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.
Chapter 4
Hades strode down the hall flanked by curving colonnades, with the landscape of Olympus beyond them. He took a deep breath, trying to fill his dead lungs with the air of Olympus—pure, rife with the different magic from all the spells being worked on the mount. Gods he'd missed this place, and the life and vitality that practically resonated from it. It was the complete opposite of his domain, where no matter how lively or energetic the souls were, the air was stale and the atmosphere devoid of life, which had only gotten worse as the centuries passed and the natural magic of the realm slowly depleted—another effect of Zeus' meddling with the natural order.
A wave of loathing rose within Hades at the thought of his brother. Zeus would kill him just to avoid admitting to having made a mistake and remedying it, because that was exactly what separating the Underworld from Olympus had been. Then again, Zeus hadn't really killed him, had he? He'd cursed him, and in many ways, that was worse, because curses didn't kill—they condemned the victims to a suffering worse than death.
It's only temporary, he'd said. I'll release you once we figure out an alternative solution, he'd promised.
And yet, several centuries down the line, still nothing was being done. And every time Hades broached the subject with Zeus, it was always the same. Not yet. We're doing everything to solve this problem—if solving the problem involved drowning oneself in spirits and chasing after anything that walked on two legs.
At this rate, Hades would spend eternity as a prisoner, alienated from his home. No. If he wanted the curse broken, he had to do it himself, of that he was certain—which was what had led him to where he stood now.
Before him rose a flight of steps he knew led to a massive stone temple that shone in the sunlight. On either side of the entrance was a towering gold statue of a man muscular in build, handsome and youthful in appearance. The statue on the left held one hand up to the sky, a thoughtful expression chiseled into the stone face, as if the figure were seeking knowledge from the heavens. The one on the right shared the same features, except he raised a bow, arrow pointed at some unseen foe, expression fierce.
Hades slipped between the two figures and entered the temple. His steps echoed down the hall as he walked. The hall was lined with more statues like the ones outside, each one in a different pose. He paid them little mind and soon came into the central room, circular in design. Long stone altars were spaced at equal intervals around the room, with a throne at the center on the far side.
Seeing that the throne was empty, Hades surveyed the area before making his way to the leftmost altar and examining the objects that sat atop it. He saw a lyre, an ocarina, and an assortment of other musical instruments composed of various precious substances such as jade or gold. The lyre reminded him of a musician who had once traversed the Underworld in search of his dearly departed wife. He had had nothing to offer but the images he conjured and the tales he spun through music. For three days and three nights, the mortal wove tales of joy, anguish, love, loathing, life, and loss. For three days and three nights, Hades had experienced the musician's life, and in the end, because the melody had allowed him to feel once more, he released the soul of the man's wife. He plucked several strings on the lyre before him now, but only noise, not music, resulted from his graceless touch. With a sigh, he moved on.
On the second slab he discovered scrolls of various lengths laid out for display, the corners weighed down with miniature gold figurines resembling the ones outside, these wielding a parchment and quill. Hades skimmed the contents of one of the parchments and wrinkled his nose in distaste; it was a poem written by some apparently love-sick female, the words worshipful and sickeningly saccharine. Another one, judging by the blatant self-adulation and first-person perspective, he could only guess had been written by the temple's own inhabitant. He didn't bother looking at the rest.
The third altar was a disorganized arrangement of variously sized pots, with a mess of dirt, seeds and clippings strewn across the surface. The pots contained plants of various shapes and colors. He thought there were a couple varieties of nightshade in the mix, but most of them he didn't recognize. One small bowl, somewhat out of place on the table, housed a crushed dark green substance resembling moss. Some intact leaves of the original plant could still be made out; they had a rather unique appearance which resembled a line of grass blades running along the midrib on either side. Although no flame could be seen, the contents were burning gently, giving off a rather strong scent. Standing there, Hades could feel something in the substance tickling at his mind, trying to numb him, whispering for him to let go of all his worries. He frowned and moved away. There was also one pot larger than the others; a trunk with a twisting frame sprouted from the dirt. It was barely a foot in height, but its top had split into a dozen branches and already the first signs of fruit had begun to weigh down the thin boughs. Hades touched one of the small golden drops with interest when a burst of light to his right signaled a new arrival.
Hades turned and found the person depicted in the numerous sculptures he'd seen upon his arrival in the flesh, lounging on the previously empty throne.
"Haven't seen you in a while, Hades. How's life under the earth?" the entrant asked, tone haughty and annoying. Just the way Hades remembered.
"Hello, Apollo," greeted Hades. "It is as one would expect."
"Dull, then," stated Apollo, yawning. "What do you think of my collection of herbs?" he asked, gesturing to the pots beside Hades.
Hades pointed to the contents of the bowl he had noticed earlier. "What do your worshippers do with that?" he asked. Apollo opened his mouth to answer, but Hades cut him off. "No, wait. I'd rather not know."
The other god threw his head back and laughed. "Still a stick in the mud," he said.
Hades sighed. Best to get on with it.
"Apollo, I have come to ask…" he grimaced before continuing, "for a favor." The word tasted bitter on his tongue.
Apollo contemplated the request for a moment, then asked, "What have you brought me as an offering?"
Hades stared at the god in slight bewilderment; he had expected outright refusal, considered highly reluctant aid, but not this. "I haven't brought anything…"
"Why not?" the god asked with a frown.
"Because I'm not one of your starry-eyed fangirls," he responded, remembering the poem he'd read earlier.
Apollo leaned back in his overly ornate throne, obvious mirth dancing in his eyes.
"Nor do I want you to be. A starry-eyed Hades? The world might end." Since he still needed the god's help, Hades bit back his retort. Apollo continued without waiting for a response. "Nevertheless, you seek my aid. And in order to receive it, you must pay tribute."
Hades gritted his teeth. Tributes were the currency of worshippers, used to express gratitude or garner a god's patronage; Apollo had no right demanding one from another god. It took him a few seconds to calm down, and then several more to get past the indignation that had flared up in his chest before he could think about the situation clearly. He supposed it could have been worse. Apollo could have flat out refused to help; that he wanted something in exchange meant that aid was available—just not for free. And if the other god had insight to offer into his predicament, what was a measly offering compared to what could be gained?
Images of the baubles he had accumulated over the years flashed across his inner eye—jewels, paintings, carvings, and more. He wasn't particularly attached to any of it, but was there something that would satisfy Apollo's ridiculous standards?
"I'm waiting…" said the god, his features arranged in a bored expression.
Hades ignored him and continued to think. What did he know about Apollo? He knew the god was annoying, but that was irrelevant. He was in love with himself—also not helpful. He liked beautiful things… He had it. Several decades ago, an object had come into his possession; it was not only a depiction of beauty, but was also a product of human creativity and skill. Given that Apollo was a patron to the arts, such a gift should be more than appropriate.
He visualized the interior of his cavern, allowing his mind to lead him to the place where he had stored the object he desired, until it stared back at him from the other side of a glass cabinet. He turned over his hand and summoned the object. It dropped into his palm, its metal base cool against his skin as he presented it to the other god.
"It is a bronze statuette that had been used as the model for Michelangelo's famous David, which is lauded as a masterpiece and stands now at the entrance to the Palazzo Vecchio in Italy."
Apollo took his time examining the miniature figure, turning it over in his hand and inspecting the work for flaws. At last, he made a sound of approval and placed the statuette on the stand beside him.
"You know, I was the model for the David sculpture. Michelangelo saw me during one of my excursions to Italy and was so enraptured by my beauty that he slaved for years carving marble to my likeness."
"That is simply amazing," Hades said dryly. Amazing how the god actually expected people to believe him. The two weren't even associated with the same pantheon for goodness' sake.
"It is indeed an appropriate gift for one so cultivated as myself." Hades opened his mouth to make his request, only to close it again as Apollo raised his hand. "However, my powers of foresight tell me that the favor you wish to ask will require much more energy than I typically expend on one individual. It will require… a second offering."
Hades glared at the seated figure; he didn't need the power of foresight to see what was happening here; he was clearly being extorted. However, he knew from past experience that arguing with Apollo was usually more trouble than it was worth. And it wasn't as if he couldn't afford to pay the fee.
Recalling the second altar in the room and the contents atop it, Hades knew what his second gift would be. There had been a recent addition to his domain, a talented poet from the east who had set up shop on a corner of the main street in the Underworld, peddling poetry he called haikus. Hades had briefly studied the form of these poems originating from the man's homeland, the style of which he had found extremely interesting.
Placing his hand behind his back, he conjured a scroll. Using his magic, he wrote a line of poetry upon the parchment before bringing it forward.
"A poem in the style of a nation in the east."
The other god took the parchment from Hades, unrolling it to reveal a surface with gilded edges featuring a long line of suns that encircled a line of words in the center. Apollo smiled as his eyes scanned the words.
Bathed in golden light, / He stands still, majestically, / All hail the sun god.
"This poem speaks the truth. Your offering has been accepted." Hades' previous conclusion had been wrong; knowing the size of Apollo's ego had been useful. Apollo rolled the scroll back up before setting it on the stand, next to the statue. "Now, ask your question so that you may receive your prophecy from the god of prophecy himself," he said, opening his arms in what he probably imagined was a magnanimous gesture.
"How do I break the curse Zeus cast upon me?" Hades asked, barely able to contain the eagerness that colored his words.
Apollo stood and raised his arms above his head as if beseeching some entity above, not unlike the sculpture outside; his eyes clouded over until only white could be seen, and a golden glow began to emanate from the god's skin.
Hades was fairly sure the scene before him was just for show, meant to awe the ignorant masses and nothing more. It would be just like Apollo to make a spectacle out of answering a simple question. Just as he thought this, however, a wave of power shot forth from the oracular god in all directions. Hades felt his skin prickle as it washed over him. Then Apollo began to speak, his voice echoing from every corner of the room. He might as well have broadcast their entire conversation to Zeus. Annoyed, Hades set up a barrier around the perimeter of the room, sound-proofing it to ensure no one beyond its confines could hear what was being said within.
"You seek that which is both pure and true, / The other half which will complete you. / Good and evil become the same, / You will know when you hear the name."
Apollo lowered his arms, and the energy that had filled the room previously dissipated. That was all the god had to say on the matter, apparently, which was to say—nothing at all.
"Which means what, exactly?" Hades asked. "You know nobody can understand your riddles."
The haze retreated, leaving dark eyes that stared back at Hades with contempt. Apollo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest sullenly.
"I am giving it a sense of mystery. You're welcome."
"All you did was give me a lame rhyme that didn't even make sense, and certainly didn't answer my question."
Apollo dropped back onto his throne, a decidedly fed up expression plastered on his features.
"Fine, if you're going to be like that. Your problem is a matter of the heart, and its only cure is that most elusive of magics—true love. And for that, you can only consult our resident expert on such matters."
"That's all you have for me?"
"I have just divulged to you invaluable information for the next stage of your quest," Apollo stated indignantly.
"All you did was take my offerings and tell me to go to someone else for the help I paid you for!" Hades exclaimed. "Either you tell me what you saw of the future, or you won't have one," he threatened.
"Oh please, Hades. Zeus may get his kicks telling all the gods that you reap death and destruction wherever you go, but I'm not stupid enough to believe it. If you had that ability, Zeus would be a pile of dust right now."
"He does what?"
"Oops. Guess I said too much. Anyway, I have fulfilled my end of the exchange. I'm leaving now, and I'm taking these with me." He disappeared in a burst of golden light.
When Hades glanced at the stand, he noticed that the scroll and statuette were gone as well.
"Glorified fortune teller," Hades muttered under his breath, knowing full well Apollo could hear everything uttered within the walls of his temple. The fact gave him a small amount of satisfaction. Well, that, and the small prize he had acquired before the god's arrival. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small golden seed. Smiling, he closed his fist and returned home in a coil of blue flames.