, then looks over towards the cabins, illuminated by the campfire that always burns in the center of the ring of buildings.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust, and for Fitz to figure out what he’s seeing, but then his breath catches in his throat. There’s a small silhouette in front of the fire, and the image is an exact replica of the one from his dreams. Warmth blooms in his chest, and he takes a step away from the Big House. He wants to go down there now, wants to know who it is, why they’re there, why this image keeps showing up in his dream, why it feels like this, and he wants to run as far away from the attic and the Oracle and whatever else is waiting for him.

It’s your choice, FItz.

He takes a deep breath, and turns back towards the Big House.