#Aïdōneús

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you)  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his. 

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx. 

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him. 

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind. 

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket. 

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey. 

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement. 

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?” 

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.” 

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross. 

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.” 

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.” 

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks. 

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one. 

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,”  it was a statement more so than a question. 

“I have, Aïdōneús.” 

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.  

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.  

“As you wish, Kore.” 

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold. 

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits. 

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…” 

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits. 

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips. 

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.” 

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.” 

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.” 

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.” 

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.” 

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?” 

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice. 

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes. 

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier. 

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”  

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone. 

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her. 

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld. 

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined. 

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost. 

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return. 

This was another lie. 

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return. 

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.” 

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.” 

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?” 

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone. 

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?” 

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”  

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him. 

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods. 

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them. 

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.” 

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze. 

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips. 

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips. 

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away. 

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos. 

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity. 

There was a simple spell that would serve both. 

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer. 

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”  

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.” 

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.” 

He, of course, obliged her. 

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree. 

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet. 

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips. 

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red. 

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him. 

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it. 

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.” 

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him. 

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now. 

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips. 

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath. 

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something. 

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring. 

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate. 

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.” 

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.” 

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.” 

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her. 

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?” 

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon. 

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable. 

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it. 

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both. 

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head. 

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #greek mythology hotd au #hotd au #aemond!hades #oc!persephone #slow burn #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #thanks for reading #♥

[cyeco13]

Aïdōneús and Kore ✨️

Ive just read my first Hades and Persephone au entitled She Walks in Starlight by arcielee.Not only there are familiar HOTD characters seamlessly incorporated within the plot , the story unfolded very poetically.There are some moments that makes me emotional ngl like this line:

There was the echo of her words. You are the darkness and she is the light.

..and how Aemond is still aemond even if he is hades if that makes sense.😅.The ending made me cry literally. I hope my fanart gives justice to this beautiful written story 🥰💚

#aemond targaryen #fanart #hades persephone

[gottdeswill]

I might be a little obsessed with this

#lore olympus #usedbandaid #persefone #hades #Perséfone #Persephone #Kore #Persephónē #Aïdōneús #Áïdos #Greek #Mythology #mitología griega #griechischen Mythologie

[m1ssjess]

While Persephone going absolutley feral was the highlight of the episode here are my favourite shots of Hades. Absolutley love it when he goes Aïdōneús.

Episode 152 of Lore Olympus by Rachel Smythe

#lore olympus #LO Hades

[hadesglance]

All hail the new queen...- 28 (Hades Original Story)

You fought your way through the maze of the underworld to make a deal with the King…intrigued the lonely king listens…

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five  Part Six Part Seven  Part Eight   Part Nine  Part Ten  Part Eleven Part Twelve  Part Thirteen  Part Fourteen  Part Fifteen  Part Sixteen Part Seventeen  Part Eighteen  Part Nineteen   Part Twenty  Part Twenty-One   Part Twenty-Two  Part Twenty-Three  Part Twenty-Four  Part Twenty-Five  Part Twenty-Six  Part Twenty-Seven

“Slow down…” You stared at him worry filling you.

“Y/N?” You both looked over to your mother standing with two cups of what you assumed to be tea, in her hands a confused and concerned look.

“Ma…I’m…this is Nick’s brother, Zack.” You rattled off quickly, “Something’s happened to their other brother Paul…I’m gonna go with Zack and meet Nick at the hospital.”

“Oh my…” Your mother looked at you worried, “Please let me know if I can do anything. Give Nick my love.”

You walked over to her kissing her cheek, “I love you so much…”

“Oh… Lígo…everything will be fine.” She told you when you hugged her. She rubbed your back supportively before kissing your cheek.

You gave her a smile before turning to Zeus hoping she was right, “Let’s go.”

He took you outside putting his arm around you using the same method of travel Hades did popping you outside the guard house of your home. You looked over seeing Apollo and Poseidon applying pressure to Charon's chest, “What happened?”

You knelt down next to Charon passed out as Zeus filled you in, “We found him like this after…a spell was broken on Athna, alerting us that she was a distraction…Charon will live, but we can’t reach Hades.”

“What? For how long?” You stood back up clenching your fist as you looked between Zeus and Poseidon.

Zeus glanced over to his brother before he explained, “For us, a few hours, for you…a week…”

“I don’t understand…” You looked at them all slowly your brow coming together, “So you’ve been in touch with him all week…he’s been texting me…”

“No, Y/N…” Zeus frowned putting his hands on your arms, “Cronus is a manipulator of time and he has done something to this place and to Athena…”

“Athena, does she-”

“Please, Y/N, there is not much time!” Zeus interrupted you squeezing your arms tightly, “Regardless of how everything is possible, it’s all immaterial because my brother is in that house…the Underworld… with our father, and you are the only one who can get in there without Charon’s permission.”

You looked back toward the house staring at it, “H-he’s still in there?”

Poseidon stood up walking over to you, “Y/N, you just have to get in there and hide until we can get Charon awake. Once he is you can give him permission to let us in.”

“But he is in there, right?” You looked at her eyes turning fierce. When they didn’t respond you turned toward the gate pushing it open.

“Y/N, wait.” You paused looking at Apollo who pulled out a phone from his pocket, “Call your number, then at least you can tell us what’s going on.”

After setting everything up you started the walk to the house. Your heart was thumping against your chest you were sure you were going to get a bruise. Thankfully, listening to the banter of gods cut some of the edge off, “When did you get one of these?”

Apollo responded distantly, “Since doing sweeps with Hades. He was always texting Y/N…thought I’d look into it. I do have a steady following still and it’s easier to blend into a crowd with one of these things pressed against your face.”

“You’re too smart for your own good, and a bad liar.” Zeus told him trying to sound aloof. It wasn’t working.

“Liar? I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Apollo muttered.

“He’s referring to your new friendship with Y/N.” Poseidon piped in with a sigh, “Now enough, she’s almost there and we don’t need to distract her or cause anyone to notice her.”

“We’re muting ourselves Y/N…just be safe…above all hide, do not try to be a hero.” Zeus warned you quietly, “Hades would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

“I’ll be careful…” You told them taking a deep breath before walking into the garage. Nothing seemed amiss in here.

You touched the doorknob to the kitchen swallowing down the fear as you pushed it open. You stepped inside instantly feeling cold as you saw your breath on the air. You moved through the dark hall slowly stopping when you saw the wall marred with large gashes and smeared blood. You heart began to race as you turned away rushing forward.

The house was a mess, and your fear kept growing the more damage you saw. More blood on the floor…handprints on the walls. Unable you contain yourself anymore you began whispering, “No…no no no…”

You rushed into his office and everything froze. Destroyed wasn’t even a word to describe what you were seeing. Debris from the furniture was scattered everywhere. You put your hand to your mouth choking down a sob as you stepped further in seeing his bident cast off to the side.

You stopped once more when you saw a glimmer out of the corner of your eye. Against the damaged wall was a floating sphere. You stepped toward it whispering, “…I don’t see anyone…there’s a lot of damage everywhere…and blood…”

You stopped watching the sphere glow, whisps moving around it like fog. It was like it was calling to you, echos in  the back of you mind, “There’s this strange thing in his office…a glowing sphere…I’ve never seen it before.”

You reached out towards it, “Y/N, whatever you don’-”

A hot blinding flash flung you back across the room. You landed roughly on your knees gasping as the air was knocked from you. You lifted your head when you heard someone speak, “Lilly, I'd like you to gather everyone in the foyer for a meeting, please.”

“Hades…” You stared at him relieved until you heard a low voice in response to him.

“…hello, boy…” You watched Hades go rigid not turning around, “Come now…say hello to your father.”

Hades’ hand extended calling for this bident, but as quickly as he turned to throw it, Cronus was on top of him slamming him against the desk sending everything into the air. Hades cried out as his father pressed him in the chest with the pommel of a large scythe, the sheer force cracking the desk in two, “Still pathetic…I thought you were supposed to be a king!”

“Hades!” You cried getting up to your feet rushing forward to push Cronus away only to stumble through his image. You fell to your knees again shuddering before looking back at them as Cronus lifted Hades up by the shirt. You saw so much fear in Hades eyes. He was right back in that cell so many centuries ago.

You cried out in vein as he attempted to fight Cronus. His father simply parried his bident away sending it clattering across the room, “You think a toy like that can kill me!”

“Stop...please, please stop…” You sobbed as he rained a beating down on Hades that explained the state of the room.

Cronus stopped chest heaving up and down as he stood over Hades’ body as a noise seemed to catch his attention. As the titan moved away you rushed over to look at Hades. He was alive but you weren’t sure if he could move, “Hades…move…you have to move…”

“Huh…” Your eyes flicked over to Cronus near the broken desk Hades’ phone in his hand, “You’ve missed you lover’s messages…shall I reply to her for you?”

You felt sick. You had thought something was wrong after you were sent away. The texts you received we so detached and lacked the formality Hades would use.

“Fuck you…” You looked back to Hades pushing his shaking form off the ground. Blood streamed down his face as he glared at him, those once blue eyes purple and afraid.

“Oh, maybe there is something left in there worth saving.” Cronus smirked as he pocketed the phone. You screamed for Hades to run as his father strode forward in no great hurry. Hades turned running out into the hall slamming into the smearing blood across it as he pushed himself to get away, “Boy…do not make this harder…”

You kept with Hades wishing there was anything you could do for him. He stumbled out into the living room falling to his knees gasping for air as he clutched his side clearly wounded, “You have to move, Hades…get up. Get up!”

He wasn’t fast enough. Cronus wrapped his large fingers into his hair yanking him forward until he slammed his back into the wall placing the blade of the scythe against his throat, “I do enjoy a chase, and it has been a while…”

“But no matter what you do, son…” Cronus leaned in as Hades let out a sad child like whimper, “I will break you, and I will turn you into the tool I need to destroy Olympus and get my power back.”

“Stop!” You cried out as Cronus stepped back with such speed the scythe pulled back. That’s when you saw it…his eyes shift over to you.

“Shall I show you the rest? There is quite a bit more…” His question hung in the air as ice filled your veins, “Or would you rather leave it to your imagination?”

Your vision blurred the more you stood there, “Just…stop…please leave him…”

“I imagine you’re begging me to stop right now…” He stepped way from Hades and you watched his form dissolve into light, “the beauty of manipulating time is you get to replay everything until you get exactly what you want out of it…”

You blinked sinking to your knees, “…what have you done to him?”

“Mm…” He tilted his head as he leaned on the sycthe, “taken back what’s mine…you do understand I’m not here, right? I’m not quite aware of how quickly mortals catch on to things. Your kind didn’t exist until late in the war. You seem bright though, but damn…those others in that cesspit of an institution you call a school…I will have to fix that…”

You were shaking so much as he went on, “I will cut right to it…Aïdōneús is mine, and I intend to shape him into what he was meant to be.”

He stepped forward kneeling down looking you in the eyes, “But I imagine your strange infatuation won’t stop you at all…so please, come to Tartarus, Y/N. I’d be happy to talk to you there about this whole situation.”

His form faded away the same way Hades’ had leaving you with the image of his sick grin. You leaned forward wrapping your arms around yourself until your forehead pressed against the floor. You let out sob shaking until it was hard to breath, until you screamed.

You sat there letting silence fall over you. You didn’t know how long you just stayed there in the destruction of the house until you tensed feeling a warm hand press against your shoulder. Raising your head slowly you saw a worn and tired Charon, “My lady…there are people at the door…should I allow them in?”

You let out a stifled sob as you nodded. He pulled you into his arms as you began to cry again and only passed you off to Hera and Persephone when everyone arrived.

Everything buzzed around you. Directions where being handed out, people moved through the house. Faces came into view checking on you, then disappeared when Hera said something to them. Finally, when everything was declared safe you were moved to your room and laid in bed.

The last thing you remember before blacking out was hearing a whisper in your ear, “Looking forward to talking again…”

#ALL HAIL THE NEW QUEEN #all hail the new queen... #Hades #hades and persephone #hades/reader #hades reader #hades x reader #hadesxreader #hades mortal #hades/mortal #HadesGlance #cronus #titan #titanomachy #Greek #Greek Mythology #greek gods #greece #zeus #poseidon #apollo #hera #Persephone

[nottxbones]

SUSAN x THEODORE:

"What if I were to say you have it completely backwards. I am Aïdōneús. I am Hades. "

"He is Kore, he is my Persephone."

#hp edit #hp rare pair #hprarepairnet #susan bones x theodore nott #bonott #making all the bonott edits!!! #nothing but bones #nott a death eater

[skyfulcfstars]

give me seph calling hades by his actual name Aïdōneús tho.

#( talk to the plants | out of character ) #( it happens one of two reasons - she's really damn pissed or really damn in love )

[sxjyou-archive]

🍷

Send “🍷” to hear what my muse would say about your muse in FGO’s MyRoom || @ironwroughthero

“An Archer that uses swords. Not the first time we’ve seen that, Master. Ah, not we…she, Ayaka. But he’s not quite like the golden Archer, is he? He’s such a sorrowful man…he reminds me of…”

A small smile plays on her lips, eyes full of fondness for a man that people feared, her Aïdōneús, who appeared cold, stern and strong but had the softest side. Persephone can’t help but wonder, did that man have a smile that could light up the Underworld? Or was he weighed down by some force so few people knew about? 

Clearly, the Master she shared with so many thought something different entirely. 

“H-huh? What do you mean you enjoy his cooking more than mine?! Take that back!”

#HE REMINDS HER OF HADES OOPS #ironwroughthero #v: Persephone; All the things I might not be

[ofdeathandwealth-blog]

@springincarnate | testing to see if it’ll post if i put it in a new post

he stops breathing as she speaks, feeling as if smoke is filling his lungs. this was his nightmare - the only one he’s ever been able to love laying out all of the flaws he knew he had. his free hand - the one that isn’t curled around the pen - grips the edge of the table, the wood quickly burning black. with a deep breath, his looks up at her, narrowing his eyes. “ i know all of that. i’ve always known that. that’s why it was so pathetic when you started begging for children. did you think you’d be able to change me? you think that if you set a baby in my arms, i’d suddenly be fixed and know how to love? ” he chuckles, “ and all the damn plants you tried to grow, only setting yourself up for disappointment. do you know how much energy I used to make sure they wouldn’t die right away, the despair just wanted to eat them right up. ” he doesn’t mean most of it but at this point it doesn’t matter. none of it matters. he signs the paper, quickly scrawling his real name‘  Aïdōneús ‘ out.

#springincarnate #♔‘ﾟ‣ { interaction }

[pludote]

kissed!

18. all over kisses: feat. the death of humanity.

                                         it has been proven that the sun will continue to rise even in the absence of gods. the sun has risen and set many times over the surface world without care for the plight of men, and it will continue to do so. the earth is not so cunning. it flourishes at demeter’s finger-tips, and dies in her absence. while she languishes at the loss of her only child, the land withers beneath her feet.

                                         as the first winter befalls man, the land of the dead enters a new renaissance. kore, daughter of demeter, is crowned queen of the underworld. no longer would she be worshiped as the goddess of vegetation. she had resigned to an audience of one man, who alone worshiped her as his queen. she turns her back on the life she once knew and receives the title of persephone:

                                         thresher of grain. / ˙ɥʇɐǝp ɟo ɹǝƃuıɹq

                                         on their wedding night she is reminded of his worship. over many nights of courtship and under covers he promises to make her his queen, and ensures she is treated as such long before they marry. to the eyes of olympus, he proves himself a cold and venerable king, and a monster of the night to mortal men. at that moment he is neither; without the smoke or mirrors he stands before her not as hades, but as a husband. it is for this raw vulnerability she chooses to stay.

                                         he peppers her white arms with kisses, and she accepts this him with ease. gone now were the days she flinched at his touch. she learns she is a fragile thing in his mind. he starts with the back of her hand and moves to her wrist, traveling the length of her arm until he finds the apex. there he presses into her neck and shows it the same attention, listening to the sound of her breath catch.

                                              they separate and aïdōneús meets her eyes, searching the expression on her face.. for disinterest, hatred, fear. he is not certain of what, but finds only her warm rosy cheeks and soft gaze. he places his soft lips to her face, and puts an arm around a small waist and pulling her in. a sable gown mixes into his robes, both dark as night and indistinguishable from each other.

                                             persephone must not hear the anguish of the world above them over the clatter of precious jewels only the wife of a god of wealth would know. surely, she has not learned of her mother’s grief. she knows only the kingdom that has been bestowed upon her, and the love of her king. she knows his fingers tracing each vertebrae of her spine, his whispers in her ear. no. she does not know.

                                             the people watch as a layer of white dusts the crops, and cold sinks in under the layers of their children’s clothes. as they count the days, persephone loses track of her time spent in the underworld.

#i can't remember how to write smut #so here's this bullshit #asphodelwreathed #❛ of the underworld . ❜ mythos verse.

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: He is the darkness and she is the light.  Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4615 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author's Note: Thank you @aspen-carter​ for being my beta reader! Her work is absolutely amazing, so when she says it is good, I post. The artwork is by brina ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world and Doru-borto valītsossa is dumb boys. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @schniiipsel​ @watercolorskyy​ @aaaaaamond​ @iiamthehybrid​ @deltamoon666​ @dahlias-and-marigolds​  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

ACT II

Aemond remembered how his brother’s silver words spilled so seamlessly from his lips and he, in return, wore his own apprehension on his aristocratic features, always sharp and always untrusting when it came to Aegon.

His brother was unfazed by his stoicism, undeterred as he continued to paint the pretty portrait of possibility with the Gō vys. He had sworn he only meant to honor the sacrifice Aemond had made, that ended the Titanomachy that had ravaged the cosmos for the last decade.

“It would be a kingdom all your own,” Aegon had finished with his always rakish grin.

The sacrifice. The word ignited the subtle burn that would flit the length of his scar; it would be just a dull ache beneath the sapphire stone gifted by Helaena, but more often it spread with a fiery vindication. Right now, it paired with a sense of ambivalence with what was said, but Aegon added how he would remain in Mount Olympus and Daeron would rule the seas, so of course order must be brought to the shadowed realm. 

Aemond accepted this and left to find the pathway that weaved into the depths of the cosmos, towards the infinite void of the Underworld. 

It seemed barren, only littered with the damned, both good souls and the bad, along with the spirits of the gods who lost more than just an eye during the war. All of them were just shadows of their former selves and all equally aimless in the tenebrosity of his new kingdom. 

He watched and one wafted past him, through him, and he felt a shuddering cold that cut into the bone. 

My kingdom, was the grim thought to his mind. All my own.

With his lordship came the condition and he heard the only other occupant he was aware of. 

Their grandsire. 

It began with the flutter of unease that gripped him when he heard the guttural cries that rose from the infernal abyss below; the throb of his scar from the endless dissonance that spewed from Tartarus. There was no structure, nothing for it to ricochet and return, just the ceaseless roar for vengeance that began to permeate within him. 

His unease, the pain, grew into an overwhelming hold, the anxiety tight in his chest and a searing fear that burned alongside his own ichor. 

It did not stop; it was a wrath that was palpable, a sound that buried and began to rot. It was his constant reminder that though they managed to usurp their grandsire and he was imprisoned below, he lived still. 

“It is maddening,” a velvet tone spoke one day. “Almost.” 

Aemond remained stoic as always, despite the lurch in his chest to hear another voice within the Gō vys, and he turned to see a woman standing, her kohl-smeared eyes watchful. Alys, he assumed, the goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, and the aimless spirits that surrounded them with their gelid presence. 

His iced kingdom. 

“His unceasing wails have brought me to you, Aïdōneús,” she continued, her painted lips smirked. “I come to help you, my king.” 

This was the realization of his burden, the exhaustion to claim the unorganized chaos of the Underworld and instead it pushed him to the precipice of his own sanity.

Aemond said nothing and left. 

Time, he realized, was different in the Gō vys. He recalled the warm tones of autumn back when his brother presented his gift and now noticed the floral scents that accompanied spring. He relished in the warmth of the sun that settled over the mortal realm and the vivid colors of new life for the healing cosmos. 

The quiet was almost unsettling, but it allowed him to find clarity with his thoughts, to decide on what he must do.

He would go to Mount Olympus and he would beg Aegon for another role, to tell him he could not return to that dreary realm. 

What he had not expected was his sister, Rhaenyra. Though the bloomage that surrounded him should have given her away, it still took a moment before he realized how she teetered the edge of the plane of the mortal realm to where it touched the shadows. 

She watched him, her brow quirked over her lavender eyes. 

Aemond stepped towards her and into the sunlight. “Mandia,” he greeted her, a forced smile to his lips. “What brings you here?”

Her expression was similar to his own, a severity in that moment. She was aware of how the bit of color to his complexion had blanched since he had gone, how the shadows were more prominent to his sharp features. “I had come to check on you, lēkia,” Rhaenyra took a tentative step closer, still wary of the imaginary border.

Brother.

Her hesitation aside, the familiarity of their old tongue spoken warmed his chest. 

“I came to see how you were, how it is in the Underworld,” but her words were slow, her eyes still searching. 

She softened with the spoken concern and it bloomed the hope that perhaps she would be able to rescue him from this dark fate. He shared his embittered thoughts of the shadow realm, the so-called kingdom that Aegon claimed to be a gift. 

Rhaenyra listened to him, wordless and her eyes glassy. When he finished, her palm slipped into his own and she pulled for him to follow her. His steps were slow and she looked back to admire how the sun soaked into his ethereal beauty, how his silver hair glimmered in the sunlight. They continued to walk throughout the garden of Herspirdes until she was satisfied to see his godly aura returned. 

“I had not realized I had been gone so long, I had not realized it was spring already,” Aemond breathed, his eye wide to admire as Rhaenyra continued her flowering and the lavender of laconian thyme that now sprouted in her steps. “Truly, this is your best work, mandia.”

She smiled with his compliment. “I believe that beauty was forgotten with the war,” her eyes sparkled. “But I thank you.”

They did not go to Mount Olympus, but instead remained so he could relish in the life that sprouted around him. 

As the day waned away and the golden glow of the setting sun began to roll over, she looked to him. “I cannot imagine this burden our brother has placed on you, Aemond.” They were back at the edge and she turned to face him and placed her hand onto his shoulder; he almost shuddered from the touch. “Aegon and Daeron do not carry the strength, they lack the omnipotence that resides with you, lēkia.”

His gaze dropped, his arms crossed and his one hand cupped his elbow, his fingertips careful to touch his jaw and trace until he came to the bottom of his scar. 

“They could have just asked it of me,” there was a tightness to his tone, the hint of betrayal. “They know I would have done this for them, for all of us.” 

She nodded her head and her golden waves spilled onto her shoulders. “I know this and so does Helaena, but Aegon needs a sense of control. Allow him to remain in Olympus as some ornate for the mortals to fawn over, but,” she stepped closer, moving her palm to rest on his chest, “know you are not alone. I know Alys came to you. Myself, the others, we do not wish for Otto to ever return and we will help you create your kingdom.” 

Aemond hummed. “Can she be trusted?” 

“Helaena sees that she will be a powerful ally for you,” and her lavender eyes shone with her words. 

He returned to the shadow and was greeted by Alys, her expression as smug as earlier. She held up her hands to present a crown, iron and ruby, and gestured to him. 

Aemond leaned forward, the silver spill of his tresses with the movement, and he allowed her to place it on top of his head. 

“Fit for a king,” she declared. “Shall we get started, Aïdōneús?” 

Aemond would grow grateful for the companionship and all that Alys offered. She showed herself to be the mediator of the other inhabitants of the Gō vys; she managed to convince them, to coerce them to recognize their new king and they served him as such. 

Rhaenyra returned with the others, as she had said she would, all with the same visceral shudder entering the realm, the same he was growing accustomed to. 

All seemed willing to assist him and help organize the eternal chaos of the Underworld. They created and built until the cries were smothered below; the grey earth was dug into and it allowed the Styx to meet with the Lethe and Lamentation, while slate stone was stacked within the marsh, creating a castle worthy for a king. 

+ + + + + + +  

There was a sense of pride from the eerie beauty that now loomed from his created kingdom, but it was lonely still.

His sister returned to the grey shores of the Styx and gifted him Vhagar, just a pup with a large set of eyes for each of the three heads. In return, he followed her to the surface, finding comfort in the consistency of spring and wanting to admire the new sea of bloomage that would be spread over. 

Though there was a twinge of pain with how it came to an abrupt end to the edge. 

“It cannot bloom in the shadow,” she spoke as if it was obvious and he nodded his head with solemn understanding. 

Aemond had come to accept his role within the cosmos. He was the god of many monikers. Hades. Aïdōneús. The king of the Underworld and the god of the dead. 

He was all too aware of the hushed whispers and the skittish looks of the mortals, the nymphs, and the new gods, but it did not deter him from this annual endeavor. Every new spring seemed to coincide with the heartsick, the ennui that would settle into his bones from the company of death and he would go.

His steps were slow, deliberate as he allowed the warmth of the sun to revitalize him, pressing the boundaries to see how long he could go before the ache would come with its ice grip, its pull back below to continue his role, dutiful as always.

On this day, something caught his eye. 

Peonies.   

He marveled how their red bulbs were vibrant still in the shadows, only a few that lined the pathway that led towards the sunlight. 

Aemond gazed around and realized that this new season looked different, felt different. There was a vibrance of color that engulfed the realm and a sweetness to the air he never noticed before or else it was lost to his dreary jurisdiction. 

“Lēkia!” He turned to see Aegon walking towards him, a gilded goblet in his hand and red stained lips to frame his smile. “Have you come to celebrate this new era of spring?” 

His brow quirked at his words and Aegon was quick to further explain. “Our dear sister has finally revealed the goddess of spring and she is a gift to the cosmos!” His arm clasped around his shoulders, his other arm gestured towards the vibrant swell of gloxinias and begonias and more. 

This was the moment that Aemond saw her. 

She did not flit like the nymphs that trailed in her wake nor did the earth blossom with her steps, as her mother would do for show, but instead she walked with purpose. Her brow was furrowed with her concentration and her touch deliberate with each bloom. 

He found himself enraptured with her subtle movements, the grace of the goddess of spring. 

“I believe she is another bastard from that mortal Rhaenyra had kept,” Aegon made a show to whisper, his exhale was the bittersweet wine. Aemond was grateful they were far enough to avoid any prying ears with where the topic headed. “Those same dark curls, but it suits her more than her brothers.” He giggled.

His jaw tightened as he stole another glance, admiring her curls that cascaded enticingly on her milky backside that showed through the peplos that was wrapped around her curves, how the freckles dotted in stark contrast to her porcelain skin. “I suppose,” was all he managed to say. 

Aegon only continued. “I pitied our sister when Daemon decided to put an end to their tryst. Do you remember how he annihilated that temple? If anything, I am sure you remember the soul intake on that day.” 

What Aemond recalled were the tears that spilled from their sister’s eyes when she came to him and begged him to bring Harwin back to life. Comfort was never his strong suit, long before his isolation to the Gō vys, but he was patient to explain that once a soul crossed his threshold that the body began to decay and it was irreversible, even if the spirit was returned. 

He remembered the horror on her face when he explained how it would corrupt the soul, how bitter it would become as they finally had a true understanding of their mortality. She was rooted in his throne room and he allowed her to stay, while Vhagar lapped her tears until she had no more to spill.

Rhaenyra looked to him and all he offered was, “Kesan jorrāelagon ziry.”

A promise in their family tongue, I will take care of him.

“Kirimvose,” her voice was hoarse, but grateful with new tears that glittered.

Thank you. 

And she was gone. 

“What is her name?” Aemond asked, his gaze remained.

Persephone. The goddess of spring, the embodiment of vitality. A comely contrast to their sister’s golden hair and lavender eyes, but a beauty all her own. A grace with her motion, in tandem with the breeze that allowed the sweet blossom scent roll over the cosmos.

A new era of spring.

He was watchful, etching the details of this moment, down to the pink hues that glowed and complimented her complexion, for something he could revisit when he returned below and when the swell of the dead would begin again to erode away his psyche. This moment would be cradled to his chest and remain with him until he would resurface the following spring, returning as a shadow amongst the living and quietly enjoying the serenity she ardently created. 

Aemond was pleased to see more peonies that littered the pathway, but he had not expected Aegon to be waiting on the cusp. 

“You are very predictable, lēkia,” he teased him, his brows raised and his rakish smile on his lips. “I assumed you would return to pluck the perfect flower.”  

His jaw steeled in response and Aegon only laughed, pulling him to the sunlight again so he could renew his vision of spring, to savor, to rekindle this moment until the following year.

+ + + + + + +  

There was comfort back within the slate walls of his forged castle.The day had ended, though there were no differentiating features to his pallid realm, but still he leaned onto the ornate balustrade and looked below, reflecting. 

He felt a tightness in his chest from his brother’s jest, I assumed you would return to pluck the perfect flower, but he pushed the words from his mind.

Alys was at his side, as she often was, quiet with her own contemplation but he never would ask what was on her mind. Ahead they saw a golden beacon that striked through the shades of grey. 

He peered at her and she had a mischievous smile on her painted lips. “It seems your fate beckons you, my king,” Alys said to him. 

Aemond left for the shores of the Styx. 

Fate was a fickle thing from what he learned from the Moirai, with far too many variables that must align and allow something to fall so perfectly into place. He had scoffed before when they spoke of the inevitable golden glow for him but now he choked on their words when he saw her and how she walked in his realm, her soft steps that allowed indents in the grey sand. 

With his role within the cosmos, all too often he found the pitied looks more tiresome than the scornful ones, but she held neither. She looked at him with a sense of reverence, an almost awe, as if her dark eyes were etching the details of him into her mind. 

Perhaps to revisit when she returns to the mortal realm, was his wistful, intrusive thought. 

The same serenity he felt when he watched her above followed her proximity; there was a warmth, a comfort with the lilt of her voice to the golden halo that danced around her irises. He noted that with the sweet smile splayed on her pink lips, that she also had a veil of sorrow that seemed to drape over and touch her subtle mannerisms. 

“Who did you lose?”

He had seen this loss, in the eyes of the living, in his sister’s eyes. Though he mourned when she left, he could not help but admire the sway of her hips with her every step. 

Aemond returned and found Alys awaiting him, smirking still. Though he knew that Persephone would never dare return to the Gō vys, he still wished to do everything within his power to find her friends, to remove the burden that she so blatantly carried with her. 

“She will come back, my king,” Alys whispered to him, before she left to do her part. 

And Persephone did just that.

There was an intimacy of the moment that was not lost to him; he brought her to the Asphodel, to bring her a sense of comfort for the afterlife her companions would have, something he would personally see too. His chest swelled with pride when she asked for more, to see his kingdom and how she so willingly went to his arms. His touch was firm, but gentle to cradle her and he could feel her ichor thrum beneath as they toured the Underworld, the genuineness as she admired his kingdom. 

“It is beautiful, Aïdōneús.” She had said before she left.

He was left to curse himself to not correct her, to not offer that she could simply refer to him as only Aemond, just as she said to call her Kore. He wished to see her again and hoped he would be given the opportunity to correct this. 

She would return to him and time seemed to slip so easily between his fingers, moments so perfect and now a plethora to choose from, something he would revisit when he would inevitably be left alone. He was still aware of her sorrow, the guilt? How it shadowed behind her dauntless gaze and he knew he had to ask, that he needed to understand what brought her to his realm to begin with.  

To see if fate was what the Moirai claimed. 

He listened as she shared her grief, her sorrow spilled from her lips and she paused to swallow her tears.

“A flower,” Aemond had hummed, the white sear of anger that scorched through his mind. 

I assumed you would return to pluck the perfect flower.

“It should have been me.” She finished and he knew he could not correct her. 

Persephone agreed to return the following night and when she left, he began at once. The mortal names, Baela and Rhaena, were given to Alys with the explicit instructions for when she found the souls. She nodded, doleful as she listened, and left when he finished, quick to do her king’s bidding.

As well as her queen’s.

Aemond then placed his crown, iron and ruby glowing, on his head, his cape to his shoulders and checked the pin of the snapdragon he now always wore, before he left for Olympus. 

His movements would match the anger he felt; a flash of white, the streak of fury that landed at the steps with such force, the marble splintered beneath. He stopped a moment, his fists clenched with his ire, before his gaze slowly rose to see Aegon, who was wide eyed at the arrival. 

A nymph was pushed from his lap as he stood, forcing his same rakish smile as he greeted him with, “Lēkia! Have you come to thank me for the gift I so graciously gave to you?” His hesitation had a hint of hope, which diminished as Aemond’s gaze darkened.

Fate, he now knew, was such a fickle thing that was filled with happenstance to allow happy endings throughout the cosmos. 

It would be a fate that would elude him, he now realized. 

“You have killed the granddaughters of Corlys, Aegon,” he replied, his tone was low and lethal and his eye narrowed onto his brother. 

Aegon paled with this news and then he scoffed. “What are a few mortals in exchange for the happiness of a king?” Though his words wavered, the same arrogance remained on his features as he dared to press closer to Aemond. “Surely, you know, as I know, that you would have spent eternity to silently pine for the goddess of spring? You should be thanking me for allowing you the opportunity to know her more intimately.” Aegon raised his brow. 

“Doru-borto valītsossa.”

The venomous hiss took them both by surprise and they turned to see Rhaenyra, storming towards them. Her golden hair billowed with her steps and reflected the gold fire that enveloped the lavender of her eyes; her sharp features narrowed from one to the other, before settling on Aemond. 

“I have come to demand your witch to release the hold you have on my daughter.”

Aemond fell back a step, the accusation cut into him and his own anger abated. “Rhaenyra, I do not know what you mean…” he began, but her tone was hot and cut through. 

“She returns to me and babbles this idea of love, Aemond,” she cried. 

Aegon took the moment and slipped away, abandoning his siblings to quarrel alone in his throne room. Aemond grit his teeth, his jaw worked as he listened to her accusations thrown. 

“She returns to me and smells of death, with these foolish ideals of living in the Gō vys-” she stopped, her hand pressed to her mouth.

As hurt as he felt, he also understood the unspoken fear. Rhaenyra was well aware of the burden that came with the realm of the dead, the constant fear that Otto, though captivated and chained away, still lived and how his evil forever tainted the realm. 

“Aemond,” she exhaled and his attention returned to her. “Please, you cannot truly believe Kore would be content with such an existence. You are the darkness and she is the light. Do not damn her.” 

Her words cut deep, but his expression remained stoic, as always, and he hummed to acknowledge her cruelty, the truth spoken. “I have a debt I must repay her, mandia,” his voice was still low. “After I right this wrong, I will let her be.”

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, then she gave a quick nod and left him alone.

Aemond knew it was laughable; the goddess of spring dare love the king of the damned, to give up her life and birthright only to become queen regent of the dead? His steps were slow to return below, his thoughts a dark and suffocating cloud that followed. 

There was the echo of her words. You are the darkness and she is the light.

He knew what must be done. 

He returned to find two small vials waiting, an iridescent blue glow emitting through the glass, but he was more surprised to be greeted by the aura that Kora held. She turned at the sound of his steps, her eyes bright with the golden fire that danced around her pupils when she looked at him. “I know we did not set an exact time,” she seemed flushed with her rush of words. “You said to return at nightfall so I came as soon as the sun set.”

Aemond hummed, his jaw steeled as he reached for the vials and tucked them away. He looked and saw how her brow knitted with his silence, so he choked, “You have impeccable timing, Kore.” He faltered, then reached for her hand. “Please, come with me.”

The glee on her features caused a hitch in his chest, the spark of their touch when her fingers interlaced with his own, a perfect fit. He accepted he would never see her after this night, save the shadows that crept with each spring, and he chose to indulge, allowing himself to pull her to his chest. She nestled close to him and he moved, the gleam of white of two gods escaping the shadows and embracing the night. 

The moon was full and its silver light touched everything, lighting the way as he brought her to the east pillar of Hyperion, to a ledge that bore from the mountainside. They came to the edge and admired the view of amber hues of the manmade lights that rose from each kome settled throughout, while above the stars competed with the moonbeam radiance.

When he stepped back, she turned to look at him. “I am right here,” he soothed. “Trust me.” 

She remained but her head tilted to watch as he pulled the first vial; he poured the silky smoke that fell into a misty form of Baela, then Rhaena. Aemond saw her lips part, her eyes wide as the spirits smiled from seeing their friend once more. 

Kore looked at him and he focused on his hands, rubbing his palms together until the familiar glow pooled between. He reached forward, the bolt of cold to touch and laughter filled his ears as the girls began to run towards the edge and then leaped, each metamorphosing into a ball of fire that shot out against the night sky. 

She watched, her eyes still wide. “They are comets,” she whispered, turning to face him.

He nodded his head and his tongue wet his lips. “I did not want them to aimlessly wander the Asphodel.” 

In this moment, he felt he truly saw her; the veil of sorrow had been removed and tears stilled in the corners of her eyes. There was a serenity that smoothed her features and she was graceful to curl her legs beneath and sit, her head tilted back and it allowed the silver light to emphasize her beauty.

Kore looked at him again and beckoned to him.

There was a reservation that held him still for a moment, the thoughts that he should go and allow her the privacy of this moment, that he should just return to his kingdom and yet…

His steps were deliberate and brought him to her side before he sank down next to her. His posture was rigid, with a newfound tension with her proximity, but she seemed unaware. Instead, she lifted her hand from the grass and rested it on top of his own, her head turning to look at him and he dared to look back. 

There was a flush of pink that touched her porcelain skin, an inviting sight, and her eyes bore into him, the golden flame bright. She then shifted, pressing closer, and he relished in the soft touch of her body as she melted against his chest.

Aemond remained rigid, still as stone and unwilling to pressure, to coerce her into anything outside her own volition.

And then he felt the fullness of her lips touch to his own.  

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