Disclaimer: I do not own PJO
A/N: Well… This is pretty much just a oneshot that I thought up one day. It takes place just after TC. Enjoy!
Remember
By Sa Rart
The party thrown for the rescuing of the Ophiotaurus was one of the grandest that she remembered in her lifetime. Although no one spoke the words aloud, Olympus had just been saved from complete defeat before the war even started. After so many millennia, no one remembered how fast wars could start.
Nor did how fast people could die.
It had been centuries since she had lost a member of the Hunt; she had trained them so well that they had not suffered a single casualty since the year 203 C.E., by mortal calendars. She remembered it well; while stalking a manticore in Arizona, a Huntress had failed to dodge and had been struck in the throat by a spine. Although Artemis had tried to save her, even a goddess was helpless before the might of the Fates.
Before that, it had been in the year of 480 B.C.E., in the Persian Wars. At Thermopylae, over forty of the Hunt had been killed at the pass when the main bulk of the army withdrew. It had taken years to build the Hunt up to merely a shadow of its former might.
Before that, it had been Odessa, over three thousand years ago. She had been the lieutenant before Zoë, but she had been killed in rescuing Zoë from her Hesperid sister, Aegle. Artemis had felt her loss deeply, almost as deeply at the raging grief that swept through her now.
Zoë had led the Hunt for almost three thousand years, and was all that Artemis could ever want in a girl. She was – had been – an excellent archer, an amazing tactician, a mighty swordswoman, and one of the few friends Artemis had ever allowed herself to have.
Artemis turned away from the lights and the parties and strode out to the balcony overlooking New York City. It was a pretty place, with snow covering the dirty gray cement and pavement. The lights of the city seemed like the lights of the stars, reflected onto the earth far below.
She looked up, and there were the few stars that were visible over a city like this one. She could make out Orion – another deceased friend – and his hound, Sirius. The moon was simply a sliver tonight, no more. It showed exactly how Artemis felt at that moment – in darkness, hanging on with just the smallest of threads.
The constellation that Zoë had become was there, too, shining with all the power that she had possessed when she was living. Artemis looked up at it, a tear working its way out of a silver eye. She missed her already, though Zoë had only been dead a few hours. How would she possibly cope with the eternal torment of her former lieutenant's death?
For it was partly her fault, she knew. If she had simply been aware of a Titan's prescence, had ran instead of fought, Zoë would still be alive.
Somewhere out there, the Titans were still gathering, still preparing for war. Artemis's cold, intellectual side told her that it was an insignificant price to pay – just a pair of Huntresses in return for the entire of Western Civilization. What smaller price could the Fates ask?
Artemis, with a swift, abrupt motion, spun from the balcony and strode back into the heart of Olympus. She ignored the dancing and the laughter and the happiness, simply walking through the midst of it. She strode away, away from the pain, away from the loss, away from the sorrow. Rage slowly began to pound, a furious hatred for Atlas, for a Titan who murdered his daughter.
Let them come. She was ready. And when they did, she would use her anger and fury and grief to crush them, to destroy them. Let them feel a tiny fraction of what she felt now. Maybe some of it would go away, then.
But never enough.