First of Many
The young goddess’ words were enough to give him pause, cutting him to the quick in ways that none before her had been able to do so, and had Áïdēs not had the aeons to adjust to his role as king and ruler of this world, aeons to smooth the rough edges of a god fresh from war and battle, aeons to refine and polish him into what he’d hoped was a just and fair minded king, he would have lashed back, retaliated in kind with cruel and scathing words to cover the hurt she had inflicted upon him.
Instead, he pushed that reaction down, quelling the words that sat at the tip of his tongue, and focused on continuing the trek to their bedchambers, mulling over the idea of Persephone being wed to another god. The mere thought sickened him, twisting and rending his innards in such a manner he thought impossible until this very moment. Were he mortal, he might very well be physically ill at the notion.
But there was no denying that had he not been so taken by Persephone as to ask his brother to take her as his wife and queen, things would have turned out much different. There would have been no need for Demeter’s petty cruelty and selfish desires. The humans—innocent bystanders in all of this—would not have to pay for his sister’s wrath, dying of starvation and sickness as the earth goddess stripped them of their grains and enforced a bitter winter upon them, resulting in overworking those he considered to be family while unjustly cutting the mortals’ lives far too short.
He had all but lost count over how many souls that came to be judged were those of children and babes—of how many families and ancestral lines were wiped out during his sister’s tantrum. Still today he was constantly reminded of the goddess’ pettiness. Despite the fact that Demeter had returned the grains and the earth’s bounty once it was agreed upon that Persephone would spend half the year with her, the lasting effects of the famine and the lingering winter claimed more and more lives than what would be considered average.
Áïdēs tried to shield Persephone from seeing the likes of her mother’s pettiness as best he could. The denizens of his kingdom dared not utter a single word of what happened above ground whenever she was around, and he always made certain that she either did not see the way the dead arrived in droves or simply assumed that there was nothing unusual about the amount of souls that crossed over to their world. It was, by no means, an easy feat to accomplish, yet he and his managed to spare the young spring goddess from the harshest of realities.
No, there was no denying that all besides him would be better off were it not for his selfish desires, and while he wished he could lay blame at Demeter’s feet and absolve himself of any part in the malice, vindictive treatment the humans (and thus those whom he once claimed kin), he knew he was just as guilty as she.
“Perhaps that would have been for the best for all involved,” he finally spoke. His voice was soft yet left little room for questioning as to whether or not he truly believed his own words. He would entertain the thought no more.
Silence stretched between the King and Queen as he continued to guide her down the long and winding path to the bedchambers. Áïdēs dared not call her out on the pitiful attempt at putting on a brave face for the likes of him, instead allowing the knowledge that she even felt as if she needed to attempt such a thing to cause his stomach to drop, feeling as if he had swallowed a small boulder much like Kronos before him had. No, he would simply take her to the room and leave her be if she wished it, retiring perhaps for the evening in the room he had claimed as his while she was away.
They finally drew near the chambers, and as the glimmering, heavy onyx doors came in sight, the King knew he would no longer be an imposition to his young queen. Coming to a halt a few feet before the doors, Áïdēs lowered his arm, releasing Persephone of her obligation of allowing him to accompany her to the chambers, and moved and turned in a manner that would allow for him to look at her easily enough while also having enough distance between them so as to avoid crowding her out.
“These chambers are for you to use as you wish,” he explained. Áïdēs would not tell her that their original intentions were for the both of them or that he had made certain that, in creating the room, it would suit both their needs and desires. By her countenance, it was clear that he would not be welcomed, and he would not impose his presence upon her. “You do not have to worry about me invading your space. As I promised, you are entitled to everything this realm has to offer, including these very halls.”
Words halted the moment he realized how callously and rudely he had ignored her earlier question of dinner, and he was ashamed to admit he was too lost within his own thoughts to be able to properly respond. He simply hoped his answering now would at least make up somewhat for his blunder. “I—regret to inform you that we will not be,” he said, tone one of an almost sheepish nature. “Had I known you would prefer the company of others, I would have invited the others to join us, but I wrongly assumed you would prefer the quiet peacefulness as you readjusted back to our world, and for that you have my apologies.”
This was not at all how he expected their reunion to go, but he could not—would not—press himself upon Persephone regardless of whether or not other would consider it his very right, so deciding a tactful retreat would be in all parties’ best interest, he bowed to her once, his show of respect for his chosen wife and queen, and turned sharply on his heels to leave her in peace.
A wry, and dark twist of her lips was her only reply to his words at first. A smile, violent edged as it was, was her defense against anything and everything. She would never let on how much his words had hollowed out of her. It felt as if every hope that this was her safe haven, her place of solace, and her home was being plucked out of her heart and stripped of their gossamer wings. Her cheeks held color and heat that the situation didn’t warrant as rage rushed through her system. Her fingers flexed against his arm, unconsciously betraying her emotional state, but she kept her gaze and jaw steady despite the thoughts assailing her.
How could he take that from her? The one who offered her everything her heart had ever yearned for, how could he just take that away? Did he wish to be freed of her already? She supposed she at least had a hairsbreadth of room to be thankful for that her situation was different than that of her aunts’. At least he was not notorious among the mortals for his philandering, at least her dignity would be intact despite knowing he had already tired of her.
Persephone nearly started when the doors loomed over her and she realized Áïdēs had stopped walking. She looked at his arm in surprise as it fell away and then back up to him when he spoke. “Th-thank you, I didn’t realize that that included my own rooms.” She bit her lip and wanted to throw a furitive look around the hall to try and consider if any other women might live here.
She should just ask him, at least Zeus never tried to hide his affairs, and Poseidon took little care in covering up his infidelities. If she could face the reality, then she would be able to adjust, but the anxiety of suspecting the worst, suspecting that she would walk in on some erotic encounter every time she rounded a corner would be her undoing. Persephone decided that the next opportunity that would present itself, she would ask. No matter what.
The shock of Áïdēs turning and leaving brought her out of her introspection and stole her words for a moment. “Áïdēs, wait, please,” she called, trotting around him to see his face. She looked up at him, bright eyes surprisingly hopeful as she studied his face as she tried to fit her words together properly, she threw caution to the wind and plunged forward with her sudden curiosity. “So, so it will just be you and I tonight then? Just us sharing a meal?” She couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice, the shy warmth in her tone, like the first beams of light after a storm.
“That’s how it will be for my stay, no other women will be at our table?” She worded it poorly with the enunciation on ‘women’ making it seem something grotesque and heavy handed. Persephone winced at her ham handed attempt at a delicate and subtle question, but this was something she needed answered so she could adapt, and she didn’t want him to misunderstand. So long as he could confirm what her life would be like, what kind of expectations she could have of him so she was not disappointed, that would be the best case scenario for her at the moment. She didn’t hold out the best hope for the night to go well after the question was poised, but she had six months to adjust.
