Work Text:
"Make the king feel young again!"
Hades slams the stool down on the ground beside him with a great, echoing roar, and Persephone knows that look in his eyes. That shattered, vulnerable, dangerous look he only gets when she's clawed at something too deep inside him. Except, Orpheus isn’t Hades' wife. He isn’t a god who doesn’t really need to fear Hades’ anger in any kind of physical way. He’s a mortal. A mortal who is already exhausted and beaten up and too skinny besides, like a twig that might break at the slightest touch. Because when the winter comes there’s never enough, and she can’t undo that damage in the shorter and shorter times when she’s above.
She’s also so used to Hades’ rages that she barely notices them anymore unless she chooses to engage. The workers know better, though most of them are so docile from weariness that they dare not confront or challenge the man who is nothing less than a king over them.
"SING! For an old man.”
Hades' voice booms across the cavernous space of Hadestown, resounding around them with terrifying power. He’s a god and so is she, and sometimes for all her love of humans and flowers and things that will inevitably die, she forgets the intensity of an immortal voice when provoked.
She can't do anything but look at Orpheus, who jolts as Hades' words crash down upon him like a lightning bolt. His own words have a magnificent power, Persephone’s seen that herself. The broken open wall with the jagged crack running from top to bottom. The way the poet’s song cut straight through her, waking her up from what felt like a century of slumber. How long has it really been, since she felt warm and safe with Hades? Orpheus’ words made her realize that she doesn’t even know, because the pain was so much she quit counting the years. What are years to her, anyway? Centuries are a better indicator of time, but then, she can’t bear to think of that.
It isn’t for the few to tell the many what is true.
Those are sweet, hopeful, beautiful words, words born of dreams and love and fingers clinging desperately to a future broken open with light.
Hades’ words are different. Hades’ words sound like death. They rumble deep from under the ground, crackling with a threat upon which he can certainly deliver.
She shivers.
She won’t let her husband kill this boy. Not Orpheus. Not gentle, brave, idealistic Orpheus, who feels like the son she never had.
Orpheus trembles. He trembles and Eurydice goes to him. They touch each other for a brief, love-soaked moment, the feeling so tangible that Persephone thinks she could reach out and touch it. One of the Fates—Atropos—shoves Orpheus’ lyre back into his hands, looking displeased, or perhaps eager to watch him fail. Orpheus meets Eurydice’s eyes once more before she goes over to join the other workers, and Persephone swears she sees the girl mouth an I love you to him, the single, silent phrase filled with as much soul as she can muster for so fleeting a moment.
Hades sits down on his stool like an amused, petulant child, and Persephone goes over nearby, making sure she has a clear view of Orpheus’ face. There's fear in his eyes. Shock, too. Uncertainty. All the thing she might expect him to feel. But then there's a flash of belief, of hope, and he strums the lyre, the first few words of the song trembling as they float softly into the air, but god, they're still so beautiful.
King of shadows
King of shades
Hades was king of the Underworld
Hades shifts on his stool, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, it's about me?"
Persephone almost shouts at him right then, but she makes herself keep looking at Orpheus, instead. Hermes is looking at Orpheus too, and he's not doing a very good job masking his worry, far more attached to the boy than he likes to admit.
"Go on," Hermes says, and for just a fleeting moment, Orpheus catches his eye, encouraged again.
And then, Orpheus looks straight at her. He's almost smiling. Not quite, but she sees the potential for it, the ring around his green irises gleaming faintly with gold.
But he fell in love with a beautiful lady
Who walked up above
In her mother's green field
He fell in love with Persephone
Who was gathering flowers in the light of the sun
And I know how it was because
He was like me
A man in love with a woman
His voice gets stronger as he goes, that ethereal, breathtaking sound almost painful, like it might be healing a wound. There's a pause, a breath, and a melody Persephone hasn't heard in years comes to life.
Singing la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la
Tears spring to her eyes, and she puts her hands over her mouth, trying to keep quiet. Hades' melody, uncovered from the depths of the earth, somehow. She hasn't heard it in so long, but she'll never forget the first time it reached her ears, like a miracle in waiting. She remembers the young man with the hat in his hands. She remembers the dusting of pollen on her fingertips, yellow with new spring. She remembers looking up at the sound of a soft, unsure melody. She felt fate, then, in her mother’s garden. She knew she would love the man in front of her. Even if it seemed a strange union, an impossible one, they made it work, until it broke. She’s furious at Hades for letting his jealousy curdle everything, because how can he be jealous of the sun itself, which is so much a part of her? Every time she came back to his domain, she felt her love for him reborn again, just like the seasons.
Then he forgot. And she did, too, numbing everything with wine, the melody dying until she never heard it at all.
Her husband’s voice centuries and centuries later pulls her from the memory, harsh with danger and just a shred of childlike wonder.
"Where'd you get that melody?"
Orpheus doesn't answer, he only sings the melody again, and Hades jumps up from his stool.
"I said where'd you get that melody, young man?"
Orpheus hits a rare incorrect note on his lyre, the song struck silent by the question, a pall hanging over the room in the sudden quiet. The poet doesn’t answer, but he does narrow his eyes in defiance, a rare anger taking root, the same anger Persephone heard when he was rousing the workers, jabbing his finger up toward the balcony in the direction of Hades’ office.
But who are they to say what the truth is anyway?
'Cause the ones who tell the lies are the solemnest to swear
And the ones who load the dice
Always say the toss is fair
Persephone steps a few inches closer to Hades, her words razor sharp and her fists clenched. "Let him finish, Hades. That's what you said. One song. He's not done.”
"Oh, he's done," Hades proclaims. His words echo against the walls of rock surrounding them, and he kicks the stool over, the wood clattering against the ground with a smash and rolling away.
Persephone reaches out to grab the back of Hades’ waistcoat, but he steps out of the way, the red silk sliding from between her fingers. “Hades I swear, you will let him sing this song or I’ll…”
She doesn’t get a chance to verbalize her threat before Hades strides over to Orpheus, backhanding him hard in the place where there's already a cut on his cheek. He doesn’t gesture at the workers to do the job, apparently knowing they might not do it again, anyway. Not now. No, he does it himself, and without mercy. Orpheus flies through the air from the force of a god's blow, a shout of pain bursting from his lips when he crashes to the ground with a terrible, mortal sound that makes his bones sound hollow. Blood runs like a tear down his cheek, dripping down onto the dirt. The strap on his lyre broke in the process, and Persephone watches as the instrument soars over their heads, two of the workers dashing over and catching it so it doesn’t break on the rock.
"Orpheus!"
Eurydice's high-pitched, feral scream pierces the air, but there's nothing she can do, not really, and Hermes himself grabs her before she can reach Hades and Orpheus.
"You'll make it worse, honey," he says in a gentle, worried whisper while she tries struggling against his grip, eventually giving up, but Hermes still keeps hold.
Orpheus groans from where he lays a few feet away, and he can't get up, not yet. Hades gets on his knees beside him, Persephone moving closer as sheer panic floods through her veins. She can’t give it credence. She has to think. She has to stop this.
"Hades, dammit, that’s enough!" she shouts, rage running hot through her blood. “Leave him alone! Right. Now.”
"You stay out of this." He repeats the words from earlier, not even bothering to look at her, but his eyes are wild with something like grief. Like he can’t bear to hear the melody.
He clamps his hand over Orpheus' nose and mouth, making Orpheus' eyes fly open as he fights for a breath.
Persephone recalls her husband’s words from a few moments ago.
Before I send you to the great beyond, where nobody can hear you singing.
"Can't sing that melody if you don't have air, can you, young man?"
Hades whispers the threat with a gentleness Persephone didn't expect, but it is very much a threat. Maybe he’s trying to kill the pieces of himself he sees in Orpheus, the pieces of that man who once sang this same melody. Whatever his motivation, Persephone can’t let it happen.
Orpheus struggles beneath Hades’ grip, but it does precious little good, his entire body trembling from exhaustion and pain and fear, though the spark in his eyes still doesn’t die. He tries sucking in a breath through his nose, but Hades only pushes his hand down more firmly, not allowing it.
"I can steal the air right out of your lungs, did you know that?" Hades says. "I am Hadestown, son. And I control all life and death within it. No one will hear that song ever again. No one will hear you ever again. You should have listened to me when I told you to go.”
"Hades, stop it right now!" Persephone feels the anger building inside her, a rage and a hurt so deep she doesn't think she can control it anymore, and maybe that’s for the best.
Hades winces but he doesn't stop, almost as if he hears the la la la la in his own head, the song reminding him of the man he once was, but can no longer reach. He puts his other hand on Orpheus' chest and draws out something shimmery and silver-white, making Orpheus' eyes go even wider.
“Hades, please now, just let my boy go.” Hermes says the words almost like he didn’t mean to, like the story itself is screeching off the rails and he can’t believe what he’s seeing in front of him, the master storyteller undone.
On the road to hell there was a railroad track, Hermes always says when he tells stories about Persephone herself, winking at her and drawing out a laugh.
A second scream from Eurydice cuts off Hermes’ calmer plea. “Stop!” Eurydice pulls against Hermes’ grip. “Please stop, I’ll do anything, just let him go! I’m begging you, please!”
The girl breaks down in tears, and the sound shatters part of Persephone’s heart, she’s sure of it. Hermes puts an arm around Eurydice’s chest and pulls her closer, tears welling in his own eyes as he looks straight at Persephone. He’s imploring for her petition, because god though he may be, he has no power over Hades.
Only she does, for whatever it’s worth, now.
Her blood catches fire when she thinks of her earlier conversation when she asked Hades to just let Orpheus and Eurydice go, because what on earth are two mortals to a god who has everything?
She’s had enough.
Enough enough enough.
Hades removes his hand from Orpheus' mouth, but the boy still can't breathe, clawing at his throat and trying to suck in air that won’t come. The workers look on in horror, one of them grasping a sobbing Eurydice’s hand in comfort.
Persephone makes a choice.
“HADES!” The words emerge in a low, rumbling growl that shakes the ground beneath their feet. Vines shoot out of her fingertips and seize Hades’ arm, tugging him with force away from Orpheus. She catches the shimmering silver-white substance out of the air with her other hand, and it turns light gold when she touches it.
“Persephone.” Hades speaks her actual name, angry, but also surprised, though it doesn’t make her stop, even as he tries pulling out from the grip of her vines. They’re not as strong as they could be down here, but they’ll work for now.
She ignores him, storming over closer to her husband and Orpheus both, just as the boy goes slack. She pushes the now golden air back into Orpheus’ chest, and there’s a long, terrible, moment where she wonders if she’s too late.
Then, Orpheus coughs like he might have just had too much water in his lungs, his eyes opening again as Persephone gives a forceful yank on the vines, forcing Hades to look at her. Hermes lets go of Eurydice, both of them going over to Orpheus, who gasps for breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. Persephone gazes at him for just a moment, offering a quick smile and earning one in return, before she faces Hades.
“Release me,” Hades demands. “Right now, Persephone.”
“I’m not done with you yet,” Persephone growls, making Hades jump, a strange thing to witness. “You’re doing this to hurt me, aren’t you? You know I care about that boy, you know I begged you to just let him go with the girl, and you did this instead. Why, Hades? Explain it to me.”
Hades rolls his eyes, but he looks unsettled. “This isn’t the time for one of your tantrums.”
Persephone steps closer, meeting his eyes. “This is the furthest thing from a tantrum. Answer me.”
Hades glares at her, but his eyes flick back around the room for just a moment, indicating he might feel cornered, and she’s going to take advantage of it.
“Fine, I’ll talk.” Vines shoot out of the tips of her fingers on her other hand, and she wraps them around a pile of pickaxes nearby, the workers watching in awe as she crushes the tools to dust, drawing a shout of rage from Hades.
“Persephone!” he says her name a third time just as he breaks free of her vines, but he doesn’t try and attack Orpheus again.
“That’s the most you’ve said my name to me in a long time.” Persephone steps around him and he matches her, the two of them circling each other as a cloudy black substance that looks like mining dust starts forming from Hades’ palm. “I’m your wife, but I’m so many other things, too. Things that made you love me in the first place.”
Hades still doesn’t answer, so Persephone summons more vines, shooting them toward the spot where there’s already a crack in the wall, the crack that Orpheus made with the melody that Hades once sang. The vines push through, making some of the stone break and crumble to the ground with a magnificent crash. Hades raises his hand just as Persephone raises hers, again green vine and black cloud meeting in the middle, dead flowers falling like ash to the floor.
“I’m going to ask you again,” Persephone says, keeping her hands in front of her as Hades does the same. “What are you afraid of?”
Hades stares at her, his voice going softer. “Things work the way they work, down here. No exceptions. It’s not about you. The boy broke the rules, and didn’t take my mercy. The girl signed herself over.”
“You can change anything you like, anytime,” Persephone shoots back. “The tighter you hold me, Hades, the more I’ll want to slip out of your grasp. First you were just jealous. Then you were keeping me down here longer and longer. You built this kingdom on the backs of other people and I was so out of my mind with wine that I didn’t stop you. Now you’re trying to hurt me by killing someone I care about because I dared challenge you? That’s not going to help you with me. How long will it be until you see that? That’s not the man I love. It isn’t.”
Hades takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You lied to me, when you said you could be happy down here. I know you did. What was I supposed to do, just let you walk away from me?”
“I didn’t lie to you, Hades,” Persephone whispers, letting herself go soft for just a moment. “That’s a lie you told yourself, no doubt encouraged by those wretches.” She points at the Fates, who only raise their eyebrows, unimpressed. “This was never going to be easy, you and me. You knew that when we started. I’m still willing to fight for it, I’m awake enough to fight for it, and I’m asking you to do the same thing.”
When Hades doesn’t answer Persephone aims her vines for a pile of chisels and hammers, but Hades’ black cloud kills them before they can destroy anything, the green and white turned black and charred and unrecognizable, leaves scattered on the ground like a deeper, darker version of autumn. They go back and forth like this for several minutes, making everything around them shake as life meets death and flowers meet a storm they can’t stand up against, the ground painted with black ash and dead plants. Persephone stops and Hades does too, and she feels that rage rushing through her, the skin on her arms hot to the touch.
“You don’t know how to get back to him, do you?” she asks, and she swears she sees Hades’ eyes glistening. “To that man I met, who sang that melody. That’s why you got so upset when you heard it again. Just say you’re sorry. Just take one step toward me, that’s all I’m asking.”
Hades stiffens, swallowing hard and looking vulnerable, the silver pinstripes on suit standing out more than usual. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“You owe me every explanation!” The earth rumbles beneath them again as Persephone screams the words, red flowers blooming up between the cracks in the ground beneath her feet. “If you love me, you owe me an answer. You owe me hundreds of years of answers, is it so hard to talk to me, Hades? Is it?”
Hades looks around at Hermes and Eurydice hovering over a terribly pale Orpheus, then at the workers standing nearby, all of them looking more alive than Persephone’s ever seen them. He’s looking anywhere but at her. He stares off at the wall he keeps building higher and higher and higher, his next words coming out deep as the mine itself.
“Keep this up, demand one more thing, and you won’t go back up above again.”
The shock bangs against Persephone’s chest, and she shoots one more set of vines out of her fingers, the flowers already half dead and rotten before Hades kills them outright. She shakes from her efforts, because this isn’t her domain, and everything about her is less powerful, here. Everything except her love for Hades. She sacrifices part of herself each time she comes down, willing to do it for the man who once sang her that melody, even if she’s a child of the springtime.
“You can’t, Hades.” Her voice grows raspy. “Everyone up there will die. The seasons are already bad enough as it is, with you keeping me here too long. You can’t.”
Hades looks as if he’s about to say what’s that to me, but then there’s a noise. A voice breaking into the deadly quiet around them with all the power of a story that needs telling. A story that won’t stay buried. A story that demands to be spoken into the world, or the teller might just burst.
Orpheus.
And you didn't know how
And you didn't know why
But you knew that you wanted to take her home.
Hermes shoos the Fates away when they try to circle Orpheus and snatch him away, Eurydice shoving one of them outright.
Orpheus’ voice sounds even stronger than before. It sounds golden and without a single flaw, the notes unaccompanied by the lyre and echoing through the air with an ethereal beauty that sends goosebumps racing across Persephone’s skin. The words resound around Hadestown, the rocks of the river Styx singing them back again. Everyone stays quiet for a moment or two, but Hades doesn’t make a move toward Orpheus, he just stares at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. Orpheus stares back as color surges into his face, his right cheek still smeared with blood.
Eurydice presses his hand as both she and Hermes step away, one of the workers thrusting the lyre eagerly back into Orpheus’ hands, a perfect note floating into the air as he strums it again.
You saw her alone there, against the sky
It was like she was someone you'd always known
Orpheus moves his gaze over to Eurydice, his eyes alight and glowing with tears.
It was like you were holding the world when you held her
Like yours were the arms that the whole world was in
He looks at Persephone again, and the tears break free. They break free, and Persephone starts crying, too.
Then, Orpheus locks eyes with Hades, and he doesn’t let go.
And there were no words for the way that you felt
So you opened your mouth and you started to sing:
La la la la la la la
He sings the melody again and again and again, going higher and higher and higher until the notes are impossible for anyone one but him. The workers start echoing the song. Then Hermes and Eurydice. Then Persephone herself. All of them gather around Orpheus as a haze of gold swirls through the air and shoots upward toward the ceiling, making everything shake. Orpheus lets go of his lyre, raises his hands, and shuts his eyes, light spilling all over him from up above, somewhere. Hades circles them all, staring at Orpheus like he’s never seen anything like it, like Orpheus has broken him open and laid him bare.
He’s crying.
Hades is crying.
The melody quiets down again and Orpheus picks up his lyre, glancing at Persephone once more before focusing on Hades.
And what has become of the heart of that man
Now that the man is king?
What has become of the heart of that man
Now that he has everything?
Hades tears his gaze from Orpheus, stepping an inch closer to Persephone.
“Hades,” she whispers the name, not wanting to interrupt whatever magic she’s bearing witness to here.
A kingdom, falling for a song.
The more he has, the more he holds
The greater the weight of the world on his shoulders
See how he labors beneath that load
Afraid to look up, and afraid to let go
Orpheus chances a glance back at the workers, who watch him with wonder. Eurydice is crying and Hermes is too. The notes draw Hades’ gaze back to Orpheus like some kind of otherworldly force, and the two men look at each other, young and old, rich and poor, god and mortal, both of them tied together by the most universal, precious things of all.
Love. A song. And a story.
So he keeps his head low, he keeps his back bending
He's grown so afraid that he'll lose what he owns
But what he doesn't know is that what he's defending
Is already gone
The rumbling stops, and everything is so quiet that Persephone swears she can feel the silence, the miraculous, sacred silence only broken by Orpheus’ song. The gold around Orpheus grows thicker and thicker, but no one can look at that right now. They can only look at the poor boy and the king, and everything broken open between them. Orpheus looks at Hades and Hades looks back until Orpheus nods his head in Persephone’s direction, taking in one shaking breath before he goes on.
Where is the treasure inside of your chest?
Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth?
Where is the man with his arms outstretched?
To the woman he loves
With nothing to lose
Singing la la la la la la la…
Orpheus pauses, and everything stops. Hades breathes hard, and finally, blessedly, he looks at Persephone. A sob bursts out of her mouth and she puts her hands out to him. He doesn’t move, at first. He contemplates her like he’s never seen anything more beautiful, and soft, cracked notes come out of his mouth, barely audible but oh god she hears them, and she feels alive again.
La la la la la la
Those notes change everything. The ground shakes. The ceiling roars, and yes, that’s the earth itself moving under their feet. That golden cloud created by Orpheus’ voice coats them all in its light, and…did she do this, when she touched the air Hades stole?
Touched by the gods, is what he is, Hermes has said about Orpheus, more times than she can count.
The earth starts pushing them all up up up, and for a moment Persephone is sure she’ll fall.
Until someone catches her. Someone with strong, familiar hands. Hands that are warm and grasping hers tight, pulling her close to his chest.
“Hold on,” Hades whispers in that deep, rumbling voice of his, that voice full of love for her. “I think that poet boy of yours just changed the world.”
The earth beneath them surges into the air and Persephone wraps her arms around Hades’ neck as he steadies them both. Everyone goes up with them. Orpheus, who’s pushed his lyre around to his back so he can hold Eurydice, even though he’s shaking. Hermes. The workers and the Fates. Everyone. They all land in the world above somehow, the power of the song bringing them back up top. A freshly fallen snow coats the ground, flakes glittering in the sunlight as they fall from the sky. There’s no storm, just untouched white powder and dark tree branches jutting out against the gray-white sky. Hades pulls Persephone to him as soon as the earth itself isn’t moving them anymore. His embrace gives heat against the cold air, but his next words warm her even more.
“I’m sorry, Persephone. I’m so sorry.”
His voice sounds younger and a smidge less deep, though it still rumbles in the way that always made her feel safe, until things changed. She moves even closer to him, grass shooting up under her feet when they move, the green blades stark as they disturb the snow. Hades pulls away, keeping her hands enclosed in his, and then, he smiles. He smiles, and spins her around.
A dance.
She forgets everything, for a moment. She lets herself feel, life flowing through her veins in a way it hasn’t in years. Orpheus, sweet, brave Orpheus, starts singing that melody again as she dances with Hades, the notes making flowers bloom to life on the trees and bushes, a rush of warm air making the snow start melting, water dripping down from the branches. Green creeps across the ground, though there is some white left behind, the seasons mixed together as one.
Hades grins at her, and he looks alive, too. He looks like the young man she fell in love with. She knows everything can’t be perfect. She knows they have a long way to go.
But maybe, just maybe, things might be all right this time. They can try.
The dance ends, and as Hades gives her one final spin, a red carnation pops out of his hand. He catches it before it falls the ground, sliding it behind her ear instead with a slightly shaking hand. Persephone is about to lean into Hades’ arms when she hears something behind her, half the moment falling away even as she holds the rest of it in her hands, refusing to let it go.
“Orpheus!”
Eurydice cries out the name and Persephone turns around just as Orpheus crumples to the ground, his legs giving out from under him. She gives Hades one glance and presses his hand, rushing over and sliding down next to Orpheus. Eurydice’s on the other side of her poet, holding his hand to her lips and trembling. Hermes squats down by Orpheus’ head, sliding off his silver suit jacket and covering Orpheus with it.
“Persephone,” Eurydice pleads, and Persephone knows that Eurydice doesn’t plead for just anything, but she loves this boy, more than she’s ever loved anyone, or anything. “Persephone please, help him.”
Persephone takes Eurydice’s free hand, squeezing her fingers. “It’s all right sweetheart, it’s all right.”
She doesn’t know if it is, but she’s determined to make it so.
She puts two fingers against Orpheus’ neck, feeling for his pulse. It’s there but it is faint.
“He’s alive, honey, it’s just a faint pulse, let’s see if we can wake him up, now. Don’t give up.”
There’s the sound of boots making the snowy grass crunch beneath their weight, and then Hades is there too, squatting down next to Hermes and looking…
Well he looks sorry.
“Hades…” Persephone warns, just in case she’s wrong.
“I don’t want to hurt the boy,” Hades says softly. “I swear.”
“Why did you do this?” Eurydice exclaims, her voice low and full of rage, tensing up like a feral cat. She still keeps hold of Orpheus’ hand while shoving Hades with the other, though it has little to no effect, and Hades, by some miracle, doesn’t fight back or argue. “Why did you hurt him? Don’t you understand? Don’t you see how precious he is?”
She lets go of Orpheus and shoves Hades again, harder this time, but it still barely makes a difference.
“Eurydice, honey,” Persephone says, seizing Eurydice’s hand when she has the chance and running a thumb over the girl’s knuckles to calm her down.
“You’re the best thing about him, Persephone.” Eurydice’s voice grows harsher. “And he’s only getting a second chance from me if Orpheus wakes up. I’d rather die a thousand times than watch Orpheus die,” she whispers, looking Hades straight in the face, anger and pain punctuating every word. “He made me see the world differently from the moment I heard him sing that melody, and he brought it all the way to hell, just for me. I believe in him, I always did, I…I just forgot for a minute when it was so cold and I was so hungry, and he couldn’t hear me calling for him but he was just trying to fix your mess, and I let you trick me and I…” she turns her rage from Hades and suddenly onto herself, instead. “I’m so sorry, Orpheus, I’m so sorry.”
She sobs again and buries her head against Orpheus’ chest, Hermes rubbing his hands up and down her arms to keep her warm against the lingering chill in the air. Persephone feels for Orpheus’ pulse a second time, realizing it’s going just a little faster now, encouraged by Eurydice’s touch.
“Orpheus, baby,” Persephone says, putting one hand on his forehead and brushing the sweaty hair out of his closed eyes. “Wake up.”
She puts a hand on his chest, and that shimmering gold reappears, some piece of her soul living inside Orpheus now. She rests her hand flat against his skin just as Hades says “wake up, son” and the ground rumbles again, shaking more snow off the tree branches. Gold flows out from beneath Persephone’s hand, melting into Orpheus and making the skin where his heart lays beneath glow.
Orpheus jolts, green racing across the melting snow beneath when he opens his eyes, that gold still ringing his eyes, which are the same shade as the grass. Hades gets up and moves back, but he’s still close by.
“Don’t be sorry, Eurydice,” he mutters, clearly barely realizing he’s even speaking. “Don’t be sorry, I should have heard you, I…” he blinks, focusing on the woman he walked through hell for, and not seeing anything else. “I’m so sorry I didn’t.”
“Orpheus…” Eurydice’s voice breaks, and she presses her forehead to his, very gently. “I promise I won’t leave you again, I swear it.”
Orpheus closes his eyes, a small smile sliding across his lips and making his whole face light up. Eurydice sits up and and takes one of his hands, kissing it before holding it against her chest. Hermes’ silver suit jacket slips down as Orpheus shifts and opens his eyes, the smile growing, and he knows who that belongs to without looking behind him at Hermes’ face.
“Mr. Hermes.”
“Orpheus,” Hermes says, his voice cut through with emotion. “You all right, poet?”
“Hurts,” Orpheus says without much explanation, his eyelids looking heavy again. “Everything hurts.”
Persephone puts a hand on the side of Orpheus’ face, drawing his attention as she runs her thumb back and forth across his cheek.
“Lady Persephone,” he whispers with an affectionate reverence, his hand that isn’t holding Eurydice’s going over to cover Persephone’s. “Thank you. You saved me.” He forces his eyes open, his body sinking a little into the fresh blades of grass beneath him. “Thank you so much.”
Persephone smiles, tears gathering on her eyelashes. “You saved me, too. With that song of yours.”
Orpheus smiles again, and he’s crying too. “You will always fill our cups…” the words come out with a hint of a melody, but it’s hoarse and faint and limp with exhaustion.
“I will.” Persephone presses a kiss to Orpheus’ knuckles, looking up again when she hears the murmurs of the workers, who are grinning wide and looking on in awe, whispering among themselves.
There’s the sound of boots crunching snowy grass again, and Orpheus looks over, giving a whole body flinch when he sees Hades coming toward them.
“It’s all right, son, I’m not going to hurt you.”
This doesn’t do much to reassure Orpheus, his breaths growing shallower as Eurydice pulls him closer to her, and Persephone keeps hold of his hand.
Hades raises his hands in apology. “I swear it. To all of you. We need to bring the boy somewhere warm, and take a look at him. It’s the least I can do, given I’m the cause.”
Orpheus’ eyes fall shut again, whispering one last Eurydice before he passes out full-stop, a bruise flowering on his cheek where Hades struck him, a few others forming on his arms after the beating he took at the hands of the workers, though he doesn’t seem to blame them.
“You have a bar up here, don’t you Hermes?” Hades asks, earning nothing more than a stiff, angry nod from the other god. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He looks at Persephone instead, and when he speaks again, she realizes he’s asking permission, which is no small thing. “I’ll carry him, if you’re all right with it.”
“If you hurt him…” Eurydice snarls the words, apparently unafraid of Hades at this juncture.
Hades glances at her, looking guilty. “I won’t, songbird.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps.
“I won’t, Eurydice,” he amends, turning back toward Persephone, and she know these words are for her, too. “I promise you.”
Hades bends down, lifting Orpheus up from the grass like he’s no extra weight at all, tucking his arms securely under Orpheus’ knees and neck. He kisses Persephone’s cheek before he walks toward the bar, and she watches them go, her husband and the poet who brought the world back into tune. He’s doing this because she loves the boy, and it makes the pieces of her cracked heart start coming back together.
Blue spills onto the horizon beyond, the sun breaking through the puffy white-gray clouds that brought the snow, and somewhere off in the distance, a songbird sings a melody.
Orpheus’ eyes flutter open, his entire body feeling like one giant bruise, though it does feel better than before, at least, before he…
Wait, did he pass out?
He opens his eyes further, looking around him.
He’s home.
He’s home, in the little apartment in the back of Hermes’ bar. There’s his beaten up old bedside table with the pile of notebooks full of music and lyrics neatly stacked, the things he takes care of even more than he does himself. There’s his lyre against the footboard. There’s the small window behind his head, light shining down onto the worn spring-green coverlet. And there’s a familiar face peering at him, the person sitting as close as possible to him on the small bed.
“Orpheus.” There’s a smile in Eurydice’s voice, and she’s out of the worker’s uniform from Hadestown, he notices, back in her old black dress and unbuttoned vest, wearing so many bracelets that they seem to cover half her forearm.
Orpheus takes her hand, intertwining their fingers and feeling it give his tired body strength. “It’s you.”
She leans down, pressing a careful kiss to his lips. “It’s me.”
He tries to kiss her again and she laughs, shaking her head and pushing him gently onto his pillows. “You’re hurt, you goof, lay back down. I’m not going anywhere.”
“What about Hades?” he asks. “What about…”
“I’m right here, young man.”
Orpheus jolts, realizing he was so focused on Eurydice that even in this small space he didn’t see Hades sitting in one of two ratty armchairs—the only furniture he has, aside from the bed and a tiny table. Hermes stands a good distance away by the other, larger window on the wall opposite the bar, though Persephone doesn’t seem to be here.
Orpheus sits up a little against the pillows, and Eurydice wraps an arm around his chest, protective of him even though he wants to protect her.
“You…I won’t let you take Eurydice back, Mr. Hades. Sir.” He almost takes the sir back, because Hades doesn’t really deserve it, but Persephone loves him, and he did seem to change when Orpheus sang the song, so he tries to give the god who nearly killed him the benefit of the doubt. Or at the very least, a chance.
“Son…”
“No!” Orpheus exclaims, jabbing his finger toward Hades like he did when he was singing to the workers, and he wonders where they are, too.
“I dissolved her contract, Orpheus.”
Orpheus starts at the sound of Hades saying his name, relaxing a little, though Eurydice still doesn’t let go.
“Oh. Well…good. Why…why are you in my house?”
He remembers how he couldn’t breathe, no matter how he tried. He remembers how he kept singing anyway after he got his air back and Persephone shot those vines out of her fingers, watching the god-king in front of him turn into what he was at the start.
A man in love.
A voice inside his head says why would he let you win, but he shoves it aside, reaching for Eurydice’s hand until the words melt away, though they leave a residue behind.
He tries to think of the music instead of the fear and the pain so close at hand, but he doesn’t think he’ll forget them easily, and that it will probably take time, pieces of his experience in Hadestown a part of him now. He’s never felt the music flow through him quite like it did as he sang for Hades and Persephone, just him and the melody as one singular being fused together. It was the second time he’s ever felt magic within himself. Then, and the first time he saw Eurydice in the doorway of the bar, the sky standing dark behind her.
And now I want to hold you too, she said not terribly long after, and Orpheus’ life opened up for those precious few summer months. It wasn’t just him and his music and Hermes and the little railroad town.
It was the whole world, all at once.
“Is this what you call a house?” Hades says in answer. “It’s a room in the back of a bar.”
“Hades,” Hermes warns. “You nearly killed my boy, the least you can do now is be polite while on my property.”
“Apologies,” Hades replies in that deep, earth-shaking voice. “I’m waiting on Persephone. She’s bringing some kind of herbal medicine for you, said it would help with the pain, get you on the mend.”
An awkward silence falls over the room, so Orpheus sits up against a huff of protest from Eurydice. “I’m fine, I swear,” he says as he simultaneously winces, betraying his words.
Eurydice shares a knowing look with Hermes. “He’s going to be like this the whole time, isn’t he?”
Hermes grins, shaking his head. “Yes.”
Orpheus chuckles, though it does make his chest hurt, and he thinks he sees Hades smirk with something like fondness. Then, Orpheus looks down, realizing what he’s wearing isn’t familiar.
“These aren’t my clothes,” he says, running a finger over the hunter green shirt that looks much like his old white one. He isn’t wearing his neckerchief, either, but there is a fresh, bright red one on his bedside table that he didn’t see before. He lifts the covers, and he’s wearing tan pants instead of gray, and he doesn’t want to think too hard on that, and who saw him in what state of undress. He hopes it was only Eurydice.
“Your clothes were about to disintegrate,” Eurydice tells him, running a finger down his bandaged cheek. “Hermes had these, never worn, apparently.”
There’s a knock on the cracked open door, and Orpheus hears the sounds of the bar beyond, muffled chatter and clinking mugs, as Persephone steps back inside with a glass of something green in her hands.
“The boy’s awake.” Hades announces the obvious, reaching up for Persephone’s hand as she passes by him and squeezing it.
Persephone squeezes back. “I see that.” She smiles, looking happier than Orpheus has seen her in a long time. Eurydice scoots over, making room for her on the bed. She hands Orpheus the glass of green stuff, which makes him wrinkle his nose. “I’m gonna need you to drink that, baby,” Persephone says. “It’ll help get you healing.”
Orpheus tightens his grip on the glass, doing as asked, and it doesn’t taste so bad, he supposes, and a few moments later some of the ache does dissipate, even if it doesn’t go away entirely.
Another little bit of magic.
“Hermes,” Persephone says, glancing over at the other god, who stands as far as he can get away from Hades. “Are you ever going to talk to Hades again?”
Hermes keeps staring pointedly out the window. “No.” He draws out the second letter in emphasis, turning and winking at Orpheus when Persephone isn’t paying attention.
“Well, on that note.” Hades gets up from the ratty armchair. “I think it’s time for me to go.” He glances out the window and Orpheus’ eyes follow him, seeing the snow slipping off the tree branches visible beyond the glass. “It’s time for spring.” Hades walks over to the bed and to Orpheus, putting out his hand.
Orpheus looks at the god of the underworld for a long moment, feeling like he knows him so well, somehow. Feeling like the words of the song have bonded them irrevocably. It took him so long to understand Hades, and it feels strange to say that he does, when there’s so much else bound up between them. Finally, he puts his hand out too, thinking that it feels small against Hades’ own.
“I’m sorry, son,” Hades whispers, and there’s real grief in his voice. He doesn’t let go of Orpheus’ hand. Not yet. “For what I did to you, and your girl.” He swallows, youth flooding into his words. “And thank you. For the song. You did make me feel young again.”
Orpheus hears the music in Hades’ voice even as bad memories threaten him, and he makes himself listen to the song instead, shaking the god’s hand firmly.
“Lady Persephone is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” Orpheus says when their hands come apart, and he feels something buzzing beneath his palm, the touch of godlike energy living in him now after Persephone pushed the air back into his chest. “I hope you remember that, Mr. Hades.”
Hades nods, and then he really smiles, something Orpheus doesn’t think he’s seen before, or heard in any story Hermes told him.
“I will, young man.”
“Wait…” Something occurs to Orpheus, now that he’s more awake and in less pain. “What about the workers?”
“I dissolved their contracts, too.” Hades takes something out of his pocket. Something that jangles. “But I’m leaving some coins behind, in case anyone wants to come back. I could use the company while Persephone is gone, in any case.”
Orpheus narrows his eyes, hearing his own voice go deeper. “And you’ll treat them better?”
Hades nods, looking out toward the sounds of the bar. “I will,” he repeats. “I swear it.”
Eurydice helps Orpheus up from the bed as they all go to see Hades off, tying his new neckerchief for him and getting him into his suspenders, his body too sore to do much of it himself, right now.
He’s the recipient of a great cheer when he comes into the bar, everyone, apparently, pleased to see him again. He sees some of the workers blending in with the people who frequent the bar, laughing and seeming familiar, while others hang back, looking unsure. They step outside, and Eurydice’s pulled back by someone, leaving Orpheus alone with Persephone for a moment as the train whistle pierces the air.
“Thank you,” Orpheus says, taking both of Persephone’s hands in his. “For saving me. I wish I could tell you how much it means to me.”
Persephone presses his hands tight before letting go of one and running a finger down his cheek. “I’m sure you will, honey. Write me a song about it before autumn comes, and I’ll take it with me to Hadestown. You can work on a new one now, can’t you?”
“Yes,” Orpheus says, the realization warming him as spring gives a breath of fresh air all around him, and there’s only small piles of snow now, the flowers and the grass overtaking it as more and more birds fill the air with song.
Eurydice comes back up and takes Orpheus’ hand in hers, their fingers sliding together the most natural thing in the world. They watch as the train approaches and Hades steps up to Persephone, taking both her hands in his. The crowd from the bar spills outside to watch, the Fates hovering around the edges but not taking part, just watching and waiting. Orpheus feels a shiver run down his spine as other possibilities fill his mind, other realities, other endings, and he grasps Eurydice’s fingers tighter.
“Wait for me?” Persephone says, her voice rife with emotion as she takes the red carnation from behind her ear and places it in Hades waistcoat pocket, the bloody-bright petals stark against the black and silver pinstripes.
Hades kisses Persephone in view of everyone, and with such vulnerability that Eurydice pulls her hand out of Orpheus’ and wraps her arm around his waist instead, tugging him closer and keeping his tired body steady. He puts his arm around her shoulders, reveling in the fact that she’s here with him, and isn’t going anywhere.
They can start again. They can sing, again.
“I will,” Hades says, pushing a strand of Persephone’s curly hair behind her ear before he climbs aboard the train, looking at Orpheus once more, and giving a wave.
And a smile.
Orpheus waves back, and a warm breeze blows through, carrying the scent of fresh flowers with it, mixed with something like wood-smoke. The sun shines twice as bright as the train departs, melting the rest of the snow.
Spring is here—spring, and not summer—and with it, a new song.
“You finished it,” Eurydice whispers in his ear, watching as the train goes creaking down the tracks.
“Yes.” Orpheus puts a kiss on the side of her head. “I did.”
The train disappears beyond the trees, going down down down below, but despite the ache in his bones, despite the dark memories tugging at the back of his mind, Orpheus chooses to see the sunshine.
And hears a new melody.