A Hero's Tears

Departure and Arrival

 Luke was... elated, to say the least; he was about to live out every child's dream: riding shotgun in Santa's Sleigh. He smirked to himself as he climbed aboard the large, silvery sleigh.

"I swear by my name, if you make any Christmas jokes, I will revoke my decision to spare your life and kick you off while still in flight," Artemis says flatly, taking hold of the whip.

"Aww," Luke says. He looks around the bench. "Are there any seat belts, or am I just supposed hang on for dear life?"

"How you hang on, is not my problem. I am simply supposed to drive."

"Really feeling the love. How slow do you drive?"

"Alone? Fast enough to evaporate mortals. With Thalia? Wind flowing fabulously through our hair. With a male mortal? Face-peeling fast," she smiles and goes to raise her whip.

"Oh, fantastIIIIIICCCCC!!" he said, shouting the last part because Artemis cracked the whip down on the reindeer, causing them to launch into the sky, already at breakneck speed, only increasing.

Luke could feel the cool wind smacking at his face and whipping at his hair. His eyes were watering, the wind was making his face ripple as if the skin was trying to peel itself off of his face, and he could only hear the deafening roar of the wind as it rushed past at impossible speeds. His knuckles were white as he gripped the bench with his life, and it felt as if he left his stomach in the Hunter camp. It was the most fun thing he had ever experienced.

As Luke was struggling to stay in, he risked turning his gaze to his driver, who, despite the ungodly speeds, was standing perfectly still, as if it were nothing. Her auburn hair flew around her shoulders, and her sleeves whipped at her arms, but those were the only tells. She was standing perfectly straight, her silver eyes focused ahead, looking as majestic and beautiful as ever. Her grip on the harness was relaxed, and it looked like she was simply cruising on the highway at sixty, not on New England airspace at a hundred sixty thousand.

Luke took another risk: attempting speech. "How long should it take us?" he attempted to shout over the roaring wind.

Artemis looked as if his shouting was unnecessary and irritating. "Ten minutes, longest," she spoke, in the same voice she used in her tent. "That's if we take the scenic route," she adds.

"I'll go with the quicker route; I don't really feel safe up here," he said, still shouting.

She nods and flicks her wrists, the deer going into a sharp dive, and Luke feels everything about six times worse than when it started. His heart races, and he almost let go of the bench, but somehow stayed on the seat. If he could see, he'd notice that they were coming up onto the courtyard of Camp Half-Blood. However, if he could see past his watering eyes, he would be looking everywhere but the ground that was racing up at them frighteningly quickly. Just as they were about to become Olympian pancakes with deer links on the side, Artemis pulled up, again to the expense of her poor, poor passenger, and landed gracefully in the center of the cabins.

Luke fell sideways out of the sleigh, faceplanting elegantly onto the grass. Artemis gracefully stepped out of the carriage.

"I'm going to go inform Chiron of your arrival," she said.

"Mmmph," groaned Luke, which probably translated to 'You do that. I'll just lie here and die,' and she walked into the Big House.

Soon enough, Luke heard the clopping of hooves, but made no effort to move, as his head was still spinning, and his stomach still felt like it was somewhere in New Haven. He heard muffled, distorted voices, but still made no attempt to engage. Eventually, though, someone gently turned him over, and he was nearly blinded by the dim night sky above him. He was surprised that he hadn't thrown up, yet, and his body was still buzzing from excitement and adrenaline.

"Well, well. Welcome back, Mr. Castellan," said the old, tired voice of the wise, ancient teacher that is the centaur Chiron. That's the last thing Luke processed before passing out.