Chapter Text
“As I said, this isn’t a place for the living. I entertained your foolish romanticism, but you have failed your trial,” Hades growls. The Lord of the Underworld drives her sword into the bedrock, punctuating her final verdict. “If you don’t leave while you still can, I’ll make you a permanent resident of the Underworld!”
“But—”
“You FAILED, boy. Go home. You have reached the end of my very generous patience." Hades looms over the poor bard, blotting him in shadow. "If you test it any further, I’ll damn you to Tartarus.”
After a fearful pause, Orpheus bows his head. “I’m sorry.” When he raises it again, he looks not to Hades but Eurydice, the same act that damned her again, eyes tight and begging for her forgiveness.
Eurydice can only watch. It is a torturous mercy that she is allowed to.
He spares a glance at the last person present; Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. Their eyes meet, and whatever assurance he looks for, he seems to find.
Her husband sets his jaw, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and steps back into the world of the living. The sound of his sobs cut off as the gates slam shut, leaving them only with the echoing silence of stone.
Eurydice had faith that her husband would rescue her. But faith is for gods, and the man that stood before them a moment before is just that, a man. You would think, you would hope, that after braving the bowels of the afterlife for her, there would be some reprieve. Unfortunately, hope is fickle, too. In the dark of the Underworld, such a thing will wither and die long before the gates can be reached.
In the absence of faith and hope, all that remains is love. That same love that drove Orpheus here had caused him to look to her, mere footsteps away from victory.
The love of Eurydice’s life, sentenced to misery for the crime of loving her too much.
Why would the Fates be so utterly cruel?
“You, shade.” Hades turns her attention to Eurydice. She shrinks back, as a shadow is wont to do in the presence of burning brilliance.
(Does she notice the Lord's face soften? Surely not.)
“You, too, must return home.”
The plains of Asphodel have thus far proven to be… numbing, if nothing else. Memory flows from the shades like water, leaving them without cause for sorrow as long as they remain there. But Eurydice remembers now. She doesn’t want to forget her Orpheus, even if it means dealing with her grief.
But what can she do? She is powerless in this situation. It’s a trial just to maintain her form and not collapse in on herself with the weight of such unsung grief.
The Queen, standing at Hades’s side, lays a hand on the Lord’s shoulder. “My wife, would you permit me to escort her?” Her gentle smile, soft and warm, melts the ice of Hades’ expression.
"As you wish, beloved." Hades presses a kiss to her wife's palm. “I will see you at home.” She steps away, nodding curtly at Eurydice before walking back towards the depths. As soon as she passes into the shadow, she disappears.
Unfortunately, Eurydice has no such power; the Queen is kind enough to stay within reach as they carefully clamber their way over the rough-hewn rock to the bank of the River Styx.
Finally, they reach a solitary bell. The Queen rings it, and the ferryman rows into view, summoned from the depths.
“Hello, Charon. The usual, please.”
The ferryman bows and opens his skeletal hand, palm up.
The Queen reaches into the folds of her toga, pulling out a large, rounded object. Eurydice frowns. The gold denotes its value, certainly, but it’s not any currency she recognises; the star imprinted into the metal seems far too vague to be the same coins mortals barter with up above. Could this be the same obol, or something else?
The ferryman accepts the object, turning it this way and that to inspect it with his empty eyes, seeing how the torchlight glints off the metal.
He bows and offers his hand again, helping the Queen into the boat, then Eurydice herself. The boat sways with their boarding, buoyed by the liquid essence of the dead.
The ferry ride itself is plodding, giving plenty of time for Eurydice’s emotions to reach up and overwhelm her. Fat, hot tears worm their way up through her eyes, and she lets them fall. She misses the emptiness of Asphodel.
The Queen reaches into the folds of her toga again and pulls out a handkerchief. “Don’t fret, my dear shade. Life will go on for your beloved, even though he won’t ever be the same. That’s life.” She smiles at Eurydice, dazzling her. “One day, perhaps, you’ll be reunited. A love strong enough can survive the fires of the plains. Across the vastness of eternity, you’ll find each other again. I know that that was true for me.”
Eurydice considers her words carefully before tentatively alighting on a point of connection. “It must be difficult being unable to see your wife for half of the year.”
The look Persephone fixes Eurydice with is heavy with the weight of aeons. “Yes. I miss her so, and others besides.”
Others? Now that’s surprising. “From how you interact, I’d have thought you were faithfully devoted to one another.”
“Souls are loving things, and there are many types of love. Across the vastness of eternity, you will find other loves as well.” She smiles wryly. “Sometimes, you’ll even have the wherewithal to remember them.”
Eurydice inclines her head.
“Join me for a meal, my dear, and I can show you.”
Eurydice, comforted in the moment only by the Queen’s presence and seeing no other choice, accepts.
They sail on, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Underworld, until they reach the House of Hades.
Eurydice is afraid to voice her tentative hope in case it crumbles before her, but it becomes too hard to ignore in such a setting.
“I can’t help but notice this is not where the shades dwell.” She finally musters the courage to say.
Persephone’s eyes glimmer with mischief. “I did not state where I was escorting you, only that I was escorting you. Come, my dear. We'll find no one to stop us if we use the servants' entrance."
Together, they pass through the house as invisible as Hades herself, until they find themselves at a wrought adamant gate.
"Welcome to my garden, little shade," Persephone says, opening it for her.
The garden of Persephone is unlike anything Eurydice has ever seen. Vast, and at the same time, seeming so intimate that there’s barely enough room for the two of them. Despite how deep, deep underground they are, Nyx’s starlight twinkles gently overhead. A seemingly infinite variety of plants, which, unlike the wild beauty of Elysium, have all been carefully maintained. And in the centre of the room, there’s a small wooden table with a pair of chairs.
“Can I interest you in anything? Tea? Wine?”
“What’s tea?”
“Leaves of a certain plant from across the continent, steeped in boiling water. It’s very refreshing.”
Eurydice shrugs. "What have I to lose?"
Persephone’s offered drink is hot and bitter, but it suffuses some life into Eurydice's soul. "Pfthuh! Eaugh.” She scrunches her nose up in distaste. "Thank you. It's… bracing."
Persephone giggles. “Perhaps it was a little unbalanced,” she muses, stirring her own drink. “Bitter and sweet exist on a delicate scale. Without one or the other, the flavour suffers, turning astringent or cloying in turn.” She sighs, distant, looking through instead of into her cup. “Both are necessary to maintain order, as is the duty of those ruling the Underworld. Still, to be barred from salvation by a mere few footsteps is a special kind of cruelty.”
She traces the rim of her cup mindlessly before abruptly snapping back to herself, dismissing the thought with a gentle smile and shake of the head. Eurydice wonders just how much she weathers behind that smile of hers.
Persephone continues. “I cannot grant your old life back— the rules of the Underworld declare it, and my wife's trust is a precious thing. But to make life anew, that is something I can offer. When mother comes calling, and I am to usher in the spring, would you accompany me?”
The enormity of such a proposition stuns Eurydice. “What could I possibly offer in exchange?” What can a shadow of a human offer a god? She has no worldly possessions, after all.
“I would only ask for yourself. I wish to stay in your company, be that as friends or lovers. I want us to mean something to each other.” Her voice contains multitudes; joy, hope, caring, longing, a long and wearing wistfulness. Something guarded.
Such a simple proposal. There must be something more to it. “Surely my soul can’t be as valuable as that.”
Persephone's gaze is near-pitying. “My dear, we are equals here. You’re just lacking some valuable context." She turns plaintive, staring into her cup for guidance. "Hm, how to explain… ah. You’re familiar with theatre because of your husband’s work, aren’t you?”
Equals. Eurydice can't fathom it. “... That’s correct,” she prompts, hoping that Persephone’s explanation will provide more clarity.
“The actors on stage may have major or minor roles in a production, but when the curtain drops, they’re all still peers. Not only that, but they have their own lives and loves outside of the performance. That is much the same here. I’m not asking in character, but with the feelings of the actor behind the mask.” She leans over and plucks the produce from one of the trellis plants, offering it to Eurydice. “If you wish for rebirth, to tie your fate to mine, eat this.”
The fruit she offers is red, ripe and filled to bursting.
Eurydice takes it in her hands but does not consume it. Not yet.
“… This stage you speak of. What if I’m not interested in standing on it in the first place?” She asks.
Persephone laughs. “My dear, we’re at least a thousand words into the script. We are already on the stage.”
Eurydice shrugs. After all, what does she have to lose?
She presses the skin to her teeth, feeling the give, the promise of something new. She bites down. Acceptance is a flavour that she cannot name; not sweet, not bitter, not salty nor sour. Something she doesn’t have the language to articulate yet. But it entices her. Compels her.
“Then I suppose it’s my duty to say the next line.”