Proserpining
So I was reading "The Garden of Proserpine" by Algernon Charles Swinburne, one of my favorite poems. I wanted to include it in a Percy Jackson fic somehow, but I wasn't sure how to just throw Persephone into the mix. So I made some stuff up. Hey, isn't that the point of fanfiction?
So now, here's Proserpining, the ultimate tribute to my dorkiness.
Disclaimer: No matter how violently I wish to be Rick Riordan, it's unfortunately never gonna happen.
Here, where the world is quiet
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing
For harvest-time and mowing
A sleepy world of streams.
Streams.
Percy.
Annabeth spun around in her desk chair yet again. Her place in Olympus was great. She had a view of not only the main road and the Olympians' temple, but, you know, also all of New York far, far below. Everyone treated her with respect, being the architect of the new city and Athena's daughter. She even had the protection of her mother's arch-rival Poseidon, simply because of her relationship with Percy.
But being in Olympus, designing full-time, meant that she was there all the time. Even though she'd been accepted at the same school Percy's stepdad had gotten him into, she'd only lasted the first quarter before plans on Olympus got huge, and she'd been called to stay there until it was finished. Now she had only Daedalus' laptop and her schoolwork for company. (The cover was that she'd contracted some illness, but she still had to show her work when she got back to Manhattan.)
No growth of moor or coppice,
No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale buds of blowing rushes,
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
For dead men deadly wine.
"Annabeth Chase?"
Annabeth looked up to see Mr. D's wife, Ariadne, standing on the other side of her window.
"Yes?" She stood up in surprise, having just been reminded of her husband from the last stanza of the poem she was trying to analyse.
"They would like to see you at the building site, my dear."
"Now?" Annabeth stopped herself from groaning just in time. Her watch showed that it was eleven P.M. down on Earth, and she had been planning on getting some shut-eye after finishing this dumb poem.
Ariadne nodded solemnly, so Annabeth gathered up her blueprints, and then snatched the poem, too. She might as well finish it on the way to the site. Ariadne wordlessly took some of the blueprints Annabeth was juggling, but wouldn't give them back when Annabeth insisted. She liked that about Ariadne. She was beginning to like her very much.
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Annabeth sighed again at the mention of water. She'd never been a clingy person, definitely not, but… it had been a really long time since she'd been with Percy. Or any of her friends from camp, for that matter. And now something was nagging, at the back of her mind… this poem seemed really familiar.
"What is it, dear?" Ariadne asked in response to Annabeth's sigh.
Annabeth decided to tell her the latter worry, rather than the former. Knowing Ariadne, she'd blab it all to Aphrodite. Good intentions, but still. "I'm just frustrated by this poem. 'The Garden of Proserpine'. I feel like I know it from somewhere."
Ariadne smiled, like Annabeth wasn't getting the joke. "What?" Annabeth demanded, then cringed inwardly. She'd been getting too comfortable with the gods lately.
Ariadne didn't notice. "Dear, Proserpine is the Roman name for Persephone. That's why it seems familiar."
Annabeth groaned. "I hate the Romans. Why would you guys need different names in the first place?" The path sloped downward; they were nearing the building site. "We didn't rename you guys when you moved to America!"
"Unfortunately, my dear, your countrymen only seem to think of us as a diverting cultural myth," Ariadne remarked. "Luckily the gods are far too self-absorbed to lose faith in themselves – but don't tell Zeus I said that." The two laughed lightly, but eyed the sky for lightning just the same. "But I sense something else," Ariadne continued, looking at Annabeth curiously. "You are not telling me all that is troubling you."
Annabeth's eyes rolled of their own accord. "It's just Percy," she mumbled off-handedly, though her stomach flipped at actually talking about him instead of just thinking of him.
"You miss your love," Ariadne stated. The building site came into view: a huge arch right at the entrance to Olympus, towering over the Empire State elevator. Carved into it were heroic scenes of the half-bloods saving the home of the gods; half of them detailed Percy. He'd kind of dominated all the major events of the battle. Behind the arch, a bronze plate shone. It would be imprinted, relief-style, with a towering image of Luke Castellan plunging the knife into his own arm, finally destroying Kronos. Cyclopes hammered on the bronze from behind, and Tyson stood in front of the whole deal, chatting with someone who looked to be about Annabeth's age and height.
"I know how it is to feel that pain," Ariadne continued, but Annabeth wasn't listening. The human had just turned around, green eyes sparkling and a huge smile lighting up his face. Annabeth turned to Ariadne, to ask permission to leave her and join Percy, but she didn't need to. Ariadne's face lit up in an identical grin to Percy's, and she motioned for Annabeth to go.
"You planned this, didn't you?" Annabeth asked before leaving.
Ariadne slyly drawled, "I may indeed have had something to do with it."
Annabeth threw her arms around the woman and flew down the hill, leaving the poem in the dust where she had been standing.
Could've continued, but I didn't know how to end it any other way. Well, I tried, but it was gross.
Thoughts on how I did?