A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed or faved my story! You really make my day. I'm grateful for the positive feedback you're giving me. Now onto the first of the longer chapters. I how you really like this one, it's very Hades-centric, and sets the tone for the rest of the story. Warning: much fluff ahead!

Chapter 4: The Saving of Persephone

What am I doing? Hades wondered for the thirteenth time since taking Persephone into his arms. His horses, still in their Nightmare disguises, followed the familiar path through the dead town at the beginning of the Underworld. The young goddess was unconscious at his feet, held on only by his shadow. She was so pale, so slight…

What was he doing? He was the god of the Underworld, not a bodyguard for maidens! Nor was he like his brothers and nephews, to chase after any bit of skirt that pleased him. The other males in his family were the ones known for abducting women. He purposefully stayed out of those situations! Why had he agreed to this? He owed them nothing!

But here he was, with Demeter's innocent daughter in his chariot, while he carried her off to his lair. It wasn't like he stole her, he told himself. Demeter begged him to take her. Even Persephone had said please.

When he had seen the pale thing in the water, he reacted without thinking. His shadow reached out and plucked it from the river. It could have been a sack of drowned kittens, or someone's washed-away laundry for all he knew. But it wasn't. It was a maiden, a young goddess, in fact. Her body showed her hard use, and he could guess what had happened.

After hearing her tale, he was surprised she had escaped with her maidenhead intact. Knowing his family, it wouldn't stay like that much longer. It shouldn't have bothered him to hear her all too common story. But it angered him. It made him want to do something to protect her. He alone could have withstood his family's wrath while Demeter and Persephone made their escape. But that wasn't what happened, was it?

He was unsure of his motives. He had seen his brothers cavorting with goddesses and mortals alike without interfering, so why was this time different? Was it because he saw her pain first-hand, or was he driven by more… carnal desires?

He'd tried not to look on her slender form, but her dress had been badly damaged. He saw quite a bit of flesh, and could have seen more with little effort. He prided himself in not being so easily distracted as the rest of his family, but he was lying if he said he didn't feel tempted!

So he tried to think of her as young, which was true, and virginal, which was also true, and not for him, which was where he struggled. Demeter had given her to him. Any other god would take that as a blatant invitation, especially when the maiden herself said please. But he told himself he was not like the others. He had a measure of control over himself. He would not give up his peace of mind for a few moments of pleasure.

He promised Demeter he wouldn't hurt her daughter. He clung to that vow. Not hurting her meant not forcing himself upon her, no matter what his body felt. He would keep her safe, even from himself.

It isn't force if she is willing… his mind treacherously whispered, and he groaned. No, he must not think about that. She was hardly going to be willing! For one, someone did not leap from the trauma she had experienced into a strange man's arms overnight. For two, he was old. Really old, compared to her. A young maiden wanted someone near her own age, not someone as weary as him. For three, she was young, too young to know what she wanted in life. Four, and this was a big one: he was the god of the Underworld, the ruler of death. A maiden was life personified. She wouldn't want anything to do with an old, dead thing like him.

He was still listing reasons why exploring his attraction to the young goddess was a very bad idea when the Nightmares made the leap over the river. Persephone was still unconscious, and missed the transformation from cold to warmth. He was oddly disappointed that he didn't get to see her reaction. Most people thought the first part of the Underworld was all there was. He rarely allowed others past the river, and they only saw what he wanted them to see. Most believed he lived in that broken heap of a castle.

He urged his horses faster, concerned that Persephone had greater injuries than he'd seen. Within a few minutes he pulled up in front of his actual palace. Thanatos and Hecate were waiting for him like usual. They were shocked when he gathered the pale goddess in his arms and leapt from the chariot.

"What have you done?" Hecate asked unwisely.

His temper flared. His shadow loomed up behind him, huge and dark. "What have I done?" he demanded. "Better ask what did the others do to her? Or what I will do to them when they are within reach. I pulled her from the water where she had been left to drown like an unwanted puppy! I brought her here to be safe. Her own mother begged me to have her!"

Thanatos and Hecate both bowed deeply, holding the pose while he quivered in anger. He wanted to lash out at them. Holding Persephone in his arms was effecting him unexpectedly. He felt deeply protective of her, and a strange tenderness that made him want to cradle her against him forever. And that was a very bad thing, given all the reasons he'd already listed. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to calm down.

"I apologize, my lord," Hecate told his feet. "I spoke in haste. I realize it is not in your nature to harm an innocent."

No, it wasn't. And he had sworn not to harm this innocent in particular.

"Rise," he said stiffly. Both of his advisors straightened.

"She is in need of your healing arts, Hecate," he said, a note of vulnerability creeping into his tone. He saw surprise on both of their faces, and cursed himself silently. Hecate stepped forward.

"May I see her?"

Reluctantly he passed his burden to the goddess of witches. He thought once he was no longer holding her, he would no longer feel that protective anger, or the longing to comfort her. He was wrong. He was in so much trouble. Unable to relinquish her completely, he ordered needlessly, "Get her cleaned up and warm. Change her into something more decent. Prepare a room for her, but put her in my study for now." He didn't know why he was instructing Hecate, who knew better than him how to deal with his charge, but she didn't take offense.

"Aye, my lord," she agreed, and began walking away to carry out his orders. His shadow stretched after her, and it took conscious effort to pull it back.

"Who is she?" Thanatos asked quietly.

"Persephone, by Zeus, out of Demeter," he replied absently.

"She is not a filly," Thanatos said sharply.

Hades gave him a blank look. "What?"

"You gave her bloodline like she is a horse you intend to breed," the man eyed his master speculatively. His eyebrows shot up as a faint blush showed on Hades' face.

"It isn't like that," Hades heard the defensiveness in his own voice and winced. It would only strengthen Thanatos' conviction.

"Isn't it?" Thanatos asked.

"No," he said firmly. "It isn't possible. She's a goddess of spring, and I am the god of death. Do you think she could love something like me?" Too late he heard what he said, but there was no way to take back the word love. He did not love Persephone, he told himself. He didn't know her. But if she ever looked favorably on him…

Thanatos sucked in a startled breath, but only said mildly, "I am Death, my lord."

"You are my weapon, but I am the hand that wields you," Hades said, regret thick in his voice. "It isn't possible." He stalked into his palace, following the path that Hecate took with his charge. He was a cursed fool, and he knew it. Demeter should have never given her daughter to him. No one trusted the god of the Underworld, and in his affection-starved existence, the tiny faith placed in him caused havoc on his emotions.

Thanatos fell into step beside him. "If she would not welcome the god of the Underworld, would she not be more willing for the god of riches?"

"If her head was turned by riches, would you think her a worthy mate?" Hades responded. He had already considered it, and by his friend's silence, he knew Thanatos agreed with him. Hades sent the other man away so he would stop hovering, and waited outside his study. He could hear voices inside, but made no effort to listen in. He was enough of a criminal that he didn't need to add eavesdropping to his list. He was glad the maiden was no longer unconscious.

After a few minutes Hecate came out. Hades looked up, his heart in his eyes. She did a small double take, and then had a hard time concealing a gleeful smile.

"She is awake, and asking for you," she said, and left before he could ask any more questions. Shaking his head at her reaction, he entered his study. Persephone was sitting demurely on the couch before the fire. She stared into the hearth, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked forlorn, and his heart went out to her. No matter that she had asked for help, she was still a maiden in a strange place, with no one but strangers for company. What had he done by bringing her here?

He coughed softly to get her attention. She looked at him with tears in her green-brown eyes. It was a kick in the chest. He had put those tears there. She stood from the couch and faced him, dashing away her tears. She wore what was obviously one of Hecate's dresses. The garment was sleeveless, with wide straps holding it up, and resembled an amethyst crystal: pale lavender on top, darkening to deep violent on the bottom. It would have been pretty on her, save that Hecate was of a rather more matronly figure, and the dress was loose on Persephone's form.

"Lord Hades," she greeted him in a subdued voice, and dipped into a low curtsy. He had to look away quickly. When she bent over, the too-large dress gaped open in the front, tantalizing him with more flesh than she intended him to see. He kept his eyes on the ceiling until he noticed the motion of her straightening.

"I would like to thank you for the care you've shown me," she continued thickly. He suppressed a shudder. She should not thank him until she knew the cost of his care. He shook his head sharply and corrected his thoughts. No, there was no cost for being her protector. He was not going to make demands of her, simply for being in a position of need. He realized she was waiting for a reply. Since she had addressed him formally, he would return the favor.

"Lady Persephone," he bowed in greeting. He needed to remember that she was indeed a lady, a goddess, and deserved to be treated as such. She was not here for his personal amusement.

"I would bid you welcome to my kingdom," he continued, striving for a gracious tone. It was unfamiliar to him, and he wasn't sure he got it right. "And I hope that you find every comfort here. I apologize for not having a room ready for you, but assure you one is being prepared currently. I expect Hecate will shortly inform us when it is done. If there is anything you require, you have but to ask myself or one of my servants, and it will be provided for you."

He was rambling. This slip of a young goddess had reduced him into rambling like a mortal before Zeus. He was an idiot. He saw her tears, her innocently offered wares, and started spilling out words as if sheer quantity could provide her comfort.

"I apologize for the abrupt manner of our arrival; it can be harsh to those who are not accustomed to it…" he trailed off slowly. She stared at him like he'd grown as many heads as Cerberus. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"My lady…?" he inquired.

"You're talking," she said in apparent surprise.

His throat closed, and torture could not have induced him to utter a single sound more. He had forgotten. When he visited outside of his kingdom, he did not speak much for how his voice seemed to frighten others. But in his home, everyone was used to the way he sounded, and he spoke without hesitation. He gave a shallow bow with his hands spread in apology, reverting to the silent communication he used above ground.

"No, you don't have to stop," she said quickly. "I like your voice."

She blushed. He stared in fascination. He liked her blush. He wanted to touch her cheeks. He liked her body. He wanted to touch— He needed to get hold of himself before he acted on his impulses.

"Are you well, Lady Persephone?" he asked in what he hoped was a polite tone. "Was Hecate able to soothe your injuries?" Too late he realized that might be a too personal question, given what she had been through.

But she smiled bravely and said, "I am well. Thank you for her services, she was a great aid to me."

"I'm glad to hear that," he smiled back at her. Warmth grew in his chest. It was a pressure that urged him to act. Instead of stepping forward to take her in his arms, he moved to his desk. He shuffled his correspondence while he gathered his composure. When he thought he could face her again, he turned back to her. His eyes widened in horror. She had gone to the side table, picked up an apple, and was in the act of bringing it to her mouth.

"No!" he called sharply, crossing the room in a bound. He struck the fruit from her hands. It fell to the floor, bounced, and rolled away. Persephone recoiled from him, clutching her hands to her chest. Hades cursed himself silently. Did he hurt her? Had he already broken his vow?

"I am so sorry, Lady Persephone," he said in a low tone, trying not to scare her worse. "Did I hurt you?" His heart was pounding at the near miss. It would have been much worse he if had allowed her to take that bite.

She stared at him, trembling in fear. After a moment, she slowly shook her head. She extended her hands; they quavered slightly. She quickly clenched her fingers to steady them.

"No, I am unharmed," she whispered. He eyed her, not sure he believed her statement when she spoke in such a timid voice. He wanted to take her hands in his and rub the sting away.

"I should have warned you earlier," he said regretfully, resisting the impulse to go to her. She would not welcome him. "Do not eat the food from here. Those that eat food from the land of the dead cannot remain in the land of the living. If you took a bite of the apple, I could not return you to your mother, and that would make me a very poor host. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her face paling. Her eyes filled with tears, making him certain he had said something wrong.

"Please, Lord Hades," she began, and he would have granted her anything when she spoke in that sweet tone. "My mother, do you think she is alright?"

So that was what was bothering her. She was concerned for the mother they left behind to face the gods alone.

"Demeter is a powerful goddess," he said firmly. "They would be very foolish to try to harm her." It was clear the worst they could do to Demeter was inflict pain on her daughter, but Persephone was safely out of their reach. Demeter was free to unleash her wrath without fear of what they might do to her daughter. Hades smirked slightly. Watching Demeter's vengeance could be very entertaining.

Persephone did not share his confidence. She nodded, but remained downcast. She sat on the couch again, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly. He yearned for her too much to not offer comfort. He sat carefully on the couch, keeping a healthy distance between them. She didn't acknowledge him. He reached out and placed his hand on her bare shoulder. She flinched and looked at him with stark terror.

"Please don't be like the others," she begged.

He jerked back from her. The other gods, she meant. She was asking him not to force her. He leapt up from the couch. Now he knew what she really thought of him. He tried to offer comfort, and she thought he was trying to seduce her. He was hurt, angry, and disappointed in himself because some part of him wanted to say to Tartarus with everything, and take her already. He couldn't bear to be in her presence for another moment, and strode for the door. Only her desperate plea could have stopped him.

"Please don't leave me!"

He halted, facing the door, his fists clenched at his side. His need to get out of there warred with his desire to be close to her.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispered.

That was easily solved, he thought. He could still leave, and send Hecate in to keep her company. Or he could remain, and provide the company himself… He was still debating each option when she made the choice for him. He heard her rise from the couch. His body stiffened as if expecting pain. She approached and stood behind him.

"I'm sorry," she said humbly, and then she touched him. Her fingers rested on the small of his back, spreading warmth to his whole body from that light contact. He didn't turn around. He couldn't remember the last time someone willingly touched him. He didn't trust himself to face her without taking her in his arms. She was already being brave to come to him, and he didn't want to frighten her away again.

"I know you're not like the others," she continued. "You are too kind to use me."

If only she knew! But he remained silent, trapped in her presence as securely as if she bound him with chains. She trapped him further when she slipped under his arm and leaned into his side. His breath caught in his throat as he felt her softness against him. He glanced down and jerked his eyes away. That dress was gaping open again, affording him a very lovely and indecent view.

His breathing turned ragged. She was entirely unaware of the effect she had on him. He remained stiff, for if he relaxed for a moment he'd do something he'd regret. Nor was Persephone done torturing him. Gradually she leaned more on him. Her trust broke him when she rested her cheek on his chest. Could she hear how his heart pounded? Did she realize that it beat for her? His arm curved around her waist helplessly. He could have no more stopped himself than he could have made the sun rise. He was not Apollo, and he could not resist the maiden at his side. His shadow curled gingerly around her bare feet, and when she didn't protest, began to flow up her legs. He stopped himself well below the hem of her dress. He wanted to hold her, not molest her.

She swayed in place. He looked down at her, striving to keep his gaze on her face and out of her dress. Her eyes were closed, and deep lines of exhaustion covered her face. Poor lady, he thought in sympathy. After all she had been through, she was nearly asleep on her feet. She pressed to him so that he was nearly the only thing holding her up.

"Lady Persephone," he began. He had every intention of waking her up so she could go to her room. Or, since Hecate had not yet announced that it was ready, so he could offer her his bed, with him in it— No! Without him in it! Looking at her face though, he knew it was beyond him to disturb her.

"I'm going to pick you up," he said instead, though he didn't know if she really heard him. I'm going to carry you to my bed, where I will lie down beside you and hold you all night long— He sucked in a deep breath as he realized his thoughts had once again turned to bed. After centuries of chaste abstinence, a single goddess was his undoing! Although… holding her was a good deal more considerate than what the others gods would do to her if she were in their beds. Perhaps his reaction was more platonic than he'd realized? He consulted his body. Nope, those were definitely not platonic feelings he was experiencing. Still, he supposed it said something that his impulses were somewhat more civil to her than he'd expected.

Simply looking at her gave him the answer. He wanted her body, yes, but he also wanted her mind and spirit. He wanted to know what sparked her interest, what made her smile. None of his brothers or nephews wanted more than momentary pleasure from her. He wanted everything. He hung his head in despair. He was so screwed.

Her knees buckled as she slid deeper into sleep. He caught her and cradled her to his chest. The protective feeling was back, but now it was accompanied by a fine ache. He knew he would never have her. This might be as close as he ever got to hold her while she was here. He made his way to the couch. He tried to set her down so he could leave and nurse his heartache alone, but she clung to him. He couldn't free himself without disturbing her, and he was loathe to do that.

So he sat on the couch as well, the sweet goddess' torso cradled in his lap. She gave a deep sigh that echoed in his heart. He found he didn't know what to do with his hands. He couldn't set them down without touching her, but he wasn't sure his touch was allowed. He debated painfully before shrugging. Did it matter? He was already touching her. A little more contact would hardly bother her. In the end, it was only himself that would hurt.

He placed one hand on her silky hair, brushing it back from her face. At first he thought it was a dirty blond color, but as he started to really look at her, he realized it was more than that. It was a multitude of colors, lighter blond strands on top, bleached by her exposure to the sun, with progressively darker layers underneath. He saw dark blond, and even red-brown, as if her hair contained every color there was. From a distance it looked unremarkable, but as he watched the firelight play over it, he thought it was the most beautiful hair color he'd ever seen.

If there was an Elysian fields for him, he suspected this was it: holding Persephone while she slept, being able to feel her hair and skin with his hands. His other hand hovered over her uncertainly. Her dress was open again. He could see everything. His fingers trembled as he reached down… and pulled the material to cover her. He breathed a sigh, not sure if it was relief or regret. He rested his hand on her arm, marveling at her soft texture, the small muscles underneath.

I will protect you, he thought to her. I will protect you for as long as you'll let me, no matter how much it hurts to be close and not have you…

She slept on, oblivious of his regard.