Isobel Brandt \\ Persephone (praxidike) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-04-01 08:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | hod, persephone |
when I fell to your wayside
Who: Ben [Hod] & Isobel [Persephone].
What: A blind Norse god stumbles into the Greek underworld.
Where: Underworld, Ancient Greece.
When: A long, long time ago.
When poets sang of the hall of Hel, they would tell of its depth, of its darkness, of the terror the face of its ruler induced in the hearts of all who beheld her. To be fair, all of those were likely quite valid descriptors, yet they mattered little to Hodr. What difference was there in going from one darkness to another? If he had been composing the songs he would have spoken more of the place’s smell. Or of the bone-chilling cold. Or the way it felt as though he were forever brushing cobwebs from his face. Or the constant, crushing, nearly physical weight of monotony.
Hodr was walking. He didn't know for how far or how long. It may have been days. It may have been decades. Without the feel of the sun on his skin there was no way for him to judge time. The slow drips of water, the chill, the feel of dank stone under his hand were all constant and timeless. There was no end to them, just as there was no end to death.
There was no place that Persephone did not like in her husband's kingdom; her favorite, though, were the fields of asphodel. The people there were kind, ordinary folk, and those who had enough in them to recognize and acknowledge her were always ready with a tale or two from their living years. When Hades was busy with other work, and she had little of her own to do, Persephone would busy herself with the flowers there, though they did not need tending. Her long, black dress trailed over them, but they sprang up unharmed as she passed by. Her veil covered her face, and she sat near a semi-transparent tree, watching the passersby on this quiet afternoon, until she noted one man who looked absolutely lost.
He wended a strange path, emerging from somewhere. She couldn't necessarily put a finger on it, but he was so terribly out of place; she rose from her spot, and moved toward him, pale hands clasped before her.
"Are you lost? Let me help you, if I can," she offered, realizing at once upon closer inspection that this was no mere mortal, but another deity.
Hodr visibly startled at the voice, moving back a step or so. His hand though did not leave its place on the rock wall and his eyes continued staring sightlessly ahead. He had not heard anyone approaching and it unnerved him. His fellow dead were seldom talkative, conversation with his brother and Nanna were understandably strained, and this woman (or so he assumed) clearly was not Hel. So who was she? And was that the faintest scent of flowers in the air?
“I do not know. Is this still the domain of the dead?”
She nodded, though a quick study of his face revealed that he likely did not see the motion. Even though her veil, Persephone could see the man's eyes were clouded, and the fact that his hand remained on the wall for balance supported the theory that he was blind.
"It is. You're in Hades, my dear. If it is what you've been seeking, you've found it; if not, let me help you to rest for a short while, before you continue your search." Carefully, she put out one hand and touched the man's wrist, attached to the hand not touching the wall. If he chose, he could pull away, if she'd gone too far. "You're near the Asphodel Meadows. It is a wonderful place for a respite, if you choose."
When the touch came Hodr’s first instinct was to pull away, but he resisted it. Compared to the constant chill of death the delicate warmth of her palm seemed to burn. She was alive. Wonderfully, gloriously alive. The hand that had been extended for guidance left the wall, moving to clutch almost desperately at the slim grip on his wrist.
“You-- You are not one of the dead,” he said, his throat constricting a bit from both disuse and barely disguised emotion. “Why are you here? Does Hel know? She won't be pleased.”
A gentle smile worked its way over Persephone's face, hidden beneath her veil.
"I do not know this Hel you speak of; you are in the underworld. My husband rules here, so she might submit a complaint to him if she likes. My name is Persephone Praxidike, though Persephone is more than enough. Please, come; I can offer you food and drink, if you like. Who are you?"
“I am Hodr Odinson, Baldr’s Bane,” he replied, saying the title easily despite everything that it entailed. He had had time enough to come to some terms with it by now. Yet, despite his apparent ease, a guilty flush would have covered his bloodless cheeks if it could have. He shook his head as if to clear it, body acting on instinct to fix a problem which no longer existed. “Companion to Hel in her great hall, Eljudnir. It is she who rules the land of the dead. I’ve never heard of any others.”
Curiosity molded Persephone's face, but she slowly led him away from the wall and further into the meadow. Plants caressed their ankles as they moved through the asphodel; other translucent spirits paused in their wanderings to glance toward the immortal pair, but none moved to intercede.
"Neither have I. We have several lands in the underworld, but none of them by that name. Can you tell me how you came to be here?"
“I walked.” Hodr shrugged. “I do not know for how long. I had thought Hel’s lands were boundless. But I suppose I was wrong.” Then, pausing for a brief moment in his following her lead, he began swinging one of his feet low and slow in front of him, letting the plants hit against the sides of his boot. The simple motion brought a slight, small smile to his face.
“Tell me please, Persephone. What does your lord’s land look like?”
She smiled wide, leading him back to the translucent tree she'd been sitting under. His wonder reminded her of her own first visit to the underworld, and how its sights had awed her. Her heart twisted a little that he could not see them with his own power.
"You're standing in a field of white flowers, asphodel," she started, pulling him to a slow stop in the middle. "Directly in front of you is a small town. Or what the mortals remember of their lives, their homes. Those who lived well, but not exceptionally, end up here. Some of them are looking at us now; no doubt wondering who you are, but content enough in their current existence to continue on as they always have.
"Does it sound so different than where you come from?"
“I’m not certain. I haven't had the heart to ask for specifics.”
As soon as they stopped, Hodr let himself sink down into a crouch and began running his hands through the flowers. He didn't pick any, but instead let his fingers brush gently over them, exploring in full before digging his fingers into the earth. It wasn't the same as the sunwarmed soil of Asgard, but it was good nonetheless.
“A field full of white flowers,” he said finally, quiet and low, seemingly more for his own benefit than his hostess’s. “I’ve heard it said that my brother’s skin was so white and shining that it put blossoms to shame. Baldr should be here. Not me.”
Persephone knelt by Hodr, her brow furrowed; her black dress pooled at her feet. One hand lingered on the man's shoulder, trying to comfort without being intrusive. Her head canted beneath her veil, watching emotions play out over the other deity's face.
"Where is your brother now? Back where you thought you would be?"
Hodr nodded once, then abruptly stood, wiping the dirt from his hands hands on his tunic. “Yes. He has been there even longer than I have. But he shouldn't be. Flowers shouldn't bloom under the earth so far from the sun.”
An empathetic smile knit its way across her mouth, and she drew Hodr up from the floor of the meadow. "These are not living flowers, Hodr; they would not know what to do with sunlight if it were to shine down upon them. They know only darkness, and thrive in it. Not everything requires light to survive. Come." She continued leading him, carefully and gently, as though he were a bull who needed coaxing, until they reached a small table near the edge of the village. Such a thing would have been near a cooking pit, its surface strewn with feathers, animal parts. Dissection at the smallest level to reveal every usable piece of an animal; now it was just a faint memory of what the living had used it for, though the dead no longer had a need.
"Sit," she bade him. "Do you require food or drink? We have some sustenance here, though I do not know how it might compare with your realm. Or do you have more questions? I would be happy to give you what answers I have." Her voice grew the tiniest bit more distant as she moved away from him by a few steps, taking a seat on the opposing bench. Cloth shifted, rubbing against fiber, as her arms tucked and folded her dress into place.
Hodr sat down slowly, his hands remaining splayed across the tabletop even after he was fully seated, fingertips idly tracing the grain of the wood. He was silent for a long moment, thinking over what she had said earlier and how he might reply to it. Even those things which have known only darkness can still yearn for light. We feel its lack even though we cannot hope to understand it. But it would take someone cleverer than him to put the thought properly into words. He would have to settle for some other topic of conversation.
“What are you? What is your husband if he is lord here? What manner of thing rules these dead?”
A small laugh preceded her reply. "We are what you are, I think. Gods, though my task is different than stewardship of this realm. My husband is Hades, ruler of this world, or at least the lands you currently inhabit. Is the Hel you spoke of not a god? Is she some sort of creature?"
“Hel is a Jotun, a giant, like her father, Loki,” Hodr’s voice stayed level, but he couldn’t help the way that his posture stiffened at the turn the conversation had taken. One of his hands began picking away at the table’s edge, worrying at a splinter. The guilt and the hatred that he felt -both towards Loki’s deception and his own misguided trust- were still far too raw. “Her siblings are a wolf and a serpent. I suppose a mortal might call them gods. But they are not Aesir.” And he still didn’t know just what that made Persephone.
"What is...Aesir?" Her own hands rested gently on the tabletop, watching his pick at the wood. His anxiety was clear, but she said nothing after it. "Is it a surname?"
He shook his head, trying to think of a way to explain. No one ever asked what the Aesir were. She might as well have asked him what water was. “The Aesir are… Well, they are the Aesir. They dwell in Asgard. They follow Odin Allfather. The men of Midgard worship them.” Each statement was very nearly a question, as if he hoped that at any moment she might chime in with a sudden oh, you meant those Aesir, and then the whole awkward confusion would be over. “I am afraid I don't know how to explain it better.”
"That's all right," Persephone replied. "Perhaps you can tell me a bit about them, and I can tell you about my world, and we can learn in that way.
"We don't have a name for ourselves, at least, not in the way you seem to. There are those who reside on Mount Olympus -- where I come from -- and those who live in the sea. Zeus rules from Olympus, Poseidon the waters, my husband here, in the underworld. The three are brothers, born of the same father who Zeus slew to save the rest of his siblings. My mother is Demeter, from whom all things grow, and I follow in her path. I am a goddess of spring, though through my husband, I am also a goddess of death." Her hands folded on the tabletop; the surface shivered a touch as two ghostly servants brought Persephone's requested food and drink. Two mugs of barley beer and a small plate of fruit were placed before the two deities.
"Does that sound like your realm?" She carefully reached out and put one of the mugs into Hodr's hands, letting go as soon as she was sure he had a good hold on it. Then she plucked a strawberry from the plate, bringing it under her veil.
“A little,” Hodr said, taking a cautious sip. He was more than capable of figuring out where food and drink was on his own, and normally he would swiftly make that fact known, but she was only trying to be helpful. Besides, it was rather nice to have someone act as though they actually cared again. The denizens of Hel generally had little time for altruism.
“My father, Odin, is the chief of the gods. He has two brothers, like your Zeus, but neither of them rule anything. Instead, Jotnar rule the sea and the underworld. The Aesir keep to Asgard.” He took another drink (a much longer one this time) and smiled. “And Asgard is beautiful with every sort of field and forest, and great halls and feasts with such wonderful music and smells. The sun shone every day there. Every day.” His voice grew quieter towards the end of his short speech as his mind wandered through warmer, happier times.
Persephone smiled, though he could not see the expression; surely it was heard in her voice. "That sounds wonderful. It reminds me a little of Olympus. It's more... I think castle might be a good explanation, but it is many things for the gods. Whatever they wish it to be. And it looks out over all of the earth, so that we might keep a careful eye on humans and what they do.
"Do you not go to this Asgard any longer?"
Hodr lifted his head at her question, his sightless eyes meeting hers through pure luck. “Do your dead leave this place to visit Olympus?”
But he didn’t wait for her to respond. Instead he drained the remainder of his mug in one motion and continued. “Only those who die in battle are allowed to dwell with the Aesir. Those who die ingloriously -by sickness or old age or misfortune- belong to Hel. I am not one of the honorably slain. I must remain where I am.”
"I am sorry to hear that. Your family should at least make an effort to visit." Bitterness tinged her words; Demeter did not deign to visit the underworld, but Persephone welcomed the time she had alone with Hades.
"I hope you find your time spent here restful. And I would be happy to escort you through the rest of what we have to offer, if you like." She pulled the second beer mug toward herself, the cup scraping on the table's surface.
“Thank you.” Hodr paused, fingers running distractedly over the edge of his cup before he spoke again. “I have to return to my brother, but I would like to sit here first just a little bit longer. The flowers and fields are nice and I want to try to remember for a moment. If you don’t mind, of course. I can find my own way back.”