A/N: A Hades & Persephone AU culled from a longer piece I'll never actually complete. Rated T.
The music pulls her from her despairing thoughts. She follows the dark pathways of the Underworld, enchanted and hopeful for the first time in what feels like years (she's only been here for two circuits of the moon, the lunar orb pulling pulling pulling at her even buried so far from its rays).
She steps into a cavern she's never seen before, and a gasp escapes her lips. "It's beautiful," she says, meeting his gaze for the first time since he'd abducted (rescued) her from the world above.
His lips curve in a small smile. "I made it for you," he says simply, this man who is far from simple. A God, like her, but one made for dark secrets and death and the cold of the grave.
No. He is more than that, she knows that now, has learned it (unwillingly at times, but this is not one of those times). This cave of wonders he's created (for her?), the beautiful melodies he coaxes from the strings of his lyre, the glittering black blossom he used to entice her to his kingdom - all of that and more tells her that the truth she thought she knew is only a small part of who he is.
She circles the cavern as she struggles with what he's just told her. He made this for her. For her.
She cannot - quite - decide how that makes her feel. So instead she examines the grotto, finding more and more to admire with every step, every lingering glance. The flowers formed of gemstones, lit by the phosphorescent glow of the unique mosses and lichens that are the only plant life that thrive here. The roots of unknown trees festooning the high arched ceiling, busy with insect life - insects that produce their own soft glow, blues and yellows and reds, royal purples and verdant greens.
The soft moss that gives comfort to feet grown weary of hard stone and cold dirt.
"You made this," she says, and he nods. Slowly. Gravely. He is always so serious, so unlike herself…but of course he is. His duty is to the dead; he is bound to his kingdom even as his brother is bound to his, so far away in the world above. The world of sunlight and green growing things and animals and the fascinating humans whose souls eventually find their way here (they die so quickly, humans, and for so many reasons and she's always found that fascinating even if her mother is horrified by that fascination).
"I made it," he says, his voice a soothing baritone rumble that nevertheless sends prickles of…something…down her spine. She spins away from him, reaches out to touch light fingers to the sparkling rubies and emeralds and diamonds glittering in the wall in front of her.
"You made it for me."
Again he nods. "I made it for you," he confirms, and her breath stops in her throat (no need for a Goddess to breathe but still they do, one of the many ways they emulate the humans that worship them, something she's never questioned until now but it's not important, no, only his words are important).
Slowly she turns back to face him as she finally asks the question that's been trembling on her lips these past minutes. "Why?"
He nods, rises to his feet, his lyre forgotten on the stone floor. "I cannot give you sunshine and life, Molly," he says quietly, "but I can give you some small reminder of the world you left behind when I brought you here."
Something flashes in his quicksilver eyes - is that regret? Yes, she thinks it is. And feels a flush of shame, for she was the one who provoked him into bringing her here, all to spite her clinging, overbearing mother. In her pride and foolishness she'd done the one thing forbidden to her as a Goddess of Nature - she'd deliberately, maliciously, plucked the dark bloom that had the Lord of the Dead's first attempt at creation.
She feels shame, hangs her head, but raises it when he speaks again. "I know it's not enough to entice you to stay," he says indifferently (oh but she knows better, knows him well enough to recognize what is true and what is false and this is false false false, he is anything but indifferent here, in this fraught moment). "But I had hoped…"
He stops speaking, Holds out his hand. In it are six pomegranate seeds. "I had hoped," he continues softly, "that I might convince you to stay of your own accord, and not allow your mother to bully my brother into demanding that I return you."
She sees the flicker of emotion in his sea-green eyes, and wonders at never having noticed how those cat-like orbs reflect the things she longs for most - the greens of living things, the blues of the sky, and the gold of the sun. All those colors and more are blended in his eyes, and now that she is looking at him through new eyes of her own (brown as the earth beneath and above them)…now she realizes that giving herself to him is not the sacrifice her mother and the other Gods seem to think it is.
She closes the distance between them. Takes the hand he is holding out, raises it to her lips…and delicately, deliberately, licks the six seeds from his palm. Swallows them down. Smiles at the sound of his indrawn breath, knowing it for surprise and startlement and - yes, she sees hope in his eyes. "When my mother brings her forces and demands that you surrender me, you can tell her I'll stay with her six months out of the year. But that I must stay with you for the other six months."
He understands; of course he does, he's far too clever not to make the connection. Six seeds, six months. "And now, Husband," she says huskily, finally acknowledging the truth of their relationship, "show me how pleased you are that I finally believe you."
He'd told her he loved her, said it like he meant it - but it had taken her far too long to accept that truth. Two months wasted, and now she finds herself impatient to make up for lost time.
When he remains unmoving, she felts a quiver of uncertainty - and then a smile blossoms on her face. Raising herselp up on her toes, she rests one hand on his and the other against his chest. Feels the beating of his heart as she presses a soft kiss to the perfect Eros's bow of his lips. "I love you," she murmurs against the soft, warm flesh of his mouth. "It's true, Sherlock. It's always been true."
He crushes her to him, lifts her in his arms, and carries her swiftly across the cavern, to the spot where the moss is as soft and springy beneath their bodies as the finest bed. He makes love to her, worships her, and she does the same for him.
And nine months later, when her mother finally gathers enough support to storm the entrance to his kingdom, she is unsettled to find her daughter smiling next to him, welcoming her into the Underworld…and her granddaughter cooing and waving her chubby little fists as her father cradles her tenderly in his arms.
All bargains, all battles are forgotten in the wonder and joy of the new life created by the daughter of Nature and the Lord of the Dead.
Forever after, Molly spends six months out of the year away from the Underworld…but her husband and child come with her.
For those six months, the dead are left to care for themselves.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read, follow and review. You guys rock!