What Might Have Been (A Songs of War Fanfiction)

Part Seven, Rise or Fall? Chapter Four.

I hate writer's block, I hate school and I hate celery. Not necessarily in that order.

There are a couple Trials of Apollo references in here; I'm checking to see if you guys are paying attention.

Also, you guys are going to screech several times by the end of this. (No pun intended. Anyone see it? No? Okay.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wake up, little dragon."

Abbigail groans, blinks, and wonders why she is being roused at such an early time. It can't be proper morning yet, surely? She opens her eyes to see her mother standing at her bedside. Her arms are crossed, her blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail, her green eyes are sparkling with amusement and there is a smile on her face.

"What-" Abbigail starts to ask, but then she remembers. A wide grin creeps across her face and she sits up. "Is it- Mum, is it-" She can't seem to form a complete sentence. Her mother nods.

"Yep!" she confirms brightly, reaching out to ruffle her daughter's black hair. "My little dragon is eight years old today."

"Rawr!" Abbigail retorts with a grin. "The little dragon is growing up now!" Her mother heads for the door.

"Not too grown up for pancakes, I hope," she teases playfully. "I've got some cooking downstairs." Abbigail smirks, then reaches for a hoodie to pull over her her pajama top.

"Mum, I'll never be too old for pancakes."

******************

When Abbigail clatters down the stairs five minutes later, she is wide awake and bubbling with energy. She wears a light purple hoodie over a white shirt and black jeans – casual clothes, like she wears normal days.

But today is special: it's her eighth birthday.

When she enters the kitchen, her mother is ladling pancakes onto three separate plates. A delicious warm aroma enters Abbigail's nostrils and she grins.

"Well, would you look at that," her father remarks from the table, where he is sitting and reading a paper. His black hair – which she has inherited – is messed up and his grey eyes dance with humour. "There's a little dragon in the kitchen." Abbigail giggles and sits down in a chair across from her father.

"Very funny, Dad." she replies. He grins, then Abbigail's mother sets a plate in front of him.

"Eat." she tells him sternly, though there is a smile on her face. Abbigail's father gives a mock salute.

"Yes, ma'am." he jokes.

"Goof," she shoots back, then places another plate in front of Abbigail. "Wait here, you two." Abbigail's mother walks briskly from the room and Abbigail's father snorts.

"Don't know where else she thinks we would go," he comments. Abbigail grins and takes a bite of her pancake. It's sweet and savoury at the same time – just the way she likes it. "Why are you so happy this morning, little dragon?" her dad asks. Abbigail raises an eyebrow. "Hey, put that back down!" he complains, grinning.

"Make me!" Abbigail shoots back, matching his grin. It's a running joke between the two of them. "And I don't know, guess why I'm so happy." Her father scratches his chin in mock confusion.

"Hm..." he ponders, smiling. "It's the winter solstice, but I don't think you're hyped over a traditional calendar event..." He frowns. "Nope, I can't remember." Abbigail rolls her eyes.