MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate

WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.

NOTES: Thanks to Ceville, KittyKat, Queen Alexandera's Birdwing and fearless0601 for reviewing this chapter!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.

Chapter Five: Clarisse is Guilty of Attempted Murder

For the rest of July, all I hear about is Luke's failed quest. Blah, blah, blah, he didn't get the apple back to Olympus; blah, blah, blah, he has a scar on his face now. A couple of people are laughing at him behind his back, but the rest of the campers are just impressed that he made it back alive. Of course, some of the girls don't really care that he didn't succeed; they're too busy droning on and on about how his new scar makes him look dangerous and mysterious and even hotter.

I wouldn't know; I haven't even seen him yet. No, seriously, I haven't even caught a glimpse of him, which is ridiculous because he's been back for three weeks.

The first week he spends alone, brooding about his failure–or at least I think that's what he's doing. The second week he apparently gets over it and spends his days catching up with Annabeth, who I haven't really talked to since Luke returned. That's okay, though. Now she can talk to him about whatever it is that's upsetting her at any particular moment, and I can stop feeling guilty for being a bad friend who can't make her feel better. For the entire third week, Luke is surrounded by admirers who are constantly praising him for being courageous enough to travel across the country and face a dragon.

It's halfway through the fourth week when I meet him for the first time. And years later, I'll look back and wish I hadn't.

"Let me go! I'm going to skewer the punk!" Clarisse is absolutely seething with rage. Gareth and I are trying to hold her back, but she's struggling viciously against us, all the while shouting out death threats and glaring murderously at Sherman, her half-brother.

You see, this is why you never mess with Clarisse's little sister. Yes, I did just say Clarisse's little sister. Her name is Isabel–not the kind of name you expect the daughter of a war god to have–and she's eight years old. Just one year older than Annabeth was when she came to camp.

Now from what I've heard, people treated Annabeth like she was a little princess. Everyone adored her; they thought she was just the cutest thing, with her pretty curls and her wide eyes and all those intelligent words that sounded so funny coming from a seven year old kid. Not to mention her life was so tragic. Her parents hated her. She ran away and found a new family, only to have one of the members of that new family ripped away from her.

Isabel has had a tragic life too, from what Clarisse has told me. Her mother was a–well, basically she sold her body to make a living. And poor little Isabel has seen things that a child shouldn't see. But most of the campers don't feel sorry for her like they do for Annabeth. Annabeth just seems so innocent to them, despite everything she's been through. But the demigods look at Isabel and they don't see that innocence in her. They see her as tainted, unclean.

I'm not exactly best friends with Isabel–I actually don't spend a lot of time with her–, but it does piss me off when people make fun of her. The two of us, along with Clarisse, are actually very alike in some ways. We were all outcasts at camp at one point or another. Clarisse was the only girl in her cabin before Isabel came along, while Isabel is very different from her siblings in terms of her appearance (her features are kinder, almost gentle, and her muscles are weak-looking) and her personality (she's very soft-spoken and she hates violence). I have both of those problems, but unlike Isabel and Clarisse, my siblings accepted those differences and welcomed me with open arms.

Clarisse was treated like dirt until she proved herself. Now her siblings make fun of her behind her back, but at least they don't try to beat her up. The problem is that Isabel isn't tough like Clarisse is. The Ares kids don't actually punch her or anything, but they do shove her around a lot. It makes me sick, so I defend her whenever I can.

That's why Clarisse and I get along. Well, that and the whole 'we're both outcasts' thing. Not to mention the fact that people think that children of both the fire god and the war god rely on brute force all the time and therefore have no brains. Which is a load of bull. You heard me going on about Zeth earlier, the kid's a nerd; of course he's got a brain. And Elliot, son of Ares, is a total computer geek; I've seen him in action. It's not their fault that they're built like tanks and are able to knock people out with a single punch to the face.

Anyways, Clarisse is super protective of Isabel, and she certainly does not tolerate people pushing her little sister around during combat practice, which is what Sherman was doing just a few seconds ago. I can't believe he had the nerve to do it right in front of Clarisse; he really should know better. The second the flat of his sword made contact with Isabel's chest, Clarisse's fist made contact with his face. Then she lunged for the nearest pointy object, and that's when Gareth and I stepped in.

We're the only things stopping her from running the son of Ares through with her electric spear. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but… Well, Chiron could spontaneously appear at any moment, and Clarisse will get in trouble if the old horse man catches her stabbing one of his students. And besides that, Isabel looks like she's about to cry. Like I said, she hates violence. I hate seeing her cry; it makes me feel so guilty, even if it's not my fault.

"La Rue, seriously, you have to calm down." Gareth's voice is steady as he tries to pacify Clarisse.

"I don't have to do anything!"

"S-stop it…" I can barely hear Isabel's voice over Clarisse yelling at Gareth. Yeah, the kid's definitely going to be upset if the shouting doesn't end.

"Clarisse, you're going to regret it if you–" I try to reason with the brunette.

"Don't even! The only thing I'd regret is not taking this spear and impaling–" Do you really need me to tell you who said that?

"P-please stop it…" The little girl's whisper does not reach her older sister.

Then Sherman speaks, evidently making an effort to ignore his bleeding nose: "I don't know why you're so mad, sis, it's not like the little brat didn't deserve it."

That's too much. My grip on Clarisse's arm lessens. Doing my best to make the fury in my voice clear, I exclaim, "All she did was ask for a different sword! That's not a crime!"

"A weapon is a weapon. You can't be choosy about what you fight with; you have to take whatever you can get. She should just learn to deal with using a sword she doesn't like."

The absolute unfairness of that statement angers even Gareth. "Maybe that's true, but this is just practice. For Hephaestus' sake, she couldn't even lift it up! That sword weighs like a hundred pounds! It was way too heavy for her; of course she asked for another one."

"A real child of Ares would be able to–"

At this, Clarisse breaks free, and Gareth and I don't even try to stop her. My ears are ringing. All I can see is the blood dripping onto Sherman's already blazing red shirt, which is probably why I don't notice Isabel burst into tears.

"Please, please stop," Isabel begs, but nobody is listening.

Sherman is raising his sword, ready to block Clarisse's blow the second she strikes. And she's definitely about to strike.

"That's enough."

We're all so surprised that we instantly forget what we're doing and turn to face the approaching figure. The two words that were spoken are enough to tell me that the person is probably male, but I won't know for sure until he passes through the doorway.

Clarisse looks disgruntled while Sherman is relieved. Gareth tilts his head to the side like he's trying to place the voice, as though he hasn't heard it in awhile. I can't see Isabel's face because she's looking away, so I don't know what her reaction is, but I do notice that her shoulders seem to relax.

At last, the unknown person steps out of the shadows. I know immediately who he is–not because I recognize him, but instead because I don't. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the boy standing in front of us is Luke I-don't-know-his-last-name.

I'm surprised to find that Cheryl's many descriptions of his appearance are actually sort of accurate, as long I ignore all of her exaggerations. His hair is a sandy blond, his eyes are a bright shade of forget-me-not blue, and his new scar does make him look dangerous and mysterious and, well, hot.

I'm not, however, surprised to find that I'm partially unaffected by the fact that he's extremely attractive. I didn't gawk at Apollo, and I'm certainly not going to gawk at this half-mortal teenage boy who, while handsome, is not anywhere near as gorgeous as the previously mentioned sun god.

Instead I turn my attention back to the matter at hand, seeing as everyone else has done the same. Clarisse has recovered from her shock and is once again raising her spear. Sherman is trying to inch his way over to the door unnoticed, and is obviously unsuccessful seeing as I just noticed him. Gareth has regained control of his temper and is ready to restrain Clarisse should restraint be necessary.

Meanwhile, Isabel has turned to her sister again. One glance at the tear tracks on the little girl's face makes me feel like someone has punched me in the gut. How did I not notice the fact that she was crying? Then again, Clarisse didn't notice either, so I don't feel tooashamed of myself. I still feel guilty, though. I know I didn't start this, but I can't help but think I should have finished it sooner.

"Isabel, it's okay, really…" Yes, I am aware that my attempt to cheer Isabel up is pathetic, but I just don't know what else to say.

Clarisse doesn't hear me, doesn't notice how upset her sister is. But Luke does.

"Clarisse, put down the spear and tell me what's going on." He places himself in between the enraged daughter of Ares and her alarmed half-brother.

"Get out of the way, Castellan! Or I'll skewer you, too!"

"I don't doubt it. But maybe you should take a look at your sister before you do."

And at last, she does. She looks at Isabel, at her tear-stained face, and finally comes to her senses.

"Oh. Hey, kid, I'm sorry. Don't worry, everything's fine. So you don't–you don't have to, uh…" Clarisse stumbles over her words, not used to comforting anyone. But her voice and her expression are gentler than they've ever been, and it shows.

Isabel sniffs and wipes the remaining drops of water off of her face. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah," Clarisse says gruffly. "'Course I mean it. Let's–let's go back to the cabin and pretend this never happened, okay?"

"'Kay," is all Isabel says. She takes her sisters hand and allows herself to be pulled out of the arena. As she passes by me, she gives me a small smile, and to my surprise, so does Clarisse. The brunette nods curtly at Gareth and Luke but sneers at Sherman. Together, the sisters disappear through the darkened doorway.

Sherman tries to sneak away, but Luke turns on him and draws his sword. "Now," he says, "would you mind telling me what you did that made Clarisse get so angry at you?"

"I didn't do anything, I just–" Oh, I am so not going to let him get away with this.

"You just knocked a little girl to the ground for absolutely no reason, and then said that she wasn't tough enough to be a real daughter of Ares. Yeah, that's definitely nothing." I glare at him.

"I didn't say that!"

"It was implied. And I notice that you didn't deny pushing her around," Gareth counters.

Luke raises an eyebrow at Sherman. "Well," he asks. "Did you do those things?"

"Well–I–yes, okay? And I'd do it again if I could. She could use a few shoves; if she doesn't learn how things are done in the Ares cabin now, then she never will. She might even end up like her mother, the sl–"

He's lucky Clarisse isn't here, though he probably wouldn't have said that if she was. Well, since she's not here to pulverize him, I'll do it for her. I launch myself at Sherman, my hand already raised so that when I reach him I can smack him right away.

Gareth steps forward, about to interfere, but he doesn't need to. Luke catches my arm as I pass and pulls me back against his chest. I'm about to protest, to yell at him to let go of me, but it occurs to me that we're right back where we started: Sherman cowering against the wall, somehow still trying to look tough, while someone else is ready to kill him but is being held back.

I stop struggling, and Luke loosens his hold on me. I rip my arm out of his grip and stiffly move away from him.

The attractive blond boy turns to Sherman. "Do us all a favour and get out. Stay away from Isabel. If I catch you treating her badly again, you'll be on kitchen patrol 'til Christmas."

"You can't do that! You're the head counsellor for Hermes, not Ares."

"Elliot owes me. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to help me out."

"Just because you went on that stupid quest, doesn't mean you boss everyone around–"

Luke raises his sword and points it at the other boy. Sherman immediately falls silent. Then he turns and stalks out of the arena.

Gareth lets out a relieved breath. "Thank the gods that's over."

Then he addresses Luke: "Thanks for stepping in. Things were really getting out of hand."

"No prob. Sherman needs someone threatening his life every once in awhile, and Clarisse needs to be reminded that there are more important things than getting revenge."

"Definitely," Gareth agrees whole-heartedly, and I realize that like almost everyone else, he respects Luke. "I'm gonna take a stroll down to the forges," he says, as he starts to walk away. He doesn't even ask if I want to join him. He just grins at the younger boy, tousles my hair, and leaves.

I don't bother to fix my disheveled locks, which for some reason makes Luke quirk an eyebrow at me.

"What? Why are you staring at me like that?" I demand.

"Nothing. It's just that I thought you'd be obsessed with your looks, considering who your mother is."

I freeze. How does he know anything about my mother? Then the anger comes. "Say that again!"

"Whoa, sorry, didn't mean to offend you or anything. I'm just used to children of Aphrodite–especially the daughters–going on and on about their hair and everything else…"

I stare at him blankly, the anger draining right out of me as confusion sets in. "What does the goddess of love have to do with anything?"

Luke looks taken aback. "Aren't you Silena Beauregard? Daughter of Aphrodite, arrived here last week?"

Part of me is flattered that he thinks I'm pretty enough to be a child of the most beautiful Olympian. The rest of me is pissed off because he basically just accused me of being Cheryl's half-sister.

"Um, no. Never in a million years."

Luke frowns. "But I don't recognize you. I know everyone who was already at camp before I went on my quest; you must have come here recently. And from what I've heard, the only two new girls are the daughter of Aphrodite and the daughter of Hephaestus. If you're not Silena, who else could you be?"

I raise an eyebrow at him and his jaw drops. I watch as he looks me over carefully, trying to find similarities between me and the other children of the fire god.

He scrutinizes my hair, which falls all the way to my waist. To be honest, though, my long locks aren't really going to tell him much. Other than the length, they're not too different than my brothers'. My hair is straight, just like theirs, though maybe just a bit lighter. It's hard to tell; sometimes my hair is the same shade as ebony, while at other times it just looks like a very deep brown.

My skin tone isn't a very good indicator of whether or not I'm a daughter of Hephaestus, either. I'm not pale, but I'm not tan either. I guess my skin is sort of like a peach colour or something. That doesn't really mean anything, though. Zeth is bone-white from spending too much time indoors, Beckendorf has very dark skin because his mom is from South Africa (not that everyone in South Africa has dark skin; I'm just saying that the people there probably get a lot of sun, okay?) and Gareth and Jake are somewhere in between.

So yeah, my skin and hair don't really help at all. Luke doesn't spend a lot of time studying either. Instead, his eyes linger for a little while on my small mouth–pink lips that are shaped like Cupid's bow–, long enough that I start to feel uncomfortable. He seems to notice this and he quickly looks away. I pretend that I don't see his cheeks flush slightly.

As for eye colour, well, most of my siblings have really dark eyes–usually brown, though Jake's are a kind of combination of midnight blue and steel grey. My eyes, on the other hand, are–I don't know, hazel, maybe? They're a mixture of light green and light brown with hints of a very light gold. Basically I'm saying that my eyes are really light. So they're not like my brother's. But then again, eyes aren't exactly the most important factor.

Body shape is a better way to determine my ancestry. I watch as Luke's disbelieving eyes take in my small frame and my muscles, which are extremely subtle compared to my brothers. Then his eyes fall on my hands, which are not calloused like my siblings are.

"Yeah, not what you were expecting, huh?"

He shakes his head slowly. "You got that right," he agrees. Then he gives me an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I just assumed–but you know what they say about people who assume."

"Yeah, I do. And don't worry, I forgive you. Your brothers, Connor and Travis, nearly fell over when I was claimed." In fact, most of the people in the small crowd that had gathered did a double take when they saw the flaming hammer appear above my head.

Luke cracks a smile. "That sounds like them. So, are you gonna tell me your name or should I just call you I'm-not-Silena-Beauregard-even-though-I'm-pretty-enough-to-be-a-daughter-of-Aphrodite?"

I shift my weight from my right leg to my left. His compliment leaves me a little uneasy, mostly because I'm not used to boys complimenting my looks.

"My name is Dess," I tell him.

"Last name?" he prods.

I make a face, but tell him reluctantly because I know he'll somehow find out anyways. "Gemmae."

"Unusual," he notes. "Does it mean anything in particular?"

"It's the plural form for the Latin word 'Gemma'. It means jewels or jewelry."

"Latin, huh? Not Greek?"

"You can't choose you're last name."

"I know that. But your parents can choose your first name. As far as I know, the name 'Dess' has no connection to Ancient Greece. In fact," Luke adds, "I don't think I've ever met anyone whose name is actually Dess. It's just a nickname, isn't it?"

I don't respond, and he extracts the answer from my silence. "Yeah, it's not your full name," he decides. "Dess…sounds like it's short for Desdemona. Comes from the name 'Disdemona', which means unfortunate in Greek."

Well isn't that just lovely. Now a little annoyed, I question, "What are you, the authority on Greek nomenclature?"

"I have a lot of free time on my hands. If I remember right, Desdemona is a character from Othello. She's the girl who was married to Othello, only he was paranoid that she was cheating on him and he killed her. Now that's what I call unfortunate. She certainly lives up to her name."

I turn pale. "They don't make you read Shakespeare here, do they?"

He laughs. "No, no, of course not. It's just a random fact that Annabeth shoved into my head." He smiles fondly as he says her name.

"Oh. Right." My relief at being reassured that I will most likely never be required to read Shakespeare again leaves me almost speechless.

"So." That's all he says.

"So." This is getting really awkward now.

"You, uh, want to head on over to the mess hall?" he offers. "I think it's almost dinnertime."

"It had better be dinnertime. I'm starving." And the way he stares at me makes me a little uncomfortable, but of course I'm not going to say that.

At least I think I'm uncomfortable. The way he's looking at me makes my heart beat a little too fast, and there's an unfamiliar heat rushing to my face. That means I'm uncomfortable, right?

"Well, let's get going, then."

Together, we exit the arena and make our way to the dining pavilion, the late afternoon sun shining down on us.

Author's Note: At this point, what Dess feels for Luke is purely a physical attraction. She's not in love with him. She just met him. She's experiencing the beginnings of infatuation. Same goes for Luke. Dess is a new face, she's close to his age and she doesn't drool/obsess over him. So naturally he finds her pretty appealing.

Also, Luke doesn't actually think she's pretty enough to be a daughter of Aphrodite; it's more that she's not 'ugly' enough to match up with his idea of what a daughter of Hephaestus should look like. Plus he's trying to flirt with her.

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