Jack, not Jackson

Chapter 3: Earning a Name.

Centuries passed as he spent more time mourning then a normal person has to live, wandering from place to place. Fighting battles and helping as was his nature.
But one essential, very Percy-like aspect was gone.
.
The personal, in Personal loyalty.

Over this time, Percy had seldom spoken, though he had found a talent for speaking and understanding languages. He's spent so much time in his head, no one dead or alive knew his name.

Percy had withdrawn from the world, and his powers had done the same. The times he had to intervene in a battle, war, fight, or skirmish he tried to avoid his powers but if push came to shove and a life was at risk of being lost. Percy would hold nothing back.

The first time this happened after being spat out of the vortex, Percy was miffed to find that any water he tried to control would become ice. Unless he thought about it staying in its liquid form, any liquid he controlled would freeze.

True, that this made for convenient travels, not having to look for a bridge or a boat to cross a body of water.
it also worried him. Or at least, Percy registered that it should, worry him.

Time faded around him and he alone stayed constant, as nothing in life should. His circumstances had turned him into ice, a solid form of what he once was, and it had shattered him.

Of all the fates that decreed his blood be spilled, he had never thought he'd be the one left mourning.
About 50 years into his exile, a war began. Percy threw himself to the front lines, desperate for anything remotely similar to his old life.

He fought with grace, and cold indifference. Slicing cutting and stabbing with a mix of all the styles and techniques he'd begun picking up without realizing it.

He killed demons and was revered and admired for it. Given titles and command. No one seemed to notice that the demon he was trying to kill was inside himself.

Rumors surrounded him. Followed him like a cape of honor and horror in equal measures.
"I heard any battles that break out and last more then two sunrises, an' he'll show up."
"Aye, I heard the same thing. Silent as death and just as likely to be there." "Just as likely to kill ya mean."

That was how he got his name. Jack was all he had given them but Frost was a name that was earned. It would show up on every battlefield he did. Frost. Every night the grass and earth would freeze.
As he had frozen.

The question was, if the frost on the grass melted, would he?