Disclaimer: Once Upon A Time and all characters portrayed within the canon universe of this television program are the property of American Broadcasting Companies, Inc. They also belong to Adam Horowitz & Edward Kitsis. In other words: they ain't mine, and this is all for fun.
Beta Props: Major props to UnfairestOfThemAll, who started out in June '16 as my beta and has now become my friend and Padawan. Much wuvs, my friend! 3
Pairings: Hades/Zelena, Emma/Hook, Henry/Violet, Snow/Charming, Regina/Robin Hood (mentioned).
A/N: Fatus Cinerum is Latin and roughly translates to 'Fate of the Ashes'. This story is Hades' redemption arc, and it is rather epic. Hades himself would liken it to The Oddyssey, but he has an over-inflated sense of importance. Yet it is a rather long and involved tale, which begins exactly when you'd assume it would - immediately following Hades' death by Zelena in Regina's office. (Episode 5x21 - Last Rites)
He wakes into emptiness. There is no pain, no joy, no feeling whatsoever. He is unsure where he is, who he is, or what he has become. All he knows is this is not normal. This is different, this nothingness.
The landscape around him is not quite white but not quite black. It's as if the concept of vision doesn't exist in this realm. The same applies for sound. He hears naught, yet he cannot say all is silent. He listens for his own breath, his own heartbeat, but there is only vacancy in reply. Time appears nonexistent; he cannot sense its passage. There is his awareness and nothing else. It does not appear dangerous; this new state of being, but it is not pleasant. He wishes for something... anything... to disrupt the constant and overwhelming sensation of oblivion.
The sudden cacophony of laughter is deafening, and he shrinks upon himself at the onslaught. This increases the high-pitched screeching, and every fiber of his being cries out for it to cease.
"Okay, okay… we'll go easy on you. You did have a pretty rough day after all." The voice is aged, cracked and strained. It is also quieter, and for this he is grateful.
Another, a minor third higher in pitch, chimes in. "We always were fans of yours, even from the beginning."
A final voice, deep and resonant, finishes the sentiment. "As much as I hate to admit it, we liked your style. The world is a little less… entertaining without you. It's why we came looking for you."
The first speaks again. "You are lucky we knew where to look. Otherwise, you'd be out here in the Void forever."
The Void? What the hell is the Void?
"All in good time," says the second with a slight chuckle. "Would you like to see again? Know where and who and what you are?"
He tries to cry out 'Yes!' but there is no way to form words, to create sound.
"Lackey, go get the green vial. We're going to need it." It's the deep-voiced third again. It seems they speak in sequence, taking turns.
The first voice identifies herself. "I am Clotho. You can call me Clo."
Next, the second, from a distance. "I am Lachesis. But everyone calls me Lackey."
The third, as if right beside his ear, states, "I am Atropos. And you will call me as such, as all do." This elicits giggles from the other two. "Do you know us, oh great one?"
"You should."
"We are important."
"Try to remember."
He tries. He was more than this, than nothingness. He was strong. A ruler. A god.
"Yesss… that's right. You were a god. A powerful one." Clotho's voice is uncomfortably near. It's like they are whispering into his mind.
The second, Lachesis, again overly close. "You remember your name yet, oh mighty one? Can I give him a hint, Attie, can I?"
"No. He must remember on his own. Say your name, define yourself, and we can pull you from nonexistence."
He struggles and strains, their whispering voices spattering against him like rain.
"… say it… say it… say your name…"
He doesn't know. He remembers nothing. Just … blue? Green? Water. He remembers water. Blue, Green, Black, Gold and Red. They were somehow his, these five rivers, like spokes of a wheel extending outward from a center platform. That too, was his. There is darkness around him… with difficulty he calls the images forth into his conscious mind. He is underground. Wait, that's not right. He lived under the ground?
The Underworld. He was the Lord of the Underworld.
Something clicks within him, a sense of solidity, of form. "I am Hades," he rasps. Swallowing, he says it again, clear and loud. "I am Hades!"
"Yes! Yes you are!"
"Atta boy!"
"Now take our hands and we'll get you out of here."
He looks down, and marvels that he can now see. There are three skeletal hands in a sickly green fog in front of him, greying skin covering each bony claw. They are clasped together and he reaches for them, placing what he believes is his hand atop theirs.
The world tilts, and the cackling resumes, yet it is less painful and more annoying this time around. There is nothing but laughter and a kaleidoscope of swirling color, which suddenly jerks to a halt.
He looks around, overwhelmed by sight, sound, touch and yes, odor. He is on a circular terrace of alabaster, faintly lit by beeswax candles. A light perfume, reminiscent of sandy beaches, coats the air. There are golden doorways all around him, each presenting a different scene heavily blurred by a thick, semi-transparent wall that seems to move and shift independently. To his right, there are three tall, thin women with skin the color of rose petals. One is blonde, one a redhead, and the last a brunette. All are cloaked in rich silken robes that glisten in the dim light. All have hair that trails to the floor, and all are young and beautiful. What happened to the haggish, shrieking voices, the leathery skin of their hands?
"The Void reveals us as we are," the brunette tells him, her deepened voice identifying her as Atropos. "Ancient. Aged. But this," she says as sweeps her hand towards the other two, "is how we choose to appear. Well, when we choose to do so."
"We can do that you know," quips the blonde. This one must be Clotho. "We can do whatever we want, really."
"Except kill a god. Although someone sure gave it a try with you, didn't they?" The redhead, Lachesis, is grinning at him, and it's a little too toothy to be anything less than predatory. Instincts scream - these women are not what they seem. They must be treated with respect, and what to do next comes naturally.
"Ladies, forgive me," he purrs politely. "It seems I do not remember you – which is surprising as you all are truly quite difficult to forget." He bows grandly before them, inciting giggles in both Clo and Lackey. When he opens his eyes, he sees why. His body is as he remembers, aged but not elderly. Lean. Firm. He gets a clear view of it all, and so do they, as he's not wearing a stitch of clothing. Embarrassment sends heat up his neck into his cheeks, but he straightens himself to dismiss it. He was a god, and he's certain gods are not disturbed by such things.
"Oh Attie, he is fun. I'm so glad we get to weave his fate this way. Can I give him his memories now? Can I? Huh?" She begins to pull a golden threat out of a pocket within her robe. She pulls and pulls, and the thread keeps coming, creating a small pile within her arms until she's nearly succumbed by it.
"Come forth, Hades," gestures Atropos. "Come forth, and know yourself."
He steps near the redhead, who is still struggling to remove the massive quantities of thread from her pocket. "I've almost got it," she mutters. "Here… hold this for me, will you?"
She dumps the pile into his arms, and the instant he touches the wiry golden cord, his mind is flooded with his entire life's history. His birth within his father Kronos, and his two brothers: Zeus and Poseidon. Their life upon Olympus in their youth – time spent honing their power and their status as the three contenders to rule after Kronos. These were happy times; he and his brothers lived as the omnipotent beings they were. None dared challenge them, as the three paired together were invincible.
Then, the fated day of their father's decree, declaring Zeus as heir to the throne and damning Hades to the Underworld and an eternity of darkness. Kronos claimed he wasn't made for the light; that ruling over the afterlife suited his talents best. In his rage, Hades destroyed his father that same evening – using those exact talents to banish Kronos's soul to Tartarus for eternity.
He fully intended to take his rightful place as king by using the Olympian Crystal, but Zeus was there to stop him. This led to their epic battle - a battle Hades lost when his brother broke the iconic weapon in half. Blinded by the light, he was distracted for a split second, and it was then that Zeus struck. Hades' life was taken from him that night, sealed into icy numbness when his brother stopped his heart. Laughing, Zeus had transported them both to the vast emptiness of the Underworld and then left him there to rot.
He relives it all; the vindictiveness that coursed through his soul centuries ago scours through him yet again. He sought revenge, vengeance against the callousness of his older brother. Zeus wanted to rule just as much as Hades did. They had squabbled over the topic since their youth. But his brother's actions that day could never be forgiven. Zeus proved how little he cared for Hades; he only wanted to eliminate the primary threat to his desired destiny.
More memories return. The Underworld, and his need to keep all souls trapped there; refusing them access to the eternal paradise many were due. If he was to suffer, those within his realm would suffer with him. The creativity of his malice knew no bounds. He sees it all play out in his mind, each moment clicking into place and overloading his senses. Jealousy. Rage. Fear. The onslaught continues as decades of a half-life mired in death and decay replay into his consciousness. Rooted within it all is the evil. He was truly evil.
Recent events play out rapidly, finishing with an image of a mortal woman, beautiful and fiery in her anguish, plunging the fully formed Olympian Crystal directly into his heart. Zelena! Reality drops him to his knees as he recognizes what he is, and what he is not. The three women laugh again, their mirth not joyful, but cruel.
"Yes, Hades. It's true. Your power is gone."
"You are no longer a god."
"You're… mortal. Well, in a manner of speaking. Honestly, we're not sure what you are. We just know what you aren't. And that, my debonair friend, is a god."
"You should have left me," he snarls at them through his teeth. "This is a fate worse than death."
"Nope," says Clotho. "This is much more fun. See what we did for you?"
Lachesis holds up the final end of the golden thread. That last tip has been merged with an iridescent blue and silver thread, narrow and fragile in comparison. It extends back down into her pocket. "Neat, isn't it?"
His life, his immortal life, lies in a tangled pile on the floor near his feet.
"We don't know what happens with you now," the brunette tells him. "We don't want to pull the thread before its time. When the crystal shattered your body, I tried to cut your life's thread, as that is the divine order of things. But as you are a god, it wouldn't cut."
"You ruined her scissors!" Clotho chirps.
Lachesis is equally amused. "That's the second time she's had to get a new pair!"
"Enough, you two. When I couldn't cut it, even though your life had clearly reached its end, I had Clotho take it to her spinning wheel. It was then the blue and silver thread appeared, and bound itself into your destiny."
"We're not sure where it came from." The blonde's tone is animated. Clearly his death was an exciting one for these three. "Once I touched it, it spun wildly in the air like a top and then the whole mess swirled around for a bit into a nice big ball before zooming into Lackey's robe. That's where she keeps the all gods' threads. In her pocket." She points at the other woman's right side. "That one, right there."
Lachesis gives her companion a disparaging look as she starts rewinding Hades' thread of life. "Anyway… that's how we knew it was still you, and you still lived. Somewhere. It was my idea to look in the Void." Her tone exudes superiority; she's clearly pleased to be the one within the trio that found him.
"Yes, dear, it was a lovely idea." Atropos smiles kindly before returning her attention to Hades. "So… you ready to live out your new fate, oh fallen one?"
No, he is not. He is still assimilating eons worth of memories; coming to terms with the loss of his power. His life's plan is in shambles. He cannot rule realms nor defeat Zeus as a mortal man.
"C'mon, cheer up." Clotho's smile is overly bright. "You get to start over. Try not to be such an ass this time around."
"Maybe not throw away True Love." There is venom in the redhead's tone.
Hades' eyes darken as a deep rage flares within him. It was Zelena who rejected him; she is the one who killed him. She is responsible for all of this. The fact that he manipulated her into a True Love's Kiss scenario is irrelevant. Only she could free him – and his freedom mattered above all else. If she truly loved him, she should have known that. Yet what did she do with her love instead? She destroyed him.
He raises himself to his feet, standing defiantly before the Fates despite his nudity. "I know you, women of Fate. I know these doors – gateways to all the realms. Show me the one for Storybrooke, and I will continue where I left off." Task One will be thanking Zelena for this, permanently.
"Oh no," Atropos chides him. "It doesn't quite work that way. See that pretty body of yours? That's your soul, forming itself into what it remembers you to be. When you return to the real world, regardless of where it is, you won't have that body. That body is gone. You'll need a new one."
What? That can't be right. This is who he is. "So… I'll I be reborn? Like an infant?" The thought is horrifying.
"No, we don't think it works that way with you. We are pretty sure the only way to get you through the barriers is to stick you into another body." Clotho giggles again. "A recently living body."
"We picked out a nice one for you," Lachesis preens. "His thread of life is coming to an end rather soon. When his soul leaves, yours gets to move in."
"I don't want another body. I want my own."
"Yes, we figured you might." Atropos grins at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. "We can't guarantee it, but there might be a way. You'll need to find your remains. Well, the remains worth saving."
"You will have to know where to look, as they aren't something you can see."
"And you'll have to know how to reanimate them."
"The magic required is rare, but not impossible. The challenge will be in identifying what is you, and what is not. You'll need both. It's all rather complex."
Despite their riddles, all three seem to be delighted at the prospect of seeing this adventure play out - which gives Hades hope. This means he has a chance of being himself again.
The Fates resume their serial conversation. "You won't like it. It will be unpleasant."
"If you fail, your story will end. Game Over. Even we will not be able to save you."
"You cannot do it alone." This is from Atropos, and there is seriousness in her tone. "The final decision is not yours to make."
"What do you mean? Who do I need?"
All three reply at once, cackling as they do. "Who do you think?"
Zeus? Another god? It better not be Zelena.
"You ready? No? Oh well, too bad." The brunette has taken out her scissors, and she's standing before one of the gilded gateways. Lachesis stows away his own golden thread, shoving it rather dramatically into her pocket before materializing a short, common brown one into her hands. She pulls it tight before Atropos.
The spinning waves of color in the doorway slow and sharpen to display a simple cottage with a middle-aged dark haired man crumpled on the dusty floor, gasping for air and clutching his chest. Heart attack.
Hades' attention is on the man when he hears the loud snip and twang of the thread being cut. The grey-white glow of the dead man's soul rises up through the portal, and Hades makes eye contact with the person whose life he is about to take over.
"Time to go, cutie. Have fun!" With a great shove from behind, he falls through the portal, falls through an eternity of space to land squarely atop the dead man's body. There is a suction-like pull that is pure agony, and then he is lying on a dirty floor, the sand scratchy against his cheek.
He looks around, but there is no sign of the doorway, the Fates, or anything. He is alive, alone and powerless in the body of a stranger.