. Gardens: Hawthorn were popular bushes in the Middle Ages.
. Offices: A chancery or chancellery was a medieval writing office, responsible for the production of official documents, completing official paperwork, and carrying out official duties.
TW: Mentions of rape and assault.
Thirteen Summers and Falls
A lone, still figure sat within a lone, stone chamber and watched as amber and auburn and crimson and copper streaked across the horizon and clawed the sun from the sky. This bedchamber had once been warm when it was flooded with light, but the harsh rays had dispersed hours ago; surrendering to the soft shafts of the moon; and now that the night's shadows filled the chamber, a seeping chill had followed.
Somewhere beyond these windows and walls and rules, a wolf howled on a hill.
Such a forlorn sound, the girl thought, ears prickling at the noise. And such a pretty sound, too. A sound so full of longing and hope and loss. If there was ever the sound of heartbreak, a wolf's howl would be it.
A sharp rap echoed throughout the silent bedchamber, startling the girl from her reverie.
"Enter," the she-child called. She picked up a jeweled comb from the vanity's surface, eager to appear busy.
The princess Athena swept across the threshold, eyeing the scene with a reproving eye.
"Mother," Annabeth said softly, watching the woman's regal reflection through her looking glass.
Inwardly, she steeled herself for a battle.
The bed was made, the floors were polished, the rugs were beaten and the drapes had been dusted, but as Athena spun a slow, critical circle, Annabeth readied herself for the magical findings of wrinkles in the sheets, dust bunnies under the bed, or some other spurious, trivial complaint that her mother could lament over.
Athena glided over to the olive and oak wardrobe, the fur hem of her winter gown kissing the cold floors as she stepped. With bejeweled hands, she opened the doors and began to riffle through Annabeth's garments.
With methodical movements, the she-child combed her curls, quietly waiting for the inevitable interrogation.
"You have yet to make an appearance," Athena said, voice slightly muffled by the wooden barrier.
And here it was.
"I have a headache," Annabeth said simply, knowing nothing was ever simple with her mother.
"A headache?" was the reply.
The girl nodded and contorted her features into those of pain, despite Athena's attention still belonging to her wardrobe's contents.
"Yes. I believe the weather to be at fault. And stress. And perhaps my courses are due," she scowled, still sour over her body's betrayal.
Athena hummed absentmindedly. "I'll have Asclepius brew you some skullcap tea. It works wonders for the pains of the head."
I don't want tea, the girl wanted to protest. I don't want to go! Can't you see that, Mother? Can't you understand?
She knew it mattered little, what flew from her lips. Her lady mother, as wise and intelligent as she was, saw only what she wanted to see, discarding the rest like autumn leaves. And so it mattered little what the young princess felt or wanted to say, for princesses never let their emotions rule them.
Dress after dress was pulled from the wardrobe, mulled over and scrutinized, and inevitably returned to the oaken depths.
"Where is your purple gown?" Athena huffed.
"It ought to be in there," Annabeth said offhandedly. "Why do you seek it?" she added, suddenly suspicious. Her purple dress was one of her best. It would surely be too formal for a Solstice Ball.
"It is vital you look your best," Athena said.
Annabeth crinkled her brow and gestured to the garb that clothed her person — a lovely piece with gold stitching and silver fur trimming. "Is this not suitable?"
Athena whirled around to face her, taking the girl by surprise. "Your presence has been requested, Daughter."
Green eyes and dark hair came to mind and Annabeth's heart thumped a race in her chest. "By whom?"
Athena stared at her closely. "Prince Triton."
Feeling like a fool, Annabeth did her best to mask her disappointment. "Oh."
He couldn't call on you! she scolded herself. He is but a low noble, and you a highborn. We would be dead if they knew.
Then why on earth did he come to your thoughts so swiftly? a cheeky little voice whispered back.
Quick as a whip, Athena saw through her daughter's attempts of masking her inner turmoil. She said, "Oh?" and arched a brow.
"I... thought perhaps it was Malcolm or-or Father," Annabeth muttered. She put down her comb and slumped in her seat.
Athena sighed exasperatedly and put a hand to her temple. "Your brother has been fruitlessly chasing Lady Julia Feingold's skirts for the better part of the evening and your Father is no doubt carelessly stowed away in some dark corner of the castle in the same thoughtless manner he's passed on to all of you."
"Hiding away?" the princess said dully. "Me? Never."
Athena sent her a look of displeasure. You fool no one, it said.
To atone, Annabeth rose from her seat and made her way to the wardrobe. Inside, she pushed several cloaks aside to reveal the purple dress hanging in the farthest corner.
Wordlessly, the girl slipped out of the garment she was wearing, leaving her in a sea of petticoats and underskirts, and donned the purple gown.
The child watched with an avid fascination as her mother deftly worked the dress's laces in the looking glass. It was said Athena was the finest weaver in all the land, and only one in all her life ever came close to matching her skill. Songs were sung and poems were recited about the nimble fingers of Princess Athena, and watching her mother work the laces with such skill, Annabeth believed them all.
"Do you like it?" Athena asked once she was done. Together they gazed at themselves in the looking glass.
They were spitting images of each other. Everyone said so, and it was true. The years had been kind to Athena. Even after four births, she was still beautiful.
"What matters is that I am presentable for the Prince," Annabeth said monotonously.
For a millisecond, her lady mother looked unsure of herself. "How do you like the prince?"
Annabeth thought for a moment. "He's..." Boring. Snobbish. Cruel. The incident in the labyrinth would never leave her mind for as long as she lived. "Fine, I suppose... I don't really know him."
Athena sagged in relief and it made Annabeth wonder why exactly Triton was asking for her, and what her mother would've done if she knew the truth.
Only the gods knew how dearly the young princess wanted to tell her parents about what had transpired that day. She had gotten so close to telling them that she had even stood outside her mother's chancery, words ready and poised on her lips. But right before she entered she had heard the voice of her mother, and to her horror, the voice of Triton's father.
"She is but a girl!" the king was bellowing. "Do not do this, Athena. She is innocent. Spare her your wrath!"
"She is the priestess of the temple that is standing on my land!" Athena had spat. "She is many things, aye, but innocent is not one of them. Not anymore, you made sure of that!"
Poseidon was silent. And then: "She did not want it. The fault is not hers."
Athena had let out a laugh as sharp and piercing as the claws on her beloved owls. "You should've thought about the consequences before you defiled her in my temple."
"What happened to mercy?" he tried. "Compassion? Empathy?"
"Loosen one nail and the whole barn comes crashing down. Today it's one maiden. Tomorrow it's five. In a week the whole damn kingdom will be expecting their demands to be accommodated, and in three there won't be a kingdom left."
"All you care about is your precious reputation and crown," he hissed.
"No," she fired back. "That is what you care about. Not I. My reputation can take a hit. It will with this decision, and it will recover. I care about my kingdom and the good of the people. I tend to today so I can look to tomorrow and know I have a future to offer them."
There was rustling, then silence.
"This will come back to haunt you," he said with a quiet fury. "Grand Athena, High Athena, protector of women and children and girls. How can you stand there and look me in the eye?"
"I ought to be asking you the same! Kind Poseidon, Generous Poseidon, provider of food and warmth and coin. How many were there? How many did you lure into your trap? Ten? Twenty? Thirty? How many penniless, nameless, worthless bastards run amuck with your blood? How many tortured women freeze at a mere kiss or caress after being hurt by you in the dark?"
"People will talk. If word gets out..."
"If word gets out you'll be fine," she said bitterly. "Your name will take a good beating and your wife will sour some, but you'll manage. You always have. The rumors and whispers will cease eventually and you'll be able to continue as if nothing happened."
For once, Poseidon had no response.
Athena's footsteps came closer as she crossed the room. "If you have trouble with how I rule this realm then I suggest that next time you rape someone on the other side of the border. Until then, stay out of my way and stop wasting my time."
Annabeth couldn't contain the gasp that flew from her lips; she threw her hands over her mouth when she heard how loud it was, yet it was too late.
The door was thrown open, the royals emerged, but the princess had long since fled the scene.
Shortly after Annabeth had heard whispers about a maiden who had been raped in one of Athena's most sacred temples. Some said it was a good for nothing noble. Some said it was the maiden's own father. Only Annabeth, her mother, and a certain king knew the truth.
The maiden's beloved hair had been hacked off and with those same rusty sheers, her face had been shredded into something distorted and utterly unrecognizable. Then she and her two sisters had been banished from the kingdom for eternity... as was commanded by Athena.
"She broke an oath of chastity," some said. "The Princess was right to have banished her. Imagine the chaos if laws were allowed to be broken!"
"The oath wasn't broken willingly," others argued. "Princess Athena should have spared the girl and gone after the assaulter. Imagine her nerve to allow a whole life be ruined for the sake of the law."
The whispers and rumors clawed at the young princess, suffocating and choking her. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't look her mother in the eye for the weeks that followed. Banishing the maiden hadn't been Annabeth's decision to make. She had had no part in it. No say, no weight.
Then why did she feel like there was blood on her hands?
Athena beamed radiantly, pulling Annabeth back to the bedchambers. "You look lovely, dear."
Annabeth mustered a smile. That, she could not deny. Overnight it seemed she had sprung up even more and newly found dips and swells had seized her body in a way that now all her that were dresses had to be altered to accommodate the body of a woman.
"The decorations are exquisite this winter," Athena said casually as she stepped away.
Annabeth did not doubt that the ballroom was grand and beautiful and teeming with life, just as it did every Solstice Ball. She was also certain that it was as loud as a lion's roar, as crowded as a beehive, and as hot as sun-warmed stones, despite the cool December air lapping at the exterior of the castle.
"I know you do not enjoy these parties, but please try to appear in good spirits. If not for my sake then for your own."
Your own? Annabeth made a face.
"Oh, my daughter, you are a high born. A royal. Do you think playing pretend for a few hours here and there is tedious? Try doing so all the time."
Horror flashed across the girl's face and Athena smiled mirthlessly at her perplexed expression. "Such a thing will be expected of you, as it was of me, and as it will of your children one day, so I suggest you get down there and practice now. You will find the prince at the foot of the dais."
With that said she fixed her circlet in the looking glass and strode purposely from the room.
Annabeth stared after her, mind reeling. She never despised being a princess, but she never loved it (she was always being micromanaged, being told what to do, say, think and wear) and there were many moments when she disliked it. This was definitely one of them.
Annabeth scowled but mentally picked herself up. She knew her lady mother was right. As usual. So she might as well stop fighting and just join the party already. The sooner she joins the sooner she'll be able to leave.
The girl checked her reflection one last time in the looking glass. She was a bit pale from the cold and her eyes were duller than usual, but she did have to admit that she was still beautiful.
Plunk.
Plunk.
What the...
Annabeth turned around, scanning her chambers with narrowed eyes. She hadn't bothered to light a fire or ask a servant for assistance before the sun had set. Other than a few meager candles, her bedroom was basked in darkness.
Plunk.
She thought of Poseidon. She thought of the maiden. But mostly, she thought of Athena, and wondered what her verdict would be if her own daughter was defiled.
Plunk.
The worst part wasn't the possibility of something happening in the dark. It was the uncertainty of her mother's support.
Plunk.
Straining her ears, Annabeth closed her eyes. Forced her heart to stop pounding.
Plunk.
Plunk.
There, on the far end of the room, by her bed, it came. Perhaps the balcony, perhaps the windows.
She crossed the chamber, went to the balcony doors, pushed open the glass panes, and glanced down.
She gasped.
There, standing below her in the moonlit courtyard with a fistful of pebbles, was Perseus Jackson.
"You cannot possibly know how long I've been throwing pebbles like a peasant down here," he called up.
"You practically are a peasant," she said without thinking, relief washing over her like a cool waterfall.
Percy laughed out loud. Her own mouth curved slightly in response.
The boy let his last pebble fly. It missed the window by a mile.
"And I can see why you've been down there so long," she added dryly.
He coughed sheepishly and rubbed his neck.
She couldn't make out anything other than his simple silhouette in the vibrant moonlight and she found herself longing to see more of him. A year had passed since the two last spoke in the labyrinth. Surely he had changed a bit, for she knew she certainly had.
"Well?" he was saying. "Are you coming?"
Annabeth cocked her head like a curious little cat. "Where am I going?"
"Down, I should think," he retorted. "Where else is there for you to go?"
"Touché." She pretended to think for a moment. "And where exactly am I going down, to?"
His response was to point to the elaborate royal gardens that sprawled vastly behind the castle. The party was being held in the front left ballroom so they would be safe from prying eyes.
"I shall meet you there," Annabeth said.
He bowed playfully. "I look forward to it."
"Perseus?" Annabeth whispered, parting hawthorn hedges with her fingers.
Her feet had seemed to gain wings when she flew from her chambers, down the corridors, and into the royal gardens, and in her haste she had completely forgotten her cape.
She shivered as a lazy breeze brushed the nape of her neck. While her dress was thick and finely made, it wouldn't keep her warm for very long in the winter cold.
"Perseus?"
She stepped onto the stone floor of a trellis walkway and lifted her eyes to the stars that peaked through the leafy trellis canopy. She inhaled the crisp December air and rubbed her bare hands together.
A rustling came from behind her.
She turned slightly and whispered, "Perseus?"
Nothing.
And then, the warmth of a second body flared against her back, and words were spoken lowly rang in her ear. "I told you to call me Percy."
Annabeth slowly turned to face the stranger. "Percy," she said softly.
"Hi," Percy breathed, drinking her in.
Annabeth grinned. "Hi yourself."
"You're taller," he noted in mock horror.
"So are you."
"Not as tall as you. You could rival a mountain."
She rolled her eyes and then she really looked at him. It was as if someone had taken the boy she had known, short and still soft with baby fat, and sharpened and stretched him into the beginnings of manhood. He was all budding angles, gangly limbs and additional height.
Annabeth blinked. "What the heavens happened to your head?" His hair stretched to nearly his shoulders and laid in a tangled mess.
Percy winced and self consciously swept it up with a ribbon. "It's a long story. Let's just say I lost a bet."
"A bet? I didn't know Percy Jackson betted."
"There's a lot you don't know about Percy Jackson." His smile was a little sad and a little hopeful. "But oh, I have so much to tell you — you wouldn't believe it!"
Annabeth held out her hand, which he took and squeezed. "And I you."
She led him to a reflecting pool that miraculously hadn't frozen over. Together they perched on the edge, just as they did two summers and falls before.
"How fares Tyson?" She almost regretted asking when she saw the thunderous look on his face.
"He wears an eyepatch now. He stays mostly to himself because the other children tease him for it. Every time I see him I am reminded of my urge to strangle the prince with my bare hands."
Annabeth was silent.
"You don't seem surprised," he noted.
"I sent a messenger to the Baron's manor. I wanted to..." to make sure he didn't die. "I felt terrible about everything that happened. He came to the castle at the invite of my family and left with a wound that will last forever."
Percy fell quiet for a good long while and she wondered if she had overstepped the boundaries that seemed to shift and evaporate and materialize between them.
"Are you displeased?"
"No!" He cleared his throat. "No. Uh, why do you ask such a thing?"
"Well, you've gone silent and I don't know what you're thinking."
"I was just... taken aback by your thoughtfulness."
She crossed her arms. "You think I didn't care?"
"No, oh gods no." He looked horrified. "I know you cared, I just... I'm not used to people looking out for me.. me or Tyson. Almost everyone finds him odd and weird and steers clear of him as much they can, and the Baron has never been shy about his disdain for me, which encourages everyone to imitate his behavior. But I know you care. I knew just from how treated Tyson, which was incredibly kind of you. Saying that was daft of me, which isn't that surprising because I do a lot of daft stuff and say a lot of daft things but I apologize even so and I hope—"
"Percy." Annabeth put her hand over his. "I understand. Breathe, for gods sake.
He grinned sheepishly and turned his palm over so that he could lace their fingers together. Annabeth couldn't help but shiver at how warm and fuzzy that simple action made her feel.
The water lapped gently at the sides of the pool and absentmindedly Percy dipped his fingers in.
"Tyson didn't steal the ball. He made it. Aye, he can't spell or write or read, but he's a genius with stone and steel. You should see him in a forge. I bet he could rival a god."
"I would love to his work someday," she said sincerely.
"He would love to show you someday."
A gust of wind kicked up and the she-child shivered as the cold air-kissed her cheeks.
Noticing, Percy asked, "Are you cold?"
She rolled her eyes and said, "No, I shiver like this when I'm warm and comfortable."
He surprised her by sliding off his cloak and slinging it over her shoulders, awkwardly patting her on the back as a finishing touch. As if on instinct, Annabeth inhaled softly. It smelled salty and sweet and just like him.
And then he surprised her once. He put his arm around her. The young princess cackled when he lost his balance and almost toppled into the fountain.
"Better?" he huffed, embarrassment hot on his cheeks.
She smiled gleefully. "Oh, much."
He snorted but made no motion to move his arm. She found she didn't mind at all.
"Enough about me and my depressing life. Tell me about you, oh friend of mine."
"Is that what we are? Friends?" she teased.
Annabeth could practically hear him blushing like a fire. "Oh, just answer the question."
And so she spoke of the challenges she faced when trying to read that seemed to worsen by the day (she hadn't spoken to a soul about this — even her bother, who knew almost everything) and the lineages she was studying which never seemed to end, and the new fighting techniques she was perfecting by using Malcolm as her dummy.
He told her about his own struggles with reading (a battle they seemed to share) and his training in warfare which turned out to be more bearable than he thought, and his first-ever hunt that went better than anyone had expected, and the ebony horse he had found in a thicket that he adopted and named Blackjack.
"Do you know how to read the stars?" she asked when they had exhausted themselves of topics.
He shook his head so she leaned forward and pointed to a spot in the western sky. "That cluster of stars over there is the Huntress. She runs across the sky, shooting arrows out of stars. My aunt taught me how to find her when I was a little girl. First, you look for the bow, then the tips of the arrows, then the Huntress's circlet, and finally the ends of her hair.
"My aunt used to say the Huntress was once a true girl; a nymph of the sunset; a warrior goddess. She tragically died at the hand of her father and has been cursed ever since to hunt the heavens for eternity."
"It sounds like your aunt knew her story quite well," he commented.
A chuckle spilled from Annabeth's throat. "Sometimes I think my aunt knew her personally."
She waited for Percy to respond, but he didn't reply. She snuck a look at him and found him staring at her with an unreadable expression.
"What is it?" she asked. She was uncomfortable with how the way he looked at her. It was making her feel all sorts of peculiar, uncharted things, and she became painfully aware that his arm that was wrapped around her was burning a hole right through her skin.
Percy blinked as if he was coming out of a trance. He gave her the softest of soft smiles. "Is there anything you don't know?"
"Of course not."
He rolled his eyes and poked her. "Honestly."
Annabeth looked down at her lap. "Everything, it sometimes feels."
"I might disagree with that."
"Disagree all you want, it doesn't change a thing."
They chuckled.
"Hey," he said after a while. "I'm really happy to see you."
Annabeth gave him a playful nudge, much like the one he had given her the last time they sat by the water. "As am I."
As they sat there a shooting star streaked a fiery path across the sky.
And if one looked in the correct place at the correct time, they would have to swear it looked as if the Huntress had shot the star from her bow herself.
Fun facts!
1."You were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles" was the first lyric Taylor Swift wrote for Love Story, and it was my inspiration for the balcony scene!
2. The huntress constellation is a nod to Zoë Nightshade and Artemis, of course.
3. The myth of Medusa in Greek Mythology has always bothered me because both Athena and Poseidon are guilty. This is the story in a nutshell: Medusa was a virgin priestess for Athena when she was raped by Poseidon in Athena's most sacred temple. Outraged, Athena turned Medusa's lovely hair into snakes, making her the monster she is so famously known as. Medusa and her two sisters are then shunned and flee into exile where they turn travelers into stone until they are slain by Perseus.
Medusa's rape is usually left out when telling her story, which is a shame because these things need be addressed. Situations like this happen all the time, not just in myths and legends, and people like Poseidon (predators and rapists) and people like Athena (deniers and victim blamers) exist.
I tried to paint both Athena and Poseidon in the wrong. Poseidon might sound like the good guy for advocating for Medusa, but it's really all for self-interest and he has no remorse for his actions, while Athena is worried about her realm and her people, but at the same time is willing to sacrifice an individual for the greater good of her country. Poseidon is obviously at fault because he raped Medusa, but Athena should be held accountable for how she handles it. Both characters clearly have their faults which I tried to highlight briefly.