A/N: Thanks for your reviews! This chapter I wanted to start a little differently, I hope you enjoy it. We get to dive back into Hades' perspective and see what he thinks of everything that's going on. He isn't as block-headed as he seems to be, or at least I hope not! This is Hades finally acting on his emotions, even if he's trying to hold them back a bit.
Also a bit of non-story related good news: remember I said I lost my kindle and my story at the Comic Con? I emailed the lost and found department, and they found my kindle! I should be receiving it in the mail in a day or two! I really excited to get it back!
Chapter 17: Creating a Flower
There was a secret courtyard within the palace walls. It was enclosed on all sides, and cleverly designed to look like dead space, or perhaps part of another room. Only by careful exploration could one determine there was actually something hidden in the back part of the castle. Even flying over it—as if there were birds in the Underworld—would reveal only an unremarkable corner, no doubt an unused yard attached to one of the palace outcroppings.
The courtyard was not large. It would have made a small pleasure-garden for a lady, with enough space to have a variety of plants, but not so big that she could not do all the work herself within a couple hours. Two people have practiced close range combat, but not stretched their legs to run. It could have been used for storage, or drying laundry, or as a picnic area. It was used for none of those things.
The courtyard was painfully stark and empty. Nothing grew in the bare dirt, not even weeds. Not a stick of furniture was to be seen. No debris collected in the corners. No decorations to soften the harsh, thick walls. It was built on the backside of the castle, away from the garish torchlight of the town. No sounds penetrated the courtyard, no light besides the ambient Underworld glow. It looked forlorn, forgotten, and barren.
It wasn't.
One man knew of its existence. Hades stood at the plain wooden door that was the only entrance to the courtyard. He hesitated before entering. This place was almost sacred to him. If gods worshipped other beings, this would have been his temple. This secret, quiet place was where he came to rage. It was where he came to weep. And this was where he came to fret.
He removed his shoes and set them aside in the hallway. Instead of his usual bright clothes, dyed with gem dust, he wore unadorned homespun cotton, crafted from the fields of the Underworld. He felt closer to his realm that way. Slowly he stepped onto the courtyard dirt. Instantly he felt the thrum of the Underworld's power. The glow that came from the land and air brightened in recognition. Other people might see the courtyard as dull and lacking, but to him it was filled with vast potential.
He walked into the center of the courtyard, enjoying to cool earth beneath his feet. He knelt and ran his fingers through the loose soil. So many believed the Underworld to be dead. Only he knew that it had a pulse. That it breathed. He had never been able to decide whether the Underworld was a truly sentient being, or simply a realm that was aware of itself. It was as far beyond him as he was to a mortal, and that mortal was to an ant. All he knew was that it had accepted him as ruler and creator.
He called on the power of the Underworld. It came to him eagerly, twining around his fingers like a cat. A smile formed on his face, despite the trouble in his mind. Oh yes, this was also where he came to create. Every plant now growing in the fields he had first made here. Every tool his servants used, the things he couldn't barter for in the living world, he made them here. Once made, it was easy to propagate them, but here was where they first came into being.
He pulled at the energy. It flowed into his hands, molten and shivering. Filaments of silvery-blue Underworld light threaded through his shadow as the realm's vitality mixed with his own. When he had enough power in his hands, he sat back and began to knead it. He didn't try to form it into a specific shape, like when he had created the plants. He let the power dictate how it would form. The Underworld would tell him what it wanted to become. He thought better when his hands were busy, and he had come to the courtyard to think.
He was worried about Persephone. When she first came to the Underworld, she had been bright and inquisitive. That had faded over the last week. Tomorrow was his day off, making it now a full week since she came here. She had become quiet, and didn't ask questions except when they were in private. She carried on with her usual actions, but there was something missing her in. Persephone tried to hide it, but she was exhausted all the time. She fell asleep almost as soon as she reached his study every night. As he was the one to carry her to bed, he was sure she was losing weight. Her skin was sallow, her eyes were sunken, her hair was dull. Something was off about her. It frightened him beyond reason.
Hecate was no use when he went to her yesterday. He was supposed to be working in his study, but he stole away to speak with his advisor.
"My lord," she greeted when he approached her. "What brings you here?" She was busily beating dust out of a carpet. He took up a switch and helped her; he hated standing around while others were working. The other servants stared at seeing their lord at such a mundane task.
"What do you think of P—Lady Persephone?" he asked. It was getting harder to remember to use her title. In his mind, she was always only Persephone.
Hecate smiled. "She is a very fine goddess," she responded. "Very dedicated when she puts her mind to it. I could not be more pleased with her."
Her answer did not satisfy him. "How do you think she is doing here?"
"Well enough. Considering the circumstances, I'd say very well."
"You don't think she is becoming ill, do you?" he pressed.
Hecate shook her head. "No, I believe she is only adjusting to being down here."
"Do you think she is… happy?" He had to grit his teeth to say it. He hit the rug harder than necessary and the switch creaked ominously in his hands.
Hecate took a moment to answer. "I think she misses companionship at times."
His missed the rug, hit the rail it was hanging over, and broke the switch completely in two.
"She is not happy here," he said grimly. His heart hurt for her. It felt like a dismal failure on his part.
"I did not say that," Hecate said sharply. "I only meant that she is lonely at times. She is cut adrift of all that she knows."
"She knows and spends time with you," he pointed out.
"But I am not the one she longs for," she said with a pointed look at him.
He did not reply. He carefully set the broken switch aside and walked away. Hecate might like to believe that he was the one Persephone wanted to spend time with, but he doubted it. She already spent at least four hours a day with him, not counting dinner and breakfast. If the young goddess was missing anyone, it was Demeter. His dark presence could not make up for the bright mother that had raised her.
After Hecate, Hades briefly entertained the idea of asking Thanatos if he'd seen any change in Persephone. He quickly decided against it. The thought of Persephone and Thanatos together made a hard knot in his chest. He didn't need Thanatos' advice anyway. He already had a good idea of what was wrong with her.
She had grown up in the sun, hadn't she? She was used to growing things, living things. Here in his realm there was no sunlight, and precious little life. Everything that grew here was sustained by the power of the Underworld, not the spark of life she had known above. Homesick was one word for what was ailing her. Wilting was another. Like a bloom with no light, she was growing weaker, fading. The solution was easy. Carrying it out was not. She needed to be returned to the sun. A stab of panic went through him. He wasn't ready. He hadn't figured out how to protect her outside his realm.
More, he wasn't sure he could give her up. She was ingrained in his heart and soul. How could he release her except to rip out those bits of himself? If Demeter came down in person to demand her daughter back, he would refuse. Yes, he'd start a war over the young maiden. It wasn't fair! Demeter had an entire sunlight world to entertain her. In his life, his only source of comfort was Persephone. How could he give that up?
Tomorrow was his day off; he could allow Persephone to visit her mom. He would accompany them aboveground. His presence would be more than enough to deter any god looking for trouble. He could bring Cerberus for support. The hound was fond of her as well. The problem was that once Persephone got a taste of the living world, she wouldn't want to leave. He couldn't allow her to stay.
He snorted suddenly. Listen to him, talking about allowing her to go or stay. As if he had a right to dictate her movements. If she asked to go home today, he would take her. No matter how much pain it caused him. Her happiness was paramount to his own. Wasn't there any way to make her happy in his realm? A thought occurred to him guiltily. It was no better than shameless bribery, but if it kept her by his side a while longer… He would be able to enact his plan tomorrow, when he had more time to spend with her.
His mind made up, his hands quickly finished the item he had created. It was a flower, a narcissus. He'd never made a flower before, save for the asphodels. That had been a melancholy day for him. But the narcissus was beautiful and delicate. It was soft and cool in his hand. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. Yes, it smelled like a real flower too. It had that Underworldly translucence that everything created down here had. He thought it fitting that the Underworld had made a flower while he wrestled with the issue of Persephone. Perhaps it was trying to tell him that she missed flowers, and he should make more for her. Or was it a reminder that she was beautiful and delicate like the narcissus, and he needed to treat her accordingly? If he was to have any hope of enticing her to his side, he needed to make himself worthy of her.
He brought the flower with him to dinner, after he'd changed his clothes. It was a reminder to himself to treat Persephone as she deserved, not as his possession. As usual, he was the last to arrive in the parlor. His eyes automatically sought out Persephone. She was leaned against the wall, body drooping with fatigue. She looked up as he came toward her. Her attention was caught by the bloom in his hand.
"I haven't seen many flowers here," she commented absently.
"It's for you," he blurted without thinking.
Her face lit up, exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "Really? Thank you!" She took the flower in her slim fingers and smelled it. She sighed in pleasure, then placed it behind her ear. He was jealous of the flower, until she leaned up to him and kissed his cheek. She hadn't done that since her first couple days here. Her natural scent of rain and flowers was even more heady with the fragrance of the narcissus in her hair.
"Thank you," she whispered in his ear. "I love it."
A shiver of pleasure ran up his spine. It seemed to him that she lingered, leaning into him, before she recalled herself and moved away. He was unable to speak. He mutely offered his arm to her, and brought her in to dinner. She made an effort to be more lively during the meal. He would plant an entire garden of flowers for her, if this was her reaction to a single one. Maybe that would invite her to stay with him a while longer.
That night in his study, she was still wearing the flower when she fell asleep in his arms. There was a smile on her face. She brought the narcissus to breakfast the next morning too, woven in her hair. He managed to arrive early enough to have a quiet word with Hecate. The goddess of witchcraft was unable to hide her surprise at his request, but she was quick to agree to it. And then Persephone walked in, wearing his flower in her hair, and he was unable to think of anything else. It sent a warm thrill through him. She smiled shyly at him as he greeted her. He led her to breakfast with his hand on the small of her back. Afterwards, he invited her to sit through the judging with him. She hesitated, looking at Hecate. He would have been seriously displeased if the older goddess had tried to delay her. Thankfully, Hecate was fully on his side for this, even if he wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"Go on, child," Hecate waved her on. "You both deserve this."
Persephone moved toward him eagerly. He held out his hand to her, and she placed hers in it trustingly. He brought her hand to his mouth, but it wasn't enough for him. He pulled her against him and put an arm around her waist. She jumped, but quickly relaxed into him. He hadn't dared to hold her this close since his last day off. His control was slipping. After a week of pretending to be a good host, he was tired of it.
This was his day off, the one day where he could allow himself to act the way he really felt. He loved her. His words were silent, but he smiled at her more. He touched her more. His only fear was that she would pull away from him. Instead she seemed to relish the attention, glowing with happiness despite the tiredness that lingered on her. What if the only thing she needed to be happy down here was love? Could she possibly accept love from him?
She settled in her usual spot against his legs as he began judging. He still felt uneasy about her submissive position. She might not see anything wrong with it, but it felt wrong to place her in a lesser place by his side. It rankled when she told him he couldn't put a chair beside his. He didn't like being told what to do. He often clashed with Zeus, because Zeus had a tendency to tell others what to do, and Hades had a tendency to ignore him.
Persephone was right, though. A chair next to his would look like another throne. Hard on that thought another occurred to him: of course it would look like a throne, because it would be one. It would be her throne. The revelation burned through him like wildfire. Why not? Why couldn't he do that? What possible downside could there be to making her a throne, and placing her on it with all the implications that came with it? She would be his queen. Thanatos had talked about claiming Persephone as his own, but he would go further than that: he would make her his queen. His wife. He felt such a sharp longing for it that he felt weak without it.
Persephone's warmth by his leg jolted him back into reality. If he carried out his plan, there was no doubt that she would be protected from the other gods. She would be his equal in power, unlike Hera and Amphitrite who were pretty figureheads but did not share their husbands' authority. Husband. He gulped. Yes, that was a very big obstacle indeed. If he carried through with this plan, Persephone would be married to him for eternity. He had no doubts about his love and fidelity toward her, but would she consent to being bound to a creature like him? He was not a monster, at least in this matter. He would not bring this up unless he was sure she would be happy with him.
Never before had he been so impatient for judging to be over. If it wasn't that putting off the judging would create too much of a backlog for other days, he would have skipped it altogether. Knowing what he had to look forward to gave him the fortitude to endure the drain of the judging. Her presence helped him in another way as well. For the first time he knew what it was to love someone. The onslaught of mortal emotion was not as overwhelming, because he had experienced more of it himself.
The requisite hours passed. He felt hollow, as if he had run a marathon without eating for three day beforehand. He was impatient to get going, but waited a few minutes to gather his strength. Persephone sat in his lap for their by-now routine cuddle. It was the second-favorite part of his day. He loved holding her, feeling as though she cared for him. Her warmth soaked into his despondent body. The only thing better than this was at night, in his study. She would fall asleep in his arms, and he could hold her without the fear of being discovered. He could pretend for a few minutes that they were a couple.
Energy returned to his limbs. The longer he sat here, the more invigorated he felt. On the other hand, Persephone's body was growing heavier. The exhaustion of the week was catching up to her, and she was drifting off in the middle of the day. He was tempted to let her rest. She obviously needed it. But she could also rest after he carried out his plans for the day. Maybe it was better to ask what she wanted to do.
"Persephone," he whispered, rubbing her arm. She stirred sleepily.
"Lady Persephone," he repeated, a little louder. He remembered the formality that time. She blinked open her eyes slowly, then realized what she'd done.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, trying to get up. "I'm so sorry!"
He wasn't. His reaction was instinctive and unavoidable. He tightened his hold on her, refusing to let go. This was the one day a week he allowed himself to act on his desires toward her. He was not about to release her so soon. After a moment she reclined against him, her head bowed. He placed his fingers under her chin to lift it. Her face rose to his as if expecting a kiss. He nearly obliged her. He drew in a breath of narcissus and rain; a tingle of pleasure when down his spine.
"It's my day off," he said, wondering if she heard how ragged his voice was. "I wanted to take you riding with me, but you seem tired. Would you prefer to rest?"
She didn't hesitate to answer, "No, I'd rather be with you. Will we ride Phlegethon again?"
He smiled in mischief. "You'll see. Are you hungry? We can eat here, but I thought it would be nice to eat outside for once."
"Like a picnic?" she asked hopefully. Despite the way she'd fallen asleep in his lap, she was now eager to begin.
"Something like that," he agreed with feigned casualness. His heart was racing, one part nerves that she would refuse, and one part excitement that she would accept. Her hand was resting innocently on his chest. She must have felt his pulse jump, because her fingers caressed the area over his heart.
"That sounds wonderful," she smiled. He wanted to shout with joy. He stood, but kept his arm around her waist to hold her close. She nestled against him contentedly. He had missed this all week long. How was he supposed to go back to being circumspect when this day was over?