Chapter Ten

Something

"Do you know what this is about?" Jason asked the man lined up beside him. They had been asked to gather on deck for an important announcement.

The man shook his head, grimacing at the blonde. Jason moved to question the man to his left, but Octavius's voice rang out across the stage.

"Soldiers," he greeted, his lips pulled into a solemn frown. "I am afraid I have some bad news."

Jason felt his gut twist at the words. His fingers, suddenly hot and moist, began to tremble against the barrel of his weapon. He felt a bead of cold sweat roll down the back of his neck, tucking itself into the fabric of his uniform.

"After speaking with our prisoner," Octavius continued. "I have determined that the Duchess is dead—"

No no no. Jason stood, momentarily stunned by the information. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He had taught her to protect herself—he was supposed to protect her—

"—the prisoner explained to me that the duchess was indeed aboard the ship, however, was promptly killed upon the revelation of her connection to the crown—"

His blood seemed to still in his veins, his stomach twisting unpleasantly as he attempted to make sense of what he was hearing. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be. She had fought so hard, so fucking hard—He had fought so hard—no no no

"—we will be returning to Kriophoros to inform the King and Queen of the atrocities committed and to receive further orders, effective immediately—"

Jason felt nausea creep up his throat. He considered for a moment, that he had saved one of the pirates who had done this to her, who had committed these atrocities. He remembered the distrust that had flashed across her eyes before she'd taken his hand.

"—prepare yourselves, soldiers. We're going home."

Home.

Jason blinked as the soldiers broke formation and marched to their positions.

Home.

His home had long been demolished by pirates. It had been destroyed the second his sister was taken. He had found family in Annabeth. He had found home in Annabeth. Was it still home without her? Was anything?

OoOoO

It was long past midnight when Jason finally arrived at the small entrance to the hold. He had spent hours aimlessly pacing, trying to wrap his head around the news that she was gone. She was his last hope. She was everyone's last hope—and now she was fucking dead.

Jason stormed down the creaky stairs before him, his lips pressed into a thin line. He had to know what had happened to her. He didn't care how disgusting or distasteful it was. He needed to know.

When Jason saw her, she was sitting on the floor, like she always was. Her mouth formed a small bored expression, her eyes adorning the image. Her gaze pricked at his entrance, her orbs widening at the sight before her.

He knew what she was seeing wasn't pleasant. He knew his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodstained. He knew his clothes were dirty and rough. He knew his lips were bitten and swollen—but he also knew Annabeth was dead.

"How did it happen?" Jason asked, pushing back a tremble in his larynx.

"How did what happen?" the brunette replied, furrowing her brows slightly at him.

"How did she die," Jason ground out, taking several long strides towards her.

"Oh," she licked her lips. They were filthy. He wished he hadn't cared—wasn't sure why he did. "She revealed her position as a duchess and our captain who hated royalty forced her to walk the plank."

"So she drowned?" Jason asked blankly after a beat of silence. He felt his knees buckling beneath him, threatening to throw his body to the ground.

"Yes," the pirate nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss," she added in a quiet voice.

"It's not my loss," he muttered, raising his misted eyes to meet hers. "It's everyone's loss."

The pirate was silent in response. Jason felt his fingers curl into fists, his nails picking at his own skin, drawing blood. He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was choking on his own breath, on his own fucking breath. Annabeth had been deprived of air. She had choked. She had fucking choked. He couldn't choke. He couldn't—

"You have no idea what you've done!" Jason exploded suddenly. He watched the brunette jump and reveled in her reaction, in the timid glint in her eyes. "You have no fucking idea! She was going to make a change! She was going—fuck—"

"I'm sorry—"

"I loved her," Jason cried, grabbing the pirate by her elbow and forcing her to her feet. He spotted the bandage he had created for her just a few hours before and felt his toes curl in response. She had seemed so innocent back then. He knew better now. He knew what she was capable of.

"We've all lost people we love," she countered, her temper clearly rising beneath the surface.

"You, pirates, think you can take whatever you want!" Jason snarled. "You kidnap, rape, and pillage innocent townfolk—"

"It's no different from what you do," the brunette hissed. "You and your cavalry ride into towns and take people's wealth! You force them to turn to theft and—and other dishonorable acts just to support their families—"

"The navy does not—"

"Taxation without representation, without fucking benefits or results," she insisted, roughly pulling her limb his grip. "That's theft."

"I loved her," Jason ignored. "She was a fucking sister to me. She was the sister that you couldn't take—but you did. You took her. I promised to protect her, and you took her. You took her and—and I couldn't—"

"I didn't do anything!" the pirate blurted out. "I played no part—"

"Bullshit!" Jason sneered. "What did you do to her? What monstrosities did you force upon her?—" he fought back a sob at the horrid images flying through his mind's eyes. "What the fuck did you do to her? Do you have any idea what she was going to be? What she was going to accomplish? The changes she was going to make? Do you—"

"Grace!" A voice suddenly rang out in the small, dank room.

The blonde turned quickly, finding his general behind him, a dark expression coloring his face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" his superior searched.

"I just wanted to—to know if Annabeth—uh, the duchess—had any last words," he replied, his face still feeling as though it was on fire.

"Well," Octavius suddenly said, turning towards the pirate. "Did she?"

"I—I can't remember," the petite brunette answered softly, her chest rising and falling rapidly from the argument.

"You have your answer," Octavius snapped at Jason. "Now return to your post."

"Yes, sir," Jason nodded. Keeping his head low, he strode towards the stairs but was stopped by his commander's voice.

"And Grace," Octavius added, forcing the boy to turn back around. "Clean yourself up before you do. You're a fucking disgrace to this navy looking like that."

"Yes, sir," Jason agreed, gritting his teeth to bottle the emotion threatening to break him. He continued up the stairs, but before he reached the top he looked behind him. He saw his general slowly stalking towards the young woman. He turned and continued upstairs.

OoOoO

The next morning, Jason woke from a restless sleep. He had spent the night dreaming of the night that had changed his life—the night—but in his dreams, blonde curls had replaced with black locks. He had managed to lose both. He would never forgive himself—could never forgive himself.

Jason sat up, nearly hitting the low ceiling above his hammock. He rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the sleep induced creases. He swung his legs over the raised fabric at the edge of his hammock and was about to jump down when he heard a soldier somewhere behind him speaking conspiratorially. At the tone with which he presented the information, Jason paused his movements, quieting his breathing.

"—disorderly or anything," the male voice informed someone else. "General said she was timid though—never offended anyone—"

Jason frowned, wondering what they could be talking about so secretively.

"They still killed her though," another voice entered the conversation.

"Yeah," the original informant replied. "But that's because they're pirates. They would kill anyone—even if that person begged for their life."

Jason felt his skin prickle at his words. it was clear now. They were speaking of Annabeth, but the story they were telling. He wondered if it were true or only rumored. The descriptions—timid and pleading—seemed to out of character for the young blonde. The Annabeth he knew was never quiet unless strategically so. The Annabeth he knew would have fought to the tooth and nail to ensure her own survival. The Annabeth he knew would not have spared anyone's feeling for the sake of formality, especially not a pirate's. The Annabeth he knew would never—never—had begged for her life.

Jason wanted to continue listening to the odd conversation but knew he had to make his post in a timely fashion. He wondered if the pirate in the hold had given the pirates this information. Would she give him any if he asked? Even after their heated argument the night prior? He hoped so.

Jason jumped from his elevated hammock and landed on the ground with practiced ease. He decided he would visit the ship's prisoner. He needed to hear about Annabeth's death. He needed to know what happened—how she met her end. Any information that might help him find closure would be welcomed.

OoOoO

Piper sat on the dirty floor of the hold, her knees tucked into her chest and her head bent. She didn't look up at the pitter patter of steps above. She didn't blink at when the footsteps grew in volume and surrounded her.

"Did she have any last words?" she heard a voice ask.

The brunette picked up her head, furrowing her brow slightly at the tension so clearly expressed in his tone. He was a rubber band seconds from breaking—she wondered what it would look like, to see him break. Would it be like the night prior? When he'd yelled at her, his voice cracking and straining with emotion? Would he—

"Tell me the truth," he croaked. "Did the duchess have any last words?" He took another step towards her.

The question made her frown deepen. She parted her lips to answer but realized she had nothing to say. She had meticulously memorized the details of the duchess's fake death. She had pictured the tragedy—or miracle depending on one's point of view—frame by frame. She replayed the imaginary event over and over in her head. She had prepared herself to speak of the brutality, barbarity, and cruelty shown. But despite all her preparation, she had not provided for this.

She had never considered that someone aboard this ship might actually care deeply about the duchess. The descriptions she had heard of her depicted a simpering beauty, someone born into wealth and royalty who had known nothing else. Someone who had never a chance to know loss or pain or love.

He loved her.

He had stated it quite clearly last night. He had claimed she was a sister to him. Why hadn't she prepared for a question of sentimentality? Why hadn't she thought he would return? Why hadn't she—

He loved her.

The thought made her pause, a breath inexplicably caught in her throat. It made her fingers twitch and her heart go still. She was a sister to him. She wondered where her sister was, then washed the thought from her head, detesting the abhorrent images that appeared.

"I said," the blonde soldier boomed, "did she have any last words?"

"I—" she bit her lips, considering the man in front of her—except, he wasn't a man. He was a boy forced into the body of a man. His electric blue eyes flashed with strength and pain and anguish and—

Naivete, she realized with a shaky exhale. She wondered what he would want to hear. Perhaps her words could remedy his distress, even if it was momentary. Perhaps, if she could do that, it would be something.

"She said," Piper began slowly, the words sticky and sweet on her tongue. "'Tell them I'm sorry, and tell him I love him."

The boy was silent after her false confession, but she saw his eyes narrow just marginally and knew she had misstepped.

"No," he declared finally. "She didn't say that. She wouldn't have said that. She would have fought until the last second. She would have—she wouldn't have said that."

"I guess she knew her time had come to an end," Piper attempted to fix her mistake, her eyes shooting to the top of the stairs, worried the general might hear of her blunder.

"No," he shook his head. "She would have wanted her last words to be impactful, to be inspiring, to be—to be something."

"Isn't love something?" Piper questioned.

"Yes." His gaze settled on hers, a flash of darkness spreading over his iris. "But it's not enough—not for her—not for Annabeth."

"Perhaps she's never known real love then," Piper murmured, somewhat entranced by the sudden shift in the atmosphere of the room and the fluttering of her lungs at his piercing stare.

"Perhaps," he agreed, blinking before continuing. "Or perhaps, you're lying."

Piper didn't answer.

"You are," he decided, taking yet another step in her direction. He was almost a foot away. She had to strain her neck to look up him from her position on the floor. "You're lying."

"No," she rejected. "I'm not."

"Yes," he insisted, his brows pulling into a frown. "Why are you lying?" he demanded, though the words fell from his mouth like a hushed whisper, an air of confusion accompanying them.

"I'm not," she assured. "I have no reason to lie."

"But you do anyway," he determined. "Tell me why you're lying."

"I'm not lying!" Piper exclaimed forcefully in an attempt to quiet his suspicions, but it seemed it was too late. The doubt had imprinted itself into his brain.

"You don't have to tell me," the blonde soldier told her, his teeth gritted and jaw tensed. "But I'll figure it out one way or another."

Piper rolled her eyes but was otherwise silent.

"Have you eaten?" he prompted suddenly.

"I cannot be bribed," she snapped. "I don't care if you starve me. I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear—whatever that is, anyhow."

"I'm not asking you to tell me what I want to hear," he hissed. "I'm asking you to tell me the truth—the fucking truth."

"I'm telling you the truth," Piper shouted.

He took a large step back at her outburst, a look of surprise flitting across his features. She clapped her mouth shut, inwardly reprimanding herself for losing control. She had no idea what the punishment for insubordination or disobedience was aboard this ship, but she wanted no part of it.

"Fine," the blonde soldier grunted. He spun on his heel and departed, leaving only the buzzing air to remind her of his visit.

She felt her stomach growl and wondered if she should have accepted the food from him. No, he would have expected the truth from her, and if she valued her life, she would keep to the general's plan. Regardless, it was too late now though. Besides, she had gone longer without eating.

Piper laid her head down on the ground, positioning herself so her chained hand was not entirely uncomfortable. She closed her eyes and wished herself to sleep, desiring nothing more than to put this morally confusing ordeal behind her.

She woke within the hour, feeling the chain around her wrist digging into her skin once again. She sighed through gritted teeth, her foggy vision sweeping her surroundings to find a platter of food before her. It wasn't much—bread, smoked meat, and wine—but it was something.

a/n: switching povs again. What can I say, it's a habit I can't seem to break. I'm not really trying that hard tho.

Anyway, sorry this took so long to come out and sorry it's a bit short. It was almost done for the longest time, but I've been working like crazy for the last week so I haven't gotten any time to write until now.

Next one is half written so here's hoping it'll be out faster than this one.

This chapter is dedicated to Fratzy bc she was very supportive of me hypothetically starting a new story.

Also, I have a poll for my next story in my profile. Yes, all the options are lowk trash but like, get with it yall. Trash is me, me is trash.

Go. V o t e. Please.

iCiao!