It took him several days to work up enough courage. The nightmare was still too new, the pain too fresh. If he closed his eyes he could still feel the horror of watching his best friend's body melt into the earth, see the trunk shoot up from the spot where she fell, recoil as roots reached towards him.
Yet today it was oddly peaceful as Luke made the journey up the hill, scrupulously alone, and stood before Thalia's tree.
Briefly he debated whether to sit. Leaning against the great pine, as one might with any other tree, seemed disrespectful. Yes, they'd fallen asleep against each others' shoulders countless times before, but this...this was different. Finally he settled himself cross-legged on the ground and looked up at her in silence.
A magnificent tree, he thought, numb. Tall, straight, strong. This way she would live forever; almost, if not quite. But ever since a terrible Christmas scented with burning needles and his mother's tears, he never had liked pines.
For a long time--Luke didn't know how long--he just sat there, unmoving as the tree before him, staring dumbly at the gnarled bark and curled roots at his feet.
How right that Thalia, with her ferocity to leap into every fray, should protect the camp even after death. How wrong that she never got to experience the safety she died for.
Was she even dead? Was her spirit simply trapped inside the tree? Could she see him? Could she hear him? Had she become a dryad of sorts? Was she trying to get out?
But no, Luke decided. He'd seen her gasp out a last cry with his own eyes, and he'd stayed rooted in the camp instead of rushing forth to help. He sensed that they would never adventure together again.
Even so, he spoke, words hanging on the deathly calm air. "Thalia? Are you there?"
There was no response. Of course there was no response. The forest, silent and still, seemed to mock him.
If Zeus could turn her into a tree, why couldn't he have saved her from death? He was a god. They should be able to do anything. And yet so far it seemed that all the gods had been good for was messing up their children's lives on an Olympian scale. Ending their children's lives. When it came to actually doing anything to help, they were worse than useless.
Then anger cut cleanly through his numbness, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut. "You deserved better than this, Thalia. Better than anything those gods could have given you. Or I could have given you. I'm sorry, I'm--I'm talking to a tree."
A fist, driven into the soft ground. A tear, snaking its way down a scarred cheek. A cry, unheeding of the rumble of thunder that followed. "By Zeus, Thalia, I need you to come back!"
Still the tree watched him.
"I wasn't the only one who promised," he said under his breath. "You promised, too." It isn't family without you.
Footsteps sounded on the hill, and he half-turned, angry, but then a small figure sat down next to him and a small hand slid into his. Blonde curls, storm-grey eyes clouded with pain.
Annabeth.
Family.
"Will we ever see her again?"
Luke wasn't sure how much Annabeth realised. She was a smart kid, he knew that. But here, now, in this life, nothing was what it once was. He could understand why she asked.
He smoothed curls out of her face and let her shoulder lean into his. "Maybe, when the time is right."
They sat there until nightfall with the low rustling of the trees.
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