She stared at the men in front of her, her hands hanging limply at her side and her feet planted firmly on the ground. A soldiers stance that she had been taught at a very young age by her brother and father, the former being a soldier in the Roman army and the latter being dead because of the Roman Senate.

"And you say you want to join the slave rebels, is that correct?" one of the men in front of her asked, looking at her with contempt. Annabeth glared at the man in front of her, wondering for the millionth time what she was doing here: she was born and raised Roman Aristocracy and yet here she was, among slaves and commoners, asking permission to join their forces? Had she gone mad? Had her grief over he father's passing finally pushed her too far? She knew the answer to this though: she hadn't come and asked to join the rebels out of grief, but out of vengeance. She wanted the Romans to pay for what they did to her father, a member their own Senate.

"Yes," she answered, standing up as straight as she could and feeling countless years of her Roman Aristocracy flowing through her veins. "And I humbly ask permission for the chance to join your ranks."

"Why would you want to join us?" one of the men demanded, and Annabeth couldn't help that notice the leader of the slave group, the mighty Spartacus that had brought countless Roman generals to their knees and was one of the most wanted men in the Empire of Rome, had yet to say anything. "Surely, one of such noble birth would think it beneath her to join the ranks of slaves and common thieves." In truth, she had at first thought this but had quickly managed to stifle those thoughts; she didn't care who the army was filled to the brim with, as long as she was able to fulfill her wish then she was fine.

"Not to mention," one of the men said, sneering at her like she had seen so many nobles do to their own slaves, "We hardly have any use for a woman in terms of fighting." Fury filled Annabeth's veins at the ignorant Sus. All her life she had to deal with men saying she couldn't do something because of her gender; she couldn't fight, lead, use a weapon. Her father, gods rest his soul, had allowed her to practice sword fighting with her older brother, Malcolm, and hadn't once reprimanded her for her unfathomable curiosity on practically everything. Although she favored her dagger (a present from her older brother) she could still wield a sword a lot better than most of these sorry slaves. Fortunately, she was smart enough not to say that out loud, "I wish to join you because I no longer agree with the leaders of Rome," not to mention the treacherous Senate, "and," here, she turned to the leach that had insulted her earlier, "the reason you might have some use for me, O Noble one, is because I have been trained in the art of war since I was a child and know more about it than you." Shocked whispers met her statement and Annabeth almost felt bad about her outburst. However, the look on the pig's face when she said that overrode any feelings of remorse she might have felt. "Furthermore," she continued, turning to Spartacus who was watching her with an odd expression, one of almost recognition. "From what has been said, this group has the entire Roman Empire at its back and from what I've seen," she turned to look over her shoulder at the steadily growing crowd behind her, "from what I've seen, you could use all the help you can get," she paused, then glanced pointedly at the pig from earlier, "in terms of fighting, that is."

"Disrespectful," the pig snapped, spitting at her feet. Annabeth didn't move, but calmed herself by thinking of this pig with an apple between his teeth.

"But she is right," one of the men answered, looking thoughtfully at Annabeth, "we could use all the help we can get."

"We don't need a woman fighting our battles!" another man argued from somewhere behind her. A second later, Annabeth heard a loud smack followed quickly by a low oath.

"What has she to boast about?" one man argued, turning to look at Spartacus, who was still watching Annabeth with the strange expression of recognition. "She's just a child!"

"How about," Annabeth interrupted, raising her voice above the slowly growing cacophony of voices around her. "You allow me to prove myself in combat and then judge me." Low chuckles met her announcement and the pig leaned forward,

"Oh? What makes you think you can best any of us in battle?"

"What makes you think I can't?" Annabeth countered, forcing her hands to stay unclenched.

"You think us weak?" The pig as quietly, glaring at Annabeth with unconcealed hate.

"Against the might of Rome? Indefinitely," Annabeth answered honestly, looking from one of the men in front of her to the rest. She honestly couldn't believe that this rowdy group of slaves had lasted this long. What was Rome coming to if they couldn't even manage this lot? The pig stood up and sauntered towards her, stopping less than an arm's length away from her; she resisted to the urge to cover her nose, with great difficulty.

"You think you could stand a chance against one of us?" he asked her quietly, slowly circling her and Annabeth made sure to keep all her focus on the man circling her; she could hear the uneven gait of his steps, indicating an injury of some kind, the loud, raspy breathing indicating a lack of actual exercise, and the noise of his sandals hitting the cracked ground around them. In a fight, she could either reveal his injury and use that to her advantage or tire him out. It couldn't be that hard.

"Considering that my father was once a gladiator in the rings and he taught my brother and me everything we know, then yes. I believe I stand a pretty good chance against you." Outright laughs met her statement and the pig finally completed his circling and stood in front of her.

"Very well then," he answered, his mouth curling into a sickly grin, "let us test this child and see what she is capable of." Before Annabeth had a chance to answer, the pig reached for the spatha that hung at his waist and swung it at her. Annabeth barely managed to dodge the weapon, feeling the edge of it against her chest. As he made to swing again, she reached for her own weapon-her dagger-and, ignoring the laughs around her, she prepared herself. The pig sneered and launched at her again. Annabeth easily dodged this blow and danced out of reach. She stood ready and watched the pig's every move; from the way he barely managed to catch his breath to the way he moved, not putting too much weight on his right leg. Realizing that she had found his vulnerable point, she danced away as his weapon came close to her face.

"You really think you can defeat me?" the pig huffed; sweat rolling down his forehead and into his eyes, causing him to blink.

"Oh undoubtedly," Annabeth answered easily, not winded in the slightest. He swung at her and Annabeth found her opening. Dodging the blow, she dug the blunt end of her dagger into the pig's thigh as hard as she could and the result was instant; he shouted, his leg giving out and fell to his knee. Before he could move, Annabeth placed point of her dagger right at the man's jugular.

"Do you yield?" she answered, enjoying the look of surprise in the man's eyes. "Or do you want to try again?" the man glared at her, but nodded reluctantly, and Annabeth slowly backed away, drawing her dagger away from his neck. She couldn't help but notice a faint trail of blood from where her dagger had just been. Oops. She tilted her head towards the men before her, resisting the urge to smirk. That was what she thought of them, but she was hardly going to say that.

"I'll try," someone from the crowd called and Annabeth turned to face the new voice and raised an eyebrow in surprise; he didn't look all that impressive. In fact, he was hardly that much taller than her and he had the gait of a slave and wore armor that was crooked. He reminded her of a Greek nurse she had many years ago. The boy slowly walked around the Pig (who was still trying to catch his breath, she noticed smugly) and turned to face her, unsheathing a long, wicked looking sword. She turned to face her new assailant fully, studying the way he moved and how he held his sword. She was slightly impressed to see that he actually knew how to hold his sword. She readied herself, raising her dagger partly in front of her,

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked him as he began shifting from one foot to the other, seeming unable to find some acceptable footing. "After all, no one would begrudge you if you wished otherwise." The boy-which she now noticed was about the same age as her, give or take a few years-smiled crookedly at her,

"Just as you don't look that threatening, neither do I," he answered. His Latin was good, she noticed, but there was an undertone of something else… Greek perhaps? Annabeth shrugged, balancing her dagger in the palm of her hand,

"So be it then," she answered, "I won't be responsible for anything that happens to you." The boy smiled and then launched at her. She easily dodged his blow, feeling her respect for the boy rise; he wasn't the best opponent she'd ever face, but with some actually training, he could become a very dangerous adversary. She danced out of his line of sight, and studied the way he seemed to always hold his sword a little too low or how he moved a second two late. He turned, faster than she was expecting, and brought the sword down on her; she parried his blow with her dagger and fell back a step.

"You're surprisingly good at this," she commented as she began shifting her weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the right time to spring. "Who was it that taught you?" the boy grinned and lowered his sword, shifting it to his other hand and wiping his hand on his leg. Annabeth considered launching at him then when he was off guard but quickly decided not to; she had a plan that she knew was going to work. She wasn't going to throw it away the moment she thought of another plan.

"My father did many years ago," the boy answered, shifting the word back to the original hand, "he taught me what he knew."

"Interesting," she mused, jumping out of the way as the sword came down and slashing her dagger in front of her. He fell back and began to move back and forth in front of her.

"How so?" he asked, stilling for a second in place and then launching at her; she rolled out of the way and slashed at his feet.

"It's not every day one meets a slave who was taught to fight," she replied, slashing her dagger horizontally in front of her, causing the boy to jerk his face back to avoid being scarred.

"I wasn't born a slave," he responded, bringing his sword down in an arch, causing her to raise her own dagger to block the sword. She was close enough now that she could see that the boy had strikingly green eyes. Annabeth blinked and fell back a step, surprised to feel sweat beginning to form on her forehead. "I was born in Greece many years ago and was brought here when Soldiers attacked my home." He slashed his sword down and Annabeth dodged it, bringing her dagger up against the assailant. She almost winced when she saw her dagger produced a long cut on the boy's forearm but managed not to; she was Roman after all and didn't react to minor wounds. She darted behind him, vowing to finish this match before more harm could come to either of them. She saw the opening in the boy's crooked armor-right above the small of his back-and slashed her dagger at the opening. The response was instantaneous- he jerked forward, turned and swung at her, his reactions coming more frantic. She didn't bother ducking now, just lunged at him and placed her dagger over his heart. Although the armor covered his heart, the implication, she knew, was there: I had a chance, but I didn't take it. The boy lowered his weapon, wincing slightly, and grinned at her, obviously impressed. She heard a slight buzzing and looked around them, suddenly remembering the fact that there was a crowd. The boy bowed his head slightly; a show of respect. Annabeth quickly returned the gesture, surprising herself in that moment. Who would have thought that she, a noble born and raised, would bow to a simple slave? She turned to her judges, hands in front of her, and waited for their final words. She half expected the boy to leave as well, but he didn't; he just stayed there with her. Finally, the mighty Spartacus stood up and spoke,

"Do you truly want to join us? If so, you will be seen as a traitor to the Roman people," Annabeth stood up straighter and nodded, looking him in the eye. He studied her for a moment longer and then nodded,

"Very well," he turned to the boy at her side at addressed him, "Perseus, show her the around and help with anything she needs." When the boy-Perseus-nodded, he turned to her, bowed, and returned to where he had been before, saying something to the Pig that made him blanch. It took her a minute to remember that she hadn't told them her name.

….

"So," Perseus was saying, waving a hand around them and turning to grin at her, "this is your new home and if you need anything, feel free to ask almost anyone except," he turned and pointed to a formidable looking older woman who continued to glare at Annabeth as though she was cursing her very existence, "her. Him," He pointed to a younger looking, dark haired boy that continued to glare at her and practically everyone, "No one really knows why he seems to feel that everyone should die, but he does. And her," he pointed to a larger looking girl with strange colored hair, indicating that she was probably from one of the northern tribes found in the Roman Empire, "She is actually another fighter that-"

"But the Pig seemed so surprised that I wanted to fight!" Annabeth argued, feeling an indignant surge course through her. There he was, condemning her when she wanted to fight but already having other women fighters? Hypocrisy!

"Yes, well," Perseus began, following easily besides her and not seeming to catch her fury. "That's Mr.D for you."

"Mr.D…" she questioned, turning and raising an eyebrow out him. He looked amused, but answered, "Yes. Mr.D. his real name is Dionysus, who was the-"

"Greek God of wine," Annabeth interrupted, catching sight of another head of brightly colored hair. How many different tribes were represented here? She wondered, beginning to walk again. Perseus followed after her, seeming to guess her direction. "My father let me read scrolls from all over, especially Greece. I know the Greek gods almost as well as well as I know the Roman ones." Perseus gave an impressed whistle,

"interesting."

"How so?" Perseus shrugged and gave her a sideways smile.

"It's not every day that one meets a Roman that knows much of anything outside, well, Rome."

"'Fear springs from ignorance,'" she added, watching children of every age run around the camp, trying to catch one another. Annabeth felt a wave of wistfulness wash over her; years ago, her and her brother would run through their Villa, each trying to catch the other. It was a game she usually lost as she was smaller and slower than her brother. But as she got older, she began relying more on her knowledge of her own home and began setting traps for her brother. After that, the two slowly stopped playing their game, Malcolm joining the ranks as a soldier and Annabeth finding her solace in reading. "My father used to say that whenever he berated my brother for his lack of foreknowledge on something."

"'Used to'?" Perseus asked both of them stepping out of the way as a child came running out from behind them, followed quickly by what seemed to be her older sister. "Aurelia and Julia," Perseus told her, a faint smile tracing itself on his lips. Annabeth studied him, surprised on how a slave could be so happy for no apparent reason. "Their mother was killed by a Roman soldier when Julia," he inclined his head towards the older looking girl who had caught up with her sister, "was very young and their father-" he turned and looked over their shoulders and Annabeth followed his gaze and looked toward the location he indicated. She blinked in surprise when she saw the man that had been in favor of her joining the fighting ranks- "had to raise them alone. He was a merchant and found us during one of our raids. He's been with us ever since." Annabeth bit back a disbelieving snort at that; the pride in his voice was unwarranted, she wanted to say, Rome cannot be defeated by mere slave. She didn't say this.

"Yes," she answered, "My father used to say that. He can no longer say that as he is now in the realm of Pluto." Her words came out cold and formal while on the inside she was overcome with grief. And that, she thought, strengthening her resolve, is why I wish to join this hopeless group of slaves.

"Oh," Perseus mumbled, sounding sympathetic. Annabeth refused to hear that, didn't want to hear it, in fact. He was a slave, a fellow soldier if anything, not her friend.

"Yes," she continued, pretending not to have heard him. "He was killed a fortnight ago, a member of the Senate that didn't agree with the decision of the Senate." Her heart twisted in her chest and she quickly turned to face him. Her sudden motion and stop caused him to trip over a sheath that had been left on the ground. He stared up at her, sprawled out on the ground and Annabeth found herself unable to hide her snicker. Neither, it seemed, could anyone around them.

"Nice Percy!" someone called from the somewhere behind them.

"Very graceful," another voice commented dryly from their side. Still laughing with mirth, Annabeth reached out a hand to help him up. Looking both flustered and sheepish, he grabbed her outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He then proceeded to wipe all the sand that had covered him off, calling back an insult or sheepish comment in turn.

"Very impressive," a bored voice sounded from behind them. Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the awfully familiar voice wasn't who she thought it was. She slowly turned and saw, to her horror, the pig-Mr.D- glaring at them both, sand and dust gathering on his skin. "Maybe you should spend more time practicing your weapon then lying on you back, aye Psyche?"

"Perseus," Annabeth corrected automatically, reaching for her dagger and wondering if she would get in trouble for using it on this pig. She quickly waved that thought away, knowing there was nothing she could do with all these people around her. "His name is Perseus."

"Percy," Perseus corrected, shooting her a faint smile and then turning to 'Mr.D', a frown marring his features, "and I was just about to ask Annabeth here if she wouldn't mind sparring with me." Mr.D snorted and shook his head,

"Sure you were Petronius," he turned to Annabeth, a furious look in his beady eyes, " do not think that just because you are here you are one of us, Roman," he snapped, somehow making 'Roman' sound more like an insult than a compliment. Annabeth didn't back down, just straightened her back and glared coldly at the old man.

"Do not think because I am a woman that I can be easily manipulated and scared, Sus," she snapped back, feeling the eyes of all those around them on her small group. She held the man's gaze until he turned on heel and vanished into the surrounding group.

"Well," Percy announced cheerfully, clapping both of his hands together, "Now that that's over with, would you like to spar with me?" he asked her, staring at her with big, dark green eyes and Annabeth found herself respecting this common slave more and more. An oddity, that.

"Of course," she answered haughtily, earning an amused laugh from Percy, "and you need to work on your sparring." He bowed dramatically, earning a smile out of her, and answered,

"As you wish, M'Lady." Following him as he led her to the practice field, she couldn't help but think that things just might work out. The memory of her dead father and pure-to-the-bone Roman soldier brother reminded her of what was at stake here.

She needed to avenge her father and protect her brother.

Suddenly, Annabeth found herself not wanting to fight.