I live!

I'm so sorry it's taken so ridiculously long to update this story! I lost my job a little while back, then found a new one which has me working long hours, so I really haven't had the time to write, but here we are, at long last!

Also, as of January 1st, I'll be beginning work on my original story: 'The Cobblestreeters', so while updates to this story won't be as glacier-slow as this one, they may be slower than before, but this story definitely isn't dead!

XXXXX

"Did you feel like this?" Victoria asked me once, after our victory at the battle of the Labyrinth. "Does everyone? After their first time?"

"Well," I asked her, "how do you feel?"

"Sick."

I vomited. Again.

I laughed at myself, sitting with my legs dangling over the edge of a sheer drop as I emptied my stomach. When Victoria felt like I did, it had been after her first battle, and she hadn't actually vomited. The defence of… Kemp's Hill, wasn't even close to being my first fight.

"There's something else," Victoria had continued. "I feel ashamed."

Oh yeah, I definitely felt that.

Almost half of my men were dead. I had gotten lucky. They hadn't. I had been reckless. They had been cautious. I had lived. They had died.

That wasn't fair.

Footsteps behind me. Grunts of exertion. It was a steep climb to where I sat.

"Got you some coffee, Lieutenant," Spear said.

"We have coffee? And nobody told me until now?"

Spear sat beside me and handed over a metal cup of hot, black coffee, "We had more, ah, pressing issues, sir. What are you doing all by your lonesome up here?"

I sipped my boiling drink, ignoring, or perhaps relishing the burn. Better to feel pain than to feel nothing at all. "Just resting my leg, Ellis. Someone cut me deep down there and got away with it."

"I'm sure one of our boys got whoever it was, sir."

Spear rested back on his elbows, looking out over the landscape, "Sure can see aways from here."

"Yep."

The Sergeant gave me a sideways look, "Got word from Meade, sir. His company found more of our boys. Five dead, two wounded."

I winced at the lurching in my stomach, but I wouldn't let myself vomit again, not in front of Spear.

"Are you, ah, alright, Lieutenant?"

"Yep."

Spear sat forward, his eyes fixed on me unwaveringly, "Sir…you did real good today. Real good."

I offered him my best attempt at a smile in return, "Ditto."

"The way they just kept coming. I've been in this army for almost twenty years, and I've never seen 'em fight like that. I can't imagine many would keep their cool like your did."

"I don't remember being cool at any time during that fight."

Spear shrugged, "Well, you made good decisions, at least. The casualties, sir…considering the hell those monsters put us through…I'd say we did okay."

I didn't respond to that. Losing almost half of your men is not okay. Not to me. No matter what the circumstances might be.

Spear sighed, patted my arm, "Come on, sir. I'm sure the men would like to see you moving around."

"Me?"

"You should hear what some of them are saying, sir. About you, that is."

"What are they saying?"

Spear smiled and stood, offering a hand, "Let's just say nobody is talking about your age anymore."

Moving through the crowd of men who sat atop the summit was a surreal experience. Fully-grown, battle-hardened men stood to salute me, shake my hand or clap my shoulders. It was like returning to Camp Half-Blood after a successful mission, only this time I didn't feel the satisfaction of a job well done.

"Lieutenant, sir! A runner from the General!"

I turned, found a red-faced man bent over, hands on knees, breathing heavily. He straightened and snapped to a salute, "Lieutenant Kemp."

He puffed, then grinned, "That's some climb, sir."

"What is it?"

He panted again, "The General has entrusted me to tell you that you are relieved."

I blinked, "Relieved?"

"Yes, sir. You and your men are being pulled from the line to rest. You're to go on ahead of them and report to the General. I'm ordered to escort you, sir."

'Pulled from the line.'

'Relieved.'

There was a time when hearing such things would have filled me with disappointment. Instead, I was almost giddy with relief, though I like to think I did a good job of hiding it.

"Fine," I said. "Sergeant Spear, you're in command. Rally the men and take them back to our camp at the base of the hill. Square everything away, clean the place up and report to me back at headquarters."

"Yes, sir."

XXXXX

There were no guards outside my Father's tent. Every available man was on the frontline, watching for the enemy, moving supplies or reinforcing the defences. It was quiet, eerily so. I dismounted Captain Vincent's horse gingerly and limped towards the tent. Every bone in my body ached; every muscled struggled to work. My eyes fought desperately to close. The men who escorted me rode away with Vincent's horse in tow.

Voices inside the tent. Captain Hatcher, giddy and frantic. My Father, cold, disconnected. I pulled open the flap and stepped inside. The darkness was difficult to adjust to. Only a single lantern above the table lit the room.

Two pairs of old eyes looked up to meet me. My Father stared, his expression unreadable, while Hatcher looked away, cleared his throat, looked back, and smiled. A drastic change in his attitude towards me.

I salutated my Father, "General."

"Kemp," Hatcher said with a salute of his own. "I hear you've been quite involved today, son."

Huh, I thought. 'Son'. Did the old man bump his head? Why the sudden kindness?

"We were involved," I said.

"Mhmm. I hear you ordered a charge."

I grimaced. It stung to think of the battle earlier that day.

"Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, Lieutenant, I might tell you," Hatcher said, misreading my reaction. "We could use a few more officers with your kind of nerve."

I couldn't hide my confusion anymore. Such was the reason for a very obvious frown that creased my brow.

The Captain sighed tiredly, his hands spreading wide as he approached me, "I must apologise, son. You were quite right yesterday. I misjudged you. You did a damned fine job on that hill, if we're hearing things correctly."

He extended a hand. I took it, "Thank you, sir."

Hatcher found his plumed helmet and made for the exit, "With your permission, General. I'd like to take a look at the line."

My Father answered with a nod. I was left alone with my Father, him staring unblinkingly as I stood perfectly still. He had a calculating look about him. The man set me on edge.

"Father."

That seemed to stir Kratos. He blinked, looked me up and down, "You are wounded, boy."

"Never was good at keeping myself safe," I said. A pang in my chest, "Even worse at keeping others safe…apparently."

My Father brought himself up to his fullest height. He wanted to say something. What came out of his mouth, I knew, wasn't that something.

"You did well."

A conflict inside my head. Arrogance and shame going to war. On one hand, I felt offended by my father describing my heroics - our heroics - as having done 'well'. Then there was another thought, accompanied by the urge to throw up again: 'Half of my men died. I didn't do 'well'.

I was their commander - it was my duty to keep them safe. I failed them.

But we held the line.

And what was the cost?

I followed my orders to the letter.

So did they. They followed my orders. And they died.

"Boy," my Father begins, with something akin to concern in his eyes.

I should have died.

I didn't. Suck it up, Kemp. The battle isn't over yet.

"I'm okay, sir," I told him. "Just, erm…still a little shaken up, I suppose. It was a hell of a fight."

I tried a grin, which probably looked more like a grimace, "Right up my alley."

My Father didn't buy it. He frowned, reached into a small leather drawstring pouch that hung from his waist, withdrew a small cube of Ambrosia. His free hand came to rest on my shoulder as he studied me, "Eat this. There is a tent waiting for you. You need rest."

I took the Ambrosia, "You don't need me for anything?"

"No. Rest, boy. That is an order."

XXXXX

And rest I did. And again came the same nightmare from the night before. Only, the last face I saw on that corpse wasn't mine anymore. My face wasn't anywhere to be seen at all. I woke an hour or so before midnight, feeling as ill as I had before. But that couldn't be right - the Ambrosia had worked, because my leg didn't hurt anymore. What was wrong with me?

A single drop of sweat trickled from my forehead and dripped from the tip of my nose. Outside, silence, save for the sounds of Grasshoppers and Field Crickets. I sat up with an exaggerated groan, stretched out my leg - healed, but still tight - and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I felt Victoria's pendant shift against my chest. I pulled it out and looked at it, thinking about how badly I wanted to see her, to see all of them, to go home, or anywhere that wasn't where I was, right smack dab at the centre of the second Titan War.

Footsteps broke the quiet, growing louder, until they were right outside my tent. They stopped at the entrance, and a hushed voice called for me, "Lieutenant? Lieutenant Kemp, sir, are you awake?"

"What is it?" I rasped, my throat dry. I found my canteen and drank the lukewarm water.

"The General requests your presence, sir. He's up on the ridge."

"Is it urgent?"

"Isn't it always, sir?"

I dressed quickly, donning my armour, tying the leather belt that carried my sheathed sword around my waist, tucking my helmet under my arm.

'Hyper-Lethal', I thought. A lad who calls himself that shouldn't be as rattled as I am.

Up on the ridge, I got my first proper look at the heart of the battle. The battle had started here the day before, but I hadn't seen it. The second day was relatively quiet in the centre, but the dying embers of fires still crackled here and there, and the air was still thick with smoke. There were a couple of men on guard duty, looking out over the wide expanse to the forest, where firelights could be seen flickering.

My Father stood perfectly still, wielding his great war axe with one hand, and running the other hand across the flat of the wide blade. He didn't look at me when I approached him, but said, "You are not limping."

"Not right now. Just wait. I'll find a way to get stabbed again next time we fight."

"Because you are reckless."

"That's one word for it."

My Father grunted. He let out a low, long sigh as he gazed into the distance. I moved to his side, eyeing the axe in his hands. The glowing blue runes shone brightly in the night. I felt like I was cheating on Spitfire.

"Where'd you get that?"

Kratos glanced at me, followed my gaze to the weapon in his hands. He made another noise - he never seemed to speak much, only grunt, or huff - and held the axe out to me. I resisted the urge to brush my hands down before I took it, so as not to defile such a beautiful piece of weaponry.

Heavy.

Gods, was it heavy. And cold, like holding an iceberg. My hands burned from the invisible frost that seemed to cover the handle. I imagined myself trying to swing it, and got an image of my arms snapping.

"Yeah…" I said, "I think I'll stick to something that doesn't weigh more than I do."

My Father took the axe and hung it from his back.

"Where'd you get it?" I asked him. "Who made it?"

"Hephaestus, insofar as I know. I do not know when, or why. It was given to me when I took command of this army."

Hephaestus? For some reason, that didn't sound right to me, but I didn't question it. Instead I asked, "You needed me for something, sir?"

"Yes," he said. "The battle will end tomorrow."

I nodded my head, "Probably."

"The enemy will be desperate. We must be ready for them."

"Desperation makes you irrational," I said. "Unpredictable."

Kratos made another noise which sounded like agreement, then turned to face me, "But we must predict anyway."

The fact that he was speaking to me instead of Hatcher didn't escape me. My Father didn't speak, however. He just stared, expecting me to say something.

I scratched at the back of my neck as I looked out towards the forest, thinking. If I were on their side, what would I do…

"Well," I began, piecing my thoughts together out loud, "they attacked the centre on the first day…found us strong…couldn't break us…"

Kratos was listening carefully. I had his full attention. Better not make an arse of myself. Better come to the right conclusion.

"They attacked the wings today…tried to flank us…or…if they couldn't take the flanks, at least they'd force us to send reinforcements and weaken the centre."

I inhaled slowly, sure of myself. I looked my Father in the eye and said, more clearly, "They think we're weak here. They'll attack here, tomorrow."

My Father said nothing, still listening. I let myself get carried away, turning away from him to look out over the battlefield. I couldn't bare the thought of fighting again any time soon, or ever, but there was one part of war that still had a place in my heart: strategy.

"Okay…" I breathed, "we could pull our forces on the flanks back to the centre under the cover of darkness. When the enemy comes, one third of our men could position themselves on the ridge, while the rest hide at the bottom, out of sight. One company on either wing of the line, hidden…the monsters think their plan worked…they attack…get in range. Our archers and artillery fire a volley…. that volley could be a signal for the rest of our forces to climb the ridge. The companies on the wings catch the monsters in a pincer….surround them. We crush them from every direction…."

I turned back to my Father, heart pounding, feeling as though the battle was already won, "What do you think?"

Kratos stared, and stared, and stared. I began to feel uncomfortable, until he took a deep breath, then called for one of the guards. The guard came running to meet us, stopped, saluted.

"Send for my Captains," Kratos said.

"Captains," I repeated. "Plural? Both? Vincent is alive?"

"He is wounded, but alive, yes."

I heaved a sigh of relief. I liked Captain Vincent. I hoped Saighead would have the same luck.

Ten minutes passed. Hatcher and Vincent climbed the ridge; Hatcher old, his body struggling to make the climb, and Vincent wounded, a bandage soaked with dried blood clinging to his neck. Lucky man. They stopped before us. Both saluted my Father, but Vincent looked at me.

"You held," he said to me, grinning stupidly.

"Couldn't bloody well disobey an order, could I, sir?"

"Technically, you don't have to follow our orders - you haven't sworn the oath. But…I'm damn glad you did."

"Boy," the General interrupted.

"Yes, sir."

"Tell them."

I blinked, confused, "Tell them what, sir?"

"My orders."

"Which are…?"

"Exactly what you told me before."

XXXXX

I slept like a rock, which in any other circumstance would be a good thing. Unfortunately, uninterrupted sleep meant uninterrupted nightmares. When I woke up, I was drenched from head-to-toe. And I wasn't much better when I was on my feet. Moving around the camp, I found myself jumping at mundane noises: men laughing; hammers striking fortifications; lids closing over pots.

What was worse than that, however, was how tired I was. I had slept well - a full seven hours - but I felt like I hadn't slept in seven days. The only thing that kept me going was a cup of 'special coffee' that Sergeant Spear poured for me. It was basically a half-and-half mixture of black coffee and whiskey.

My boys arrived an hour after I did the previous night, while I was resting. I found them at the far end of the camp. They all looked beaten up, drained and shaken, but they were alive. I felt an overwhelming sense of joy when I saw them. I knew virtually none of them by name, or even appearance, but they felt like family, like brothers.

War, ironically, brings people together like nothing else ever could.

I sent Sergeant Royce to the field hospital a mile back from the frontline. I didn't even know we had a field hospital before Spear mentioned that Saighead and the other wounded men had been sent there. He returned a couple of hours later, while I was resting my feet and finishing my third special coffee, his face pale, and his expression grim.

"Lieutenant, sir," he said in a dead voice, "just got back from…oh…"

He looked nauseated.

"They got no room, sir...men lying everywhere, no shade…nothing. Those damned poisoned arrows the monsters got…. A medic told me they had to cut people's limbs off to stop the spread….out in the open, in front of everybody else. That ain't right, sir. Why they gotta do it out in public? Let a man have some privacy in a time like that."

I immediately thought of Bill, "Did you see Saighead, Royce?"

Royce sighed, swallowed, holding his stomach, and looked down and away from me.

"Well how is he?"

Royce wiped the sweat from his forehead, hesitated, bit his cheek. He looked up at me, and my heart sank into my gut.

"Well, sir…he died."

The empty cup fell from my hand. Old 'Deadeye' Billy Saighead, the toughest mortal man I had ever met, who saved my life, who fought by my side…

Dead.

Just like that.

Another man dead…another who was under my command, my protection.

"Yeah…" Royce said, "he died this morning before I got there. Medic said the poison had spread too far. A couple of the boys were with him…said he told them to tell you it was an honour, and that he, uh, wants you to think about what he told you. What's that mean, sir? If you don't mind me asking."

'Get back to that special lass you've got waitin' for ya. Stay out of this war business.'

"Yeah…" I said to myself, ignoring the question.

Royce sighed again and bowed his head. There were tears in his eyes, "Ol' Bill was here before any of us, except for Hatcher and the General, that is. They say he was promoted a dozen times, and demoted a dozen more…but all of us looked up to him."

He sniffed, "I tell you, sir…I sure was fond of that man."

I smiled in spite of myself, because I was fond of Billy Saighead too.

'Stay out of this war business.'

Aye, I thought, I might just do that, Bill.

XXXXX

It was mid-afternoon. I stood atop the ridge with the General. Below, the men were sitting together - over a thousand of them - waiting for the call to action. Hatcher came and went, moving through the crowds, making sure everyone knew their job. Vincent sat somewhere in the camp, resting. The poisoned arrow that grazed his neck had taken its toll on him.

Only me and Kratos stood out in the open, looking for movement. We knew the enemy was coming, but I'd thought they'd come sooner than they apparently intended to.

"You are quiet," my Father observed, breaking the long-hanging silence.

"Ditto, sir."

He was right though. I hadn't said a word since I had found out about Saighead - other than the odd 'Mm' or 'Yep' or 'Yes, sir'. I still don't fully understand why, but Billy Saighead's death hit me particularly hard. Of course, I admired the old man, and of course he had taught me some valuable lessons, but I barely knew him. I had worked alongside him on only two different occasions.

"You are not usually quiet," Kratos continued.

It was his way of asking if I was okay, without actually asking, I suppose. He cared in a way, even then.

"I'm just ready to finish this," I said. To myself, I thought, 'One way or another.'

For a brief moment, I didn't care if the war killed me. If all of the careful, cautious soldiers were dying, surely I should go as well. That thought caused the Edelweiss pendant to burn against my chest, and at the thought of Victoria, my indifference died.

I heard a weak sound, like a heavy-bass song played on powerful speakers from a mile away. The forest began to stir, trees swaying, and some disappearing.

"They are coming," the General said.

A thrill ran up my spine, just like every other time. I put on my helmet and turned to face the camp, "Sound the horn! Up, and to your posts! They're coming!"

Over a thousand men scrambled to their feet as the horn sounded its high, carrying note. Helmets covered heads, spears were pulled from the earth. The Arm of Olympus moved into position, exactly as I had ordered the night before: two thirds hidden behind the ridge; one company on each flank; two ranks of archers, with the artillery emplacements behind them. The rest lined up to my left and right on the ridge.

We waited. The weak sound grew stronger. More trees swayed and fell. There was a rumbling of footsteps, big and small. The louder the sound grew, the more I recognised it. It was a sound that had burned itself into my memories the day before: war cries - thousands of them.

Sure enough, they came, and came, and came: Demigods, Snake-women, Telkhines, Hellhounds, Giants. I swallowed. I had never seen so many monsters. By my side, Kratos reached for his axe, then hesitated.

"Father," I said, "we could use a God right now."

My Father's eyes met mine. He nodded. The great war axe glowed icy blue as he pulled it from his back, "Stand with me, boy. Do not leave my side."

"Yes, sir," I said. "Just leave some for me."

The enemy army converged on us quickly. They were eager. The distance between our position and the forest was about half a mile. They were covering that distance in seconds. Orders were barked a few feet behind me by another soldier on the ridge, the spotter for the archers and artillery.

"Draw!"

C'mon, they're in range. Shoot already!

"Loose!"

"Pour it on 'em, lads!" I cried, as hundreds of arrows, and dozens of boulders and pots of Greek fire soared overhead. Monsters became porcupines, were flattened under rocks, or engulfed by green flames. It was beautiful. I reckon we must have killed hundreds in that volley alone.

The volley was the signal. All at once, the rest of the men climbed to join us. The companies on the left and right poured over the ridge and stormed the enemy flanks. My Father raised his axe above his head. I raised Spitfire. A great roar of cheering voices filled the air. My shoulders were barged on either side, almost knocking me flat on my face as the Arm of Olympus surged forward. Suddenly, my fear of another battle dissolved.

"Alright, you foul pricks! Who's first?"

"Boy!" my Father barked. I ignored him. Spitfire held aloft with both hands, I bounded down the ridge, to where the two armies had already met. The monsters were surrounded by men in bronze armour. We were pressing them from all sides.

"You first!"

I was only half-way down the ridge when I leapt, screaming, over the heads of my brothers. I landed on a Telkhine, drove my sword into its chest, cut through the legs of another. I hacked and slashed blindly, indiscriminately, not knowing exactly what I was killing. At the time, I thought as long as it was dust that covered me and not blood, then I was killing the right things. I didn't consider the fact that rogue Demigods don't explode, nor do our men.

It was the most intense, frantic fighting I had ever done in my life. I must have killed half a hundred enemies by myself. I felt myself get cut across my right arsecheek, but I ignored the pain, and kept swinging, my voice cracking, breaking, then finally dying. I hadn't stopped screaming. I was angry. Furious. Burning with rage.

No, I was literally burning. I faltered, froze. My allies overtook me, taking my place in the battle.

My body was on fire. Smoke rose from my forearms. Tendrils of fire licked at my skin. I was combusting. The pain was like nothing else I had ever felt. I screamed in agony, my throat tearing. My legs buckled. A pair of arms caught me and dragged me away.

"No!" I growled. "I won't be moved! Gerroff me! I'll kill 'em all! It ends…. Get your hands off me!"

I scrambled, bucked like a startled horse, twisted myself out and away from the arms.

"No, boy!"

It was my Father's voice. He sounded panicked. Scared. The flames around my body died, but I was still burning up. I struggled to my feet, trembling, coughing and wheezing. I gripped Spitfire tighter, and tried to rejoin the fight, but a freakishly powerful pair of hands closed around my arm and spun me around.

"You are finished!" my Father roared.

I wrenched my arm free, which took a lot of effort, "Bollocks!"

I turned and ran. I felt weak, but my anger carried me. The monsters broke through our ranks, charged forward. I angled Spitfire towards them. Something massive whipped past my head - my Father's axe! It buried itself in a Laistrygonian Giant's chest. The Giant staggered back and froze over, encased in ice. The axe yanked itself free - the Giant shattered into a million pieces - and returned to Kratos' hand like a boomerang.

Kratos ran past me, through the gap that the monsters created in our ranks. I followed him through, ready to fight, but there was nothing for me to kill.

It was….glorious? Terrifying? Both?

My Father swung his axe back and forth, killing half a dozen monsters with each strike. He twisted, spun, rolled and leapt. Clouds of dust surrounded him. A Demigod flanked him and tried to part his head from his shoulders, but Kratos raised his arm, and out of the bracer on his wrist span a bronze shield. The sword rebounded off of it, and not a moment later, the shield had lifted the Demigod and sent him flying fifty feet.

The monsters turned and fled from Kratos, but there was nowhere to run. They unwittingly threw themselves onto spears, into the path of swords. Perfectly aimed arrows rained down on top of them. We kept advancing, forcing the monsters into a tighter space with every step we took, forcing them closer to Kratos, who kept on swinging without any indication of fatigue.

By the end, when the smoke settled, there was nothing left. No monsters were left standing. We had butchered them. Only a handful of rogue Demigods remained, weapons abandoned as they held up their hands up in surrender. Amongst the piles upon piles of dust, many of our own lay scattered about. I didn't look at them.

My Father stood at the centre of it all, panting, his axe hanging at his side.

"Kratos!"

The booming voice shattered the silence. I turned towards the forest. A massive, mountainous man thundered into the clearing. He was almost as big as my Father, wearing no armour, with a long mane of red hair, and a single, deep scar that stretched across his face. He carried twop spears, one in each hand, and giant sword hung from his back. It was as long as my torso.

"Kratos!" he roared again. "Face me, Spartan!"

I went to my Father's side. He stared at the man who was striding towards us. Many of our men leveled their weapons at him.

"Stand down," my Father shouted.

"I'm guessing that's Goran Tavros?" I asked.

My Father grunted, "He is a fool."

I couldn't help but agree. Any Demigod, no matter how big, would have to be cracked to want to duel a God, especially Kratos.

"Does combat still frighten you, Spartan?" Goran barked. He laughed like a man who had lost his mind entirely.

My Father started towards him.

"Wait," I grabbed my Father's arm, "let me."

Kratos rounded on me sharply, "Boy, do not be-"

"That," I said, pointing at the massive Demigod, "is a big warrior. I think a man like that deserves to have some effort put into his death."

Kratos' nostrils flared, "He is dangerous."

"So am I."

I pushed past my Father, picking up a fallen shield as I went. Soldiers parted to let me pass.

Goran laughed, "You continue to let others fight your battles, Kratos?"

"You're big," I said. "How about make you shorter - say by about the length of a human head?"

Goran snarled. He span one of the spears in his hand, lifted it above his head and launched it in my direction. I raised my shield in front of my face. The bronze spear tip pierced it, stopping less than an inch from my eye. I tossed the shield aside and set off at a run towards him. He threw the other spear. I ducked under it, broke into a sprint, gritting my teeth and forcing myself forward. My body was exhausted.

Goran drew his great sword and rushed to meet me. I fainted left, then right, but he predicted the move, raised his sword, brought it whistling down at an angle. I dove into a slide and skidded between his legs, dragging Spitfire across his calf. Goran cried out, stumbled, fell to one knee, tried to stand. I leapt to my feet and whirled around to face him. I growled, "Well, that was disappointing."

I pressed Spitfire between his shoulder blades and increased the pressure. Droplets of blood trickled down his exposed back. His chest heaved.

Goran speared his giant sword into the ground, braced himself against it, and before I could react, he bucked, kicking his leg out behind him, his heel driving into my knee. My leg snapped backwards; my knee exploded, stars flashed in front of my eyes. Nausea overwhelmed me as I fell, and fell hard.

I opened my eyes after what felt like hours. In reality, it had been less than a couple of seconds, because Goran was still there, and he was standing over me, blood oozing from his leg - a severed artery, maybe, but he would be dead already if that were the case, or at least in shock.

"Correct," he sneered, "that was disappointing."

Soldiers were swarming towards us with their swords ready, on their way to save the damsel in distress - yours truly.

"No!" I screamed. "He's mine!"

Goran laughed again - it was an ugly sound, "You have one leg, not that I'll allow you to stand on it."

"You could cut me in half and I'd still kill you."

"You are the White Warrior's son," he smirked. "Just like him, when he was two-thousand years younger. Quick temper, slow mind. But a smart mouth? Your mommy must've been a funny woman."

The pain went away at the mention of my mother. All I felt was the same burning rage that had hung over me since the battle for the hill.

"Slow mind?" I said, gritting my teeth. "What's that say about you? I beat you, not my Father. I predicted everything you did on the first day; I held the hill yesterday - me! And it was my plan that wiped out your army today!"

Goran's sneer melted from his face. I managed a strained grin.

"I'm better than you, Tavros. In every way, I'm better than you."

He must have been a proud man, because that last declaration was what sent him over the edge. He raised his sword above his head, and with a roar, drove it down towards my face.

Now that should be where my story endsp, but bracers are more handy than I thought. I caught the blade between my forearms, sandwiching it between two sheets of bronze. Goran grunted, pushed, the sword pressed against my breastplate. One would have to break eventually; my armour, or his sword. He seemed to realise that around the same time I did, because he glanced towards Spitfire, which lay just out of my reach, took one hand away and reached for it.

"Don't you touch her!"

I twisted away towards it, wrenching Goran's sword from his grasp and taking it with me. I reached out for my beautiful sword, found the hilt, gripped it tightly, then rolled quickly onto my back, swinging Spitfire with all the strength I had left as I went.

'Love From England' glistened on the flat of the blade as I did as I said I would, and shortened Goran by a head's length.

XXXXX

"Oh, Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering."

The picture burst clearly onto the rainbow, showing the inside of the Aphrodite Cabin; pink walls covered with magazine pages; shelves stacked with perfumes and body-care-bullshit; fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling - definitely the Aphrodite Cabin.

I suddenly realised how sketchy sending an Iris message to the inside of a cabin must be. The girls could have been dressing…or undressing. While I certainly wouldn't have minded, they most definitely would.

Luckily, the four girls who were in the cabin were fully dressed, all sitting on one bed. Silena Beauregard was among them, as well as two others whom I didn't know by name. I couldn't see the fourth's face, the curly locks of long, brown hair were unmistakable. I cleared my throat quietly, my heart pounding at the mere thought of seeing her again.

"Excuse me, ladies?"

The girls screamed and leapt off the bed. They rounded on the sound of my voice, looking in equal measures shocked and thoroughly pissed off.

"Did one of you order an extraordinarily dashing Englishman?"

Bright blue eyes stared back at me, wide and disbelieving. The startled looks melted from the faces of Silena and the two others, replaced by goofy, delighted grins.

"Do you have any idea how creepy this is, Kemp?" Silena chided, her grin widening. "Spying on four young girls on their beds like that."

"It crossed my mind, yeah."

Silena tutted, "Well, girls, I think we should give these two some privacy."

She nudged Victoria - who apparently still hadn't recovered from her shock - and left the cabin with the others, all giggling like schoolgirls. Victoria moved a step closer, her eyes never leaving me, as though she didn't quite believe I was their. I think, looking back, she hadn't fully trusted me to survive my adventure with Kratos.

"Hey," I said softly, my heart rate rising.

Victoria stared, opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, then said, hesitantly, "Owen?"

"In the flesh," I said. "Or…maybe not quite in the flesh, but…yeah."

Something snapped behind her eyes. She seemed to come to her senses in a flash. Letting out a dry, strangled sob, she rushed forward and fell to her knees in front of me. She was close enough to touch.

If only.

"I can't… You… I don't…" Victoria stammered. She looked happier than I had ever seen.

"Take a breath," I laughed. "It's only little old me."

She did take a breath, chewing on her lip as she stared at me. She said, in a relieved, whispery voice, "You're okay? Where are you?"

"'course I'm okay. It's me."

"Really? I mean…you look like shit."

I barked a laugh, "I look worse than I feel, Tori. You should've seen me a few hours ago. Total wreck."

She frowned in concern, and asked hurriedly, "What happened?"

"I had a serious case of Flamingo-leg."

"Flaming-what?"

"Y'know, bent backwards."

I lifted my leg with a grimace and showed her the makeshift splint around my knee - a series of thick sticks which were fastened down by two lengths of rope. Victoria eyed it with concern, suddenly looking angry.

"Yep," I said. "Snapped like a twig. Very dramatic."

"Who did that?" she demanded.

"Some arsehole," I told her. "Long story. This hole thing is a long story. I'll tell you when I get back to camp."

Her eyes left my leg to stare at my face, a hopeful twinkle in her eyes, "You're definitely coming back?"

"Well…yeah. Where else would I go when this is finished?"

"I...I thought, maybe…. I thought you joined your dad's army?"

I shook my head, "Haven't sworn the oath. I'm a free agent."

Victoria smiled, "When are you coming home?"

"No idea," I said. "We've fought hard for three days, so maybe soon…I hope."

I ran a hand through my hair. I was tired, and sore, and still burning inside, but I wouldn't let Victoria see that, "Gotta tell you, Tori, I'm not enjoying this as much as I thought I would. The General wanted me to see real war. Well, I've seen it."

Victoria gave me a sympathetic look, but there was subtle joy behind it, "So...when you come home, you'll stay?"

"Maybe. If my Father needs me, I'll fight for him, but if not…yeah."

That wasn't exactly the answer she wanted to hear, but she understood. She looked away towards the door, peering outside. She was frowning.

"I miss you," she said in a soft voice. "It's getting weird around here. Silena has been acting funny. The only time she talks is when she can't seem to find an excuse to leave."

"Anything to worry about?"

Victoria shrugged, "She's probably just nervous. Percy and Beckendorf are supposed to attack Kronos' ship tomorrow."

I swallowed, remembering the weeks of planning they had put into the mission. If they succeeded - with our victory in West-Virginia - Kronos' would be dealt a devastating blow. Two major victories within a day of each other could do wonders for morale.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant, sir?"

I let my head drop with a sigh at the voice calling for me outside of my tent, but caught a glimpse of Victoria's raised brow.

"Yeah?"

"The General wishes to see you, sir. I've been sent to assist you."

I looked back up at Victoria, who looked downcast. I liked being around Kratos, but I liked being around Victoria even more. I couldn't bare to imagine what my Father wanted. Were we moving out? Going away to fight another brutal, days-long battle?

"Give me a moment!"

I sighed again, "I've got to go, Tori."

Victoria simply nodded, "Duty calls?"

"Duty calls."

"Well then, what're you waiting for? Go get 'em…Lieutenant."

I gave her my most comforting smile, "I'll see you soon."

"I know. I love you."

Three words that lifted my heart into my throat.

"I love you."