Persephone held her face in a tight mask, not daring to let any of her true emotions leak out. But she looked up at the dark god before her in gratitude. He spoke simply, but to the point, and Persephone felt that he was being honest. His direct manner was refreshing, after so many gods using pretty words instead of honesty. Her eyes dared to flicker up at his face, and although he was unsettling to her, she managed to give a small smile in reply. She cautiously took his arm, and was unprepared for what it was like to touch death.
It was cold. He might not actually be cold, but to her constant warmth, he was cold. But it was not unpleasant, for only mortals needed warmth to survive. The cold might make them uncomfortable, but Persephone knew very little of being cold, and it was fascinating. Her skin held a vibrant warmth, one that was alive with life and energy. Yet he felt like cool water or a breeze at night. It soothed the energy, the heat, the life, until she felt something like being sleepy. The calm was new, yet not disgusting or frightening like she had imagined it would be.
"I am honored as well, great Hades." She said politely. His words were reassuring, but it did not mean that she would cease her formalities. She didn't dare until she knew of his character better. She could not risk offending him. She still knew very little about him.
Besides, most men did not ask or want the opinions of females. They seemed to be pleased with quiet women, and Persephone clung to this because it gave her an excuse not to engage with young men who sought encouragement from her.
They walked behind her mother and her father, and Persephone was surprised that Hera had not made an appearance yet. Hera's husband walking with a former conquest was not something that she would approve of. What did Hera's absence mean?
Persephone realized how tiny she was compared to the great gods in her company. Zeus was massive, even though mortals believed him to be an older man. He was easily the strongest out of all of them, if immortals put any value on physical strength. But she was impossibly small next to Hades, and his darkness only dominated her small figure of light even more. She longed for her trees and meadows and forests... She vowed to run through the forest and plant new little flowers when she was free.
They were soon at the gardens, and Zeus made a spectacle of himself by boasting of his artistic eye for creating a garden completely out of lightning bolts and stars. Persephone, for all of her dislike of her father, had to admit that it was indeed beautiful. But she knew bolts of electricity that Zeus hurled from his skies to her earth very well, and she took little pleasure in them after watching forest fires and the deaths of many good trees because of them. She disliked lightning.
She tightened her grip around Hades' arm when Zeus began to demonstrate his abilities and grace while yielding the bolt. Persephone was frightened of lightning bolts, but she was more frightened by Zeus's enthusiasm for wanting to show off. She didn't trust that he would remember any boundaries while showing off of his power, and she did not want to be used as part of his spectacles again.
"I prefer real gardens...With soft things, like flowers and grass and earth." She all but whispered to Hades, sharing her opinion quietly without thinking about the consequences of sharing herself with another. She felt she owed him an explanation for clinging to him as she did.
"Do you have gardens... where you are from?" Persephone asked quietly. She wanted to make polite conversation, but she also wanted to know more about the strange God before her: One that ruled over death. What was death?
ooOoo
Feeling Persephone take his arm was a sensation he didn't know how to prepare himself for. He expected her to be warm; Hades could feel that just by standing beside her. To actually touch her, and feel the life in her skin, made him light-headed. He could feel every subtle movement she made as they walked-delicate trembles, like a butterfly's wing. And, like a butterfly, he thought that any wrong movement from him might frighten her away.
It occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so physically close to another. Hades had occasionally entertained affections for other women, but it was rare that he decided to act on them. He certainly was not his brother. In fact, his last physical contact most likely was the last time his brother had thought it would be a good idea to hug him or grasp his hand.
When Persephone called him "great Hades," he almost spoke. After the pompous ceremony they'd just had to go through, he rather didn't want to think about titles or honors right now. But, he looked at her, and how small she seemed, and knew that she was trying not to anger him. He would let her keep her formalities, if they let her feel safe.
For the rest of the walk, he was silent. And he did not look at her. But he was vitally aware of her presence with every second. When they reached the gardens and he felt the tingling of electricity in the air, he thought it could just as easily be because he was touching her.
The Heavenly Gardens were made of lightning and stars. Blinding bolts of light emerged jagged from the ground, and branched out in an imitation of trees. The energy was palpable. Zeus darted between the lightning bolts like a child, praising their wonder without really stopping to see them. Hades hardly listened to what he said. But, when his brother took to ripping them from the clouds, and demonstrating his power that made the garden so great, Hades felt Persephone cling tightly to his arm.
He felt as though one of those bolts of lightning had gone straight through him. He looked down at her-cowering but trying so hard not to let it be seen. He didn't understand why she was afraid. Before he could think of anything to say, Persephone spoke. A whisper, a gasp of air. He glanced quickly around them and saw a place for them to sit: an ornate bench on the edge of a path through the clouds.
"Come," he said, and he guided her over to take a seat. He didn't care if Zeus noticed that they were not paying attention to him.
As he sat down, her question began to take over his thoughts of concern for her. Soft things, she said. And he thought to himself that much of the Underworld was soft-mists and water and dreams. But what she imagined a garden to be, whether on earth or beneath it, must be nothing like what he thought of when he thought of the flowers in his realm.
Heroes, and the favored of the gods, lived in the Elysian Fields where there was light and beauty akin to what he thought she wanted to hear. But Hades spent no time there. When he looked over the heart of his realm, there was no light. But there was beauty he wished he could describe to her.
"There are flowers," he said. His eyes were distant, looking out over the heavens, but seeing the world far below the earth. "White asphodel, as far as you can see. They shimmer when they move, like water." He didn't mention the dead that rested in those meadows.
"And there are trees," he said after a pause. And he looked at her. His voice took on an edge of earnestness; he wanted her to see them. If only she could see images reflected in his eyes.
"There are no forests, but there's a marsh where the five rivers meet. And poplar trees on the shores of the Acheron." Even with so much that he wanted to say, his words were slow and deliberate. "There are tended gardens surrounding the palace, and around-" he hesitated. And for a second, he looked away from her. "Around the homes of the dead."
ooOoo
She was grateful for his understanding, and she sat down with no hesitation. Gods did not feel weak, and they did not need to sit. Yet she felt better doing so, if only because it put distance between her and her father's demonstrations.
It was all fascinating to her. She was a child that was raised in a garden. Her mother was the earth, and Demeter kept the order and function for the mortals that depended on her. But Persephone was the beauty of the forest. As a child goddess, she took flowers, which were created merely for their function, and she made them beautiful. She made their petals colorful and their fragrance sweet. When she danced in the forest, the trees moved with her, and it was she that inspired them to rise from the earth and reach for Apollo's light. Demeter made fruit grow from the earth for mortals to eat; Persephone made them taste sweet. She developed each flavor on her own, imagining what it would taste like to a tired, hungry mortal.
She could not maintain the earth as Demeter did. Demeter ordered the weather to be fair, and it obeyed her. She demanded that the plants give fruit to the mortals, and it did. She proclaimed that the earth would be warm and fertile, and it was. Nothing would obey Persephone as it did Demeter. But Persephone was not a creature that wished to rule. She was of the nature to create. Her very role as a goddess of life was not just to live, but to create new life and new beauty.
And one could not be creative if one was not curious.
Her naturally curious personality began emerging from beneath her fear. And because there was nothing false in her curiosity, she began to relax while sitting next to the death god. She listened intently, trying to picture the things he spoke of, wondering how flowers could grow without the sun. She imagined a field of bright white flowers in the land of death. Perhaps her mother was wrong to be so cautious of her father's brother. Death could not be so terrible if there were meadows of flowers.
She tried to imagine a palace, but she could not. She and her mother had no palace, nor did they wish for one. What would they do with a palace? Persephone often wondered why other gods kept such things. The only reason mortals did so was to seek shelter because they were so helpless. The idea of a home as a stationary and constant place was strange to Persephone, but she knew the feeling of being comfortable in a particular setting. She had to admit to herself that, even though she didn't understand the concept of a palace or a home, she returned to her favorite olive tree often enough if only for the familiarity. Perhaps it was similar.
Gardens around the homes of the dead... She tried to understand this. She tried to understand why the dead needed homes. It was a comforting thought though, for the mortal's own sake. The idea that they were taken care of and given a home was very appealing. She wondered about the man that she had watched die.
"I did not know the dead had homes in your realm..." She said, deep in thought. After a moment, she realized what she said, and looked down in shame, quickly clarifying in fear of offending him. "I know so little about your realm... But the flowers sound lovely. I'd like to see..."
Her voice trailed off because she realized that she did not want to finish that sentence. As much as she wished to see anything of his realm, she could never go there. Even if she was braver than any other god that had ever lived, and she dared go into the Underworld, her mother would never allow it. She didn't know much about the dark lands of death. Mortals who went in never returned. Was it the same for the gods? If she ever visited Hades (she never heard of any other gods "visiting" Hades before), could she ever come back? What if it was too horrible for her to bear, and she offended Hades so greatly that he punished her and her mother?
Persephone looked up for her mother, who was watching the two of them intently. She looked as if she wanted to break Hades away from Persephone-but Zeus kept his full attention on her, subtly forbidding her to leave him. Persephone caught her eye, and Demeter gave her such a glare of motherly disapproval that Persephone shrunk even further into herself. She could hear her mother's thoughts, knowing the lectures that Demeter would give her when they arrived back on earth. She would tell Persephone that it was wrong to encourage men, and she was a bad girl for encouraging the most dangerous and disliked God of Olympus. She looked up to send her mother an apologetic look, asking her to understand, which her mother would not.
But he isn't so bad... Her eyes said to Demeter.
He is the brother of your father... He is no different from any other God of Olympus... In fact, he is worse. He is God of the Underworld! He is dangerous! Her mother's glare to her was unforgiving, and Persephone felt terrible and wicked.
"I'm sure the gardens are lovely in your realm." She said politely. Her voice was small again, and all traces of curiosity were gone. She didn't like her mother to be angry with her, but she wasn't sure how she was supposed to be kind to one of the most powerful gods while still rebuking him to her mother's satisfaction.
ooOoo
Hades was pleased to see that Persephone was paying such attention to his words. She seemed comfortable, if only for a moment. But as soon as she let her thoughts get away from her, the tenseness between them began to return. Hades shook his head. She didn't understand that the homes of the dead were not quite like how they had enjoyed homes in life. They were only shadows. Being not only immortal, but a child of the wild forest, he wasn't sure she could ever understand his realm.
"It's alright," he said simply. He didn't want her to think she had offended him. She seemed so worried. Hades looked at her-eyes downturned, her hair falling over her shoulders-and he wanted to reach out. He wanted to comfort her… He wanted to touch her again.
Then she spoke, and she almost admitted that she wanted to see the things he'd tried in vain to describe. Hades sat up a little straighter. His muscles tensed with the struggle of wanting to say something, but not quite knowing what.
Persephone looked to her mother, and his eyes followed hers.
Demeter had never been a friend to him; but then, neither had many. The look in her eyes was one only a mother could give. Hades was reminded of Persephone's many would-be suitors, always complaining about her relentless protector.
Persephone grew frail under that watchful eye; he could see that clearly. She tried to keep speaking, but it wasn't the same.
Hades reached out his hand. His fingers touched lightly under her chin, and he guided her to look at his face. His mouth opened, but it felt like an eternity later that he managed to speak.
"You will see them," he said. And his usually so carefully-planned words held a touch of something else at the end of them. A trailing whisper of a word he did not say. Soon or Someday; he couldn't find it in him to choose.