•
January 17th, 1776
Annabeth was acting strangely.
Percy had been noticing it for days now, and though he asked her about it numerous times, she kept denying it. Every time he tried to talk to her, she'd ignore him, or change the subject, or start talking to someone else. She was obviously upset with him, or with something he'd done or said. Percy honestly didn't know. But after a week of a silent, unspoken war, Percy had had enough.
"What the hell is the matter, Annabeth?" he burst one day, storming into the sitting room.
Annabeth reared back in shock, putting down the book she had been reading by the fire. "What do you mean?"
"I mean why have you been distant and cold the past week? Why we haven't been talking? And why do you keep acting like everything is bloody brilliant even though it's obviously not? Annabeth, I want to know what's the matter."
Annabeth sighed. "I told you, Percy. I'm just tired."
He sat down next to her. "Annabeth, I know you, alright? I've seen you tired, exhausted, weary beyond belief. And while you might be tired, you're also upset about something, and I want to know what."
She didn't look at him.
"Annabeth," he begged. "Remember Christmas? Remember what we said to each other?"
"We said—I said I wanted to marry you," Annabeth said quietly.
"Yes. You did, and I did, and that's not something I want to take back. But we're together, we're courting, and if something's bothering you, then I want you to be able to tell me. I want to be able to talk to you about anything, and I want you to feel like you can tell me whatever you need to."
She still didn't say anything, staring at the flickering fire in the grate.
Percy stood up, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry for barging in here like that, I was just frustrated. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but Annabeth. I'm here. You know I am."
He turned to leave, but Annabeth grabbed his hand. "Wait," she said, reluctant.
Percy sat back down on the sofa. "Yes?"
"I've been—I've been thinking," she admitted. "Christmas—it was wonderful, and I had an amazing time, but it feels almost like a dream or something, now that everything is back to real life."
Percy's heart sped up a bit. "So… do you regret what we said to each other?" he asked carefully, dreading the answer. "Should I—"
"No, Percy," Annabeth exclaimed, taking his hands. "Of course not. I still want to marry you, and—get out of Boston and live somewhere in the country, and have children with you, and grow old together. Percy, there's so much in life that I want with you, and I don't want to give that up. Not for anything."
Percy breathed a sigh of relief. "So what has been bothering you? Why have you been acting so strangely?"
"You just didn't let me finish," she chided gently. "Like I said, Christmas was wonderful, but it felt like a dream, and now we're back to reality. Last week, when Luke and Thalia came over for supper…"
"So that's what this is about," Percy realized. "I should have known."
Last week's dinner with the Castellans had not been wonderful, to say the least.
It had started out all right—Mr. Chase, Luke, and Percy all discussing various topics as Thalia made the twins laugh and Annabeth and Mrs. Chase contributed to both conversations. Laughter rang freely and conversation flowed easily, until the topic of the war inevitably came up.
"Percy, you called him an idiot in front of my father," Annabeth told him, bringing him back to the present. "Luke is one of our oldest friends—one of my closest friends. He's practically family. Your words and actions were rude and disrespectful, not to mention ridiculous."
"He said that the war would be over in a few months because the Patriots do not have enough supplies and men to back the cause," Percy argued, pulling his hands out from hers almost violently. "And as we both know, it will not. The Patriot cause is growing rapidly day by day as the injustices England does to the colonies multiply. Anyone who believes that the war will be over quickly and that this will all be smoothed over in a few months truly is an idiot."
Annabeth let her hands fall back to her lap, her eyes sad. "I know that, and you know that. But Percy—I've been a part of this war for almost two years now, and you for even longer. We've seen the battles, we've seen the carnage and death. Luke hasn't. In fact, most people haven't. But they've seen the results of the war—the harbor being blockaded, the wall at the Neck, the soldiers quartering throughout Boston, the diminishing supplies, the deserters…" her voice trembled, and Percy knew she was remembering Leo. "…the deserters being shot in the square.
"So do you blame them? Do you blame them for hoping, for praying that this war will be over soon? They don't know that it will not be over soon, and they have been suffering through it for years now. Luke hopes that the war will be over soon, without any more bloodshed." Annabeth's eyes were fierce, boring into him. "So do not call him an idiot—do not believe that he is a fool for praying that a war that has already affected us will stop soon."
Percy was stunned. "I—I didn't know you felt that way," he said. "I apologize. And looking back—calling him an idiot at the dinner table with your parents was probably not the most polite option."
She smiled a little bit. "Probably not." Her grey eyes studied him. "But that wasn't the only reason I've been upset."
"What else is it?"
"I don't think you just called Luke an idiot because of what he thinks about the war. I think you called Luke an idiot because you don't like him, and you're taking it out by insulting his opinions in a rude, brash way."
"What?" Percy blanched. "This isn't about me liking or disliking him, Annabeth. 'Tis about that fact that I don't trust him."
Annabeth spread her hands. "Why, Percy? What reason has he ever given you not to trust him?"
"He's just never—he's never felt right to me," Percy admitted.
"That's ridiculous. You don't trust him because you were jealous of him at one time, and for some reason your petty envy has grown into bitterness against him."
"No!" Percy exclaimed. "I'll admit, I was jealous before you and I were courting and he was always around, or you were spending time with him, but. I know better now. He's married, and he clearly loves Thalia very much."
"But he loves me too," Annabeth says gently. "Not romantically, but in a sisterly way. I look to him as an older brother of sorts, sometimes even as a father figure. And because of that, I need you to get along with him. Or at least try, for my sake."
"I have been trying," Percy muttered petulantly.
Annabeth half-sighed, half-laughed as she stood up, patting him on the cheek. "Try harder, love," she said before leaving the room in a sweeping of skirts.
Percy watched her go, knowing what he had to do.
•
"What the hell are you doing here, Jackson?" Luke barked, opening the door just a crack and nearly slamming it shut again at the sight of Percy on his doorstep.
Percy swallowed. "I'm here to apologize."
"For what?" Luke scoffs. "Insulting me at the Chase household or for not trusting me for as long as we've known each other?"
"Both," Percy admitted. "I guess—I didn't realize it until Annabeth told me, but. I've been jealous of you because you and Annabeth always had that special bond from growing up together and being friends for so long…"
"…and you didn't," Luke finished. "I know. And I would have apologized, or explained to you that Annabeth and I were never anything other than friends—more like siblings, honestly—but you seemed to hate me from the beginning, and I was just never able to."
"I know. And that's my fault and I take full responsibility for it, but I'm here now—like I said—to apologize." Percy took a deep breath. "I am sorry for being jealous and bitter towards you, and I'm sorry for insulting you last week at dinner."
Luke's chiseled expression softened. "I forgive you."
Percy nodded, and they stood there in a brief awkward silence before Luke opened the door a little wider. "Why don't you come in? You and Thalia are friends, and we were just about to eat our supper. You can join us." His voice was strained, and Percy knew it would take time, but it was a start.
He let a smile cross his face. "I would enjoy that," he said, and stepped inside.
It was just a small step, but it was in the right direction.
•
January 24th, 1776
"Do you have to go?" Annabeth murmured.
"You know I do, Annabeth," he said, brushing back a curl from her face. "I have to go to the camp to give Major Pitcairn an update about what we've been doing. It's been weeks since I last went, and he might be starting to get impatient."
"But shouldn't I go with you?"
"Annabeth, it looks as though it might snow any moment," Percy said.
"And that's exactly why I don't want you going!" Annabeth exclaimed. "Couldn't you wait just a few days until the weather clears up?"
"I just need to get it done," he said, more gently. "I promise I'll be back soon, alright?"
"Try to be home by supper," Annabeth fretted, glancing worriedly out the window. It wasn't snowing, but the thick layer of angry grey clouds covering the sky were unsettling.
"I will," he promised, kissing her on the forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered. "Be safe."
Percy winked at her as he shrugged on his heavy coat. "You won't even know I was gone." He opened the door and shivered at the bitterly cold wind that immediately assaulted him.
After getting Blackjack from the stables, he climbed on and headed out into the street, Blackjack's hooves echoing on the icy cobblestones. Glancing back, he saw Annabeth still standing at the window, watching him go, and he waved in farewell.
She mouthed something to him, but he couldn't make it out, so he smiled at her one last time before wheeling Blackjack around and trotting down the deserted street. No one was out in the bitter cold; most reasonable people were huddled next to their fireplaces, away from the unforgiving winter wind outside.
The ride to the camp seemed even longer than normal; more than once, Percy had to get off Blackjack and jump on the side of the road, beating his shoulders with his hands to get the blood moving.
"Annabeth was right," he admitted to Blackjack at one point, his breath sending puffs of white into the frozen air. "We should have waited."
He was too close to the camp to turn back now, though, so he continued on, Blackjack's high-pitched whinny echoing in the miles of open, frozen fields.
Finally he reached the camp, heading straight to the Major's tent. Inside he found numerous soldiers crowding around a small fire, huddled in blankets and playing cards. Major Pitcairn himself was sitting at his desk, wrapping in a fur coat and writing furiously.
He looked up when Percy entered. "Officer Jackson! A pleasure. I was wondering when you would turn up here."
"I apologize for my absence, sir," Percy said smoothly. "I have been busy in Boston these past few weeks, and 'tis been so cold—"
"No matter," the major said, brushing aside Percy's apology. "Boys, get out. I have private matters to discuss with the officer."
Grumbling, the soldiers left the tent.
"So how are things in Boston?" Major Pitcairn asked as Percy took off his thick woolen mittens—a Christmas present from Mrs. Chase, one that he had been very grateful for the past few wintery months—and warmed his hands over the fire.
"It has been relatively quiet, since most people have been inside due to the cold," Percy told the major. "However, supplies are getting low, despite the donations from the other colonies still coming through the Neck."
The major nodded, looking concerned. "I would hate for any families or children to suffer because of the winter and food shortages."
Percy bit his tongue, but he wanted to shout to the major—then end this war. Use your influence with General Gage, with the king himself, to stop this idiotic blockage and end the bloodshed. Besides, he knew it would do no good, even if he did say it.
"Is there anything else?" the major asked, bringing Percy back to the conversation.
"Yes, sir. If anything of interest happens, I will be sure to notify you immediately," Percy said.
The major nodded distractedly. "Thank you, Officer Jackson." He followed Percy toward the exit the tent. Already fat snowflakes have begun swirling down from the angry grey sky, and he wind has picked up. "You might want to stay here at the camp until the storm has passed," Major Pitcairn advised.
Percy shook his head, thinking of his promise to Annabeth. "Thank you for the offer, sir, but I should get back to town."
The major pressed his lips together worriedly. "Alright, I will not stop you. Be careful."
Percy nodded in thanks as he mounted Blackjack and wheeled the horse around. "Yes sir. Thank you sir." He trotted out of the camp, shivering and praying that he would get to town quickly.
It was less than five minutes later that he realized how foolish he had been. The storm had picked up, snow swirling angrily around him and stinging whatever skin was uncovered. Percy held up his arm, trying to see, but the snow got in his eyes and nose. The world was a blur of white, and he could barely see the road. But he kept riding.
Suddenly, Blackjack stumbled in the deep snow, and Percy hopped off, only to realize they weren't on the road anymore. Somehow in the blinding storm, they had gotten off track, and he had no idea which way the road was, and where to turn.
He had no choice. They could only stop, or freeze to death as he and Blackjack stumbled aimlessly through the world of swirling white.
Percy dropped to his knees and began digging clumsily through the deep snow. The effort warmed him up, and his fingers and toes began to tingle a little, alerting him to how numb they had been before.
After what seemed like hours—but maybe it was only minutes, time was meaningless in this endless world of white and cold—he had dug out a cave in the snow, big enough for him and Blackjack. It took a little convincing to get the horse inside the makeshift shelter, but finally they were both inside.
Percy took off Blackjack's saddle and set it snugly against the opening of the cave, cutting off the swirl of wind. He could finally open his eyes again, and the relief from the stinging snow was immense.
He wiggles his fingers and toes, knowing that the rapidly dropping temperatures would soon create frostbite if he wasn't careful. Leaning against Blackjack, Percy tried to think. He had no food, thinking the trip to the camp would only be a little while, but if he was thirsty he had plenty of snow. He and Blackjack could last maybe a few days in the cave, if they were careful, but—the bitter cold might do them in before that.
And what if no one could find them? Percy had no idea how far from the road they were. Maybe they were in the middle of a field, and the blizzard would have covered their footprints by now. It would be difficult—no, impossible—for anyone to find them, let alone in the midst of the storm.
He would just have to wait out the blizzard. He snuggled against Blackjack, hoping against hope that he could stay alive long enough to outlast the storm, and get home to Annabeth.
Annabeth! His fuzzy mind was immediately awake again. She would be so worried. He had promised her he would be home before supper, and now—
Now there was a chance he would never make it home at all.
It's ironic, Percy thought as his breathing slowed, his body growing more and more weary. We've been fighting the odds of battle, of being double spies, of being children in a war we didn't sign up for. And now I might die because of a stupid storm, because I was an idiot and didn't listen to Annabeth or Major Pitcairn.
But he couldn't keep blaming himself much longer. The numbing cold and his own exhaustion combined grew together until his fluttering eyes closed, and he fell asleep, laying on his horse for warmth and the dim shriek of the blizzard wailing outside their frozen refuge.
•
January 25th, 1776
Annabeth was going out of her mind.
She couldn't believe that it had been less than twenty-four hours when she last saw Percy. Although when he hadn't been back in time, she had been a little worried, but when she saw the storm picking up, she had assumed he had just stayed at the camp overnight. Despite her anxiety, she had forced herself to put it away and hope that Percy had done the smart thing.
But then a few hours after she had woken up, a few officers sent by Major Pitcairn had shown up on the doorstep, inquiring if Percy had made it home safely.
She had nearly broken down right then and there, but she had forced herself to keep up a calm façade in front of the soldiers, in front of her family. Inside the knot of dread and worry was swirling in time to her rapidly pounding heart.
Annabeth told the soldiers that Percy had never made it home, and the soldiers—who were apparently friends of his—were immediately alarmed. They assured her that they would gather a search party and go looking for him, but inside Annabeth was doubtful. The storm was still swirling—not as furiously as the night before, but. The blizzard was definitely not over, and who knew how long it would continue? The human body could only withstand the frigid temperatures and howling winds for so long.
She closed the door on the soldiers and turned around to see the somber faces of her family. Her parents and brothers looked solemn, all of them knowing what would probably happen, and none of them wanting to say it.
"They'll find him," she said fiercely. "They will."
"Of course they will, sweetheart," Mr. Chase said, but Annabeth knew her father, knew his expressions and tones of his voice, and he was lying.
They all knew what was the most likely, and Annabeth couldn't hold up in front of them—those worried, solemn faces of her little brothers, the pitying, sympathetic faces of her father and stepmother—and she fled upstairs, braving the cold that permeated the upper floor of the house to have some privacy.
She fell onto her bed, as though all the strength had left her body at once, and lay there silently. It was as though she couldn't even produce the tears cry. She couldn't betray Percy like that—couldn't cry for him as though he was already dead.
He's alive.
It was a mantra, or maybe a prayer, that she spoke in time to her rapidly beating heart, frantic with worry and doubts.
What if he had strayed from the road? What if he and Blackjack had tried to reach a tavern or other shelter, but had failed? What if he had succumbed to the bitter cold and—
No. He's alive.
What if, what if, what if—
She forced the thoughts from her mind, but the remains still lingered.
She began to think of what would happen if she lost him. Logically, she had gone through this before—she had explored every option. Him being killed or seriously injured in a battle, him having to go back to England, him being captured by minutemen or overly-zealous rebels, him being found out for a double spy and hanged or shot in the public square. She had thought through anything that could happen, though about how she would react, thought about what she would have to do, and despite all that—knowing that she wanted to be with him anyway. Despite what could be inevitable heartbreak and loss, despite perhaps being torn apart, whether in life or death.
But not once—not once—had she thought they could be separated, perhaps forever, by a blizzard. By cold, by ice, by the frigid cold that slowed the heart down until it stopped forever, frozen forever in the icy wasteland where no one would find him until the blizzard stopped—
Annabeth glanced down at her hands, and they were shaking so violently that she could barely keep her eyes on them
Percy. Percy. Percy.
Every beat of her heart begged for him to be alive, to be alright.
God, how many times would she have to lose him before the odds caught up to them and he really was gone? Rachel, their own stubbornness, the bullet that nearly cost him his life, and now this—
He's going to be alright.
He's alive.
But the problem was that she didn't know. She didn't know, dammit, and for all she knew Percy could really be dead, skin bloodless and white as the snow around him, vibrant eyes unseeing and glassy and frozen.
Stopped in the prime of his life.
Trembling, she stood up and pulled on her shawl, her coat, a thick scarf over her head, and went downstairs, heading out the door into the blindingly white of the storm.
She was going to find Percy. She was going to get him back.
Nothing was going to stop her.
•
hey friends! meant to update on saturday and i was gone most of the weekend and forgot. hope you enjoyed this chapter and pls leave a review!
edit: posted this really fast this morning and forgot to mention as always thanks to helena for betaing and correcting all my random mistakes ilyyyy
(also shoutout to bacon6161 for bugging me about updating you're so sweet and literally knowing people want to read this is all the motivation i need)
ok see y'all next week for another chapter hopefully haha
xx wm