A/N: Well, here it is. I'm awfully sorry for making you all wait for so long ... but I'd had tests, loads of HW and awful writer's block, so once again, you owe Nicola for not only pushing me to write this chapter, but for reading it over for me on extremely short notice. So yes, this is dedicated to you, Nicola ... and to all of you very faithful readers who send me such wonderful reviews. I never expected to have this so well-recieved, so I owe you all ... and thank you ... especially Nicola, Sa Rart, dnrl and anyone else who has reviewed regularly. Thank you.

The poem in the beginning of this chapter is from a poet on , Jeff Pitt, - who goes by the penname ~Zaphod-Beeblebrox58 ... and who very kindly allowed me to use his poem as an opener. Do check out the rest of his work, it's amazing. And if I keep rambling, this author's note will be longer then the chapter. So here goes, and tell me what you think!

Chapter Twelve – The Hunter

It was not for want of love
Love was there, always theirs
His and hers and the others

It was the boundary lines
That slid and hid
And the eyes and lies that smother

She weeps with the tears that she never shed
And mourns alone, Orion is dead

Wicked is the sinful heart
That forever waits to take
And warms himself on Iago's fire

For the angel of light
Fell to his hell
And warms himself in hate and desire

She will never sing that forbidden song
No matter now, Orion is gone

She will lift him to the stars
With blood and sand on her hands
A memorial to see and dread

For by her love, his heart was bled
And by her hand Orion is dead.

Orion Is Dead

Jeff Pitt

There was no moon that night. The clouds overhead had thickened, and darkened, and the wind had picked up again, swelling into a hurricane-like tempest. Distant claps of thunder echoed in the distance, and lightning flashed sporadically, illuminating a dull, brooding sky. Artemis lay on her side, listening to the howling of the wind and the crackling of the fire. Another indistinct rumble resounded through the room, and Artemis slipped out from beneath the covers, padding on bare feet towards the window and parting the drapes. There was no movement in the courtyard; beyond, the olive trees in the orchard swayed violently, bent almost double. She rested her elbows on the sill, her chin in her hands, watching the slim trunks' passionate dance. Lightning flashed once more, and the clouds broke at last, letting forth a torrent of heavy, sheeting rain. Dawn. The darkest part of the night.

The scream pierced the drumming of the raindrops and the rumbling of the thunder, cut through the howling of the wind. Artemis started, and tugging a himation over her chiton, pulled the door open and stepped out into the corridor. The scream sounded again, followed by a series of ear-splitting shrieks. Several doors along the hall flew open; Apollo stepped out of one of the rooms, running weary fingers through tousled blonde hair – Hermes, fully dressed, a quill clutched in ink-spattered hands – Aphrodite, clinging to Ares's arm, an expression of mingled shock and horror on her face – Zeus, looking irritable; behind him, Hera wore a look of poorly-disguised relief – Athena – Demeter – Dionysus – Poseidon – and Hephaestus (his gaze immediately going towards his wife and the god of war; his eyebrows contracted furiously and his teeth clenched).

"What seems to be the matter?" Athena inquired, eyes sweeping the corridor, and settling on Artemis, who was already at the head of the stairs. "I do not know, yet," Artemis told her, "Why do you not betake yourselves to bed? I will sort this out." A feeling of icy numbness had settled in the pit of her stomach; she had heard that scream before.

"Yes, do so," Zeus said, a look of relief washing over his face, and Artemis started down the staircase, fingers clutching the fabric of her skirts. The sound of another pair of feet made her turn; she saw Apollo several steps above her, carrying his bow and hers. He tossed Artemis's bow to her, with a "You might thank me for that," and swinging his over his shoulder, pushed past her, preceding her to the bottom of the staircase.

She stumbled over the last step; she reached automatically for the banister, steadying herself. Her heart beat erratically in her chest – her breathing quickened, and blood pounded in her ears. Rain continued to fall, hammering on the rooftop, and a fork of lightning illuminated the entrance hall, revealing two figures by the window.

Time seemed to slow then.

Artemis faltered, came to a halt. Her eyes widened, and her bow clattered to the ground, hands coming up to her mouth. She was dimly aware of Apollo walking swiftly forward, grasping one of the figures by the arm and pulling them back, towards her. The other remained standing by the window, leaning heavily on the sill.

"As if in a dream." The words echoed hollowly in her mind – rising unbidden from the murky depths of forgotten memory.

Two girls sitting on the steps of the Temple of Artemis … with quivers of silver arrows slung over their backs and a pair of bows at their feet … the far-away look in the eyes of the older of the two … and the expression of longing in those of the younger. "- and I didn't realize at first he'd been lying to me all along … it was as if in a dream …"

And the younger girl, her lieutenant's circlet gleaming in the sunlight, leaned forward with a blaze of fiery passion in her eyes, "You are so fortunate … at least thou experienced it …"

They'd seen her then, and leapt up respectfully, and bowed, but she had fixed her gaze on the younger huntress's face.

"You have been spared a bitter experience," she had said, quietly. "Should thou not be grateful?"

And bowing her head, the huntress had said, "Oh! I am grateful, I am!"

Artemis's hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, her breathing irregular. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the flagstones between lulls in the storm, and her vision blurred, a mist of tears rising up and coating her irids. She was dimly aware of reaching the window, of stepping up to the figure leaning against the sill. Her eyes cleared, and suddenly every little detail was brought into sharp focus, like looking at oneself in a mirror that has just been scoured.

His face was deathly pale; ashen, and his eyes, large and frightened, were like pools of mercury, the pupils dilated, the black halo of is lashes casting dark shadows on bloodless cheeks.

His shirt hung off one shoulder, and the only color in his face was the red of three long scars, newly made, garishly crimson, running down his left cheek. Only vaguely aware of the movement – it was, for the most part, involuntary – Artemis lifted her hand. Part of her mind inquired just what she was going to do – caress his cheek? – perhaps run her fingers over the scars, rest her head on his shoulder? Her hand twitched – her fingers connected with his face, the sound echoing throughout the hall. Blood trickled down his cheek, stained her fingers. I love you.

The screaming started again then, from behind them, the same ear-splitting shriek that had brought her down. The 'Let go of me," of a hysterical woman – the sound of feet on flagstone – clutching hands encircling her knees …

"'Twasn't of my device, Lady Artemis," Opis wailed, her voice breaking on the last word, "'Twas him – I swear it – I was unaware – I – he was going to rape me, Lady Artemis - "

Artemis bent, loosened her grip around her knees and turned. Opis rocked back and forth on her heels, her lips trembling and tears streaming down her cheeks in a seemingly never-ending torrent. Her hair, dark with tears and sweat, was plastered to her face, and her hands, which Artemis had loosed, were clutched, claw-like, in her lap, the fingers writhing as though they had a life of their own.

Through the haze of agony and anger and betrayal, a sense of revulsion slowly crept up Artemis's throat. But it was quickly overpowered by a stronger sense of weariness and pain – pain so deep it wore chasms in her heart. "Go," her voice was strangled. "I release thee – go."

Apollo grasped her by the shoulder and led her to the door; Opis walked like one intoxicated, her hair a thatch of brown-blackness around her head. Artemis followed her with her eyes, her knees threatening to collapse, lips trembling.

The door clanged shut behind Apollo, and Artemis turned, a lump constricting her throat – rising, and swelling, so that speech was impossible … the words she so yearned to say would not – could not – be said. Her eyes rose to his face, to the shimmering pools of mercury that were his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them … to feel his arms close around her … to know that she was loved … and wanted … by him, if no one else.

"Tell me it wasn't true," she begged finally, hand half-outstretched, shoulders shaking convulsively. "Tell me she -"

The hunter's eyes did not leave her face.

"Lied?" he asked quietly. "And thou will believe whatever I tell thee?"

Her eyes burnt. No, she thought. No, I will not, because thou will lie like they all lie.

"Artemis." Apollo's voice sounded behind her, and she turned her head slightly, to look up into her brother's face. He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it lightly and held up her bow. She shook her head mutely, frantically. Apollo's eyes blazed. "You must."

Artemis's fingers clasped the curve of the weapon, of their own free will; accepted the quiver he handed her. Apollo stepped beyond her, and taking hold of the hunter, conducted him towards the door. Orion looked back at Artemis, expression unfathomable. "You've done enough to my sister, hero," Apollo snarled, his fingers tightening their grip. "You are no longer permitted to look upon her!"

She was left standing by the window, holding her bow as if to let it go was to end her life.

***

The rush of the downpour increased tenfold as she stepped out into the courtyard. She was soaked through in moments; her skirts clinging to her legs and her hair plastering itself to her face. Rainwater trickled down her face, running into her mouth, making her shiver. She walked dazedly after the blurry figures of Orion and Apollo, the fabric of her chiton catching in the bushes alongside the path down the mountain.

The rain had let up a little when Apollo stopped at the edge of a precipice overlooking the valley of pines beneath Mt. Olympus. A large fir grew just before the mountain fell away; it was to this behemoth Apollo proceed to secure the hunter, who stood immobile, his torn shirt wet to the skin, his dark hair cascading over his forehead. Artemis wished he would beg – plead for his life – declare his innocence – and not stand, unmoving, while her brother lashed ropes around his torso. If he groveled – she might perhaps dredge up some vestiges of her former loathing for him – but when he refused to make a spectacle of himself – refused to acknowledge Apollo's command to stop gazing at her – his own expression calm and dignified and accepting, her heart throbbed painfully. I love you.

Her hands shook as she removed an arrow from her quiver. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her as she bent and placed the quiver on the wet ground. The force of the storm had lessened – it was drizzling now.

She straightened, fingers tremblingly stringing the bow. The arrow she notched carefully, eyes downcast – and burning, burning like they were being held over the fires of Tartarus.

He stood motionlessly, his chest rising and falling with increasing rapidity. She closed her eyes briefly, raised her bow, and attempted to aim, and found her vision blurring as a torrent of tears broke suddenly forth, and she gasped, white hot pain searing her breast.

She would not miss. She could not. She had never missed in her life … and yet, she wished she could, now – miss, and have the arrow fly wide. Her fingers pulled back the bowstring. The arrow flew.

He cried out – once – as it hit him, over the chest, and she found she could not stop. Two more arrows flew in rapid succession and he doubled over, gasping, and she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks, shoulders heaving. "Calliste," she heard him say, his voice breaking, "Stop – stop -" He slid to the ground, fingers grasping the fletching of the arrow that had caught him in the heart. I love you.

She turned to move away, lifting her hand to her face to wipe away the tears flowing down her face – and her fingers caught in the chain around her neck. It broke – and the locket burst open, and a single, creamy pearl rolled onto the wet grass. Whole.

Whole. She is standing, once again, on the deck of the Mount Olympus, looking down at a lustrous pearl gleaming in the palm of her hand, with the wind in her hair and the token of his love around her neck. His voice echoes faintly, like the ghost of a long-forgotten memory ."The pearl – it will break if I should prove false …" Will break. But is whole.

Artemis screamed once, tears gushing forward with renewed force, and grabbing for the pearl, she stumbled over to the hunter, falling to her knees by his side.

"Orion – Orion," she grasped him by the shoulders, shook him violently, her voice trembling and breaking by degrees. Severing the ropes, she bent forward and pressed her forehead to his, her eyes tightly closed. She felt his fingers stroke her cheek – and she was drawn into his embrace and held more closely than she had ever been held before. Her eyes flickered open – focused on his gray ones, and she grasped his collar so tightly her knuckles whitened.

She felt his hand grasp the back of her neck and pull her towards him; he pressed his lips to her forehead – and a sob escaped Artemis. She took his face in her hands – his skin was icy against her burning fingertips, and leaning forward, kissed his mouth. His breath was warm against her skin; he smelt of wildflowers and tasted of blood and honey and a reminder that she could not have him.

"I knew I would die by thy hand," Orion's voice was hoarse.

Artemis took a shuddering breath. She shook her head mutely. The hunter smiled crookedly. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, and his chest heaved. A spasm of pain flickered across his face, his eyes moistened. She lifted a hand – wiped the blood from his face, pushed the hair back off his forehead, dried his tears, pressed her cheek to his head, rocked him gently back and forth. "Shh," she whispered. "Shh." Raindrops pelted her back, and over the edge of the valley, the first ray of sunlight faded the darkness.

His breathing slowed … his trembling lessened. His chest shuddered with each breath, and Artemis held him tighter, her own breathing erratic. He leaned his head back against the tree's trunk, looking up at her. Another flare of pain seared through her heart.

"My lady," Orion lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her fingertips.

Artemis smiled through a mist of tears.

"Will thou do something for me?"

"Speak, and I will grant it."

"Place me above with the stars, as thou did with Sirius -" he broke off in a fit of coughing.

"I will."

He looked up at the sky for a moment, at the rain that was still falling gently to earth.

"I am leaving thee," he told her smiling, "and thou are a virgin still."

"If I could keep thee alive," she answered fiercely, "I would care not."

"You should care." Orion's eyelids flickered. "You should care."

Artemis leaned forward, a sense of overwhelming panic threatening to engulf her.

"Orion – I – I want you to know that – I love thee -"

The hunter looked up at her, gray eyes shining. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile. "As I love thee."

His hand, grasping Artemis's, slackened, and his eyes flickered shut for the last time.

Present

"My lady Artemis?" Zoe's voice penetrated Artemis's reverie. She looked up at the huntress, dashing the tears away from her eyes with trembling fingers.

"Yes, Zoe?"

The huntress did not answer, merely seated herself next to her lady and looked up at the stars, where Orion's belt flashed brighter than all of the other stars in the sky.

"He called me Calliste," Artemis murmured at last. "The Hunter."

Zoe turned her solemn gaze on Artemis. "Was it very long ago, My lady?"

"No." Artemis said. "It was three years previously … in winter …"

Fin.

A/N: I think I'll stick to oneshots from now on ... but what think you? Hit that lovely, lovely button, and tell me what you think. You'll brighten a depressed teen's sunless days (gosh, I sound emo) ... and I'll love you forever. Cookie, anyone?