AN: The muses continue to be kind. Another piece for Clerith Week on tumblr, for the theme Mythology. This one actually got a bit longer than I had originally planned, so this will possibly have more chapters, though as of right now I feel the piece stands well enough on it's own. I've always wanted to do a Clerith version of the Persephone and Hades myth and couldn't resist the urge to give it a try.

Spring and Death

When he saw her standing alone in the field of flowers that day, he hadn't been planning on kidnapping her. He'd had other plans in place to try and win the goddess of Spring, plans that would most likely fail if Ifalna caught wind of them, but plans nonetheless. They had included a courtship, gaining permission from her parents, and proper preparations. They hadn't included him swooping down on her, grabbing her around the waist, and dragging her down into the Underworld like an uncouth scoundrel.

But he'd lost his head at the sudden opportunity, unable to let the only one he'd had in years pass him by. In all his time watching her, Ilfana had never once let her out of her sight unless she was attended by various nymphs, dryads, and other nature spirits. The goddess of Spring was the light of her mother's heart, her most treasured possession, and she kept her closely guarded. Not that he could blame her – there were several of their fellow gods who had less than savory reputations after all, and a young goddess being carted away was something that had occurred before.

Cloud never thought that he'd become so desperate that he'd have to resort to such methods to even gain the chance to court her. But there he was, standing over the girl as she sat on an outcropping of rock trying to catch her breath, eyeing him cautiously. To her credit, she hadn't screamed or wailed or even seemed overly frightened by his sudden appearance and the swift journey to his realm. She was wary, but composed, her long mahogany tresses hanging down her back, woven with wildflowers that filled the cavern with their heady scents. A living flower in the land of the dead, her mere presence alone was like a pillar of sunlight, and he couldn't stop staring at her.

"Well?" she asked after a long moment.

He blinked. ". . . Sorry," he said, and her lips twitched as if she was fighting back a smile.

"Sorry?" she repeated. "You've dragged me down here, and that's all you can say?"

Cloud cleared his throat, wishing desperately he'd had more opportunity to think everything through, to have planned what he wanted to say. But she was here now, and he would have to make the best of it that he could. "Lady Aerith, I apologize," he said, lapsing into formality, hoping to put her at ease. "I acted hastily."

She made a soft humming sound in her throat as she smoothed the wrinkles from her light pink gown. "You did," she agreed. "Might I inquire as to why you acted so hastily to bring me to your realm, Lord of the Underworld?"

"I – uh," he stammered, faltering, at the laughter in her bright eyes, his reserve evaporating as quickly as it had come as he scrambled for words. "You had mentioned at the last winter solstice that you were curious about the Underworld. I thought that you might like to see it."

He resisted the impulse to wince at how ridiculous and feeble it sounded. It was in part true – she had expressed interest, and he had thought she'd want to visit, but there was much more to it than that.

Her eyebrows rose, head tilting to the side. "You didn't have to snatch me," she said mildly. "All you had to do was ask to bring me here for a visit."

He snorted, shaking his head, unable to conceal his disbelief at her naiveté. "Your mother would never have said yes."

"I meant you should have asked me."

His eyes widened, blinking at her, and she laughed, the sound ringing like a bright bell through the gloom of the cavern. The thought that she would have agreed to come willingly had never occurred to him, and after all, why should it have? He had never been able to speak to her alone, always uncomfortably aware of Ifalna's burning eyes staring holes through him any time he'd come near her daughter. He'd never through that Aerith might have felt otherwise, that she'd be amiable to being spirited away on what have must seemed an adventure after the carefully woven cage her mother had built around her life.

Cloud coughed to cover up his awkwardness. "Well. I would have, if I thought Ifalna wouldn't have bitten my head off."

An amused smile curled her lips. "Mother is a tad overprotective," she agreed, her brilliant eyes flashing like emeralds in the dark. "You could have asked before you took me though, I was alone then, wasn't I?"

He flushed, and her smile widened. "I was in a hurry," he muttered. And terrified that Ifalna would appear at any moment to stop him, but he thought that best left unsaid.

"So I gathered." She poked a gentle finger at his shoulder. "I suppose there's more to this than you're telling me though," she said thoughtfully, her eyes searching him with keen precision, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"There might be," he admitted reluctantly. "I'd rather not get into that now, if you don't mind." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he added hastily, "I swear, I mean you no harm."

"I never thought you did," she said simply.

"You weren't. . . aren't afraid?" he asked hesitantly, then inwardly cursed himself. Of course she was afraid – he'd flung her over his shoulder, taken her from her home of sunshine and flowers into the land of the dead where ancient monsters hid, and where he, the cold feared god of the underworld, ruled unchallenged. He could only imagine what she must think of him and his intentions toward her. What maiden wouldn't be afraid?

Aerith blinked. "Of the Underworld?" she inquired in surprise, glancing around. "Well, I haven't seen much of it yet, but no."

He hesitated in surprise, then shook his head. "I meant afraid of me."

Her eyes widened. "Afraid of you?" she said incredulously.

He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted or some strange mixture of both. "I did just kidnap you," he pointed out. "And I'm Lord of the Dead."

She made a huffing sound of suppressed laughter and rose, crossing the distance between them on silent bare feet. "You did startle me a little, but that was because I wasn't expecting it."

Cloud blinked at her sudden close proximity as she stopped in front of him. Leaning forward, she peered up into his face, then straightened, resting a slim finger against her cheek as she considered him. "Once I knew it was you, I wasn't afraid. I know you after all." Her lips curled into a radiant smile. "You being Lord of the Dead doesn't frighten me, Cloud. Now, are you going to show me the Underworld, or not?"

A sudden surge of relief and overwhelming affection flooded his heart for her, and he found himself returning her smile. How she had found the words that could ease his uncertainties and anxieties with such ease he didn't know, but he no longer feared that he had irrevocably ruined his chances. It was there, a faint glimmer of hope, the first bit of light he'd seen since he'd come to rule the Underworld.

Sweeping his cape aside, he bowed to her. "Lady Aerith, Goddess of Spring. I bid you welcome to my realm," he said formally, pleased when she giggled, and offered her his hand. "Will you come with me to see more of it?"

Smiling, Aerith's warm fingers curled around his. "Yes," she said simply, her eyes sparkling. "But please make sure word is sent to my mother that I'm here."

He looped her arm carefully through his, and made a soft noncommittal noise as he led her down the winding path that would lead them to the rivers that circled his realm. Ifalna would find out where her daughter was. . . eventually. But not yet.