Disclaimer: Property of A&E and ABC. Not Mine.
Hades follows his knightly brethren as the crowd disperses. The men seem restless; perhaps they are anticipating the following dawn, just as he is. They march down a side street towards a two-story brick-faced apartment building sidled between a tavern and a blacksmith. Coincidence? Definitely not. In theory, one of those dusty glass windows is his private quarters, per his hefty friend's prior comments. The challenge is figuring out which one - without arousing suspicion.
Fate is with him as a young teen comes barreling out from the double doors of the apartment building. "Sir Zacharias! You have returned!"
"I told you he would!" says the burly knight, slapping a heavy hand on Hades' shoulder.
Um… ouch? Why must mortals be so touchy with each other?
"Yes Sir Godric," the boy replies humbly. "Yes… you said."
Hades grins - he knows an opportunity when he sees one. Scanning his short-term memory, he states, "Squire… Caden, I am weary from my travels. I require food and proper attire." It's a bold move, but these are knights. In theory this is normal for their world.
The lad leaps into action, eager to serve. "Of course! I'll speak with Renault at once!"
Excellent. If he's lucky, he can finally have something decent to eat and clothing that doesn't smell like algae.
Two hours later, Hades is lounging in a pearl white claw foot tub, swirling the last remaining bubbles with his toe and debating whether he should summon the manservant Renault for more hot water, or just give it up and head downstairs to the tavern with the other knights.
The Fates did indeed choose well. This is much more his style. He doesn't know how these knights managed to acquire themselves a full team of servants, as his memory of the Crusaders is more of a 'living off the land' lifestyle. However, if they found a way to improve their station, far be it for Hades to deny himself the opportunity to take complete advantage of it. The tub is spotless. The water is clear and warmed from a fire. The soap and oils are scented with sandalwood; not a favorite fragrance but it will do.
He examines his fingertips, finding them slightly wrinkled from his extended bath. Yup, that's enough. Besides, the tantalizing scent of roasted meat from the tavern is calling to him. Rising from the tub, he stretches his arms to the ceiling, marveling in the novel sensation of each muscle tensing and relaxing in turn. Mortality has interesting side effects – where there is pain, there is also pleasure in its absence.
The cotton towels to his right are thick, yet not as soft as he'd like. It's become a familiar theme – everything is just a tad shy of his normal standards. He studies the small studio apartment while patting himself dry. It too is sub-par – an ornate but weathered headboard in dark walnut shadows an off-white feather quilt on a horsehair mattress that barely fits two. The dresser and freestanding wardrobe match the headboard in style as well as wear. A chest at the foot of the bed, opened wide, holds suits of chain mail and his breastplate armor. Two swords, a spear and a set of knives are mounted on a rack along the far wall. These are in much better condition than the ones from the shed in the woods, and Hades wonders if they are for show or for actual use. Given that these folks have been trapped in this lost realm for quite some time, perhaps his host never planned on using any of them.
Hades folds the towel and drapes it across a stool near the claw foot tub. He opens the dresser drawers and finds a few sets of muslin long undergarments, three pairs of socks, and a pair of suspenders. The sight of suspenders gives him hope – is it possible his host actually owned a tailored jacket or two? He opens the wardrobe eagerly, and the disappointment is crushing. There are two union suits, red of course, which he would not be caught dead wearing. There are a multitude of linen shirts similar to the ones he found in the cabin, all in much better condition than the one he wore into town. Additionally, folded and hanging from a wooden peg, is his version of the long, heavy velvet cape worn by all the knights. It seems their normal attire is chainmail, the breastplate, and the cape.
Hades does the appropriate thing, and garbs himself like his companions, struggling and feeling rather ridiculous as he does so. The mail is heavy, and the fine-linked hood immediately pulls against the three-day scruff on his cheeks. Completely unacceptable – either he is comfortable or this not happening.
He scans for a solution. There is a mirror on the inside of the wardrobe; he can use that to give himself a quick shave. There's no actual razor, but one of the small knives might do, with the assistance of the soap and a towel.
He strips off the mail, which is no small effort, and stands clad only in the undergarments in front of the mirror. It is smudged with dust and age, so he uses another towel to wipe it clean. The face staring back at him is not his own, and it is disquieting.
He runs a finger through the curls of the thick dark hair, greying at the temples and so unlike his own softer, reddish-brown waves. His jawline is square rather than angulated, in fact all of him seems to be cut from a human template based on ninety-degree angles. The nose is larger, flatter and the brows are thick and dark. He runs his fingers over the stubble on his chin. Thick, prickly and mostly grey – only the outline of the goatee is dark. He traces it with his fingers, leaning in close to the mirror for a better view. It is so alien, so not him.
He glances up, and his heartbeat skitters in shock. He's looking back at his own eyes. The pale bluish-grey rimmed with the thick outer line of dark cobalt. It's not a trick, eons of studying himself in every detail has made him certain. Everything beyond his irises may belong to his host, but those are his eyes.
The realization sends chills straight up his spine. It's like he's wearing the other man's body as a costume, with only his eyes peeping through. It's right out of one of the sci-fi movies from the late 1990's and it's creepy.
His stomach rumbles, unperturbed by the fact that he's walking around in the Medieval Times equivalent of an Edgar Suit. He shakes his head in attempt to clear his mind. There's nothing he can do other than make the best of it. With that thought, he uses the soap and knife to shave off the greying beard and goatee. Clean-shaven was always his style before, and it will be his style now.
ooooooooooooooooo
His fellow knights cheer when he finally makes his way into the tavern. His burly friend and another man slide along the stained wooden bench to make room for him at a table for six. The heavenly smell turns out to be lamb. There is a huge roast surrounded by root vegetables in front of him, and Hades is eager to dive in. Yet there are no table settings for himself or his companions. He turns his head discreetly at the other patrons and they all appear to have pewter plates and utensils. Bemused, he looks at the others, who are laughing amongst themselves while swallowing back whatever is in the mugs they hold.
A young, mousey woman approaches him and asks if he wants anything. Mind focused only on food, Hades replies, "Please, table settings, so that we may eat."
This brings peals of laughter from his companions. "So polite! Such the gentleman! All clean-shaven too! Prim and proper, ye are!"
Hades flinches, but recovers quickly. These are men from a rather violent era. Refinery is not part of their world. Strength and courage are. As is the timeless male behavior of one-upmanship. If he doesn't respond in kind, it will appear out of character.
"And what of it?" he barks. "Are we Knights Templar or are we heathens? I'd rather be clean than smell like barn, and I'd rather be civilized than act like you boorish oafs!"
The men are silent. Hades starts to sweat – had he miscalculated? The rumble from his left eases his fears. Sir Godric starts to laugh, and the rest of the men readily join in.
"Sir Rhye! You and your quicksilver tongue! Always entertainin'." The rugged man pats him on the back, hard enough to slam his ribs into the edge of the table. He is going to need to toughen up if he's going to hang with this lot.
A young knight with pale, Scandinavian ancestry offers him a wooden tankard. "Here, we saved an ale for ye."
"As if one will be enough!" says a knight at the far end of the table, taking a sip from his own stein.
The young serving girl returns with table settings, and makes a show of presenting them to each knight. Hades can tell she's hoping to win favor with one of them, perhaps for money or just for entertainment. She's not for him, but it seems the young blonde might take her up on her offer.
As soon as the knife and two-pronged fork are in his hands, Hades is carving off a huge hunk of roast lamb. Keeping an eye out for his companions, he makes a show of eating like a half-savage barbarian, using only the fork and foregoing all proper table manners. Only one other knight is interested in food, the others are chatting and enjoying their ale. Calls for another round are made while he is on his second helping. He's surprised to see his tankard refilled – had he truly drained it? The combination of the roast meat with the bitter ale had been appealing. Perhaps he was thirsty.
He's finally sated after one last helping. Again, the girl returns to fill their mugs, and again Hades' is as empty as the others. He's not a lowbrow beer drinker; he's always preferred the finer spirits – properly aged whiskey and the finest wines. It's been a while since he imbibed heavily in any type of alcohol, but here he is with another empty tankard.
He looks around. The tavern atmosphere has darkened with the night; the gas and oil lamps that light this world casting a warm, muted glow. It's soothing in a way, as is the camaraderie of the men around him. A well-established introvert and isolationist, Hades isn't exactly a fan of team morale or male bonding. But the knights are companionable and entertaining with their stories of women wooed and battles fought.
"Are ye done at last, Sir Rhye?" says the knight to his right, a man they call Sir Trefast. "Eatin' them out of house an' home, ye've been!"
"Aye," Hades replies, matching the man's accent perfectly. "Didn't mean to be a bother."
The men laugh. "Give us a story, then!" says the young blonde. "How about the time you bested those three in the alleyway?"
"Or the time you got caught with yer arse to the wind over that woman?"
Uh oh. Time to improvise. The ale coursing through his veins fuels his courage and imagination.
"Nay," he says, raising his hands to the air dramatically. "Nay, I say. Tonight I shall impart on you a tale of another hero. A man like ourselves, far from his homeland and cast into an adventure not of his control."
Sir Godric eyes him strangely but the other knights seem intrigued.
"This," Hades starts, draining the tankard of ale with flair, "is the story of a hero's return to his home and his family. His name was Odysseus, and…"
ooooooooooooooooo
Hades wakes abruptly, startled by the remnants of a particularly unpleasant dream where the dead Robin Hood is cloaked in rags and shooting white arrows through ax handles directly into his heart. He opens one eye; only to squeeze it shut an instant later when agony pierces his skull. There is also a loud banging reverberating against his eardrums. Who the hell is making so much noise? The banging ceases, and the pitchy voice of the young squire Caden replaces it. "Sir Zacharias, you must awaken. Dawn will be upon us soon and we must hurry."
Hades rolls over with a groan, his stomach twisting in protest. Yeah, getting up is not an option. Lying here quietly sounds like a much better idea.
Caden approaches the bed. "Sir, you will miss the new world if you tarry."
New world? Reality crashes into him, jolting him upright. Big mistake, as the pain from before is nothing compared to the knives stabbing him behind his eyes now. "Oh dear gods."
The night before returns to him in a hazy blur. Had he really told a bunch of knights from the Dark Ages The Odyssey? Why yes, yes he had. Oh hell. He did Star Wars too – in front of the entire tavern. That's it. No more ale for him. No more alcohol of any kind. Clearly this mortal body can't handle liquor. How demoralizing. Gods don't get drunk. More cold reality hits him - quite unpleasantly in the gut and he swallows hard. Gods don't get hangovers either, but he sure as hell had one now. Fantastic. The most important day of his new life and he'll be lucky not to spew his guts on the way to the courtyard.
Hades cradles his head in self-recrimination while watching Caden and his mad energy. The restless teen is flitting around his apartment like a little bird, checking here and there for heaven knows what. "Good that you are now alert. I packed your weapons and clothing yesterday evening. They are in the carrying sack at the foot of your bed. Your mail and armor are cleaned and set aside for you. All should be ready, but we do need to make haste. The others are already downstairs." The squire is handing him a fresh set of undergarments, a shirt and pants. Oh no. There's no way he's stripping in front of this boy. That's terribly uncouth.
He looks under the sheets, and sees he's naked. How the hell did that happen? Did he undress himself before crashing into the bed… or… did he have company last night? That waitress… no… he couldn't have…
That mystery will have to remain as the faint rays of dawn are starting to lighten his apartment. He needs to hurry. Foregoing modesty and choking down bile, Hades rises and dresses quickly. Caden helps him with the mail and the breastplate; completing the job in half the time it took him alone yesterday.
Wearily he makes his way downstairs, the canvas duffel slung over his shoulder and the orate sword from the wall dangling off his hip. This is not going to be a pleasant trip. Not in the slightest.
Hours later he is leaning against his sword, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, attempting to ease the tension in his back. His tongue is sandpaper in his mouth and he'd give anything for a nice, cold glass of water. And a chair. Any chair would do, but he remembers his old throne down in the Underworld. That really was the best – comfortable, dignified – everything he is not right now. Right now he is nothing more than a slimy, smelly, pickled piece of meat in a tin can. He can feel every bead of sweat trickling down his back; the heat of the sun has been baking down upon them since daybreak.
Fortunately, the pounding in his brain has subsided. The jug of water he chugged this morning, right before Sir Godric shuffled them out the door, was not nearly enough to rehydrate him – but it did take off the edge. Then again, a lack of hydration might be a blessing in disguise. At least he doesn't have to pee. He has no idea how these men manage that little maneuver with all this mail.
His companions are calmly lolling about, waiting their turn, a picture portrait of patience and gallantry. Why Sir Godric and the other knights chose to be all noble and let every other blasted inhabitant of this land go through the portal before them is beyond him. Hades is going to have to find a way to separate himself from these do-gooders. There's no way he can live like this – all righteous and valiant. It's revolting. He has things to do. He has revenge to plot against Zelena. He has to get his body back. And then, he'll go after Zeus. It may take some time, but he's lived for eons. A decade or so is nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Eventually a group of men straight out of Daniel Boone's era that have clustered off to his left start to move towards the stage. It's time. Hades picks up his sword and sheaths it into the scabbard on his hip. He's getting better at it; the first time he tried he almost carved out a kidney. This body really should be more adept at such things. The others don't seem to notice, so maybe it is common for him to be a tad uncoordinated. This would align with Hades' new theory that his previous host was an alcoholic sot 99% of the time. That's the only explanation for why they haven't questioned his clearly non-knightly behavior. Only Godric seems suspicious, and Hades is going to make a point to stay clear of him once they are in Storybrooke.
They're quite the little parade as they all line up and stride towards the narrow doorway that he can only assume is the portal. The young blonde and Sir Trefast are near the lead, while he and Godric are at the rear. Caden is with two other teens that must be squires for the other knights. All three share a look of wonder and hesitancy that can only come from the naiveté of youth. The flirty waitress, the manservant Renault, and the bartender are all clumped in the middle with the rest of the servants and the staff, chatting eagerly amongst themselves.
Each walk through the swirling blue and white doorway, until only Hades, Godric and the two behemoths that have been guiding the crowd all day remain on the stage. The silence is eerie – the entire square is nothing but abandoned stalls and bits of litter that skate along the cobblestones with each passing breeze. Hades' heart is pounding. Finally! He is about to step through, when Godric places a firm hand on his shoulder. Instinctively he freezes. Is the leader of the knights onto him? Should he just make a dash for the portal, or play along?
The decision is easily made when the tall warden appears from behind the stage and approaches them. Odd that the man waited – one would think he would be the first to go through.
Godric speaks over Hades' shoulder. "We are the last, Mr. Hyde. Everything went smoothly."
Wait... what? Godric was working for this guy? That's news.
"Pleased to hear it," Hyde intones coolly.
"Our bargain still holds? My knights and attendants take up residency in this mansion you described in return for assisting you in keeping order within the new realm?"
Arrogance rumbles through Hyde's words. "You doubt my integrity?"
Godric's tone is pitch perfect in its sincerity. "No, but as we have not partnered before, and I know naught of this Storybrooke, I want to ensure that the deal we struck is articulated clearly – to avoid confusion."
Two lights blink on in Hades' mind. One – Godric is more than he seems. Two – Hades is here for a reason. Godric had him stay to be a witness. The dark warden recognizes it as well, acknowledging both men with a slight nod.
"Understood. I wish for this to be a mutually beneficial relationship. Come," Hyde states politely, gesturing towards the faintly humming doorway. "Let me show you and your second to your new home."
ooooooooooooooooo
Hades can't hold back his scowl as he studies his new room from the leather wingback chair. It's nice, but... he has a roommate. It seems dear Godric thought it would be prudent to have Caden keep an eye on him, although it was described the other way around. Their fearless leader claimed he didn't want the teens causing any trouble in the new world, and hence separated them. Since the squire is so pure and clean that he squeaks, Hades doubts the lad would ever be a problem. He knows this arrangement is to keep the errant Sir Rhye and his drinking problem in check. Or maybe just to keep an eye on him overall. It's frustrating, as their new residence is none other than the Sorcerer's mansion. Never before has he had an opportunity to explore it, even in the Underworld. Too much light. But now, he can. The answer to his problems might just be here, and all he needs is the time to search for it. He doesn't need any snooping interlopers hovering around.
If memory serves, this should also be the marital home of Rumplestiltskin. But where is the dear old Dark One? He must have been the mysterious 'wizard' that made the deal with Hyde. Was giving up the mansion part of that deal? If so, Hyde must have some pretty significant bargaining chips hidden in his dapper cuff-linked sleeves.
The dormant memory clicks into place. Belle is under a sleeping curse. Only True Love's Kiss can wake her, and given Rumple's love of the Dark power, his kiss will never work. True Love's Kiss is light magic. Hades is baffled – what could the warden know about True Love's Kiss? Did he actually figure out a way to bypass it? If so, how?
Hades never found one, and he dedicated centuries to researching it. It started with understanding the nature of Zeus's curse, needlessly torturing many souls in attempts to learn the details of the counter spell to free himself from his underground prison. None knew – as Zeus kept his secrets well hidden. Until, for whatever reasons, his brother let the cat out of the bag. He was enamored with a willowy blonde, and one night, after bedding her, he told her the story of his brother Hades and the Underworld. When she responded with the simple empathy that most mortal women emit when hearing such sob stories, Zeus told her not to fret, because it could be reversed.
Hades learned early on that women were Zeus' weakness. He made a point to keep track of his brother's trollops du jour. When the blonde was eventually discarded, Hades was there to pick up the pieces and pry into her mind. According to her, it was easy: he only needed True Love's Kiss from the heart that mirrored his own. The practicality left a lot to be desired, as Hades knew full well his heart did not love. Even before Zeus stopped it, love was not something Hades even considered. Pleasure, yes. All kinds of it. But love? That wasn't for him. If the other heart mirrored his – how could it love? Zeus knew this - it was why the cure was inherently simple, yet frustratingly unattainable.
Hades had raged for months. However, after disemboweling a third of the citizens of the Underworld and tossing them into the River Acheron, he accepted his fate. There was a counter spell – it was just going to be difficult to create. He was a god, and gods are not deterred by challenges. Besides, there were certain benefits related to the quest of True Love.
The memory makes him smile. Hades had burned through women like matchsticks in his search for the right one – starting with the lesser female gods and demigods. His kindred spirits. No luck there. Then he tried women in the Underworld; their hearts were technically stopped as well. Nothing. He scoured the realms, wooing woman after woman, and getting absolutely nowhere. He improved his game dramatically, and took pride in his ability to bend women's minds and hearts to his will. But none actually appealed to him beyond the token bits of pleasure they provided. Instead he developed an obsession, an aching thirst for the one that could free him.
It was an act of desperation to approach the Wicked Witch of the West about her time-travel spell. By then he was convinced there was no heart like his own, and had given up his quest in favor of a different one. He never suspected she'd be anything more than a means to an end – green was not his color. Yet, when he first met her, ruthless and filled with a hate so eerily similar, he began to wonder. When she ignored his charms and dismissed him without a thought, he was intrigued. When he saw her isolated way of life, so akin to his own, he took a risk and played the duality card. That earned him the sliver of compassion required for her to agree to work with him. The feel of her in his arms, upon a bicycle of all things, confirmed it. He didn't lie to her when he said his heart fluttered – it did. So did everything else. That contact with her rocked him to the core - because finally, he had found his cure.
After that, it was simply a matter of getting her to fall in love with him and restart his heart. He'll admit he was a little overzealous that first day, but after centuries of searching, and having the solution to his problems sitting five feet in front of him, it clouded his judgment. The Underworld inhabitants cowered for years after that, as Hades' cruelty towards them knew no mercy. Over time his frustration eased and he held steady, waiting and watching. It tested his patience to the breaking point. He looked for her when the Dark One killed her, but when she didn't arrive in the Underworld; he feared she was gone to him forever. When she reappeared in New York City, and then returned to the Evil Queen's Storybrooke, surprisingly pregnant, he knew it would happen soon. The birth of her child would thaw her icy heart, and give him leverage. He needed only to wait, and the opportunity would present itself. And it did! Years of perseverance paid off and she was in his world again. It didn't take him long to seduce her, and with her kiss, he was finally free from the Underworld. That sense of victory was like no other. And then… she destroyed him.
Mortals always said that when they died, they didn't feel the pain. That's why they couldn't comprehend they were dead. Thinking about it, Hades realizes it was the same for him. He felt the crystal pierce his heart, and it did hurt for a moment, but he was more surprised than anything else. Stunned was a better description. He never dreamed Zelena would do such a thing. He expected her to falter, torn by indecision. He was waiting for the moment she would lose her focus, which must have been why his guard was down. Looking back on it, what happened made sense. When his power combined with the crystal's, it was just systematic overload. It was like he called forth all his magic, and somehow lost control. Mortals who dabbled in magic beyond their caliber had something similar happen to them. They died, of course.
But Hades had not died. He had ceased to exist as a god, and now he is… this. Mortal. Damn Zelena and her softened heart! The Zelena he met all those years ago would have dropped Regina like a stone. They could have ruled Storybrooke together. It would have been perfect.
His train of thought is interrupted when his new roomie comes bounding into the room. "Sir Zacharias! Dinner is prepared – will you be joining us?"
Hades shakes off the remnants of his walk down memory lane, but the anger and resentment lingers. "Fine. I mean, sure, I'll be right there."
Food is the last thing on Hades' mind as he follows Caden down the ornate stairwell. He's focused on a different set of priorities – delightfully evil ones. Tomorrow starts a new life for him, and he plans to make the most of it.