Persephone

V

He sat in the old boat, which was falling apart and slowly disintegrating into the noxious river, while Charon moved them gently along, both ignoring the cries of the damned wailing desolately beneath them. It wasn't out of arrogance or ignorance or callous apathy. They had simply grown used to it.

They floated along aimlessly, no destination in mind, simply taking solace in each other's company. Finally, after what felt like centuries, Hades spoke.

"Styx said that Nyx had been more disturbed by the change than was usual for her."

"Yes, she mentioned."

They moved on, silence descending again. Charon had never had much interest in discussing his mother. They were cordial when they met, but, given that the last time that had occurred was when Ajax's sword had slunk down the river to come rest with him in the Hall of Heroes, they were never particularly close.

On and on they sailed, neither man daring to ask as to the other's thoughts. On and on they sailed, both men delving deep into their minds, allowing memories to rise and then blow away, like hot air over a cauldron.

On and on, through the eternally luminescent darkness of the Styx.

It was beautiful here. Hades had always thought so. The way the souls who stayed glimmered over the river, the Greeks wandering over the banks, joyful in their return to a simple life. They weren't meant to be here, but he had no choice. There were so many of them now, especially with the wars taking young men's life by the thousand on the front lines, young women's lives as they guarded their cities. Most of his visits to the Mountain were regarding the cramping Hell hath now been delivered.

They drifted past the entrance to Tartarus, the boat shivering slightly as haunted tremors shook the water faintly. Hades grasped the side of the boat roughly, holding the enchantment in his mind, strengthening the folds of the gateway, before relaxing. It would not happen again. They could not escape again. He exhaled, drained now, and signalled, with a soft fluttering of his right hand, for Charon to steer the rudder to the left, towards the large hill where his personal chambers lay. The ferryman nodded, and adjusted his grip on the splintered oar. 

"Styx has been ... more ... insistent, than usual."

He closed his eyes. He knew. The change was scaring her, just as it was scaring the rest of them, and, although she would never admit it, she needed comfort. 

He couldn't. He was down here, rotting in solitude, unable to leave and spend a millennia or two with no responsibilities, no cares or worries. And she wasn't a goddess, no, she was of the Titans. Born to kill, and maim, and torture. He could not look into her face, the eyes of galaxies reflected in faraway oceans, beauty of angelic disgrace, teeth of poisonous eels who lay waiting in rolling seagrass, without seeing traits of his father, feeling his black blood pool in his hands. 

He opened his eyes.

"I shall speak with her. I have let her run amok in my kingdom for too long."

There was a silence, the only sound the caress of dark water against the trembling boat and little souls drifting past, encapsulated in the tender arms of oblivion. It was always quiet here. He liked that.

"I see your loneliness, my lord," Charon spoke softly, a fresh, saline breeze kissing his tangled mane of grey. 

"It is my burden to bear," Hades snapped, unintentionally, before coiling into himself again. The boatman nodded, and maintained his characteristic muteness. 

It happened often, little flares of rage. He attempted to keep it far, far down in himself, never letting it escape, but sometimes he wasn't swift enough.