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At times, Persephone worries she’s lost her chances to be a mother, a proper mother, to Zagreus. She feels… out of sorts, at times, that perhaps she’s too late, that he’ll never see her the way he sees Nyx, that he resents her for spending too much time away, for abandoning him as a baby, leaving him behind, feeling unwanted and unloved and uncared for. Zagreus has reassured her over and over that that isn’t the case, that he doesn’t care that she wasn’t there to raise him when she’s here now, that he understands why she left and doesn’t hold it against her. She still isn’t entirely convinced and makes an effort to spend as much of her time in the underworld with her son as possible.
Zagreus, as much as he appreciates it, does find it a little desperate at times, not that he minds at all. He’d rather have a parent desperate to find reasons to spend time with him than a parent desperate to keep him out of the way. Hades has been better of late, a pleasant side effect of Persephone’s return, dedicating real effort into listening to his son instead of writing him off completely, complimenting him on his achievements, offering gentler criticisms during their fights against one another on the surface and though Zagreus thinks that it’ll be a while until he’s able to fully get over the hurt his father caused him, he’s willing to try, as long as his father is.
Anyways, today’s ploy for mother-son bonding has once more brought them into the garden in the house. Zagreus has found that he does have a bit of a green thumb, something Persephone is immensely proud of him for, and they’ve managed to convince a few more plants to grow in the difficult underworld soil. They have grapes blessed by Dionysus to grow under any conditions that have been flourishing beautifully, radishes, carrots and other tubers and root vegetables in another corner of the garden, a small garden of legumes, lentils and chickpeas, and today, they’re working on growing some more vegetables, celery and leek and fennel. It’s unendingly exciting for Zagreus, all the new foods he’s been able to try and experience. Persephone wants to try growing some more flowers, too, beautify the garden to drag it away from the half-dead appearance it had taken on in her absence (Hades did try to maintain it, but he doesn’t quite have a way with plants like his wife and son do), but seeing Zagreus’ face every time he tries a new dish, sees the fruits finally sprout off the bare vines, finds a carrot grown contorted and odd, looking more like a man without an arm than anything worth eating-
Well. Flowers can wait. In any case, Zagreus seems to like feeling useful , and every time he brings a new basket of fresh fruit and vegetables to the Head Chef, he feels ridiculously accomplished, a feeling only matched by the rush he feels every time he brings in some fresh fish. Persephone doesn’t mind feeding into that rush, is glad to nurture his self esteem in whatever little way she can.
So. The garden. She’d travelled up to the surface to meet Zagreus at her old cottage to uproot the vegetables so they could replant them in the house garden. They’d dug up some of the dirt to bring down with them too, having found that blending the dirt of the surface with the hard, dry dirt of the underground made it far easier to work with, and more nutritious for the plants as well.
Zagreus has his head down, seemingly fully focused on the row of leeks he’s replanting, but his eyes flicker up to his mother, working on a neighboring row of fennel, and asks, “why did you choose to come here in the first place?”
Persephone blinks, digesting the question, her hands stilling. “Well,” she starts, humming in thought. “Your father, for one thing.”
“I know about that, but- didn’t you miss it? The surface?”
“I never really got much of a chance to experience it, honestly. My mother was always quite protective of me, and Olympus felt suffocating.”
“Huh.” Zagreus has paused now, hands hovering over the basket of leeks. “I didn’t think… Well. I felt the same way, stuck here. Though I’m not sure father was necessarily protective of me.”
“I’m not sure,” Persephone responds, dusting her hands off on her chiton. It’s a plain white one like she’d worn on the surface, not the elaborate black and red get up she typically wore around the house. “I’ve spoken to your father about the way he treated you and I really do believe he cares about you, Zagreus.”
“Maybe now he does-”
“He cared about you back then, as well. He was just particularly bone-headed about how he chose to show it.” She sighs, pulling the ribbon out of her hair to brush through it again, a nervous habit not unlike Zagreus’ habit of tugging on his hair when he’s anxious. All the similarities between them, despite having only met her recently. It makes him feel pleasantly warm, makes him feel at home in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“I… I know he must have, but it’s never made sense to me that he’d- he acted like he hated me, mother, like he resented everything I did, like nothing I could do would ever be enough for him.”
She nods. “I won’t disagree with you there. Your father, unfortunately, lacks all your bravery, especially when it comes to love. After I left, he was scared of having his heart broken again, and couldn’t afford to lose you, too.”
Zagreus frowns, avoiding her gaze now to continue digging holes in the dirt to stab the leeks into, more aggressively than he would normally, without the care he usually places into his garden work. “If he wanted me to stay, he could’ve given me reason to. When I found out about you, part of the reason I ran away was because I thought he’d be glad to finally be rid of me.”
“Zagreus…” She tugs the leek and trowel he’s holding out of his hands, placing both into the basket before sitting down next to him, cradling his face in her hands. His gaze when he meets hers is a little watery, but he’s always been good at covering up his hurt, masking it under anger or humor or false confidence. “I think your father thought losing you would hurt less if you hated each other. But I don’t think he ever really hated you. He was simply scared.”
Zagreus is still frowning. She knew her words wouldn’t be comforting but Zagreus has never liked being lied to, even when the lies are meant to shield him from something worse. She wants to add onto that, something comforting that won’t be entirely untruthful, but Zagreus speaks before she can. “Grandmother… was she the same way with you, then?”
“How do you mean?”
“Cold, distant, despite the overprotectiveness.”
“Ah,” her lips stretch into a wry grin as she thinks, remembering what her life was before she met Hades. Her hands move into her lap, toying with the ribbon she’d tied around her wrist. She sweeps her hair onto her shoulder, brushing it off her neck and beginning to wind the ribbon around it again. “It’s odd, isn’t it, how families often fall into the same cycles without ever intending to?”
“Odd is definitely one way of putting it.” Zagreus retrieves the trowel, carefully uprooting the last three leeks he’d planted in a frustrated rush. He replants them slower this time, gentle with them, double checking over the stems and leaves to make sure he hadn’t left any lasting damage. “Is that why you ran away, then?”
She nods. There’s a streak of dirt on his cheek that was definitely left there by her hands, so she brushes them off more firmly on her skirt before licking her thumb to wipe it off, leaning forward to catch his jaw in her fingers. “My mother can be very aggravating when she wants to, and I think… she controls a vast domain, harvest and seasons and nature and all. And much like your father, she doesn’t handle stress well. She had certain expectations for me that I tended to fall short of, and she worried it would impact her standing, would impact how the other Olympians saw us. Me a demigod, her a titaness. We didn’t quite fit in up there, as much as she wanted to.”
Zagreus cups his hand around the one cradling his cheek. The smudge of dirt is a little fainter now, but mostly because it’s been spread further across his cheek. He doesn’t mind; Nyx was never tender and doting with him the way his mother is, too busy with her other children to have much time to gently clean his face with her hands, or sit him down in the garden to talk about their families. It’s nice, feeling her attention focused fully on him. Warm. A lot about Persephone makes him feel warm, it seems.
“I’m sorry,” he tells her softly. She looks confused, so he tacks on quickly, “about what your childhood was like, and all.”
She smiles at him, gently. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for yours, too.” She huffs a small laugh, though it lacks any humor. “You know, when I was pregnant with you, I was worried I was going to turn into my mother, raising you. I never expected your father to be the one who turned out like her.”
“I don’t know. With the way you are with… with Cerberus, or with your plants, the way you’ve been with me, I don’t think you would’ve ever turned out like her.”
“Thank you, son,” she says, smiling wetly. She pushes herself up, ready to get back to her plants. She’s just squatted down in front of the basket of fennel when Zagreus picks up his original line of questioning.
“So, outside of father, why the Underworld?”
“It was far away from Olympus, and, ah,” her expression turns a little sheepish as she busies herself with loosening the dirt for another fennel. “I wondered if perhaps my other aspect might be more accepted here.”
“Your other aspect?”
“Zeus gave me a nickname while I lived on Olympus, Persephone, meaning destroyer. I’m the goddess of destruction, as much as I’m the goddess of spring. I preferred it to Kore, that name always made me feel… immature. I didn’t think anyone would take me seriously with it.”
Zagreus blinks at her, mouth agape. “Destruction? You?”
“Well, there’s no need to sound so surprised. I’m the Queen of Hell, dear, you didn’t honestly believe I was some shrinking violet, did you?”
Zagreus laughs at that, shakes his head. “Ok, no, I suppose it makes sense. It just seems so- you’re so kind, and sweet, and,” he waves his hands around the garden. “This doesn’t feel like destruction to me.”
“Did you know that some of the most fertile soil can be found in the wake of a volcano? Terrible destruction, but it’s followed by life.” She places one of the fennel plants into the soil, pats the dirt down over the roots. “You, Zagreus, life following destruction.”
Zagreus blushes, though he’s not sure the metaphor fully fits. It’s sweet anyways. “I suppose I struggle to place you as Queen of Hell, the way father fills the role of King of Hell. I’ve… honestly never really felt like a prince, outside of feeling isolated from everyone else because of it.”
“Well, I’ve hidden some of it from you. Have you asked Orpheus or Eurydice about Orpheus’ first trip down here? Your father was more than happy to let him take Eurydice, no conditions, no questions asked. I was the one who suggested a condition, to test his devotion to her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” she smiles to herself, working quietly for a moment before she continues. “Your father used to be a real bleeding heart. I suspect he still is.”
“But- the contracts I fixed, for Orpheus and Achilles-”
“He kept himself away from me in order to keep me safe. I wonder if perhaps he thought Orpheus and Achilles’ situations similar enough to his own to offer them the same.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’ve never claimed your father was a clever man.”
Zagreus snorts a laugh. He’s almost at the bottom of his basket now, and moves even slower, wanting to drag out the time he has with his mother. “So, my father, the distance from Olympus, and wanting to feel a little more accepted.”
“And the more time I spent here, the less appeal I found in going home. I still find little appeal in returning to Olympus, I’d much rather spend all my time with you, Nyx, Cerberus, your father,” she shrugs, planting the last fennel, and Zagreus hurriedly rushes through the last two leeks he has, dusting his hands off on his chiton before accepting the hand she extends to help him stand. “Here, you plant the celery, I’ll go fetch some water, and once you’re done with those you can help me tend to all the other plants we have here.”
Zagreus huffs, hiking up the basket of celery to get to work. “Sometimes I swear you only bring me along to things to get me to do all the work,” he grouses, leaning in to press a kiss against her cheek before he settles down beside the fennel.
Persephone laughs, a bright, sunny sound that makes him feel warm, warm, warm inside, even as Persephone ruffles his hair roughly as she passes him by to fetch the water. “If you know any other rugged, tough young men down here who aren’t likely to ruin all my hard work, I’ll gladly take your suggestions.”
At times, Zagreus feels like he missed out, on family, on love, on what all of that should really mean, but these moments he’s able to share with Persephone, teasing each other, sharing their burdens, taking part in each other’s hobbies, easily override any of those feelings, and though he wishes he’d gotten it sooner, he’s glad he has it now.