Of The Earth
He would've condemned the earth for her twice over.
The first time, it came with a compromise – she would spend half the year below and half above so the mortals who had not yet forsaken them would survive. They pretended it was to appease Demeter. He kept no secrets and told her no lies; she was life and death, and without her in the realm above, everything would cease to be. Just as everything ended with him, it began with her. He placed the pomegranate in her hands, and it was her benevolence alone, her decision, that would keep his kingdom – their kingdom – from being overrun.
She ate six seeds and became the ruler of two worlds. Kore, the maiden, grew into Persephone, the queen – that was why Zeus never questioned.
When the Olympians started dying, others disappeared. Why, when their father had done the unspeakable to them, he was so readily given with the others. Ares had his reasons for alliance, but Hades was the Just, the Hospitable, the Rich and the Righteous. He didn't need Kronos to keep himself alive. In the God-king's heart of hearts, he knew. Hades was always a step away from them, taking no women but his wife, removed from their affairs, a good husband if any of them were capable of it. He nearly condemned the world for her once - if it meant keeping her alive when mankind turned their backs, Hades would do it again in full.
Persephone was no fragile queen – life and death mingled in her ichor. Hades may have organized the judges and become the jury, but she was executioner. She had free reign of his realm and the power to handle it. The worst thing mankind had done was underestimate her. That was why, when her mother fell sick, he knew she would not be immune. Surely she did as well; that must've been why she hadn't stopped him. If they were to fall, they would together – it was not, in fact, better to have loved and lost than to never love at all. Every six months, he lost her to them, to her mother, and those months stretched on for small eternities. It was no surprise to imagine that even a god could not imagine surviving without the one they loved.
As he battled Kronos at his brother's side, he begged for her forgiveness. Her name did not have to be spoken for her to hear. Perseus was capable, at the very least, and Zeus' faith in the boy was not misplaced. He vanquished the great evil at seemingly all expense.
He expected, at most, his own weapon to the back as he turned away from Perseus and made his way back toward his realm. Mortality was an oddly appropriate way to grieve, he thought, at least for the few moments as he wandered through the clearing smoke. Yet, there she was, waiting just beyond what was once the entrance to the Underworld with Cerberus at her side. His steps faltered; he was sure that she was only an apparition until she sighed. Her eyes, so bright, filled with relief, and she took a few delicate, composed steps before composure lost hold. He only managed a few more of his own, staggering forth as though prepared to collapse, before she collided with him, her slender arms encasing his neck, her lovely, russet hair spilling freely against their faces.
"Great Styx," she whispered like a prayer, her delicate hands soft as they pressed to his face, "I thought I lost you."
What words could've echoed the sentiment? He pressed her so close that Cerberus pawed at his feet, seeking the same intention. He held her tightly enough to convince himself that it was not an illusion, then he breathed, "I was sure."
Even with the ichor in their veins tempering to blood, when she withdrew enough to run her fingers over his jaw, her smile was elegant enough to rival those who came before her. "You underestimate me, husband."
The lord of the dead grasped his wife's face between his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. Neither spoke, though her tender, sun-warm skin brushed his as their hands linked.
"Was it enough?" he murmured.
Her eyes raised, betraying the ghost of a smile on her lips. "You said it yourself; they will always come to us. Are we not here when Olympus has fallen?"
"Placate me."
"It was enough, Hades. It was enough and more." She sought the dark depths of his eyes for confirmation of the same. He nodded once, and, satisfied, she gave Cerberus the space to show affection as well. While the massive dog nearly knocked his owner off his feet, Persephone's attention strayed. The mortal army kept their distance, of course, but a young boy stood on the edge of the haze. His bright-eyed, open curiosity drew a smile to her lips, one that her husband noticed. She drew a finger to her lips and motioned for him to go on.
"Let him tell that the gods are not dead," she said, before Hades could concern himself with the boy's knowledge. "Maybe their love will restore them."
He nearly told her it was her father's act of love that kept them from being separated. With a hand on Cerberus, he regained hers, and the brightness in her eyes rivaled the very sun itself. "We should make our way to Epirus. Surely the temple still stands, and there must be one or two boys out of work."
"It will not be your palace," he replied.
She waited for him to join her, their dog's tail wagging contentedly at his other side, and she linked her arms with his in full. "We could live in a field, for all I care; it would be a better idea to approach mortality with a bit of caution. They get sick, you know."
He glanced at her, and she shook her head, "Humanity will come through. They may not be very bright, but there are always a few."
"Like Perseus?" he prodded.
"Oh gods no, I could've done his job in less time than it took him to travel."
Persephone, the Iron Queen, the daughter of Zeus and Demeter, goddess of Life and Death, divine both in and out of immortality. He would've condemned them all for her twice – if her faith in man proved false, it would just have to happen a third time.