As always, these characters do not belong to me.

Reader warning: Violence

Chapter Seventeen

Annabeth was led from her tent a few hours later. The sun was starting to set, casting the camp in a yellow glow as her silent guards made their way through the other soldiers towards the centre of camp. Some Elites gazed at the precession curiously, but many were too caught up dressing into their armour. She didn't like that implication, but she didn't let them see her nerves or the way her hands shook, keeping her expression a stoic mask as they crossed no man's land and entered Luke's tent.

No Rachel, no generals, no Ethan were present in the tent when the flaps closed behind her and two of her guards. Only Luke stood before her. His armour was blood splattered, his expression cold as it settled on her, but not as cold as she felt. She could guess who the blood belonged to; more innocent lives who refused Luke's ultimatum or had he gone completely crazy and decided he would just kill anyone that he thought he couldn't control? Was she next?

He wanted a reaction from her. She knew that was the intention behind his bloody appearance before her. Depending on her reaction, he would either give her a second chance, cast her aside or kill her. Annabeth gave him nothing, merely stared at him. Not even when he threw something small at her, hitting her breastplate with a dull clink before falling at her feet.

"I collected that for you," he said conversationally. He casually cleaned his bloodied hands on a damp rag, tossing it onto the table behind him. "Thought you might be needing it to go along with your bleeding heart."

Annabeth lowered her eyes, taking a steadying breath when she recognised the necklace and its insignia through the heavy coating of dried blood. The man's face came to her mind, and the small gesture he gave her for sparing his life, even if it had been in vein. She raised her eyes, keeping her emotions hidden.

"Take off that armour," he snapped. "You don't deserve to call yourself an Elite."

Annabeth obeyed, untying the straps and letting her breastplate join the medallion at her feet, keeping her eyes on Luke, ignoring the feeling of vulnerability. She still had her knives, and she still had her fighting skill; there were some things that Luke couldn't take away from her, though that didn't stop him from trying.

"And that knife belongs to me," he continued. "I should like it back."

"It never belonged to you," Annabeth stated.

A corner of Luke's lips quipped. "So, you've found your voice at last. Guards, retrieve my knife."

"Let them try," Annabeth threatened as the guards moved forward. Even though Annabeth hadn't moved nor glanced in their direction, they hesitated. "The knife is mine, Luke."

Luke was amused by her statement, raising two fingers as he smirked, signalling his guards to stand down. "Fine, keep the knife. Anything else that belongs to you that you want to claim?"

"My choice not to execute an innocent man for the sake of your pride."

The amusement that had coated Luke's face moments before hardened. "You once used to do anything I asked of you," he said softly. "You were once proud to be called an Elite."

"That was when I knew our values. This new Elite group." Annabeth shook her head lightly. "This is not who we are supposed to be."

"We are better. Stronger."

"Are we? Slaughtering villages and forcing people to cower and fall into our regime is better?"

Luke's eyes narrowed. "These are Percy's words, not yours."

"They were Percy's warnings and I didn't want them to be true, but I can't deny what I've seen."

"Then why return?" he snapped to her. "Why give me the Crystal?"

"I gave you my word," she answered simply.

Luke scoffed. "You gave me a vow of loyalty. To follow my orders without question."

"I gave my loyalty to the Elite brothers and sisters and our vow of keeping peace and offering aid where it was needed."

"That is what we're doing," he reasoned. "We will make the world the better place by stamping out the different rulers and leaders and placing them all under one leadership. Will there be resistance to the change? Yes. Will we need to use violence to subdue that resistance? Yes. But the violence can be regulated if that's what you want?"

He moved toward her, grabbing her upper arms gently. His eyes softened, almost pleading with her. Her Luke was back, standing before her. Her heart ached at the sight.

"We can forget what happened today," he murmured. "I don't have to sanction your actions. You can wear your armour and follow me as you once did." He placed a hand on her cheek. "I can look after you."

Annabeth stepped away from his embrace. As seductive as his words were, she wasn't falling for his lies, not anymore. It would only serve him for her to remain an Elite and then she realised that was all it ever was with Luke. All his plans, all his actions, it was fuelled only by how it would benefit him. It was only in recent months that he had stopped trying to hide it behind lies, charm and seduction. Luke could see the shift in her gaze, his outstretched arms falling to his sides.

"Have you decided my punishment?" she asked flatly.

The old Luke vanished before Annabeth's eyes, the new one settling into his place. "This way," he said crisply, striding towards the entrance of his tent.

The guards closed in around Annabeth, keeping a tight formation so she couldn't even consider escape. The Elites had crowded around the edge of no-man's land as Annabeth was roughly pushed from the tent. She stumbled, glaring back to the guard before surveying her former brothers and sisters, their faces masked by the shadows created by the flame torches.

"We have a traitor amongst us," Luke called out to his brethren. He gestured dramatically to Annabeth, who responded with a hard stare. "Once one of our greatest warriors, Annabeth is charged with insubordination." Murmurs spread through the Elites. "Today she refused to eliminate our enemies, who had the potential to ruin our path to glory if not for our loyal soldiers who leapt into action to dispel the threat."

Annabeth clenched her jaw to withhold her anger. She wasn't about to deny she refused his order but to implicate she abandoned them in such a way had her resisting the urge of grabbing the knife he was so pedantic about and throwing right into his chest. He glanced towards her, a glint in his eyes when he saw the effect his words had. She was so enraged by the lies that she wanted to scream, but it would only give Luke what he wanted.

"She has no remorse for her actions," Luke continued. "And it is with a heavy heart that I am tasked with laying down her punishment." He paused, dropping his head and sighing dramatically. He raised his head, looking into the crowd of Elites, taking his time to appear to be surveying them all. "I ask you, what do you think she deserves for her insubordination?"

Yells filled the camp. Jeers, insults and abuse was thrown towards her, but she took it all without a word. She even lifted her chin defiantly, even as her fingers twitched to get her hands on her knife and ask them to back their words with action. Luke savoured the building emotions around them, the scar on his face making his smile appear harsher; though she suspected the scar really had nothing to do with that at all. He lifted his hands for silence.

"She'll get what she deserves, but we will not stoop down and stain our hands with her unworthy blood," he told them. Annabeth narrowed her eyes. What had he planned? "You can have her," he said to someone with a wave of his hand.

Annabeth looked past him to his right as two figures emerged from the side of the tent. Her heart lurched in fear. The Mother of Spiders had a wicked grin on her face, victory plain in her statue as she surveyed her prey, relishing her fear. Annabeth took a couple of steps back into the rough hands of her guard, her breath hitching. Her eyes darted to Luke, who hadn't moved, staring cold and uncaringly at her.

"You think I didn't know who you were?" he seethed so only she could hear as the Elites welcomed the executioner half-heartedly. He sneered at the indignancy she had given him in thinking he was somehow naïve. "I knew who you were when I found you. The grubby, skinny street rat no one wanted. I knew if I simply gave you some inkling someone cared, you would do anything I asked. Having a gullible Athenian at my side was worth ten mercenaries. I certainly couldn't have achieved this without your blind loyalty. Shame you won't see what new world you helped create."

Annabeth felt tears spring to her eyes at the betrayal, her heart crumpling with her growing fear and pain. She was shaking, she could feel her fear taking over, just as it had at the Festival of Lights. The guards stepped away but that didn't matter when she was rooted to the spot. He had lied to her since the very beginning. She had been naïve and foolish. How could see even call herself an Athenian? What good had it ever done for her?

"When you went silent and I sent that insipid Drew and her cohort," Luke continued. "I couldn't take the risk she would fail and that you would inform Percy of my plans. I knew there was only one I could trust to ensure you would be found and remain silent. She was most eager to meet you."

"You sent her after me," Annabeth stated. She recalled Arachne saying, 'the source was reliable!' at the Festival of Lights. Her surprise started to evolve, twisting as it mixed with her feelings of betrayal and fear. She pushed them all in together, morphing them into the one emotion that would ensure her survival; fury. "How could you?"

Luke raised his hands and shrugged. He looked at Arachne. "Do what you want with her, and oh, bring me back my knife."

"Oh, I can bring you back more than that," Arachne relished savagely.

Arachne took two stalking steps towards her, drawing into her hand the wicked curved knife coated in her lethal venom. Annabeth cleared her mind and planted her feet, her hand resting on the hilt of her knife, her focus narrowing onto her opponent. And then a loud explosion rocked the camp, followed by a series of screams and cries. Heads swivelled, soldiers sluggish to react when a war cry roared through the explosion and the Elites were swarmed.

Annabeth was buffeted by soldiers as bandits rushed into the camp, cutting down all in their path. Luke's orders were lost in the commotion of screams and bodies, but obeying Luke didn't matter to Annabeth anymore. She killed two raving bandits that went for her, kicking a third towards another group advancing towards her before she remembered a more pressing threat. Arachne was trapped fighting several bandits with her guard, her black eyes fixed on her in between cutting down bandits with her deadly knife.

Annabeth fled, sprinting through the chaos and carnage engulfing her. Elites tried to rally but the number of invading bandits were almost overwhelming, thanks in part to their orchestrated surprise attack. She was pushed and battered by friend and foe alike, trying desperately to put as much distance between her and the central tent. Her progress was severely hindered as bandits attacked her one after the other, uncaring that she wasn't interested in fighting. She fought panicked, her fear a driving force behind each blow. She needed to calm, she needed to have a plan.

She darted between erected tents, diving behind a toppled supply cart to catch her breath. The combination of adrenaline and fear was making it hard for her to concentrate. She checked her position, ducking back down quickly with a sharp exhale. She had no armour, save for the bracers on her forearms and the soft greaves on her legs. With her undershirt a blaring beige, she was going to attract attention more than the gold plated, red cloaked Elites. Thankfully, she still had her knives, but she could only cut her way through so many bodies before she would tire and Arachne would find her.

Assessing her options didn't leave her with much. She needed to get out but where she had taken refuge the outer wall was still intact, leaving her exits either back the way she came where bandits were invading or through the entrance, where she was sure would be flooded with more bandits and Elites. She was alone in this fight and she … she was discovered.

A bandit screamed as he came around the cart. Annabeth's head darted towards the sound before she was rolling backwards to avoid the arcing double-edged axe. She scrambled on her hands to remain out of reach from the axe, knowing it looked terribly ungraceful thanks to her boots continually losing traction on the soft ground. She arched her back as the blade swung over her head, her hand reaching down to the boot, and letting lose one of her smaller knives. The bandit's head snapped back as the knife embedded into his forehead, his body twitching as he collapsed to the ground.

Able to get to her feet, Annabeth quickly retained her knife, eyes darting left and right for any other immediate threats. She had a few seconds, at best, so she crouched and moved quickly towards where she hoped was her exit, hiding behind another supply crate. How long had passed? A minute, ten minutes? Arachne was still hunting for her and wouldn't stop unless she herself was killed, which Annabeth knew was highly unlikely from mere bandits. The thought of facing her alone had Annabeth wanting to vomit. It was easier when she had someone fighting at her side, even if he felt the need to …

Percy! Of course, she had someone and she had a way to contact him. Did she want to bring him into this? She didn't have a choice and if he was nearby as he promised her he would be, what was to say he wasn't already charging headfirst into the fray to find her? She had to signal him, but a mere whistle wasn't going to carry over the sounds of battle. She rose to her feet, eyes searching not only for oncoming threats but for something else she could use.

Elites and bandits fell alike, some screaming, others silenced by fatal blows. Across the camp she spotted a cluster of Elites that had died beside each other, trying to gain higher ground but failing. The highest body had fallen awkwardly, his head tilted to the sky, his body twisted. But that was not caught her attention. His sword had not even been drawn but clutched in his hand instead was … Annabeth's eyes widened, just as her presence was discovered by several bandits.

She leapt over bodies and boxes, dodging swinging axes and bludgeoned maces, slicing armour and flesh that got in her way. She slid under a sword slash, spinning and stabbing its owner in the back, before reaching over and slicing their neck for good measure. She reached the cluster of Elites, turning back and stabbing a bandit who thought she could kill Annabeth in the back before kicking her into the muddied and bloodied path. Facing the group, she reached up towards the highest Elite and pried the horn from his hand. She blew the four-note whistle, praying the person who she needed to hear understood.

Annabeth became a target, bandits swarming towards the source of the noise thinking it was a signal for reinforcements. She fought the first seven head on, and then darted around fallen tents, working her way towards the fringe of the camp, hoping a section had been destroyed for an easier escape. Every few paces she blew the horn, knowing it would be easy to track but it was a risk she had to make.

Then, she wasn't sure when or how, she became surrounded. Bandits came at her from all sides, unrelenting, crazed. Their faces became a blur of darkness and shadows, flames and embers raining around her as she battled for her life. Retreating towards the wooden wall, she barely survived one attack when another two leapt at her, slashing and slicing. She moved in close to another, her knife deadly accurate and driven straight into his heart. Their eyes met, and Annabeth noticed in the flames the tattoos that covered half his face before he fell from her knife and to the ground. She had no time to process what she'd seen before the next bandit rammed into her side, sending her stumbling and diving aside to avoid the swinging sword.

Fallen bodies started to pile up around her as she continued to backtrack, continued to spin, deflect, parry, and dart until she was battle dancing, her knife and flame torch extensions of her arms and deadly to the touch. She screamed, yelled and bellowed after each felled opponent, hoping it would act as a deterrent, but still they came, only hindering her progress and preventing her escape.

With a grunt of effort, Annabeth felled yet another bandit and happened to glance ahead of her. Her breath hitched with renewed fear and panic. Arachne had found her. She grinned at Annabeth, somehow avoiding the carnage around her as she stalked towards her prey. She was alone, which, considering the size of her guard, was a tiny relief, though it didn't reduce her potency.

Annabeth desperately tried to clear a path to escape but the bandits were too persistent, trapping her in. They didn't know she was marked for death, didn't know they were mere children on a threat scale compared to the one who advanced towards her, and she doubted they cared. She screamed her frustration and fear into the face of the last bandit she stabbed in the chest, his eyes wide as he realised he seconds from death, oblivious to the fact that he had just signed her death warrant as well. She kicked him away as Arachne jumped towards Annabeth with a scream, who barely parried away the knife that was aimed her heart.

Arachne landed, spinning around to face her with an evil gleam to her eyes. That wicked knife gleamed in the firelight as she raised it, letting Annabeth take in every jagged edge and surface of her weapon of death. Being the most potent poison to have ever been created, it only had to produce the slightest cut to fell her opponent. The blade was already coated in blood and as more screams filled Annabeth's ears, she could almost imagine they had experienced its lethal kiss firsthand.

Annabeth's nightmare had come to life and she stood before her. Years of running, of pretending the blood in her veins was that of an ordinary street kid and still she was found. She felt weak with her fear, her body trembling with it. She had to find her courage. Find her courage or else she was dead. They circled each other, Annabeth trying to steady her fear as she tossed her torch aside and pulled her second knife free, the screams in her ears transforming into a dull roar. She had trained for this. She could do this. Arachne, sensing the shift in Annabeth's demeanour, crouched slightly, and grinning wickedly, charged to engage.

She was fast, faster than Annabeth had anticipated. She had to backtrack several metres, her knives flashing to keep her chest from being cut open. Annabeth planted her feet and blocked with one knife, driving forward on the offensive with the other. This gave Annabeth time to reset and she readjusted her stance, forcing Arachne to defend as she charged blade first towards her. Arachne parried her strikes. Annabeth's relentless attack had unbalanced her and Arachne collected a slash to her arm as she tried to evade the twin blades. She backed away, grimacing in a snarl as she inspected the wound, but that reprieve only lasted a couple of seconds.

Skill wise, they were too evenly matched. Annabeth spun and darted to the side, blocking the driving knife towards her stomach, bringing her second knife across her body to slice across Arachne's knife arm, only to slash through air. Annabeth had the advantage of the double blades, but Arachne only needed to cut Annabeth for her victory. Annabeth knew that Arachne would draw out that victory as tortuously as she possibly could, but she needed Annabeth to make a mistake first.

"I can't wait to watch your blood coat this ground," Arachne taunted. Annabeth ignored the attempt of distraction, feinting and driving forward only to be blocked. "I had almost forgotten what a real challenge was. Your brothers and sisters never put up this much of a fight." Annabeth's anger started to rise, but she kept it controlled, narrowly avoiding the tip of the knife, wildly swinging to give her a chance to take a back step. "You should've heard the way their screamed, moaned, begged –."

Arachne was flung backwards by a powerful roundhouse kick from Annabeth, whose vision turned red. Arachne cackled as she leapt to her feet, easily defending Annabeth's vicious, anger-fuelled attack. Spinning, Annabeth fought faster, fiercer as she looked to end Arachne's vendetta with one clean blow. Too long had she been afraid, too long had she left Arachne haunt her. She was ready for it to be over, one way or the other.

The balance had shifted and Arachne could sense it. She had taunted the wrong Athenian. Every break in Annabeth's attack, Arachne attempted to put her back onto the defensive, tried to weave in under her blades, but it wasn't as effective as before. It was in one of Annabeth's lethal attacking combos that she lost her balance. Her back foot slipped in a puddle of blood and she quickly had to shift from attack to defence. She was falling and she could see Arachne's eyes widen with victory as she slashed her knife across. It's blade slid against Annabeth's as she brought it back, ready to thrust it forward. Annabeth tried to twist her body out of the path of the knife, but even she could see she wouldn't be quick enough.

Someone leapt in front of her as she fell to the ground with a grunt, blocking Arachne's next blow. The Mother of Spiders took a few steps back, eyes narrowing to slits as she appraised the new fighter. He charged forward, hellbent on protecting Annabeth with a ferocious intent that even Arachne couldn't compete with. His cloak swished around him, his sword glinting in the firelight as it cut seamlessly through the air, guided by his steady hand. Their fight was swift and brutal, but Percy, with his power and motivation, was undefeatable. With a bellowing cry, he leapt to the side, pushing off a crate and slicing Arachne across her chest, then her back.

Arachne gurgled in shock and pain, frozen in place as Percy held up his sword and drove it through her back, it's bloodied tip pushing through and out of her chest. She fell to her knees, her cruel eyes on Annabeth, wide in surprise. The blood that she coughed and choked from her mouth looked a toxic black.

Percy's face was hardened with rage as he leant down to her ear. "Enjoy death, Mother of Spiders," he whispered.

He pulled his sword free and Arachne didn't have time to grunt in pain or finish her own snarl before he swung it again, severing her head from her neck in one clean motion. Her head thudded and dropped beside her body, her face frozen mid-snarl as it rolled across the bloodied ground. His chest heaved, his gaze on his surroundings, checking for any immediate threats as Annabeth, suddenly exhausted, got slowly to her feet.

"Percy," she said softly.

He looked to her, eyes lighting in relief, a grin appearing on his lips. Annabeth was about to reciprocate that grin when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Instinct kicked in and she dropped and dived aside. Percy charged to her defence, stabbing the bandit that had tried to sever her spine with one arcing blow, rushing to parry the next strike before spinning and bringing his sword down to slash another.

Annabeth, after an awkward landing, got to her feet, grunting a little at a strange stinging pain. She engaged with an oncoming bandit, subduing them before shifting position so she was behind Percy, protecting his back as they continued to take down the bandit party. Their fighting styles complimented each other, and they moved in synchronicity, both near unstoppable when together. Percy took the brunt of the oncoming force, his strikes brutal and precise. He incapacitated them, leaving them for Annabeth to finish as he parried and blocked the next oncoming strike, weaving around the bandits as only an experienced fighter could.

But something was wrong with Annabeth. She could feel something was different. Her movements were getting clogged down, her vision a little hazy. Pins and needles were in her fingertips, racing up her arm with every blow she met with her blade. Her legs were beginning to feel weak and shaky. Slashing a bandit's throat, she went to engage with the next one but instead fell, a gasp escaping her lips. She rolled away before being bludgeoned and leapt towards them, driving both knives into his chest.

Pushing the dead bandit away, she overbalanced and stumbled, hastily blocking the next attack and kicking that opponent away, almost falling back over. It was as though she was suffering the effects of intoxication, minus the alcohol. She glanced up towards the next oncoming bandit, and her left arm sagged like dead weight at her side. Panicked, she avoided the swing at the last second, slashing with her right, swinging the knife and driving it backwards. She felt it connect, felt the blade slice through muscle and bone and heard the gurgle of the bandit, then she was falling. She caught herself on one knee but her knives fell from her hands and as she glanced down to find and retrieve them, she realised what was affecting her.

Percy's fighting went into overdrive and with a bellowing yell, he spun and drove his sword down on a particularly large brute of a bandit, nearly severing him from shoulder to hip. With the threat temporarily at bay, he turned and rushed to her kneeling figure, his free hand going to her cheek, worried questions in his eyes when he saw her pain, her fear. Annabeth brought a shaking hand up for him to see and he paled, his eyes trailing down to her abdomen where her bloodied hand had come, revealing the four-inch gash that Arachne had managed to inflict before he intervened. His eyes widened in horror, realising it was no mere wound.

"It was silly," she said breathlessly. He remained frozen, too shocked to move or speak. "I slipped and I thought I had got out of the way or at least got my guard into place but I must have been too slow. I don't think it's too deep, there may be a chance it's …"

She was rambling, trying to reassure herself even though she knew it was useless. There was no chance, shallow gash or not. Arachne's venom was fatal in any dosage and she was already feeling the effects. She gazed down at her hands, her shaking hands, coated in her own blood. She had seen this; an image from the Crystal. It was a warning and she had missed it. Still, the human in her refused to believe there wasn't a way to survive.

Annabeth couldn't do anything about the venom, so blood loss was her next main concern. She grunted in pain as she pressed on her wound, assessing her body for further injuries, surprised to find other minor cuts on her arms and one bigger one on her shoulder blade. She glanced back to Percy, who had managed to snap his shock. He ripped the cleanest section of shirt from a nearby fallen bandit as well as their belt. He belted the shirt section across her wound as tightly as Annabeth could comfortably tolerate. He gripped her face in his hands, staring at her intently.

"I'll find a way," he told her. "This is not where we end."

With tears in her eyes, she nodded, kissing him swiftly, savouring the feel of his kiss as she rose to shaky legs. The fighting was beginning to dwindle down into concentrated areas, allowing Percy and Annabeth to sneak their way towards the exit. Getting caught up in a skirmish would only waste precious time Annabeth was quickly running out of, as was the huge bandit presence at their intended exit. Percy swore, eyes searching, before leading her back the way they came, kicking down a weakened portion of the wall while she kept guard. They had to wiggle through the gap, causing Annabeth further pain but then they were free, moving a safe distance from the camp.

Then she was getting helped onto Blackjack. When did the horse get there? She slumped over the horse's neck and it was an effort to sit up as Percy leapt up behind her. He placed an arm securely around her waist, the other grabbing the reins in a white-knuckled grip. He urged Blackjack towards the safety of the trees, ignoring the sounds of the bandit raid as it got softer. They reached the trees and Annabeth heard Percy gasp in surprise, Blackjack coming to a halt. His body stiffened and the arm wrapped around her tightened.

"Rachel," he breathed.

Unblemished, Rachel emerged from the shadows, a sense of grave urgency in her expression as she looked at them. "Hurry Percy, the dosage of venom may be minimal, but time is not on her side," she informed him. "Find the lightning daughter. She will be her only chance."

He didn't need to hear anymore, urging Blackjack forward. Annabeth turned her head to keep her focus on Rachel, who watched them go solemnly before disappearing amongst the trees. Slumping back, she kept her ear against Percy's chest, hearing the erratic thump of his accelerated heartbeat, trying to keep her own breaths steady. She brushed her fingers against her token, trying to draw strength from it. Her head drooped, her eyes settling on her wound, at her blood as it seeped from the makeshift bandage.

Arachne's venom was having the strangest, and most challenging, effects on Annabeth that she had ever experienced before. The first hour or so of Blackjack racing through the forest at Percy's behest was the equivalent of dealing with injuries after a skirmish that Annabeth was used to, but then it changed. The pain that was stinging went to throbbing, then went to an ache that felt as though she was being stabbed over and over again. She couldn't help the groan that passed her lips, or the ones that followed as the forest flew behind them.

She could feel the tension and worry emanating from Percy long after she suppressed voicing her pain, knowing every hiss or groan caused him to flinch. The sensation of being stabbed was replaced by other conflicting sensations. She was freezing, her body shivering but at the same time, she was melting with a raging fever. It was as though her body was experiencing every symptom for every illness. Her fingers were constantly tingling, her feet numb in her boots. Percy set Blackjack to a walk, flinging his cloak over her, hoping to ease her shivering. Her energy was draining rapidly and at some point, she passed out.

Annabeth knew the mixed symptoms was just her brain trying to process what was happening to her body, her nerves being attacked over and over by the poison as it tried to devour every muscle and cell in her body, but knowing didn't soften the experience. Her eyelids were cloggy when she woke, the tingling in her fingers now reaching her up into her hands. Her tongue felt heavy and dry, nostrils burning. She needed water, but the thought of taking a sip made her feel sick. Speaking of which …

Annabeth leant over the side of the horse and threw up her stomach contents. Her wound protested the movement and she could feel more blood seep into the bandage. Percy pulled Blackjack to a halt when he realised she wasn't settling. He jumped down, gently grabbing her and carrying her to the closest section of a stream, Blackjack trailing. He set her down so he could grab things from the saddle bags, cursing when he couldn't find what he wanted, throwing something aside in frustration before returning to her.

"Annabeth, please," he begged softly. "Please, drink some water."

She knew she had to, despite the prospect nauseating her further. She took a sip at first, then the whole canteen, the nausea dissipating for the moment. Percy refilled the canteen and soaked a pieces of cloth in the stream, tying one on Annabeth's head and another around her neck. He checked her wound and sucked in a breath, causing Annabeth to follow his gaze. The wound was infected, but the poison had created a sickening green vein effect, worming their way from the wound and spreading around her abdomen.

"I've never seen a poison do that before," she croaked, her throat aching.

"We need to keep moving." Percy covered it quickly, placing her back onto Blackjack and urging him to hurry.

Annabeth wove in and out of consciousness, in and out of fevers and shivering chills, in and out of nausea. The effects were getting worse, the pain growing and the numbness that followed. Her lips were dry and cracked and thanks to her biting down on them to prevent from screaming, bleeding. Percy tried to encourage and comfort her, all the while pushing Blackjack to his limits as he raced to get her to help. Morning was breaking and Annabeth knew her time was slipping away.

The reins were pulled hard on Blackjack and he almost reared to a stop, waking Annabeth. She felt Percy slide down behind her, but she couldn't open her eyes to find where he had gone. Everywhere hurt, everywhere numb. Her thoughts were incoherent, but she forced her attention on Percy, using every piece of her will as she could. Water sloshed somewhere to her left. Blackjack shook his head restlessly, panting hard. Something slopped and slapped the water.

"Thank the stars." She heard him breathe in relief. She heard the rustle of clothing and then the steady hand on her back. "Annabeth, chew on this."

It was agony to open her eyes, but she managed it. Her sight was blurry around the edges but she accepted the freshly cleaned roots Percy held out for her. If it was agony to open her eyes, it was double that trying to chew on the roots as they continued to race to who knew where. As soon as she finished the roots she was unconscious again and Annabeth could feel death waiting for her.

She wasn't ready, she didn't want to leave but her body was. It was exhausted, running on fumes as the poison took everything it could. She could hear Percy begging her to hold on, to stay with him for just a little longer, help was within reach. She couldn't move, couldn't respond, could only listen between her shuttering, short breaths to Blackjack's hacking, heavy pants. She wondered dimly whether she would hear her own last breath before she moved on to wherever awaited her.

Annabeth was jolted into consciousness by Percy lifting her off Blackjack and into his arms. He cradled her gently, securely and despite the pain his touch was causing, she felt a feeble resurgence in strength. There was a whistle, followed by a thud. An arrow? He was yelling at someone, demanding entrance but where they were, Annabeth didn't care. The groaning of timber and chains. Footsteps. Weapons being drawn.

"Dammit Percy," a female voice growled. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I claim sanctuary," Percy stated.

"Oh, fuck no," the woman replied. "That is not happening. Do you know how much shit I copped from your last attempt?"

"Do you think I would've come if I wasn't desperate?" he yelled angrily. "Look at her! She's been poisoned by Arachne's venom!"

She heard someone approach, followed by a cold hand on her cheek. Annabeth would've flinched from the freezing touch if she had the energy. Annabeth opened her eyes to see the newcomer, but her vision was blurry. The woman was eye-level to where Annabeth sat against Percy's chest. There was bright blue in the middle of a cream blob, surrounding by black. A face? Had to be.

"Athenian?" The voice came from the blob of colour.

"True blood."

There was a pause, the woman and Percy staring at each other. Then the woman was delivering orders, and there was a flurry of activity around the gate. The woman led Percy into the town, Annabeth jostled as they hurried along. She let out a small whimper and Percy slowed, keeping her as steady as he could. She closed her eyes, too weak to keep them open.

"Petra, make sure guards are posted at every surrounding outpost," the woman ordered at someone. "Arachne's cunning and if she discovers the girl is still alive, she'll hunt her down and –."

"Arachne's dead," Percy cut in with a hard voice.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked.

"I stabbed her through the heart and cut off her head," he replied bluntly, no ounce of remorse in his voice.

Stunned silence followed. "Didn't think you had that in you," she admitted, before speaking to Petra. "Despite that, make sure the outposts are on high alert. There's been a restlessness surrounding us, and I want to know if it starts coming this way."

"Since when have you been in charge?" asked Percy a minute or so later though Annabeth was only speculating on the space of time.

"Since our leader went missing and her second went to find her. You're so fucking lucky she wasn't at the gate or else she would've foregone a warning shot and killed you."

"As long as you helped her, I wouldn't have cared."

More silence. Annabeth thought she felt eyes on her. Must have been the woman in charge. She wondered if she looked as awful as felt.

"How long ago was she poisoned?"

"I don't know. Ten, maybe twelve hours ago," Percy answered.

"Fuck," she cursed.

Doors opened. More activity was happening around her. She was lowered onto something soft. A stretcher? She was lying down and her body sagged. She was raised and moving again but she couldn't feel Percy anymore. Where was he? A hand on her wrist. There he was. Where was she being carried? She was so tired. Lights were flaring in her face; she could feel the heat. Why wouldn't they let her sleep? The hand at her wrist fell away. Annabeth whimpered softly.

"Perce, you have to stay here," the woman said.

"What? No, I'm going with her." There was a scuffle. "Back off!" he growled.

"Listen to me. Listen to me! You're only going to be in the way. I'll be with her the whole time, I promise you."

She wanted to see Percy, one last time, but she couldn't open her eyes. She wanted to cry, she wanted to see his face, see his beautiful green eyes, see his smile. The image she had of him in her mind was blurring, fading as the poison tried to devour it along with what remained. She didn't get to tell him how she felt, didn't get to tell him she severed ties with the Elites. She was moving again, but Percy wasn't there, someone else was instead.

She was in a room. She couldn't explain how she knew, but she did. More activity flurried around her. Hands touched her face, removing Percy's cooling cloths and cloak, lifting her eyelids, pulling her mouth open, her wrists, removing her bracers, then her token, no! They already took Percy, not that. She whimpered in protest, and with a burst of strength, trying to get it back she twitched her fingers; that was all she could manage?

"Give me that," the woman said. "It must mean something to her."

Annabeth wanted to cry. Her shirt was cut away. There was a collective gasp around her, someone whispering a quick prayer, someone consoling her but that all went silent as someone else entered the room. A healer? It had to be by the way they were chasing most from the room to grab various herbs and tinctures. The healer had a kind voice, so it was easy to decipher it from the other substitute leader voice. Could Annabeth go to sleep now? She was so very tired.

"How is she still alive after all these hours?" the leader woman murmured.

"There could be a multitude of reasons. I suspect once the Mother of Spiders discovered a true born Athenian was within her grasp, she hastened to find her, forgetting to coat her knife as frequently with her concocted 'venom' as she usually would. While any dosage is supposedly fatal, it's effects would be lessened to a degree, but no less painful."

More hands touched Annabeth. These ones softer, more inspective. Someone came back in. Crunching. Stone grinding on stone. Liquid poured and stirred. There was a strange aroma filling the room. It was soothing, pleasing. Annabeth could fall asleep with that lovely scent as her last memory.

"What's her name?" the healer asked

"Shit. I didn't get it off Percy," was the reply.

"Athenian," the healer addressed Annabeth. "I know you can't do much at the moment and you very much want to let it all go but I need you to find your strength one last time and listen." It was a struggle, but Annabeth managed to. "The venom has spread considerably throughout your body and while the burdock root slowed it's progress, it is a more severe case than I have seen. We've been trialling a process against this venom with mixed results, but it has been our most effective combating it. This process is going to push your body to its absolute limits and there is a heavy chance your heart will give out from the strain. You need to drink this, and then I'll coat the wound with a paste, then your body with an oil made from similar ingredients. This will dampen the poison's effect on your body, but it is slow, especially with the grip it already has on you."

Annabeth's head was lifted and tilted, something cold and hard pressed against her lips. That aroma was stronger now. Her mouth was forcibly opened and what Annabeth thought was a sedative was slowly poured into her mouth. She swallowed it, unable to taste it, which may had been a good thing. Finally, finally, she was allowed to sleep. In the back of her mind, she told herself she would wake up, she was determined to wake up again.

Annabeth heard one last thing before she drifted off. She didn't know whether it was the healer or the other woman who said it, but she remembered the words.

"Be brave, Athenian."