Annabeth's War

by Jessica Greyson

  “Anna’s here. Can she have the second cot?”

  “Of course. Come on in. Anna, there are so many wonderful things I have to show you. What is the matter, Annabeth? You don’t look well.”

  “She isn’t,” answered Prince Alfred. “Ransom, let me take her in,” said the prince, turning to him.

  “No. I don’t want to jostle her more than I have to.”

  “It’s all right, Ransom. I can take it,” she whispered, but Ransom ignored her.

  “Eliot, could you get that crate and put it beside the horse?”

  In a moment, Ransom swung his leg over the neck of the horse, then gently slid onto the crate and stepped onto the ground. Silently, he carried her into the tent and lowered her delicately onto her cot.

  Ransom had held her arm in a sling-like position against his body, and it felt strange to have her out of his arms; it was as if she was imprinted against him.

  Her eyes met his, and a feeling rose in his chest, almost making it impossible to breath.

  “Thank you, Ransom.” Annabeth whispered, almost closing her eyes to hide the pain he saw in them.

  Leaning over her, he brushed away a stray piece of hair that had been plastered against her face.

  Just then, her father was beside her and Annabeth shifted her gaze to him.

  “There is my Annabeth.”

  “I haven’t failed you, have I, Father?” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes.

  “You could never fail me.”

  ANNABETH BIT HER LIP to keep back the cry that swelled in her throat, making it feel hollow and dry.

  “It’s all right, Annabeth. There is no need to cry. It’s all over. You’ve held out this long; you needn’t shed a tear.”

  The desire to cry built in her chest with a crushing weight. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her father was right; there was no need to cry. No need—the worst of it was over. The pain in her chest eased.

  A MOMENT LATER, THE physician entered and glanced at his patient. His face soured.

  “I’ll need help.”

  “I’ll help,” Garth offered before Ransom could speak.

  The doctor looked him over. “At first I thought you were my patient, but then I saw her.” He glanced at Ransom. “Since it is a young lady, will you enquire if the lady outside will come and help us?”

  Ransom went to Lady Christina. She paled at the prospect, but nodded that she would and followed him back towards the tent. Ransom swept aside the tent flap for Christina to enter, but before he could set foot in the tent himself the physician turned to him.

  “That will be all. I’ll call if I need anything.”

  Reluctantly, he left and stood with Prince Alfred and Eliot. Someone had to keep those two from fighting.

  In several minutes, there came a shuddering sound and a sharp outcry of pain from Annabeth. All of the men winced—even Eliot.

  A quarter of an hour later, Christina came stumbling through the tent flap, her face white and body shaking. At the sight of Alf, she rushed forward, and he opened his arms to her. Sobs broke from her as she buried her face against his arm.

  “Oh Alf, Alf! She did it for us. For us.”

  Ransom watched the prince whisper words of comfort in her ear and in a little while Lady Christina tried to compose herself.

  Just then a servant came up. “Your highness, Eliot, and Garth are wanted at the kings’ tent immediately.”

  For a moment Ransom wondered at the fact that his name wasn’t mentioned and then was glad for it.

  Christina slipped inside the tent to relay the message to Garth, and in a moment, Annabeth’s father departed.

  Ransom stood anxiously at the entrance of the tent, wanting to come in but wondering if he dared with the snappish doctor waiting to be riled. Annabeth would need peace and quiet to recover.

  He listened to the doctor giving orders to Christina about nursing Annabeth back to health. The girl sounded puzzled and flustered. He could sense her turning bright red.

  The physician stepped out, calling back through the curtain. “I’ll be back in an hour to check on her,” then adding in a surprised voice as he nearly collided into Ransom, “What are you still doing here, sir? No matter.” He stalked off, filled with his own self-importance.

  A moment later, Christina was at the flap. “Oh, thank goodness it’s you! He has left me to nurse Annabeth and I—”

  Ransom didn’t need to hear another word. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll help if you wish.”

  He felt all of her anxiety leave beneath his touch.

  “Oh, good. Come in, come in.”

  She started to relay all the doctor’s orders word for word, but when it came to the assortment of powders and potions he had left for Annabeth to take, she became confused almost to the point of tears, and she began to wring her hands.

  “Oh, I don’t remember a thing he said now.”

  “I think I can figure it out well enough,” supplied Ransom. Being a bounty hunter meant having to know some medical basics in order to heal and keep one’s self well.

  In a moment, Ransom sorted through the jumble and set everything right.

  Now that disaster by Christina was averted, he turned his attentions to Annabeth.

  She was conscious—her face pale, her lips pressed tight to keep from crying. At the cool touch of his hand on her hot forehead, she opened her eyes.

  The pain was back in full force. Her shoulder had been reset. The chains in the dungeon and the long ride there had upset it painfully.

  BITING HER LOWER LIP was the best she could do to keep back a cry. Annabeth wanted to writhe, but that would only hurt worse, so she wiggled her toes instead.

  “It hurts,” she barely whispered to him, then wondered why she had. Even while they had been traveling, when he had bound her wound, she hadn’t admitted it. Why now?

  “I know.” His eyes were soft with care. It was then that she realized it: he wanted to know. “I want you to take something that should help and make you sleepy. You need your rest.”

  Annabeth nodded her head with a wince, pressing her lips together.

  In a few minutes, he placed his cool hand beneath her neck.

  “Drink this, then close your eyes. If you want anything you need only ask.”

  Annabeth started to nod, then whimpered at the pain as it tingled through her body.

  Something bitter passed her lips, but she was in too much pain to care what it tasted like.

  Everything started to feel like it was burning around her, and she could not help her whimpers. Gradually she felt nothing, and fell asleep.

  Chapter 21

  Ransom turned over and opened his eyes. The soft morning sun made the white of his canvas tent look warm and yellow. A breeze came through the tent flap comfortably. He sank his shoulder into the cot.

  “You like her, don’t you?”

  The sound of Eliot’s voice suddenly made the world not so beautiful.

  Of all people to share a tent with, why him? But Ransom turned over and glanced at Eliot, who was turning his dagger over and over in his hand mechanically, lost in thought.

  “How is Annabeth?” Eliot asked.

  “Why would you care?”

  Eliot was silent.

  Ransom decided to prod him. “Why would you care? You are the one who twisted her on the rack.”

  Eliot broke from his mute reverie. “I was only doing what I had to do to prove myself. A man isn’t a man if he can lower himself to torturing a girl. Twisting it hard was the only way I knew how to get her off quickly—jerking her hard, instead of one degree at a time for hours and hours. I wanted her to remain the same. Not...” He shuddered. “I didn’t have another choice.”

  Eliot swung his legs over the edge of his cot and rubbed his jaw. “That prince has a mean punch.”

  “They’ve been friends since they were children.”

  “Hmm. Makes sense. Keep your eyes on her, Ransom. She is going to need you
.”

  “What?” said Ransom, sitting upright. Something about Eliot’s words startled him.

  “She is going to need you.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  Eliot shrugged. “Just a gut feeling. Don’t like it, but it’s there all the same.” He pulled on his doublet and left.

  Ransom eased back into his cot. He hadn’t realized until last night as he was closing his eyes that he hadn’t slept in over a day. Weariness still pulled at him, but Eliot’s words disturbed him. He had to go see Annabeth. Hopefully it wasn’t too early.

  In s few minutes he was standing outside the girls’ tent, asking for entrance. He was admitted by Lady Christina, who still looked anxious and flustered by her position as nurse.

  “How is she doing?”

  Christina shrugged one shoulder. “The physician said she is doing as well as can be expected, but she has that same pained look, and she is still so pale. I am worried, Ransom.”

  Ransom took a seat by the cot and touched Annabeth’s hand. It was warm but not feverish. Her body was fighting, but not in a struggle that would mount into any danger.

  At his touch, Annabeth’s eyes fluttered open and she blinked several times.

  “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, Beth.”

  “It’s all right. I think I was already awake. What is going on?”

  Ransom smiled. “I am not really sure, and I am not really sure I care. I know they have plans to attack Raburn, but nothing more.”

  “Have you seen my father?”

  “Not this morning.”

  Annabeth nodded. He could tell by the look in her eyes she was still very weary. He couldn’t blame her. She had let go of her strength in the dungeon so everything would just slip away from her. Now she was ready and willing to fight for her life, but it would take time to recover.

  But it was more than just that. After all of these months, she longed to have her father by her side—to see him, to be near him always—and Ransom couldn’t blame her one bit. He would do anything to be with his family again, but that was never to be. They were gone, all gone. Ransom let his mind numb. He didn’t want to think about that.

  “Do you want me to go see if I can find him?”

  “He’ll come when he is able,” whispered Annabeth, trying to hide the pain in her voice. “Maybe I will rest just a little bit more

  Unexpectedly, Ransom found Annabeth slipping her hand into his, holding it loosely. He looked at her, his eyes asking questions.

  Annabeth smiled, sighed, and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 22

  “Annabeth? Annabeth.”

  The voice made her pull her eyes open and turn on her cot. The pain ached through her shoulder and down her spine, but when she saw her father she smiled.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Hello, daughter. How are you?”

  “Better...and you?” she asked trying to sound strong.

  “Very well; very well indeed. They have their assault plans ready for Anondorf Castle. I just wish I was able to lead them. Nothing would give me as much pleasure as that.”

  “Won’t it be dangerous, Father?”

  “Anything worth fighting for has a tendency to be dangerous, my daughter. But you know that.”

  For a long time there was silence, neither knowing what to say. It had been so long.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too. Every day I prayed for your safety.”

  “And every day I prayed for yours.”

  There was another long silence, and slowly Annabeth raised her eyes to meet his, trying to keep back the tears.

  “I am sorry for getting you into this mess. If I hadn’t told you, nothing like this would have happened.”

  “Annabeth. I am glad you told me. I trusted him, and betrayed us. I knew what it would cost. I never thought that you would fight for me; I thought you would flee and hide like every other daughter I have ever known. I never dreamed that you would champion a cause.”

  “Did you mind that, Father?”

  “Not one bit.”

  “What are we going to do now?”

  “Now?”

  “Now that you no longer work for Lord Raburn, what are we going to do?”

  “Don’t know; haven’t really thought that far.” He laughed. “I never thought I would make it out of Raburn’s dungeon alive.”

  Annabeth tightened her hand around her father’s. “I was so scared of losing you.”

  He smiled. “You needn’t fear losing me ever, Annabeth. I will love you no matter where you are.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I love you, my Annabeth.”

  “I love you, Father.”

  The next moment Annabeth felt her father shudder in pain. His body trembled, and he turned pale.

  “Father? Father, what is it?” she asked, sitting up, ignoring the vivid pain that shot through her body .

  Then she saw him, and her heart stopped. The words fell from her lips in horror and unbelief.

  “Lord Raburn, what are you doing here?”

  The man only smiled. “Your rescuers blazed a trail here, and now you will all pay.” He raised a dagger and plunged it towards her. Annabeth, was frozen in shock and horror. The only thing that she could use was her voice. Opening her mouth, she screamed. It seemed to break the terror inside of her loose, as the blade descended towards her heart, she tumbled from her cot.

  The knife ripped into the fabric and struck into the ground.

  Annabeth tried to scramble to her feet to find something to defend herself with, but he was standing on her dress, making escape impossible. She searched for something—anything within reach. Then Annabeth’s eyes fell on the dagger thrust into her father’s back.

  The world stopped. Nothing mattered. It was all a blur frozen in time that would never stop. There were no sounds, nothing—nothing but the screaming silence.

  The hands of King Harold were turning over her father. His still-conscious eyes broke her frozen world. His lips were mouthing her name. In a moment, she had pillowed his head on her lap and was soothing his pained brow with her hand.

  “Annabeth,” his voice strained with the word, and his breathing came with perilous labor.

  “I am here, Father. I am here!”

  His pain-blurred eyes cleared and he looked into her face, smiling as he did so.

  “You have made me so proud, Annabeth. I am honored to call you my daughter.”

  She slipped her hand into his and held it tightly; it slowly grew colder.

  Unexpectedly, Annabeth found herself surrounded.

  Her father’s eyes strayed to those around them.

  “Please take care of my daughter,” he whispered.

  “I will.”

  “She shall want for nothing.”

  Annabeth looked up and saw both kings kneeling by her father’s side. She looked back at her father. His eyes were closing. Suddenly they opened and looked up at her.

  “Don’t leave me, Father. Please don’t,” she begged. Tears were running down her face. She pressed his cold hand against her cheek.

  “I can’t help it, my strong one, my lovely, my daughter—I am going.” He struggled for breath, and pressed his hand against her cheek. “I love you, Annabeth.” A fleeting smile passed his lips, and his hand dropped to his side.

  “No...” Annabeth whispered, her voice barely passing her throat, swollen with tears. “Oh, Father, no. Don’t leave me.” She laid her head against his strong chest and let grief swallow her.

  How many hands Annabeth had pushed away, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. She wanted to stay with her father. Her heart had been shattered into tiny pieces, and each throbbed in her chest, making it almost impossible for her to breathe—to want to breathe.

  Then there was the quiet touch that came not to take her away from her father, but to share her grief. His hand ran gently, almost imperceptibly, across her burning
shoulders.

  “Beth,” Ransom whispered, gently piercing the silence with his quiet voice. “It’s all over. Raburn is dead; his army has surrendered. Your war is won, Annabeth.”

  Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his.

  “But I lost the most important thing. I couldn’t protect him. I—I— Ransom!” She buried her head against his shoulder, sobs shaking her.

  In a moment, Ransom had gathered her up in his arms and held her close to his heart.

  “Annabeth, he died protecting you, his daughter, the person he loved most on this earth. You can’t protect everyone, Annabeth. Sometimes you can’t even protect yourself. It’s what makes you human; it’s what makes people fall in love with you. Annabeth, no one is perfect.” He lifted her face to look into his. “We can’t be perfect, Annabeth.”

  “But if I had just...”

  He laid his finger on her lips. “No. You are tired and worn out—you need your rest.”

  “I’ve rested too long. If I hadn’t been, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe...”

  Ransom pressed his finger against her mouth again. With a resigned sigh, Annabeth laid her head against his shoulder, her body heaving with grief.

  In a minute, Ransom was holding a pewter goblet to her mouth and telling her to drink it.

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “Just take a little. You need to restore your strength.”

  With great reluctance, Annabeth sipped the bitter liquid, then buried her face in Ransom’s leather jerkin, clinging to him with desperation. The world grew black at the edges, and slowly crept towards her. Weariness stalked her body. She tried to fight it off, but found it impossible. Ransom’s arms were strong. They would protect her; she trusted him.

  Chapter 23

  Ransom had been reluctant to follow his king’s orders to sedate Annabeth. But when he had seen and heard her for himself, he knew she needed rest or she would exhaust herself.

  He watched as Annabeth went limp in his arms, completely trusting, worn out body and soul. She almost looked dead, save for the twinge of pink in her cheeks. Ransom winced as his mind flashed over what had happened, and he pulled her close. Ransom bowed his head over Annabeth’s, pressing a kiss into her hair. He brushed away the stray loose hairs that fell about her face and gathered her into his arms.