Chapter Text
Persephone dug her fingers deep into the dirt, clawing a hole big enough to bury the bone-stiff songbird that had fallen from its perch. The poor tiny thing had had its thread snipped, too old and frayed to keep its little wings beating any longer. Its beak was open in a silent cry, no lover’s warbles or hungry chirps left to give. Still, there was some life to be found in it, if only to feed the flowers of her mother’s fields. A song for a flower. It didn’t seem fair, perhaps, but that was the way the world was.
“Back to Gaia you go,” she said. She did not know any of the old words for burial rites, but tried her hand at her own. “May you fly on straight to the fields of Elysium, and grace those ol’ souls with new songs.”
Her brother Apollo would surely have had more poetic words for such a thing, Persephone thought as she folded the soil over into a mound. But then again he’d probably add in some bawdy double meaning that would make the nymphs blush and her mother fume. Maybe something like, ‘Fly unto paradise, upon the bossoms of silvery maids, and pour your sweet songs unto their virgin ears.’ And then he’d wink at the word ‘virgin’ and mouth ‘summon me ’ as mother chased him away.
Persephone chuckled to herself, as she patted down the dirt with lithe hands that had known the soil since birth. She did not bother to dust them off as she straightened up. It had been some time since she’d last seen any of her father’s sons. Ever since she had filled out her chitons and her apple cheeks had slimmed, her mother had been quite determined to keep anyone with potentially impure thoughts—ergo, possessing of a stamen—far, far away from her only daughter.
Which was a shame, for her brothers were at least entertaining, even at their bawdiest. And while Persephone loved her mother, she did not know why Demeter made such a fuss about men and their maleness. It was not like she didn’t know how the bees pollinated the flowers, or how the stags coupled with the does. And it wasn’t like she was blind to the lingering looks in men’s eyes. Sometimes it was nice when they looked, sometimes it made her will a thistle to get stuck in their sandals. She was a young thing, yes, but she had eyes to see and ears to hear—see more and hear more than her godly mother would have no doubt liked.
On occasion, Persephone had even cajoled the nymphs into spilling their secrets over dandelion wine, and they told her many things more about men and their wants. Some of their stories were brutish, some of them romantic. And some told her that it could even be fun and pleasing, to know a man’s company. And while a lot of it did seem to come down to a messy, smelly, sticky ritual coupled with great bouts of needless drama for gods and mortals alike, Persephone had accepted it as a natural, and, potentially, kind of nice, thing to occur between a man and a woman—or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or a swan and a woman, as was one’s want.
That had been a thought she’d made the mistake of voicing to her mother.
“You cannot trust a man, let alone a god, for he is a thousand times greater of the sin,” Mother had tutted at her one day, when Zeus had dared to make the suggestion that Persephone was long overdue to marry. “They only want one thing. And they will hound you for it till they get it, and when they’ve sunk their teeth into you and chewed you up, they’ll spit you out and leave you with nought but their ilk to whelp.”
“Surely they’re not all like that,” Persephone had said. “Little Arion, and Plutus, and Philomelus—”
“Are boys, yet to know the sins of their fathers,” Mother had said.
Persephone bit back a sigh. “It is like fruit from the vine, is it not? Some are rotten, but some are sweet. And is it not still worth it to pick one to see? I can protect myself, Mother. I am not without my own thorns.”
“Oh, Kore…” And Mother did sigh so out loud. “You must trust me to protect you. Gods and men of the mountain, and the sea, and all the below? They only chase and take and steal and abduct. Don’t know any other way. That’s how they are.” She put her arms around Persephone. “Don’t worry your mind about them. You’ll be kept safe from all that ugliness.”
Persephone loved her mother dearly—she truly did—yet the prospect of an eternity of purity and chastity, kept only to the greenest of pastures, seemed unbearably dull to her. Yes, flowers were nice. Growing things was dear to her heart. And perhaps she would never find greater company that could hold her interest or her heart. Perhaps she would keep to her own and only the fields and nymphs and her mother forever unto the last days of the earth. But she would have liked at least a choice in the matter. To find out such a thing for herself, even if it hurt to stumble upon the path. To try such fruit on her own…
She would give voice to such thoughts, when she was in a bold mood, but, in the end, ever would Mother call her only Kore, meaning 'maiden'. And wasn't that a statement the size of Atlas’s ass right there.
In the here and now, though, (or then and there, depending on one’s perspective), Persephone stretched her arms, lifting them up towards Ouranus, satisfied for the moment with her work amidst the flowers. It was late into the afternoon, and Persephone had been toiling in her mother’s garden all day; her brow was crowned in the light sheen of sweat, and the hem of her once pristine chiton was brushed in dirt and grass stains. An easy smile graced her features as she looked over at the merry greenery around her. The plants were surely pleased by her attention, for they seemed to turn their petals away from even the sun to splay their beauty before her eyes.
She hummed to herself as she turned around to make her way down the curved trodden path, when she was stopped by the sight of the biggest, strangest looking damn magpie she’d ever seen.
She blinked.
And she realized it was not a giant bird but a man. A man all dressed in dark metal and shadowy silks, standing right at the edge of the garden. Gaunt features and papery skin, he looked like a specter of death.
She blinked again.
And then she realized he was the specter of death—ol’ king of the underworld himself. No mistaking it, even if she had only seen him a few fleeting times before. He was the sort to leave an impression: him, tall and foreboding, with a sharp nose and sharper cheekbones, and eyes that seemed to always be encased in shadows, despite standing in Helios’ light, made all the darker by his pale, pale skin.
Perhaps it should have been a scary sight—one of foreboding, what with death being at their literal threshold and all. But, there was something about the way he stood out so stiffly, so solemnly, so awkwardly, against the vibrant greens and soft pinks and whimsical purples and innocent whites of her mother’s garden that made a sliver of a smile flit across Persephone’s face. He made for a ridiculous looking flower, and it felt more like the set up to one of her brothers’ corny jokes than anything else.
The god of the dead shifted, and that was the only movement that told the old birds perched on the fence that this was not a new stilted scarecrow from one of the mortals’ farms.
Persephone tucked back a loose strand of hair, never minding that the act brushed her dirt smudged fingers to her cheek, and she strolled over.
It might have been naive to do—her mother would likely say so—but it was young in the age of this world, and the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ had yet to be coined. And besides, Persephone was no cat. She was a woman. A goddess. And the god of the third kingdom didn’t usually bother himself with killing people, anyway. That was Thanatos’ job.
“Hello,” Persephone called. She reached the fence, and placed her hand upon the chipped wood. In some stories she addressed him as uncle or lord or king but here in this story, it was simply, ‘hello’. And that word hung in the air between them like heavy fruit on the vine—ripe, and just waiting to drop.
The god stared at her from across the vast sea of the gate, lips parted like a man out of breath, yet he had surely been doing nothing but uncomfortably standing there for some time now amidst the poppies and lilies and butterflies. Not a sound escaped him.
“Are you here for mother? Shall I fetch her?” she offered.
He shook his head, once. He still did not speak.
Persephone shifted her weight from one foot to the other, tilting her chin up. “Am I dying?” she asked. “Is my time up amongst the living?”
He shook his head, faster this time, but still did not speak.
“Well, then. Are you here to shoo the birds for me?” she asked. “Lookin’ to set up shop in the fields as my new scarecrow?”
He didn’t even bother to shake his head at that. He just kept staring at her.
Persephone, having run out of questions, met his gaze, trying to prompt him to say something. If she couldn’t find the right question, then she supposed she would just have to wait for the right answer to come. So she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And then, at last, he spoke.
“Come home with me,” he said, his voice dry and low and cracking, as though from disuse.
She arched an eyebrow. “You abductin’ me?”
“No,” he said, and he sank down on bended knees. The gate and fence was a short thing, and he a tall man. Even kneeling, he still faced her easily.
“No?” she repeated.
He shook his head for emphasis, and one of his big hands came up, and he splayed his fingers on his chest. “Just askin’ you to have mercy on this ol’ heart o’ mine.”
She stared at him. And nearly laughed at the king of the underworld to his face. Zeus above, she hadn’t even heard such ridiculous lines from brother Apollo.
“...you're not very good at this, are you?” she said.
“At…what?”
She waved her hand. “Whatever it is you're doing. Spoutin’ lines. Talkin’ to girls. Abductin’ me—”
“I'm not abducting you—”
She shook her head. “I don't know your heart well enough to know if it's deserving of mercy.”
“Then know mine, and let me know yours,” he pleaded.
“Who are you to request such a thing from a young maiden?” she piqued. She'd meant it as rhetorical, but he took her words as solemnly as though they were delivered upon the River Styx.
“Hades does, beautiful, blessed daughter of the golden fields and of the mother of harvest herself…” he answered, oh so formal in his tone. Even as he tried to make his words sweet, they sounded rough and coarse and down right odd in his low voice—Persephone had to bite her lip, and her breath shook a bit as she stifled a laugh. “....I, Hades Aidoneus, King Of All Down Below, the Receiver Of Many, the Unseen, One Of Many Names, eldest son of Chronos…” His breath seemed to hitch for a moment. “...and the god who shall marry you.”
“Uh huh,” she said. He blinked at her nonchalant answer. “Well, that’s all fine and dandy, except I’m not too sure on that last one.”
Hades’ stone like expression only seemed to intensify. Persephone wondered if she could get away with sprouting a couple thistles in his loincloth, before he decided he’d had enough of her and smited her for her impertinence. But, the only motions the god king made was to lower his strong jaw, just a bit.
"Will you not marry me?" he asked, words slow and heavy on a tongue probably used to more sternness than sweetness.
"No," she said, "I think not."
“Are you sworn to the hearth of my sister?” he asked, and the barest tremble of his broad shoulders indicated his tentativeness. “The huntresses of my niece?”
“No,” Persephone said. “But why should that matter if I marry you or not?”
“It does not,” he conceded.
“Should I go with you, simply because you are the first cock to crow in the yard?” she asked.
“No, of course not,” he said, shaking his head.
“Then whyever should I go with you, Unseen Lord of the Last Halls?” she asked, and she ran her hand over the edge of the gate.
“I would provide for you,” he said. “I am a god with few rivals. You would have all you ever desired, as my wife.”
“Hmmm, I’m not too sure you can give me what I desire,” she said.
“I could give you a crown and a throne,” Hades said, and he touched the onyx band around his head. “The eternal kingdom, a third of the world, laid out at your feet. You would be worshiped as a queen, as my queen, with equal right to all my domain.”
She raised a brow.
“Yes, well, I don’t particularly care about being queen or having a kingdom,” she said. “If I did, I’d be up on the mountain, prancing around all those gilded halls.”
“I could give you all the riches of the earth,” he said. “Every coin that crosses palms, comes from ore of my domain. Olympus has nothing compared to the gold and jewels I would dress you in.”
“I’m not interested in your riches, or my father’s,” Persephone replied. “Don’t need gems or metals. I prefer what I can grow and pick myself.” A slender stem twisted around her wrist, and sprouted a tiny verdant bud that quickly blossomed into a red flower, its petals perfectly opened in a delicate crown.
She angled her head, and watched as Hades licked his lips, brow furrowed. It was a quaint, nervous habit that made him look so humbled, despite all his noble features.
“I… I could give you children,” he said. “Noble browed heirs with ebony crowns, to dance in the fields or harken from the shade.”
“Mmm,” she tapped a finger to her chin. “I’m not particularly interested in being a mother. Not yet, anyway. I’ve spent plenty of time nursin’ the young uns of others, and I have yet to crave my own.”
She watched with bemusement as Hades opened his mouth again, paused, closed it again, then repeated that cycle, and then finally swallowed. She could see the jut of his throat bob up and down.
“I…”
His gaze, for the first time in their conversation, fell away from hers. And while she did enjoy their game, she did mourn that he should look away already, with those deep, sorrowful eyes of his that seemed to be even darker than the darkest of Ouranus’ nights. Perhaps, in those eyes, she might find something…someone…more. Maybe. Possibly. It could be…if he would ever say anything else to her again, for the king seemed quite stymied for the time being.
He bent his head, and stared at the ground, and kept his jaw locked up, without another word escaping.
“What else do you have for me, my Lord Of All That Ends?” she asked, voice taking a gentler lilt as she called his attention back towards her. “Surely there is more to you than kingdoms, treasures, or the unsown fruit of your loins?” When he looked up, she broke her words with a small smile. "Try again."
He seemed to let his words mull over in his mouth a bit longer, ruminating like one of them big ol' bulls from Apollo’s herd.
“You are a perplexing woman,” he said after a beat. “No less sharp than you are beautiful. A rare flower, the rarest and most precious… I fear I have cut myself upon your thorns, yet I cannot help but continue to wish to hold you closer. I am stricken; I am stung. I am done for, my lady.” He shifted and got to his feet, robes falling heavy to his sides.
His words, already spoken in a voice so low, seemed to slip into her and settle in the bottom of her gut, weighed down with what could only be sincerity. Before Persephone could think of what to say next, Hades gave her his last offering.
“I could give you only myself,” Hades said. “Before you, I am only a man. A man in love with a woman. And that is all that I can give.”
It was Persephone’s turn to swallow.
“That…is quite a lot to give,” she said, her voice gentle as the petals on the flower in her hand.
“I have nothing to lose,” he said, voice just as soft in his own way. “Not after…you.”
They were both still for a moment.
“Perhaps I was dismissive of your skills too soon,” she whispered, pressing up against the gate and tilting her head. “You’ve got some nectar to your tongue, after all.”
There was a faint golden flush to his pale face. And she thought that that was a prettier shade than any sunflower.
He cleared his throat again, keeping to his side of the fence, but leaning forward just the smallest fractions of an inch. “Will you—”
A bird crowed up above. And Persephone glanced at the sky. It was then that she realized how late the day was getting.
“I must go,” she declared. “Helios will be retiring soon.” And Mother would start to fret. She’d wouldn’t be pleased if she knew her daughter was late in meeting her all ‘cause she was caught up in talking to a man.
A flash of something—worry, or panic, perhaps—flickered across Hades’ face, before he quickly tucked it back behind stone.
“But—”
She cut him off again, as she took the bloom she had grown and leaned across the gate to tuck the flower behind the fastening of his robes. Her fingers brushed past his chin. “Better fortune next time, King Of Too Many Names.”
And with that, she turned around and headed for far fields.
Hades watched Persephone leave. It was like watching the world move farther and farther from his arms. He could only stand there, rooted to the ground, trying to savor every last glimpse of her. He didn’t know if he’d see her again. Didn’t know if she’d let him see her. And he tried to carve that small sliver of a smile she’d given him, that brief flicker of white like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wing, into an effigy in his mind.
She got all the way to the edge of the tall stalks of the fields when she paused. He stiffened as he saw her tilting her head just so, back towards where he still was, and he could see the glimmer of the last of Helios’ light catching in her eyes as she met his. And then she was gone from sight.
Hades, the Man With His Heart In His Hand, sank back into his own shadow, and a sound that might have been a sigh escaped his stoic lips.
“...she looked back,” Hades murmured, a note of reverence lingering on his tongue.