Chapter Text
“I pledge myself to the Goddess Artemis,” A breath. The tent is warm and insulated, Bianca running her fingers along animal fur, along bear and boar and monster. “I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.”
It is warm in the tent. There is nothing that visibly changes Bianca, except, perhaps, her shoulders settling. Except, perhaps, something clicking into place.
“And you,” Artemis shifts. She does not blink, staring down the maiden next to Bianca Di’Angelo. “What is your choice, Andromeda Jackson?”
The daughter of Poseidon Pelagaeus blinks. The only daughter of the sea tips her head, as if considering.
She is considering it.
“My lady,” An inhale, as she grips her hands tight, stares down at the way they are folded in her lap. “Would I still be able to visit my mother? The camp, they are–”
It is a struggle, trying to explain how the camp treats her. The way that they had distanced her from everyone upon her claiming, had celebrated her upon the return of the Master Bolt, and then, essentially tossed her aside with Thalia's revival.
Andromeda does not have the words for that, nor the words for how she knows her mother had tried her best, even if it was not enough, for Gabe had hurt them both. Nothing like that, but he had still hurt them, hit them.
Her mother had tried her best, and Andromeda loved her mother, but– but some part of her knew it was not enough.
Artemis Agrotera smiles, predator-hunter sharp, all canine and flesh tearing.
It is as if she knows.
The tent, for a moment, smells of blood and iron, of cypress.
“My dear Huntress,” A claim of her new girl. New girls, for Bianca is watching, still. “She is your mother. Of course you may.”
“Okay.” That is all that needs to be said, really, Andromeda nodding to herself. Perhaps, some part of her is an awful person for abandoning the camp, for leaving behind her friends, but oh, they weren't really her friends. Not the camp, at least. Perhaps the only ones who could be were Annabeth and Grover, but even then…perhaps they were not good ones. “Alright then.”
“Very well.”
“I pledge myself to the Goddess Artemis,” Truth be told, Andromeda was, in some part, pleased to be making this oath. It was not a spur of the moment thing. “I turn my back on the company of men,” It was not, in any way, a spur of the moment thing. No, for she had seen the way the Hunters had interacted with each other on her way to the tent of the Lady of Hunting. “Accept eternal maidenhood,” They had interacted like a family, what a family was supposed to interact like. Nothing like Gabe, nothing like the camp. “And join the Hunt.”
It was an easy choice to make. Andromeda would not regret it. Not when Artemis was smiling at her, not when Bianca was beaming, not when Zoë looked as if she was so very pleased.
Warmth sits in her stomach, more than the moonlit-warmth of Artemis’ blessing. More than the warmth of when she controlled her powers.
It is simple warmth. The easy warmth of being by a firepit, of being with family.
The Hunters are her family. Andromeda, despite what her mother had tried so desperately, despite how she loved her mother, never had a real family she could remember.
But now, she has one.
“Sisters,” There is a smile on Zoë's lips, and Andromeda likes that. She– she is a sister to the Hunters. Not an outsider to camp, but a sister Huntress. “Come along. We must get thee both dressed.”
“There is…” Bianca hesitates, rising to her feet as Zoë beckons them both. “We have a tent? Just for uniform fittings?”
“It is also where thou will get thy new weapons.”
“Zoë, I– ah,” Andromeda follows their lieutenant out the tent, though only for a few moments, for their destination is right next to their Lady's. “I can't shoot. A bow. I've tried before. It….ended with an arrow. In Chiron's tail.”
“Thou, little sister,” The Huntress runs her hand along uniforms, sizing them up with an eye. “Did not have Artemis Iochearia's blessing. It will fix that.”
“Ah.” She cannot help but feel relieved, for while she loved wielding Riptide, she did not want to feel an outsider again. “Well, that's good.”
Bianca looks to her, to Zoë, and there is a rush of affection, deep and tight in Andromeda's chest as the girl stares at all around them. “This is…exciting. I–....I love Nico, he's my little brother, but I– I can't…”
“You can't be parenting him?” An easy guess, because she had seen how they interacted, Bianca more of a mother than sister.
“Yes, I– I've tried so hard, and–”
“Bianca? It's okay. I– I had a hard time at camp. I've always— But Artemis– Zoë– the rest of the Huntresses,” A pause, as Zoë hands them both a winter uniform, a bag, with something that must be another couple uniforms for winter and summer. “They're family now. I mean– Nico's still your family, he'll always be your family, and I'm sure you can visit him, like Artemis is letting me visit my mom,” And shit, she'll have to Iris Message her mom to let her know about this. “But we– this is new. For both of us. But it…it'll be a good change.”
“Right. Right.”
Bianca nods to herself, and Andromeda cannot help it, reaching to ruffle her hair, mussing it up, just a smidgen. That was what older sisters did, after all. “Let's get dressed.”
The two of them step into the changing rooms, pulling off their old clothes, slipping into silver moonshine garments. The parka is warm. It's warm, and the camouflage pants are too, and it is–
Andromeda feels safe, in the Hunters uniform, new bag in her hand, Riptide tucked into her pants pocket.
Zoë is there, waiting for them. There is a smile on her face, sharp eyes cataloging them. She is holding out wicked long hunting knives, two pairs of them in sheaths. For her and Bianca, for them to loop in their belts.
It does not unsettle her. It truly doesn't, for Andromeda is a demigod, for Andromeda is a Huntress, for she can handle herself in close quarters, fighting for her life.
She and Bianca take them, follow Zoë to the racks of bows and quivers full of arrows, bags set down.
“Sisters,” Zoë says, her hands calloused and warm on their backs. “Thou must choose a bow that suits thee.”
That…makes sense. A bow that doesn't suit someone would be awful in a fight.
She, the only daughter of Poseidon, runs her finger along the bows, feeling the silver under her. Most are longbows, recurve bows. A few are reflex bows.
For all her inability to use a bow at camp, Andromeda had greedily studied the ones the Apollo cabin used. She had so wanted to use one someday.
There is a recurve bow that sings under her hand. Bianca, next to her, is holding a long bow. The quivers are on their backs, a solid weight, bags now back in their hands.
Zoë is still smiling, still soft, so not how she’d acted with Thalia. And oh god, Thalia was not going to be pleased, Andromeda knew for sure.
More than likely, from what she knew of the girl, from all the stories Annabeth had told her, Grover too, from what she had seen just recently, Thalia would lash out.
Andromeda was…not looking forward to something like that. Zoë must sense it somehow, face flickering to this worry. She reaches for the back of Andromeda's neck, pressing their foreheads together.
Zoë smells of forest and cypress. Of wolf, of apple. Of the dawn, if the dawn could have scent.
“Sister,” Zoë says, all affection. Bianca lingers, just watching, unsure of what to do. “If that fool–”
“Thalia, you mean.”
“Sister. Of course, thee may, ah, what is the term used? Hash it out…? With that girl, as is thy right. But thou are ours, now. Thou are family. Pack.”
“Pack?”
“Thou are a Huntress, are thee not? We will stand by thee. Nothing like how those…campers have.” She says it with a wrinkle of her nose, distaste underscoring her voice. “Thou and Bianca are Huntresses. Pack.”
“Pack,” Andromeda says again, reaching blindly for Bianca, who tucks herself up under her arm. Not in a childish way, just in order to be held. “Pack sounds–” She breaks away from Zoë, ducks her head to press her and Bianca's foreheads together. “Pack sounds good.”
Andromeda had never been affectionate like this before. Not with other campers. With her mom, perhaps, but not with other campers.
Bianca smells of cypress, of wolf, of mint.
She has a family. She has Sally, she has the Hunters.
Andromeda was 12, with the weight of the world on her back. Was 13, with the survival of camp upon her shoulders. Was 12, ostracized by camp. Was 13, on an unauthorized quest. 13, when Thalia came back. 13, when the camp, for the rest of summer, decided that she was not worthy, perhaps, of being included, of being–
Of being a camper, for Thalia was there now, for Thalia was the daughter of the great Zeus Basileus. As if Andromeda was not the daughter of Poseidon Asphalius.
She is brought back from her thoughts, for Bianca has pulled away.
They both needed to talk to family. Andromeda more so than Bianca, if only because Thalia would take longer for an explanation.
Her mom, she was sure, would accept this change. Andromeda knew it in her heart, for Sally Jackson, despite flaws, only wanted the best for her.