The Original Curse
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time.
Summary: They disdained that which they did not understand, and feared it even more. And so they cast it away, banishing it to the deepest depths they knew, far away from Olympus. There was only one problem: there was no one to guard it and all the souls that entered it.
For this story, I'm not interested in getting all the facts of Greek mythology right. I just wanted to write a story with Hades from Once Upon a Time.
Chapter 3
The Underworld featured long, winding streets lined on either side by Grecian architecture that had been carved out of marble. During a bout of homesickness, Hades had designed the buildings to be mirror images of the ones on Olympus, the structures bright white in color, standing tall and proudly reaching toward the sky. But the structures he created never shone as they were meant to; instead, their brilliance was muted by the red sun and constantly clouded skies of the Underworld. Although he liked to pretend that it was home, it provided a rather depressing effect overall.
At least the other denizens didn't appear to mind. Even the ones unfamiliar with Grecian structures adjusted quickly. Anyway, they were places for the denizens to seek shelter. They didn't need shelter, of course, as they were no longer living flesh, and therefore no longer servile to the necessities of life. But having these lodgings and having food—Hades had found that it helped soothe the souls, particularly the ones who had not quite accepted their deaths yet. Going through the motions of life served as a transition to allow them to come to terms with their deaths, just as figuring out their unfinished business was a transition to their completing it and ultimately moving on.
It was Hades' job to take care of the souls in his domain, and to aid them in moving on. Every day, he performed those duties. He would welcome new souls fresh off the ferry to his domain and explain to them the fundamentals: why they were here, how they could move on, and where they would go afterward. There were some long-term "residents" who had made the Underworld their home, souls who had either had no luck figuring out their unfinished business; or those who preferred this limbo to moving on, because moving on didn't necessarily mean going to the good place. Hades couldn't blame the people in the latter category; he could have forced them to confront their fate, whatever it may be, but he chose to take pity on them instead. As long as they didn't cause trouble in his realm, he turned a blind eye to their continued residence there.
Hades would patrol the streets, mainly on the lookout for miscreants, but also using it as an opportunity to wander through the markets that sprang up every morning and lasted long into the night. Some of those who had been there for a while had started up businesses selling food, clothing, labor, and information. Architectural style aside, as the Underworld continued to take in souls from all the realms, it had become a melting pot of disparate rhythms and cultures, all of which spilled onto the cobbled streets in an amalgam of sound and color. All the activity gave the place an even greater semblance of life and living. Being in the thick of it allowed him to feel like he belonged to that world again; he could pretend, however briefly.
Sometimes a new extension would need to be added, a new building magicked into existence, or an altercation between souls settled. The long-termers would greet him; some would bow, while some of the more rebellious would wave cheekily or shout a greeting from across the street. Zeus probably would have smote his worshippers if they dared break decorum, even in such a small way, but Hades didn't mind quite so much. These weren't his worshippers, they were his charges. Sometimes he might even stop for a moment and converse with someone, ask how he was getting along, whether he was making progress with moving on and such. These small things gave the entire exchange an air of friendliness that he enjoyed.
As he was finishing up his last round, one of the long-termers called out to him.
"Lord Hades!" a great bellow sounded from behind.
Recognizing the voice, Hades considered teleporting back home then and there. He could pretend he hadn't heard. But the sound of heavy footsteps told him it was too late to feign ignorance. Within a second, the owner of the voice was upon him.
Hades turned around to face the one who'd spoken. He was a large man, heavily built, with cords of muscle standing out on his bare arms. His face was square, the lower half almost entirely obscured by a dark beard; Hades suspected the beard had been left to grow unchecked to make up for the lack of hair on the person's dome. The man was covered in soot from a long day in front of the furnace. A smithy by trade in life, the man had decided to continue his occupation after death.
"Hello, Smith," Hades greeted, sighing internally.
"Find anyone breaking the law today?"
"No, it's been fairly quiet today."
"Good, good. I just wondered, did you see any ghosts today?" Smith paused, and Hades felt dread creeping over him. "Because you look as pale as death!"
The blacksmith burst out laughing at his own joke, and Hades could only grimace. He really should have teleported out when he'd had the chance. After a long moment, the laughter subsided, replaced by a large grin that was evident even beneath the beard.
"You only came over to harass me, didn't you?" Hades asked in a long-suffering tone.
Smith's response was another burst of laughter as he walked away. "Anyway, have to get back to work. Just got a commission for some new equipment. Good day, Lord Hades."
As Hades watched the man return to his workshop, he allowed a small smile of his own to escape.
It had been a long day, and at the end of his patrol, he was finally able to return to his cavern underground, what had become his home since his banishment. As with every night prior, he conjured a table with a wave of his hand. The table was set, a thick cloth covering the surface, corners hanging over the sides, candles and gleaming silverware laid out. A plate sat on one end. On it would normally be a meal of some sort, succulent grilled lamb chops with a medley of roasted vegetables, tender braised beef with a side of warm bread… Today there was a simple white pasta dish with greens intermingled between the strands of noodles.
Hades picked up a fork from the table and placed it into the mound of noodles. A couple of turns later and several strands of pasta were neatly wrapped around the tines of the fork. He lifted the utensil to his mouth and relieved it of its burden, chewing gingerly.
It wasn't that he needed to eat; as a god, his body was not prone to hunger or the feelings of weakness and pain that accompanied it when prolonged. However, gods did enjoy food, all of the different flavors and textures. There was nothing quite like biting into an apple, the juice bursting in one's mouth, stinging the tongue with its tartness before being replaced by a subtle sweetness. Alcohol was a favorite as well, since its effects could be felt even by gods if one imbibed enough of the liquid.
While he had never approved of decadence, Hades had shared in the other gods' fascination with food, as well as with all of the new innovations humans made in the culinary arts. There had been times during his prolonged visits to the Underworld when he would conjure food to enjoy and a glass of wine to help relax.
Of course, all of that had been when he had still been only a visitor here.
Ever since that fateful day, food turned to ash in his mouth. He had tried everything from all over the world, but the results never changed. Today was no different.
Sometimes he could taste a hint of the flavor of wine on his tongue. But it was tantalizing, and endlessly frustrating, that hint of something real, but in the end all too ephemeral.
Angered, Hades spat out the offending substance, then used both hands to flip the table. The piece of furniture flew several feet, everything on it hitting the stone floor. The plate and glass shattered on impact, the food and drink strewn everywhere; the flame on the candle had caught the tablecloth in its descent, and now spread along the cloth, devouring it, its size increasing slowly but surely.
Hades stared impassively, watching as the flames and their shadows on the cave walls danced, wondering how long the flames would burn if left unchecked. The action had been cathartic in the moment, but ultimately pointless, so he vanished the entire mess.
There was a moment of consideration, then a wave, and the glass of wine was recalled. He took a sip of the liquid, and tried to hold onto the small taste of life the curse still allowed him.