Chapter Text
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“But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.”
― Hans Christian Andersen
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Perseus often found himself running barefoot through the woods near his home for several reasons, the least of which being it was the best place to hide from his step-father when the man was in one of his moods. The beach, while Perseus preferred it, was far too open to avoid being spotted, whereas the dense trees and bramble provided ample opportunities to slip away unseen until supper— or sometimes even later, depending on when the man in his home fell asleep.
Today was one such day. His step-father had grown furious about something, or perhaps nothing at all— Perseus had already forgotten, his mind fixed on finding shiny rocks and other bounties the woods offered, hoping to bring home presents for his mother. He wished she would come hide with him in the woods when Gabriel was upset. She never did. She smiled soft, and said grown-ups don’t hide from their problems. Perseus sort of wanted to be a grown up, but for now was glad he was not so he could continue to disappear between trees and avoid things like angry step-fathers. But maybe an arrowhead or a stone made smooth and translucent by time could cheer his mother up— sometimes it seemed as if she wished she wasn’t grown either.
Perseus did not look up as he walked— he knew the way to the pond well, and it helped that the grass beneath his soles was flattened from the repetition of trodding the same path over and over again.
Which was why he did not see the branch until it hit him in the forehead hard and knocked him dizzy. Perseus wobbled back and forth— he was a small boy, even for his age, and branches rarely were low enough to even brush the top of his unruly black hair, so this was an unprecedented slight by nature that hurt his feelings more than his physicality.
He stumbled, then toppled forward over a rock— scraped his hands and knees and treated his trousers his mother had just repaired once more to new exciting rips on the rough stone that bordered the pond.
Perseus felt his eyes sting nearly as much as his palms, the sight of blood greeting him as he scrambled to sit up properly to make sure the small brass astrolabe hanging from his neck was intact, and once he confirmed it had survived the tumble he tucked it beneath his shirt to examine his wounds.
The pond gurgled, the small waterfall and various little streams that fed it obviously in a brighter mood than Perseus. Truthfully, it had been a very difficult day for him, so with the knowledge that the birds and trees would hardly blame him for it, Perseus buried his face against his bloodied knees and began to cry.
“What are you doing?”
A girl’s voice shocked him from his tears, his head jerking up to meet crystal clear gray eyes peeking above the rock he was seated upon, the rest of her seemingly hidden beneath the surface of the water.
“N-nothing.” He rubbed vigorously at his wet cheeks.
The girl frowned. “You were crying.”
“I wasn’t.” Perseus denied, stubbornness creeping into his voice.
“Yes you were. I saw you.” The girl seemed to have her own stubborn streak, her gaze narrowing.
“I don’t cry.” Perseus declared through sniffles, finally allowing his bleary eyes to focus on her.
She couldn’t be older than him, no more than nine, and her long hair was slicked back with water, blonde with near-white strands sticking to her face and shoulders that were just barely visible above the stones. Her skin was pale too, like her irises and her hair— except for the skin that surrounded her eyes, red and raw.
Perseus frowned back at her, “ You were crying.” He repeated her accusation, and the girl seemed just as indignant as he had been.
“I wasn’t.” His own denial was shot back.
“Then why are your eyes red?”
Her fingers lifted to touch them, “Eyes get red when you cry?”
Perseus nodded.
“Hmm.” Her head tilted up at him, “Well yours are too. So you must have been crying!”
“Boys don’t cry.” Perseus knew this was silly as his mother had often assured him tears were for everyone and that he should never be ashamed of big feelings, but in the moment, he was embarrassed and caught unawares.
The girl’s frown depended, “Everyone does.”
“Not me.” He insisted, and the girl pursed her lips.
“Well then… well then girls don’t cry either!”
“Then neither of us were crying, I suppose.” Perseus relented, giving them an out.
The girl looked as if she were to argue, before slowly nodding, “I suppose not.”
They both went quiet, as if suddenly shy now that the crying thing was sorted, before Perseus finally couldn’t fight his curiosity; “Why are you in there?”
Her brows furrowed, “Shouldn’t I be?”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he changed the subject, “Do you live nearby? I haven’t seen you around before— not in classes or town or… there aren’t many houses here.”
“I don’t live in a house,” the girl said slowly, “but I do live nearby.”
Not in a house? Perseus was suddenly intrigued. The only person he knew without a house was the old man with the long beard in town who everyone else avoided, but Perseus knew he secretly had the best stories. Maybe this girl did too. He didn’t know that children could also not have houses. “Do you live in a caravan then? Like… like with a circus? Or the Travelers who come through?” His voice hitched with excitement before dying as the girl shook her head. “Do you live in the trees? Or a cave?”
The girl paused. “I suppose it’s a sort of cave— but not likely the kind you’re thinking.”
Perseus was stumped, and he screwed his nose up in thought, before a thought dawned on him; “Do you… live in this pond?”
The girl looked around. “Not this pond, but one similar. And that’s only sometimes.”
Perseus felt himself puff up with pride at guessing correctly, “Are you visiting then?”
The girl sighed, folding her arms on the stone and resting her chin on them, now melancholy, “I'm stuck.”
“You’re stuck?” Perseus leaned to peer around her, “Do you need me to untangle you? Sometimes fishing nets get washed into here, mother says they’re very dangerous to swimmers.”
“Oh no, I can move around just fine!” To demonstrate, the girl pushed off from the rock and glided back easily. Perseus caught a glint of something shiny beneath the clear water.
“How are you stuck, then?”
The girl glared at the waterfall, “My pond is up there, somewhere. At least I think it is… I got washed down and can’t swim back up.” She huffed, though Perseus could hear the tightness in her small voice and the familiar quiver that indicated tears— tears that neither of them should be able to shed, according to their own declarations.
Knowing how embarrassed he would be if his own lie about crying was revealed, and not wishing a similar fate on the girl, Perseus hurriedly spoke up, “Well why can’t you climb out and walk back?”
“I don’t get legs until I’m seventeen.” The girl lamented.
This was a conundrum, and a bit confusing. “You get legs for a birthday present?”
She nodded, then paused, then shook her head, “It’s not a present, it’s bi-o-lo-gy.” She sounded out the syllables in ‘biology’ slowly, as if she had only recently discovered the word and was still getting used to saying it.
“…like frogs? They don’t have legs until they grow up too.”
The girl paused. “I suppose… yes, very similarly to frogs.”
“Then do you have a tail like baby frogs do?”
The girl kicked up from beneath the water to show off her tail in answer.
Perseus was delighted, and he scrambled to the edge of the rock as the girl began to make her way back towards him, “Wow! It’s… wow!” It wasn’t much like a tadpole tail as he had expected it to be— closer to that of a fish with its fluke and fins.
“It’s alright.” The girl shrugged, but with the way she preened, it was clear she was flattered by his reaction. “Mother’s is prettier.”
“May I see it again?” Perseus was pleased when her tail was lifted toward the surface once more, the girl bracing her hand against the rock.
It was a pale, luminous silver, but when the light caught it, iridescent blues and greens shone throughout the scales, scales that went up to blend into the girl’s torso. She wore no shirt, which seemed very sensible to Perseus— it was difficult to swim in shirts. Upon closer look, scales could be seen on her arms too, speckled here and there, and some shimmered pleasantly on her cheekbones.
“Wow.” He breathed again, then almost wistfully, “I wish I had a tail.”
“They’re great fun.” The girl swished the fluke which Perseus had yet to examine— it was large, with all sorts of gossamer fins floating about and making it look like the pretty fabric his mother often worked with, the ones Perseus loved to run his fingers through. In this circumstance, he politely kept his hands to himself.
“Can boys have tails?” He asked, tilting his head as he stared at the colors shifting where her knees should have been.
“Not many.” She sniffed, “Most of us are girls, or neither boy nor girl— at least all the ones I’ve met are. And when sons are born, they go live on land with their fathers. They aren’t born with tails like us.”
“Oh.” Perseus was disappointed. “But there are some?”
“Of course. But the ones with tails usually only come about if their father also had a tail. If he doesn't, they won’t.”
“Ah.” Perseus’ brow furrowed again, “Then where did the first man with a tail come from?”
This stumped them both.
“Well anyway,” The girl continued, her high pitched voice now shrill and slightly irritated (Perseus was getting the feeling she didn’t like not knowing things,) “That’s why I can’t simply walk back to my pond.”
Perseus scratched his head. It was a conundrum, to be sure; he couldn’t carry her all by himself, her tail looked like it would weigh two of him even if her torso was much smaller than his own, and he didn’t have any sort of wagon to drag her along in. He stood, walking around the edge of the pond, pacing like he’d seen adults do when they were thinking.
Finally, an idea struck him.
“I think… I think you could swim back.”
The girl looked doubtful, “Up the waterfall?”
He shook his head, “There’s this cave behind it— adults here are always talking about these caves that go all underground, connecting a whole bunch of ponds and rivers and pools and things and some even to the ocean—“
“I know them.” The girl said slowly, a smile coming to her lips revealing slightly pointier than usual canines, “Do you think one of them is connected here?”
“Has to be.” Perseus declared confidently, “Where else would the water go? It would overflow if the waterfall just filled it all the time, right?” He didn’t wait for her response, wiping his scraped, dirty, bloodied palms on his trousers with a wince before kneeling and holding out a hand to the girl to shake, like he’d seen grown-ups do; “My name is Perseus, by the way— but I don’t like being called that very much, so you can call me Percy.” Said Percy.
The girl stared at his hand, as if trying to figure out what it was for, before lifting her own and placing her fingers perpendicular to his palm, as if trying to pick something up from it. The pads of her fingers were soft, and slightly sticky— not in a slimy way, more as if there were many tiny suction cups hidden on the skin.
Percy decided not to correct her on how to shake hands.
“Annabeth.”
“That’s a very human name.” Percy was surprised, and the girl pulled her hand back, defensive.
“It’s a very normal sea name!” Annabeth huffed, as if this were a sore spot for her.
“Sorry, I guess I wouldn’t really know.” Percy pulled his own hand away and stood again, walking along the edge towards the waterfalls, “Come on, this way!”
The water splashed him as he reached the small falls, but he easily slipped behind them, not minding if his clothes became soaked. He could see the girl— Annabeth— dive beneath.
They both emerged in a damp, dark cave, and when Percy looked down to make sure Annabeth had made it over alright, her gray eyes reflected the small amount of light back at him like a cat’s would.
“Wow,” he breathed for the nth time, before glancing around the cavern— it went further back, farther than he dared go before.
Of course Percy was familiar with the cave. Any self-respecting child within walking distance of a cave would have gone in once or twice, at the very least.
There were some old bottles scattered on the sandy stone floor, as well as rotted wood from what may have once been crates or barrels, a broken stool, other litter and rubbish that Percy liked to believe was left by pirates. He reached down and picked up a dirty old candle, searching around for some matches that weren’t disintegrated or soggy— luck was on his side today, as some sort of flint machine he’d seen the older kids use for cigars was under the stool, and in a moment there was a bit more light.
He turned, Annabeth’s near translucent eyes transfixed on the flame, “Wow…” she used his word, and Percy smiled to himself, padding back to her and crouching down to the water.
“Don’t touch it.”
“I know what fire does!” She responded, miffed, but clearly too entranced to remain indignant for long.
The two sat like that for a moment, then Percy stood and they continued on, Annabeth swimming beside him, though they kept glancing at one another and giggling.
They didn’t get far before hitting a wall, and Percy was grateful as he didn’t like the idea of losing sight of the now far-off entrance.
“Is there an opening down there?” Percy raised his candle to peer into the dark water.
Annabeth dived without responding, then popped back up a few moments later, “You’re right! There’s a tunnel.”
Percy once more felt pride surge through him, and he puffed out his chest; “There, you see? Easy!”
“You really think it’ll go up?” Annabeth sounded doubtful again, and Percy grinned at her.
“Only one way to find out.” He looked up, “There’s a big ol’ pond up there, a little beyond the waterfall— is that the one you came from?” His gaze dropped back down, and Annabeth shook her head.
“No, it’s a bit further– but I came down the river to that one up there, then the falls caught me.”
“Want to try and meet back at the upper pond then?” His smile widened, “I’ll race you!” Percy turned and began to dash to the entrance, hearing a protest followed by the splash of fins disappearing below the surface.
The candle was left extinguished in the cave so it would be there for next time, tucked away with the flint in a dry crevice. Percy worried this might ruin his chances of winning, but he needn’t have— despite having to clamber up mossy hills and rock, Percy made it to the larger, higher pond far sooner than the girl. He crouched by the banks, panting slightly. Of course, the burning in his lungs was forgotten as soon as he spotted a particularly good stick, which he gleefully seized to begin drawing squiggles in the mud that his bare toes sank into.
There was less rock up here, the edges of this pond lapping at mineral-rich silt that hid a great many wonders, like bugs, and even fossils on occasion. But it was further into the trees than Percy’s mother preferred him to venture, so he only climbed up when the lower-pond was occupied by the older children from town. They weren’t very nice, and he didn’t understand some of the games they played, but recently they came around less and less, which was favorable.
Enough time had passed that Percy began to worry— had she gotten lost, or stuck, or hurt? But his fears were assuaged by the pale head popping above the water, a small hand making a gesture like a wave— but no wave Percy had ever seen. More of a rolling motion than a back-and-forth. He waved back a human wave.
“Hullo again!” He grinned the smile his mother liked to call his ‘fae stolen’ smile, claiming he must have taken it from some forest creature who had come to his cradle to vanish him into the night, scaring it away and keeping all the mischief for himself, “I won!”
The girl waded closer to the shallows, grumping, “Only because you knew the way! It was my first time!”
“But a win is a win.” Percy held out his hand expectantly.
Annabeth stared at it with a frown, pulling herself up onto the bank, tail gleaming in the late afternoon sun streaming through branches. Once more, she hesitantly placed her fingertips perpendicular to his palm as before.
Percy shook his head, “No, I want a prize.”
“A prize…” She said slowly. “I don’t have any prizes…”
“Can you find one then?” Winning without a reward wasn’t like winning at all.
Annabeth frowned, but looked down at the silt, picking up a smoothed stone and handing it over, “Will this do?”
Percy took the rock, wiped the mud off onto his shirt, then examined it from every angle before nodding in satisfaction and tucking it away, “Very nicely, thank you.”
“It was just right next to us, you know.” The girl pointed out, “You could have taken it yourself.”
“But that’s not as fun, is it?”
“I suppose not.” Annabeth tilted her head, “Does this mean I get a prize if I win next time?”
“Of course,” Percy picked up his stick again, drawing more squiggles, “but I’m very fast, faster than the other boys my age in school. I don’t think you’ll be able to beat me.”
“I’m fast too!” She insisted.
Percy smiled at her, holding out the stick for her turn to draw, “You’ll have to prove it next time then. Will you be back tomorrow?”
Annabeth began to carve perfectly straight lines into the mud, brow furrowed in thought; “Perhaps,” She finally said, slowly, “I’m not normally allowed far, but mother and the others are so busy with everything… they may not miss me for another afternoon.”
“Well, couldn’t you just say you’re coming to play?” Percy found a second very-good stick, and added squiggles around Annabeth’s lines; she was still frowning.
“Then she would ask who I was playing with.”
“Couldn’t you tell her you’re playing with me?”
Annabeth shook her head, “We aren’t allowed to play with humans— at least not until we get our legs, and then it’s only on land. They aren’t allowed to see our tails.”
“But you let me see your tail?” Percy pointed out with a smile, meeting her eyes.
The girl’s head tilted to the side, then a slow, slightly-pointy smile spread across her lips in return; “I did, didn’t I? I wonder why I did that…”
”Probably because you could tell I would like it.” He suggested.
“Well, it’s very difficult not to like a tail as pretty as mine.”
“It is.” Percy said earnestly, and a tinge of pink came to Annabeth’s cheeks. “But won’t you get in trouble now that you showed me?”
“Well…” She thought, “Not if I don’t tell mother.”
Percy’s eyes widened, “Lie to her?! Your mother?! ”
“It wouldn't be a lie!” Annabeth flipped her tail out of the pond defensively, “I just… wouldn’t mention you.” She grimaced, scribbling her lines away, “Haven’t you ever kept something from your mother?”
Truthfully, Percy had never given much thought to it. But now that it had been brought up, he realized that yes, sometimes he did keep things from his mother; the time he got into a scrape in the schoolyard with an older boy who was shoving the much smaller children around; the time his appetite demanded sweets so he swiped a handful of hard candies from the shop his mother worked in… and the time he thought he misplaced the nice new shoes she had bought for him for the spring festival. Slowly, Percy accepted the fact that perhaps he wasn’t the perfect child. “Well… I suppose I have.”
“See?” The girl plunged her stick in the ground triumphantly, mud sticking to the ends of her silver-blonde hair and coating the underside of her arms, “So it will be alright, me not telling.”
She was so confident in her proclamation, that Percy couldn’t help but believe her. He dropped from his crouch to sit properly, any thought of keeping his newly darned trousers clean entirely forgotten now. “Then do you think you could stay a bit longer? I could show you some games, if you’d like.”
Annabeth tilted her head, and Percy noticed mud had somehow made its way to her chin too. “What sorts of games—?” Then she cut herself off with a headshake, “I really shouldn’t… if they haven’t noticed I’m gone already, I would like to get back before then. It might be more difficult to come back tomorrow if I’m gone for too long.”
Percy furrowed his brow, disappointed, but brightened again quickly, “Tomorrow, then! Afternoon? We can meet when the sun is about…” He squinted up at the sky, then pointed to a good spot, “right there!”
“That doesn’t seem very exact…” Annabeth pointed to a nearby tree instead, “The shadows, see how long they are now? How about we meet at the lower pond when the shadows are short and going that way—” She directed her finger towards the East. Once more, Percy was impressed by her cleverness.
“Very well. I’ll bring some things for games— we can play pirates, or marbles, or make up a new game maybe. I’m sure you know lots of games too, you can teach them to me.”
Annabeth pursed her lips, “I know some— I made most of them up, but they aren’t all that grand…”
“Don’t be stupid.” Percy caught the flash of anger and hurt in her expression at being called ‘stupid’, and hurried to continue, “I bet they’re better than any silly games we have in town. You’re much smarter than the older kids who make us play what they want to.”
The little nymph looked surprised, then beamed, tossing muddy hair as she started to slide back into the water proper; “Well I’ll think up some new ones we can try out, so we can play together even if I don’t have legs and you don’t have a tail.”
“I can swim! I’m very good at it!” Percy stood, wiping muddy hands on muddy trousers, “Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow.” She confirmed, a small smile on her lips, “Goodbye, Percy.”
“Goodbye, Miss Annabeth.”
Percy wasn’t sure why he felt the need to call her ‘Miss.’ But his mother once said that it was respectful to use titles like ‘Miss’ and ‘Mister’ and ‘Lady’ and ‘Lord;’ Percy wanted his new friend to feel respected. But she seemed too young for ‘Lady,’ so it would be ‘Miss’ for now.
Annabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, before giving a nervous, bubbly giggle of delight and disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
The mad dash home was quick. Percy was so eager for tomorrow to come, he didn’t think to wait until sundown to return like originally planned. All he wanted to do was scarf down supper, dive into his bed, and sleep until it was time to see Annabeth again.
Gabriel was unfortunately still as furious as he had been when Percy ran out of the house earlier; but Percy’s mother took one look at his muddy clothes and face and scraped palms and swooped in with the perfect excuse to shoo Percy to the bath and away from her husband’s ire.
The bath was warm, but as Percy pulled his astrolabe over his head and climbed out of dirty clothes so his mother might wash them, the sound of glass breaking outside the washroom made a chill run through his spine. Gabriel broke things often. Percy missed when their home didn’t include him.
“Why did you marry…?” He asked quietly, and his mother turned, surprise on her face.
“Why did I— oh, Percy, you remember how Gabriel was at first, it wasn’t—”
Percy shook his head quickly, water droplets flying, “No, I mean… why did you do it at all?” At her hesitation, he clarified, “All the stories say step-mothers and step-fathers are evil, you know. So if you didn’t marry, you wouldn’t have to worry.”
She stifled a laugh, sitting on the side of the tub, “Step-parents are people like anyone else. Some good, some bad; the truth in fairytales lie in their messages, not their characters or evil step-parents or fairies or mermaids.”
“Oh.” Percy looked down at the water, watching the grime slowly dissipate from his skin. He told Annabeth he wouldn’t tell… but his mother was good. And honest. And kind. “I met a mermaid today.”
He was met with a fond smile and ruffle of hair, “Really?”
“Really.” Percy confirmed in earnest, “She was very nice.”
“Well it’s good you met a nice mermaid. I’m told they’re fond of devouring the hearts of men, so you must have been lucky.”
Percy sat up in interest, “They do?”
“So the stories claim— but as I just said, dear, the stories say a lot of things, and some of it is simply symbolism or metaphor.”
“Met-a-phor?”
His mother frowned, “What are they teaching you in that school in town?”
Percy shrugged.
“A metaphor is… you use one thing to say something else. If this mermaid you’ve met has been gentle to you, you might say she has a ‘heart of gold.’ Of course that doesn’t mean it’s actually forged from the stuff, but it says that she has a kind demeanor and that’s valuable.”
Percy nodded, slowly understanding, “So is… if there’s an evil step-mother who makes her step-daughter cook and clean and won’t let her go to the ball…?”
“That simply tells us that sometimes bad circumstances we can’t control come about— like a father marrying a cruel woman or… the other way.” She smiled somewhat sadly, “But it’s not our fault when it happens. And we shouldn’t lose our kindness or strength or perseverance in the face of cruelty, because someday… someday things could be better. And we want to make sure we don’t become the things that happened to us.”
This made sense, but that didn’t mean Percy had to like that bad things happened at all. He opened his mouth to say as much, but when he glanced up, his mother had a far away look in her eyes.
“I once thought I met a mermaid.” She said softly, her face suddenly appearing much younger to Percy— which felt odd, because his mother was over 27 now, and that meant she was very, very old.
“Was it?” He asked eagerly, and she shook herself of her reverie.
“No. It wasn’t a mermaid at all.” A sigh, and then she snatched up a washcloth, a sly smile coming to her lips, “Now don’t think you can wriggle out of a proper bath by talking too much. Behind your ears, little man, so you may eat quick and go to bed before your step-father returns home.”
Percy hadn’t realized it, but the sound of Gabriel’s drunken cursing and stomping long since subsided— he must have gone to the pub in town. And with that, he remembered the initial plan; make tomorrow come as soon as possible so he might see Annabeth again. So he scrubbed without complaint, much to mother’s surprise, paying extra attention behind his ears and between his muddy toes.
He was treated to toast and cheese and a small helping of vegetable soup, and then he was in his small room, curled beneath his covers, and dreaming of gold mermaids defeating heart-devouring step-mothers.
✧･ﾟ: *.☽ .･ﾟ*･ ｡ﾟ*:☆.･ﾟ✧
“A nymph of the woods such as you were, in whose eyes alone mankind may study for centuries & grow wiser & purer.”
― Mary Shelley
✧･ﾟ: *.☽ .･ﾟ*･ ｡ﾟ*:☆.･ﾟ✧
