Chapter Text
When she returns from outside the city, Azem’s arms are commonly laden with bulk. Gifts of all shapes and sizes are brought to the Convocation- trinkets and such picked up when one of the Amaurotines comes to her ever scattered mind. They always try to deny them, especially humble Lahabrea, but the denial only makes the Traveler smile and work harder to find the best for her comrades.
She does not often bring things home, caring far too much for the happiness of those she loves rather than her own. Still, she is not wont to ignore empty space in her garden, nor a particularly pretty bloom. For if she ever does bring something back to her own home, it is always something green.
Cuttings, seeds, sprouts- anything she can fold beneath the soft earth and tend to, foster more life and color in the constantly growing haven that has taken root on her balcony. Living alone gives her ample room to extend her foliage into her apartment proper, yet she knows that, as long as her trips continue, she will eventually run out of space.
Although the threat looms far beyond her horizon, the thought still springs up from time to time. The solution, however, remains a quite stubborn, rotting tree stump in the clearing of her mind.
Stroking the soft pink petal of a begonia, Azem hums in thought. She could always see about expanding her space- whether through the act of creation or some other form of expansion magicks. As if a lantern suddenly erupted into flame, an idea surfaces. Who else could she approach but someone well versed in the very such magic that built her home?
Hythlodaeus, dear friend as he is, was Chief Architect of their fair city. However, like a sudden rainstorm bursting overhead, the idea is extinguished. Her friend is kind and giving, yes, but the thought of being in debt to him, especially regarding a task as large as this, immediately destroys her hopes. Owing Hythlodaeus a favor is a daunting idea. There is no telling what horrible task he would ask of her- what item to retrieve or spell’s practice to endure.
Yet, another figure comes to mind soon after. Perhaps not an architect, but certainly talented in regards to creation.
Persephone pulls her hood up over her hair and bounds to the door. With the Convocation currently out of session, she could find him at his home, most likely sprawled across a couch napping or bundled up with one of his books.
She does not bother to announce herself, slipping into the home and hoping to either sneak up on him or-
“Azem. Will you ever learn to knock?” Emet-Selch’s tone is bored, of course. He’s used to this routine.
She offers an apologetic grin before she is slinking up to him and nuzzling into the softness of his robe at his chest. His scent- the spice and sandalwood and something dark, fills her nose and she is melting. The fabric of his robes is soft and fluid between her fingers as she clutches at his back. Home floods through her.
With an exasperated exhale and a hand on her head, he gently pushes her back to create a semblance of space between them. Apologetic and playful grins turns sheepish, but expression perks once more as his seeming annoyance turns into fondness and he motions for her to follow.
The two walk down a side hall that echoes with Persephone’s excited words catching him up on her thoughts of the day. The most esteemed Emet-Selch listens patiently, wading through the tide of her hyperactive ramblings. Between maneuvering around his own younger brother, the Convocation, politics, and her, most of all, he is a professional at this by now.
He sits upon the couch in his office- the one she frequents while he works at his desk. Too many times has she laid here, talking about her most recent trip while he whittles away at paperwork and listens. Too many times has she laid here an distracted him in ways that get her a thorough scolding after. She settles beside him, folding her hands together. Behave, girl.
“Perhaps I have a better idea to solve your… problem.”
Emet-Selch- No. She stops and corrects herself, they’re in private company now. This is when he allows his name spoken. Even though their closeness is far more than her own with rest of the Convocation, he is adamant when it comes to social norms.
Hades gives her a blank stare at her silence. It’s unreadable, the gold of his eyes glinting with something she can’t quite name.
“Move in with me.” His voice is as casual as his glance to the manicure of his nails.
Her brain short-circuits.
“P-pardon?”
“Move in with me. There’s plenty of room, and with Cerberus here, someone will always be able to care for your plants when you are away from the city.”
She squints at him. Suspicious. Surely there was more to it than just his kindness and consideration for the care of her plants- yet he continues before she can voice her complaint.
“I have already begun the proper steps and paperwork for our… partnership. Moving in with me is just another step-“
Ah .
“Hades… I think there may be a better way to describe our relationship than just…” she gestures vaguely with her hands, brows furrowing. “That just sounds so… professional.” Leave it to him to make everything a business deal, even the idea of marriage . She finally settles upon sticking her tongue out at the stubborn old man playfully. She really had never been the type for such stuffy language. The Convocation could barely get her to dress in the proper robes within the city, let alone keep her mask on in public or refrain from acting much like an overexcited child. It was a wonder that he even put up with her most of the time, let alone wanted her around in such a-
“You are right.” Shock. Truly, the end of days were coming when Hades admits to her being right. His face softens. He smiles at her, golden eyes warm as honey. “I want you to move in with me because I want you to be near… close when you are in the city.” His defenses had fallen, it seems. For one so adverse to public and physical displays of affection, it was the development of the century for him to admit something so intimate, despite the stiff way of saying it.
Persephone laughs and nods, pleased with this way far more. It would take another couple hundred years, but this softness was hard won. She would take her victories when she could.
“Tell me what to sign and when.”
The chuckle that leaves him rumbles in the air. Clearly, he, too, was content with the development. A moment passes before Persephone’s smile widens, spurred on by the energy that now surrounds him, surrounds them. Her cheeks start to ache something awful and, in a rush of confidence, she leans into his chest, closing the space once more. She removes her mask and tosses it off somewhere in the room, forgotten. He does not push her away. The weight of his arm around her waist says enough.
Perhaps, if the stars were willing, they could grow this garden together.