A/n: So I've always loved the myth of Hades and Persephone, but many stories retell what we already know. But has anyone ever thought how sweet, mild-mannered Kore became the tough, Iron Queen of the Underworld, who commanded ghosts and demons? Well, this is my version of the Hades and Persephone romance, and it's not always smooth sailing. So those looking for fluff aren't going to get it. Sorry.:P But please read it anyways and tell me what you think!~Becky

The Queen's Kore

"Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone-we find it with another."- Thomas Merton

The Queen of the Underworld could feel Winter's grasp weakening on the earth above, could see the soil stirring from its months of freeze. She could hear the popping of flowers into the meadows that ceilinged her kingdom. Her own skin bloomed with freshness, its usual icy pallor reddening with health, as though pomegranate juice dribbled across her cheeks. Her black hair glistened across her shoulders, streaked with vibrant spring colours of red and yellow and purple.

Persephone, Queen of Iron, Carrier of Curses, stretched in her stone throne and smiled. To her left, her husband frowned, eyeing her sidelong with his dark, intelligent gaze. He did not like this time of year, when she was out of his sight and control. When she was younger, known to her fellow maidens as Kore, she had fallen deep into the abyss of those fathomless eyes. She had followed him like a lamb into his home, fallen into his arms like a lovesick bird. It was she who had caused worldwide pain and suffering; she, the weak and flowery, fickle and stupid Kore.

It had been her beauty that caught Hades' eye, not her wits. It had been her fresh, breezy lifestyle that had captured his heart. However, living in the Underworld had required many things, intelligence and power only some of them.

Now the trouble for Hades lied not in attaining his wife, but keeping her. She had become her own master as she learned the extent of her authority.

Now she met his gaze squarely, confident in her own person. He had little rule over his wife, little say in her actions. Hades may rule the Underworld, she thought smugly, but it is I who rules his heart and drives him raving mad.

"Must you go?" he asked in a low voice, his tone light with hope.

She laughed in disdain. "My Lord Hades," she purred, "why would you miss me when you may take a nymph to your bed?"

Her husband shifted uncomfortably, but he did not avert his gaze. She may be my wife, he thought grimly, but I rule this kingdom. She is never going to take it from me, and she is never going to make me back away.

Instead, he glared at her. "You accuse me falsely."

Persephone shook her head in mock sorrow, her hands to her heart. "How it hurts me when you lie to me, my lord." She smiled cattishly, rising to her feet. Her red robes rustled across her legs, and Hades suddenly forgot what he was going to say.

His wife glanced at him from underneath her eyelashes, her black eyes dancing with mirth, cajoling and scorning him at the same time. They fluttered, and the Lord of the Dead spluttered angrily on his throne.

"DO NOT-" he began to roar, but she waved away his words dismissively.

"Goodbye dear husband," she said sweetly, smiling. She placed her hands on either side of his throne, bending to meet his eyes. Her skirts swished against his legs, and he stiffened, holding his breath. His eyes held a warning, but she met them with one of her own.

"My dear lord Hades," she whispered, each breath tickling his skin like strands of silk, causing him to shiver, "I am going away for a while." Her eyes were hard and cold, but her smile was sweet, though Hades could read in her lips the subtle menace. "If I find you in bed with a nymph when I return…" Her face suddenly distorted into sorrow, and her voice wheedled high like a mocking bird, "I would hate to have to turn the poor idiot into a tree."

Minthe, he thought sadly, remembering. She had been such a spritely, vivacious thing. His wife cleared her throat, eyes boring into his face.

"Goodbye dear," he said cheerfully, leaning forward and kissing her passionately. She jerked back, wiping her sleeve across her lips and shooting him a glare that would have set a mortal into flames. There was no trace of smugness in the curves of her body now. She knew the one limit in her power, the one thing that tied her to him for an eternity, made her wholly and fully his, though she often strained against the bonds. She belonged to the Underworld as much as he ruled it. She could leave, but her cage would always draw her back into its depths.

Persephone would never be free.

And she knew it, in the way she held high her suddenly trembling chin, and restrained herself from fleeing his presence by walking stiffly from the room. Triumphant, Hades blew a kiss to her retreating back.

I hate him! I hate him! Persephone thought angrily, smearing her sleeve across her cheeks to wipe away the maddened tears that trickled down. She had started running as soon as she was out of his sight, and had promptly tripped. Her controlled and icy queen façade had been replaced by her true awkward nature, the one that reached and tried desperately to hide itself from prying, laughing eyes. The one that disguised itself in cruelty and seductiveness, and made herself feel as dirty and soulless as the demons she commanded.

Now she was like Kore, the silly-headed and bumbling girl who'd thought it a piece of pie to fall in love with the multi-dimensioned, multi-powerful Hades. Nevertheless, even if she had been empty-headed and stupid, she had also been true and loyal, innocent and compassionate.

The Iron Queen, Lady of the Dead, her role as wife to Hades, called upon none of those things. With her power had come the dearest cost of all: her soul.

Persephone stumbled past Cerberus, who growled at her and lunged. With a weak wave of her hand, the three-headed dog tripped over its own gigantic feet, whimpering like puppies.

"Oh stop it," she said crossly. "Now you know how I feel when I trip over things."

The ground rumbled as she exited the Gates to the Underworld, the rocky landscape around her dashed with rivers. Before she reached Charon the Ferryman, with his boat full of souls, the earth above her split open, pebbles cascading down like rain to smack her arms and face. A staircase levered itself down to her, and the newly arrived ghosts watched in awe from Charon's ferry.

Her heart wrenched when she thought of how, in the early days, Hades had escorted her to the top, allowing her to walk a few paces to her mother before yanking her back for an embrace and kiss that left her weak-kneed and breathless. She had tripped and stumbled her way to her mother even more back then. The thought of his strong arms around her, his shining, happy eyes, caused her knees to start trembling as she mounted the steps, rising to meet the sunlight above. All of his power and energy, his entire being, focussed on her, made for her.

Then the centuries had passed, and her silly, childish ways had started to bore him. His intelligent talks were met with doe-eyed stares, because she had no notion of what he was talking about. Her dances and joy and giddiness annoyed him. He was a man, she was a stupid girl, Persephone thought bitterly. He had wanted a woman, a queen fit for the desolation surrounding them. Her cheer and sunny disposition, despite his previous belief, had done nothing to make the Underworld a better place, had done nothing to alleviate his own fears of centuries of loneliness. Instead, it had only reminded him that he'd have centuries to live with a girl who could not carry intelligent conversation, make witty remarks, or seduce him. The queen he yearned for did not exist in Kore.

"I showed him," she muttered to herself, halfway up the stairs to home. She had studied and pondered and pestered her mother and other goddesses, particularly Aphrodite, about affairs of women and men. She'd learned ice and revenge and power from Hera, had roared like Zeus until the earth shuddered under her sandals. And she had returned to Hades as a Queen fit for the Dead. His Kore had been shut away into a box, leaving a woman behind.

Hades had soon learned he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Her power and attractiveness made her more a fatal poison than a suitable equal; his love had turned to possessiveness as he'd realized she could think for herself. His wife had quickly destroyed his weak-willed affairs with mortals and nymphs alike, a trait shared by many of the gods. Now it was she alone who could give him what he desired, and she held this key over his head far too often. It made him even more angry and demanding, yet he still could not bear to see his drug taken away. He mocked her with threats of affairs, but she knew they were unfounded.

Since the Iron Queen had arrived, no woman mortal or nymph, besides Minthe, had dared take Hades into bed for centuries. They all feared the fury of Persephone, as well they should. Still, his daring to even mention it made her sad and angry- he was still so petty and angered that he tried to hurt her with dishonour, wanted to make her feel inept and ugly. Persephone would scoff at his attempts, but Kore cried inside of her, bawling for comfort.

It's what made it so hard not to fall to her knees and beg for love from him, the true and honest and sincere passion they'd enjoyed when they'd delighted in each other's company.

The Kore inside of her squirmed for release, her true nature making her feel ill for all her horrid deeds and making her lovesick. She had cursed men to thousands of years of purgatory for minor crimes, had unleashed wrath on innocents because of her own lack of joy.

But there was nothing she could do. If she was going to control Hades, rule her kingdom, she could not allow the Lord of the Underworld to best her in their game. She was desperate for any sort of reprieve, and the satisfaction of seeing him wither in confusion or anger was enough.

For now. However, she missed Kore, and visiting her mother always brought out the maiden inside, though she'd dirtied herself in the God of the Underworld's bed for centuries now. But Kore, sweet, innocent Kore, still seemed as clean and sweet as the clearest mountain stream.

With that last thought, Persephone reached the world above, the sweet-scented breezes of spring rushing to meet her weary embrace. As the earth ground to a close behind her, a lilting voice echoed through her mind like a perverse thought she wanted to wish away: "Goodbye, my darling. Until autumn, then. I will try to restrain myself until my dove returns."

Persephone closed her eyes, the sounds and scents of the world she'd missed engulfing her senses enough to wash him away.

When Persephone opened her eyes, she realized she'd fallen asleep. She was in bed at her mother's cottage, a light wind stirring her blankets. She sat up, morning light filtering through the windows to fall across her lap. Flowers lay scattered across the room, and vines trailed from the walls. A bushel of wheat stood in the corner, and her mother bustled around in the back of her mind, trying to resurrect Kore from inside of her for Persephone's visit. She clapped her hands to her head and cried, "Mother, get out of my mind!"

Demeter suddenly appeared at the foot of the bed, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry, dear," she said, patting her legs. "You just seem so much sadder and more world-weary each time."

Persephone placed her hand across her chest, as though to guard her heart from her mother's good intentions, which would break the dam of her emotions and childish follies. She'd lose all control to Hades, and ultimately lose the battle.

She would never beg at anybody's feet. Not again.

"You're one to talk," she said wryly, noting her mother's baggy eyelids and creased mouth. "You look a little worse for wear."

"A famine," Demeter sighed. "All the farmers here and there want help." She smiled at her daughter apologetically. "Do you mind helping me? I'm afraid this won't be much of a visit."

Persephone hesitated, unsure if she should participate in something so Kore-like. But her mother needed her, and the thought of doing more good than harm tugged at her like an opportunity she could not pass up.

"Alright," she conceded. Demeter's face broke into a lovely smile, and she suddenly seemed so much younger that her daughter's heart swelled. She tumbled into her mother's hug, burying her face against her mother's chest. "I missed you, Mother," she whispered, blubbering like a baby.

Her mother propped her chin on her head, her arms clutching Persephone tight to her. "I missed you too," she said, stroking her hair soothingly. She smiled wobblingly, then caught sight of her daughter's robes. She sniffed in contempt at the black and red affair of the Queen, with its clinging silk and low neckline.

"No daughter of mine will wear this while helping farmers," she said firmly. "You're more likely to make their wives want to bash their heads in than listen to you."

Persephone nodded, slipping from the dress as Demeter rummaged for appropriate attire. When she turned to face her daughter again, she held a gown that made Persephone freeze. It was a simple thing of white linen, a tunic really, with long flowing sleeves that dangled around the skirt. It left room for bare shoulders, and a design of pomegranates and roses danced across the hems. It was the dress her mother had made for her wedding, to both mourn the loss of her daughter to three pomegranate seeds, but also to express her joy at her daughter's happiness. She had been Kore then, and worn the dress everywhere. The summer she had become Persephone, she had left it behind, never giving it a second thought except in her poignant reveries.

Now Kore seemed to be staring back at her in a mirror, begging for help. Persephone felt herself shaking her head just as she said, "Yes."