I have recently decided to rewrite and re-organize Razing of Camelot.

I was 12ish when I wrote this, so I think (hopefully) that I have developed as a writer, and am able to provide a more in depth story and plot.

I have redone the plot a bit into something more cohesive (I definitely did the write-the-plot-as-I-go thing, and it def. shows). Some aspects are the same, others are very different. I beta this myself, so if there are grammar or continuation errors, leave me a comment.

I will try and update as often as I can, but longer chapters definitely take a while, and I have other writing projects I am working on. So, anyways-enjoy

Annabeth resolved to stare at the sidewalk and not check her watch. Again. She wouldn't because if she gave into the urge, Percy would just happen to arrive at that exact moment. He would see her counting the minutes, and that horrible kicked-puppy look he'd been working on would make an appearance. She'd be tempted to feel bad, naturally, but Annabeth refused to fall for it whenever he used it on her; it was his fault, this time. He was late by…however many minutes she'd been waiting outside. Which she didn't know because she refused to check the time.

Percy had been the one to suggest going to see that new superhero movie, and if he was any longer, they might miss the beginning. Not that she was overly enthused to go see that particular film; this director tended to destroy any and every known landmark in a given city to emphasize the pain and destruction wrought by the villain, and Annabeth did not appreciate that trend. She was almost certain that was why Percy liked taking her to see superhero flicks to begin with. It was his equivalent of taking one's girlfriend to a horror movie. Scare them into jumping into your awaiting arms—the devious, self-serving bastards…

Annabeth's foot started tapping the step of its own accord.

The movie started at 3:35, and it took say fifteen minutes to walk there without dawdling. She'd told Mr. Rogers she would wait outside at five of, and even without consulting the time piece, she knew she'd been waiting for a few minutes already. "And I like the previews," she mumbled, picking at the swish emblem on her sneaker.

Barely a minute later, she heard the telltale clack of rubber slapping asphalt, quickly followed by the huffing, gulping breath of someone pretending they hadn't just booked it across town. Smothering her smile, she squinted up at the new arrival. "You're late."

Percy grinned sheepishly. "I got held up."

"Dracaena?"

"Close." He juggled a reusable tote into one arm and offered a hand to Annabeth. "A grandmother."

Shaking her head with a smile, Annabeth brushed off any dirt that may have clung to her. "We'd better hurry if we want to catch the movie. We still need to get the tickets." She hopped down the last few steps to the apartment complex and set off in the direction of the theater. Only Percy didn't move. Instead, he stood exactly where he'd been, that goofy, half-smile on his face. Annabeth may not live in New York, but her internal compass was generally on point. What was the idiot grinning about this time? "Do you not want to see the movie anymore?"

He shrugged, and whatever he had in his bag clinked and rustled. "I have an alternative proposal for you."

"Oh?"

Percy jerked his head over his shoulder and bounced the bag in his arms. "Linner in the park?" Awkwardly maintaining his grip on the underside of the tote, he fished out a long plastic stem and tugged until it came free. He waved it at her invitingly.

Annabeth raised her eyebrows and tried really hard not to smile. "What's this? Trying to enchant me?" She shielded her eyes with the back of her hand and squinted at the object. Then she laughed. It was one of those Valentine roses. The ones that barely taste like chocolate at all and coat your tongue in an uncomfortable waxy manner. "I don't think linner is a thing," she said, sniffing at the aluminum wrapper.

Percy wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gently steered her in the direction of Central Park. "Sure, it is. If brunch and brinner are acceptable meals, then linner has to be too. It's simple physics."

Annabeth bit her lip and nodded sagely. There was no real reason to shatter his hopes and dreams of a lunch/dinner hybrid by pointing out that they are practically the same meal already. She stretched up and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you for my flower."

Percy's cheeks flushed, and he gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I was going to get you some real ones, but I ran into this old woman at the store. She asked about the flowers and then started talking about how her husband used to get her flowers every Sunday and that he died, so no one gets her flowers anymore. So, I may have given them to her instead," he finished in a rush, as if it were a bad or weird thing to have done. Gods, he was adorable.

Annabeth nudged his side with hers. "I'm sure you made her smile."

He grimaced. "I made her cry, actually." They dodged across the street, much to the annoyance of a Rolls Royce impatiently waiting to turn on red. Part of Annabeth's more spiteful self wanted to piss them off and stroll across leisurely—really make the driver wait—but this was New York. They'd more than likely just bump her, trying to get around them.

Percy smirked to himself and added with just a hint of sarcasm, "she was, like, the first grandmotherly, old woman who didn't try to kill me on sight, so I figured I had to thank her or something."

Annabeth snorted. "Maybe if you'd've bribed Echidna, she wouldn't have attacked you with her chihuahua."

"Maybe Circe wouldn't have tried to sell me as a class pet."

"And Charybdis wouldn't have tried to eat you."

"I still think Medusa would have tried to turn me into a statue though."

Annabeth cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "Is there anyone you haven't managed to piss off?"

Percy had to visibly contemplate the question and finally shrugged after a few feet of silence. "I'm sure there's someone. Give it time though. It won't last long." He poked her in the ribs playfully. "Also, you're one to talk. Didn't you have a herd of angry, flatulent cows chasing you for a few months?"

Just the mention of the fetid stalkers was enough to make her gag. "Point taken." Annabeth leaned closer to Percy as they walked and tugged at the corner of his tote bag—or rather, she was pretty sure he'd stolen the bag from Sally a few weeks back, but he'd gotten adorably involved in recyclable and reusable containers after a conversation with a sea turtle at the aquarium. "What goodies did you get?"

Percy jerked the bag away. "You'll see."

Annabeth knew to expect that the color blue would be a staple ingredient in their picnic linner, but she hadn't realized the sheer length her boyfriend would go to make that happen. Blue carrots for the chocolate hummus ("it's healthy. It's hummus," he argued), blueberries, blue corn chips, and potato salad with one or two blue potatoes. Thankfully, the sandwiches were not required to be blue and looked suspiciously tasty and nutritious. When she got to the tollhouse sugar cookies with exceedingly purple frosting, Annabeth waved them teasingly.

Percy, who had been clearing off a rock for them to set up shop, grinned up at her. "Color wheel, Wise-girl. Purple is basically blue's incest child."

That tore a snort from her before she could catch it. "I pity your teachers."

Percy peeled back the wax paper curiously and sniffed at the sandwich underneath. He handed it over to Annabeth then repeated the process with the second wrap, satisfied with what he found. "You don't know the half of it. Mr…Singer, fifth grade, I swear I watched the desire to teach literally fade from his eyes during that encounter. Utter disappointment mixed with a splash of incredulity and forfeit."

"What did you do?" Annabeth flopped down on the rock, hiking her legs up underneath to keep balanced. She was regretting not bringing an extra layer with her. The Spring weather was perfect; the sun shone brilliantly in the mid-afternoon sky and warmed the air just enough to be pleasant, but the wind still carried that last bit of winter.

"I may have gotten caught trying to pick the lock off a locker." Percy meticulously began to deconstruct his wrap, only to layer it up with tortilla chips and roll it back up again. "As far as I can remember, it wasn't actually anyone's locker, but it didn't help my case much."

Annabeth nibbled at her own sandwich, pleasantly surprised to find buffalo chicken and avocado. "And why, pray-tell, did you want to pick the lock of no one's locker?"

Percy laughed something between a snort and chuckle. "A bunch of kids decided to try and pick it during recess, only the bell rang before I got to. Later that day, I had to go get something from my locker during class and, well..."

Annabeth could see where this was going. "You thought 'why not? It's the middle of class and I've got nothing better to do?'"

"Exactly. Well, long story short, I was elbows deep in this padlock, and the librarian came up behind me." After a rather crunchy bite, he added with a grimace, "He also happened to be the teacher spearheading the delinquency prevention program at our school. He was not happy."

Again, Annabeth tried so hard not to laugh. But his straightforward, solemn deliverance of the whole story was too much. She snorted, breaking down into a smattering of giggles as she tried to muffle it. She tried to picture the moment a young Percy realized he was no longer alone in the hallway, to turn around and find a bemused teacher looking on. Somehow, the picture was extremely easy to conjure up.

Annabeth tilted her head back and breathed deeply. As much as she enjoyed New York, she didn't think she could live there year-round. She would miss the forest at camp, the lap of the ocean on the beach, the sound of the animals at night. If she did end up going to a school in the city, she'd probably end up spending most of her time split between the park and the library. Least here, she had two of those things. Even if someone's dog was howling ferociously at a squirrel.

"What about you?" Percy asked after he'd devoured half his sandwich.

"Can't say I have had a similar experience." She picked out a solid chunk of avocado and munched on it thoughtfully. "I guess there was this one time—" Annabeth broke off. The howling had gotten much closer all of a sudden, as if it had attacked something much larger than a squirrel. Only, now that she was concentrating, it had fallen silent.

"Annie?" Percy was watching her carefully.

"Nothing, I just—"

There it was again! Only, instead of a single dog barking somewhere in the distance, it was closer, and louder. Soon another dog had joined in. Then another, and another. Each one competing with the last, dozens of canines shrieking in the air. She'd heard something similar back when she'd been living on her own in the woods. Right after a coyote made a kill and signaled to the rest of the pack…

Annabeth turned to Percy, but he was still just watching her, growing more worried by the second. It was like he didn't hear anything at all. "Do you not hear that?"

Percy searched around needlessly, eyes wide. "No, what…?"

The baying was so deafening now, her head thundered with every howl. She clamped her hands over her ears, slipping on the smooth surface of the rock. "The howling. How can you not hear it?"

Percy was on his feet now too. He grabbed onto her arms, tight enough the skin was white and pink around his hands, but her mind was too focused on finding where the dogs were hiding. If they existed, she definitely should have seen them by now.

"Annabeth, I don't hear anything—" but then he broke off too.

His eyes were set on something right over her shoulder. A second later, they were on the ground, at the bottom of the rock they'd been sitting on, and atop it was a massive beast. Its front hooves clattered against the stone, grinding horrendously as it held itself firmly in one place, while the head and neck of a snake swung back and forth appraisingly. Its forked tongue flicked through needle-point fangs, tasting the air. Whoever had made the creature had ensured that each distinct appendage melded seamlessly with the next.

Annabeth scrambled back on her hands, hissing as needles and wood chips bit into the skin. Once she was far enough away, she slipped out her knife, careful to keep it out of sight. The last thing she needed was for a light refraction to scare the beast in attacking prematurely. As of now, it seemed content enough to watch them from its high ground. Annabeth wondered if it could even see.

Percy had rolled to his feet, hand already reaching for his pen. He seemed to read her mind and kept it sheathed, sidestepping toward her slowly. "What—in—Hades?" he demanded, barely moving his lips.

Annabeth didn't answer. She could have. She had recognized it almost immediately—the head and neck of a snake, body of a leopard, haunches of a lion, and feet of a hart were unique to one single creature—only she had thought that this one was, in fact, mythological.

Its slitted eyes roved over them, head tilted just so, and it howled from deep in its leopard's belly. Then it lunged.

The world was spinning. Green, white, blue, and grey melded into one in a furious collage. Spikes of evergreen shot up around her, adding to the deepening confusion of colors and streaks of shooting stars that danced across her eyes. She felt as if her body floating in midair, the same moment a solid surface supported her back. So, how could she be flying?

Her fingers crawled along the surface in an attempt to tether her there. To stop the spinning. If the world would just stop. Her nails sank into something cool and damp. Soothing.

Her head pounded in the silence. Or was it her stomach.

Annabeth threw herself to her knees, faster than she knew she could move, and retched. Neither the movement, nor the retching helped with the dizziness, but at least, her sense of touch was beginning to return. She could feel the dampening patches in her jeans as the grass and earth soaked into the material. Her fingers ripped out handfuls of grass with each convulsion, until she was choking up acrid water.

Then, her sense of smell barraged her like a tsunami. The traitor. She fell back, away from the stench of sick, and groaned. Everything was too sharp and overwhelming, and her stomach still rolled dangerously. The same cold, damp sensation seeped into the seat of her jeans, but Annabeth couldn't bring herself to care.

"The hell happened?" she croaked. Some water would be very much appreciated right now.

Her hands snapped away from her eyes. Water. Percy. Ignoring the pulsing wave of dizziness, Annabeth shot to her feet and spun on the spot. She was in an open field, a valley surrounded by hills filled with trees and entangled limbs; the air was crisp and clean, absent of any diesel or pollution. The only sounds were the peaceful chirp of birds and rustling of wind through the trees. No yelling, no car horns, no obnoxiously loud music reverberating through someone's stereo. No baying.

Annabeth pushed that terrifying discovery to the side and cupped her hands around her mouth. "PERCY!" She spun, screaming his name again, and again.

The only thing keeping her heart from living in her throat was the knowledge of his Achilles's Curse. He was, statistically speaking, perfectly fine. Maybe somewhere along the digestive track of the Questing Beast, but most likely alive and intact.

"Percy!" Her raw throat cracked a little from the force. "Perc—"

"—nabeth!"

Annabeth faltered and tilted her head to the side.

"Annabeth!" The call was muffled slightly, as if across the field or from the other side of one of the hills, but it was there. She forced herself to wait, instead of rushing off in some random direction. Stumbling around blindly chasing the memory of a sound wouldn't help either of them. A long, agonizing moment passed before Percy's voice carried over the hill to the left. Or was it coming from in front of her?

Annabeth swore and set off for the hill to the left. Only the tip of her foot snagged on something hidden in the grass. Something hard. She glanced down and started. Glinting up at her, sunken up to the hilt into the soft earth, was a dagger, and crumpled next to it was pile of expensive-looking cloth. Annabeth retracted the knife first, relishing in its familiar weight, and dragged the bronze blade across her thigh to clear away the soil. She grabbed the fabric more hesitantly. At first, she thought it was a bolt of cloth or satin blanket, but the cut was wrong. It was shapely, like a poncho. A cloak?

Something familiar about it pulled at her mind. Annabeth figured she should leave it where she found it, but on instinct, she threw it over her shoulder, tucked the knife into her back pocket, and began her ascent up the valley wall.

Now that she was actually hiking up its side, the 'hill' didn't seem that small anymore. It was steep, untraversed, and filled with sharp thorns and pricker bushes. More than once, a twig wormed its way into her sock, another branch and vine latching onto her and clawing at her skin. Scowling, she swatted away the offending limbs and cursed out any dryad that might be behind the annoyance. When she got back, from wherever she was, Grover was going to get an earful about passive aggressive nature spirits…

"Percy!"

"Annabeth?!"

Ruffled black hair, followed by wide green eyes popped over the crest of the incline, and Annabeth nearly threw her hands in the air to rejoice. Of course, if she had, she wouldn't have undoubtedly sent herself tumbling. Percy, thankfully, didn't launch himself down the knoll, either. He tracked her ascent carefully and reached out as soon as Annabeth was close enough. Which was good because, as soon as she neared the top, the dead leaves sitting atop the soil shifted as one. A carpet of compost tried its best to take her down in an avalanche.

Annabeth jumped for his outstretched hand and heaved herself over the ledge. Percy dragged both of them back, nearly tripping over his sword in their hurry. He continued to grasp her hand, holding her at arm's length as he studied her. The best she could tell, he was entirely unharmed—not surprising—but looked a little more than disheveled. Mud was caked in his hair in clumps, streaks of dirt dusted one side of his face, and more than a couple twigs had woven themselves into his shirt. Annabeth doubted she looked any better herself.

"Are you all right," she asked. She picked at one of the drier, more solid clumps in his already unruly hair.

Percy nodded. "You?"

"Yeah. What happened?"

"I have absolutely no idea. First, you started shrieking about dogs barking—"

"I wasn't shrieking…"

"—then that Beast just appeared out of nowhere." Percy stabbed Riptide into the ground next to them and scowled. "I jumped onto the thing's back. Then the next thing I know, I wake up on a riverbank, you're nowhere to be found, and Riptide is stuck like—this!"

Annabeth rubbed at her eyes. The last thing she remembered—before waking up feeling like she'd just gone a few too many rounds on the Zipper—was diving out of the way of a lion's tail, only to come face to face with its draconic, glowing eyes. She'd stared it down, refusing to give in to the trembling fear that burned in her gut, but then it…she. She had reached toward her with her scaled snout. Annabeth had felt the sweltering breath on her face, and then…

"—'s this?"

Annabeth blinked. "What?"

Percy flicked the satin cloak looped over her arm. Annabeth fingered the navy fabric, tracing the oddly familiar white stitching along its edge. The threading was masterful and delicate, repeating the same cross pattern along the hood's trim. No way—Annabeth cupped her hands around one stitching and swore.

"It's my cap." All along the binding were elegantly stylized cursive Yankees symbols. Annabeth wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and glanced down at her body.

"I can still see you," Percy said helpfully.

Annabeth slipped on the hood. Immediately, she disappeared, as if she had never been there at all. She ripped the cap/cloak off entirely and balled it up in her arms. What the Hell is going on? First the curious case of teleportation, the appearance of her knife, and now the transformation of her Yankees ballcap. And Percy said Riptide refused to take its pen form. Meeting Percy's eyes, Annabeth found her thoughts, confusions, and fears echoed in him.

"What now?" she asked.

Instead of answering, Percy scoured the ground around them. He kicked away a few piles of leaves and dirt, until he finally cried out successfully. He brandished his prize happily. A stick. He weighed it thoughtfully then tossed it into the air with all the dramatic flair of a sixth-grade rendition of Hamlet. It thumped somewhere off to his left.

Annabeth stared at it, then at him. "What does that do?"

Percy pointed down the ridge of the valley. "Tells us where to go. You know. Chance. Unpredictability. Whatever you want to call it."

To his credit, their best survival methods usually did involve being as unpredictable as possible; however, in this instance, Annabeth was feeling less inclined to follow the advice of a twig, and more for something involving a bit more thought. She wracked her brain, trying to recall the survival books she'd spent years poring over, so that she'd be prepared for any and every Quest. But everything she could conjure up had to do with staying where you were last seen, finding high ground if there is inclement bad weather, not panicking. Most missing hikers are found within the first 24 hours thanks to those particular tips, but they didn't exactly work for their situation.

The best Annabeth could come up with was to try and find civilization, and unfortunately for Percy, a throw of the die (or a stick in this case) would not guarantee that.

"Did you say you woke up in a river?"

Percy scrubbed at his muck-laden hair. "On the bank, but yeah." He turned to the far side of the hill, opposite of where Annabeth had trekked up, and gestured in the general direction. "Back over there, somewhere. Why?"

"Cause I think we should follow it downstream." She sent him an apologetic frown. "If there is a town or anything in the area, we're more likely to find it by following the river. If not, maybe we find the ocean instead."

Percy shrugged and started leading the way back to where he'd found the river. "My way was more creative," he mumbled under his breath. Annabeth pretended not to hear him.

Luckily, the way down was much smoother than the way up. They half-slid, half-walked down the hillside, using branches to and tree trunks to slow their descent. The other side of the valley was much the same, although it held more of a clearing. The forest broke for a long, rambling river and its fertile bank. In any other circumstance, it would have been enchanting. The grass was full and luscious; the water rippled gently over perfectly round, grey pebbles, shining and glistening in the sun. Even in Virginia, Annabeth had never seen the water so clear and translucent.

Reaching the river's edge, she allowed herself a moment to revel in the cool prickle as it swept between her fingers. Percy held out his hand, and together, they started downstream, the sun at their backs.

If it weren't for the sun slowly crawling across the late-afternoon sky, Annabeth wouldn't have been able to keep track of how long they'd been traveling. Her watch had marked the exact second that they had jumped or teleported (3:17:05, for some odd reason), so as it stood, she wasn't exactly sure how far they'd gone. It had been a couple hours of walking at least. Wherever they were now, it was in a different time zone, or in the summer somewhere way up North. The sun should have set by now if they were going by New York's time.

Over the past couple hours, they had alternated between silence and easy conversation, too tired and preoccupied to do much else than point out the wildlife and purity of the surrounding nature. At one point, Annabeth had made the mistake of flicking water at Percy during a five-minute break, and soon it had evolved into an all-out water war—which, of course, ended with Percy claiming victory. Thoroughly soaked but much less dirty than they had been, they carried on, with still no sign of civilization to show for it.

They were wading through the water, Annabeth holding her shoes in her hands, when Percy broke the most recent silence. "Where do you think it came from?" At Annabeth's questioning glance, he clarified, "the Questing Beast. No one's ever mentioned seeing a non-Greek monster before. Do you think there are others? Like, Leprechauns and Banshees and stuff?"

Annabeth contemplated it for a moment before shrugging. She'd never heard rumors of them being real either, but then again, the world was a lot bigger than just what she has seen and heard. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, Chiron is always saying that nothing is a myth, so it makes sense that the Greeks weren't the only ones whose gods turned out to be 'real'. Plus, he always refuses to give a straight answer, if you ask him specifics about religion." Annabeth glanced at him sidelong. "You knew that thing was the Questing Beast?"

Percy held his hand over his heart, wounded but grinning wryly. "Of course! Mom used to read me those stories all the time. But, like, King Pellinore, the Green Knight, Morgan le Fey with her candy house?" He smiled and shook his head. "They were the best. On a slow night at the candy store, the nights I begged her not to leave me with Gabe, we'd sit behind the counter, chow down on some blue jellybeans, and read about Merlin turning Arthur into the latest creature."

Annabeth chewed on the inside of her cheek. It wasn't often that Percy talked about his ex-Stepdad, though none of it was ever good when he did. But it seemed today's mention was all that was. A mention. "Which story was your favorite?"

"Probably when he pulled the sword from the stone. Always a classic. But I mean the Green Knight and—"

Percy broke off so suddenly, Annabeth thought he'd tripped on a rock or something, but there never came a splash or melodramatic whining about a stubbed toe. She turned to see what was wrong and found him, eyes narrowed, mouth slightly open, staring off toward the tree line. Before she could ask what had brought him up short, Percy pointed and said, "is that a person?"

Annabeth followed his line of sight, and there, ambling out of the trees, was a real person. A woman, probably in her mid- to late-twenties, marched across the field toward the river. She didn't take notice of the two teens in the middle of the water, either because it didn't seem odd to her at all that they were out there in the middle of nowhere, or because she had yet to see them. Her dress, which had most likely been red at some point in her life, was now faded to a nasty oxidized brown and tattered, and dirt spotted every inch of her. She walked strangely, almost more like a waddle than a walk, but within a few seconds, she'd crossed the clearing and reached the water's edge, some thirty feet downstream of them.

"I don'—should we go and talk to her?" she whispered and looked back at Percy. He was frowning at the woman, his hand fiddling with the hilt of his sword. With their luck, she was definitely some siren, vampiric hybrid that had been stalking them from the woods. Or, maybe a banshee, come to prove to the Greek demigods that they weren't the only mythic creatures that existed.

"Might as well. Unless you want to duck into the woods and go around her…"

He had a point. She was in their way, so either they booked it for the trees or confronted her. If she was a monster, then both Annabeth and Percy already had their weapons at hand. Annabeth took a few steps forward before calling out.

"Excuse me?"

The young woman looked up from where she was scrubbing at her hands. She didn't smile exactly, but she also didn't look aggressive or put out to see the two approaching. She sat back on her heels and observed them intensely, and to Annabeth, the closer she came, the more conflicting the appearance the woman had. She was flawlessly beautiful—an extreme red flag in her past experience— with a mane of wild red curls and deathly pale skin, almost too pale to be living. It seemed odd for her to be dressed in rags. Probably the oddest of it all, was that she was very, very pregnant. Annabeth could have sword she hadn't been, when she first saw the woman, although that had been from a bit of distance. A basket with a built-in washboard sat next to her, alongside a bundle of dirty clothes.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked. She untangled one of the cloths from the bundle and dipped it into the river. Every slight movement was calculated and graceful.

"I—uh." Was it her imagination, or did that shirt have a brownish red stain where the heart should be? "We're a bit lost," Annabeth explained, gesturing to her and Percy needlessly. He stood behind her, awkwardly trying to shield his sword with Annabeth's body. "I was hoping you might be able to help us."

A smile crept across the woman's face. She stopped scrubbing away at the stain and regarded the article and the others bundled off to the side intently. Then she purposely glanced around Annabeth to look right at Percy. "Not to worry. These aren't yours."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "Um. I wasn't really thinking they were, but…"

"Could you point us towards the nearest town or city?" Annabeth prompted. The sooner they could get away from the lady, the better.

"You're a long way away from any city, love."

Annabeth tried really hard not to read into the fact that the woman sounded distinctly Irish. Lots of people emigrate or go on vacation in foreign countries. And do their laundry in the river. Far away from any city.

"None that house the livin' anyway."

Well, that cinched it. Annabeth was done with this conversation. The moment someone starts talking about cities housing the dead, or rather not housing the living, she was decidedly not sticking around for an invitation.

"Okay, well, thanks," Percy said tightly. "Although, we really aren't that lost, come to think of it. Just turned around. Right, Annie?"

Annabeth nodded and smiled tightly. "Right. Uncle Sam is waiting for us," she added for good measure, while thinking please don't try to eat us. Percy edged behind her, still hiding his sword, and nudged her to follow. The woman's black eyes tracked them unblinkingly as they gave her a wide berth. There was almost a glint of amusement flashing deep within them. Then she focused back on her bloody clothes, and it was gone.

Percy and Annabeth jogged away, as much as they could, being ankle-deep in the water, but they had only made it a few feet away, when the woman's lilt called to their backs, "though, there is a village, not too far from here."

Reluctantly, they stopped.

"If you happen to lose your way again, that is."

Annabeth turned back to face the young woman, biting back the grimace that fought to be seen. It might have been Annabeth's imagination, but she was much closer that she should have been, just barely ten feet away. Although, maybe they hadn't gone as far as Annabeth had thought. The woman had laid out the shirt, now clean of any dark, ominous stains, on the rocks and started on another article of clothing. Annabeth didn't care to look any closer in case it was similarly soiled.

"Follow the river until it splits into two. Baile-Avon lies to the right, not too far from the river's edge." She rested her hands atop her extended belly and smiled. There was no mirth or joy in the expression. "They mean to awaken him."

A cold wave washed down Annabeth's spine. She swallowed. "What?"

"The land isn't theirs, but they mean to claim it."

"Who? Who's 'they'? Who do they want to awaken?"

The woman gathered her sodden rags and washing basin, hefting it up against one hip. Annabeth made to take a step forward, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She looked at Percy, who shook his head pleadingly. When a mysterious figure starts spouting riddles, nothing good came from demanding more information.

"You'd better hurry," the young woman said. "Night's comin' soon. Don't want to be caught in the dark in these woods."

Grudgingly, Annabeth let Percy turn her away. His hand stayed, comfortingly, on the middle of her back, but somehow, the sunlight and gentle lapping of the river on the rocks weren't as comforting as before. She wrapped her arms around herself and fought the chill that raced across her skin.

Baile-Avon was somewhere in between a village and a town. A cluster of buildings, mostly made of timber and clay, stood in the center of a large, open field. Some were tall, multi-storied homes or taverns, while others were barely taller than a full-grown man. They formed a rough circle, spiraling outwards, where the distance between buildings became greater until it became a spattering of barns and shacks. A single, massive barn stood on the outside, its bay doors and windows wide open. A watermill sat along the bank, where the river had begun to deepen and widen, a grand timber wheel churning its waters continuously.

Children were playing in the fields, the older kids kicking up clouds of dirt as they warred with wooden swords and shields made of slats tree bark. The younger ones chased after them enthusiastically and screeched in mock fear, as the eldest turned into a monster of some kind and loudly threatened to gobble them up. A few adults were milling about in the fields with farming equipment, a few others towing loads of hay, produce, and whatnot. Every one of them were dressed in tunics, jerkins, or dresses.

Percy and Annabeth had silently agreed to approach the town from the land, figuring it would seem less strange than wadding up to their front steps. Now, it afforded them the chance to stare and ogle at their strangeness. Admittedly, Annabeth had grown used to stumbling across the odd individual during her years as a demigod—many of them having very questionable fashion sense—and she'd filed the interaction with the young woman by the river in with the rest of them. However, having seen the medievalism of the village, she was inclined to think she and Percy's were now the odd ones out.

"Maybe it's the Baile-Avon version of Plimouth Plantation?" Annabeth offered hopefully. "Or Sturbridge Village?"

"Or a mini–King Richard's Fair?"

Even as they said it, Annabeth knew it didn't fit. It was too uniform and authentic. None of them knew they were being watched, and yet no one broke character once. Even the children were perfectly adapted to Medieval life. She steeled herself for the awkward conversations that were undoubtedly about to take place and prepared herself for the unbelievable.

She stepped out from behind the trees and began her approach. Percy followed shortly after, gasping the hilt of his sword as it swayed awkwardly from the belt look in his jeans. They had decided against trying to hide their weapons. With the possibility of both needing them and Riptide maybe having lost the ability to return ono its own, it was better to keep them on hand. Plus, inspecting the villagers more closely, more than a few of them carried multiple sheathes and uncovered blades.

The children noticed them first. The effect was immediate; one moment, they were playing without a care in the world, and the next, they had frozen in their tracks, as if they had come face to face with a predator. They scattered.

The adults, who had been looking on with amusement, stiffened and gestured frantically for their kids to come to their sides or inside the nearest building. Another ran off entirely. The ones who stayed gathered together to form a protective wall between Percy and Annabeth and the town.

"What's going on?" Percy asked quietly. "Are they scared of…us?"

Annabeth couldn't answer. While they did look like they had a close run-in with a paper shredder, they didn't exactly look threatening, per se. "I don't know, but—try not to touch your sword. Walk with your hands out so they can see them."

Three men broke from the wall and advanced toward them warily, and all of them were armed. The middle of the two, and the youngest, waved in greeting, a small little gesture that doubled as a signal to stop their approach. He was young, with dark hair and deeply tanned skin. Out of all of them, he seemed the least afraid.

"Greetings," he called.

"Greetings." Percy's voice was only slightly tinged with amusement. By the word choice, no doubt. "How do you fare?"

Annabeth bit back a groan, straining an eye muscle as she tried not to roll them. The men didn't seem affected by it, though. If anything, a bit of the tension drained out of them.

"As well as can be expected," the one on the left answered. "What brings you to Baile-Avon?"

"We—got lost in the woods. A woman by the river said that we would find a village, town, if we followed it downstream." Annabeth peered around the men and caught a flicker of movement from a few of the house windows. Someone, or a few someones, were watching them just as warily and suspiciously as the three men, only they were doing it from the relative safety of their homes. "What's going on? Is something…wrong?"

The man in the middle dropped his head and ground his toe in the dirt. "We—"

"—welcome here! LEAVE!" A man bellowed, except he wasn't addressing Percy and Annabeth. He wasn't even visible from where they stood, but the villagers recognized the voice. The three men blanched and raced back the way they'd come without a second glance at the teenagers, tearing through the town center. Percy didn't hesitate in chasing after them, and neither did Annabeth.

A small crowd had already begun to gather on the other corner of the town. A clear delineation separated the villagers from the intruder in the form of both a physical barrier, as well as a difference in attire. One man stood against an arc of townspeople, all of whom wore varying expressions of disgust, anger, and fear. The foreigner, however, looked perfectly at ease and was smiling.

One older man thrust a sword menacingly at him and growled, "I said, leave."

"I do not take orders from wēalas, like you." He strutted forward undeterred. He tossed aside his thick fur mantle to reveal his broadsword.

"What more can you want from us?" The old man was nearing tears, his voice thick. "You take our food, our supplies, our horses."

The young man from before stepped forward and tried to rest a hand on his shoulder, but the old man shook him off. He adjusted his grip on the sword's hilt. The blade trembled in his hand. Annabeth's hand shot out behind her instinctively, and without fail, Percy's was there to catch her. She clutched his crushingly. The old man took one small step, and then another. "And worse yet. You take our flesh and blood. My son."

Before the intruder had the time to respond, the old man lunged, swinging his sword in a downwards arc. The invader jumped back in surprise, his foot catching on his furs. He didn't lose his footing, however. When he righted himself, the smirk was gone.

"You should not have done that, wealh," he growled. Then he whistled. "Hellcniht, komm!"

Annabeth heard the growling first. A deep rumbling that echoed out of the line of trees. Its brilliant eyes burning like rubies on fire, the hound stalked out of the woods. It held a deadly grace, despite its sheer mass and size. It prowled around its master, flicking its head disinterestedly in his direction, and sniffed the air. There was no mistaking a hellhound, but the most terrifying part, was everyone else seemed to see it for what it was, as well. The arc had quickly dissolved into a scattering of terrified individuals, clutching at one another, except for the old man. He was frozen where he stood.

"Percy." Annabeth didn't chance a look at him, but she felt him tense.

Breath coming in rapid bursts, the old man was helpless.

"Hellcniht," the invader sneered, "greif an."

The hellhound lunged.

Percy dived forward to meet it in the air, but he was too far away. Its front paws collided with the old man's chest and it immediately began tearing into him with its maws and claws. Screams, blood, and laughter filled the air. A few of the other men leapt forward as well. They hacked and slashed at the beast with everything they had, even grappling at it with their hands. The Hellhound growled and snarled, swiping with its paws irately, but it still yearned to finish off the dying old man.

Percy and his bronze blade were the only reasons it didn't devour him entirely. Wherever the celestial metal met the hound's midnight fur, it burned and sizzled. Abandoning the villagers completely, it focused solely on Percy. As did the bastard who ordered the Hellhound to attack. His sneering face latched onto the expert movements and impressive weapon, and his hand found the hilt of his own weapon.

Annabeth, who was about to jump in to help Percy, tossed aside the Yankees cape and launched herself between him and the invader. In a split second, her dagger was in her hand, and she thrust it menacingly at him.

"Try it," she challenged. The man probably would have, if the Hellhound hadn't given a horrendous, final squeal. Annabeth knew what would follow that sound. Percy would have retracted Riptide with a look of pity and disgust, and the monster would melt away as a shadow into the ground, returned to Tartarus for years to come.

She watched their victory play out as pure hatred on her opponent's face. The realization of his unfortunate odds followed not long after as his eyes settled on the spot where the Hellhound had been felled. A vein throbbed in his forehead. His sword quivered.

"You will regret this," he spat. "All of you! Hel will soon claim you for her own!"

Annabeth didn't dare turn her back on the woods until she couldn't even hear the rustling of leaves and snapping twigs of his retreat. The threat may have been corny as the best of Hollywood, but the sentiment still held true. This Viking/Norseman/Saxon/Hel worshipping man clearly had been looking for an excuse to torment Baile-Avon, and killing the Hellhound gave him the perfect excuse. And she and Percy just put themselves right in the middle of it. Annabeth wanted to curse their stupidity, but in all honesty, there was nothing she would have done differently (save for acting as soon as she set eyes on the Hellhound).

"Annie?"

Something about the undertone to his voice aggravated the stones of anxiety in her gut. She turned around, about to ask the question, but stared instead. "What in Hades…?"

The Hellhound, in all its bloody glory, laid in the grass where it had drawn its final breath. Hacked to pieces, black and gold ichor seeped from every one of its dozens of wounds. As soon as the sickly-sweet smell of rancid nectar wafted toward her, Annabeth gagged. Holding her nose shut, she stepped closer, unable to look away. The sight was disgusting, but…fascinating. "Why didn't it disappear?"

"I don't understand. I thought they always crumbled into sand or just went—" Percy gestured an explosion with his hands, "poof."

An old, grandmotherly looking woman came forward and collapsed to her knees, keening as she drew a trembling hand around the old man's face. His body laid a few feet away from the hounds. Annabeth had seen enough mangled bodies of people she knew that she didn't want to get another glimpse of someone she didn't. The woman trembled, whispering words under her breath, then called to others to help carry him away.

"He's not yet dead. Help me."

As others hefted the old man's near-corpse, the young man from before stepped forward and kicked one of the beast's massive paws. "We've never managed to kill one before," he marveled. His wide eyes fell to Percy and Annabeth. "I—Thank you." He extended a hand to Percy. "You shouldn't have gotten involved, and I am sorry for that. But thank you. My name is Holden."

Percy shook his hand. "Percy, and this is Annabeth." He spared a quick smile to her, though it didn't last long. "Who was that guy? How can you se—wh—are there a lot of Hellhounds around here?"

The young man, Holden, stared at him quizzically. "Hellhounds? Is that what the beast is called? The Saxons have many monsters under their control, these Hellhounds are just a few of them." His gaze flicked to the woods anxiously. "And there are many more Saxons than just that one man. Since we threw them out of Baile-Avon, they have been camping in the trees, attacking and raiding whenever the mood strikes."

"Don't you have a—a Lord or a King who can help?" Annabeth questioned. Depending on where, and possibly when, they were (and the accents pointed to somewhere in Britain), kings didn't take kindly to invading forces picking off villages for their own amusement. That tended to interfere with tax collections.

Holden nodded. Again, his eyes settled over their shoulders and onto the tree line. He clearly thought an army was about to emerge from there at any moment. "Niall left this morning to request an audience with the King. Gods willing, they will come soon." He cleared his throat, "we—we do not have much here in Baile-Avon, but we do have some coin we can offer as than—"

Percy waved his hands frantically, eyes wide. "Woah, no, that's not why we helped."

"We couldn't just sit back and watch that man get torn apart," Annabeth continued hotly. Gods, no.

Holden's expression made it seem like common decency was a novel idea. He blinked at them unbelievingly for the longest time before offering them a genuine smile. It took years off his age, and Annabeth realized he might not be too much older than she and Percy. He waved towards the town proper, "well then, at least stay the night. We can give you food and a place to sleep." As if he thought Percy and Annabeth were going to refuse that as well, he insisted, "it's safer than staying in the woods."

Percy and Annabeth shared a silent exchange. Should we? It's not like we have anywhere else we have to be. Better in a real bed with warm food than taking their chances with the Saxons and monsters in the woods.

As Annabeth retrieved her discarded cape, Percy nodded. Holden smiled in relief. He led them through the dirt streets to quaint little building on the far side of town. It turned out to be the local tavern, complete with a hanging signpost, pockmarked tables, and musky interior. The barkeep—to which Percy, despite everything, was thoroughly amused and entertained by—was all too happy to provide them with meat stew and tankards of ale. From then on, the evening passed in a fog of activity, that was only further blurred by the confusion and fatigue catching up to them with every passing moment.

What seemed like the entirety of Baile-Avon dropped in to share their thanks and interact with the (unthreatening) foreigners. They were openly curious and suspicious of the two of them, not that Annabeth blamed them at all, given what she'd seen. It was nice though; as a communal gathering place, most the municipal seemed to spend most evenings in the Golden Oak and found a lot of amusement in regaling tales over dinner, and with their small victory, they had something to celebrate. Between the cheering, singing, and overall spillage of mead and ale, it was a wonder any of the townspeople drank or ate anything at all that night.

The children were also oddly taken by the way Annabeth and Percy talked, and it took their parents multiple rounds of 'leave them alone' for them to finally lose interest in the accents. It didn't stop them from pulling at their clothes or ogling at the strange metal of their weapons. More than once, Annabeth caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eyes and turned in time to see shy, little girls ducking out of sight. She must have been a marvel for them: a woman who dove in to fight without a seconds thought and repelled the bad man with her bronze dagger.

Percy, on the other hand, was the king of supermen in the eyes of the other children. Not only was he a foreigner in strange clothes and with a funny accent, but he'd slain the terrible beast with his majestic sword. A gallant knight. The boys spent most of the night challenging him to a duel with wooden sticks masquerading as swords or hanging off of him like a jungle gym. Percy, despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs, lofted them about with a big stupid grin and played wounded and scared when confronted.

All in all, for being completely lost in time and space, Annabeth felt curiously unperturbed.

Some time after ten, Baile-Avon completely locked down. Like flicking a switch, people withdrew to their homes and boarded up the doors and windows. The tavern's owner readied a spare room for Percy and Annabeth on the second floor, surprisingly unconcerned at giving two unwed teenagers a room together, and bid them good night. Knocking of boards against one another and moan of wood told them that Barkeep Alfred was following suit and boarded them in for the night.

The spare room was just as quaint as the rest of the Golden Oak, with stained wooden floors that creaked with every step. Two single beds stood on either side of the far wall, a dubious, thread-bare blanket and pillow on top of each. One window looked out over the town stable, which in turn allowed the wondrous scent of barnyard animals drifting inside, although the gentle breeze felt amazing and brisk.

Percy plopped down on one of the beds, bouncing on the mattress with a telling grimace. Annabeth made her way to the other and lifted the blanket. She half-expected there to be bedbugs or mites crawling about the sheets, and although she wasn't disappointed by the lack thereof, she didn't trust it to be entirely clean. She snuck a glance at Percy and chewed on her lip, tossing the cape onto the bed.

"Percy…? Do you mind if I…?"

Wordlessly, Percy scooched to the far side of the small bed, and Annabeth slid in next to him, throwing her bed's blanket on top of both of them. They were pressed tightly against one another in order to fit. Percy had tucked his arm underneath his head and was staring up at the slats in the ceiling, a pensive look on his face. Annabeth rested her head on his shoulder, with her jaw probably digging uncomfortably into the joint, and studied him closely. The muscles in his cheeks twitched. Then his pensiveness morphed into a grin. He pecked the tip of her nose and settled back into scrutinizing the cracks in the wood.

"Where do you think we are?" Annabeth whispered.

Percy didn't answer for a few moments. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"England, probably. During the Medieval times. But seeing as that went on for ten centuries, that doesn't really help us."

Percy's chest bounced as he scoffed. "With our luck, we probably landed a day before the Black Plague did."

Annabeth hummed. The day's events had left her both wired and exhausted, though she knew it would be best to try and sleep. They could figure something out tomorrow, approach it with fresh eyes and rested minds. She blinked once, twice; every time, her eyes stayed closed for a little longer, and the world fell away.

Annabeth's eyes shot open.

She stared uncomprehendingly at the early-morning sun crawling across the floorboards. For the first time in her life, she didn't think she even had a dream last night. Except…

Annabeth twisted round on the bed to look behind her. Percy's face was buried in a mass of her curls. His arm was thrown haphazardly over her waist, the other somehow screwed behind his back. His face was perfectly relaxed, his breath even and deep; he was fast asleep.

But that didn't make sense.

It didn't make sense because she swore someone had been caressing her face and whispered her name. She knew someone had, although the more Annabeth thought on it, the more she thought it had been a woman's voice. She brought her own hand up to her face. The skin still tingled with a phantom touch.

Annabeth turned over to nudge Percy awake. As much as she regretted it, something felt…off. Her hand was rocking his shoulder gently but firmly, when a scream tore through the air.

Old English / Saxon Germanic language:

wealh (pl. wēalas) = foreigner, Briton, slave

Hellcniht = devil, demon

German:

Kommen (komm) = to come

(greif an)= to attack