A/N: Hey, everybody! Herculade here with another chapter of Whispers in the Dark. We're a bit longer this time around and we get to see some character interaction, so that should be fun.
Before I begin, though, there are a couple of things I want to mention. The first thing is a little nitpicky: the clothes. No one has called me out on it yet, but I still think it needs to be said. I could go into exhaustive detail describing the chitons and the peplos(es?) and the himations, but I don't think I need to. We all know what Greek clothing basically looked like, so general terms like dress and tunic should suffice. Saves me a lot of headache, and possibly you guys too.
Secondly is the myths. I'm referencing a lot of Greek myths in this story without giving a lot of background. This helps to streamline the story a little bit, but it wouldn't be fair if I didn't mention it. You guys probably know your stuff, since you're here in the Greek mythology section, but feel free to speak up if I lose you somewhere.
Okay, I'll shut up now. Happy reading!
Chapter 2: Coming Home
The sun was shining brightly on the morning of the spring equinox. Even on high Olympus, where the weather was always sunny and where no foul wind ever blew, the day was more beautiful than usual. But then again, Persephone thought it was always exceptionally beautiful this time of year. The sights of the glittering halls and the soft green meadows – broken only by footpaths of smooth white marble – were to Persephone the sights of home. The sights of freedom from her husband's hellish domain.
Persephone practically ran along the path which led to her father's palace, clad in a sleeveless green dress and a girdle made of fresh spring flowers. There were a few flowers in her hair as well, fiery red locks which streamed behind her as she moved. Her face was rosy and bright, and were it not for the figure which followed behind her, one could almost forget that she was the part-time Queen of the Dead.
Hades walked behind Persephone at a slow and monotonous pace, nowhere near as happy as his bride. He had never much cared for Olympus, even before the rest of the gods had made it their home – it was too bright and too picturesque for his tastes. But now that his entire extended family dwelled there, he made a point never to visit unless it was absolutely necessary. That mountain was much like the gods themselves: beautiful and majestic in appearance, but full of strife and petty squabbles beneath its façade.
Hades and Persephone saw no one as they made their way toward Zeus's palace. This hardly came as a surprise; the Olympians tended to give Hades a wide berth no matter the circumstances, but on the first day of spring, they were especially careful not to attract the Lord of the Dead's attention. On this this day, he was not in the mood to deal with them.
Thus, Hades and his reluctant bride passed unimpeded into Zeus's palace. It was a formality they observed every spring: Hades escorted Persephone directly to her father's throne, just so the kings of the Underworld and Olympus could be certain that their arrangement was not violated. In truth, Zeus probably would have preferred not to go through the motions of greeting his brother and watching him slink back to the Underworld at the end of every winter, but Hades took his bargains very seriously. Not even Zeus could get around that.
Zeus's palace was larger than all the others, a magnificent building made entirely of the purest gold, set upon the highest hill in all of Olympus. It sported no surrounding walls, for Zeus delighted in the idea of displaying his home for all to see, knowing that none would dare enter without permission. Neither did it have a courtyard; instead, a peculiar grove of oak and olive trees – sacred to Zeus – surrounded the base of the hill.
Hades and Persephone passed through the grove and entered the palace through the massive twin doors at its front. They did not stop to announce their presence or await invitation. After so many centuries, Zeus knew to expect them on this day. Besides, there was no stopping Persephone in her enthusiasm. She burst through the doors and sprinted across the main hall, calling "Father!" with joy and relief that she could no longer contain.
Hades continued at his own pace, hardly more than a saunter, and took a moment to look around. The inside of Zeus's palace was just as ostentatious as the outside. Everything was made of solid gold: the floors, the walls, the columns, even the two thrones which sat upon a dais at the far end of the main hall. The hall itself was vast, with a vaulted ceiling that reached at least a hundred feet above the heads of the gods, supported by a row of pillars on either side. Windows the size of the average man were set at intervals between the pillars, allowing enough sunlight to make the entire hall glimmer and gleam. It was entirely too bright, and Hades was almost forced to squint.
By the time Hades's eyes had adjusted enough for him to see through the dreadful glare of Zeus's hall, Persephone had already reached the thrones at the opposite end. Lord Zeus himself sat in the throne on the left, dressed in a flowing white tunic pinned at one shoulder. His hair and beard were also long and white, looking rather like a mane of clouds about his head. His right arm and pectorals were bare, revealing muscles that rippled with power. His eyes were as dark as storm clouds and seemed to flash with lightning of their own. Perched beside his throne was a great golden eagle, Zeus's bird and a symbol of his might.
Hera, his queen, sat beside him in the throne on the right. She was dressed in a simple but elegant dress of white and purple, crowned with a thin circlet of gold. As she caught Hades's eye, he realized that she was everything her husband was not. Whereas Zeus's hair was bushy and white, Hera's was silky and black. Her body was slight and her skin was smooth, quite unlike her lord's coarse musculature. Zeus's eyes contained the fury of the storm; Hera's held the serenity of a cloudless sky. A peacock with magnificent plumage sat beside her throne, its feathers fanned to display the many eyes it bore. The peacock was Hera's sacred bird, and the eyes upon its train were the ultimate symbol of her jealousy.
Zeus rose from his throne and embraced Persephone warmly. "Welcome home, child," he told her, just as he did every year in that same exact tone. Hades wondered how much of it was genuine, or how much of it was simply a show to rub in exactly how much Persephone hated her husband.
Persephone did not acknowledge Hera's presence, nor did Hera do anything more than quietly glare at the goddess of spring. Of all the gods whom Zeus had fathered, Hera resented Persephone the most. At least her other stepchildren had redeeming qualities – Apollo was a fine musician and Dionysus was a delightful merrymaker – but Persephone had none in Hera's eyes. She had been a spoiled child ever since Zeus and Demeter's night of passion in the cornfield (which was a perfectly ridiculous place to conceive a child anyway). As soon as Hades had married her and she had received a taste of what the real world was like, she had wilted like the delicate flower everyone had made her out to be. Persephone's bitterness was on par with Hera's own, but what right did she have to be thus? Oh, poor Persephone, how awful it must have been to live with a man whose greatest mission in life was to please her. Hera would have given anything to claim as much.
But no. Hera was Zeus's queen, and any imaginings to the contrary would only worsen her mood. She could sit and she could glare at the fruit of her husband's unfaithful loins, but she could not allow herself to dream.
When Zeus and Persephone parted from their embrace, the King of the Gods looked to Hades. "Welcome, brother!"
"Zeus," Hades replied with a curt nod. To his sister, he added, "Hera."
"Hades," Hera acknowledged him. That was the extent of their conversation over the past few centuries – a mere exchange of formalities, and that was all. It was a terrible shame, Hera thought. She and Hades had been close once, unlike their other quarrelsome siblings. But after Hera's marriage to Zeus and Hades's departure for the Underworld, they had simply drifted apart. The abduction of Persephone hadn't helped matters, and now they were reduced to simply repeating each other's names at every equinox. Hera wondered what Hades thought of her now… if, indeed, he ever thought of her at all anymore.
Hades turned away from Hera and looked up at Zeus once more. "If there is nothing else, brother, then I will take my leave until the autumn equinox."
"Are you sure you will not stay?" Zeus chortled. "I'm sure our fellow gods would love to visit with you. They're all beginning to suspect you don't appreciate them."
"Then they don't need me here to correct them now," Hades answered dryly. "I could never keep track of whatever lies you've told them to besmirch my reputation. I'm afraid I would have nothing to add... unless you'd like me to tell them how you, my youngest brother, will often 'forget' to eat ambrosia or nectar to restore your youth, just so you may appear older and greater than me."
"Enough, Hades," Zeus snapped, his grin replaced with a scowl. "Do not forget with whom you speak."
"How could I, when your name is on the lips of every whore in Greece?"
"Silence!" Zeus bellowed, his voice accompanied by a roll of terrible thunder. "My older brother you may be, but I am still the King of Olympus. Now begone; I have nothing more to say to you. "
Hades gave a low, mocking bow. "As you command… my brother." He cast a single glance at Hera – who was smirking at the exchange from her throne safely behind Zeus – then disappeared in a swirl of black mist.
With Hades gone, Zeus turned to look at the two goddesses still in the hall. When he saw Hera still smirking and Persephone staring at him with eyes wide in shock and fear, he could suffer no more. "I said begone!" he roared. "Both of you! Leave me in peace!"
The goddesses did as they were told: Persephone almost breaking into a run toward the nearest door, Hera moving at a less hurried pace in the opposite direction.
Alone at last, Zeus slumped down into his throne, cursing Hades under his breath. He cursed his brother could derogate and deride him, regardless of authority, then simply retreat into the bowels of the Underworld where no one could touch him. It was a coward's tactic. If Hades would stay and face his brother like a proper god, he would have a taste of Zeus's thunderbolt for his disrespect.
But what difference did it make? Hades was gone now, and he wouldn't be back for another six months. Then more words would be exchanged and Hades would slip away with Persephone at his heels. Then the cycle would repeat as it had for centuries, as it would for all eternity. Hades was a nuisance, but not a threat. Zeus could find comfort in that knowledge. In fact, he briefly considered surprising Hera and bedding her that evening, for no other reason than to spite his brother on his first night away from Persephone. He thought better of it, since Hera always suspected him of something when he approached her with an offer of love, but the point remained the same. Hades had faded into the shadows without his bride, but Zeus was ever in control.
And there was nothing in heaven or hell that would change that.
Ares, the god of war, had been sitting in his own palace when he heard the familiar approach of dainty footsteps.
Ares's palace was a veritable fortress, made primarily of bronze of the same sort used in Grecian armor. Weapons of war were mounted on every wall, and a vulture (an appropriate symbol for the god of bloody battle) was perched upon his throne. The fortress had no windows, and was illuminated solely by wooden torches. The bronze almost seemed red in their dim glow, and the overall effect was one of blood and death.
Ares himself was dressed in the helmet, greaves, and breastplate of a Greek infantryman. His arms and legs, thicker even than Zeus's, remained exposed. The helmet sported a tall, red plume; beneath it, his brown hair was cut short and his eyes were ruddy, the color of a sunset over a dusty battlefield. A genial goatee framed his lips, which he presently drew into a smug little grin.
The footsteps had belonged to Persephone.
Indeed, the goddess of spring was now standing in Ares's throne room, looking as fresh and vibrant as the season she heralded. There was a bright smile on her face, and her limbs quivered with excitement. Ares retained his grin as he asked, "Has it been six months already?"
Persephone could contain herself no more. She ran at Ares and leaped into his arms, pressing her body firmly against his. "I've missed you, Ares," she whispered. "It's been far too long."
"An eternity," Ares agreed. "Now I understand our uncle's sorrow. My bed has been dreadfully cold."
Persephone giggled. "But unlike our uncle, I am only too willing to warm your bed."
Not another word was spoken before their lips came together in a passionate kiss. As it deepened, Ares took the opportunity to congratulate himself on a job well done. His father would be proud.
Once upon a time, Ares had been engaged in a steamy affair with Aphrodite, the goddess of love herself. Unfortunately, after a certain incident with a bronze hunting net, the affair had lost the appeal of secrecy. Only a few decades later, Aphrodite's husband Hephaestus had stopped caring entirely. Ares grew bored of a relationship which was neither illicit nor even remotely frowned upon, and soon left Aphrodite in search of more forbidden fruits.
That was when he had first taken notice of Persephone. She was not quite on the same level as Aphrodite, but she was still beautiful in her own right. She had an air of broken innocence about her, and she was married to one of the most powerful gods in existence. An affair with the bride of Hades was far more delicious than the promiscuous wife of a mere smith god.
Unfortunately, the chase had been too quick and far too easy. There was no challenge in seducing one so eager, and her arrangement with Hades meant that for six solid months, they had nothing to fear from a jealous husband. If she had been anyone else's wife, Ares would have abandoned her in a heartbeat. But he could still find enormous pleasure in the knowledge that he was sleeping with the Lord of the Dead's precious bride.
That was the only thing that gave him pleasure. Doing something solely for the sake of vexing someone else. Doing something that would place him directly in the path of an opposing force. Something that could end only in a violent and messy struggle. Conflict, glorious in its simple brutality. Ares was never truly happy unless he was stepping on someone else's toes, and if that meant taking Lord Hades's wife as his lover, then that was what he would do.
Ares reveled in the forbidden passion of Persephone's kiss until their lips finally parted. Persephone rested her head on Ares's armored chest and sighed contentedly. "I love you, Ares."
"And I love you, my beautiful Persephone." But of course he didn't. Love was a dreadful thing that forever stood in the way of conflict. Love revolted Ares, and if Persephone thought any differently, she was a fool. But then again, Persephone being a fool was not exactly breathtaking news.
Yet Persephone carried on, perfectly unaware of Ares's truest thoughts. "I wish I never had to return to my husband's wretched kingdom. I wish any other woman in the world had caught his eye. Then they would have to bear that awful curse instead of me."
Ares's eyes perked at this notion, and an idea sparked inside his mind. Persephone, this spoiled, foolish girl who hadn't learned a thing in all her centuries of living, had just given him a glorious idea. How did that old saying go? Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings? Someone should really write that down. But it didn't matter, because Persephone had given him a marvelous opportunity for doing what he did best: sowing conflict.
Ares smiled widely. He hadn't been this excited since he'd first heard about the Trojan War. "Persephone, you've just given me a wonderful idea."
Ares pushed Persephone aside and strode purposefully toward the gates of his palace. "Wait!" Persephone called after him. "Where are you going? What idea?"
"No time to explain, my pet," Ares replied without turning around. "But know that if I succeed, you may never be forced to return to the Underworld again."
Persephone opened her mouth to object, her mind racing with a hundred questions, but she was too late. Ares was already gone, and the great bronze doors of his palace slammed shut behind him.
A/N: Dun dun dunn! Just when this story started to develop an actual plot, we had to cut it short. This chapter was initially supposed to be longer, but I think cutting it off here will help the next chapter to have just what I need in there. Besides, it's been a busy week, and cutting it off here means a more timely update for you.
Speaking of busy weeks, I am obliged to say that I am not proud of this chapter. At all. I blame my schedule for that, but as I sit here in the editing phase, I have no clue how to make it better. So I'll just hope to be back on the ball for Chapter 3, yes?
What I am proud of is all the positive feedback I've gotten from you reviewers out there. Massive thanks to you for your time and generosity, and I hope to hear more in the future.
One last note: I noticed this chapter is a little bit heavy with the references to the gods' sex lives. Hey, it was bound to happen somewhere, right? But the suggestive content shouldn't get that thick again for some time, so depending on what you're looking for in a fanfiction, thids can be good or bad for you.
- Herculade