Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Olympians? Not mine—but a guy can dream.
Quite honestly, I thought that the Ogygia scene was the best part of The Battle of the Labyrinth, and one of the better portions of the series. Just the air of tragic romance and ill-fated love pulled me in.
Even though I'm an avid Percabeth shipper, I just felt that this oneshot had to be done. I think a (blasphemous) part of me actually prefers Percalypso. Much better than Prachel. Rachel's an interesting and fun character on her own, but with Percy...eh.
Flowers belong specifically to the species anemone coronaria. Review at the end, please.
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Her Anemones
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It was night, and we were in the garden again. The golden light of the moon trickled down from above, and the sound of the lake lapping against the shore filled my ears. Even on its purple surface, I could make out the reflection of the stars winking back at me.
The wind was blowing softly, moving the flowers back and forth in a steady rhythm. It was peaceful, like this, in the garden. It was something I'd noticed over the past few...days? Had it been days already? I wasn't really sure. I could never keep track of the time I spent with Calypso.
It was always...different, watching her tend to her garden. Sometimes I felt like I could just sit there for hours and be happy spending time with her. I wasn't sure why. But when she smiled at me, I felt all warm and giddy inside.
Calypso sighed a little and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Percy?" she said, and her voice jarred me out of my thoughts. "Can you hand me that spade?"
I looked behind me, felt around in the thick grass with my hands until my fingers closed around the wooden handle. "This?" I asked, and Calypso nodded.
I stood up and immediately felt the wave of vertigo roll over me. My legs still felt wobbly, and my head would still take off spinning like an ice-skater. I guess I was still too weak from my battle at St. Helens.
I stumbled a little in the meadow until a pair of hands caught me by my arms, steadied me gently and helped me to sit down again.
"I'm sorry," Calypso said, and she bit her lip to show that she meant it. "I shouldn't have asked you to get it. I don't want you to overexert yourself."
I smiled convincingly, even though I still felt dizzy. "Nah, no problem. Gardening? Heroes do this kinda stuff all the time."
She hid the corners of her mouth behind the back of her hand as she laughed. "Right. Because monsters are nothing compared to gardening tools."
I couldn't help but laugh a little, too. It did sound pretty silly.
So we sat there for a while, just appreciating the moon and the stars as the night stretched on, beautiful and peaceful. And then, after a while, Calypso picked up the spade and started tending to the moonlace again.
She cupped the tiny silver buds in her hands and laid them gently in the soil, and then patted the dirt around the roots. The whole time, her face was set in tender determination, and a bit of her tongue stuck out from the corner of her mouth. She always looked cuter when she cared for a flowers—I could never figure out why.
"I know I've said it before, but they really are beautiful." The words had just sort of tumbled out of my mouth. I hadn't meant for her to hear them.
Calypso looked up. "What are?"
Your eyes. "Your flowers." Yeah, as if I could say that without making things awkward.
Calypso smiled softly, and I felt my heart jump a little, like maybe a kangaroo or a centaur had kicked me in the chest. "Well, I'm certainly glad you think so. Moonlaces are rather hard to grow."
I shook my head. "Not just the moonlace. All of it. Every flower in your garden is incredible. It's like...like they're all on magic feed." I tried to get up again, waited a little for the nausea to pass, and then started to walk around the meadow.
I touched the freesias, sniffed a few of the honeysuckles. I knew if Clarisse ever found out about me smelling flowers she'd never let me forget how girly it was, but I didn't really care. I couldn't think anything bad about the roses, or the lilies or orchids—they were all too amazing to make me think of anything else. Even the...
"Hey, what are these?" I paused to stoop down by a patch of flowers I hadn't seen before, almost hidden in the shadow of one of the garden's gnarled oak trees. Their blooms were wide and their petals red, thick and heavy with the color. The centers were a dark, almost sad purple, nearly black. But it only made them look more stunning in the moonlight.
"Oh. Those." Calypso came up behind me. "Those are anemones."
"Anemones," I repeated. I tried the word in my mouth. It sounded funny. But still...the flowers were nice. I cupped one of them in my hands and thumbed the petals. "They look a little like roses. Actually, I think...I think they might be even more beautiful than the moonlaces."
"More beautiful...than the moonlaces?" The sound of her voice made it sound like she was far off, lost in thought. "Well, I suppose they are very pretty."
"Do they mean anything?" I was still looking at the anemone, still breathing in its scent. But Calypso wasn't answering me. I turned around to look at her.
She was fidgeting with the hairs of her braid, her eyes turned toward the ground. Her toes were rubbing into the grass nervously.
"What's wrong? Did I say something—?"
"No, Percy, it's nothing like that," she told me. But she wouldn't look me in the eyes. "It's just...sometimes, even the nicest flowers do not have the nicest meanings."
I frowned. "I don't understand. You mean the anemones? What could be so bad about—?"
"They stand for dying hope."
I could hear the rustle of the flowers, all of them, as the breeze swept though the meadow. It was almost like the night—the sky, the stars, everything—had held its breath just to hear her.
"Oh," I said. Which sounded pretty stupid. I tried to wrap my head around that, tried to understand why she'd have something so sad in her garden. Did it have something to do with her punishment? Was that it?
"Calypso," I started. "If they're so sad, why would you—?"
"Are you hungry, my brave one?" Even though her words were soft, gentle, they still cut off my question. She looked at me, her almond eyes teary, and I could see the reluctance and hesitation in them again. She gave me a watery smile as a tear strolled down her cheek. Just the thought of her crying broke my heart open; I felt like I wanted to reach out and brush the tears away.
But she wiped them away with the palm of her hand and didn't say a word about them.
"But..." Her face tightened again as I said it. I didn't want to push her, I didn't want to hurt her at all. So I did what I thought was best: I let it go. "Y-yeah."
"Yes, I am, too," she said, but her voice was still thick with tears. "All this talk of flowers has left me surprisingly famished. Dinner should be down by the beach now. Come on, little hero."
And she took my hand and led me from her garden and to the shore. Fleetingly, I wondered just what about the anemones could have made her so sad.