House of Hades

XXVI-- Annabeth

Disclaimer: Don’t own PJO or HOO… Rick Riordan does…

This chapter is dedicated to… ilovepinecone!

On an extremely rare occasion for me, I have decided to dedicate another chapter to ilovepinecone for doing everything that I have ever asked any reader of my story to do—she read, she commented, she voted, and she followed me. So, once again, I express my undying gratitude, and hope that although this chapter came a little late, that you still enjoy it and stick with me until the end.

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Chapter XXVI—Annabeth

Annabeth was officially fed up with being a demigod.

She had jumped into the dark, ominously beckoning gates hesitantly, only her positive thoughts of seeing Percy again keeping her from giving up.

The familiar rushing feeling overcame her, as she recalled stepping through the third-level gates with Percy. A sudden pang of loneliness hit her as the jarring truth slapped her in the face yet again.

She was alone… In Tartarus… Without Percy… Without anyone…

Her skin felt like a rubber mask being yanked off her face, like a cartoon character on television. Random flashes of bright neon colours blended and merged before her eyes, nearly blinding her. The voices of demigods that had been lucky enough to survive, and reach the second-level gates rang in her ears. She tried blocking them out, ignoring them, until…

She recognized the voice of someone very familiar.

Where are you, Wisegirl? The voice asked.

Annabeth almost laughed in glee. It was Percy! He had escaped Thorn and his men, and had already gone through the second-level gates before her! Her Seaweed Brain… was still alive!

Oh my gods! She heard Percy’s thoughts, jumbled and frantic. Oh my gods! Where is Annabeth? Is she still alive? Oh gods, I hope she is… If she’s not, and I told her to go ahead… No! She’s still alive! I’m sure of it! My Annabeth! My Wise Girl? Of course she’s alive!

Annabeth heard a moment of silence in Percy’s half-mad tirade—a moment of consideration. But the daughter of Athena knew that the son of Poseidon wasn’t done rambling. There was always one key element in Percy’s rants about other people—blaming himself for everything that happens to them. And cue the self-blame… now!

Oh gods! She heard Percy say again, his voice surprised, as if he had just come to a realization. Oh gods! If she’s… dead… It’s my fault! I told her to go ahead… Alone! And injured! Oh gods! Oh gods! I practically sent Annabeth to her death!

Annabeth just wished that she could hold Percy’s hand—squeeze it in reassurance, cling onto it stubbornly, and never let go… Anything she could do to comfort Percy—to assure him that she was alright.

Percy was worrying about her now, and all of the times that Annabeth had worried herself sick about Percy in the past, flew into her head.

The one memory that Annabeth focused on was their first kiss… Not the one they had in a bubble at the bottom of Camp Half-Blood’s canoe lake after they had won in the Second Titan War in Manhattan. No, not that… Their first kiss had been unexpected—something that had happened out of fear, something that may have been caused by the dangerous thrill of undertaking a perilous quest. Despite how frightened Annabeth had been, despite how worried she had been for Percy, the kiss she had given him had been genuine. It had been short—chaste, but sweet.