claimedminotaur

[claimedminotaur]

Legends of Enderel - Book One: Mage

Chapter 1: Sellsword

As night falls on the city of Ashford and rain patters on rooftops and muddies streets, a lone girl walks into an inn, drenched from the heavy downpour. She takes off her dark blue cloak and proceeds to shake it, throwing water all over the entrance. After hanging it on the coat rack, she walks up to the bar. “An ale, if you please,” she says as she sits down.

The innkeeper fills a cup with ale and hands it to her, “What's a lady like you doing in this part of town?”

She takes a sip and replies with a slight cough, “I heard there were mercenaries staying here.”

The innkeeper raises an eyebrow, “You seem like the type who'd prefer a squad of knights.”

She responds with a sigh, “Believe me, I tried, but the Duke said they were otherwise engaged.”

“Ah, well in that case, take yer pick,” he says gesturing in front of him. In the center of the room three men sit at a table, each with a mug of ale. The one who appears to be the leader, a large man with short hair and a scruffy beard that barely touches his leather brigantine, is attempting to use his 'influence' to get out of paying, much to the waitress’s annoyance.

The girl grunts in frustration and turns back to the innkeeper, “I cannot be expected to employ the likes of-" she gestures to the mercenary, "well… him.”

“I'm afraid that's all we have at the moment,” the innkeeper says with a shrug.

She swallows her pride and turns to talk to the leader. Just as she gets up the door opens and a figure enters. As soon as he is in full view of everyone the inn goes silent. The man is wearing all black with black leather pauldrons, bracers, grieves, and gloves. He wears a black cloak, a black hood that appears to be part of his clothes rather than his cloak, and the most intriguing, a black scarf over his mouth and nose. He is armed with a longsword on his left side and a dagger on his right. She looks around in confusion as everyone else is staring with looks of fear and curiosity. As the man moves to the corner of the room, the conversation resumes quietly but a few patrons run upstairs to their rooms. By the time he sits at a table with his back against the corner the inn is filled with hushed whispers.

The girl stares at the man a moment before looking back to the innkeeper, “Who is that man?”

The innkeeper looks at her, then the man, then back before leaning in close and whispering, “They call ‘im Ranger, but I doubt that's his real name.” He picks up a mug and begins cleaning it. “They say he goes from place to place selling his sword. It's how he got his name, I suppose.”

“He's a mercenary?” She says with a surprised look.

He nods, “Ay. He hasn't been working long, but he's made quite the name for 'imself.”

She looks around the room, the overwhelming feeling of tension drawing her attention. Focusing on each face reveals mixed reactions, but one is present in everyone. Returning her attention to the innkeeper, she asks, “Is that why everyone is afraid of him?”

They are interrupted by a *thwack* from across the room. They look over to see that Ranger has placed five silver coins, or silvers as they call them, on the table. The innkeeper looks to the barmaid, “Marley, get 'im some bread and some of that chicken. Here, this too.” He fills a mug and puts it on the counter. The barmaid returns with the items and brings them to Ranger, collecting the money before she leaves. She grabs the mug off the counter and brings it to him. As she sets it down he pulls out a copper and hands it to her. She slips it in her blouse and does a quick courtsy before returning to her duties.

The girl looks to the innkeeper with more confusion, “So?”

He leans in again, “There's this story about a bounty he collected. A group of soldiers had deserted and became bandits, a sadly common occurrence with the war and all. Anyways, the Duke put a bounty on their heads. Twelve of 'em, I believe. They attacked a merchant who was bringing his yield from the market. Killed 'im, stole his coin, and captured his daughter. They each took turns on 'er.”

“Gods!” she says, her eyes widening in shock.

“Apparently while one of 'em was…em...taking his turn, she saw a blade go through his neck. Then the blade went back and the man with it. She says she saw a shadow slaughter the rest of 'em in seconds.”

Her jaw drops, “All eleven of them?!”

He shrugs, “So they say. The leader was still alive, trying to crawl to safety. She said the shadow walked over to 'im, put both hands in his mouth and pulled. It ripped his jaw clean off. A few days later Ranger walked into the city with a sack on his back and dropped it on the doorstep of the guard barracks. Inside were the heads of the bandits, one of whom was missing a jaw.”

The girl just stares at the innkeeper in horror. He sees this and attempts to put her mind at ease, “Folk say he ain't a problem though, say he won't hurt no one lest they give 'im reason. Plus he don't talk much, so you don't have to worry about that.”

The girl looks over at the mercenary leader. He is eyeing the waitress suspiciously while touching his waist. He suddenly stands up and starts desperately tapping his hands on different parts of his waist. He looks all around before stopping at the barmaid cleaning his table. He stares at her, his rage evident, "You."

She looks up confused, "Me?"

He moves towards her, "You stole my purse. I'll take your hands you damned thief!"

She tries to back away but he grabs her arm. She screams, “No, stop!” and all in the inn look in their direction.

The innkeeper quickly shouts, “Let her go or I'll call the guard!”

The mercenary glares at him, “No need, I'll handle this myself.”

The innkeeper responds with desperation in his voice, “She's not a thief, she's my daughter.”

“I don't care who she is!” The mercenary growls at him.

The barmaid manages to free an arm which she uses to elbow the mercenary in the face causing him to let go. She quickly turns to run away but he catches her arm. He lifts his fist to strike her when a sword slashes through the air. His closed fist falls from his arm and hits the floor with a thump. He drops to the floor clutching his arm and screaming in agony. Everyone in the inn shifts their gaze back and forth between him and his severed hand, unsure of what just transpired. The mercenary underlings look up to see Ranger wiping blood from his sword and immediately stand and draw their weapons.

Ranger watches his enemies as if waiting for them to strike. The mercenary to his left wields a mace while the one to his right wields an arming sword. They charge at the same time, the one with the mace swinging first. Ranger parries the mace, steadies his blade with his left hand and stabs the left mercenary in the neck. With the blade still in his neck he blocks the right mercenary’s sword and stabs him in the eye with his guard, while still blocking his sword. Ranger removes his sword from both of them, instantly dropping their corpses to the floor. He cleans his blade on his cloak then sheathes it before moving toward the door.

As he steps into the doorway the mercenary leader stumbles to his feet. His skin is pale, and it's clearly taking all his strength not to pass out. He opens his mouth to speak, at first struggling but then he groans, “I'm going to gut you like a fish, then I'll finish what I started!” Ranger turns around and glares at him, before shifting his gaze to the barmaid. He looks at her for a few seconds then at the ground before reaching behind his back and pulling out a small coil of rope. He grasps one end and lets the other drop. Before it hits the ground he whips it back up in a flash. To everyone's surprise, the rope is embedded in the man's skull. It isn't until Ranger pulls the rope back, pulling the corpse forward and removing it from his skull, that they see a small barbed blade attached to the end. He quickly re-coils the rope, places it behind his back, and steps outside, closing the door behind him.

The girl stands frozen, shocked by the brutality that just transpired. The barmaid runs to her father's arms and starts crying, the sudden action breaking the girl from her trance. She quickly runs out the door, eager to find the black butcher. She looks around and just barely manages to catch movement in a nearby alley. She quickly runs into the alley, only to find no one there. “Dammit!” She moves to turn but feels a hand on her back and quickly finds herself pressed against a wall. She's about to scream when her assailant turns her to face them. To her surprise, her assailant is the very person she sought. He quickly presses a dagger to her throat. “Wait, please!” she cries, pleading desperately for her life. “I want to buy you!” Ranger looks confused, but soon realises what she meant to say. She wants to hire him. He immediately backs away and sheaths his dagger.

The girl collapses to the floor, rubbing the red mark on her neck where the dagger was pressed. No blood was drawn, but it still hurt. She stands up and brushes herself off and sees him staring at her, as if studying her. After a few seconds of this she holds out her hand, palm down and fingers curled, "Lady Isadora D’Arbour." He shifts his gaze to her hand and continues watching it, as if unsure of what to do. Eventually he settles for just shaking her outstretched hand, leaving her absolutely dumbstruck. "Umm, okaay. Can I get your name at least? That is assuming that Ranger is not your real name."

He stares at her a few moments before asking a different question, "Where are we going?"

"Whatever do you mean?" She says, cocking an accusatory eyebrow at him.

He sighs and rolls his eyes, "You want an escort?"

She chuckles at his ignorance, "An escort? I'm not going to a ball. I want a bodyguard… Well, and a guide." His annoyance would be written on his face were it not for his scarf, but he just stares at her in response. As if picking up on this, she continues, "But if you must know, we are going to Te'vir." He visibly stiffens at the name. Catching on immediately she asks, "You've been before?"

He quickly clears his throat, trying to change the subject, "That's quite a journey."

She eyes him suspiciously, "Yes. I have business at the Great Library… Is that going to be a problem?"

His annoyance returns as he stares her in the eyes, "No."

"Perfect. Looks like I won't need a guide after all," she says, clapping her hands in finality, "Well, then. We depart in the morning." He nods and turns to leave but she is quick to respond, "Where are you going?"

He stops in his tracks before turning to face her, "I just killed three people. The guards will be looking for me.

"What? But how will I find you?"

"Leave the city and I'll find you." He quickly leaves the alley and vanishes into the night.

She calls after him, "How exactly? Hello?" But he's already gone. "Great. I guess I'll find my own way back!" She huffs as she begins to navigate her way back to the inn, "Bloody criminals, all of them." As she returns to the inn, she finds the place is swarming with guards who are carrying the dead bodies out onto a cart. They turn to her as she enters, studying her before deciding she's uninteresting and return to the final body.

She moves up to she innkeeper who looks surprised to see her, "I figured you'da been long gone after something like that."

She nods revealing her predicament, "It would seem I'm in need of a room, and your inn is still the closest one."

He nods, looking guilty, "Aye, would seem it is. Plus we have a tavern. Can't go wrong with that. Well, basic room's 20 silvers, premium room is 50 silvers."

She opens her pouch and pulls out a gold, "Premium room please."

The innkeeper takes her gold and goes into a back room and opens a safe. He places the gold in the safe and returns with a pouch. Dumping the pouch on the counter, he sorts out 50 silvers and returns the rest to the pouch. As she collects her change, he reaches behind the counter and hands her a key. Pointing to the stairs, he says, "Third floor, there's only one room so you can't miss it. Do you have any bags?"

"Just the one."

He nods, "Okay. Well, I'll have Marley bring up yer bags and draw you up a bath if you wish."

"A bath would be perfect," she's already imagining washing off the dirt from the alley.

He nods, "I'll send her up right after you."

She moves away and heads up the stairs to the third floor. Upon unlocking and entering the room she's greeted by a rather large room (for a cheap inn) with a desk and chair, and a medium sized bed in the corner, as well as a metal tub next to the opposite wall. Not bad.

After a relaxing bath she slips into a nightgown and crawls into bed, thinking about the journey ahead.

—---------------

Ranger waits in the shadows of an alley as guards rush past, the pursuit of him still in full effect. He looks both ways down the street and prepares to dart across before suddenly stopping. “If you are planning to kill me, you should know that won't end well.” He turns around and finds a man in rags leaning against the wall several yards into the alley.

The man looks relaxed, but his fear is noticeable by the trained eye. His eyes never leave the black butcher, his weight more centered underneath him, his hand waiting close by a small shape under his shirt. A knife, most likely. “Aye, I’s heard what you did to those boys in the Inn.” He looks at the blood, old and new, on Rangers clothes. “So has the boss,” he says, looking him in the eyes.

“Oh?” Ranger takes a careful step forward deeper into the alley, his eyes darting around to look for any comrades this man might have. He notices an odd shadow behind a barrel at the other end of the alley, and hears a slight shift on the roof of the building to his right. Two more friends in hiding, he thinks. “And who is this boss of yours? Can't still be Jespar, that man was a fossil last I saw him.”

The thief chuckles, “Nah, that old fool’s long gone. Replaced by another, who'll be replaced by another. I's work for the big boss.” The thief flashes a wicked smile as Ranger’s eyes flash in recognition.

Oh

“I see’s you know ‘im. Good, then we's don't need no introductions.” He pushes off the wall and starts to head towards the other end of the alley. Ranger waits, thinking over his options. The thief turns around, “Come on, now. Boss ain't a patient man.” Ranger sighs and follows, paying close attention to the two other thieves who emerge beside them.

He follows the thieves to the back of an expensive tavern, where a set of stairs leads down to the cellar. The lead thief motions down the stairs, a satisfied smile on his face, “Down you go.”

Ranger rolls his shoulders and heads down the stairs. He's greeted by an iron-reinforced wooden door. This is clearly no ordinary cellar. He knocks three times and is greeted by a rugged pair of eyes as an eyehole is opened. The eyes look him up and down and the hole closes. Muted voices can be heard before the lock clicks, and the door swings open. A large man opens the door, his bald head shining slightly from the light inside. He frowns with his unshaven face, the scar on his nose and mouth stretching as it contorts to the shape, “You’s smaller than I’s expected.” He nods for Ranger to come in.

Waiting inside is a very pale man with sharp, defined features, sitting at a table. His cloak is simple, but hides fine silk garments underneath. Ranger carefully stands in front of the man, aware that he's surrounded on all sides by well-armed men. The man smiles at Ranger’s arrival, “Well, if it isn't the Black Butcher. You've made quite a mess in your short time here in this fair city. I must say, this new nickname is one of my favorites.” He pauses, taking in Ranger’s appearance. “It's so… visceral,” he says the last word with a wicked smile, almost relishing in the day’s brutality.

Ranger carefully sidesteps away from the door, ensuring his back is to the wall instead of the opening, “If I had known you were here, My Lord, I would have avoided coming here, entirely.”

The Lord chuckles, “Such hostility! Please, just Alucard to you. My friends have earned the privilege.”

Ranger scoffs, “We are not friends.”

“Aren't we?” Alucard rises, everyone in the room watching his movements. “Have you forgotten, my Butcher?” He saunters over to Ranger, getting much too close for comfort. “You owe me.” He steps away and waves his hand, “And now it seems you owe me again. As you were on your way over, I took care of your little guard problem. They won't bother you anymore.”

“I never asked for that,” Ranger snaps.

Alucard smiles, “But of course not. You never do. That is what friends do for each other, after all. I did a favor for you,” he picks up a parchment and turns back to Ranger, “And now you do a favor for me.”

“I'm not doing anything for you,” Ranger assesses his surroundings as he prepares to fight his way out.

“Tsk tsk tsk. So quick to violence, Ranger, or whatever name you use these days,” he slowly walks over to Ranger. “You will do as I ask,” he says, handing the parchment out towards him, “Because I know where you hid it.”

Ranger goes taught. Alucard lightly taps the parchment against his chest and he takes it absentmindedly, too shocked to be paying attention. “How?”

Alucard smiles wickedly, “You should know better than to think you could hide something from me.” He waves his hand, walking back to the table, “Not to worry, Butcher, it is somewhere safe.” He points to the parchment, “You do that for me, and we can talk about working off your debt.” There is a long silence as Ranger contemplates his words.

“No.”

Alucard looks shocked, “No?”

Ranger stares him down, “The barmaid. She was one of yours, wasn't she? I saved her life. I do this for you, and we're even.”

The Lord laughs, a genuine and haunting sound, “Oh, you are a clever one.” He eyes Ranger up and down, “Very well. Even, it is.” He gestures outside, “Now, it's almost sunrise. You have a charge to protect, do you not? Best get back to her before something untoward happens,” he smiles. Ranger flicks his gaze to the men surrounding him. “My men have not harmed her,” Alucard states, “In fact, she is sleeping soundly as we speak.”

“Fine,” Ranger answers quickly. “Just leave us alone.”

Alucard puts his hands up in a placating manner, “You won't hear from me until it is done.”

Ranger nods and hurries out the door, keeping to the shadows despite the Lord’s assurances. He climbs to the roof of the inn and sits just above Isadora's window. Upon hearing her sleeping soundly, he relaxes and lays back against the roof, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

[claimedminotaur]

Legends of Enderel - Book One: Mage

Prologue

A fisherman gazes across the out at the waves and pats his son's shoulder, "It looks like it goes on forever. Nothin' but blue in all directions. But we know better, don't we? We know these waters better than anyone." They feel a tug on their boat and rush to where their net is hanging.

"Pa, we got fish!" The boy chirps.

"Let's pull 'em up," he encourages. They both grab the ropes and pull. They pull in all the slack when suddenly they struggle.

"We musta- g-got a lot, Pa!" The boy muses, grunting as he pulls.

The fisherman is looking slightly worried, "I hope so." They pull and pull until the net clears to water. To their dismay, it is not fish… but a steel coffin. They glance at each other before lowering it onto the deck. Upon closer inspection the coffin has multiple chains wrapped around it, all with several locks securing them in place.

The boy looks to his father in confusion, "Pa?"

The fisherman, equally confused, but not one to take this lightly makes a decision, "Quickly, boy, help me turn the boat around, the elders will know what to do."

The pair quickly turn the boat around and chart a course for home, eager to be rid of their haul.

A woman is sitting on the beach, watching a child play in the sand as a ship comes into view. She points it out to the child, “Look! That must be the Blue Perch. I'll bet Thaddeus and Finn have a big haul today.” The child stands and waves at the ship as it approaches. The woman frowns, “Why aren't they going to the docks?” She eyes it as time passes and it gets closer. She squints as she notices its trajectory, “It's coming right for us. Cal, come here, quickly!” The child runs up to her and she scoops him up and carries him away from the beach in a run. The ship slowly cracks and creaks as it beaches itself where they just were.

After some time, a group of villagers arrive to investigate the wreckage. They call out for any signs of the crew, but only silence answers them. A thorough investigation reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They seem to have simply vanished. The only thing they find is a steel coffin, surrounded by broken chains, with its lid nowhere to be found.

[claimedminotaur]

SEPULCHRAL (Part Four: The Inhibition)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld. If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right? Hades/Reader18+

Warnings: themes of death, grief, Fate; future smut, fem!reader

Over the coming days and weeks, it becomes more of a regular occurrence for you to dine with Hades. He’s particularly friendly over dinner, when he’s had a glass or two of wine, you find. You get to know each other quite well, and you would consider Hades a friend, which is rare for you to have. You’ve never much been one for close, personal ties, always keeping associates at arm’s length, as you focused  on raising Alexios.

It is roughly two months into your year, when you find yourself in Persephone’s gardens, a sewing project in your lap. You’re humming a nondescript melody to yourself, working on a muted red chiton. 

“What song is that?” You glance up from your work and see Hades. A comfortable smile comes to your face as you glance up at him through your lashes.

“No song that I am aware of.”

“Ah, so you’re musically inclined as well as a gifted seamstress. I see.” His voice is vaguely teasing but there’s a note of sincerity that hits your ears pleasantly.

A flush rises to your face at the unexpected compliment. “I wouldn’t say I’m gifted. I just work hard at it.”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen your dresses. Their beauty is only matched by your own.”

He’s been much more forward in the last couple of weeks. More overt in his flirtations. They’re not unwelcome, but you’re never certain how to react, because even if his is a marriage of convenience, it is still a marriage. You’re not fond of the idea of being the ‘other woman’, so to speak. Plus you’ve heard tales of the gods, particularly Zeus, laying with women then leaving them soon after. You’ve come to value your friendship too much to be willing to lose it for a night of passion.

Ignoring his compliment, you ask him what he’s been up to. “Nothing much.” He responds. “Things have been noticeably calm in the realm, and the worst of the other gods’ fits have passed, as they’ve gotten used to the idea of you being here.”

“I see,” you say. “I’m glad to hear you’re not experiencing more problems. I know they were stressing you out.”

He chuckles. “Indeed, they were.” Stretching his arms to the sky, he flexes his muscles. Noticing your stare, he flashes a sly grin. “One smile from you, though, washes the stress completely away.”

You drop your sewing and move to bat his arm in mock outrage. “You are married, good sir.”

“Yes, yes, Louloudi. I’m ‘married’ to a woman who is happier in the company of anyone other than myself.”

“Still married.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop.” He smiles at you again, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “You’ll have to do something for me, though.”

“What is that, Hades?”

“Give me a nickname, like you promised.”

Panic surges through you. You’ve always been terrible at giving nicknames. “I…don’t have one for you, yet! It has to be special, remember?”

“Then I suppose you must deal with the compliments!” He laughs, a truly joyful sound. Your heart picks up speed, and you inwardly groan.

“Fine, I suppose I must.”

“Then might I say, your eyes look absolutely lovely in this light?”

Your blush intensifies, and you stammer out a thank you, ducking your head. After all, you may have agreed to this, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be mortified by it! “Go on, I’m sure you have work to do, Hades! I must finish this chiton.”

Raising his hands up in front of him in a placating manner, he smiles. “Alright, alright. I’ll go. Will you be joining me for dinner tonight?”

You nod an affirmation, and he grins once more at your response, before he turns on his heel to go back to his office, his hand noticeably brushing yours as he goes. He’ll be the death of you, one way or another. You’re sure of it. 

Your sewing takes up all of your attention for the next few hours, though you’re nowhere near finished with it. Nymaeah arrives to tell you it’s nearing time for your evening meal, though, so you return to your room to put away your sewing and freshen up. 

Remembering that Hades particularly likes your hair when it is loose from its usual braid, you leave it down, merely brushing through it. You also don a few bracelets and the chiton pin you got from the market some time back. Pinching your cheeks a few times to give it some color, you remind yourself to check the market for vermilion and similar products. You’ve never had the chance to use these products before, but you find that you’d really like to try them, now. You’ll avoid assigning meaning to that urge, for the moment. 

Nymaeah leads you to a different room for dinner, this time. As she opens the double doors, you’re greeted with an intimate dining room, with a fireplace in the corner and dangling lights in the ceiling. The candles are all lit, and you find yourself stunned by the beauty. The windows in the room are surrounded by drapes of deep blue, and they overlook Persephone’s garden. 

“Why have I never been here before?” you ask Nymaeah quietly.

“Lord Hades usually prefers to eat his meals in the comfort of his office. I think tonight he has other guests? I’m not sure, but he told me to bring you to the dining room for this meal.” She shrugs at you, leading you to the table and pulling out a chair for you to sit in. 

You sit down, glancing around at your surroundings. It takes several minutes for Hades to arrive, and with him is a man with curly blond hair and stunning blue eyes that maintain their vibrancy even here in the Underworld, where colors are usually muted. On his shoes are wings. 

“Louloudi, I’d like you to meet my dear nephew, Hermes.” Hermes bows slightly. 

“Hello, Mortal. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, truly. Everyone in Olympus is quite curious about you, and I must admit, I am, too.”

You move to stand up, but Hermes insists that it’s no trouble and to remain seated. You do so, introducing yourself formally. 

“So you’re here on an odyssey to save your brother, yes? A noble quest, indeed.”

“I’d do anything for Alexios,” you say. “He’s the light of my life - my reason for being.”

He hums in response, rubbing his chin. “I can’t say I feel that strongly about anyone or anything, so I must say that Alexios sounds like a lucky soul to have you on his side.”

Hermes sits down across from you, while Hades sits at the head of the table, between the two of you. Nymaeah places various plates of food down, serving Hades his own separate plate of Chthonic food, whilst leaving various dishes for you and Hermes to sample from for your own plates. 

“I didn’t expect a mortal to be such a beauty, though, I must admit! We had all wondered if that was the real reason Hades offered the deal, but Demeter insisted that no woman could compete with the beauty of her daughter - that you must be ugly. I’ll be eager to report to her that she’s incorrect!”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that! I’m nothing compared to a goddess, I’m sure.”

Hermes shrugs. “Maybe not, but you’re certainly not ugly, and Demeter should be put in her place on that front. Goodness knows, she rarely gets put in her place as it is, regarding my sister. I love Persephone, as all gods love each other, but Demeter has an inflated sense of pride regarding Kore. Oh, sorry, that’s Persephone’s maiden name, if you will. Don’t tell her I told you that.” He laughs at his own gaffe. 

“Persephone is a beauty among beauties, for sure,” Hades says, “but she is not one for men. I’m sure you know of her…proclivities, Hermes.”

“Oh, I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete. You mean to tell me she is only interested in females?” 

“I wouldn’t say only, but that certainly seems to be her primary preference.” This is news to you, and you sit stunned for a moment. Is this the real reason Hades is okay with flirting with you? There’s no chance of his marriage ever being anything beyond one of convenience?

“So when Persephone comes back, she may try to woo your dear Louloudi then, hm?”

“That’s enough, Nephew.” Hades’ voice is firm - firmer than you’ve heard it since you were a stranger to the realm. “We need not trouble the mortal with your insinuations.”

“I see it’s a sensitive topic for you, Uncle. I’ll drop it. For now.”

“See that you do. Now then.” Hades says your name, a rare occurrence. “What have you been reading recently? Anything interesting?”

You tell him of the scientific books you’ve been reading - those about the human body and its various functions and how to best temper the spirits to keep from being ill. A noteworthy and noble cause, should you ever encounter another plague, assuming the plague isn’t still attacking Athens. You’ve no way of knowing, considering you’re allowed no contact of any kind with the mortal world. You get the feeling you can’t even ask Hermes for news of home. 

As if sensing that you want to know, Hermes turns to you and asks, “Have you any questions about the mortal world, then?”

You glance over at Hades, whose face is unreadable. This must be a test. You’re certain of it. “No, none. I’m allowed no contact with home, and I’ll not risk my brother’s soul just for information I can easily get later.”

Hades’ face relaxes into a self-satisfied smile, as if your pride is his own. He nods once at you, approvingly, before turning a glare to his nephew. “That was unfair and indecent of you, Hermes.”

Hermes simply shrugs. “It was worth an attempt. I assume you’ll not wish to send a letter, then, Mortal?”

You shake your head in the negative and continue eating your food and drinking your wine. Hermes proves to be a fine dinner companion, telling wild tales of the gods and causing Hades to actually roll his eyes more than once. With a wink and a conspiratorial head tilt, he promises to tell you some of Hades’ own secrets, should you wish it. You’ll just have to spend some time alone with him.

“That won’t be necessary, Nephew,” Hades says, a glare on his face directed towards Hermes.

“Come now, Uncle! You don’t wish for your dear friend here to know more about you?”

Hades glances at you out of the corner of his eye, catching your gaze for a long moment, before he sighs and shakes his head. “I’m fine with her learning whatever she wishes about me. I’d just rather be the one to tell her.”

“Fine, fine. Spoilsport.” Hermes puts on a melodramatic pout but moves on from the topic quickly.

Dinner wraps up soon after, and Hades tells you that he’d love to walk you to your room, but he has business with Hermes. You tell him you understand and return to your room unaccompanied from dinner for what feels like the first time in forever.

Hermes’ visit lasts several days, and you get to know him a bit better. He seems mischievous and carefree, almost antithesis to Hades. It’s a jarring experience to deal with both of them at once, one so cold, the other so open, but both friendly and kind in their own ways. 

The day after Hermes’ departure, Hades comes to your room and asks if you’d like to accompany him on a walk with Kerberos. It’s been some time since you had time alone with the god, so you readily agree. It’s hard, only really having Hades for company. Korinthia is a sweet girl, but she can never know that you’re a mortal, so you have to limit the amount of time you spend with her. It’s a rather lonely existence, but at least Hades is a decent sort. 

During your walk with Hades, the two of you joke and laugh, as you usually do. The temperature in the air is a little warmer than it has been in some time, and Hades explains that the Underworld has seasons, just as the mortal world has, though they’re not as varied. It is beginning to be summertime in Asphodel Meadows. 

As he explains this, you find yourself struggling to focus on his words, and you begin to feel faint. Your wooziness grows more unbearable, and as you lose consciousness, you hear Hades’ panicked voice call your name repeatedly. The last thing you notice is a pair of strong arms cradling you, keeping you from falling.

When you come to, you’re in a darkened room, and you feel thirsty and weak. “Oh good, you’re finally awake. Pleasure to meet you, finally, Mortal. I am Hekate, and I’ve been looking after you for the last two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” You croak out, your throat too dry for much. 

“Yes. You’ve been unconscious for two weeks. It seems the Chthonic magic is starting to take a hold on your soul. Frankly, I’m surprised it has taken this long. I expected to hear bad news much sooner. You must have a stronger soul than I give mortals credit for.”

She hands you a mug of water, assuring you it is Mortal water. “What happened?” you finally ask.

“You were on a walk with Lord Hades and Kerberos, when you fainted. Lord Hades carried you back to the keep and called on me immediately to come check on you. For the last fortnight, I’ve been using my magic to keep you alive. I think I’ve figured out a spell to keep you stable for the rest of the time you’re here in Hades, but I’m not certain you’ll ever be able to make it to Elysium. You may be doomed to Tartarus if you stay much longer, Mortal.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you say. “Alexios is worth it.”

She sighs. “Lord Hades warned me you’d probably say that. I’m prepared to use my magic to stabilize you, Mortal, but the consequences of your actions are on your head, alone. I wash my hands of you completely, after this. I’ll not have the Fates after me for interfering.”

“Thank you, Lady Hekate. I’ll never be able to repay you this kindness.”

“No, you won’t. Consider it a favor for Lord Hades, and we’ll move on.”

You simply nod, understanding quickly that Hekate does not beat around the bush. She is a very no-nonsense goddess, and you can respect that. It takes her quite some time to set up the sigils and components around your bed, but she definitely came prepared for this spell, as she never needs to leave the room to gather more supplies.

After the sigils are placed, she tells you to remain silent and hold your breath as best you can, while she chants. You do, and you listen mesmerized as she chants in a language unfamiliar to you. She chants for far longer than you expect, though, and your lungs begin to burn. Hekate seems to sense this, because she sends a warning glare your way. Scared to mess up her magic, you bolster your resolve and hold your breath past your breaking point. Just as you begin to black out, Hekate grins and finishes her spell, telling you you can breathe again. 

“That’s it, then?” you ask, still breathless.

“We shall see if it works as I intended, but yes. That’s it.” She goes to leave your bedroom but pauses at the door. “Just so you know, Lord Hades came to check on you and sit with you every day. It’s not just anyone he would do that for, Mortal. Think of that what you will, but I felt you deserved to know.” She leaves, closing the door gently behind her.

You’re not sure what to think of that, really. Hades has always been nice to you, but checking on you every day while you were ill is a kindness you couldn’t have anticipated. You’re struck by the urge to go see him, but you hardly have the strength to get out of bed.

You settle with cleaning yourself, in hopes that that’ll give you enough strength to walk through the keep and go find Hades. It only takes you a little while to get clean and dressed, putting your hair in its customary braid. As you finish tying the end of the braid, you’re struck with a sudden pang of hunger, and like clockwork, there is a knock at your door.

“Come in.” You call out. 

Nymaeah enters the room. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you awake and well, Ma’am! I was so worried for you.”

“You were?”

“Of course! I’ve grown quite fond of you, since you’ve come here. You’re a good and decent lady, especially for a mortal.”

“Well…thank you for your concern, then, Nymaeah. It’s good to see you, as well.”

“Shall I bring your dinner here, or are you up to eating with Lord Hades?”

You’re anxious to see Hades, but you nod at her. “Yes, I think I’d like to eat with Hades this evening.”

Nymaeah’s grin grows wider. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Ma’am! Lord Hades has been a right mess since you fell ill. It’ll be good to lift his spirits with your presence. Come along, then.”

She leads you to Hades’ office before knocking on the door. Hades calls out for her to come in, and she leads you in. He doesn’t notice you at first, too busy looking over a scroll, but when he hears a second person come in, he glances up. His eyes widen in shock, when he sees you, and he immediately drops what he was looking at, pushing his chair back. He rushes over to you and crushes you in a hug, surprising you. You’re no stranger to his touch, but never has he been this forward nor this sudden in his movements.

“I was so worried for you, Louloudi. I thought I told you to tell me if the Chthonic magic was affecting you!” He pulls back slightly from the crushing embrace to glare at you, though there is more fear in the expression than there is true anger.

“I know. I’m sorry. It came upon me suddenly. I hadn’t noticed any issues before then.” You slowly raise your arms to return the embrace, and he squeezes you even tighter. Your heart stutters as you feel the firmness of his chest and stomach against you. This is not the right time for those kinds of feelings, but you can’t help it. 

Nymaeah coughs quietly, and the two of you jump from the embrace. Heat rises up your neck and cheeks, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Hades looking ashamed and embarrassed, too. You firmly avoid eye contact with either of them, your heart fluttering too hard in your chest to manage it.

“Shall I serve dinner, then, or would you like me to come back later?” The cheek of this girl!

“Now’s fine, Nymaeah,” Hades says, ignoring her tone. 

She nods once, leaving the room for mere moments before coming back with plates of food. She places a plate at the side of the table you normally sit at, and you sit down in front of it. “How do you tell the food apart, Nymaeah?”

She shrugs. “I can sense the magic in the food. If you ever eat Chthonic food for any reason, you’ll find that you’re able to sense the taint, as well.” Oh. Well then. You suppose that answers that question.

As soon as Hades’ plate is set down, Nymaeah leaves the room. She catches your eye as she leaves, though, and she winks at you. Truly, the nerve of her! You fight the blush that’s trying to climb to your cheeks at her implication. Back home, you’d never been one to get embarrassed or flush, yet you find color seeping into your cheeks more in this muted land than ever at home.

Hades sits across from you and begins quietly eating his meal. Never has dinner with him been so silent, so you strive to get a conversation started.

“What have you been up to while I was sick?”

“Not much,” he says quietly, not meeting your eye.

“I heard you visited me while I was asleep. Thank you for that.”

“I would visit any guest of mine who fell ill.” Oh. 

“Well…it was appreciated, anyway. I was very happy when I heard that you had come.” At that, he looks up to you, surprise painted across his features.

“Really? I would have thought my visits unwelcome.”

“Why is that, Hades?”

“You’ve made it quite clear that my flirtations are unwelcome, so I figured any concern beyond that of concern for a friend would be, as well.” Your heart skips a beat.

“Your concern was beyond that of a friend?”

He sighs, putting his wine glass down. “Yes, Louloudi.”

Hearts aren’t supposed to hammer this hard against the chest. You know - you’ve been reading up on anatomy! You bite your lip, scrunching your brow in confusion. 

“No need to look so concerned, Louloudi. I’m well capable of controlling myself and not acting on my feelings. I’m used to it.”

Your eyes shoot to his. “You’re used to it how?”

“I’m not exactly the most desired god out there.” He laughs, dry and mirthless. “My courting efforts have always been ignored at best, outright mocked at worst.”

“I would never mock you!”

He smiles at you sadly. “I know, Louloudi.”

You bite your lip. The feelings you have for Hades are stronger than a mere fanciful attraction. You know this. He deserves to know, too, but you worry about the fact that he is married. Even a loveless marriage is still a covenant you would never forgive yourself for breaking. Hades seems to take your silence as a dismissal, and he begins to stand, his food and drink forgotten.

“Wait,” you say, quietly. 

He looks at you, confused. Even so, he sits back down and stares at you, his red eyes wide in confusion and interest.

Worrying your lip, you begin to speak, your own food long forgotten. “I would never ignore your feelings or mock them, Hades. I-”

He cuts you off. “I know you wouldn’t, but I can’t push them on you, either.”

“Would you please just let me speak?” His eyes widen in shock at your tone. You’ve never been so harsh with him. He nods once, apologetically. 

“I could never ignore your feelings, because I have similar tender feelings for you.” It’s hard to ignore how his jaw drops in shock. 

“You…what?”

“I care for you deeply, Hades. Truly. You may be the first person I’ve felt an attachment to aside from my brother. But…”

“But?”

“You’re married. I know Persephone doesn’t love you, that she likely prefers the company of women, but…”

“You can’t break the sanctity of marriage.”

“Exactly.”

Hades sighs, smiling wistfully at you. “You’re an honest and true soul, Louloudi. I respect that. I adore that.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes, now. Hearing him speak with such a tender voice is causing your resolve to slip. He pushes out of his chair and comes over to you, kneeling before you. Gently, he turns you to face him by grabbing your chin. 

“Shhh, don’t cry,” he whispers, wiping the tears from your eyes. His hands are large and easily cover your face. Subconsciously, you nuzzle into one, even as you feel your heart break. Hades’ face is a mask of sadness. “I never want you to cry because of me. I should only ever make you happy, my astéri.” When he calls you his star, the tears come forth with more urgency. 

As you break into sobs, he pulls your chair out from the table and pulls you into a hug. You cry into his chest, your heartbreak filling your entire being. In such a short time, you’ve truly become attached to this man - no, this god. After a little while, your sobs slow to hiccups, and Hades pulls away from you. 

“Oh, Louloudi,” he says breathlessly. “Had I only known. I’m sorry for making you feel this way. Would it be better if we spent some time apart?”

You shake your head emphatically: no. No, it would not be better. Your heart would just ache more, and the poets often say things about absence making the heart grow fonder. More fondness will only lead to more heartache, you’re certain. 

“Then we shall continue as we have been, my astéri. My Louloudi.” You shoot him a watery smile.

“I’m so sorry for crying, Hades.”

“Think nothing of it. I’m surprised this is the first time, in all honesty.”

You swipe jokingly at his chest, which definitely isn’t a ploy to feel the muscles again.

“Come now,” he says after a moment, “let us finish our dinner. Serious talks can happen later, yes?”You nod, following his directions. After dinner, he walks you to your room as usual, and you find that you really wish you could kiss him. Thoughts of how his scar would feel against your lips fill you. The urge is one you can hardly deny, so you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek before rushing into your room, heart pounding. The slam of your door is so loud in your ears, you almost don’t hear him fondly whisper, “Oh, Louloudi.”

[claimedminotaur]

SEPULCHRAL (Part Three: The Perdition)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld. If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right? Hades/Reader18+

Warnings: themes of death, grief, Fate; future smut, fem!reader

In your dreams, you see a vision of Alexios all in white, dancing among the fields of asphodel. The grin on his face is matched only by the grin on your mother’s face. You thought you had forgotten what she looks like, but here she is, her hair done in its usual braid, cascading down her back, her eyes a glittering brown, and the kindness evident in the way she carries herself, even whilst frolicking among flowers.

She makes eye contact with you and beckons you over, calling your name. 

“Mitéra!” you cry, your eyes welling up. It’s been six long years since you heard your mother’s voice last. She sounds exactly like you remember - caring and gentle in every syllable. 

“My sweet, beautiful daughter. How you have grown. You did so well, caring for Alexios as you did. I’m so proud of you. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.”

“But Mamá, I couldn’t save him in the end. He died.”

“As the Fates demanded, sweet daughter. They cut the string of his life, but yours was meant to go on. Why have you come to Hades, Daughter?”

“To save Alexios! He deserves a future.”

“What we deserve and what we get are hardly ever the same things.”

“But Mamá!”

“No buts. Alexios was meant to die, and you tainting your soul to ‘save’ him just harms him. I’ve been in the Underworld six years, now, and I’ve been fine.”

“How are you speaking to me, Mamá? Haven’t you drank of Lethe?”

“My mortal spirit has, but this is a dream, Daughter. Hypnos grants many things in dreams. Heed my words: sacrificing your soul to save the soul of one destined for Elysium is a terrible idea, child.”

“I would do that and more for Alexios. He’s my brother and my son, Mamá. Would you not have done the same for me?”

Your mother - or the dream image of her - sighs and shakes her head at you sadly. “I would not dream to defy Fate, itself. Be careful, Daughter. Chthonic magic corrupts in mysterious ways. I worry for you.”

She turns to Alexios, who is still frolicking in the fields. You’ve not gone up to him, even in a dream, for fear of breaking your contract and ruining everything you’ve set out to do. 

“He was a bright boy. A good boy. You did well by him. It is time for him to rest, though. He earned it, and you will, too, one day.”

Your dear, sweet mother walks back over to your brother, and they dance in a circle in the field, their laughter ringing through your dream. Never in life would you have seen such a sight, and you are immensely grateful to it.

When you wake, there are tears streaming down your face. You touch the tears in surprise. It has been many moons since you last cried for your mother, but something about hearing her voice, when you never thought you’d hear it again, has touched you to the core. 

Of course, you’re not going to listen to her dream advice. Logically, you know that wasn’t actually your mother speaking to you, anyway. Your mother forgot her earthly life years ago, by now, even if she hadn’t drank of Lethe as soon as she got to the Underworld. 

It’s with a sigh that you proceed with your day. You’re brought mortal food by a dryad - a simple breakfast of oiled bread and eggs - and after eating, you decide to go to the asphodel fields and pick some flowers for your beautiful pot. It does not take long to get dressed in one of your simple dresses and lace up your sandals, nor to brush through and braid your hair. It takes even less time to make it through the keep and out into the world beyond.

The sky is a lighter shade of gray today, with far more blues and purples than you’re used to seeing. Perhaps in the land of the living, this would be equivalent to a particularly nice, sunny, cloudless day? There is a light breeze in the air, carrying the honeyed scent of the asphodel to your nose. 

You find yourself smiling lightly, a peace overcoming you. It’s hard to remember the last time you felt at peace - perhaps back when your father or stepfather were around, so Mamá hadn’t had to work so hard? Certainly not since having to step up and be a parent to your little brother. 

It’s odd, feeling peaceful in a place you don’t belong. There’s just something about standing in the middle of a field, with no responsibilities to speak of, as the fragrance of honeyed flowers surrounds you. You sit down in the field and begin picking bunches of flowers. Perhaps it is possible to make a flower crown from the white blooms?

As you spend time trying to weave a crown of flowers, which you haven’t done in many years, you are approached by Kerberos. He seems like a giant, friendly stuffed animal, when he’s not guarding the gates of the keep. His heads tilt at you questioningly, and you smile up at him.

Taking it as an invitation, he flops down next to you with a huff, laying his heads on his paws. “Do you want pets?” you find yourself asking. 

The dog’s ears perk up at the word ‘pets’, and he lets out a mild boof, which you take to mean yes. He rolls on his side, and you cautiously set down your flower crown to crawl over and pat his belly. It seems you found just the right spot, because his hind leg begins shaking with your scratches. You laugh, a loud and free sound, as you pet the giant puppy. 

“I see you’ve made a friend today, Kerberos.” Hades.

Kerberos sits up, immediately ready to listen to any orders his master might have. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Is petting him allowed? I hope I didn’t break any rules.”

Hades shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just surprised he warmed up to you so quickly. He isn’t particularly good with strangers. Or friends. Or people, in general. He is a guard dog, after all.”

The god walks over and scratches two of Kerberos’ heads with both of his hands, then moves both hands to the third head. As he pets the oversized puppy, he turns his head to face you. 

“He’s not generally good with people? That’s odd to me - he’s been nothing but gentle with me, even when he was chasing me for, well, trying to sneak past him and get to my brother.”

Hades finishes petting Kerberos and rubs a hand over his chin in thought. He gets a faraway look in his eye. “He’s usually only ever gentle when he’s been commanded to be. Maybe he just smelled your good soul?”

“You think I have a good soul, Hades?”

The god rubs the back of his neck. Embarrassment? Maybe humility. “Only someone with a pure soul would be willing to risk the Chthonic taint for another soul. I respect your endeavor greatly, Louloudi.”

Flower? Your mother used to call you by the same nickname, as a child, so it’s odd to hear it once more in reference to yourself. It isn’t a bad feeling, by any means, but it is one that you’re unused to. 

“My mother used to call me Louloudi.” “Would you prefer I did not?”

“No, no. It’s okay. It was a nostalgic feeling, is all. Shall I give you a nickname as well, Lord Hades?” There’s a mischievous grin spreading across your face. You know he hates being referred to as Lord. 

“I suppose that’s only fair.”

“I’ll have to think on it some, Hades. I’ll give you a nickname when the time is right.”

You sit back down next to your flower crown, and Hades moves to sit next to you. Though there is no sunlight here in the Underworld, what light there is hits him in a flattering way. For a moment, you are stunned by the sheer beauty of the god next to you. The two of you sit in silence for several moments, just enjoying each other’s company. When you finish your crown, you turn to Hades with a flourish and put it on his head. It suits him - more than the crown of silvered laurels, you think. 

He grins and models the flower crown for you. “What do you think? Do I look kingly?” 

“Indeed you do, King Hades,” you say, giggling. 

His smile softens at the sound of your laughter, a gentle look gracing his features. 

“If I am now a king, you must indeed be a Lady, Lady Louloudi.”

A blush paints your cheeks. Never before have you been treated as a lady, considering you've always been half a step above a street urchin. 

“I could never be a lady. I'm not highborn or important enough.”

“Nonsense! A woman with such courage in her heart as to come to the Underworld to save her brother’s soul? Never before have I seen a woman so deserving of the title.”

“Alright then,” you say. “I shall be Lady Louloudi for today, and you shall be King Hades.”

He smiles at you and nods. 

 “Come, King Hades! Away we must, to best serve the people of the realm!”

A look of confusion crosses his face, before he realizes that you’re playacting, and he laughs boisterously before joining in. “Ah, yes! Many decisions to be made and wars to be won! Away, away!”

You pick a bundle of asphodel flowers, bunching them carefully together for your bedroom, before running quickly to the keep. Behind you, Hades laughs and follows your lead. When you arrive at the gates, you’re out of breath but feel happier than you’ve felt in what feels like months. 

Hades isn’t far behind you, though he seems to not be nearly as winded as you are. The crown atop his head has become lopsided from the exertion, so you reach up to correct it. He thanks you with a small smile, and your heart nearly skips a beat. 

“Shall I escort you to your rooms, Lady Louloudi?”

You giggle like a small child and nod, enjoying the game you’re playing immensely. Hades holds out his arm for you to grasp his elbow, and you do. His skin is soft to the touch and slightly cold but not unbearably so. He makes idle small talk about your imaginary kingdom, as he leads you to your room, but you’re too distracted by the feel of his skin against yours to contribute very much to the conversation.

When the two of you arrive at your door, Hades takes the crown off of his head and places it gently over your hair, a gentle smile on his face. His red eyes twinkle with mirth, as he thanks you for the time spent in the fields today. In a trance, you thank him as well, before opening your bedroom door and entering your room. You close the door behind you quietly, then lean against it and sigh. What is going on with you? You’ve never reacted this way around men or boys before! You feel like a foolish little girl, playing games and making flower crowns! Even so, you place the flower crown on a shelf in your wardrobe, a fond feeling squeezing your chest as you do so. 

After you’ve placed your crown in the wardrobe, you set to filling your pot with flowers, though you’ll need water to keep them alive as long as possible. Remembering the bell next to your washbasin, you ring it. Not five minutes later, there is a knock on your door. 

Opening it, you find yourself face to face with Nymaeah. She must be your personal attendant. It’s good to see a familiar face, though, and you greet her in a friendly manner.

“How can I help you, ma’am?”

“I just need water for my flowers.”

“I can make that happen for you. It'll be done. Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes, actually. Do you know where I can get sewing materials? A needle, thread?”

“Yes. Give me just a moment, and I'll bring you supplies.” She turns away and begins to walk down the hall. 

You shut the door behind her and sit on your bed to wait for her. Just as you're beginning to wonder if you should read a book while you wait, there is another gentle knock at your door. 

Nymaeah comes into your room with a bundle of sewing supplies and a pitcher of water. “Don’t drink this water,” she says. “It is Chthonic in nature and will keep you from returning to your home.”

She pours it into your vase, being careful not to ruin the flowers with the deluge. The bundle of sewing supplies is promptly handed to you. 

“Do you need anything else, Ma’am?”

“No; I don't think so. Thank you.”

She gives a slight bow and leaves the room. You're not certain if the Underworld water has magic in it, but the asphodels seem perkier and more alive. Taking them in with a smile, you get your green fabric and set to making yourself a dress.

You're used to making your own clothes, being a trained seamstress, so you have no need to spend hours measuring yourself and collecting data about the best fit or style for your body. You've not gained any weight since you made your last dress - if anything, you may have lost a little bit, so the same general size should work. 

You know it'll take the equivalent of three to four days to sew your dress, so you get to work rapidly. The only sound in your bedroom is that of you humming a familiar lullaby.

You're not sure how much time passes, as you focus on your sewing. You fall asleep at some point, because eventually, there is a knock on your door, as Nymaeah arrives with your morning meal. Setting it down on the table, she moves to assist you with getting dressed for the new day. 

“You know,” she says as she brushes your hair, “Lord Hades often dines alone, too, even when Lady Persephone is here. He may appreciate company, should you ever wish to eat with him. His meals are generally served in his office.”

You blanch. “W-why would I want to eat with Lord Hades?”

“The other servants were telling me they saw you laughing with the lord yesterday. We are all so happy to see that he finally has a friend in you, so we’ve agreed to encourage it.”

“You want to…encourage my friendship with the god of the Underworld?”

“Precisely, Miss. We all love Lord Hades. He is a fair and just king. What makes him happy makes us happy. Shall I bring your meal to his office this morning?”

You're surprised by how pushy Nymaeah is being, so you hesitantly agree to follow her to Hades’ office. 

It’s a short walk, as usual, and Nymaeah leads the way with an almost-smug grin on her face. Mostly, you just hope your food will still be warm by the time you sit down to eat. You also hope Hades won’t be offended by the forwardness of this idea. 

She knocks gently on his door with the hand not currently holding your tray of food. “Lord Hades? A guest wishes to dine with you.” Malakas, she just completely threw you to the wolves!

“Oh?” You hear from inside the office. “Send her in.”

The smile on your attendant’s face grows even more smug, as she opens the door and leads you to the table the god is sitting at. Hades crosses his arms, and your eyes are drawn to his flexing biceps. There is a small smile on his face, as he welcomes you to sit across from him. He dismisses Nymaeah with a friendly wave of his hand, and she closes the door behind her.

“So you wished to dine with me?” His tone is teasing. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you’re here! I see no reason to be unfriendly. Why don’t we take some time to get to know one another, as humans do over meals, hm?”

You shrug, not seeing any reason to deny him this reasonable request.

“What is your opinion on the gods? Do you have any god, in particular, that you’ve worshiped?”

Well, he really does get quite into the meat of the matter, doesn’t he? “I have witnessed the miracles of the gods, so I’ve always been an avid follower. I’m from Athens, so I’ve mostly prayed to Athena. Recently, though, as I’m sure you know, I was giving offerings to any god who would listen. I would do anything to save Alexios, as you know.”

He hums. “Your turn to ask a question.” He spears a vegetable and brings it to his mouth. You watch intently. Noticing this, he raises an eyebrow and smiles at you.

“Are the gods truly as they’re portrayed in the historical texts? I know you’re much friendlier and more gregarious than the poets described.”

“Well, I’d say my brother, Zeus, is just as pompous as I’ve heard the tales say. Poseidon is just as quick to anger. For the most part, the stories are accurate, but there are cases of propaganda, such as Demeter’s slander against me.” 

“Did you ever get a response to the letter you sent?”

“Hermes has not brought me one, yet, no. I imagine Demeter is not thrilled by what I had to say. That’s two questions, though. My turn!” Hades pauses for a moment to chew and think. “I’ve got it. What is your favorite memory of your family?”

You take a moment to describe the day Alexios turned six, only a few months ago. He smiles wistfully at you, as he listens to you describe the tale in detail. His fingers tap against the table, as he listens, clearly also trying to think of a follow up question. 

“When all this is over, do you have anyone to go home to?”

“Just Alexios.” At your answer, Hades covers his mouth, though you notice his eyes crinkle the way they tend to do when he smiles. 

“I see. Well, you may ask your next question.”

Breakfast continues in this vein, with the questions being much less personal - what is his favorite color (red), does he have any close friends among the gods (Hermes), do you have any close friends (not particularly), what is your favorite flower (peony). 

Eventually, as with all things, breakfast comes to an end. Hades, as usual, offers to walk you to your room. You accept and make idle chatter during the short walk. When he stops at your door, he takes a moment to look at you, before he reaches his hand towards you. He seems to think better of whatever he planned on doing, because instead he speaks.

“I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Louloudi,” he all but whispers. 

You smile up at him and say, “I do, too.” 

You walk into your room, as your stomach flutters. Part of you wonders if you are getting ill, but you are no stranger to this feeling. You’ve had idle flirtations with boys in the past. That said, you can’t exactly get your hopes up. Hades is a god. A married god.

With a sigh, you sit down on your bed and continue sewing your dress, careful not to think too much on Hades or Alexios. 

Later in the day, you take a break from sewing in order to read a romantic retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice. You know, now, that Orpheus was a coward who didn't truly love his wife, but you still find the tragedy utterly romantic. 

Between your meals, your reading, and your sewing, the day flies by, as do the next several, all in a haze of busywork. It is a week later when you next see Hades, and he asks you to finally accompany him to Persephone’s garden. 

You choose to wear your newly-finished green dress and leave your hair unbraided for this venture to the gardens. Your arms, wrists, and neck feel uncomfortably bare, so you make a mental note to visit Korinthia at the market and find some simple pieces of jewelry to adorn yourself with. 

A knock on the door sounds right as you finish brushing your hair, and you open it in a way you hope doesn't seem too eager. You come face to chest with Hades, who seems to have been standing too close to the door, when he knocked.

“Oh, sorry!” you stammer at having nearly bumped into him. 

“Think nothing of it.” He holds out his arm for you to hold. “Shall we?”

You take his arm and smile up at him. “We shall.”

He asks after your activities of the last few days and apologizes for having been too busy to come see you. Things have been hectic on Olympus; apparently some of the gods are unhappy with him for having made the decision to make a deal with you. There’s nothing they can do, of course, as the Underworld is solidly Hades’ domain, so he shrugs off your concern. 

“After all,” he says, “what, exactly, are they going to do to the god of the Underworld? Send me to Tartarus? I rule over Tartarus. Cast me out of Olympus? I’m already generally unwelcome there. I make things too ‘sad’.”

You chuckle in response to his tone at the word “sad”. “I suppose that makes sense.” 

“Exactly, so you’ve nothing to worry about, Louloudi.” 

It doesn’t take much longer to get to the gardens, and you’re immediately blown away at the sight. It is by far the most colorful place you’ve been to, yet, in the Underworld. The reds, pinks, and greens are lush and only somewhat subdued. You let out an audible gasp and immediately let go of Hades’ arm to spin around the garden in wonder. 

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice is a breathless sigh, as you take in the first truly colorful place in all of Hades. 

“Beautiful, indeed,” Hades says, his tone odd. You look over at him only to see him watching you intently, a serene smile on his face. Your face burns with heat at his open implication. 

“The peonies are growing beautifully, even without her here. Her magic must be very strong.” You choose not to respond directly to his flirtation. It’s not that you dislike the attention, but it feels wrong to respond, knowing he is married to Lady Persephone, especially in a garden of her own cultivation.

“She spends all of her time cultivating this garden, when she is here. The rest of the year, the dryads take care of it. Persephone is…especially fond of the dryads, naiads, and nymphs; both here and on the mortal plane.”

“Fond of them how?”

“Well, she had a daughter with a nymph, somehow. Her name is Melinoë.”

“Not with you?”

“Ah, no. Persephone and I have…never had a relationship like that. I recall I told you once before, but ours is a marriage of convenience, for her sake. I provide her the freedom she needs to stay away from her mother, while she keeps Zeus off my back about finding a queen for the Underworld.”

“Oh, are you more interested in having a co-king?” 

Hades blanches, waving his hands in front of him, as if to brush the idea away. “While I am not against the idea, I tend to prefer the idea of a queen as my partner, rather than a king.”

“I suppose it helps determine who actually rules things, when it is a queen.”

“It’s nothing like that, I assure you. Any partner of mine is a full equal, thank you very much.”

You pause your wanderings around the garden and smile at Hades. “I know you don’t like to spend much time here, because you’re worried about your magic tainting the gardens, but thank you so much for bringing me. I think I’ll continue to do my sewing and reading here, when I can.”

“Of course. Did you sew the dress you’re wearing today? It looks very nice on you, and the craftsmanship is excellent.”

“I did! Thank you.”

Hades lingers for another few moments, before bidding you farewell, saying he’s long overstayed his welcome in a place he does not belong. You don’t stay much longer in the gardens, though you long to take a clipping of the peonies to add some much-needed color to your bedroom. Without Persephone’s explicit permission, though, you won’t do it. There’s no need to anger a goddess. 

Upon returning to your room, you decide that now is as good a time as any to venture back to the city and get a few modest pieces of jewelry. You spend a few hours with Korinthia, artfully dodging her questions about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. 

In the end, you pick out a pretty, silver armlet of a snake with green gemstones for eyes, as well as a few silver bracelets. You also take the time to get a few pins for your chitons, to better hold them in place. In addition, you get a couple of plain peplos to wear over your chitons. Your friend offers to help you carry everything back, but you simply wave her off, grabbing a basket to carry everything in. It wouldn’t do to have her discover you’re the mortal, after all.

 It’s nice, not needing anything but kind words for craftsmen, rather than money. It’s the little things that make you think of home, that make staying here so easy. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. It could have absolutely nothing to do with the god bending over backwards to make your stay more pleasant. Nothing at all.

[claimedminotaur]

SEPULCHRAL (Part Two: The Underworld)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld. If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right? Hades/Reader18+

Warnings: themes of death, grief, Fate; future smut, fem!reader

Hades hadn’t warned you exactly how dull it would be to be in the Underworld with no specific tasks or information. It’s been three days, or at the very least it has been three day and night cycles, and you have encountered nobody in the keep and have not ventured far past its walls. 

You’re growing tired of your own thoughts and decide to attempt the trek to the city below, if for nothing else than to get decorations for your room. Perhaps some vases for asphodel flowers or a nice rug.

The walk to the city takes only a half an hour of perceived time, and you’re reminded of a comment Styx made to you about the Underworld seeming to get you where you want to go in amounts of time that should be impossible. The sophists in Athens would have a field day with this discovery. 

The city is surprisingly vibrant, given the muted nature of the Underworld. You’ve gotten used to various shades of gray, but the city has shades of purple, red, and even green. Despite how you’ve come to prefer the darker colors, your heart is warmed by the gentle reminder of home. It seems, even in death, the Greeks enjoy color. 

It doesn’t take you long to find a market, where people are chatting and gossiping as though they are alive. It reminds you of Athens before the plague. You find yourself wondering how much of life these ghosts remember, and you find yourself tapping a young woman who looks about your age on the shoulder. Her dress is a muted gray, and she wears little jewelry. Brunette hair is tied in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck, curling slightly. When you look in your eyes, you notice they’re a deep brown.

You introduce yourself before asking her name. “I am Korinthia,” she says kindly. “I am 25 years old, and I am Spartan. You have the look of an Athenian about you, am I correct?”

When you nod, she grins. “Only in death can a Spartan and an Athenian be friends!”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, are Sparta and Athens no longer at war in the mortal realm? I admit, it’s been some time since I died, though I’ve not yet had to drink from Lethe.”

“No, no, we’re still at war.”

“Then allow me to, once again, celebrate that an Athenian and a Spartan can be friends in death! Come, let me show you around the marketplace.”

Never would a woman be so friendly to a stranger in life, but you suppose there’s no danger of death or dismemberment when you’re already dead. Korinthia shows you to various stalls, though you struggle to find anything you really want for your room. She reminds you that there’s no need for money here, and that other denizens create these items simply for the joy of creation and sharing. 

It’s an odd notion, to you, creating things simply to share, but it’s nice to see clothing and supplies to make clothing at one of the stalls. It’s an easy decision to make, to get more robes, as the ones you are wearing are beginning to get threadbare from overuse. You buy a robe in a muted pink, as well as two traditional white robes. In addition, you get fabric to sew your own deep green and dark blue robes. Variety is the spice of life, so they say - even in the afterlife.

“So where do you stay?” she asks you, as you look at various clay pots and try to pick one to house flowers in your room. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around the city before.”

“Oh, I don’t stay in the city,” you say evasively, uncertain of whether you should share that you’re staying in the keep.

“Interesting! I heard a mortal made it past the River Styx and convinced Hades to let them stay here. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to stay here of all places. Life is so much more colorful!”

You just shrug in response, not trusting your voice. Finally, you find a beautiful vase, painted in greens and blues, and you wrap one of your robes around it for safety during the walk back to the keep. 

“I must be getting home now,” you say. “It was wonderful meeting you, Korinthia. I hope to see you again soon!”

“I hope to see you again, as well! Enjoy your new clothes!”

You wave goodbye to her before starting your trek back to the keep. Later, you’ll have to come back out to pick some flowers for your room. For now, you’re considering where to place your new pot - it’s too large for a table, so perhaps in the corner directly across from your bedroom door?

It doesn’t take you long to get back to your bedroom, and you gladly fold up your clothes and place them on one of the chairs in your sitting area. You’ll need to ask Hades for a trunk for your clothing, next time you see him. When you go to put the pot down, you also catch a whiff of your underarms and decide you’ll also need to ask him where you should wash, because by the gods, that was an unholy smell. 

By chance, you cross paths with him in the hallway later that day. He smiles at you in greeting, and you find yourself smiling back. 

“Hello, Lord Hades,” you say.

“Hello.”

“I, erm, have a couple of questions for you, but if you have an assistant or someone I should talk to about requests, I can do that instead.”

“Is your room not to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, nothing like that! Well, actually…” You bite your lip. “I need a trunk for the clothes I got in town today, and I’d like to know where I should wash. It’s been…a few days.”

You think you see the god actually blush, and he stammers out, “I am so sorry! My guest rooms are hardly ever used, and I really should have made sure they were better prepared. I’ll have a satyr bring you a trunk as soon as possible, and I’ll have a nymph bring you a wash tub and fresh water.”

“Thank you! Oh, and Lord Hades?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve heard the story of Persephone and how she was trapped in the Underworld by eating fruit of the Underworld. I…haven’t been eating food from here, have I?”

He chuckles. “That is a fantastic question, Mortal. No. The nymphs and naiads eat food from the mortal world as well as Chthonic food, so they’ve been preparing meals for you from their supplies. You’ll not be trapped here.”

You heave a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Lord Hades.”

“Just Hades is fine. The title is far too formal. You’re a guest in my home, after all.”

“O-okay, Hades.” He smiles in response, the scar on his lip stretching. 

His red eyes peer into yours as he looks at you curiously. “Was that so difficult for you, Mortal?”

You look at him, bewildered. “Of course it was! You’re a god, and I am a human.”

Your tone of voice seems to amuse him, because he chuckles. “May I call you by your name, Mortal? Mortal seems far too cold of a title.”

You merely nod, smiling at him. It’s nice that he’s affording you this respect. Hades thanks you, before leading you down the hallway towards his office. The halls in the keep all look the same to you; it’s amazing you’re able to ever find your way where you need to go. Maybe it’s the magic of the Underworld?

“So, how are you liking my realm so far?” he asks after a moment. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or unhappy here.”

“I ventured to the city today and met a young woman named Korinthia. We went to the market, and I picked out some clothes and a pot for some asphodel flowers. It was…refreshing and felt almost normal. Like I was back home in Athens.”

His face lights up in a kind smile. It surprises you how easily smiles come to the god’s face. All the tales imply he is dark and somber, and, while he is not as bright as you’d assume, say, Apollo, to be, he is far from a depressing individual. When he smiles, his entire face lights up, and you find it difficult not to smile back at him. It’s been so long since smiles came easily to you. Before the plague, really.

His eyes turn soft as he sees your smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed your visit to the city. You like the asphodel fields?”

You nod. “They’ve a charming beauty to them. They’re dark and subtle but quite charming.” The more you talk to the god, the more you feel the asphodel flower matches him perfectly.

“I quite agree. However, Persephone does have a garden behind the keep that she allows the dryads, naiads, and guests to peruse. If you’d prefer flowers from there, she has peonies, violets, and roses, that I know of. There’s likely more. I don’t spend much time there, as I worry my magic might negate hers, and she works hard for that garden.”

“You must love your wife very much,” you say in response. 

For the first time since you’ve interacted with the god, he seems…put off, or maybe confused. He runs a hand through his silky black hair. “Perhaps, but not in the way you may expect. Our marriage is one of convenience, not love. Many years ago, Persephone sought freedom from her mother. I was able to grant that, and the rest, as you say, is history.”

As you sit down on your side of his desk, you scrunch your brow in confusion. “The tales of Persephone and Demeter say that you kidnapped the goddess of spring. Were the poets wrong in their telling?”

His face is a mask of shock. “Kidnapped? No, I had Zeus’ permission. I had heard of Demeter’s controlling ways, and Zeus wanted to get back at Demeter for some perceived slight or another, so we wrote up a contract, and Persephone came to the Underworld of her own volition, much like you did. I’ll tell you the full story some day, if you’d like, but I rather think I have a strongly worded letter to write to Demeter.”

“Was there anything more you needed of me, Hades? You brought me to your office and all…”

“Ah, yes! Thank you for reminding me. Charon, the ferryman, said you did not have the drachmae to cross the Styx. Is that correct?”

“Yes; I gave all of my drachmae at the altar to come to the Underworld.”

“I thought that may have been the case. When you return to the mortal world, you’ll find your blessings returned to you in full, with interest. I know you won’t be able to earn mortal currency during your stay here, and it may be difficult to find work after a year of not working. It’s not much, but I didn’t want you to have anything to worry about.”

Tears brim in your eyes. “Thank you. I wasn’t worried about that before, but I’m glad you thought of my future.”

“By the way,” he says, leading you out of his office, “there’s a library here in the keep you may find quite interesting. Do you know how to read?”

“Not well, but yes.” “I highly recommend it, then. You may learn more than you bargained for.”

Hades closes the door behind you, likely to get more work done, and you set off towards your room. When you get there, you find a naiad standing near a basin, with washcloths and a dressing partition. The dressing partition is a woven brown lattice-work piece - a masterfully created room divider. Steam rises over the basin, and you notice nice-looking soaps on a stool next to it.

“Do you need any assistance undressing or bathing today, Ma’am?” asks the naiad. 

You’ve never had any assistance with bathing before, so you see no reason as to why you would need it, now. Is this how the gods live? Waited on hand and foot to where they can’t even wash their own asses? What a world. 

“No, I can manage on my own,” you say, barely avoiding scoffing in her face. She doesn’t deserve that, you know. 

“As you wish, ma’am. Should you need anything, just ring the bell on the stool. I will be just outside, waiting.”

The moment she leaves your bedroom, you strip off your disgusting dress and toss it on a chair. Whether it shall be washed or burned is up for debate, but for now, you look forward to just cleaning yourself. Your hair has become greasy and tangled, and you smell awful. How anyone has been able to be polite in your presence is beyond you. 

As you sink into the basin of hot water, you take in the collection of soaps on the stool next to you. There is a lavender-scented soap, one that smells of roses, and one that seems to be just goat’s milk mixed with honey. You also note that there is a beautiful, gold-inlaid comb for your hair, and a boars-hair brush, as well. Hades’ servants really know how to spoil a girl. 

Sampling of all the soaps, you decide to wash your body with the goat’s milk and your hair with the lavender-scented oil. It takes you several minutes to scrub the grime off your body, and you watch in fascination as the gray, dead skin falls from you in little rolls. Your skin is tinged with red from the heat and the scrubbing, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It feels good to be clean for the first time in a while - since Alexios died, perhaps. You spend a decent amount of time combing and brushing the oil through your hair, despite the pain to your head. You watch in fascination as the water around you grows murkier and murkier. Idly, you feel sympathy for whomever has to clean this basin after you - probably the naiad, whose name you’ve not asked.

Finally, after quite some time, you feel refreshed and renewed. Carefully, you step out of the now-disgusting basin and onto the cold, stone floor. You wrap yourself in a supplied towel, drying as quickly as possible. Drying your hair until it is only damp, you turn to the brush on the stool. It would be helpful, were you to have a mirror to inspect yourself with. Hopefully, Hades thinks to send you one with the receptacle for your clothes. 

You brush then braid your hair, mindful to not tug too much, especially after the abuse in the basin. Once that is done, you dress yourself in the pink dress, and give yourself as good of a once over as you can, without a looking glass. You think you look okay, so you leave your room with the intention of going to the library Hades mentioned earlier. 

When you open your door, the naiad standing outside starts. “You look much refreshed, Ma’am,” she says. “Shall I dispose of the used water for you?”

“Please. Which direction is the library?”

She looks at you confused. “As long as you’ve the destination in mind, the library is any direction you choose. I suppose you’re not used to the way Hades works, just yet.” You get the sense she means Hades, as in the realm, not as in the god. 

“No, not yet. What do you mean, the library is any direction I choose?”

“Things like ‘directions’ and ‘time’ don’t really exist here, Ma’am. I mean, they do, but not in the way you’d be used to, especially as a mortal. Most things in Hades are spurred on by intent. You need only want to do something or go somewhere, and if the realm agrees with you, it shall happen. Lord Hades seems to have granted you many permissions with whatever deal you made with him, so you should be able to go most places and do most things without any issues.”

“Thank you so much…”

“Nymaeah is my name, ma’am.” You take the time to inspect Nymaeah - she has pale blue skin, flowing purple hair, and eyes the color of a sea storm. You’ll have to remember her name, especially if she is to help you often.

“Thank you, Nymaeah.” You introduce yourself in turn. The naiad smiles and nods once at you. 

“Good luck finding the library!”

With a wave, you set off. Much like Nymaeah implied, it doesn't take you long, at all, to find the library. It towers three stories high, with rolling ladders throughout. The scrolls within are layered six or seven to a cubby. There are also bookshelves with rare bound books. You cannot keep your jaw from dropping. Never have you seen such a large collection of works. All of humanity would benefit from something like this, you are certain. 

You don't even know where to start - with the bound books, with the scrolls, or just going from shelf to shelf and reading one at a time. There is comfortable-looking seating scattered throughout the cozy room, and multiple fireplaces for warmth and light. There is a distinct lack of windows in this room, likely to make more space for the literature.

Ultimately, you decide to grab several books from various shelves, and you hold them carefully - reverently. The first book you open has diagrams of the human body, with various parts and organs labeled with names you can't pronounce. Immediately, you discover that you could become quite learned in this place. 

You spend hours combing through the books, reading what you can and making notes on what you can’t. The books are so fascinating - such a change from what you had access to in Athens - that you find you can’t bring yourself to stop reading. Eventually, you doze off, your chin in one hand, a pen in the other. 

A hand on your shoulder awakens you. It is cold but not freezing. “I see you found the library okay.” Hades’ voice is a familiar timber, now, and you can almost hear the smile you imagine to be on his face. 

You turn to him, wiping the tiredness from your eyes. “I did! It’s so wonderful here! I could spend weeks or even months just going through all of the books and scrolls stored here. The knowledge available here could help so many people back home.”

He nods. “It could, but you can’t bring the books out of my realm.” A sly smile spreads across his face. “You can, however, bring a few to your room to fill up that bookshelf. Do you have any favorites, so far?”

You point out a book on horticulture and a book of romantic poems. “A romantic at heart, I see.” The teasing is plain in his voice, and you bristle.

“Of course I’m a romantic at heart. All true Greeks are!”

The sound of his chuckle reverberates through the library, his face a mask of pure joy. “Indeed. Shall I help you carry some books to your room?”

“That would be nice, yes.”

He picks up several of the books you were perusing and lifts them effortlessly. You grab the remaining three books, as well as a couple of scrolls. “Don’t worry about putting the rest away,” he says. “Things have a way of getting where they belong around here.”

You shuffle to follow Hades’ abrupt pace to your room. When he isn’t looking, you take the chance to truly admire your host. When you were a child being told tales of Hades and Persephone, you always imagined him clothed in black robes, a hood on his head, and his bident held aggressively at all times. In reality, he dresses simply, in flattering grays and off-whites. His robe is held up by a pin depicting Kerberos, and he rarely wears an adornment on his head. When he does, it is a crown of silvered laurels. It complements his black hair and red eyes well. Not for the first time, you consider that Hades is a very handsome man. 

Logically, you know he must be even more handsome, because no mortal can behold the true presence of a god without going completely blind or, as in the story of Dionysus’ mother, exploding into flame. That thought is an…odd one, to say the least. You’re not sure what to think, exactly, of the god of the Underworld being the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. It doesn’t help that he seems to genuinely be kind and caring.

He coughs quietly. “The color suits you.”

Glancing down at your dress, you feel yourself flush. It is a muted pink, but it’s definitely a step up from the tattered robes you’d been wearing since coming to this realm. 

“Thank you,” you finally say, attempting to brush a lock of hair behind your ear. It’s a frustrating lock that often falls in your face, and you had forgotten that both of your hands are full. 

“Allow me,” Hades says, transferring the books he’s holding to one hand and assisting you with the lock of hair. The flush in your skin burns hotter - no man has ever been so tender with you, and it’s odd to receive such tenderness from a god. Ducking your head, you whisper another thanks. 

“Think nothing of it,” he simply says, readjusting the books once more and continuing to walk. “Was the bath to your liking?”

“Very much so. I do feel bad for whomever had to clean up after me, though. I was rather…indecent.”

“It’s their job; worry not. Besides, I’m sure they’ve seen worse than a few days’ worth of muck. I want to apologize again for not anticipating this need of yours. I’ll strive to do better going forward, should you choose to remain here.”

“Hades,” you say, “I already told you. I’m staying the full year. My brother deserves a chance at a future.”

He hums. “I understand. If the taint of the Chthonic magic gets to be too much for you, though, promise me you’ll say something.”

“If I promise, you can’t force me to leave, just because of the taint that I agreed to.”

“That’s a fair caveat. I agree.”

“Then I promise to tell you if I experience any ailments.”

“That is all I can ask for. Thank you.” As he finishes speaking, you reach the door to your bedroom. Inside is a wardrobe for your clothing, which has a looking glass on the door. Hades really, truly does go all out for his guests, it seems.

You hurry to put your books and scrolls away, before turning to Hades and taking the books he had been carrying. “Thank you for your help. I think I’ll go to bed, now.”

“Then may Hypnos bless your dreams.” He turns and walks away, leaving you questioning the entire interaction.

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep, though your mind turns over the interaction repeatedly before sleep finally claims you.

[claimedminotaur]

SEPULCHRAL (Prologue: The Death)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld. If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right? Hades/Reader 18+

Warnings: themes of death, grief, and Fate; future smut; fem!reader

You sigh as you hear a neighbor coughing through the thin walls of the shack you share with your much-younger brother, Alexios. It is the 87th Olympiad, year 3, and you have seen 20 summers. Your brother has seen only 6, and those 6 years have been rife with war between Athens and Sparta and, more recently, with a plague hitting Athens, your home. 

Neighbors you have come to love like family have dropped dead. Strangers fall over in the street, blocking doors and causeways. The alchemists and scientists and philosophers say that fire will keep the disease away, so the bodies are burned. Burning bodies carry a smell that will haunt you forever.

You live in fear. Fear that the disease will take you and leave your baby brother on his own.  Fear that you’ll run out of food. Fear that the gods’ wrath will destroy everything you’ve ever known. So you pray. Day in and day out, you pray to Athena, the patron of Athens. You make offerings to her altar at least once a week, and you pray.

So far, this seems to have worked, as neither you nor, gods-forbid, your brother have gotten the plague. You hear whispers that Strategos Pericles has lost his two sons to the plague and has fallen ill himself. It seems the plague cares not whether you are important or not, rich or poor. It comes for everyone.

You hear your name in a whisper. Alexios.

“What is it, Alexios?” you ask, also in a whisper. 

“I don’t feel well,” he says. “I feel hot, and my skin itches.”

You bite your lip. A rash is one of the first signs of the plague. Not Alexios, please gods in Olympus, not Alexios. 

“I will get a cream for you, little one. Just go lie down in bed. I’ll be back soon.”

And you do. Creams for plague spots are sold at every street corner, merchants never above making a drachma off of innocent people, even during a time of war and plague. 

“How much for one tub of your miracle cream?” you ask Agapios, a merchant you’ve been friendly with for a few years.

“Three drachmae. I’m running low, you see. I can’t go any cheaper than that, even for a friend.”

You sigh. Three drachmae is a week’s wages for you, but you’ll do anything for your baby brother. Agapios knows this.

“Alexios doing alright?” he asks. 

“I think so. He’s just complaining of itching, but he has no cough or fever as of yet.”

“I will pray for his swift recovery. I heard another thirty bodies were found three streets over.” He pauses. “I’m so tired of the smell of burning bodies.”

“As am I, Agapios. As am I.”

You slide over your week’s wages in exchange for the small tub of miracle cream, and Agapios offers you a small smile. “I’m sure he’ll recover. The gods try to protect the innocent, after all, and no one is more innocent than that sweet child.”

You want to agree, but your prayers for the last weeks have gone unanswered, as more and more bodies pile in the streets. When you get back to your shack, you hear thin coughing from within. Alexios.

“I am back, little brother,” you say quietly, not wishing to disturb your sick neighbors. 

“Welcome home,” he says in return. 

“I brought you a miracle cream to help with the rash. It should make the itching stop.”

“Thank you.” He takes off his shirt for you, and you inwardly gasp at the spots covering his body. He looks exactly like the corpses you see daily. 

Clenching your teeth, you begin to rub the cream on his chest and back in thick globs. It smells of honey, a disinfectant, and aloe vera. 

You are all your brother has, ever since his father went to war before he was born, and your shared mother died in childbirth. For Alexios, you are the only blood family he has ever known. Fellow Athenians have helped you since he was born, taken you under their wing, but no family has ever let you stay too long, and as soon as you turned sixteen, you were expected to earn your own keep, which you do as a seamstress. As for your father, well, he fucked off when you were ten, never to be seen or heard from again.

The little coughs shaking your tiny brother’s body are heartbreaking. Why did it have to be him who got sick? At least, if it were you, Alexios could move in with another family. Athenians are kind to young boys, especially boys as intelligent and charming as your brother. He would have no trouble becoming a foster or adopted son to a family. Frankly, he would probably be better off with you dead than alive, as much as it pains you to think. 

But no. You haven’t caught the plague. He has. Tears brim unbidden in your eyes, and you strive not to let your brother see them. He does.

“Am I going to die?”

“One day, many, many years from now.”

He whispers your name solemnly. “No. Am I going to die from the plague?”

“I won’t let that happen,” you say firmly. “I will pray to the gods every day for your recovery. The gods would not let a child as innocent and wonderful as you die from the plague. I am certain.”

Alexios coughs weakly. “I believe you.”

As it turns out, he shouldn’t have. His condition rapidly worsens over the coming days, as his fever increases. At one point, his fever was so thick, he thought he was talking to your mother. His coughs get worse, as does the rash. You run out of drachmae, just paying for food and miracle creams for your brother. At first, your boss is understanding of your consistent absences to take care of your brother, but after the fifth day, she tells you you must come in or lose your job working for her. You lose your job. The last thing you’re willing to do is come home to a dead brother, even if it means relying on the kindness of neighbors to remain fed.

On his final day in the world of the living, he begs you to stay at his side. “Sister,” he croaks.

“I am here, Alexios.”

He reaches his tiny hand out to you, and you grasp it in both of yours, tears beginning to spring forth from your eyes. 

“I’m scared,” he says. “What happens when you die?”

“Oh, sweet boy. You’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“I know I’m dying, Sister. I can feel it.”

You grip his hand tighter in yours. “It’s not your time to die, little one. I’m older! I’ll die first, and you’ll have many years to come.”

“Sister, please don’t lie to me.” Alexios smiles, his lip cracking and bleeding from the effort. You feel an urge to wipe it clean but know that it is more important, now, to comfort him than to clean him. 

“Well, when you die, Hermes will come to take you to the Underworld. You’ll cross the River Styx with Charon and drink from the waters of Lethe to forget your mortal life.”

“But I don’t want to forget my mortal life!” he cries, trying to sit up.

“If you die, you must.”

“Well…I won’t.” His brows furrow and his face twists in a grimace of pain. “When Hermes comes to take me away, I’ll look for you Sister. You’ll protect me. You always have.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, even as you feel it start to go limp. “Yes, I’ll always protect you, Alexios.”

You bring him to you, as his rash begins to cause him pain. “It hurts, Sister.”

“Yes, I know. I’m out of the balm to make it itch less. I’m sorry.”

You hold him to you tighter, as tears begin to fall from his eyes. “I’m so scared. Please save me, Sister. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to forget.”

“Shhh,” you say. “Rest now. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You begin to sing him the lullaby your mother taught you before he was born. It calms him somewhat, though he is still hyperventilating and crying. Rocking him, you rub his back and try to keep him from scratching too much.

As he relaxes against you, you feel yourself begin to cry again, knowing what is coming next.

His last word is your name. The wail you let out as his last breath leaves his body is enough for your neighbors to come running to your aid. An older woman clutches you to her breast as you heave great, shaking sobs. 

It takes half an hour just for you to calm down enough to speak. The older woman, Chloe, whispers your name, trying to draw your attention. 

“We must take his body to be burned, else the house will reek of the plague, dear.”

You can’t bear the thought of sweet, innocent Alexios being burned. “He can’t be gone,” you say, voice hoarse and thick from your screams and tears.

“He is, dear. We must send him off to Hades.”

“Burning his body means he won’t be able to pay Charon the toll to get to the afterlife.”

She nods. “We shall put a drachma over each eye and pray that scavengers don’t steal it. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, but…I lost my job. I’ve no more drachmae.”

“I’ll take care of it, dear. Alexios deserves a good afterlife, after all.”

Chloe turns to her husband, Kleitos. “Carry the poor boy out, my love. He must be burned.”

Turning to you, she gives you a final hug. “Please, dear one. Let us know if there is anything you need - anything at all.”

My brother back, you think but do not say. The only ones with the power to bring your brother back are the gods, themselves, so you set to praying. 

You pray every day for a week, with no response. There are whispers in the town about you, how you are obsessed and mad in your grief. You ignore them. Death is the worst possible thing to have happened to that sweet child, and you will be damned to Tartarus before you let your brother be numbed and left in Asphodel Meadows. 

The gods must not be all that powerful, if they’re unable to get your brother back. You’ve left offerings at the altar of Athena, at the altar of Zeus, even at a statue of Hades. None of them answer your prayers. Your faith in the gods will survive this trial, you know, because you’ve experienced their miracles before. Why they’re refusing to grant you this miracle is beyond you. 

You turn to spiritual leaders, who all tell you that Fate works in mysterious ways and that this was Alexios’ Fate. Your response to that gets you kicked out of the Parthenon for two weeks. During those two weeks, you stew in your anger, in your heartbreak, in your grief. You long for your brother, for his kind words and kinder smile. In some moments, you even long for your mother, long dead though she is. She would have something wise and helpful to say; she always did. 

Instead, you hatch a plan in your anger, in your fury, in your righteous indignation. You are going to break into the Underworld and save your brother. Orpheus may not have been able to save Eurydice, but you will save your brother, or you will die trying and join him in the Underworld. 

[claimedminotaur]

SEPULCHRAL (Part Two)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld.

If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right?

Hades/Reader 18+

There are steps to getting into the Underworld. This you know. The first step being, of course, to find exactly where the entrance to the Underworld is. The entrance to Hades. Orpheus’ story said he followed Hermes to an entrance and sneaked in behind him. You’re sure that Hermes won’t fall for that trick twice, so your next best bet is to follow the sages who worship Hades or Hermes and see if they have any secret insights.

When not questioning or following sages, you’re reading what little you’re able to, watching performers act out The Iliad and The Odyssey. Generally, you’re taking in every bit of information available about the gods. Still, though, you pray every day in hopes that one of the gods will save your brother, so you will not need to defy the Fates. 

Still, though, in quiet moments, you find yourself unable to keep from reminiscing about him. About Alexios. His deep brown curls that you long to ruffle once more. The hazel of his eyes, so expressive and unique. 

One of your favorite memories is of when he accidentally drank from your cup instead of his own. 

“Sister!” he had exclaimed, “How do you drink that? It tastes rotten and bitter!”

“Wine is for grown ups, little Alexios.” You had chuckled, taking your clay mug from him and handing him his own. 

“I never want to be a grown up, if I must drink that!” And so he hadn’t. Perhaps the Fates had touched Alexios with a hint of future sight.

You remember merely laughing in response, telling him how silly an idea it was that he would not grow up, and that he need not drink wine, should he not wish to. What you wouldn’t give for one more chance to laugh with him. To see him.

It takes weeks of harassing the sages to finally get any answers, and all you are told is that you must continue to pray to the gods, for the gods are the only ones who can truly interfere with the Fates. You swear at the sage who tells you this, and he promptly has you removed from the temple. They bar your access from then onwards. 

One day, you find yourself sitting outside the temple, just far enough out of reach that the guards won’t have you forcibly removed. The flowers bloom, despite the desolation of the city. Beauty even in darkness. Reds, greens, yellows, and purples muddy your senses. The blue of the sky is blinding. It should be gray, with storm clouds and incoming rains. A perfect day. Unseemly.

“I feel like I can hear your thoughts,” a voice whispers. You whip your head around to see a little girl, perhaps a year or two older than Alexios. Her eyes are hazy. Blind. Her hair is a tangle of curls, and the clothes she wears are stained. You know not with what.

“My thoughts?”

“Yes. Your sighs are so loud. Perhaps even the gods can hear them. Why are you sighing?”

You see no reason to lie. You’re the talk of the town, as it is. “My brother died from the plague. I mean to get him back.”

Instead of the usual response of laughter or a pitiful look, the little girl gets a thoughtful look on her face. “I’ve heard whispers. Perhaps from sages, perhaps from the gods, themselves. I know not.”

The way she speaks belies her years, and it is a jarring experience. “You pray to them, but you’re hiding from them.”

“I’m not hiding,” you say, getting defensive.

“That’s not the truth.” She whispers your name. How does she know your name? You’re immediately on guard. “You’re hiding from the gods’ will. From the will of the Fates. The very notion of getting someone back from the Underworld is one of fear. You’re refusing to accept reality.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Fine. Then heed my words. I’ve heard whispers…When you lose one sense, like eyesight, sometimes the gods grant you another. If you wish to defy the Fates, to defy the gods, and break into the land where no living mortal should be, I can help you.”

“What do you want in return?” Your voice is barely over a whisper. Hope and fear grip your heart in equal measure.

“Nothing. I give out of the kindness of my heart. Besides, I’m not certain you could make it to the Underworld, anyway, so I’m not defying the Fates.” She pauses, a cute smile coming to her face. Perhaps she would have been friends with Alexios, in another life. Perhaps she will in the future. You voice as much.

“I hope greatly to be friends with your little brother, should you prove successful. Listen carefully, for I will only say it once. You must go to the Nekromanteion on the banks of the River Acheron in Epirus, near Ephyra. It is a temple to Hades and Persephone, and if you pray at the altar, you will find what you seek.”

“Ephyra? That is all the way to the northwest. Would it be faster by boat or by land?”

“I cannot help you with that decision.” She says your name once more. “Please, be cautious. If you make it to the Underworld, there is no telling what you’ll face. Kerberos and the River Styx, at the least.”

You thank her, before walking away. It is only after she is long out of sight that you realize you never caught her name. 

It takes you three days of running errands and doing seamstress work to save up enough for passage on a merchant vessel out of Athens. It costs you nearly the entirety of your earned drachmae, and they warn you that it’s likely you’ll be turned away at Ephyra, due to news of the plague, which is why they offer you passage for only twenty drachmae. 

The ship is a solid vessel, with enough space for cargo in the hold as well as the standard rowers. You are to sleep on the deck. The white sails are emblazoned with Athenian heraldry, and you’re warned that Spartan ships may choose to attack, which is another part of the reason your fee was discounted. With the siege on Athens abandoned due to the plague, Spartan warships are targeting merchants more and more.

The waters do not agree with you, and you find yourself seasick nearly every day. ‘You’ll get your sea legs!’ the sailors had promised you, but you find that they must have been lying. Every morning, you pray to Poseidon for calm waters and clear skies. For the most part, he appears to listen.

One day, there is a bad storm that nearly knocks you overboard. The captain of the ship warns you to hold on to a rope, and that is what you do for the next several hours as you travel through the worst of the storm. Even as raindrops larger than the palm of your hand cascade from the skies, you hold tight to the rope. Your hands burn with the effort, and you pray to Asclepius for quick healing for the rash.

Luckily, it takes only a few days of relatively leisurely travel to get to Ephyra, with no Spartan forces attacking your ship; and you disembark gladly, nearly kissing the ground upon arrival. The city is lively, with many colorful outfits and flowers adorning many windows. You do not take much time to examine your surroundings, far too concerned with your task at hand. Next stop: the Nekromanteion. Local citizens tell you the temple is open to the public, so it is your very first stop. 

The temple looms high and large, nestled in a cave at the crux of the river. Sound seems to simultaneously echo and stop here, and everything feels hallowed in these halls. There are statues and portraits adorning the floors and walls, and a surprising amount of color paints the area. For gods based in the Underworld, Persephone and Hades have a very bright temple. It doesn’t seem dissimilar to Athena’s Parthenon back home.

“What do you seek?” you are asked as soon as you enter. “You can speak with the dead, here.” The voice comes from a bedraggled woman, her back hunched and her gray hair wiry with age. The wrinkles on her face are deep-seated and are so distracting you hardly notice that she is blind. You’ve encountered quite a many blind people, recently. Peculiar.

That said, speaking with the dead would be nice, but finding your brother and saving him will be even better. Why speak with him, when you can hold him and play with him again?

“I seek a katabasis. I was told that this was the place to go.”

The woman turns to you, clearly drawn by the sound of your voice. “I am the Oracle of the Nekromanteion. I can help with that which you seek, but I must warn you: most who attempt katabasis die in the attempt. Whether I will help you stands to be decided.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you say. “My brother was only six when Thanatos took him. I mean to take him back.”

She rubs her chin. “Defying the Fates, I see. A cause worthy of Odysseus, himself. I must warn you, little one, I do not see you coming back from this journey, even if I do help you.”

“Do you see my brother coming back, Oracle?”

She hums. “The visions aren’t clear. It is a possibility, I will admit.”

“That’s enough for me. What must I do?”

“You must prove yourself to me before I help you. It is a big risk I take, helping you. The gods can be…fickle, as I am sure you are aware.”

You nod. “How should I prove myself, O Oracle?”

“If you spend ten days and ten nights in prayer to Hades, I will consider helping you.”

Hades is not your patron god, but you’ll pray to him if that’s what it takes. The Oracle leads you to a side room where the sages must sleep. She points you to a simple straw bed and advises you that this is where you may sleep. Meals are clearly shared in this room, judging by the fire for cooking in the center of the floor. 

The first day and night, your prayers amount to naught but variations of ‘please let my brother go’ and ‘I promise I’m not trying to subvert you; I just want my brother back’. Not unsurprisingly, the prayers go unanswered, but you keep at it during all hours of the day, except when it is time to eat or sleep. Your knees ache from kneeling at the statue of Hades and Kerberos, but still you persevere.

Days two and three are spent fasting, as the sages recommend. You don’t feel any different, aside from quite hungry, but supposedly this shows your devotion to the cause, and apparently the Oracle appreciates it. How she would know, considering she’s blind, is beyond you. 

Four, five, and six, are spent in mind-numbing silence, your only thoughts and prayers surrounding a hope for a successful travel to the Underworld. That’s probably too much to ask for, but you find you don’t care. Your knees have long-since become accustomed to the hard stone floor, and the bruising has mostly abated.

On day seven, the Oracle offers to sit with you in prayer, allowing you to inhale of her smoke. It’s a change to the monotony of praying at an altar sixteen hours a day, so you agree.

“Breathe in deeply of the smoke and let it take you. It is an honor and a privilege to breathe of the Oracle’s smoke,” she says. “I only allow this, because I had a vision of the gods. Do not mistake me.”

You nod solemnly, breathing in deeply and holding the smoke within your lungs, as you were taught by a neighbor to consume cannabis. It does not take long for your mind to open beyond that which you have ever experienced before.

“Pray, now, to Hades. Hope that he answers you.” The Oracle’s voice feels distant, yet at the same time, it surrounds you completely. 

“Hades,” you say, though you’re not certain whether you say it out loud or just in your head. “If you can hear me, please free my beloved brother, Alexios.”

A moment later, you hear a calm, soothing voice. It is at once cold and not unfriendly, a bizarre combination. “I cannot defy the Fates, but I can allow you to speak with him.”

“Is that you, O Hades?”

“Yes.” His response is simple, but it leaves you reeling in a way you’re not prepared for. “I will allow you to speak with your brother, in hopes it will bring you peace.”

A moment later, you hear your name in a voice you recognize at once. Tears spring to your eyes. Alexios.

“Can you hear me, Sister?”

“Yes, yes I can, Brother. How are you? Is the Underworld treating you well?”

“It’s cold. I’m scared, but I feel…safe here. This is where I’m meant to be, Sister.”

“No, it’s not Alexios! You are meant to be in Athens, with me! Have you drank of the waters of Lethe?”

“Not yet. They tell me I will soon, and I’ll forget. I don’t want to forget, but they tell me it’s important.”

“Try to hold off as long as possible, Brother. I am coming for you, I swear it!”

“I trust you, Sister. Be safe.” With that, your brother’s voice disappears, and you hear the Oracle cough, though her lungs must be familiar with the smoke by now.

“Are you appeased by what you heard, young one?”

You shake your head in the negative. If anything, you’re more determined to save Alexios than ever before.

With a sigh, the Oracle leads you to an altar at the back of the cave, where the three rivers, Acheron, Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus are said to meet. You had always heard that Pyriphlegethon was a river of fire, but really, the water just seems warm. How three rivers exist off of one river is beyond you. Guiding you to anoint yourself in the waters of each, she leads you to kneel at the altar in prayer. 

“Offer up that which you hold most dear, and the gates will be open to you. May the Fates be on your side. You have not yet completed your ten days, but I know you saw something in the smoke, as did I.” 

She kneels beside you and closes her eyes in prayer, before she begins chanting in a tongue that you don’t recognize. The tongue of the gods?

There’s nothing you have more valuable to you than your brother, so you place all of your drachmae on the altar. It’s all you have, aside from the clothes on your back. 

You’re not sure how long you’re praying at the altar or what, really, you should be praying for, but you suddenly hear a gasp, before you’re falling through the water.

Somehow, when you break the surface of the river, you’re standing on land. You’re also dry. Colors here are muted, a welcome change from the vibrancy you’ve become used to in the last few weeks. In front of you sits a ferry, upon which stands a hooded figure. 

“Can you pay the toll?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

You shake your head no. You had given all your drachmae as an offering at the temple. 

“Then find your own way!” The man you presume to be Charon shuffles away, rowing his ferry away from you. It seems he didn’t know your status as a living mortal. Interesting.

There is nothing in the tales of the gods that says you can’t just…swim the Styx, so that is exactly what you intend to do. As you begin to step into the water, though, a cave catches your eye. Shrugging, you walk over to it.

The inside of the cave is surprisingly homey, with patchwork quilts and beautiful, hand-painted clay pottery. The walls are painted with glowing colors, a myriad of flowers, birds, and small animals. This is a beloved home.

Sitting on a comfortable looking chair is a rather tall woman, her hair cascading in layers of blue. “How come you to be in my presence, Mortal?”

“I prayed at an altar and found myself here,” you say. Somehow, you find that you cannot lie to this woman, nor hide the truth from her. She must be Styx. Her eyes are a striking blue that matches her hair, and you find that you can’t look away from them, though you want to.

“I see. And what just cause have you to be in the Underworld, child?”

“I’m here to save my brother, Alexios. The Fates were wrong to take him, and I must save him.”

She smiles at you kindly. “Though you cannot lie to me, I appreciate the honesty nonetheless. I sense that you’re not trying to deceive me. I will grant you a boon. Swear by my name that you mean no harm to the Underworld or its denizens, and I will grant you passage across my waters, Mortal.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Why, indeed. Perhaps because you took the time to speak with me, perhaps because I wish to interfere with the Fates whenever I can. Regardless, swear the oath, and I will grant you safe passage. I can’t guarantee your safety beyond my waters, but I can guarantee your safety across them.”

“I swear by the River Styx that I mean no harm to the Underworld or its denizens.”

The smile on her face grows wider at the ease with which you swear the oath. “Come along, then. I’ve a boat you can use.”

She leads you to a small boat not dissimilar to the one Charon was ferrying. Handing you the oars, she whispers a few words over the boat, itself. “Good luck, Mortal,” she says as a farewell, waving you off. 

The boat is a small thing, with room for no more than two people. That’s just fine for you, and you lift the finely crafted oars and prepare to cross the murky waters of the river. You wave back to her and set off. The waters are no kinder to your stomach than the travel from Athens had been, though that feels like a lifetime ago, now; despite only a few hours, at most, having passed. Time seems to move differently here, though, and you get the sense that you were talking to Styx for much longer than you were praying at the altar. 

Though the waters are choppy and you definitely see monsters the size of legends swimming around, Styx keeps her word and no harm comes to you. It takes only half an hour - or what feels like it - for you to cross the river from her cave. Disembarking, you aren’t certain what to do with the boat. It seems to know, though, because as soon as you touch land, the boat sets off of its own volition, back in the direction of the cave, which you can no longer locate. Odd.

Now that you’ve crossed the river, you’ve about come to the extent of your knowledge of the Underworld. You know of Elysium, Tartarus, and Asphodel Meadows, of course, but you know not the layout of the land nor how to get where you need to go. Most likely, Alexios is in the Asphodel Meadows…Hopefully he hasn’t drank of the waters of Lethe, yet. That is your only thought. Your only prayer. 

The fields are filled with beautiful gray-white flowers, and the sky is a complementary hue of gray-blue. There is not a cloud in the sky, nor a sun to be seen, yet you feel calm and warm, as though you’re walking through a field on a beautiful spring day. There is a faint hint of lavender on the air, though you see no lavender plants.

Aimlessly, you wander, hoping you’ll find your way somehow, like you did with Styx. There seem to be no monsters nor people, here, and your sense of direction is completely thrown off by the land. No longer can you see the river, but you feel as though you haven’t been walking long enough to have lost sight of it. As you walk, your inner musings wander once more to Alexios, and you find yourself lost in the memories of your favorite person. 

When Alexios celebrated his sixth year on the mortal plane, you got him a sweetcake and sewed him an Athenian soldier doll. When he saw the doll, he ran to you and hugged you with Herculean force. 

“Sister!” he had cried. “How did you know I wanted a doll? The other boys don’t play with dolls. They say only girls play with dolls.”

“Well,” you had said, “sometimes girls play with dolls, but boys can, too. And what is stronger than a warrior?”

The grin that had covered his face was wider than any smile you had seen before or since. “You’re right! Nothing is stronger than a warrior. Thank you, Sister.”

“Of course, Brother. Happy name day. Six years, now,” you had whispered to yourself, getting wistful. Six years, it had been, since your mother had been with you, caring for you. Six years raising Alexios with the help of your neighbors. Six years of happiness and sorrow. You’d had to grow up so fast. Alexios had had to grow up even faster.

He had said your name, you remember. It was always a rarity he called you by your name, instead of ‘Sister’. “I love you,” he had said. Though the words were never a rarity, the solemnity with which he had said them was. He had said them as though he truly understood the meaning of the words, rather than just repeating what he felt was the proper thing to say.

“I love you, too, Alexios. More than the sun, the stars, or the wind in our lungs.”

Alexios had hugged his doll to his chest, then, before yelling a thank you and running off to play soldiers with his doll. He had deserved to feel like a child, even just for his name day. 

You’re torn from your recollections by the sight of what can only be Kerberos. Though all of the tales have been proven true, so far, you’re especially surprised by the sheer size of him. He must be at least ten feet tall, with each head spanning at least two feet. Currently, he sleeps at what you presume to be the gates of the oft-hinted at Keep of the Dead, but you’re certain with ears as large as his, he’ll hear any attempt you make at sneaking by him. Even so, you’ve not much other choice, so you move towards him, as quietly as you can manage.

You’re successful. For the first few seconds, anyway. Taking a stray step too close to the giant, three-headed mastiff, you get the chance to truly see his serpent’s tail. You don’t get the chance to see if he truly has lion’s claws, but you know he doesn’t have a mane of snakes, for he is immediately running towards you, and you feel that snakes would be hissing in anger. 

There’s no way to outrun the beast, but you try anyway. He catches you in less than fifteen seconds, but you’d like to consider it a good effort, regardless. If this is to be how you die, at least you’re already across the River Styx. That’s one problem resolved!

Kerberos stops just short of you, however. He tilts his three heads inquiringly, and you take the chance to see that, no, he doesn’t have lion’s claws - those would be much too small for a beast of this caliber. His claws are his own. Each appears to be razor-sharp and as thick as your hand is wide. 

Seeing as how he’s not actively attacking you, you take the chance to glance around you. You’ve made it to the gates of the mysterious keep; how you managed to run in the correct direction is beyond you, honestly. Kerberos makes no moves towards you, and you make no moves closer to the gates. Why you’re at an impasse, you’re not certain, but you will not die here today. 

“Good boy, Kerberos.” You hear from behind you. Why do you recognize that voice? It’s itching at the back of your head, but you can’t quite place it. “Heel, boy.”

The giant of a dog’s three tongues loll out as he excitedly bounds to the voice, giving you the opportunity to turn around and see who is speaking. The man before you is very nearly a giant, standing several heads above you. His eyes are red, his hair black, and there is a gentle scar on his lips. He very well may be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You’re immediately on guard.

In a less friendly tone of voice, he says your name. “The Oracle warned me you would come, that another god had given her permission to let you through the gates to my domain. She did not say which god, but he and I shall have words, when I find out. As I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, I am Hades, the god of the Underworld, and I must ask: what, exactly, do you think you’re doing here?”

This was not in the plan. Repeat: this was not in the plan. Your heartbeat speeds up; your mouth dries; your palms sweat. “I–” You attempt to speak, only to find that your voice is swallowing your words. Coughing, you try again.

“I am here to save my brother, Alexios!” you exclaim all in one breath, hoping you sound far more courageous than you feel. Though the stories all tell of Hades’ fairness, he is also often portrayed as cold and unfeeling and sometimes quite underhanded. He stole Persephone from her mother, after all!

In response to your words, he just sighs. “Your brother is meant to be here. Nothing you can do can change the will of the Fates.”

“How do you know it is the will of the Fates, that it is Fate? Perhaps, Lord Hades, it is Fate that I should save my brother, and he should go on to become a great sophist or poet or historian!” 

Hades rubs his chin at that. “I’ll admit - that is a new one. I can’t just give your brother’s soul back to you, though.”

“Has he drank of the waters of Lethe?” you ask, defiantly. 

“Not as of yet, no.”

“Then there should be nothing holding me back from bringing him home!”

“There is everything holding you back, Mortal!” His voice has suddenly risen from its previously even tone. You flinch. Seeing this, he takes a breath and speaks more evenly. “Even the gods cannot directly defy the Fates, Mortal. Your tales of us should warn you, no?”

You simply nod in response.

“Good. So you are aware that there is nothing more I can do for you. I’m truly sorry you came all this way, but I hope that you find a peace with your grief.” He goes to turn towards his keep, but you call after him.

“Lord Hades! Please, wait! What of Orpheus and Eurydice?”

He scoffs. “Orpheus with his lyre, who didn’t trust me enough not to turn back and doom his Eurydice? Yes, I remember the fool. One whose love was not strong enough to die for his wife, nor was it strong enough to trust the gods, themselves. Foolish.”

“Orpheus only lost a wife he’d known a short time. Of course his love was not strong enough to die. I would die a thousand times over to save Alexios. I do not need to be with Alexios to be happy. Oftentimes, I’ve thought and realized that his life would be better, were he to be adopted, than it ever was with me. I will gladly trade my soul for his. I would drink of the waters of Lethe and happily stay in the Underworld, if it meant my brother had a chance at a good life.”

Hades beckons you to follow him into the keep. You do. As you walk, he begins to speak again. “You cannot simply trade your soul for your brother’s, no matter how pure your love.”

“Then I will fight for his soul!”

“Hold on, Mortal. I’m thinking.”

That gives you pause, so you immediately clamp your mouth shut. Hades leads you down a maze of walkways, into a giant, dark building. For the first time, you fully take in your surroundings. The Underworld isn’t nearly as dark and horrifying as you initially expected it to be. It’s no earthly world, with its vibrancies, but it has its own unique, muted beauty to it. Even the keep, a dark, sandstone structure, would not be completely out of place in your world. That is an odd thing to think. 

He leads you through several hallways, into what you think must be his office. Sitting down behind the stone desk, he motions for you to sit across from him. The chairs don’t look uncomfortable, the padding a deep yet muted red. Looking down, he shuffles a few scrolls and nearly spills an inkpot, though you catch it for him. He thanks you, before sighing.

“I cannot just give you Alexios’ soul, even if I wanted to. My job is to shepherd souls, not to release them.”

“Is there anything you can do, Lord Hades? I will do anything to save my brother.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

Hades’ face screws up in thought, and he is silent for what must have only been a moment but feels like an eternity. “I can offer you a chance, Mortal. Not a promise.”

“Anything!”

“Mortals have no place in the Underworld, you know, and they taint their souls with every second they spend here alive. It’s why so few make it in, much less make it out.”

You hadn’t known that, but you aren’t about to let him know.

He continues. “As such, a fitting trade would be thus: spend one year of your mortal life in the Underworld as my guest; feel the Chthonic magic and learn of the inner workings of my realm. You are to have no contact with the mortal world nor with your brother Alexios in this time.” Though you move to interrupt, he holds up a hand. “For all intents and purposes, you will be dead. Your soul will be corrupted, and you will likely never make it to Elysium on your own deathbed. At the end of the year, if you have fulfilled all of my requirements, I will give Alexios the choice to stay in the Underworld or return to the world of the living. In this time, I will not force him to drink of the waters of Lethe, but should he wish to, he may, and you will have no way of knowing.”

You bite your lip. That is a steep price, indeed. To taint your own soul for a chance at your brother’s future? There is no question. “I agree.”

Hades snaps his fingers, and an attendant - a goat-legged man, a satyr, walks in the room. “Get me Styx. She is needed for a contract.”

In the silence, you speak up. “If you don’t mind my asking, Lord Hades, where is Lady Persephone? In the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, she was also presiding over the judgment.”

“She spends six months out of the year with me and the other six months on Earth. Currently, she is on Earth. In fact, she only left a few weeks ago.” He shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered by it. Interesting. 

Not even ten minutes later - though, you admit, it may have been longer; time works very, very strangely here - Styx arrives. She graces you with a proud smile. 

“I see you made it to Hades. Congratulations, Little One. I hope you get what you’ve been praying so loudly for. You’re the talk of the gods, you know.”

“Hush, Styx. You’re here for a reason, not to gossip.” Hades’ tone is firm but not unkind.

“Yes, yes, my lord. How can I be of assistance?” You think you catch Styx rolling her eyes at the lord of her realm, which surprises you.

Hades turns to you, the look on his face stony and serious. “Swear by Styx, Mortal. Swear that you will spend a year in the Underworld with no contact with the mortal realm or your dear brother. Swear that at the end of the year, you will give your brother the choice to live or remain here. Swear it, and it shall be done.”

“I swear by Styx. I will spend a year here in the Underworld with…with no contact with the mortal realm or my brother. At the end of the year, I will give Alexios that choice to live or remain here. I so swear.”

“She swore with her whole heart, my Lord. There was not an ounce of dishonesty or malintent. I believe her. I should also tell you that she swore another oath to me: to do no harm to the Underworld or its denizens.”

“Thank you, Styx.” He sighs, turning to you. “I have guest chambers, for rare occasions when other gods come to visit. They’re usually visiting my wife, but regardless. Follow me.”

Somehow, you understand the twisting paths through the keep better this time around, as if your oath magically made you part of this world. That’s silly, though! Oaths couldn’t possibly have that much power, could they?

He leads you to a nondescript room that is larger than your entire shack in Athens was. In the center of the room sits a large gray and white bed. There is a seating area where you presume you’ll take your meals, and an empty bookcase. The walls are a muted gray-blue, and there is a single window that looks out over the fields of asphodel flowers. You don’t think you’ll hate it here, curiously enough.

“Feel free to do whatever you’d like with your room. Believe it or not, there are shops in the city below, and the dead have little need for money. I’d like for you to at least be comfortable while you’re here. At no point should you ever feel like a prisoner. You can leave whenever you like.”

“I will not leave until my brother has the chance at a future,” you say firmly.

For the first time, Hades cracks a smile. It is beautiful. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” you say simply, smiling back up at him. 

He leaves you to your own devices, then, telling you that should you wish to go to town, you need only feel your intent strongly, and the realm will lead you there. You fully intend to go at some point, but with Hades gone from the room, your exhaustion hits you all at once. You’ve barely slept in seven mortal days and had been miserable for the days leading up to that, on the ship. By the gods, you’ve barely slept since Alexios died. Now that you have a chance to save him, the relief fills your body, and you fall on the bed, falling asleep almost instantly. 

[claimedminotaur]

SEPULCRHAL (Part One)

When your brother dies of the plague destroying Athens from within, you go on an Odyssey to save his soul from the Underworld.

If you happen to fall in love with the God of the Underworld on the way, well, that can only help your cause, right?

Hades/Reader 18+

You sigh as you hear a neighbor coughing through the thin walls of the shack you share with your much-younger brother, Alexios. It is the 87th Olympiad, year 3, and you have seen 20 summers. Your brother has seen only 6, and those 6 years have been rife with war between Athens and Sparta and, more recently, with a plague hitting Athens, your home. 

Neighbors you have come to love like family have dropped dead. Strangers fall over in the street, blocking doors and causeways. The alchemists and scientists and philosophers say that fire will keep the disease away, so the bodies are burned. Burning bodies carry a smell that will haunt you forever.

You live in fear. Fear that the disease will take you and leave your baby brother on his own.  Fear that you’ll run out of food. Fear that the gods’ wrath will destroy everything you’ve ever known. So you pray. Day in and day out, you pray to Athena, the patron of Athens. You make offerings to her altar at least once a week, and you pray.

So far, this seems to have worked, as neither you nor, gods-forbid, your brother have gotten the plague. You hear whispers that Strategos Pericles has lost his two sons to the plague and has fallen ill himself. It seems the plague cares not whether you are important or not, rich or poor. It comes for everyone.

You hear your name in a whisper. Alexios.

“What is it, Alexios?” you ask, also in a whisper. 

“I don’t feel well,” he says. “I feel hot, and my skin itches.”

You bite your lip. A rash is one of the first signs of the plague. Not Alexios, please gods in Olympus, not Alexios. 

“I will get a cream for you, little one. Just go lie down in bed. I’ll be back soon.”

And you do. Creams for plague spots are sold at every street corner, merchants never above making a drachma off of innocent people, even during a time of war and plague. 

“How much for one tub of your miracle cream?” you ask Agapios, a merchant you’ve been friendly with for a few years.

“Three drachmae. I’m running low, you see. I can’t go any cheaper than that, even for a friend.”

You sigh. Three drachmae is a week’s wages for you, but you’ll do anything for your baby brother. Agapios knows this.

“Alexios doing alright?” he asks. 

“I think so. He’s just complaining of itching, but he has no cough or fever as of yet.”

“I will pray for his swift recovery. I heard another thirty bodies were found three streets over.” He pauses. “I’m so tired of the smell of burning bodies.”

“As am I, Agapios. As am I.”

You slide over your week’s wages in exchange for the small tub of miracle cream, and Agapios offers you a small smile. “I’m sure he’ll recover. The gods try to protect the innocent, after all, and no one is more innocent than that sweet child.”

You want to agree, but your prayers for the last weeks have gone unanswered, as more and more bodies pile in the streets. When you get back to your shack, you hear thin coughing from within. Alexios.

“I am back, little brother,” you say quietly, not wishing to disturb your sick neighbors. 

“Welcome home,” he says in return. 

“I brought you a miracle cream to help with the rash. It should make the itching stop.”

“Thank you.” He takes off his shirt for you, and you inwardly gasp at the spots covering his body. He looks exactly like the corpses you see daily. 

Clenching your teeth, you begin to rub the cream on his chest and back in thick globs. It smells of honey, a disinfectant, and aloe vera. 

You are all your brother has, ever since his father went to war before he was born, and your shared mother died in childbirth. For Alexios, you are the only blood family he has ever known. Fellow Athenians have helped you since he was born, taken you under their wing, but no family has ever let you stay too long, and as soon as you turned sixteen, you were expected to earn your own keep, which you do as a seamstress. As for your father, well, he fucked off when you were ten, never to be seen or heard from again.

The little coughs shaking your tiny brother’s body are heartbreaking. Why did it have to be him who got sick? At least, if it were you, Alexios could move in with another family. Athenians are kind to young boys, especially boys as intelligent and charming as your brother. He would have no trouble becoming a foster or adopted son to a family. Frankly, he would probably be better off with you dead than alive, as much as it pains you to think. 

But no. You haven’t caught the plague. He has. Tears brim unbidden in your eyes, and you strive not to let your brother see them. He does.

“Am I going to die?”

“One day, many, many years from now.”

He whispers your name solemnly. “No. Am I going to die from the plague?”

“I won’t let that happen,” you say firmly. “I will pray to the gods every day for your recovery. The gods would not let a child as innocent and wonderful as you die from the plague. I am certain.”

Alexios coughs weakly. “I believe you.”

As it turns out, he shouldn’t have. His condition rapidly worsens over the coming days, as his fever increases. At one point, his fever was so thick, he thought he was talking to your mother. His coughs get worse, as does the rash. You run out of drachmae, just paying for food and miracle creams for your brother. At first, your boss is understanding of your consistent absences to take care of your brother, but after the fifth day, she tells you you must come in or lose your job working for her. You lose your job. The last thing you’re willing to do is come home to a dead brother, even if it means relying on the kindness of neighbors to remain fed.

On his final day in the world of the living, he begs you to stay at his side. “Sister,” he croaks.

“I am here, Alexios.”

He reaches his tiny hand out to you, and you grasp it in both of yours, tears beginning to spring forth from your eyes. 

“I’m scared,” he says. “What happens when you die?”

“Oh, sweet boy. You’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“I know I’m dying, Sister. I can feel it.”

You grip his hand tighter in yours. “It’s not your time to die, little one. I’m older! I’ll die first, and you’ll have many years to come.”

“Sister, please don’t lie to me.” Alexios smiles, his lip cracking and bleeding from the effort. You feel an urge to wipe it clean but know that it is more important, now, to comfort him than to clean him. 

“Well, when you die, Hermes will come to take you to the Underworld. You’ll cross the River Styx with Charon and drink from the waters of Lethe to forget your mortal life.”

“But I don’t want to forget my mortal life!” he cries, trying to sit up.

“If you die, you must.”

“Well…I won’t.” His brows furrow and his face twists in a grimace of pain. “When Hermes comes to take me away, I’ll look for you Sister. You’ll protect me. You always have.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, even as you feel it start to go limp. “Yes, I’ll always protect you, Alexios.”

You bring him to you, as his rash begins to cause him pain. “It hurts, Sister.”

“Yes, I know. I’m out of the balm to make it itch less. I’m sorry.”

You hold him to you tighter, as tears begin to fall from his eyes. “I’m so scared. Please save me, Sister. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to forget.”

“Shhh,” you say. “Rest now. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You begin to sing him the lullaby your mother taught you before he was born. It calms him somewhat, though he is still hyperventilating and crying. Rocking him, you rub his back and try to keep him from scratching too much.

As he relaxes against you, you feel yourself begin to cry again, knowing what is coming next.

His last word is your name. The wail you let out as his last breath leaves his body is enough for your neighbors to come running to your aid. An older woman clutches you to her breast as you heave great, shaking sobs. 

It takes half an hour just for you to calm down enough to speak. The older woman, Chloe, whispers your name, trying to draw your attention. 

“We must take his body to be burned, else the house will reek of the plague, dear.”

You can’t bear the thought of sweet, innocent Alexios being burned. “He can’t be gone,” you say, voice hoarse and thick from your screams and tears.

“He is, dear. We must send him off to Hades.”

“Burning his body means he won’t be able to pay Charon the toll to get to the afterlife.”

She nods. “We shall put a drachma over each eye and pray that scavengers don’t steal it. Does that sound good?”

“Yes, but…I lost my job. I’ve no more drachmae.”

“I’ll take care of it, dear. Alexios deserves a good afterlife, after all.”

Chloe turns to her husband, Kleitos. “Carry the poor boy out, my love. He must be burned.”

Turning to you, she gives you a final hug. “Please, dear one. Let us know if there is anything you need - anything at all.”

My brother back, you think but do not say. The only ones with the power to bring your brother back are the gods, themselves, so you set to praying. 

You pray every day for a week, with no response. There are whispers in the town about you, how you are obsessed and mad in your grief. You ignore them. Death is the worst possible thing to have happened to that sweet child, and you will be damned to Tartarus before you let your brother be numbed and left in Asphodel Meadows. 

The gods must not be all that powerful, if they’re unable to get your brother back. You’ve left offerings at the altar of Athena, at the altar of Zeus, even at a statue of Hades. None of them answer your prayers. Your faith in the gods will survive this trial, you know, because you’ve experienced their miracles before. Why they’re refusing to grant you this miracle is beyond you. 

You turn to spiritual leaders, who all tell you that Fate works in mysterious ways and that this was Alexios’ Fate. Your response to that gets you kicked out of the Parthenon for two weeks. During those two weeks, you stew in your anger, in your heartbreak, in your grief. You long for your brother, for his kind words and kinder smile. In some moments, you even long for your mother, long dead though she is. She would have something wise and helpful to say; she always did. 

Instead, you hatch a plan in your anger, in your fury, in your righteous indignation. You are going to break into the Underworld and save your brother. Orpheus may not have been able to save Eurydice, but you will save your brother, or you will die trying and join him in the Underworld.