The Shield of Achilles

"The Gods envy us. They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

- Homer, "The Iliad"

Chapter One: Saviour

"That's when she said I don't hate you boy. I just want to save you while there's still something left to save. That's when I told her I love you girl. But I'm not the answer for the questions that you still have."

- Rise Against, 'Saviour'

If there was one thing Annabeth hated more than her annoying affiliates, it was being summoned. Luke knew this but he continued to summon her anyway, at all hours of the day. Luckily for him, it was early in the evening and not 3AM like his last beckoning call where he merely wanted her opinion on whether their rivals where hiding somewhere in the forest like modern day Robin Hood and Merry men. Annabeth almost shot him.

Annabeth walked down the bare halls that once belonged to a rather remote boarding school but after the civil wars, had been transformed into the base of The Extradites, one of two main instigators in the struggle for power. She sighed, her young messenger walking silently ahead of her, shuffling through other messages he had to deliver. She adjusted her leather jacket on her shoulders, her hand absently brushing against her hip where her gun holster rested. A habit she had developed years ago.

It had not been an easy life for Annabeth. Abandoned at a young age, Annabeth had learned to fend for herself, not trusting others and getting anything she needed by any means necessary. She was caught one day stealing from a high class business woman and it was this act of fate that brought her to her current position. The woman, who Annabeth only found out later in custody was actually one of the leaders who organised and ran their country, admired her cunning, claiming Annabeth reminded her of herself at that age. She offered Annabeth a place to stay and from there, trained and taught Annabeth along with other orphans she had rescued over the years. Whenever Annabeth passed people in the street they muttered about her being, 'Athena's child,' and she couldn't be any prouder.

Annabeth was in her late teens when the fights broke out. Tensions had risen between the leaders and officials that led to a rift with dire consequences. The leaders picked sides, their followers and pupils that once were only taught with educational purposes were suddenly trained in combat and were forced to hunt and kill those of their leader's adversaries. Annabeth excelled in her physical training and Athena was quick to approve, entrusting Annabeth with her more delicate tasks.

Eventually the pupils outstripped their leaders and the battle for leadership overpowered even the calmest of minds. The leaders, shocked at their remaining followers' bloodlust, fled to parts unknown and hadn't been seen since. The people continued to fight for years and soon they forgot why they were fighting each other. Annabeth's coven, for lack of a better word, stood on the verge of becoming the leaders in the revolutionary country; their only enemies were a small contingent of renegades who preached for a more democratic place.

It was difficult for Annabeth to keep her annoyance at bay as they walked into the once impressive hall. It was one of the few sections of the school that was left standing after an attack almost a year ago. The hall was bleak and haughty with neglect beginning to seep into the walls. Annabeth had spent many a time in the hall, since her days scouting for rebels were nullified on Luke's orders. She had been placed on the council and being one of the senior, more excelled fighters and possibly the best strategist, she was supposed to be at every meeting and decision they made.

The pager directed her to a group of fighters huddled together, along with a few of the other members of the council. She thanked the boy who scuttled off back the way they came, probably having to summon other people. Annabeth sighed inwardly as she shuffled towards them. Over the past few months, Annabeth had been feeling dejected with her people, watching friends and colleagues return on stretchers or body bags. She had begun to question the war, question her leaders and even began to question herself.

Annabeth was halfway across the hall when she realised the scouts, although grimy and bloodied, were smiling and relaying their information to a tall, broad man whose back was facing her. She didn't need to notice the short blonde hair to know it was Luke. His shoulders were taut and hunched, as they had been for a long time but when he lifted his head, he too was smiling. His pale blue eyes, rimmed with dark shadows turned to her and were sparkling with victory. He waved at his partners to finish the conversation later and strode to Annabeth.

"It's happened," Luke told her excitedly.

In his excitement, he pressed his lips against her forehead. A fleeting second of memories at his touch crossed Annabeth's mind but was quickly dispersed. It had been over a year since he had touched her, caressed her gently or even looked at her with a smile that she had long forgotten to wait for. She stared at him blankly, even though he was grinning triumphantly.

"You summoned," Annabeth said scathingly, not catching onto his mood.

"Annabeth, we did it!" Luke exclaimed with a happy laugh.

He was looking at her incredulously, waiting for her to join in the celebration. She shook her head exasperatedly, meaning she was waiting for his explanation. More members of Extradites wandered in, only to be ambushed by others whispering the news of our apparent victory. She watched as their eyes widened in disbelief, their faces breaking out into hesitant smiles.

"We captured the last fighters of the Dissenters."

"You did what?" Annabeth asked in surprise.

Luke laughed again and nodded, picking her up and twirling her in his arms. The people around them erupted into cheers and jubilant cries; high fiving, clapping and hugging, some were even crying. Annabeth was too shocked to join in her colleague's celebrations. It wasn't possible. They had been tracking these guys for six months without a trace of them and now they get captured.

Luke turned and faced the people, his arm wrapped heavily around a still stunned Annabeth's waist. He tried to address them but after a raucous precession, he was forced onto the old stage, pulling Annabeth with him. From there he began his speech, talking about the hard ship that was inflicted upon them, the losses suffered up to the triumph of capturing the most notorious of the resistance. He went into detail of their plan which lead to the incarceration but Annabeth tuned it out, including Luke's newfound affection towards her.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy about Luke's success because she was, but if it was true, then it meant that the feud between the two warring houses would finally be over. The captives would more than likely be executed, as soon as everyone had gathered in the hall. Luke was smart enough to know none of them would disclose any information regarding their base location and the last few they kept prisoner was classified as a waste of resources. So once they were killed, what did that mean for Annabeth?

Luke whistled loudly, rallying the crowd in chorus of their motto. Annabeth used this to break away from his grip, gazing towards the front double doors of the hall. Another round of shouts and the doors opened. The crowded members moved to the side as the scouts brought in the prisoners. Annabeth looked over and saw Thalia hovering at the edge. She had lit a cigarette, leaning against the wall, arms folded gazing at the precession with disdain. Thalia caught Annabeth's eye, drew out a long breath of smoke, shook her head and peeled herself from the wall and left out of the side door, smoke curling around her head in her wake.

Annabeth couldn't blame her. Despite knowing they were to present a united front, she would rather be with Thalia; away from the hall and the execution about to take place. From her place at the stage, Annabeth watched the four prisoners lumber forward, hindered with injuries inflicted by her people. There was one in particular, second to last, who was struggling more than the others to move forward. He was shaking from head to toe and his legs appeared to be bowed or deformed in some way. His head was dipped low so Annabeth could only see his curly brown hair. The man behind him tried to help out his fallen comrade but was pushed back in line behind him.

The captives were brought to the centre of the hall and were lined up to face Luke and Annabeth. The crowd, who had been jeering, booing and hissing fell silent and anticipation. Four men stood before Annabeth, ranging from two big broad, short shaved men, to the small, limping man and the average man at the end. Luke gave the signal and took Annabeth's hand again. The first of the broader man was shoved forward onto a small dais. He was forced to kneel as the executioner, a big man with a coarse beard and permanent scowl, came and stood beside him, his customary gun in his hand. Annabeth avoided him and therefore didn't know his name.

"Let this be a message to the rebels that oppose us," Luke cried out. The room was silent. Luke reached back and grabbed Annabeth's escaping hand. "We aren't the ones that are going to fall! We, will be victorious!"

With a nod to the man, the first rebel fell after a gun shot. Annabeth pulled her hand from Luke's taking a step back. She kept the revulsion from her face as the crowd roared their approval. Fifty faces all crazed and joyous for the murder of innocent, well not innocent but unarmed prisoners. Annabeth felt sick. The second captive struggled as he was brought upwards but he was soon subdued.

The small, curly brown haired prisoner didn't fight and perhaps was the worst of them. Tears streamed down his cheeks but he kept his silence. He refused to stare at Luke but turned to face the crowd. Annabeth stepped forward, her eyes on the back of his skull. It wasn't until the last captive in line looked up. His eyes were pained but he gave the man a swift nod and a small perk of his lips that might have supposed to be a smile. The lone captive flinched when the gunshot sounded but never took his eyes off of the curly haired prisoner as he collapsed lifeless to the dais. Annabeth felt a stab of remorse understanding they were friends. Annabeth studied the man, ignoring her feelings.

The last captive was covered in cuts that oozed blood that didn't seem to trouble him. Luke's grin turned malicious as the captive was brought forward. Annabeth deduced he must have been the leader, or at least the strongest fighter. His shoes had been taken, his jeans cut in several places along with his legs. His shirt hung limply from his shoulders. Annabeth had to admire him; by his appearance he had put up the biggest fight. The jeering from the scout party confirmed her suspicion.

He fell to his knees when he was pushed onto the platform and into the light. His black hair hung around his bowed head like a curtain, obscuring his face. He slowly raised his head to face Luke, ignoring everyone else leering and staring at him. Hatred, mixed with grief etched every pane of his face, making him look like a feral animal. Annabeth had seen executions many times but this man in front of her made it seem different, almost wrong. Sure, a lot of the captives were angry, upset, or simply subdued to the fact of their oncoming death but he, although angry, still had not given up.

Annabeth watched him and with each second closer to his death brought more the sense of foreboding dread. Luke signalled for the executioner to walk forward. There was a sneer on Luke's face. Annabeth looked at Luke and almost recoiled. This was the Luke that Annabeth had come to know; the one so focused on winning that he removed humanity out of the equation.

"At last," murmured Luke with a growl.

The gun was placed to the temple of the victim. His green eyes seethed, never once blinking. Annabeth had realised that Luke wanted to taunt this man until his last breath left. The executioner was taking his time, prolonging the inevitable. That was why this man went last; he had to suffer. The safety was clicked 'off'.

"Stop!"

The word sprang to Annabeth's lips before she even knew she was thinking it. The executioner glanced up in surprise, pulling the gun away from the man's head. Luke swivelled to her, his face anguished. Annabeth didn't flinch from the stares upon her but there was one set of eyes that remained fixed on Luke, ignoring Annabeth's continual attention.

"What are you doing?" Luke hissed.

Annabeth slowly turned to him. "He could be useful. I mean, look at him. Can't you see he doesn't care that you are about to kill him?"

"Because he is an animal that doesn't know any different," Luke snapped, trying to keep from yelling.

"Or he has information that he wants to die with him," Annabeth offered. Her excuses getting more elaborate as she tried to save this man who would not even think twice about killing her. Wasn't it only fifteen minutes earlier that she was thinking that none of them would expel hidden secrets from their lips, even with the reward being life?

Luke hesitated slightly, glancing at Annabeth with widened eyes. He shook his head as if trying to clear it. Annabeth felt the prisoner's eyes on her but this time she ignored him.

"Luke," Annabeth said softly. Inwardly cringing, she took him by the wrist and pulled him towards the back of the stage. He complied, although Annabeth thought he was still more in shock. "I can see there's a lot of animosity between the two of you."

"He deserves to die," Luke snarled, sobering from his shock. "He's a lowlife. He's tried several times to kill me!"

"And what about us, Luke?" she questioned. "We are trying to wipe them out. Look, I'm not saying he deserves special treatment –,"

"Like he's ever going to get any!"

"– but if we are ever going to finish this feud we need to know where the rest of them are. You can't seriously think these are the last of them?"

"He won't say anything," Luke said exasperated. "He's too …"

Whatever the captive was to Luke, Annabeth didn't hear. A riot had broken out in the hall and the captive was swarmed by the angry watchers. Annabeth leapt from the stage, screaming at them to stop. She didn't know if Luke had followed but she didn't care. She threw people out of her way, dodged punches that flew in her direction. Desperation drove her forward. Desperation gave her a voice as she screamed at them. She reached the middle where the prisoner was curled up in the foetal position, collecting the hits without a noise.

Annabeth didn't know how she managed it but the next thing she knew she was hovering protectively over the man still on the dais. She glared at the men and women who attacked him. They were staring at her in surprise, some holding broken limbs and others bleeding from cuts. She was breathing heavily, her eyes darting from each face, ready for the next attack. After a few seconds she realised they were waiting. Luke was still on the stage, watching the scene impassively.

"This man," Annabeth began. "Is the key to our victory. He can turn over his secrets and allow us to step forward in our pursuit for peace. And you just tried to kill him. While he is alive, he is under my jurisdiction. Anyone that touches him," she paused and gazed at each of them. "Will answer to me. Is that clear?" When silence ensured, Annabeth turned to the scouts. "Take him to the cells and guard him."

They did as they were asked, none too happy but knew better than to oblige. The crowd dissipated with many throwing angry glares at Annabeth. She ignored them, gazing around the hall and sighing quietly. Luke jumped from the stage once they were the only ones left. His face was hard to read but Annabeth saw the tightness of his shoulders, the deep set of his eyes. The happiness he had moments ago all but disappeared and Annabeth was once again left with the stone cold version of Luke Castellan.

"What's my punishment?" Annabeth asked defiantly, lifting her chin.

Luke continued to stare at her, not answering. They stood in silence for a long time but Annabeth was patient and she waited until Luke decided to speak. When he did, his eyes were on the podium, where the remnants of the prisoner's execution dripped onto the floor. Annabeth only glanced at it once before turning away sickened.

"He better start talking," Luke said quietly, turning to her again. "You've already claimed responsibility for him. So whatever he does comes back onto you."

Before Annabeth could react to his words, he lashed out, slapping Annabeth hard across the face. Her head snapped sharply to the side. Her teeth had cut the inner cheek and her bottom lip and she placed her hand up to stem the blood flow while trying to keep the tears from her eyes. Annabeth wanted to curl up into a ball and cry but with a deeply rooted stubbornness, she turned her hardened eyes to his, letting the hand cradling her cheek fall. He looked like he wanted to hit her again but abruptly turned and began to stride away.

"That was a cheap shot …" Annabeth muttered to his back.

"You wanted to know your punishment so I gave it to you. And if you defy me again," he faced her, eyes dark. He motioned to her cheek. "I will treat you like one of them and I won't hold back."

Outside the makeshift prison, Annabeth retreated to the darkness of the corridor connected to the entrance. She slumped against the wall, her head in her hands, trying to breathe normally. The adrenaline had worn off not long after look stormed from the hall and Annabeth had been shaking from head to toe since. Whispers followed her as she was accompanied to the prison by one of her trusted associates. Annabeth couldn't hear their words but she knew that would all be the same question. Malcolm remained silent by her side, withholding his own questions.

"I don't know why I saved him, Malcolm. I'm telling the truth," she told him, desperately wanting him to be on her side.

He looked at her, a little surprised by her sudden plea. He nodded, averting his eyes forward and Annabeth knew he wasn't convinced. It was almost with relief that Annabeth told him to go ahead while she had a moment to herself. She couldn't change what she had done but she didn't realise the repercussions would begin so soon. Annabeth straightened, brushing stray locks from her face. It didn't matter what happened next; she would always find a solution.

Annabeth walked forward with feigned confidence, entering the prison ten minutes later. It was strange to think that it used to be a school library. The books and shelves removed, burned when wood was scarce on the winter nights. The builders pulled all the stocks to fortify the prison so it became the strongest hold in their base. It had been empty for almost a year until Annabeth saved the incarcerated; Luke's mind had turned to more violent and permanent options for captives.

The newly appointed guards stood at either side of the entrance and permitted her entry with emotionless stares. She walked down the middle corridor, passing empty cells on both sides. Annabeth should have known they would place him in the last of the cells, where the roof caved in slightly at the corners so the lighting was extremely poor. The worst of the cabins was to Annabeth's right and it was there that she found the third guard, who turned out to be Kevin, one of her closest advisors. He gave her a faint smile and a shrug, indicating he had heard of the situation and hastened to have a say in the arrangements, for her sake. Annabeth nodded and was about to head in but Kevin made her stop with a hand to her arm.

"Did Luke hit you?" he asked in concern, gazing at her face with puckered eyebrows.

Annabeth started but realised she must have still had dried blood on her chin. She nodded, hastily wiping it away. Her tongue tested the swollen and tender skin of her inner cheek. Kevin gave her a sympathetic look but said no more on the subject.

"Is he really going to talk?" he asked softly, his head nodding towards the cell.

"I don't know," Annabeth murmured. She glanced away for a second before meeting his worried eyes. "I guess we'll find out." She went to go inside but Kevin's hand remained on her arm.

"Luke will only give you three weeks, a month at most until he kills him and then he'll turn on you." Kevin's eyes flitted to the guards on the door. "This Luke won't grant you mercy, Annabeth. No matter whom you use to be to him."

"I know, Kev," Annabeth said softly, giving him a faint smile. She could already feel her lip puffing up. "Thanks for volunteering for this job."

Kevin frowned, his blue eyes darkening. "Luke won't allow me to stay here for long. You're going to have to pull your resources if you're going to keep your prisoner half alive."

Annabeth nodded, already coming to this conclusion after Luke's dramatic exit. Kevin let her arm go and opened the door, allowing her to enter the room. The door was a durable form of what looked like plastic, with a small flap fitted near the bottom to place his meals through if he was released from his chains. The walls were refitted with an assortment of stone styled like a sort of mosaic. Pillars replaced the customary bars of the cell on either side of the door. The stone pillars were slightly thicker than ordinary steel bars and placed so closely together that Annabeth thought even her arm would struggle to fit through. She walked inside the dark cell as Kevin closed and locked the door behind her.

"I suppose I should thank you for saving my life," he said dryly.

Annabeth spotted him in the corner of his cell, masked in the shadows. A tinkle of chains suggested he shifted slightly. It was almost a torture in itself, Annabeth thought sadly. Their cell was large enough to be considered a reasonable sized empty bedroom but the prisoners were only limited to a small portion of it, enslaved by heavy iron chains.

"I didn't come here for gratitude," Annabeth said softly.

He gave a disbelieving snort. "I saw you at the hip of Mr. Superfluous Jackass. How can you kiss someone like that?"

Annabeth felt a faint blush paint her cheeks. "I'm not involved with Luke."

"Ah, I can see," he muttered and Annabeth knew he was referring to her lip. "Still, deserves congratulations from finally cleaving yourself from his side. Are you my interrogator then? It was a stirring speech you gave. All that crap about me having secrets in my brain you needed to preserve. Nice touch."

"Everyone has secrets. It wasn't a lie," Annabeth stated, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You're smart. I would never have suspected that of … well, your people."

"And you're a smart arse who doesn't know when to shut up," Annabeth snapped in frustration.

He wheezed out a laugh. "You're not the first one to tell me that."

There was a brief period of silence while Annabeth got her emotions under control. It had been a long time since someone had been able to get under her skin, let alone within minutes of their meeting together. He was her enemy, she told herself as if that was an excuse but in all honesty, Annabeth was befuddled by the pull towards him she was feeling.

"Who was your leader?" Annabeth asked, genuinely curious. "Before the war."

"Does it matter now?" he snorted. "Either way, they've pitted us against each other and pissed off when we didn't do as well as they hoped. Now we're left to deal with years of animosity and hatred, barely surviving with each other because we are led by incompetent replacements. We're fucked really, unless we can find a peaceful solution or one of us destroys the other clan."

"How can you think like that?" Annabeth stepped closer despite her plan to keep distance between them. "They might have started this feud with bad intentions but that doesn't mean we can't find a solution. You just need to see we aren't the enemies."

Annabeth heard him shift again and he shuffled into the light. His condition worsened in the few hours he had spent in his cage. The blood on his face had dried and cracked. Black hair mattered with dirt clung to the sides of his face and reaching towards his shoulders. He wore it longer and somewhat messier than Annabeth was accustomed to. His nose was still out of place and could not have been comfortable. Those green eyes that captivated her so much were brighter than ever against the blood and grime and were a pool of swirling hatred as he stared at her. He smiled thinly at her, making him appear to be a rather dangerous, rabid animal.

"No doubt who was your leader," he said sardonically. "Athena," his mouth chewed on the word as if it was something disgusting. "She always had the reputation to twist those to see her point of view, while planning their demise anyway. Quite the deceiver. Brilliant though. I cannot fault her on that but you seem to be lacking in her brilliance. 'You aren't the enemies?'" He raised his eyebrow in question. "How sheltered has Luke made you? We are the ones being hunted like animals. We are the ones who are dying and we, are the ones who have tried to make you see that your Extradites, are destroying everything."

"You bastard," Annabeth hissed.

She strode forward, her rage propelling her. She shouldn't have spared his life. He was the animal; a stray dog that needed to either put in his place or destroyed. Her left hand flung out and grabbed the front of his shirt. The few buttons that exposed his neck ripped and toppled to the ground as Annabeth pulled him towards her enraged face. He calmly stared back at her, unfazed by her closeness or the fist made in her right hand.

Annabeth was frozen, holding the shirt of the kneeling prisoner while she desperately urged her arm to lunge forward and slam her fist into his body. But she couldn't. He kept her stare, the contempt for her just swimming beneath the surface. He remained silent, which again was unusual. Prisoners often goaded their gaolers into attacking, provoking them. For some reason that she couldn't explain, Annabeth knew that he wasn't saying anything to just provoke her. He seriously believed that her and her colleagues were the bad guys. Annabeth tried to convince herself that it stood to reason that with every battle both parties believed they were doing the right thing, so why did she feel as though he was right?

She didn't know how long they were positioned like they were, with Annabeth battling her inner turmoil but she eventually loosened the grip on his shirt. The arm raised behind her slowly lowered to her side. She continued to gaze directly at him, trying to quell her surprise. She took a step back and then another, almost in slow motion. She finally looked away, staring down at her feet. Why couldn't she hit him?

He broke the silence. "That was, unexpected."

Annabeth slowly raised her head to face him again. Half of his face had receded into shadows but the half that she could still see had been wiped clean of emotion. He wasn't referring to her sudden angry outburst, or her lack of defence. She knew he was referring to her continual hesitancy against hurting him. She found she couldn't look at him anymore, her own actions confusing to her. She walked back towards the door, having enough for one day.

"Can I know your name?" Annabeth asked softly, her hand on the door.

"Luke didn't tell you?" he asked, slightly surprised. "Percy Jackson."

Annabeth's hand fell from the handle. She stared at him, her mouth dropping in shock. It couldn't be him, it just couldn't. She took in his appearance again, his apparent hostility towards Athena and what she stood for. Annabeth started breathing short pants, her shock almost overwhelming her.

"You're Poseidon's protégée?" she breathed, already knowing the answer.

He shrugged and looked around at his temporary lodgings before back to her. "I don't think he would count me as much nowadays but yes, there was a time when I was under his wing."

Annabeth took one last look at him. He was frowning at her reaction, wondering why his name had caused her so much distress. She had to leave. She couldn't stay with him anymore. She fled the room, ignoring Kevin's attempt of comforting her. She dimly recalled that he would have been able to hear everything. She past the guards and past Luke, who had been skulking in the shadows for a number of reasons Annabeth didn't want to think about. He called out to her but she ignored him too. She took a shortcut to her room and locked herself in. She fell against the door and slid down to the ground, her shaky hands cradling her head, reeling from her discovery.

Percy Jackson, the man who she had just saved, was Athena's sworn enemy and Annabeth was supposed to kill him if she was to be ever seen as 'Athena's child' again.

Authors note:

Early twenties for most of the characters and if you hadn't already guessed, it is a modern AU. The title came to me while I was researching. As I delved into descriptions about The Shield of Achilles I started to realise how close it was with how I wanted to write this story. Simply, it depicts war and peace, and the calm before and impending doom but don't think this story is all grim.

Thoughts and feedback are welcome.