The Red Team's Flag is planted firmly in the loose gravel on a secluded islet carved out by a shallow stream. Invitingly accessible, temptingly undefended. She watches it intently from behind a thin screen of bushes, twigs, branches and leaves. Her breathing is calm and collected, deep and even. Where many newcomers expand energy fidgeting about straining to hear the battle over the hill, she is calm.

You are part of the forest; she reminds herself, the birds sing because you are part of this place. You are part of the earth, the rock, the stream.

And because she is so attuned, so at peace in her surroundings, she hears immediately when the birds change the tune of their song as the intruder comes over the rise beyond, the clinking of loose gravel and shale underfoot as he approaches the stream. Instantly her senses come alive, adrenalin starts to run as she assesses her opponent. She smiles as she sees a familiar mess of dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes. Luke. The Blue Team Leader himself. Like her, he wears a leather and bronze breastplate, greaves and carries a sword. Somewhere along the way he has lost his blue-plumed helm and his shield. His hair is sweaty and dishevelled, his face streaked with dirt; no doubt thanks to her teammates who would have met him on the way here. Kudos to him for getting through her rear-guard. He most likely wasn't alone though, she can still hear sounds of steel and shouting distantly through the trees. Even though the sounds of the battle behind him are faintly audible, pursuers might catch up at any point he is cautious. He pauses at the edge of the stream, catching his breath and his focus before crossing. A pity it isn't that naïve newcomer, what's-his-name Percy or something like that. He would no doubt have charged across the stream immediately and she could have disarmed him on the stream's edge while he was still hampered by the water and made clumsy by the unfamiliar weight of his armour. No Luke is far too wary for that. He is a Veteran of this game, her Camp Commander and one of the most skilled fighters at Camp Half-blood.

She can still take him though.

He is tired and she is entirely fresh, nerves humming with energy and anticipation. He wades across slowly, each step firmly planted and his sword arm outstretched in case of an attack while he's crossing, something he clearly expects. No, she decides. She will let him cross fully, to meet in fair combat which she WILL win with so that he has no excuses later.

He steps out of the water, eyes still constantly glancing around for defenders. And then he simply stands there.

"Come on out Annabeth! I know you're hiding back there. A daughter of Athena would never leave your flag undefended and I know it's you!"

Unsure whether to laugh or grimace in chagrin, she asks herself-

Is she really that predictable?

Of course Luke, who found her when she was seven, and has been a lifelong friend and protector, knows her better than anyone else in the world. But in the real world beyond Camp Half-blood, the world of Gods, monsters and men, predictability can mean death. She composes her features before stepping out into the open.

No need to let him know he's already flustered her.

He smiles as he is proved right. A slight upturning of his lips as he readies himself, sword loosely held to the side.

She walks up to him before stopping two arms lengths away. Deliberately, she unbuckles her helmet, flinging it to the side, all the while looking at him unblinkingly. Her shield follows it, landing with a clatter on the gravel. This will be a fair fight.

"How did you know I was there?"

Involuntarily, the question on her mind is rolling off her tongue. She bites her lip, willing herself to be in control of herself. You are calm. You are the forest. Protect the Flag.

"I knew you would leave someone to guard it. I knew you'd be the one and on your own because you'd never let anyone talk sense into you. Remember when I first found you and you almost brained me with a hammer?"

Startled out of her seriousness despite herself, she laughs at the memory of her seven year old self and her stubbornness.

"And then you gave me your knife. You said I could learn to defend myself better with that than a hammer."

"You were always brave. We all had to be."

His smile as he looks at her is caring and affection. But it is still undeniably indulgent and condescending for all that. The kind of sentimental smile a parents gives a child or an older brother a younger sibling. Her guardian, her protector, but today her enemy. If Luke has any weakness it's underestimating others, being too self-satisfied, too proud and unwilling to bend. Today, she will show him what she's made of.

"Well maybe you'll regret teaching me now."

At that he laughs out loud and his mischievous smirk is back on his lips and in his eyes.

"Perhaps, you bloodthirsty cub. But I don't think so"

With that, he lunges in for the attack without warning, just as she knew he would. Right-handed, he strikes at her open left flank only to be met by her blade as she blocks him with jarring force. Immediately, they both disengage, already looking for the next opening.

This is the dance she knows.

He parries her answering blow and slashes at her chest, she jumps back then swings low, aiming for his knee as his arm is forced to draw back. Parry, block, slash, duck. Her feet and his are never still, fast at times, at others slow and wary; each taking turns initiating and matching pace to the other. She wants to laugh at how synchronised they are, almost like a chirographer waltz as they continually circle each other. She can't help but feel pleasure in the way their bodies flow like silk as they engage and disengage, each looking for a weakness, an undefended opening. With an opponent like Luke, whose panther-like grace and strength is so deadly and yet so beautiful, the fluidity of their coming together and disengaging seems almost like the circling flight of courting birds in the air overhead. This is when she truly feels alive. The sharp rasping and clanging of steel on steel as they twist and turn, their blades sliding on edge, as their blades kiss and weave and menace each other.

This is a dance of steel and grace that she knows so well.

After years of training at Camp Half-blood, her instincts take over; muscles remember movements practiced hundreds of times, the brain hones in on what's important- the strike zones of the body, muscles which signal an opponent's next move, before the eye can even process it. The background fades into an incomprehensible blur of sound and colour as the combatant's circle of awareness shrinks to encompass the invisible circle of this duel.

He strikes, a strong downward blow that would cleave her in half if they weren't using blunted practice swords. She catches it above her head on the flat of her blade with a ringing clash, pressing upward with all her strength as he tries to bear down on her with his superior weight. His eyes flicker from surprise to something else as she continues to withstand him. He smiles, ruefully:

"Not bad at all little sister."

"I'm not so little anymore."

She grunts out in reply as she strains to hold her block. Determinedly, he will NOT get the better of her; she coils her muscles, tensing for the moment she shoves him back, putting all her strength into it as she pushes his sword away from her. Not expecting this, he stumbles backwards a few paces. The first clumsy move he's made. She presses her advantage, striking at his unprotected arms, his chest, his legs. But lightning fast, he recovers and skips neatly back out of range, his sword out to prevent her advancing.

This time, it is a full, flashing grin which lights up his face.

"Not, a cub after all, but a full-grown lioness."

At the sight of his bright grin, sardonic, admiring and affectionate all at the same time, a flicker of warmth kindles deep in her belly. She doesn't know why she's begun to feel this way lately. She's always known Luke was attractive. Those blasted HARPIES at Camp Half-blood certainly mooned over him enough for her to see she wasn't the only one who knew it. But before this, she's always been his younger sister, his responsibility. Of course, when she was younger, she had a secret schoolgirl crush on him. But there had been Thalia, her other dearest and oldest friend, the both of them years older than her. Even now, the thought of Thalia and her sacrifice for them to be here today creates a wrenching in her gut. But that was the past, and this is today. And today she must win.

With renewed energy she lunges in again for the attack. Ferociously, she hacks and parries pressing him further back. He is tiring, his reactions slower, letting her close in further, unable to keep her out of close range. If she can get inside his longer sword arm's range she has him. She lunges in again, her sword angled to meet his unprotected neck.

And in that moment Luke makes his move, lightning fast, his sword raps her knuckles, sliding around her blade and disarming her as he flicks his wrist, sending her sword flying before his is at her throat and his body almost against hers.

Gasping for breath, she didn't think even he could be THAT fast, she stares up at him. Suddenly, he seems so close, too close. His blue eyes are alight- like lightning, she thinks to herself; and staring unwaveringly into hers. She is acutely aware of his dirt-streaked cheek, his heaving chest as he too pants for air. She can't read his expression at all; his face is still and oddly intent on hers. Even as he slowly lowers his sword, pulling his arm back and away from her throat he doesn't step back.

"You got over-exited. You let your emotions get the better of you. You saw only what I wanted you to see, not all that you should have."

His voice is low, husky and slightly hoarse. She tries to answer in reply, yes I know, but her throat feels strangely constricted, the words freeze on her tongue as she opens her mouth to speak. As if in a trance, she sees his left hand come up to her face, stroking away an errant strand of her hair. His touch is gentle, almost hesitant as his fingers stroke her cheek. There is none of his usual arrogance or self-assuredness. She's never seen him like this, so oddly vulnerable. Is Luke…afraid? The thought of that makes her draw a sharp breath. At the sound of her indrawn breath, his eyes travel from her eyes to her mouth, still slightly ajar, his gaze lingering on her lips. Time seems to freeze as Luke drew closer to her, millimetre by millimetre.

He's going to kiss me. Luke Castellan is going to kiss me. And I want him to.

The thought rises unbidden, like a flame inside her. She wonders if she should feel shame. But she feels only certainty.

I want him to kiss me.

Suddenly, there is a clatter of gravel. Instinctively Luke breaks away from her, dropping his hand from her face as if he's been burned as her head snaps around only to see what seems like half the camp descending on the flag.

At the sight of her sword lying on the ground and Luke's still in his hand, the Blue Team break into cheers while the Red team shake their heads and groan in disappointment. She looks back at Luke who is still staring at her. There is a glint of something in his eyes-

Regret? Frustration?

Before he turns to acknowledge his team. Slowly, he walks undisputed to the Red Flag still planted in the gravel and yanks it up, lofting it high in one hand to renewed shouts and cheers as both teams swarm the islet, slapping both her and Luke on the shoulder. The new kid looks a bit beat-up she notices, his face is bruised and his sleeves are cut, but Luke nonetheless strides over to clap him on the shoulder. The boy's face lights up as Luke speaks quietly to him, no doubt basking in words of encouragement. Despite his cockiness, Luke is a genuine and caring leader. She wasn't surprised when he was chosen as Camp Commander.

Did my face use to light up like that when he told me something?

As if sensing her eyes on him, he looks back over his shoulder at her, and smiles. It has some of his self-satisfaction back in it, the type that makes her want to kick him in the arse, but it's still meaningfully tender and it lights up his eyes with life and hidden mischief the way she's always loved for all those years.

Loved.

That silent word jolts her to the core.

When did the thought go from- I want Luke Castellan, all-around great guy and acknowledged Camp Hottie to kiss me- to I've been in love with this smile for years. Annabeth, daughter of Athena, you're supposed to be descended from a goddess of wisdom and warfare. So act like you have some sense!

He's my best friend. He thinks of me as a baby sister.

But he was going to kiss you

The other voice whispered in her head. Unable to bear another moment of self-torment, she bends down to pick up her sword, self-consciously brushing her hair back from her face as she rises. But this simple gesture reminds her of his hand in her hair, his fingers on her cheek.

What might have happened between them if nobody had interrupted them?

The thought is enough to put a burn in her cheeks, face flaming she trudges back to camp and a hot bath, all too aware of the other team's celebrations ringing in her ears, but unable to shake off the feeling that she's running away from something she can't understand or control.