Chapter Text
It’s nearing midnight, and Harry’s still not anywhere close to being done with charting courses utilizing the nautical maps spread before him.
It was up to him, as the newly appointed leader of Auradon’s Navy, to chart the initial routes all the ships would be taking. Before his takeover, there were gaps in patrol coverage, which could, and had been (by Uma), exploited.
In short, it was a mess.
Harry has had a mounting headache and a low grade fever since the early morning when he’d gotten up to finalize all of them. They were due for presentation to the king’s council at 6 a.m. tomorrow, though, so he couldn’t let that stop him. Uma was also hard at work in her own chambers, somewhere in the castle, preparing for the same meeting. He couldn’t slack off now.
Rubbing at his temple with his right palm, he tries to blink his eyes back into focusing.
“Jus’ a little longer,” he tells himself.
Along with his eyes seeming to blur, impeding his progress, his mind keeps wandering to what other possibilities these naval routes could be used for.
Sunken treasure, hidden islands, gold and silver and pearl, it says, and Harry swears he knows exactly where those hidden treasures are just by looking at the maps, inexplicably drawn to certain areas.
He shakes his head to try and clear it, thinking that his lack of sleep is catching up with him, but all that does is make his vision blur more, then make the room tilt and spin.
“I—I—,” Harry swallows hard as he stumbles away from the desk and back toward what he thinks is the direction of his bed.
His headache, which has been a dull, constant throb up until this point, sharpens in its intensity, making Harry cry out as he finds himself falling face first onto the bed.
He passes out with only the thought of gemstones and metals passing through his head.
_________
Harry had missed the meeting, Uma fumes, stomping her way to his suite.
He knew how important this was, and he missed it!
She wants to scream.
The former pirate captain would have gone to the meeting with her former first mate, made sure he actually attended, had she not been running late herself. Besides, she thought the brunet had been getting better about attending these meetings. After receiving an official title, a job, in Auradon, he’d started taking these types of meetings as seriously as she did.
Or, at least, she thought he had.
Clearly she was mistaken.
Coming up to his room, the sea witch doesn’t even bother with knocking on the door. She just bursts in abruptly with, “Harry! Get your ass up and out of—”
Her voice cuts off while taking in his still form on the bed. He hadn’t even jumped at her entrance, which was entirely unlike him. Usually, when she might enter his room unannounced to wake him up, his head would pop up from his pillow or the covers, but he stayed still. Deathly still.
“Harry,” she calls again, this time much more worried, crossing the room to stand beside the bed. He’s faced down, fully clothed, on top of the sheets. That in it of itself isn’t odd. They were used to sleeping fully clothed on the Isle. It was a hard habit to break, even after being in Auradon almost a full year. Sleeping faced down on top of the bedspread isn’t odd either. With the way they’d both been working recently, trying to restructure the Navy and general security of Auradon now that they had a more traditional prison system in place and magic was becoming more and more accepted again for everyday use. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to just face plant onto the nearest bed and take a nap.
“Harry.” She places one of her hands on his bare shoulder, as he’s still seemingly allergic to sleeves. Uma gives him a small shake, but he doesn’t stir.
It’s then that she looks down at the navy blue bedspread, something generic and generally nautical themed, which Ben had thought the first mate might enjoy. From the points Harry made contact with his bare skin, there spreads something shimmery.
She uses her other hand to press the pads of two of her fingers into it, drawing them away to see the sparkle of some kind of metallic substance.
Had Harry been experimenting with gold and silver eyeshadow again? she wonders, rubbing the dust between her fingers, getting the feel of it.
Looking back down at his face, she sees no hint of eyeshadow. In fact, his face is rather bare of its usual makeup. Still, it oddly shimmers in the light as the brunet suddenly lets out a strained whimper.
“Harry,” she says, really worried now and wondering if he might be sick. But, then, as she pulls her other hand away from his shoulder, to try and place it on his forehead to check for a temperature, something glittery on her palm catches her attention.
Turning her hand over, she sees it’s painted in gold with little hints of silver and bronze, it’s almost rainbow in spots.
“Gods,” Uma breathes, before looking back at her still whimpering best friend. “Harry, what did you do?”
_________
Being called out of a council meeting at the behest of Uma is not where Mal thought her late morning was going to go.
The poor servant that comes to fetch her and Fairy Godmother seems harried as he tells them, out of breath, “Your presence is demanded by Isle Ambassador Uma Triskillian. She says it is nonnegotiable and an emergency of grave importance.”
“Does she need me?” King Ben stands up from the table, ready to leave if need be.
“No,” the servant says, shaking their head vehemently, “she said only Fairy Godmother and the future queen of Auradon are required.”
Mal places a comforting hand on her fiancé’s arm as she gets up to leave, murmuring, “We’ve got this,” with a quick peck to his cheek.
Fairy Godmother is already bustling towards the door before the half-fae had begun to follow.
This all leads them to entering the room of one Harry “Hook” Jones at the behest of that same harried servant. The man that led them there stays by the door, so as to be as unobtrusive as possible, but ready to run off with any orders at a moment’s notice.
“Oh my,” Fairy Godmother gasps as she approaches the bed where Uma sits with her former first mate’s head propped up in her lap.
As Mal follows behind, it’s not clear immediately what’s wrong. So the pirate got drunk and is sleeping like a log. That isn’t anything noteworthy or council interrupting worthy. Uma should know better.
But then, as Fairy Godmother fawns and fusses, flittering from examining the bedspread, which Mal can now recognize has different colors than it should have on it, to examining Harry’s pulse, to wiping his forehead with a clean handkerchief, only for it to come away with the same colors that the bedspread is dusted in, it becomes very apparent that something is not at all right with the son of Hook.
“What—?” the half-fae doesn’t even know where to start with her questioning, but Uma answers anyway.
“I found him like this after I came back from our early morning session.”
Mal draws closer to the two women, and the young man between them, as Fairy Godmother seems to finish her initial examination.
“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” she says.
Uma and Mal share a look.
“What do you mean?” the future Queen of Auradon asks.
Fairy Godmother looks between the two VKs with a forced smile. “We haven’t had a new god or goddess in, well, at least a half a century, if not more,” she says. “It’s very rare. And it’s even rarer that they would not be immortal first, or have any immortal blood in them whatsoever, before they became one.”
“What?” Mal asks. “How is that even possible without ambrosia?”
Fairy Godmother opens her mouth to speak, but Uma doesn’t seem to care about the ‘how’ of it all, just the practicality of moving forward as she asks, “What does this mean for us?”
The older fae closes her mouth with a nod, straightening. “It means I need to call for an emergency Magic Council meeting. I need—we need,” she corrects, looking toward the servant that still waits for orders by the door of the room, “guards around Mr. Jones to make sure that no godly interference takes place.” The man takes the hint and quickly escapes from the room. “This could shift the powers that be.”
“Then why is this happening to Harry, of all people?” Mal can’t help but ask. If someone wants to shift the powers that be, why choose the rather deranged former first mate (even though, privately, Mal can admit her fellow VK isn’t actually all that deranged).
“I don’t know,” Fairy Godmother answers. “But what we do know is that he’s clearly taking on the mantle of another god.”
“What does that mean?” the half-fae asks, feeling like this whole conversation has gotten away from her. “Who’s mantle?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Uma says. “Who is the god of wealth and riches?
It takes Mal a moment to understand what her former rival is implying.
Incredulous, the future queen of Auradon says, “My dad?”
“Bingo,” the sea witch says.
“Sweetie,” Fairy Godmother turns to Mal, coming closer to take both of her hands in hers, “I’m going to need you to contact your father right away.”
“No,” the half-fae immediately protests, “but I don’t—”
“Contact him right away please. He’ll know what to do.”
“But—,” Mal tries to argue, “won’t he be mad that somebody else is stealing one of his domains?”
“No,” Fairy Godmother says assuredly. “That would be like the king of the gods being mad that his children took on domains that otherwise would’ve had to remain filled by himself or one of his other current family members.”
“So, what you’re saying is that Harry will become sort of like my dad’s child?” Mal doesn’t know quite what to think of that possibility.
“No. This can also happen whenever a god or goddess finds their spouse in the form of another god, or goddess, or demigod, or mortal,” the older fae tries to comfort, but it rather has the opposite effect.
“Are you saying that my dad might be—what? Soulmates with Harry Hook of all people?”
“I’m saying I don’t know right now,” Fairy Godmother says, trying to project calm. “This is why we need you to contact your father for us—if he’s not already on his way here.”
At the two young women’s questioning gazes, she continues, “Right now, Harry is like a beacon to the other gods, especially when they are most directly involved.”
Mal swallows at this news. With the sobering reminder that things could turn south very, very quickly for Harry without her father’s intervention, she walks determinedly out of the room with a nod.
In the hallway, she makes sure to steel herself with a deep breath as she makes her way to the entrance hall of the castle. Several guards pass her on her way. Once she makes it to the foyer, she pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts to land on the one labeled “Dad.”
She clicks on his name, brings the phone up to her ear, and—
Turns out, Mal needn’t have worried about contacting her father, as he was already on his way to them.
“Where are they?!” her father demands as he bursts through the front doors of the castle.
“Dad!” Mal says, going to the rather irate god, pocketing her phone, but he ignores her, looking to Fairy Godmother, who’s just rushed down the stairs to meet them.
“He’s been moved to one of our inner vaults,” the older fae says. “It’s a better place to guard them from, and it’s already enchanted to protect from godly interference.”
“Good good,” Hades says, “you’re not completely inept.”
“Dad,” Mal says, trying to get him to look at her, “what’s going on?”
Her father ignores the question, but does finally meet her eye. “Mal, where is my ember?”
“Ember?” she tries to laugh it off, keenly aware of Fairy Godmother’s questioning look. “Dad I thought—”
“Mal, go get my ember,” he orders.
His eyes are cold and she suddenly feels as if she’s being talked down to by her mother all over again—helpless and unappreciated unless she is of use.
She finds herself pleading, “Why can’t you just tell me why—”
“Bertha,” he uses her real name to bring her up short. He never uses her real name like that. “If this is what I think it is, I will need my ember.”
“Okay,” she relents, eyes watery.
He nods and then turns away from her, quickly following Fairy Godmother deeper into the castle.
Mal sniffs and stubbornly wipes away the stray tears that have fallen—tears her father doesn’t ever see.
_________
When Hades enters the vault, it is to a brightly lit room of navy blue with gold accents, Auradon’s coloring. There are heavily armored guards lining the walls. The Three Good Fairies, the Blue Fairy, and Genie stand in a circle, facing outwards, around a lone figure laying upon the raised stone altar within the middle of the room. No doubt, the pedestal had been used, until recently, to show off some of the kingdom’s most priceless or magical artifacts not kept in the Auradon Museum. Now it displays the young man who is no longer fully human.
The new god in question is restless, murmuring in variations of English and Gaelic, twitching and shifting uncomfortably on the hard stone. The magic users in the room give the nameless person furtive glances, but don’t dare touch him, and it’s not hard to tell why. Spiderwebs of mineral deposits flow down from the immortal-in-the-making onto the altar, which then spread onto the floor.
As Hades draws closer, he can see the streaks of gold and bronze on the young man’s skin, a coating of riches he’s started producing from his pores. It makes the new god’s tan skin look almost sculpted, and he’d look like a statue, too, if he wasn’t moving around so much in his semi-conscious state. His cheekbones are chiseled with the rest of his features being similarly well defined.
Shortening the remaining distance between them, Hades loses decades upon decades until he stands at about the age of twenty, easily matching the age exuded by the new god before him. Changing his appearance like this, slipping back into this form after so many years away from it, is just like slipping into a different, well fitted, coat—comfortable and uniquely his.
The Lord of the Underworld is prepared to stay in this form for several decades, to possibly a century, if that's what it might take for his soon-to-be lover to be able to fully master the art of changing their own appearance. Hades appearing the same age for a while would assist with the other’s transition to godhood, as well as help foster their budding relationship. Perhaps they’d decide to stay these ages of their own volition after the fact. Maybe they’d change it depending on the day and time. Perhaps they’d decide to appear at different ages altogether from one another. At that point, the other god would have the power to appear however they wanted.
Hades’ himself only came back into this form, outside of his own youth, when he had begun to fancy Maleficent, who was, at that point, in youthful appearance herself.
Looking down at the young man before him, he can see clearly how the godling’s eyes are flitting between different colors and gradients of gemstones as their eyelids flutter restlessly open and closed.
Hades thinks he remembers the true colors of those eyes—sea green.
They belong to the only son of Captain Hook.
Hades allows his eyes to scan over the young man in front of him again, the well put together pirate attire dusted with minerals where it touches his skin. He vaguely recalls meeting those sea green eyes when he’d come to the castle to lift the curse placed over that princess, daughter of Sleeping Beauty.
Harry Hook, his mind supplies.
“How long has he been like this?” Hades asks the fairy hovering at his side.
“Since we found him this morning,” Fairy Godmother replies.
Which meant it probably happened at the stroke of midnight, as the days changed over.
This would line up with when he first felt that hollow void inside himself suddenly sparking to life. Hades’ powers over the Underworld, and all that they entailed, were only dampened under the barrier, but still there—they had to be, or else there’d be dead people up and walking around everywhere. The other half of his domains, those connected to enriching the land, feeding it the minerals it needed, were cut from him completely—considered unnecessary by the gods, happy to follow the beast king’s lead in chaining one of their own for their benefit.
He hadn’t felt even an echo of the power from his other domains since his liberation from the Isle.
Until today.
At the stroke of midnight, like something out of a fairytale.
How fitting, Hades thinks.
Then this, he looks down at the distressed, but clearly beautiful young man before him, must be my Beauty.
“Adamh… diaspore…,” the VK murmurs, “gipsum… mellite…” Tears of pearl, deep golden and blue, form in the corners of his eyes.
I’m undoubtedly the Beast in this story, Hades thinks as he reaches out to wipe away some of the brunet’s pearling teardrops.
“Tha thu ceart gu leòr,” the King of the Underworld reassures the young god in Gaelic, brushing sweaty hair from Harry’s forehead, uncaring of the dusting of gold, silver, and other minerals coating his fingertips. The movement quiets the son of a pirate as he shivers and leans into the touch.
“Tha an leth eile agad an seo gus do thoirt dhachaigh,” he continues, which translates to Your other half is here to take you home.
He strokes the back of his hand lightly down the other man’s cheek. “Bidh thu a’ faireachdainn tòrr nas fheàrr a dh’ aithghearr.”
All he receives in response is another shiver and a whimper.
Hades studies those sharp cheekbones and fluttering lids over ever changing gemstone eyes.
I suppose the question is, he continues to ponder, will I be better or worse than that failure of a king in my role as the Beast?
“My ember,” the god demands, extending his palm in his daughter’s direction.
He senses, rather than hears, Mal move closer to him as she places one of his main sources of power in his palm. Fairy Godmother makes a disapproving noise at this, but doesn’t stop her, and the ember hardly sparks at Hades’ touch, which is just as well—it’s remaining magic having been spent through the whole Princess Audrey ordeal.
The god rolls the stone in between his fingers for a few moments before giving it a kiss for good luck, superstitions and all that. Hades then carefully lifts the young man’s head up from the alter to rest on the Lord of the Underworld's forearm, bringing the ember to the VK's mouth. Hades watches as it starts to glow as it comes into closer proximity to the godling.
“Woah, Dad!” Mal exclaims, grabbing his arm. “What are you doing?!”
“I no longer have control over my mineral deposits, or any stonework. This no longer works for you, or I. It’s been a source of my power, yes, but, at its core, it comes from the Earth,” he tells her calmly. “And while I still control much of the Earth, it’s no longer fully my domain, mine to enrich—and the ember is definitely an enrichment.”
Her gaze lowers to the stone in his grasp.
“Since it is more a symbol of the domain that I no longer currently wield,” Hades continues. “It is a source of power that rightfully belongs to Harry now, and it can help stabilize him until I’m able to get him down to the Underworld.”
“Hold on,” his great niece says, interjecting herself in between them. She must have entered the room while he’d not been looking, or perhaps she was one of the many faceless people he’d passed on his way into the vault. They were all nameless and faceless in his rush to get to the new god who’d been calling to his very soul since this morning.
“You’re taking him where?” the sea witch continues to question.
Hades smirks. “He needs to be kept closest to the Earth, and there’s no closer than the Underworld.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” she says.
“I’m afraid not, Great Niece,” he says. “Where we’re going, there won’t be much in the way of oxygen, and while there are some pools of different variations of water down there, well... It won’t be enough for you to survive—not unless you’re a god.”
“Then I’ll just use magic,” she easily replies.
“I still won’t permit you entry,” Hades says.
“Who says I’m asking for permission?”
He studies her for a long moment. “As much as I like you, Great Niece of mine, this is a matter of practicality, rather than malicious intent. A god’s power unchecked is dangerous.”
“And you’re sure of that,” she asks challengingly, “that he’s becoming a god?”
“I am.”
“Do you know why he’s becoming a god in the first place?”
“Does it matter?” he shoots back, growing tired of this questioning, keenly aware of the increasingly frantic mumblings of the young man he’s still propping up. “Maybe it was time. Maybe I’ve been away from proper land for too long and this was the way to balance the scales.”
“And Harry was the best option?”
“Look, what do you want from me?!” he snaps. “He’s a pirate and he likely already had a knack for finding things—hidden treasures and the like! This is just the extreme of that.”
The former pirate captain gives her great uncle a long appraising look before saying, “Harry knows the value of things.”
“He would have to,” Hades says, unsurprised.
“So he’ll know if you're not worth it,” she states, giving him a smirk of her own.
The Lord of the Underworld shoots her a glare.
“What?” Mal asks, reminding both of them that they aren’t alone in the room with Harry. “Worthy of what?”
The daughter of Ursula doesn’t respond, but she does resign herself to letting events carry on, so Hades continues.
“Dad, what does she mean?”
“Nothing,” he dismisses, turning his full attention back to the young god.
He can sense Mal wants to argue, but she wisely keeps her thoughts to herself, likely seeing that her father is no longer in the mood for any remaining explanations. He’s wasted enough time already.
Hades rolls the ember between his fingers one last time, kissing it again—for luck, baby—before finally bringing the slowly igniting ember to Harry’s lips.
“Is e stuth-leigheis a th’ ann,” he tells the young man. “It will make you feel better.”
This prompts the easier opening of the brunet’s mouth than if Hades had forced the young godling's jaw to unlock. Through the blue haired man’s vast experience as an immortal, he’s found that it’s so much simpler for everyone involved if you frame what you want someone to do as being beneficial and an assistance to their own general well being than a hindrance. So much more compliance that way.
Too bad his thunderhead of a brother couldn’t seem to grasp that sort of tactfulness.
The ember is not a small rock, by any means, but it also isn’t so impossibly big so as to be impossible to swallow. Hades needn’t have pondered over that aspect for even a moment as the stone seems to melt into a bright, glowing blue liquid as it touches Harry’s tongue.
Right, Hades thinks, as he lays the new god’s head back down onto the altar. The state of gemstone and minerals are at Harry’s mercy now.
The liquid ember is so bright, everyone in the room can see its progress down the VK’s throat through his skin before it seems to settle in his chest, lighting up his heart before it expands in a quick flash through the rest of his body. This causes the brunet’s back to arch and his eyes to open with a glowing blue before fading to their normal sea glass color of a mortal human’s and rolling back up inside his head as his back simultaneously falls to the stone. Then he is still.
Nobody says a word as Hades picks up the godling into his arms and makes his way to the door.
He can feel their stares on his back, can feel the disappointment radiating from his daughter, but he doesn’t look back.
The void in Hades’ chest now has a steady heartbeat filling it.
_________
It’s cold, Harry notes upon first waking. It’s the sort of cold he hasn’t experienced in a while.
There’s also a faint drip, drip, dripping noise that he can faintly hear.
A cave, he thinks, fairly confident in his guess, even as he opens his eyes to take in a purple, silken canopy. The mattress he is laying on is soft, softer and more luxurious than even the one he was given in Auradon, and seems to be covered in the same colored cloth. It glides coolly against his bare skin as he sits up.
The walls are a dark grey, black rock—obsidian, his mind supplies automatically—with jutting catches of gemstones growing up from them at different angles—hyalite, foxfire diamond, purple fluorite—he starts to list. They provide a glow to the room that’s a mix of blue, purple, and green. He knows it would be rather unnatural for any other place that wasn’t here.
But where is here?
He shies away from the answer that his mind automatically comes up with and pushes it aside, gathering up the silken sheet around him in preparation to stand. He closes the silk at the front, keeping it underneath his armpits to help him keep it in place so it’s not all on his hand to hold the makeshift dress up and closed.
The ground is made up of grey and black dirt, clearly containing some odd amount of volcanic ash. Despite its fiery origins, it’s cold, but not dry. Harry instinctively buries his toes in it, feeling satisfied and more grounded for doing so. Spiderwebs of mineral deposits spread around him from where his feet are buried as he lets out a breath.
The sound of a dog barking snaps his head up towards the tunnel-like entryway to the room, and he watches as a small molossus hound with three heads comes scampering into the room.
Despite himself, Harry feels himself cracking a smile and eagerly bending down to meet the excitable dog at its own level, pushing what its two extra heads mean to the back of his mind with the rest of the things he’s in denial about.
The little hound comes over, tail wagging and tongue lulling as it yips in greeting. The brunet is more than happy to give it a scratch behind its ears and let it put a front paw up on his chest so it can get better access to try and lick Harry.
The son of a pirate lets out a laugh at this, taking the pup up into his arms as he stands.
“You're awake,” a voice says, startling Harry into looking up and to the doorway.
There, a young man with blue hair, reminiscent of the god of the Underworld, a man the VK had only seen in passing, waits.
No, Harry’s mind whispers. This person doesn’t just share similarities with that other immortal, the young man is that immortal.
Somehow, it feels fitting, Harry decides, as he studies the lord. It makes the son of a pirate feel like he’s facing more of an equal, and not an unfathomably old god, when Harry asks, “Where am I?” Even as the words leave his lips, he knows he’s in the Underworld just as he knows every name of every gemstone and metal in this room. Denial never does last forever, does it?
Hades doesn't answer because he already seems to know this too. His smirk says, Try again.
Harry swallows down the flash of indignation that courses through him and asks, “Why am I here?”
“Why? You don’t like it?” comes the obtuse reply, the god sauntering closer.
Harry puts the young pup back on the ground, where it promptly sits at his feet.
“I wouldn’t say tha’,” the brunet is careful to say as he straightens back up to find the immortal suddenly far closer than he had been.
“Then what would you say,” Hades asks, leaning so far into Harry’s space, the son of a pirate can feel the god’s breath upon his cheeks and detect a hint of pomegranate in the air around him, “God of Riches?”
“I—,” Harry starts and then stops, brain halting.
The words, God of Riches, ricochet around the inside of his head. With them comes a flood of voices not his own.
“God, please let me win the lottery.”
“I hope my bonus this year will be larger than last year.”
“I wish my grandmother gave me her inheritance.
“Enricher of Land,” Hades continues. “Wealth Giver.”
Each title sends a new wave of voices through Harry’s skull.
“Lord, please grant me a good harvest this season.”
“I would kill to have that car. I swear—”
“I need—”
“God, please—!”
“I only want—!”
“I wish I had—!”
“Woah there,” Hades says, catching Harry around the waist. The brunet doesn’t even remember closing his eyelids.
Opening his eyes to be met with the startling blue of the teenaged version of the Lord of the Underworld, Harry wishes he could say he was madder about being manhandled and held against the god’s chest, now the only thing keeping him and his silk covering up.
“You—,” Harry tries to say, but words are hard to make work right now as his head feels like it’s splitting open.
After a few more aborted attempts at forming words, which all just end up coming out as a weird, gargled, whimpering, Hades sighs. “I knew it was too soon.”
Harry helplessly paws at the god as he shifts them towards the bed, the young hellhound at their feet barking.
“Shh,” the immortal tells the animal as he moves an arm underneath the brunet’s legs to lift the younger man up into a bridal style hold. The dog quiets obediently.
Harry groans.
“Shh,” Hades shushes again, though it’s softer and directed towards the VK this time. Harry doesn’t think he’s imagining the sudden warmth that has enveloped the god’s gaze as he gently sets the brunet down on the silk covered mattress. The hellhound is quick to jump up and curl up near the foot of the bed, watching the door.
“You’ll be fine,” Hades assures the young man, tacking on at the end, as he moves a damp strand of hair from Harry’s forehead, “my treasure.”
The brunet wants to argue, wants to be able to do so much as lift a finger. As it stands—or lays—as it were, Harry still can't competently move his lips or his tongue, and his hands are left to lay to one side of him, one of his arms draped rather artfully across his chest. He’s sure he looks like the perfect damsel right now. He tries to say as much and that he’s not some treasure, even with the titles God of Riches and Wealth Giver, and others Hades hadn’t even mentioned, like God of Treasures, continue to echo around the inside of his head alongside the voices they brought.
Harry wants to scream.
“Oh,” Hades intones with a pout. “Don’t be like that.” He smooths out the furrow of the younger man’s brow gently with his thumb. His touch is cold against Harry’s burning forehead.
“Don’t worry, dollface,” the god says, letting a hand lightly trail down Harry’s side, stroking the brunet like he imagines Hades might try and sooth a rather ornery cat. “It will pass.”
Harry wants to ask as he feels tears of frustration and pain bubble over and fall, “How long until then?” along with several others, chief amongst them, “My treasure?” followed by all the others like:
Why does Hades suddenly care? Why does he look so young? Why did he take Harry to the Underworld? Why does Harry know everything about minerals and rare metals? Why did those titles the god direct towards him prompt a flood of voices that all asked for the same thing?
As if reading his mind, or just finally giving up on being a total arse, Hades says, “Becoming a god isn’t easy for a mortal.” He wipes at the space underneath the former VK’s eyes, grabbing at something.
The Lord of the Underworld then holds up several tiny, perfect pearls for Harry to see. “But you’re now the God of Riches—wealth, minerals, gemstones, and more.”
The brunet’s fingers twitch, and he feels more tears—pearls—fall as he grits his teeth.
He can feel himself glaring as he all but shouts in his mind, Why?!
Hades just looks dispassionately down at Harry, his eyes a cold fury not directed towards the young godling before him. “The balance was tipped because the Beast thought he knew best. My domain of judging and maintaining the dead was allowed, but my other domain was not,” he says. “The domain of riches.”
Harry closes his eyes at that, not wanting to look into that burning, simmering, gaze any longer.
The elder god continues, “I guess harvests on the mainland started to slowly dwindle over the last two and a half decades as the needed nutrients and minerals stopped being replenished as readily as they would be with my influence.” Hades doesn’t sound all that concerned by such an outcome of his imprisonment. Rather, he sounds smug. “Deposits of metals and gemstones, and other needed material of the Earth started to mysteriously dry up or disappear altogether. Nothing to mine.”
“The Fates,” the Lord of the Underworld pauses, prompting Harry to reopen his eyes—the other man’s gaze still burning, but in a far different way than before, “they must have thought such a thing should never come to pass again, and divided my domains into two—managing the dead and all that they entail to me, among a few others, and the riches of the Earth to you.”
But why me? Harry wants to ask, and Hades answers still didn’t include why the other god seemed to suddenly care, why he was like this, why bring him to his home—his real home outside of the Isle.
“I think,” the older immortal takes a seat beside Harry on the bed, running a soothing hand through the brunet’s hair, and, despite himself, Harry feels himself melting under the touch, the voices in his head finally starting to grow quite under the god’s cool palm, “those old broads chose you not only for your eye for hidden gems and the like, but as a personal gift to me.”
“Mmm?” Harry manages to hum in his dazed and subdued state, slowly sinking into oblivion as Hades continues his rhythmic administrations to the top of his head.
“I’ve been alone for so long,” the King of the Underworld admits. “My time with Maleficent doesn’t really count. She was never anything more than a placeholder. I think we both knew that. It’s part of why things went so poorly as they did. And my time with Persephone isn’t as the stories like to imply. But you,” the hand in Harry’s hair tightens minutely, prompting another hum from the brunet as he barely clings to consciousness, “you I feel drawn to in a way I’ve never been to another living being. Perhaps it’s your domain—how I feel you under my skin, giving me, and the Earth, renewed life.” He cocks his head as he looks down at the younger god in his grasp. “Perhaps it’s because I never really looked at you before.”
Harry feels his eyelids flutter before they give up altogether on staying open.
“I guess it doesn’t really matter what it is,” he hears Hades say. “Because I refuse to let you leave me, regardless.”
Harry’s breath hitches at that.
The new god then feels the brush of lips against his forehead. The last thing Harry registers is the smell of pomegranate and the promise that it whispers through two words:
“My treasure.”