LIAKÁDA, percy jackson

III. ares' daughter has a (aphrodite-like) plan

          Octavia sent her a chiding look. Annabeth should have known better than that. "Of course I must answer for Apollo." She insisted. "He answers for me, too. His honour represents me, I have to reciprocate—,"

          "It's ruining you, Iyah." Annabeth frowned. "Look at yourself. You're exhausted. You're stretched too thin. You have to sleep."

          Octavia didn't like to hear such silliness from the daughter of the Goddess of wisdom. Annabeth often convinced herself of things that weren't true, like when she thought Jackson was a son of Zeus, not Poseidon. Octavia didn't believe her then and she didn't believe her now. She wasn't even that tired, she could last way longer than this, plus, she was needed in Camp. She didn't need Annabeth telling her to take a seat. The Camp needed healing and protecting. That was what Octavia was made for.

          She grinned instead of listening. She waved her off. "Sleep is for the weak. I'm fine." She stood from the stool she had perched at whilst tending her best friend. "I have to check on the others now, but call for me if you need me."

          Before Annabeth could use any strength she had regained in two days to fight her and force her to rest, Octavia moved away to another bed.

          She courted herself by, adding ice to the Nectar glasses so the godly medicine didn't sour for the sleeping wounded. She added it to Connor's glass as the boy snored in his sleep.

          Travis had pulled up a stool by his younger brother's side. He hadn't left in hours. He only moved to eat or prepare for the chariot race. Connor was supposed to be his partner, but like Octavia, he had been forced to regroup.

          "Should he be sleeping his much?" Travis asked her. He looked exhausted.

          Octavia looked at him, not having expected him to speak to her. He was busy watching Connor snore. "Um," she cleared her throat. "Yeah, perfectly normal. His body's just catching up on itself. Healing is tiring, especially from sickness. I was just saying to Annabeth, he should be okay by the morning. I'll have Michael make sure he drinks the Nectar when he wakes."

          Finally, Travis looked at her. "Thank you."

          Her stomach pooled with guilt. "You don't have to thank me." She flushed and turned her head away so she wouldn't blurt out the truth. That the plague was her own doing.

          Everyone in the Infirmary was there because of her. She had thought Jackson's monster was going to do damage when it arrived at her home. She had never expected herself to be the biggest threat to her home and family.

          "I do." He said. "You're holding everything together."

          She frowned, confused.

          He noticed. "I know you organised the nightly border patrols." He explained. "I know you're also on guard every night. I would have joined but..."

          Her heart hammered at the thought that Travis was offering to hang out with her, but she knocked the idea away. She had to concentrate on healing right now, not her own heart palpitations because the cutest boy at Camp was talking to her.

          "It's not your responsibility." She shrugged him off. "If my brother was in here, I'd be worried too."

           Her eyes shifted to Michael and James who were trying (and failing) to teach Lee how to make an anti-inflammatory paste. He had forgotten the turmeric. Lee wasn't much help in terms of healing. The medical ends of Apollo's talents hadn't spread to Lee, only his weapon ability. Lee couldn't sing or play an instrument, he couldn't heal or mend, but he could do archery. Unfortunately, James was adamant on teaching him.