All rights go to Rick Riordan. I own nothing but the plot.

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Summary: Percy, Jason, Piper, and Annabeth die and go to Valhalla. Except . . . The Greek and Roman, and Vallhalla is Norse. Yeah, they've got a problem. There will probably be three to five chapters to this story.

Set after the Giant war and Hammer of Thor.

Percy's POV.

I awake screaming. I'm writhing on the floor, yelling. My cuts, my scars, not yet healed from the giant war, are split open, blood pouring down, like a thin waterfall of blood, red, wet, and sticky. I bolt up, panting, cold sweat flooding my body. My eyes snap open, and, alertly, I take in my surroundings. My hand, scarred and scorched, instinctually goes to my pocket, where my trusty ballpoint pen, Riptide, or Anaklusmos, sits. It doesn't look like much, just a plain black ballpoint pen, looking like it probably cost fifty cents, but when uncapped, turns into a celestial bronze sword. I reach down and placed a hand to my gut, expecting to feel burns and injuries. From what, I don't know. I just know they should be there. I blink in surprise. My skin is smooth, my only scars being my ones from the wars. Somehow, I'd survived! Except . . . That couldn't be right. I couldn't be alive. My senses expand. I stand in front of two wolf-headed doors, the words Valhalla inscripted neatly above the heads, close to the centre. Surrounding me are lights and palaces. It's beautiful, really, but I can't help but notice the lack of people. No one is walking the streets, fighting monsters, or talking. Immediately, I grow suspicious. I was healed, which should be impossible. The place was empty and vacant, which, with such a big place, wasn't right. My eyes narrow. Instinctively, I pull out and grasp Riptide tightly, ready to uncap at the smallest notice of danger. I reach out hesitantly and push the doors open slightly, slipping inside and attempting to be quiet.

In this room, there is a desk, with only two people. One of them, I notice observantly, has a name tag which reads Helgi. He stands next to the other gloomily, glaring at him.

Cautiously, I make my way over to the desk and glance up at them.

"Uh . . . Where am I?"

"Valhalla, kid. You realise that check-in time is at three and if you get here earlier we can't say your room will be ready." Hunding says. "Floor nineteen . . ." He muses. "You'll like it there, I think, Kid. Troublemakers, they are."

"We've upgraded you to a suite." Hunding adds.

"We've upgraded everyone to suites. All we have are suites." Helgi grumbles.

Hunding ignores him. "Do you have any luggage?"

"I-" I glance down at Riptide, still firmly grasped in my hand. "Just my pen."

"A pen? Why did you have a pen on you? Whatever." Helgi interjects.

"Do you want the minibar key?" Hunding questions.

What the hell is the minibar key?

"You want the minibar key. Kid, you want the minibar key. It'll be a long stay." Helgi answers for me.

"How long?" My mouth is dry and voice hoarse.

"Forever, or until Ragnarok. Whichever comes first."

"Floor's this way!"

I have no idea what they're talking about. Ragnarok? Suite? Floor nineteen? Valhalla? What are they talking about? However, I have no intention on getting left . . . Where ever this is, so I follow, confused. I still don't trust them. My hand rests gently against riptide, just in case. Helgi leads me through numerous turns and hallways, most decorated by weapons and wolves. My head is full with with questions, but I stay silent, confusion shadowing me. At one room we pass, metal clangs from inside, as if a sword fight is going on. At another, a pig's head lays at the door and I cringe. At one floor, laughter booms. Helgi yells for me to duck, and I blink in confusion. Duck? Why would there be a duck? Too late, I realise his meaning. A spear comes sailing out of nowhere and impales me in the gut. I cry out, my pain echoing, and I double over.

"Jefferson! I saw that! The lounge is a no impaling area!" Helgi bellows down the corridor.

Another voice. "Sorry!" He didn't sound particularly sorry. My side flares. Pain clouds my vision as I stagger back, leaning onto the wall for support.

"Ah . . ." Helgi mutters. "You'll resurrect in around an hour." He turns to walk away.

Resurrect in around an hour? His words echo. I cry out again and stifle a scream. Blood pours down my side, thick and scarlet, blanketing my stomach. Stars dance in my vision. I struggle to stay conscious. Distinctly, I hear voices, but they're too faint to hear the words clearly. I black out with that final thought.

I jerk upright and stifle a scream. I'm covered in cold sweat, and no doubt my eyes and wild, panicked, and pained. I let out an anguished, soft whimper. I reach up to lay my hand on my head, and notice the tears on my cheeks. I wipe them away hastily, my scarred hands rough against my skin. My breathing is shallow, coming in short puffs. I blink three times, and then take in my surroundings quickly. I'm splayed out on a leather couch, in clothes, clean and no longer blood stained, which strikes me as odd. There's six doors surrounding the area I'm in.

A voice, cautious and hesitant, reaches my ears. "Hey . . . Are you okay?"

Startled, My head whirls around and I glare. "Who the Hades are you?"

The boy, one hand on a pendant that hangs around his neck, answers, "I'm Magnus."

"Alright. Where am I? Where are my friends? Jason, Leo, Annabeth?"

The boy, Magnus, narrows his eyes when I say my girlfriend's name, but if he's suspicious, he doesn't voice his concerns. "You're at Valhalla, hall of the honoured dead." He tells me. "I don't know about your friends, but . . ." He trails off, but my mind sets on one thing. Hall of the honoured dead? His words echo.

"Dead?" My voice sounds incredulous to my ears.

"Look," Magnus starts. "You know anything about Norse Mythology?"

I shake my head. "Norse? Seriously, there's already Greek, Roman, and Egyptian, but now Norse?" I swear under my breath and continue. "I swear, if they dragged me here because of another war, I am going to kill them. Haven't I done enough?"

Magnus stares. "I'm sorry. Greek, Roman, Egyptian?"

"You'd didn't think there was only one mythology out there, did you? No. They just kept us apart to stop the wars. The last time we crossed paths . . . Well, it was bad. Now, where am I? And give an actual explanation this time." I roll my eyes.

"Right . . . This is Valhalla, hall of the honoured dead. And, yes, dead. To get here, you have to die a worthy death. You have to do something brave, die with a weapon in hand. You can't just pick up a weapon and kill yourself. The act has to be unplanned, a decision, a sacrifice. The people who decide whether you're worthy, the Valkyries, choose and deliver you here. Your Valkyrie is Samirah Al-Abbas. Practically, we just train daily and wait for Ragnarok. The war. You'll be staying here, floor nineteen. Just out of curiosity . . . How did you die?"

"I-I- don-" I stagger back and clutch at my head as a wash of memories rush at me.

Jason, Piper, Annabeth and I were out at Boston, looking at the monuments. It was 8:30. We had stopped at a bridge, half blown up, the damage apparently done by a kid by the name of Magnus, whom had sacrificed himself for the others when a terrorist attacked Boston a couple of years back. We stayed there, silent, not talking, for a couple of minutes, just enjoying the others' company and the non-existent death threat towards them at that moment. And then a loud roar had broken the silence, and we had whirled around and taken steps back. Beside me, Annabeth had whispered,

"Drakon."

Almost immediately, the four demigods had their weapons out. Jason held his imperial gold spatha, Annabeth, the Drakon bone sword from the depths of Tartarus, Piper, Katoptris, and Percy, Anaklusmos. They stared, Annabeth whispering tactics to the group as a they nodded to specific ones, and they turned, blades at the ready, as Piper spoke.

"Turn, Drakon. Do not harm." Her words were powerful, so much that I felt the urge to turn and set down Riptide. The Drakon hissed. "Go, leave." At this, It seemed as if Piper's mind had gone blank. The Drakon, unconvinced by the Charmspeak, roared again and charged, acid and fire pouring out of its mouth. The four battled the Drakon for many minutes, dodging the acid, throwing thrusts at him. The blades twisted and sparked, bouncing off the monster as if made of plastic. Their skin boiled and bled as the acid hit them, screams tearing from their lips. I had whistled for Blackjack, jumping out of the way and swinging my sword as the Drakon's tail swung towards my head. Blackjack had come out of the sky, his black coat standing out against the clouds and I had jumped onto his back. Go above the Drakon! I had told him. I've got an idea.

Oh, I hate your ideas.

Just do it!

Got it, Boss.

And don't call me Boss!

Understood, Boss.

Blackjack's wings flapped and he hovered above the Drakon hesitantly. You sure about this, Boss? I don't wanna get turned into horse meat!

I had raised my hands and yelled. The water beneath the bridge had risen, the valley now empty, and I had thought, menacingly, Never attack a demigod next to their home turf.

I moved my hands and the water mimicked the movements. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen Jason raise his hands to the sky and shout a command, and Piper throw Katoptris towards the Drakon's throat. As lightning struck, I pushed my hands outwards and let go of the many tonnes of water. The water hit the Drakon at the same time that the lighting struck the water. Electricity sparked, and as the Drakon breathed fire once more, the explosion shook the silence of the night. It hit all four of the demigods, and since I'd been hovering above the Drakon on Blackjack, the force threw the two of us backwards. I had lost my grip on Blackjack and tumbled down, down, and smashed straight into the ground. My vision went blurry. My body ached and screamed, but I no longer had the energy to shout. Wisps of red and black swept through my vision, spots dancing in front of my eyes. I felt my blood, red, hot, and sticky, spread across my body and numerous scars. The cuts close to healing split open. My head swam. I attempted to stand, but my legs wouldn't take the weight and I had staggered back, a scream finally ripping from my throat, guttural. My skin boiled and the hot fumes affected the scars scattered around my body. I couldn't see, but I felt the fire of the explosion wash over me.

It scorched at my skin, and even though being a son of the sea God made me half fire resistant, I felt the blisters turning up on my skin. I took the rest of my energy to whisper, "Sorry," into the fires. My body was numb, which probably meant the flames were so hot they were over running my nerves. I glanced up to see Annabeth and Jason collapse before everything went black and I felt no more. Faintly, I see the ghost of a girl. She's riding a horse, swirling around the fires. She reaches out to me with one hand. The girl's green hijab flies around her face. She's wearing battle armour, and has shield in one hand. An axe falls at her side and her face seems pleading.

"Stop struggling!" She had demanded once I began to fight her hold on me. "Do you want to die?! You'll fall into the gap! Or Helheim!"

I hadn't known what the gap or Helheim was, but I had decided that, no, I didn't want to die. I reached up weakly and took the girl's hand.

Everything went black.

Magnus rushes to me. Unstable, I stand.

You don't have to tell me," He says. "I'll see it tonight at dinner, anyway."

"What do you mean, you'll see it tonight?"

Magnus laughs nervously. "You see all the acts that people do to get into Valhalla at dinner, to see if the other Valkyries agree that you're worthy to be here."

I nod, and then a thought occurs to me and I jump up. "Annabeth? Is she here? Jason, Piper?" I question urgently.

"I don't know."

The entrance door to floor nineteen swings open at that moment and two people, familiar, step through and race towards him. Piper and Jason.

"Piper! Jason! You guys dead too?"

"Apparently." Jason responds.

"Is Annabeth here?" I ask.

"We don't know." Piper answers this time. "Apparently we're staying here. Wonder how long it'll be until they realise that we're Greek and not Norse. Or Roman, in Jason's case." She glances around the floor quickly, her kaleidoscope eyes taking everything in.

The two boys laugh at the same time as the door opens again and a girl with a hijab steps through, glaring. She moves swiftly towards the three demigods and says,

"I'm Samirah Al-Abbas. Call me Sam. I'll be your Valkyrie for tonight. And if you embarrass me, I won't hesitate to kill you." The girl threatens as a loud horn sounds, as if on cue. I can't help but recognise her features from my flashback. Her hijab, scarf, clothes, her face.

"Dinner." Sam informs us. "This way."

The demigods follow her down hallways and corridors, taking twists and turns. At one hallway, we meet Annabeth, following another girl with black hair and lightning blue eyes. She wears a green scarf.

"Here, Sam." She says. She turns to my girlfriend. "This is your Valkyrie, Samirah Al-Abbas. Odin wishes to speak to you, captain." She directs the last bit to Sam.

Sam nods. "Will do." She says. "And don't call me captain!"

They laugh.

I lean up and kiss Annabeth softly. After the war, she grew a couple of inches taller than me, a fact that she loves to tease me about. The girl with Annabeth nods swiftly and begins to walk away.

When we get to the feast hall of the slain, we come to a halt. Sam takes both Jason and Piper's wrists, tells them to hold on, and then flies over to a section of a table, leaving Annabeth and I alone. She kisses me, her tongue sliding into my mouth, my arms winding around her waist. She tangles her hands into my hair. Our tongues battle for a couple of seconds, and then we break apart.

"Wise girl." I whisper.

"Seaweed Brain." She says softly.

We look at each other for a few seconds, and then look somewhere else. Sam arrives back to the entrance, grasps our wrists firmly, and lifts us off the ground. I let out a yelp.

She drops us (not literally,) with Jason and Piper, and then continues to the head table at the front of the room. Next to us sits four other people. We're the only ones at this particular table, apart from their escorts. What had they called them - Valkyries?

"Wow. Percy, the architecture here is amazing. All the designs on the walls are incredibly detailed. And these monuments - they're the original ones!" Annabeth breathes, eyes brightening. She's goes on about all the things in the designs, describing the details, saying what she'd add and what she would change. I smile despite it all and try to listen until a voice, louder than the rest, breaks through, and our attention diverts.

"Valkyries! Let us see your heroes acts! We have eight enherjar joining us today! Amara Black!"

Two people from the table next to us rise. The girl speaks.

"This is Dean Clarke. He died at 11:23am today."

The boy's eyes shine as a hologram shimmers into existence and begins to play. The boy, Dean, had died sacrificing himself (Duh. It has to be sacrifice.). He had come home to an attack. Three men stood outside his home, all in black. Each one had a gun holster on the side of their leather jackets. Their eyes gleamed maniacally. The gun was in their hands, fingers on the trigger, aimed at a young girl around the age of twelve. She was pressed against the wall, white, fear visible in her hazel eyes. Dean went up to them, demanded why they were aiming at her, at they ignored him.

"Permission, captain?" One asked, turning to the other stiffly.

"Granted."

The guy raised his gun and pulled back the trigger. Dean shoved the girl out of the way, and she escaped, unharmed. The bullets spun and made impact. The boy cried out, staggering back.

Dean managed to choke out, "Go!" To the girl, who was frozen at the sight.

A hand reached out. A gold form floated up and took the hand. The video goes black.

Cheers fill the hall. Immediately, Amara, the Valkyrie, relaxes, for whatever reason, I don't know. Up the front of the room, a guy stands.

"Dean Clarke, you have died a worthy death! The einherjar accept! Rise, unless Odin wishes to intercede." He glances at the guy in the middle, whom, I now realise, is giving off an aura, powerful. A god, I realise. The god, Odin, stays silent and stares on.

A flash of light, bright, but not enough to make me wince, goes quickly. As it fades, I identify three people. One of them pulls a pouch out, throwing a rune from inside and throwing it into the air. A sign, a rune, it must be, glows in the air. It means nothing to me, but the others in the hall must recognise it, for a chant fills the feast hall of the slain.

"Thor! Thor! Thor!"

Beside me, Samirah, my Valkyrie, grumbles, "As if we need another child of Thor."

"Why?" I question, "What's wrong with them?"

"Nothing." The girl replies. "They're great."

So why had she seemed so . . . Annoyed?

I shake my head, confused, and, for some reason, nervous.

Three more videos play, pronouncing another as a child of Thor, and the other two as mortals.

And then it's us.

"Samirah Al-Abbas!" The voice booms.

Sam stands briskly, tugging me up roughly, gesturing for the others to stand. Wearily, we do so, confusion showing in our eyes.

"This is Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace, and Piper McLean. They each died worthy deaths at Two forty to Three O'clock." There's silence in the feast hall of the slain; no one says a word. My hand shakes slightly as a hologram shimmers into existence and shows the battle with the Drakon. We watch as we battle, and then as we fall. We hear the cries which had been too dim to hear. We see the blood we'd spilt from ourselves. We watch as the Drakon explodes into dust and a hand reaches out and a gold substance floats from our dead bodies and takes it. Throughout the show, I hear whispers.

"What is that?"

"Where'd they learn to fight?"

"How'd he do that?"

"That thing is definitely not Norse."

Whispers. About us. The video fades to black. There's absolute silence. I can tell they're confused. Three minutes pass in gut wrenching silence. And then,

"What the bloody hell was that?!" A demand comes from one of the tables next to us and the hall erupts in outbursts all at once.

"What was that?!" Someone calls.

"Who are they?!" One yells.

"The hell was that?!" Another demands.

I see some take out weapons, and my hands itch for Anaklusmos.

"Silence!" The command is loud and harsh, and I'm taken aback. The hall falls silent except for the faintest whisper. My head swivels to the top table, where someone is standing up.

"That's Erik. There's a lot of Eriks here." Sam whispers to us.

This time, the three people who had come before don't appear to identify out parents. Instead, the guy - Erik, apparently - does it.

"Percy Jackson!" He yells, pulling out a leather brown pouch and reaching into it. He glares at us defiantly, but we don't back down, having seen worse. He flips a rune and says something under his breath. Erik lets the rune spin in the air for a couple of seconds before reaching out and catching it.

Everyone in the hall leans forward in anticipation to see who my father or mother is.

But instead of shouting a name, or a rune, his face shows only confusion. "It's . . . It's blank."

"What?!" It's a lot of people all at once.

Many outbursts continue for a few minutes.

And then suddenly they're all just staring at us and pointing in confusion. Or realisation. I can't exactly tell which.

"What?" I whisper to Sam. My Valkyrie doesn't answer.

"Son of Poseidon! Son of Jupiter! Daughter of Aphrodite! Daughter of Athena!" Erik shouts to the hall, his shock evident on his face.

How does he know this all of a sudden? I'm startled.

And then I twist in my seat to face Annabeth and realisation dawns upon me.

For above her, is a holographic grey owl in a circle, floating above her head. Our parents claimed us again, I realise, shocked.

"But how?!" Shouts of confusion reach my ears.

"They're Roman and Greek! We're Norse!"

"They shouldn't be here!"

"Is it even possible to bring ones of different gods to Valhalla?!"

"Silence!" At the front, Erik's blue eyes are ablaze with anger. "You four - you knew of this?" His voice is dangerously quiet. None of the others answer, but I step up, and say,

"Yes, sir. We knew." Maybe I was being foolish or stupid for answering and now he was going to pulverise me, but I didn't care. My friends sent me panicked looks.

"We can't have Greek or Roman demigods here. Only Norse. You were supposed to go to Elysium."

"Yes." I answer foolishly. "We were." I hope I hadn't just got another god mad at me - was he even a god?

"If we could have a few moments to talk - unless, of course, Lord Odin wishes to intercede?"

A loud voice joins the hesitant conversation - if you could even call it that.

"Odin wishes to intercede!"

I glance at the middle throne, where the god previously occupying it is standing. His aura is powerful, surrounding him in a whirl of colour.

"We simply can't have demigods of a different kind here." He starts. "It'd be outrageous. This is a Norse afterlife, and the Greek and Roman are supposed to go to the underworld." His voice gives off a powerful vibe, similar to Zeus's. "I guess . . . We don't want their parents mad at us, for that could start the war, and we may already have one coming . . . No, no, we don't want that." A thought seems to occur to him and Odin frowns. "Graecus, Roman, do you wish to go back to Midgard? You could continue living your life as it was. And I do own your gods a favour." He says the last bit with distaste, as if he doesn't like the idea of owing the Olympians anything.

"Midgard?" I whisper to Annabeth. "What?"

"The mortal world, Seaweed Brain." She answers softly and and quickly, glancing at me. "He's asking whether we want to go back to our previous lives."

"Uh- yes. Yes, I would. And I think I speak for my friends as well." My friends nodded in confirmation.

"Very well." Odin says lazily. "You have been dead for three days. Your funerals have not yet been planned or decided on. I will be leaving the explanations up to you. Rise, Demigods." Half the hall could've risen at that, but it was clear who Odin was addressing. We rose, albeit a bit nervously. He gestures for us to come to the front table.

We kneel at Odin's feet, but he just waves at us and shakes his head.

"Thank you, my lord." It's the first time Annabeth has spoken.

"I can't afford to have your gods mad at me."

I smile.

"Where do you wish to go?" He asks us.

I glance hesitantly at my companions. "Uh- our cabins?" I mean to state it, but it comes out more as a question.

"Hmmm. Poseidon, Athena, Zeus, and Aphrodite, yes?"

"Uh- yeah." I confirm.

My friends nod.

"Alright." Lord Odin grumbles. He raises his hand - but then stops and turns to the einherjar waiting impatiently in anticipation. "My new book," he starts, "How to deal with Non-Norse demigods, will be available in the gift shop on Monday next week!" He turns back to us, his expression triumphant and reaches out to me, laying a hand on my shoulder, and one on Annabeth's.

He says something under his breath in what I guess is Norse, and there's a flash of white light. My gut wrenches and tightens, my surroundings blurry with colour. I feel my elbow hit something - gods know what - and I jerk it in tighter to my scarred body. Me eyes fall shut. I would've groaned, but I didn't want to open my mouth. I feel myself come to a stop and I stumble to the ground in what I hope is cabin three. Somewhere off to my right, there's a scream.

Hope you liked it! Review, please! Like it? Hate it? If you hate it, well, I'm continuing this anyway. All flames will be used to roast S'mores. I'm sorry if the characters were a little OC, because that really frustrates me in fics I read.

~Aegis12.