A/N: "So this came as after a bout of plot bunnies overflowing. I wanted to keep the timeline vague, sort of like a fairy tale. Anyways, I hope you enjoy my rendition of this ancient fairy tale."

P.S. This story was originally posted in the summer of 2013. It was up until about February 2014 when my account was hacked and "Solace" was deleted and replaced by another one. That story was called "It Grows". It was written before this one and was never finished. I disliked the characterization of Hades and Persephone that I had written in "It Grows" and decided to leave it unpublished. The hacker apparently liked "It Grows" more than "Solace", which was promptly deleted. I have recently gotten control of my account back, though my entire profile has been deleted, along with my other stories on this account. Luckily I keep things saved in multiple places!

Hopefully this won't happen again.

Much love,

Artwolf

Chapter 1

The end is not important, nor is the beginning. The journey is what matters.

It is a lie to say that the Lord of Riches despised his realm. He did not; in fact, he quite liked it. Or he learned to, rather. It took many years, but Hades learned to see the beauty of his kingdom.

It was a subtle beauty; not as bright or colorful as Zeus' skies and earth, and not as passion-filled and tumultuous as Poseidon's oceans and rivers. Yet it was still beautiful, in its own way. Fields of asphodel stretched on forever under a shining sun, and the souls that resided there knew rest, if not joy. And Elysium, from what Hades could see, was a greater paradise than Olympus. He often walked alongside its borders, longing to enter its domain; longing to sit underneath its great trees and feel its cool breeze on his face as he walked past its waterfalls, watching souls deemed more worthy than his own live as they never had on Earth – carefree and joyful, and forever at peace. Yes, Hades longed to finally enter Elysium and see his entire domain, but he was deemed "unworthy".

He was incomplete, in Elysium's own words, and as such, not allowed to enter – though he was more than welcomed into Tartarus. He took careful consideration to avoid the place altogether. And, for the most part, he ran his kingdom with a steady, sure hand. He was harsh, he knew, but not unjust. There was good and there was evil, and Hades felt that there was little in-between. If a man killed another to steal his coin purse, and did it in order to feed his poor family, he was still sent to Tartarus. Intentions did not matter to Hades; only actions, so Hades judged men on what they did, and not what they intended to do.

All the same, judging made him weary, for examining a soul was not easy work; nor was sending a good man to Tartarus. It was times like these that he felt the incompleteness, deep within his chest. Looking out at the great, empty expanse that was his throne room, he sighed deeply. When he inhaled, he felt the bones in his chest move to accommodate the expansion of his lungs; heard them pop and crack as they moved. Not for the first time, he felt very, very old; ancient even beyond his years. He also felt very, very lonely. He exhaled again, noting how his breath came out like a cloud of mist. He was making his palace cold again; he needed to get out, he decided. Fresh air may do me some good. He tucked a lock of ash-white hair behind what left of his ear and grimaced. Almost against his will, his fingers traced the burned flesh that reached from his left ear to underneath his eye. A memento of the Titanomachy, he thought bitterly.

He snapped his fingers, making his helm of darkness appear in his hands as he placed it on his head. He preferred to conceal himself in the land of the living; he did not need to give humans more reason to hate him than they already had, and his appearance would only serve to add to their disdain. And, though he did not need their worship, he also did not need more of their hatred. He was completely invisible as he made his way through the underworld and up towards the world above. He had no particular destination in mind, and so he wandered aimlessly. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where the sun is gentle and the flowers blow softly in the breeze. A place like Elysium, he knew, though he would never admit it to himself.

As such, when he caught her bathing that day, he hadn't meant to. He hadn't been searching for an innocent maiden to spy upon; hadn't been searching for a cheap and easy conquest. He had simply been wandering; looking for a place to relax, and perhaps alleviate the persistent ache in his chest.

Yet that is what happened: he had caught an innocent maiden bathing, and the sight before him made him stand still in his tracks. His eyes roved over her of their own volition, seeing all of her and yet none of her at the same time. A slender waist, with large breasts and a well-formed behind, curved and soft. Her skin was olive in tone and had a healthy tan from being a creature that lived in sunlight. He imagined the stark contrast his pale fingers intertwined with hers would make. Then he saw her hair: red like fire, and at once he saw himself facing Hyperion; remembering the light and the flames that burned his face and turned his once-black hair white. Yet, when he saw her hair, how it curled and fell in gentle waves, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in it.

He wanted nothing more than to be burned by it.

He wanted nothing more than to be burned by her.

She continued to bathe, completely oblivious to his presence, and he was glad. He stepped closer, snapping a branch as he placed his weight on it, and the illusion was broken. The girl turned towards the sound – towards him – and he saw fear in her green eyes. He suddenly felt very ill, seeing her distress. He had been watching her like an animal, and worse – he had responded like one, too. Even now in his disgust, he could feel the pressure in his loins, and the instinctual urge to touch himself there; to relieve the incredible pressure her display had put on him.

He left without another sound, traveling through the ether back to his domain and the comfort of his bedchamber. In the confines of his room, he poured ice-cold water over himself, and bit his lip to keep from hissing in pain at the sensation. He would not fuck his own hand over the girl like some animal; he was better than that. There was right and there was wrong, and doing that would most definitely be wrong.

Yet, try as he might, he could not control his dreams, and that night he dreamed of her. He saw her, straddled over his hips with a coy smile on her full, pink lips. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead a soft sigh escaped her mouth. He wanted to kiss her; to taste her and feel her underneath his mouth, but this was a dream, and the dream kept him rooted in place with his back against his pillows. She began to grind herself on him, moving her hips in slow, intoxicating, agonizing circles, and then, as if another dream had started, her clothes were gone and so were his and he was deep inside her. She moved on him and against him, repeating his name in a mantra, over and over again, yet he had no name to shout for her. She looked him in the eye as her climax reached her, and he woke up with a start.

He groaned as he found his abdomen and groin sticky with his own release. Never go to the mortal world again. With a snap of his fingers, he made himself clean, though he could not fall back to sleep. With his lust for the meantime sated when his thoughts drifted back to her, he found himself wondering who she was, rather than thinking of her body alone. What is her name? he wondered. Who are her parents? And more importantly, what are her likes and dislikes? Her ambitions? Does she always bathe in rivers? Is she a nymph? He immediately shook his head at the thought. Nymphs are slender, lithe things, and this girl – this woman, Hades corrected himself – is much more than that.

In the days that passed, he thought of her, and of what she may be like, while in the nights he dreamed of her most indecently. It became such a nuisance, this old betrayal of his body – because he was, at one point, genuinely young, and thought himself now past the carnal lustfulness of youth – that he began to bring himself pleasure with his own hand every night before retiring, though he did not think of her. In fact, he thought of nothing; he kept his mind focused solely on bringing his release, and he kept his fist appallingly tight as he pumped and jerked himself to climax. He did not do it for pleasure, but rather necessity and irritation with himself. Yet for all the disgust it brought him, his hands at least kept his dreams away, and soon he was able to get through the day without spending all its hours thinking of her, and generally being completely useless running his own kingdom.

Soon months came to pass, and then even years, and Hades found himself only occasionally thinking of the maiden with fiery hair. (Hair he wanted to burn in.)There were times, though, that he wanted to see her, and one time that he broke his vow to himself and actually did. Hypocrite. He walked slowly and deliberately to his seeing glass and eyed his gaunt reflection with a grimace.

"Show her to me," he whispered. One last time, he told himself. This and no more.

The image in the black glass shifted, and he saw her, holding a younger girl who appeared to be injured. They were in a forest, though that was nothing new. Then he heard her voice, and he felt his heart beat hard and fast to the new sound.

"You're safe, Chloe," he heard her say. "I'll get us back to Mother and she can help you."

"But, my lady. . . the satyr."

Satyr? Hades' brow furrowed as he watched the two. His heart beat accelerated.

"Don't worry about the satyr, Chloe. I'll protect you." The girl didn't seem convinced by her own words, and neither was Hades. Then he saw them: satyrs. And a whole group, no less. He froze.

One stepped out, gray-bearded and somewhat bald. Its horns were long and thick, and its muscles curled underneath its thin, aged skin.

"Aren't you a brave little nymph?" it asked, grinning and flashing yellow, rotting teeth.

"Let's show her and her friend how brave they are, Nicodemus." That was a younger one; a son or a brother, based on their resemblance to each other. Its blond hair flew softly in the forest's cool wind.

"I agree with Nikolas. Let's."

More poured out from the trees, and in total Hades counted about fifty. They're never going to make it. Yet Hades felt rooted to his spot, completely and utterly. Do something, you damned idiot, Hades!

"Stay back," the girl said, a frightened tremor in her voice. "I'm warning you!" The satyrs laughed at her, and Hades clenched his fists.

"I'll take the red-haired one first," the eldest said. "I like her spirit."

The girl crouched, placing the palm of her hand against the wet soil of the forest, and Hades was surprised when he saw tree branches wrap around several of the satyrs. A goddess? he thought. Or a demigoddess?

Despite the girl's best efforts, she was overwhelmed. There were simply too many of them, and only one of her, and she was fading terribly fast. It was only when she was knocked down, though, that his body permitted him to move. I have to save her. He pulled on his helm and called for his horses through the ether. Be safe.