Hey, here I am. I'm so nervous, this is my first time writing a PJO thing. I'm totally obsessed with the books, read them all thousands of times, daydream about them… They occupy all my waking hours, but I was in that shy phase where I felt embarrassed to even try writing something about them, scared that it would sound lame. But I'm facing my fears, and here it is.

This is a drabble I thought up randomly, after reading a random cool quote, that actually had nothing to do with this at all, but well, it got me inspired. I'm random like that. It happens during TLO, or rather, after TLO. It would something like Annabeth's musings about the war. Or rather someone during the war.

It's just a silly drabble, but I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympians. All of it belongs to Rick Riordan. He's such a great guy. Have anybody seen one of his interviews? He's so nice.

"The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else."

(Umberto Eco)

He was scared. He was so scared in those few days.

You wouldn't see it if you looked.

If you looked at him you'd see the perfect knight in shining armor. A strong and fearless hero, who knew exactly what he was doing, and saved the world as a part time job. You'd think him brave and envy his skills and wish that you could be courageous like him. You wouldn't notice a thing.

But I... I know him better than that.

He was confused, and he was tired, and he was grieving. He was skipping sleeping hours, not eating enough, and he could barely stand up. He was racking his brain for solutions for our problems and doing the thinking all of us were too scared to do. But he was scared too. He was scared to death.

But he wouldn't say it. He didn't dare. He knew that the moment he let it show, the moment somebody saw through his façade... He, our great hero, our prophesized child, leading us into battle and fighting with us in that doomed war... The moment his "brave" mask cracked...

Our already crippled forces would tumble for good. They'd lose faith. The people fighting to stand up again would stop trying. The declared healers would top trying to heal. The defenses would stop defending. The resistance wouldn't resist a second longer.

So he didn't admit it. Even though I could see it. Even though he knew I knew it. He prayed nobody else did, and pretended I didn't. He wouldn't admit under torture.

He shook head to toe and was pale as a ghost, but still he smiled and promised me he wasn't scared of anything.