Chapter Text
The golden hue of the setting sun reflected off the placid surface of the lake, casting long shadows on the grounds of Camp Half-Blood. A twelve-year-old Annabeth Chase stood alone at the water’s edge, her fingers nervously twisting one of her obsidian braids. The day's triumph had been dulled by the sudden chill in the air, an omen that something was amiss.
"Annabeth," came the cool, measured voice of Athena. The goddess materialized before her daughter, shrouded in a shimmering silver aegis that seemed to ripple with divine discontent.
"Mother," Annabeth replied, her voice betraying a hint of trepidation as she straightened her posture, bracing herself.
"Your recent actions have caused quite the stir among the Olympians, namely myself," Athena began, her eyes like small furnaces, reflecting neither warmth nor approval.
"Assisting the son of Poseidon... you have overstepped, child."
"Helping Percy wasn't just about him; it was about saving the camp, about doing what was right," Annabeth countered, her loyalty to Percy warring with her innate desire to please her mother.
"Right? His very existence is an affront to the balance, an abomination that should not be aided," Athena declared, her words as sharp as the spear she so often wielded.
Annabeth felt a pang of anguish at the harsh condemnation of Percy, her (newest) friend—the boy who was becoming more to her than she dared admit even to herself. "He's not an abomination," she insisted, her voice firm despite the quiver she fought to suppress.
"Enough!" Athena's voice cracked like thunder, the air around them growing heavy with the weight of impending doom. "You must learn the gravity of your transgressions, Annabeth Chase."
Before Annabeth could react, Athena raised her hand, and a blinding light erupted from her palm. As it enveloped Annabeth, she felt searing pain lance through her body, forcing a cry from her lips that echoed across the still waters.
"Let this curse remind you of the consequences that come from defying the will of the gods." Athena's words were cold and unyielding, leaving no room for reprieve or mercy.
Annabeth collapsed to her knees, the once tranquil lake now a blur through her tears of agony. Despite the intensity of her suffering, she remained unaware of the true depth of the curse's implications—a torment of the heart that would soon eclipse the physical pain that wracked her body.
As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, Athena vanished, leaving Annabeth alone with the twilight and the nascent realization that her life had irrevocably changed. Percy's face flashed in her mind's eye, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness, yet she could not shake the feeling that their paths were destined to be fraught with peril and heartache.
Bound by loyalty, torn by passion, and ensnared by the capricious will of the gods, Annabeth Chase found herself at a crossroads.
The gentle rustling of leaves whispered through the trees as Annabeth stumbled toward the heart of the camp, her mind a tumultuous sea of confusion and pain. She spotted Grover lounging against a gnarled oak, his cloven hooves idly digging into the soft earth. The satyr's keen eyes caught hers, and in them, she found a wellspring of concern.
"Annabeth," Grover said, pushing off from the tree with an agility that belied his placid exterior. "You look... What happened?"
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "Athena," she managed to say. "She was here."
Grover's brow furrowed, and he guided her to sit on a nearby stump. "Tell me everything."
As she recounted the fateful meeting with her mother, Grover listened intently, his expression growing graver by the second. When she finished, a heavy silence fell between them, filled only by the distant calls of naiads by the water's edge.
"Annabeth," Grover began cautiously, "do you remember the story of Calypso's curse?"
"Of course," she replied, a chill running down her spine at the mention of the name. "But what does that have to do with—"
"Think about it," Grover pressed, his voice low. "Calypso was cursed to fall in love with heroes who could never stay. Athena's anger, the pain you felt—it could be a similar curse."
A shudder passed through Annabeth at the implication. Love was a battlefield she had no intention of entering, especially not with Percy of all people.
"Grover, that's insane," she protested, but doubt laced her words. The possibility of a curse that toyed with matters of the heart was too cruel to consider. Besides, that was up Aphrodite’s alley. But Annabeth couldn’t remember doing anything to cross the love deity so she may rule that explanation out.
"Maybe," Grover conceded, "but we can't ignore the signs, Annabeth. Curses from gods, they're..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "They're complicated."
Complicated was an understatement. Annabeth's thoughts spiraled, grappling with the idea that her feelings for Percy might be a weapon fashioned by divine hands—a knife carved from the spite of an angered goddess.
"Hey," Grover said gently, bringing her back from the precipice of her thoughts. "We'll figure this out, okay? You're not alone in this."
Annabeth nodded, grateful for the satyr's unwavering support. Yet, as she let Grover's words wash over her, a part of her rebelled against the concept of the curse. She clung to the hope that her affection for Percy was real and void of romance, born of their shared experiences and not some deity's twisted design.
In the days that followed, Annabeth threw herself into her studies and training with renewed fervor, using every ounce of willpower to bury the burgeoning feelings that threatened to disrupt her carefully structured world. If she could convince herself that the curse was merely another trial to overcome, then perhaps she could wield it as a tool rather than succumb to it as a victim.
Each time Percy laughed, or flashed her a grin that set her heart racing, Annabeth steeled herself against the emotions that bubbled up inside. She told herself it was nothing more than the residue of a godly affliction, a test of her resolve.
Who would have thought that a stupid innocent crush would do so much?
"Distraction leads to weakness," she reminded herself, echoing Athena's oft-spoken words. "Weakness leads to defeat."
But late at night, when the stars blanketed the sky and the rest of the camp slept, Annabeth allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She wondered if there was a sliver of truth within the curse—if maybe, just maybe, her feelings for Percy Jackson were...more than she thought? She doubted it and went to bed.
Despite the passage of two years, she remained steadfast in her determination. On the surface, at least.
The curse her mother had placed on her didn't seem too terrible at first. She found out that a few of her fellow campers had developed crushes on her, though she never reciprocated those feelings. At least now she knew that people were capable of falling in love with her. But, she couldn't help but still question the purpose of her punishment. It was like looking for an elusive puzzle piece.
However, as she reached fourteen, she began to comprehend the long-term effects and how it started to truly affect her. And it was not a comfort.
Annabeth's fingers tightened around the strap of her leather satchel as she watched Percy, his head thrown back in laughter, eyes alight with a spark she knew all too well. Beside him, Rachel Elizabeth Dare tossed her fiery hair and shared in the mirth, her hand casually brushing against his arm.
The sight felt like a silent spear hurled straight into Annabeth's chest, the kind that no armor could repel. Her breath hitched, a reaction that was both involuntary and deeply condemning. This wasn't just a fleeting pang of envy; it was as if a dam within her had been breached, and the waters were rushing in, unbidden and overwhelming.
"Come on, Annabeth," she muttered under her breath, willing her feet to move, to walk away from the uninviting view. But her limbs betrayed her, rooted to the spot beneath the ancient oak tree that had borne witness to countless confessions and heartaches.
"Hey, Annabeth!" Percy's voice cut through the thickening air, pulling her gaze upward. He was waving her over, an easy smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his sea-blue eyes, which held a question she wasn't ready to answer.
"Hey," she managed to reply, her own voice sounding distant to her ears as she approached them. Every step felt like wading through the River Styx, each one threatening to pull her under.
"Rachel was just telling me about this art project she's working on," Percy said, the words casual but laden with an undercurrent that hinted at his awareness of the tension between the two girls.
"Sounds great," Annabeth responded, feigning interest while her mind raced, trying to parse the layers of emotions that threatened to capsize her. It was then, in the midst of her struggle, that the revelation crystallized with painful clarity.
Her feelings for Percy weren't some side effect of Athena's wrath or Calypso's curse. They were raw and real, as tangible as the ground beneath her feet and as relentless as the tides that obeyed her friend's father's call. This was no mere friendship that bound her to Percy Jackson; it was something far more perilous.
"Are you okay, Annabeth?" Percy's concern broke through her reverie, his brow furrowed.
"Fine," she lied, the single word feeling like a boulder in her throat. "Just tired, I guess."
She risked a glance at Rachel, whose perceptive eyes roved over her face, searching, always searching. For a moment, Annabeth envied her curseless existence.
"Maybe you should get some rest," Rachel suggested, not unkindly, but the underlying note of possession in her tone was unmistakable.
"Maybe," Annabeth agreed, though she knew sleep would be an elusive companion this night.
As she excused herself and walked away, the weight of Athena's curse settled upon her like a shroud. The futility of her feelings lay before her, stark and undeniable. To love Percy Jackson might well be her greatest act of defiance against the gods, a path fraught with pain and uncertainty.
But as the moon climbed higher in the sky, bathing the world in silver light, Annabeth couldn't help but wonder if some curses weren't worth bearing.
Time passes and they make it to sixteen.
Annabeth Chase once again finds herself on the edge of the canoe lake, her fingers tracing patterns over the water's surface, which rippled with each disturbance. The sun dipped low, casting an amber glow across Camp Half-Blood and giving the scene an illusion of tranquility that belied the turmoil in Annabeth's chest. Percy was there, a few feet away, skipping stones with an ease that made the simple act look heroic.
At this point, she has long since realised the stipulations of her mother’s hex. The object of her desire will never return her feelings just as calypso’s were always fated to leave her no matter what she felt.
So she would be permanently stuck in what one of her little sisters called “the friend zone.”
Which would have been fine if the only guy she would ever want that way wasn’t the same person that was unknowingly causing her this much emotional grief.
She pieced it together when Percy told her about his trip to the very island that held calypso prisoner.
She watched him from the corner of her eye, her vision blurred by the sting of unshed tears. Percy's laughter reached her ears, mingling with another voice that tightened Annabeth's gut—a voice belonging to Rachel Elizabeth Dare.
For years she had remained in his life. She actually wasn’t so bad and Percy insisted that the two were just friends when teased by other campers. But it didn’t make the sight of them any easier on Annabeth.
"Nice throw!" Rachel cheered, her red hair catching the dying light like flames dancing in the wind.
"Thanks," Percy replied, his grin as wide as the horizon. "You wanna try?"
Every offer he made, every smile he shared with Rachel, felt like a personal affront to Annabeth, a reminder of what she could not have. She knew it was irrational, but Athena's curse had tangled her emotions into knots of jealousy and longing that refused to release their hold.
"Sure," Rachel said, stepping forward to take a stone from Percy. Their hands brushed, a momentary connection, but to Annabeth, it might as well have been an eternity.
"Focus on the flat edge," Percy instructed, demonstrating the flick of the wrist.
Annabeth watched as Rachel followed suit, her stone bouncing twice before sinking into the lake. They laughed together, and a part of Annabeth wanted to join them, to simply be part of that easy camaraderie. But another part, the part shadowed by divine displeasure, held her back.
"Come on, Annabeth, give it a shot!" Percy called out, beckoning her over with a carefree wave.
"Maybe later," she called back, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Percy's expression changed then, the lines of carefree youth giving way to something more serious, more searching. He stepped closer, leaving Rachel at the water's edge, and lowered himself beside Annabeth.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, his sea-blue eyes reflecting concern—a mirror to the depths she found herself drowning in.
"Everything's fine," she lied again, the words feeling heavier than ever.
He nodded, though his brow remained furrowed, a testament to the thoughts churning behind those earnest eyes. "If you ever need to talk, or if something's wrong—"
"I know, Percy. Thank you." Her heart fluttered at his genuine offer of support, but the flutter was edged with steel; the curse's cruel barbs reminding her of boundaries not to be crossed.
"Annabeth," he began, hesitating as he searched for the right words. "I feel like there's this... distance between us. And I don't know why."
She swallowed hard, looking away from him and toward the horizon where the sky met the lake—a place as unreachable as the truth she harbored. "It's nothing you've done, Percy. I promise."
"Then what is it?" His voice was soft, almost lost amidst the rustling leaves and distant chatter of campers.
"Complicated," she whispered, leaving the word to hang between them like a chasm too wide to bridge.
"Complicated," he echoed, a frown creasing his features as he turned the word over in his mind. "Sounds like something we can figure out. Together."
Annabeth's throat tightened at the offer. "Some things aren't meant to be figured out," she said, more harshly than intended.
"Hey, I'm just trying to help," Percy said, hurt flashing across his face before he masked it with a shrug. "We'll talk when you're ready."
As he stood and walked back to Rachel—who waited with a patience Annabeth couldn't muster—the weight of the curse bore down on her once more. She watched as Percy demonstrated another stone-skipping technique, his back to her, a symbol of the growing rift between them.
"Stupid curse," she muttered under her breath, the words dissolving into the cooling evening air.
-
They are on Olympus now, the battle of Manhattan won and behind them.
The marble pillars and grand buildings gleamed in the sunlight, a testament to the power and immortality of the beings who resided there. They were standing at the peak of the world, where the heavens met the earth and the air was charged with the weight of history and the echoes of past battles won and lost.
Annabeth is enamored by the architecture that surrounds her when she hears a voice of authority speak.
"Perseus Jackson."
That is the last thing she hears before she decides to make herself scarce. She wasn’t in the mood to run into her mother.
The voice that sliced through the air held a gravity that seemed to make the very earth beneath his feet more solid. Percy turned, finding Zeus himself standing there, regality personified against the backdrop of an enraged sky.
"Lord Zeus," Percy greeted with a semi-respectful nod, feeling the weight of the god's gaze upon him like a tangible force.
"Your valor in battle has not gone unnoticed," Zeus began, his voice echoing with the power that controlled thunder and lightning. "I offer you a place amongst the stars, immortality—an honor reserved for heroes of the highest order."
The offer hung between them, heavy with the promise of endless days, free from the mortal coil's eventual betrayal. It was the dream of every demigod—to be remembered, to be exalted. And yet, as the words settled into the fibers of his being, Percy felt a resistance building within him.
"Thank you," he started, his voice steady despite the maelstrom of emotions churning inside him. "But I must decline."
"Decline?" Zeus's brow furrowed, a frown creasing the eternally grave face. "Do you understand what is being offered? Do you not desire the glory of eternity?"
"...with all due respect...not really," Percy admitted, his eyes drifting across the hall to where Annabeth stood alone, her silhouette etched against the canvas of the room. "I can't...."
Zeus's expression softened somewhat, a flicker of understanding crossing his features as he followed Percy's line of sight. His godly mask returned, reading the demi-gods's mind he spoke. "You would choose mortality—choose her—over the divinity of the heavens?"
"She's...yes, I would," Percy said, his resolve hardening even as his heart ached with the enormity of his decision. Nothing more needed to be said.
"Very well," Zeus conceded, the sky beginning to clear as if reflecting the god's acceptance of Percy's choice. "Live your mortal life, Perseus Jackson. But remember, the Fates are not always kind, and the path you choose is fraught with peril."
With a final clap of thunder, Zeus dissolved into the ether, leaving Percy alone with the reverberation of his own heartbeat. He walked slowly toward Annabeth, each step a testament to the hope that refused to die within him—a hope that glimmered like starlight against the darkness of uncertainty.
"Hey," he said softly as he approached her, the simple word laced with all the complexities of their shared experiences.
"Hey," Annabeth replied, her eyes meeting his. In them, she saw what could have been the turmoil of her own inner battles—a reflection of his unwavering feelings. Or maybe something else entirely. She dared not let herself hope.
"Zeus offered me immortality," Percy said, watching her carefully for any sign of reaction.
"And?" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible above the rustle of leaves.
"I turned it down," he confessed, noting the way her eyes widened ever so slightly.
Annabeth's lips parted, but no words came out.
He saw an unexpected expression on her face.
She was teetering on the edge of anger.
