Wow. Okay. It's been some time. I actually have a real excuse: I had a big competition last week. Yeah, okay, I know you guys don't appreciate my excuses. But I did have a technological problem. It's my dear friend piggyhero who's helping with this. By the way, she's sending out a Tratie fanfic series soon (I hope) so you guys better check it out.

Last excuse. I don't really like this chapter. So it might not turn out very good. Sorry.

Enjoy!

If this really was one of those florid, over-exuberant romance novels, she knew she'd be in a low-cut, overly-brocaded gowns with a parasol-like skirt and waist narrowed to no end. She'd be in those back gardens of mansions, in a cobblestone clearing with a rose arch to the side, and perched on one of those slick marble benches in a circle of manicured grass. Or, if the novelist was particularly torrid, lying in the cool, undisturbed dirt, hair spread out behind her, with the gentleman above her. But she preferred the bench.

Then the gentleman would still be right over her, his body curved around to face hers, because any self-respecting lady wouldn't turn on a bench, but sit facing forward. Otherwise their glamorous skirts wouldn't spread out nicely. The gentleman's wide back would hide both of them, adding to the giddiness of the scandal. Perhaps, if the female character was smart enough to realize this, she could giggle into her fan. His face would be close to hers, their eyes both downcast, and he'd be talking. Whispering, intimately. His breath would kiss her lips, her cheeks. She'd shiver in the night, her pale shoulders so bright they were almost like moonlight.

He might swoop in a kiss then. Or maybe he'd retreat when the time for them to part was up, and bow low, kissing her gloved hand, casting her longing looks as he was brought to his carriage. But one was guaranteed, eventually.

With a ready-to-be engaged pair like them, it would be hardly breaking the rules to kiss on the first outing. Not that he couldn't sneak in a kiss later on, when they were engaged, but by then they might've been holding each other's wrists, bare wrists, or laughing into the skin of each other's necks, or even being out at night together.

This novel was getting long. She'd been planning too much for this fictional girl that stopped having any relation to her, and this man that she'd developed nothing for, beforehand, and certainty didn't know her.

She decided to focus her attention on the real man on her left. On his relaxed, sculptured figure, leaning delicately on the metal rail, hands clasped unthinkingly on the top. Watching the bright horizon.

Just as her eyes traced the angular profile of his face, he turned. His sea-colored eyes found hers. Deep, dark, mysterious, untraceable. "Annabeth," he breathed, and it was like a ray of sunlight broke through a clouded sky, getting reflected over and over in the waves, getting torn up into shards of light. How familiarity between them connected them she didn't know. Well, she could figure it out, but staring into Percy's eyes, she knew that she didn't have to know everything. She'd found that out already, looking at how Percy clearly didn't know everything, but he knew just the perfect mishmash bits of everything, and it was enough.

"Yes?" he asked, softly.

"Nothing. Thank you."

He put his gloved hand on hers. It was warm, heavy. Heavy with more than the weight of the sinews and tendons and muscles on his hand. They'd been different, oh, they have been. Annabeth greeted every servant she saw like a friend, like an equal. She never looked down her nose at anyone. When incriminating feelings towards herself burbled up, she pushed them down, looked elsewhere. She also pushed the rules that once guided her every breath. She never wore the corset unless she had to, relaxed her posture all the time, threw away her bland manners for almost every conversation. Annabeth was cheery and sincere instead. A few people told her they liked it. It was hard, and sometimes she had to listen to Athena lecture her, and she could also do absolutely nothing about Madame Lark's lessons. So, she gritted her teeth and told herself she could get through it. And she did.

Percy didn't say too much, but he did say that he stopped letting his father's ways impact him. That he forgot the pressure as best as possible, and did his work dutifully, but without really taking up the expectations with it. That he changed his behavior with people entirely, and they got to know the real him, even if he had to do it on the dance floor, not behind a couch. Annabeth was banned from any dances with him after that particular episode, but she'd heard plenty from friends.

But there were many things they wondered, still didn't dare say aloud. Could barely understand. Like, for example, bare skin. If they really touched hand-to-hand, it would break rules. But then would they be doing it only for rebelliousness? It was difficult to say. But they shouldn't listen to something as simple as that, right? It would become special to them, tainted or not. But that opened another door: where were they? Now that they were one of those forbidden, scandalous in-the-dark romances, as much as Annabeth hated to think of it that way, there was no way to think of who they were. Were they close enough to be thinking of that something that wasn't even that big of deal? Or were they just in the beginning?

She sighed. Overthinking everything was becoming her most useless talent.

Percy eyed her. "What? Tell me."

"Well, the future, I suppose. For us." Not exactly, but if they sorted that out, it would answer questions.

They'd discussed this a bit already. By a lake, watching the reeds bend and the water rushing merrily. He told her this, between them, wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

His focused stare on her made her blink back into the present. "We don't know, do we?"

"I can't provide the answers, Annabeth."

She traced the even rail. It guarded a small square of flat wood on the sloping ceiling. Just a tiny spot, almost like a waste of materials. It was called a widow's walk. Wives, alone, would trace this spot with their pacing footsteps, watching, waiting, for their husbands to emerge from the surf, from the horizon, from the sun, flaming behind them.

If she had to guess, Percy installed it on this house on a haunch. It saddened her to think of it being used before, and the entire purpose itself. It made her even more melancholy to be standing here with her—well, her Percy.

"I guess I'd… forget any engagement with Rachel, or whoever. I'd only choose you." He took her face in his hands delicately.

She stared up at him. "And I'll shake off all these regulations. For you."

He brought his face close to hers. His lips were near her cheek, both their eyes were adverted away in thought. He swallowed, moistened his lips, cleared his throat.

She stood stock-still, waiting. She could bet everything on what he was going to say. They both knew it. But they had to hear it. And she was so, so scared of hearing it aloud, of hearing those syllables escaping into the air. Because then the mere idea escapes into a thought, something to be considered. She barely dared to realize that. Annabeth was almost trembling underneath his chest.

Percy was silent for a long time.

Then she reached up, touched his arm. Trailed her fingers down lightly. It became some strange sign they both knew, somehow, by touch. Courage.

She swallowed, looked up at the sky. It was a soft, fading, darkening blue. Tears were almost at the corner of her eyes. Because she knew what this would mean.

Percy swallowed too. His moving Adam's apple was in front of Annabeth's chin. "Then it's…"

She took a step forward. So they were chest to chest. He gently moved his mouth to her ear. She pressed in, and there it was. His heartbeat. Thrumming, beating, jumping into her chest. Hers, just as fast, was resonating in him.

Finally. One released breath.

"Marriage."

She relaxed, almost dropped down. His arms went to her elbows. Then he stopped holding her upright. They were just holding each other.

Annabeth waited and picked her words carefully. Then she whispered in his ear, "I can't wait."

-line break-

"Mother." She knocked on the door. That same, stately, olive-carved door. So elegant, so off-putting, so lofty.

Servants in the hallway turned to gawk at her openly. The same well-trained ones, just copycats of the ones in the Palace. They were stopping their work to stare.

She smiled at them quickly, then turned to the door. Listening.

"Come in." That firm, even, still voice.

The servants nodded back at her and disappeared like a flurry, like sheets of paper getting blown into the sky.

She grasped the doorknob unsteadily, then stopped and calmed herself. Then she turned it open and stepped inside.

Athena was as ageless as ever. And so beautiful, like a portrait.

Dark hair, in a smooth, silken bun, pinned and done up with sculpted curls. A smooth porcelain face. Unmarred by a single wrinkle. Red, curved, heart-shaped lips.

Sharp angles, everywhere. Sloping cheekbones. Ridge nose. Fingers, delicate, elegant, beautiful, thin and sharp. Collarbones, like two pale spears lined up. Her whole figure, just a spine and rib cage and hip bone, all edged and padded lightly by cloth.

It still frightened Annabeth. She took a seat, ever so cautious, and realizing she unintentionally didn't wait for her mother to say, "Sit down."

"Good afternoon, Annabeth." Her voice was cool, like small ripples across a calm glass-like pond.

"'Tis good afternoon. Mother." She folded her hands and tried to look at peace.

"What would you like to inquiry about? Or is it to inform me?" Her angled face shifted slightly, adapted into a tinge of irony. Oh, of course, because Athena couldn't be informed by anything. And certainly not by Annabeth.

Her throat felt closed up and bitter. "Not quite, Mother. It's just—"

Her feet got a mind of themselves and stood her up. "I have a lot to say. I really hope you listen."

Athena leaned back slightly. She looked fully amused.

"Why do you treat me like this? Who am I to you, Mother?" Her voice sprang up in volume. Suddenly it was dipping and lifting, riding on the waves of her pouring emotions. She couldn't keep it in. "What am I to you? I may call you mother, but I am never daughter to you. I know you hate guesswork. I know it is sloppy. But I shall still estimate that you just use me!" Her voice rose, almost broke. She closed her eyes, made herself continue. "All these rules, all these expectations, no one is natural at them! And that means we will make mistakes. So, forgive us if we do. Don't push us until we can't keep going. Still, no one deserves them. I cannot fit in them, at all. They suppress whoever I am finding myself out to be. I wasn't designed to be a dull doll, engineered to nod at the right points, curtsy at others. No one was. We were not born like this. We all have true selves, and this is not it. So stop pushing them onto us.

"I can't take them, I'll admit. I know other ladies, ones you dream will be your daughters, can. They love it, they live it. But this will still break them! In ways, inside, that you'll never see. And you might say that's not important, but it is! What happens to the heart is as important as what happens to the brain. And, yes, none of them speak up. They take it to their grave. But as we are here, they matter. It will hurt us all, the best of us, following this mundane string of rules that brings us to nothing, nowhere.

"And worse! The way you are specially treating me. I am your flesh and blood. Your DNA is a copy of mine. Your body has given part of it away, for me. Your mind is the reason I am here, and mine is based on yours. As unlikely as it is. This still doesn't mean anything to you, I know. You have many more offspring. And I am in no position to ask you of anything. So, I supposed I will inform you of something. The pressure, the expectation, the whole way of teaching has not benefitted me. It has made me stumble. And hurt. I cannot bear it, because it was wearied me. My only strength comes from saying this: remove it from all of us. I can break free now, but if you just move it to one person after another, it doesn't change anything. I can't convince you. But I will tell you it has belittled me, made me feel small, like I don't have a mother or a guardian or a protector. That I don't have anyone in your position, in your spot. That when I think back about you, you will just be a blank, empty cement wall. I don't want that, and I know you don't."

Sucking in a breath, she sat down. She studied Athena. Her eyes were a mess of indiscernible emotions. Annabeth hoped she spotted shock, or anything of the type, but it wasn't scrutable. She cleared her throat. "It's just that, Mother, I still respect you. You're a great woman, independent, wise. And also because you're my mother, I know it is my responsibility to do such. In all that you have caused me to learn, I know I can hang onto that. And I want to honor you. But if you command me to do things that will not benefit me, only slowly crush me and everyone around me, I cannot accept. I will not. I apologize."

She tried to look into Athena's eyes, and settled for looking in that direction. "Mother, I don't have much else to say. I won't apologize for this, but over time, I've done exactly the opposite of what you said, and went with the enemy. I didn't mean to, but it happened, regardless of you. Percy is now… close to me. We will leave London soon. I will stay safe, if you're ever wondering. And, well, if you ever want to, I don't know, find me just remember we think alike." The last sentence came out in a rush. She continued that by standing, curtsying, and backing away in a hurry.

But she made herself stop right by the door and look back at Athena. Right into her eyes. They were still dark gray, cold. But softer, a bit. Mostly by the shock, but also by a hint of sadness. She recognized it. The sadness of not being able to express things.

Athena opened her mouth. She said slowly, carefully, "I did not raise you for this. I didn't expect this. You said a lot. You've changed, Annabeth." She paused. "Farewell. Daughter."

Annabeth curtsied one last time. "And you, Mother." She lowered her head, and disappeared out the door.

Outside, in the hallway, she only took two steps before crumpling to the floor. She took a deep breath. It didn't steady her. Her eyes were blurring fast. She felt something breaking inside.

She was barely aware of her surroundings, but she felt servants move around her, stop, surround her, touch her in worry.

Annabeth sucked in another deep breath and looked up at them. "I'm fine."

Annica stared at her. "Really, miss?"

She must've noticed the tremble in her voice. "Really. Or at least, soon."

"Do I need to find Lord Herdwick?" someone asked.

She fought her smile. "No, no, I'm alright." She struggled to get upright, because her legs were bent beneath her in awkward positions. Arms found hers easily and pulled her up.

"Thank you," she told them.

They smiled, nodded at her warmly.

"How was that?" Julia whispered softly.

She looked off at nothing. "I don't know. Fine, I think." Then she shook herself. She was not describing that conversation so blandly. "Hard, but Mother and I are… stable."

The servants gave her matching expressions of shock and dubiousness.

"But are you alright?" Julia reached for her hand.

"Yes, I really am alright. Thank you all." She squeezed Julia's hand, and walked with them to her room.

-line break-

Annabeth never really liked confrontations. But she knew that leaving with millions of loose strings flying behind her was worse than summoning up her small reservoir of courage and facing all the people she didn't dare to talk with.

So, she had to talk around the neighborhood until message reached Luke that she would like a call from him. That was just the complicated rule that society dictated: no lady should be heading to a gentleman's house, so they should be the ones receiving the calls. She didn't know how it was so easy for her to nod to her superiors and jump into a carriage heading to the Herdwick house. Truly, she didn't likely misleading them; she wanted to walk around and do this openly. But she never thought too much about following him, somehow. She knew it was safe-she had a chaperone, and she knew, somehow, a chance was worth taking when she found something so rare.

The overly poetic words nagged at her every step down the staircase. Annabeth was dreading this so much, and she didn't think she would feel any relief, like so many people claimed, to say this. But, I need to, she reminded herself.

So she took the last steps down the polished staircase, her slippers skimming over the waxed marble like butter. Maybe it was the knowledge that she would be gone soon, or just the happy glaze over everything she was finding, but a giddy, surprised gasp escaped her. She never noticed they were so smooth. Our maids do a really good job, she realized. They've dusted, washed, and cleaned every inch of this mansion, every bit where all this happened. She'd been so wrapped up in herself sometimes, she'd never noticed.

And then she caught the eye of Williamson, gazing at her urgently. She'd kept Luke waiting long enough. Annabeth hurried the rest of the way to the door and gestured for the footman to open the door.

He did, and Luke stood outside, looking unsure. "Hello, Annabeth," he said with a nervous smile.

Annabeth watched him, observed his tense shoulders, the corner of his lip secured under his straight, white teeth. He was as nervous as she was. And from the way his hands floated in the air, but not really moving, made him look awkward and stiff.

She swallowed, suddenly meeting a dose of what he must've been thinking. They haven't met in some time, and they were barely making formal chatter that last time either. And from how many society ladies' homes she dragged herself to, in what state, and how inactive she'd been for months, the word that had been passed to Luke must've been befuddling.

Annabeth cleared her throat. "Well, look, hello, Luke. I just want you to know: I haven't—" a breeze blew, moving a strand of hair across her forehead, and she realized she was not doing this out on her doorstep. "Oh, sorry. Look, let's go inside."

She led the way to the back porch, his steps as clipped as hers, and when she closed the thin door behind them, their nervousness was thick enough to fill up the whole room's airspace.

They sat down uncertainly, across from each other. Annabeth shook her head at the maid who knocked and came in with a tray. "Sorry," she mouthed.

And then it was silent. Luke stared at her, but at a point right next to her eyes.

"I want to start with saying: I know the way I asked you to call was rather extravagant, and it's true, I've been doing rather bizarre things recently, but don't expect anything ludicrous right now. I set this up because I haven't been telling you a lot, and I don't want to leave with seeing you and letting you hear this."

She forced herself to look into his eyes. They were clear, sky-blue, as familiar to her as the real sky. Something twisted inside her when she realized she wouldn't be seeing them again. A part of her wanted to change her speech, apologize to Athena, stay in London. Percy would understand. They could continue building their new life here. A whole entire replacement plan was forming in her mind, along with drafts of pleading talks to Athena, but a bitter taste crawled up her throat and they all disappeared. Shame replaced it. She promised Percy. They made a pact to change their lives, and they knew it would have to be different from this.

Iciness brushed at her neck, so similar to the frosty winter night wind. Annabeth would remember that night on her deathbed. And though the cold air racing in and out of her lungs sparked her up, woke up mind up, dusted glitter-like frost into her eyes, and she felt so, so alive. But it wasn't enough. The faintest trace of chains still held at her chest. It couldn't spread fully, and her spirit couldn't fly off into the inky night yet. Despite everything, she knew she hadn't achieved freedom yet.

"Luke, we might've had a strange relationship recently, but I want you to know I do really care about you. You've been one of my greatest companions. There goes a few a day where I don't think about all you and Thalia have done for me and with me while we were children." He watched her carefully. She took a deep breath, and her voice dropped down to a whisper. "But what happened now?"

He shook his head, looked away.

"I'm really sorry, Luke. We've barely breached the topic of marriage, and our future. I know you've thought about it. So have I. And it wasn't hard to imagine, but it didn't feel right. Not always. Not like the future, I thought I'd have. So, I avoided thinking about it too much. But now, the Season's ending. We've been courting for a long time, and we're clearly in the stage where we have to talk this out, or we will never move forward. And I have to lay this out:

"Once, I would've loved to be your wife. But now, so much as changed. I can barely imagine us being that happy family. You've always treated me like a sister, a younger one, and I've always looked to you that way. And maybe we could still form a great family like that, but I know that we can both find something better. Luke, you've achieved so much already. You have a great rank, title, money, everything. You deserve to have that family that suits you, one that fulfills you. I am incapable of that. If you see a need to take care of me your entire life, then what about you? Or anyone else? And how can I handle myself? I'm not a society lady. I simply can't be the role of a woman watched after so much, who spends her life talking to other made-up women. We would both hate our marriage and our relationships after time. And that would be the worst thing that could happen to us."

She grew quiet, leaned back. Waited for him to speak.

Luke still couldn't meet her eyes, except for a second. When he spoke, his voice was rough, quiet, unreadable. "I see that you've figured it all out already." He didn't say it with any spite. Just observationally.

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"This has been horrible between us. I used to look forward to calling you, to meeting up, but the Season has changed us both, am I not wrong? I know you've met that Poseidon man, and if I believed the rumors, you're harboring his gypsy child. I shall not, but I can see with my own eyes that you're brighter with him. That you notice him. And I will accept that. I've changed too." His voice went so quiet she could barely hear anything. "I sometimes feel like nothing is in my control. That's why I watch over you so carefully. Because I don't want you to come to any harm. Because you're my family, the youngest member, my responsibility, and though I obviously don't have any control here, I still want to try." His head drooped down, so low he was facing his knees.

"Luke, I know what that feels like." She reached out, brushed his shoulder faintly. "I grew up like you. Without a family I could depend on. And Athena has been exerting so much on me, too. I can relate to you, and you understand the deepest part of me, but we still don't know. We're going to have to try and deal with it forever, and we won't be able to bring each other up all the time. We're both stuck in the same problem, and if neither of us can solve it, what can we do? Stay trapped, in the middle?"

He let out a soft sound, one she didn't recognize. But it sounded like desperation and frustration and defeat rolled together.

"I know you're finding your way out. We're not stuck. I am."

She kneeled down, right next to him. "I didn't do it alone. I had to have someone pull me out. Percy. But as much as I want to, and as much as I care for you, I can't return. I will get lost again, and I'll be broken down, and by the time I find you, neither of us will be able to find our way out. But I know so many people who can bring you out."

"How?" He was whispering now.

"You'll find them, or they'll come to you, if you let them. Luke, I promise you this, even if I'm not here, don't ever think there isn't going to be someone for you."

"Annabeth," he looked up, "I can't believe you're the one telling me this."

Her mouth quirked up into a faint smile. "I can't either, Luke."

"How are you even smarter than before?"

"It's just something I had to learn recently."

"I'm glad you did."

"I really, really hope you'll listen, Luke."

"I will. Now, tell me, where are you going?"

"The edge of England, the country. I'll be leaving in a week. With Percy."

"Any celebrations, anything? Is nothing going to happen to mark the leaving of Annabeth Chase?" He watched her seriously.

"That's not important." She shrugged self-consciously.

"Yes, because the smartest, more rule-abiding lady in London changed into the most brilliant woman who chased her own dreams." His eyes shone when he watched her.

She was quiet, watching him in surprise. "Thank you, Luke."

He nodded. Then he shifted. "You never answered my question, Annabeth."

A startled laugh slipped out of her lips. He really did know all her childhood habits. If she didn't fully deflect a suggestion, it meant something to her. She thought it over, and said with a small smile, "I'll be having a wedding. Outside this big Olympus Circle. There's a small chapel a short ride away. You-you don't need to come."

He reached out, touched her arm. "Thank you, anyway, for telling me."

She stood up, and her heart ached with the thought of leaving him. He watched her expectantly, knowing what she was going to do.

But then she took a deep breath, and sat down again, in front of him. "We still have time, Luke. Tell me, how has your week been?"

He smiled at her. "Annabeth, we can write each other, you know."

She waved her hand. "Luke, just tell me."

-line break-

This is one of the sneakiest midnight endeavors she'd ever done, not that there were many, and she couldn't stop smiling to herself.

There was the creak of wheels and the rattling of hooves outside, which slowly silenced next to her. A door open, knocked on hers.

She made her way over and carefully opened it.

Percy stood outside, smiling up at her. He beckoned, and they both stepped out onto the asphalt.

"Why are we sneaking around, even?" She said with a laugh. "Everyone should know by now."

"Because I want to," he whispered.

She smiled and stood closer to him. "How was it?"

Percy took her hand. "I wish I had you, but it went okay, I guess."

His eyes glowed softly at night, playing on the lamplight. "You can tell me anything."

He sighed softly. "I'm alright. Poseidon said he'd miss me."

"Was that the nicest thing?"

"Yes." A laugh. "But I'm fine, really. You?"

"I'm on good terms with Luke. I think my mother will-get over it someday."

"I hope so."

"Yeah."

And then they just stood there, under the blurry night, right in between their carriages, comfortable in each other's arms.

Okay, I'm done yay! Sorry, I know it wasn't that good.

And reviews were THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER I LOVED THEM ALL SO MUCH THANK YOU! But it's late and I have to sleep so yeah so sorry can't reply right now.