Chapter Text
[People say the Gods are cruel. People are usually right, but they can also be kind].
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have come.
That is the only thought Dick has as he props himself up against the bar, a tumbler in hand watching the other Gods and Goddesses enjoy the festivities. The solstice is upon them, the party in full swing. The alcohol flows freely, as do many tongues and tempers. Dick stands to the side, distant from it all. He wishes he could ignore the feel of eyes watching him, judging him, assessing him. They mark him as an outsider, a thing to be feared.
The Lord of the Underworld at a party. The concept is laughable.
Yet, he gets so little opportunity to come topside. To relish in the beauty of the world above and take a break from the heat of his domain below. Bruce insisted on his presence tonight, despite Dick’s initial protest and he knows better than most that no one denies Zeus anything he wants.
Dick is living proof of that fact, the cautionary tale recounted by the others in warning. He disobeyed Bruce’s orders once and in return, Bruce shackled him to the underworld, to the dead. He exiled him to a domain of loss and pain because Dick dared to challenge his order, dared to defy Bruce to save Donna’s life.
“If you wish to cheat death, then I will happily oblige you.”
His existence has been this way for centuries, Bruce’s temper cruel and his will as stubborn as they come. Dick has made his peace with it, has found a rhythm in his kingdom and his power. He doesn’t wish to anger Bruce further, but he no longer wishes for forgiveness either.
He got what he wanted after all.
The other Gods are scared of him, his power, his control over what happens to them after they die. They avoid him, for good reason. Dick has made his distaste of them known and these days so very few Gods who come to barter with him for a soul succeed.
The Gods are not kind, he reminds himself, they don’t deserve saving.
He includes himself in that appraisal.
A violin is playing a soft melody across the room and more wine is being brought out on silver trays. Tonight is about decadence, indulgence. It’s not often all these Gods gather together, the last time it happened Dick is pretty sure it started a war. But that was a long time ago and he has long since stopped caring about the petty affairs of the others.
He sees a dark head of curls weave her way through the crowd towards him and straightens instinctively, preparing himself for the hurricane coming his way. The Goddess of War is beautiful and bold, as sharp as a sword and twice as deadly. Tonight she wears a startling shade of blue, golden sandals laced up her calf. It’s the metal chest plate that garners a smile from him, polished to perfection as if she’s about to ride into battle at any moment.
“Donna.” He greets as she closes the gap between them, not reaching out to touch him but standing far closer than she should with an audience as grand as this one, “You look lovely. Where’s the battlefield?”
“Over by the food table if Hank tries to convince me to hold another tournament in his honour.” She replies without missing a beat as she settles in at his side, leaning against the bar, “Honestly, three tournaments was three too many in my opinion.”
Dick’s smile grows, “You did name him as champion. You should have seen this coming.”
“Oh, I did.” She agrees, nudging him with her elbow, “What I didn’t see coming was you. Coming here, I mean. Social gatherings aren’t normally your thing.”
“Bruce insisted.”
The scowl on Donna’s face as she scans the crowd tells him enough to know she isn’t happy about being forced to attend either. Dick likes Donna, respects her a great deal more than anyone else in this room. They go hand-in-hand, death and war. They’ve spent far too many nights passing a bottle of wine between them in the Underworld as they discuss the cost, the worth of a life, the worth of theirs.
When she died in battle, Dick travelled to the Underworld to retreat her soul. They don’t talk about the fact his exile is because he deemed her soul worthy enough to be saved when Bruce didn’t. There is too much guilt there on Donna’s part, too much anger on Dick’s. The air feels too heavy with unspoken things to start speaking them now.
But Donna’s gratitude shines through in every visit she makes to his realm when she’s not supposed to, when no other God does. They play chess and Donna pretends it’s normal. To be friends with the King of Hell. Dick loves her for that, the ease she sets in him with every visit.
“You could have dressed up.” She remarks with a raised eyebrow.
Dick looks down at his outfit, pressed trousers, shirt, and jacket all in solid black, “I did.”
“How long have you been standing here?”
He shifts his feet at the question, swirling the liquid around in his glass, “A while.”
Donna nods as if he confirmed her suspicions, “He’s a bastard.” She mutters, “Forcing you to come here as a remember that you’ve been outcast.”
“The wine is good.” Dick sighs, “And Gar is filling up on food to smuggle back with us as we speak.”
Her eyes widen, standing on tiptoes to peer over the heads of the partygoers to try and spot a familiar bolt of green, “You brought Gar?”
“Bruce might be a bastard but I’m sneaky.” Dick replies as he takes a sip of his glass, “Besides, he’s in his human disguise. Bruce will never even know.”
Dick can’t see Gar in the throng of people, but he knows he won’t have strayed far from the food table. He’s always hungry and manages to consume enough food to feed a small army… or a rather large three-headed dog.
Gar was another soul Dick saved, although Bruce doesn’t know about his existence. A ward of the underworld, a mere boy to most yet when threatened Gar can transform into the most fearsome thing. A protector of his home and of Dick in a way he never could have predicted when he came across a soul that died of an illness a long time ago.
Something had changed him and Dick still wasn’t sure whether it was his power or Gar’s mortal will. He’ll probably never know unless Fate decide to tell him, which she hasn’t done yet. Fate has her own agenda and while Dick is particularly fond of the wise girl with ice blue eyes, he never pretends to know what exactly that agenda is.
From somewhere to his right, laughter rings out. It’s high and melodic and captures his attention like a sudden burst of sunshine. Dick’s eyes find her immediately, standing amongst a group of other Goddesses with a glass of wine in hand and a smile on her face.
She’s beautiful. Easily the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Her skin glows under the lights of the room, her hair a dark curtain of soft curls down her back. He leans forward as if to see her better and the woman turns, her dress swaying with her as she does.
She’s flawless.
In a cream dress that sits just off her shoulders and drapes down her arms, her body, like a pool of water. Soft and delicate, there are flowers dotted along the bodice he notices, white and barely there but he sees them anyway. She looks the exactly opposite of him, standing at the edge of the room dressed in black as if he were a shadow. She commands the room with her smile, her grace, a light that seems to come from her and from nowhere at the same time.
Dick’s never seen her before and yet, there is no doubt in his mind that she belongs here. A Goddess of a completely different calibre.
Donna leans forward as well, tracking his gaze to see what’s drawn the attention of the King of Hell, “Myand’r brought his daughter.” She fills in for him, “Persephone. Well, she goes by Koriand’r these days. She’s been struggling with her powers for the past few years so he kept her away but clearly, he’s decided it’s time to put her in the spotlight.”
A spotlight, indeed. Koriand’r draws everything else in the room into her orbit, even him. Especially him. Dick feels his mouth go dry, the glass in his hand suddenly heavy as he drinks her in. The Goddess of Spring, he realises, watching as flowers bloom in her hair as she laughs once more. Blue forget-me-nots that weave themselves through her curls, her power working with her mood.
The perfect flower for her, he thinks, because he certainly won’t be able to forget her after tonight.
He has never had many dealings with Myand’r, their paths don’t exactly cross. Dick’s path doesn’t cross with anyone’s (except Donna’s and only because she insists on coming to his realm uninvited to keep a thread of their friendship). He wasn’t even aware Myand’r had a daughter but there is no denying her existence now.
Her presence in this room of petty Gods could rival the sun in the sky, warm and gentle and serene. But there is something else there, something he can’t put his finger on. Something in the way she holds the stem of her wine glass a little too tightly to be carefree. Something in the set of her shoulders that makes his own spine ache in sympathy.
Dick’s sure even the sun would get tired of shining on everyone else constantly.
Her father approaches at her back, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to draw her attention as another man steps forward. Kovar, Dick recognises him instantly, the God of Wine. He watches the smile on her face, tight lipped but carefully constructed as she squares her shoulders. She looks uncomfortable, annoyed even.
Everything in him yearns to know why.
Donna plucks the glass out of his hand with a flourish, bringing it up to her lips to down the rest of his drink in one go, “You’re brooding.”
“I don’t brood.” Dick replies tersely without taking his eyes off Koriand’r, the set of her shoulders, the way her eyes flash an impossible green. Green like the meadows of spring, green like the forests near the mountains, green like growth.
At his side, Donna huffs out a laugh that quickly turns into a snort of protest, “Of course not. Tall, dark and brooding is definitely not a perfect description of you.”
He chooses to ignore the bait she’s served him and nods his head towards where his attention rests, “Does she look angry to you?” He asks Donna, brows furrowing in confusion.
The Goddess of Spring does indeed look angry, livid would probably be a better description. The flowers in her hair seem to rustle along with her at the tense discussion she’s engaged in with her father while Kovar stands awkwardly at his elbow, assessing them both with embarrassment and outrage.
There’s something impossible in him that rises to the surface, a desire to go over there and find out for himself what’s happening. Except that can’t be right, he doesn’t desire anything. Not anymore. Not when he knows how easy it is to lose something. He lives his existence cut off, alone, adrift and Dick prefers it that way. He’s bitter and cold and angry and while Donna might give him hell for it, it also keeps him safe from situations like this one.
“Why do you…” Donna’s voice is drowned out by another. By her.
“Like Hell.”
Those two words echo around the room, silencing it with the weight of them. The curse in her voice as she throws them at her father. Koriand’r freezes the minute she registers what she just said, the attention she has gained. Myand’r looks murderous, a God draped in wraith.
Dick can’t so much as breath as all eyes turn from the Goddess of Spring to him. The Ruler of Hell. She might as well have cursed her father using his name, a mention of Tartarus would have been more subtle.
But she made a curse to Hell and Hell was about to answer it. Dick could feel the power rippling off her in her anger, something destructive and icy compared to her mood before. Her eyes find him last, as if she’s trying not to look but can’t help herself. She takes him in, and Dick stares right back at her.
There are at least a hundred other people in this room, a couple of dozen between them and yet his eyes are for her alone. Her curse rolling around in his chest like a tether between them. A rolling storm cloud on a clear night.
No one ever invokes any approximation of him or his realm out loud. Especially not when Dick’s in earshot. They’re too scared he’ll answer, too scared for the bargain he might strike, of the repercussion of such a curse.
The Goddess of Spring doesn’t cower to him, doesn’t look away. Her green eyes flash with shock but not fear as she studies him like he’s a painting to a muse. Behind her back, people will talk about this moment he knows. They’ll call her foolish to invoke his presence, they’ll call her wild, reckless.
Dick has another name for the Goddess of Spring however: brave.
What a brave thing to do to curse to the pits of Hell when the gatekeeper is standing right there.
She breaks eye contact first, her body jolting as if she could feel the ripple of power as well. She tears her eyes away from him to look at her father. Dick watches her mouth open and close, trying to find something to say. In the end, the words don’t seem to com, and she lowers her head, making her way across the room through the bustle of bodies for a chance of a reprieve.
He’s rooted to the spot as the party picks back up, as Myand’r turns to Kovar with a face of apology. Dick’s eyes linger on the trail Koriand’r carved out for herself, focusing on the tug of something low and dark in his gut.
“What was that?” Donna asks at his side, incredulous and stunned.
Dick doesn’t answer her because every muscle and bone in his body is yearning to follow the Goddess of Spring. To try and understand how a Goddess of such lightness and sunshine could invoke his darkness in her tone without a second thought.
What sort of Goddess dares?
He spares a glance at Donna before he slips from the room. If she knows where he’s going then she makes no comment, but she isn’t happy about it. That is clear from the hard edge in her eyes. It’s the look men see on the battlefield, the last look some men will ever see before they end up at Dick’s mercy.
Later on, he’ll have the good sense to look put-out by that look. To be suitably reprimanded by the woman who forged bloody battle after bloody battle and always came home a victor (not always, Dick reminds himself).
His power lingers in his veins like smoke in the air and no one notices him leave the party for the quiet antechamber that leads to the balcony. The same path Koriand’r walked moments ago. He clings to the shadows, and they cling back, surrounding him in something as close to invisibility as the Lord of the Dead can get.
The warm night air hits him as the antechamber opens up onto the balcony beyond, the views of the city below divine whilst also mocking him. This is a view he rarely gets to see, to enjoy. Such a thing is a luxury that spikes at his bitterness.
The Goddess of Spring isn’t even looking at the view, alone on the balcony in the dim light illuminating her from the antechamber behind them. Even now, there is something so impossibly sad about her. Impossibly complex and insistent that he wants to understand.
Dick steps forward, lingering in the shadows as he takes her in for the second time tonight.
The first time he saw her in that crowded room full of Gods she captured his attention entirely. This time, as he works up the nerve to talk to her, she’s glowing. A beacon of light erupting out of her skin. Not in happiness, he knows, but in pure unfiltered and barely contained anger. He can taste it on the tip of his tongue, feel the prick of it against his fingers. Her skin is burning orange, eyes luminous in the dark as she holds onto the railing and tries to reign it back in, house it in her bones to be the Goddess they all assume she is.
But Dick sees something else in her now, something powerful and unexpected. Something he recognises from himself.
“Breathing helps.” He offers from the shadows, “Don’t hold it in. Deep breaths, slowly. Imagine them uncurling inside you, taking the rage with it.”
He mirrors the action as he steps forward, letting the shadows recede around him as he steps up to her side, one hand lingering on the railing beside her own. Her eyes latch onto him and fix him with a scowl that burns him to the spot.
“I don’t need your help, Hades.” She bites out, fast and sharp in her dismissal.
He smiles at that, the lack of fear, the lack of disgust and settles a hip against the rails, “It’s Dick. I haven’t been called Hades in centuries, unless you want me to call you Persephone, Koriand’r?”
It’s a familiarity he shouldn’t take with her. The use of her old name, the one from the old ways. The use of her chosen name. The one she goes by now. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud and the sound of it on his tongue feels almost heady.
“Kory.” She corrects distinctively, another unexpected thing she’s offering to him.
Dick’s eyes take in the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips, the spark of her eyes. She was beautiful from a distance but up close she’s breath-taking. He watches the rise and fall of her chest, the way it slows down as Kory draws a breath and exhales it with purpose. The flowers in her hair unfurl their petals as if they can sense her calmness returning. The orange glow of her skin fades like the shadows fade around him and Dick is greeted with her silky dark colouring once more.
“Well Kory, you might not have needed my help but I have managed to distract you enough that you’re no longer in danger of burning through the balcony railing with your hands alone.” He quips, sliding his hands into his pockets as Kory checks her own hands to see he’s right. She studies her palms before flipping them over to study the backs of them as well.
Dick can feel her relief, it’s palpable and taste like lemon in the air between them. A little tart but refreshing. He wonders whether there’s a part of her that wanted to destroy something, that wanted to see how far she could push it.
Her hands return to the railing as she turns away from him, taking in the view of the city as she speaks, “It happens sometimes, I can’t always get a handle on it. I think it’s because I’m…” She cuts herself off, the realisation of who she’s speaking to finally flooding in the space between them.
He pressed forward anyway because he selfishly wants to know, “What?”
For a moment, he doesn’t think she’ll answer. He thinks she’ll slip back inside to the party and pretend this conversation never happened. Dick thinks he might let her go if she did. But Kory doesn’t move an inch to make a retreat. She sighs, her shoulders slumping as the flowers in her hair flutter.
“Unworthy?” She tests in the heat of the night, settling on a word that’s as close as she can get to what she feels.
Dick feels a surge of something inside him, of protest, of anger, he wants to know where this idea came from. He wants to know where it began so he can unravel it, dissolve it from her mind so it never plagues her again.
Instead, he offers her a quick rebuttal, “Well, it’s definitely not that.”
He doesn’t know how he knows that with such confidence, but he does. Kory might be many things but unworthy will never be one of them. Dick is as sure of that as he is of death, of life, of his own existence.
It’s not himself who needs convincing here and it’s not his place to do so.
“I grow flowers. I bring life but when I feel overwhelmed something else takes over.” Kory replies, that frustration he saw on her face at the party bleeding back into her features. Something her father no doubt would disagree with.
Dick quite likes it though, someone who rises to a challenge rather than backs away from one.
“You power is like the sun, Kory. It’s beautiful and bold and destructive. Balance in all things. Life and death. Creation and destruction.” He doesn’t know anything about her power, not really, he barely knows his own and yet he knows this for sure. Knows she isn’t the wall flower she seems to think she is or the light she bleeds for everyone else to enjoy, “I don’t think one can exist without the other.”
That he knows.
His power brings death, permeance, grief but there are times when that’s not all he is. He saved Donna’s soul. He saved Gar’s. He bows to death, serves it but there are times when death is more of a friend to him that he is to it. When Dick demands a favour and something ancient and forever listens.
Kory blinks up at him, studying him again with that look of hers. Inquisitory and curious, as if he’s a flower in her garden she’s watching grow from the ground up.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” She tells him but Dick already knew that, “The others are scared to even mention your name.”
“Yes.” Dick replies, “Are you?”
There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to know the answer, that doesn’t want to hear her tell him words recited by other Gods in warning.
She shakes her head, “No.” She concedes, “But I didn’t mean to say that either.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t throw your father in a pit.” A smile forms on his face, dark and sinful, “Unless you ask me directly.”
Kory turns to face him properly, angling her body in his direction like she’s decided the view of him is better than the one of the city below. Dick swallows thickly, his throat dry as he waits for her to speak.
“He expects me to dance with Kovar.” Kory explains, not the direction Dick expected this conversation to go but he fills in the gaps in the scene he witnessed at the party, “He’s hoping it will make a good match.”
He doesn’t know why his blood starts to boil but it does, hot and burning in his veins at the image of her and Kovar in his mind. Kovar is a short, pudgy man but Dick knows why the match would make sense to her father. Sunlight and merriment, the two should go hand-in-hand. They should complement each other and yet, Dick can’t see how Kory would ever have anything to say to Kovar. Her power is the heat of a thousand suns, and he can make wine flow. They are not the same.
It occurs to him then that Kory has no idea how powerful she is.
“And what do you want?” Dick asks softly, careful with his words, with the liberties he is taking just by having a single conversation with her.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she considers how to answer, and Dick ignores the rush of blood inside him. Ignores the image seared onto his brain of capturing that lower lip between his own teeth.
“To be happy.” Kory admits in a voice barely more than a whisper, “To be free.”
That’s the moment his heart cleaves in two, his world as divided as his kingdom below and everyone else’s above. He sees her then, a sun covered by an eclipse. A sense of darkness surrounding her that she’s been told is wrong.
He wants to fall at her feet for everything she’s struggling with. The darkness singing in her veins at war with the sunshine she offers to everyone else. He wants to offer her freedom although he doesn’t know how to give it to her. He wants to offer her anything she desires if there’s a chance to put a smile on her face that’s pure and genuine.
He wants to give her something, real and tangible. Something sacred, spoken in the language she can understand.
“Sorry, I…” She trails off again and Dick knows she’s ready to run, to forget this meeting ever happened.
Extending a hand outward, palm up for inspection, Dick calls for his power. Kory watches the tendrils of darkness ripple over his wrist, curling in his palm as he summons something for her, creating something beautiful and eternal out of the darkness she thinks she needs to hide.
Something soft and delicate forms in his palm and Dick pulls his power back, offering his creation to her with a smirk that hides the way his heart races.
Kory’s fingers brush against his gift in reverence, in awe, in disbelief as they both stare down at the black rose in his palm. It’s a bud really, not yet fully bloomed with petals as black as ink and a thick green stem. It’s not perfect, not the way she creates them, but it’s eternal. Forged in darkness, protected against withering.
“It’s beautiful.” She tells him as she takes it from his palm with gentle fingers. There’s a jolt of electricity through his skin as she touches him, taking the bud and holding it out between them to study it further, “A black rose?”
“I’m afraid flowers aren’t my area of expertise,” Dick smiles, “It will never die though. Something pure created out of something dark.”
Kory shakes her head, “Or something dark created out of something pure.”
“Perhaps the difference between them isn’t as great as we think.” He offers, watching Kory twirl the rose between her thumb and forefinger. “If you don’t want to dance with Kovar, then you shouldn’t dance with him.” He adds because he can’t help himself.
She doesn’t take her eyes off the bud in her hand, “You don’t know my father.”
“You stared down the King of the Underworld tonight. I think your father’s the one who should be afraid of you.” Dick reasons softly.
It gets a triumphant smile from her that makes him feel like sunlight rather than ash, her power rather that his. Kory takes the bud he gave her, tucking it into her curls behind her ear. Even in the dim light, the black petals of his rose stand out against the glossy curls of her hair.
Dick bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from cursing.
“Thank you.” Kory tells him softly and Dick freezes. No one has ever thanked him before. He’s unsure what to do with it. How to respond.
He settles on a shrug, “It’s just a flower.”
“It’s not the flower I’m thanking you for.”
She breezes past him like the wind in summer, a warmth that’s fleeting but pleasant and before Dick can register her loss, she’s gone and he’s alone on the balcony in the warm of the night, his fingers tingling where hers brushed his skin, his heart beating a foreign melody in his chest.
There’s an ache in him that he doesn’t recognise. It’s acute and fierce and prickly.
He stays out on the balcony for a little while longer, Kory’s presence lingers with him despite the fact Dick wishes it wouldn’t. It’s dangerous, to stay in this moment he knows. To think about the Goddess of Spring in such a way that suits the shadows surrounding him, the name he has earned over the years.
When he does manage to make his way back into the party, he decides it’s time to go. To put this night, this woman, behind him. He’s already scanning the crowds for Gar, making up an excuse in his head about why they have to leave. His chest is achy, a tingle pressing against the base of his spine.
He catches a flash of black out of the corner of his eye. His rose. In her hair.
Dick’s shocked it’s still there, that she hasn’t thrown it away before she entered the ballroom once more. A dangerous choice, he thinks, as he takes in the colour on her. A spark of black, a sliver of darkness. Something that belongs to him.
The ache inside him grows.
Perhaps no one will think anything of it, he reassures himself. It’s a rose and she is the Goddess of Spring after all. The colour being his could have been a coincidence. Except, Dick knows better. The ghost of her fingers against his palm. The ripple of his power tucked behind her ear.
As if he marked her. As if he laid a claim on her.
As if she were his.
He curls his hand into a fist to stop the itch in his fingers, he needs to find Gar. He needs to leave.
Dick does neither of those things though because at that moment, he watches Kovar approach her with a smile that screams lewd intentions and eyes full of lust. Would the God of Wine and Merriment still be merry if Dick cut off a hand? Burned out his eyes?
There’s a satisfaction in him that swells at Kory’s refusal to dance. Not for him or his ego but for her. For the confidence she exerts, the fire in her eyes that she seems to prefer to keep hidden.
She’s got this, he knows. Something about their talk resonated with her.
But then Kovar grabs her hand and Dick feels shadows trying to rip out of his skin. It’s barely a gesture. But Kory looks uncomfortable at Kovar’s insistence, at his urging for one dance. She tries to pull her hand away and Dick contemplates the best way to murder another God. He doesn’t own a God’s Blade, the only weapon capable of truly killing one of them, but he does know a thing or two about pain, about eternal damnation. He could easily teach Kovar all about that.
Her father is there now, not helping her in her refusal but helping Kovar in his conquest of a dance. Dick’s mouth sets into a grim line and before he knows it, he’s making his way over to them. To her. Because his eyes are for her and her alone. He feels the pull from her, a rumble of something seconds for exploding or shattering. Both, maybe. He allows her to draw him in, smoothing a hand down his black jacket as he plasters an easy smile on his face.
Another dangerous choice he’s making tonight.
He can almost hear Kory in his head asking him one very simple thing: “What’s wrong with dangerous?”
It seems they’re both about to find out.
He’s as soundless as a shadow as he stalks his way over there but Kory’s eyes latch onto him as he approaches as if she could sense him. Her gaze his fixed to him over Kovar’s shoulder and Dick almost stumbles in his stride at the flames licking behind her eyes. She could burn him where he stands and he’d probably find it sexy.
“A wonderful evening,” Dick greets, coming to a stop next to Kovar as he glances down at Kory’s hand still locked in his meaty grip. He can feel the stares on him. The smell of fear rolling off Kovar, the dread vibrating around Myand’r at his mere presence, the curiosity in every line of Kory’s body. There’s probably a part of her that wants nothing from him, nothing to do with him, except forget their little conversation ever happened but Dick knows there’s another part that’s intrigued by him.
He doesn’t focus on any of those emotions surrounding him like a vice though because Kory’s hand in Kovar’s grip has stolen his attention. Her fingers are orange, glowing with the sparks of her power, the violence of fire threatening to unleash itself on his grip. She seems to notice it at the same time he does, a look of panic on her face as she tries to tug her hand away without success. Kovar and her father are too busy looking at Dick to notice. She’ll burn him, Dick knows, if he doesn’t let her go. She’s not in control of her power this time, it’s controlling her, her emotions feeding it.
“Indeed,” Kovar says as last, a cautious tone that holds the promise of unease, “I was just about to convince Koriand’r to dance with me before calling it a night.”
Kory’s jaw clenches, like she’s trying to hold back a tidal wave, like she could burn through this man as if he were nothing but parchment. She doesn’t want to do it, he knows, or maybe she does. But not like this. Not in a room full of people. Not with her father standing next to her.
Dick acts before he can think, gently grabbing her hand from Kovar’s grip into a loose hold of his own. His fingers wrap around hers lightly, giving her enough opportunity to extract herself if she wants. He isn’t Kovar, he isn’t here to force her. But he calls his power for her, in service of hers, his touch turning icy to cool the burning tips of her fingers. His power soothes hers, the orange glow fading from her skin in his grip. Dick feels the slight pressure of Kory’s fingers squeezes his in gratitude. The second time she’s offered it to him tonight. He doesn’t squeeze back.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut in.” Dick tells Kovar with a smirk as sly as the night sky, “It’s been an eternity since I danced.”
Myand’r is the one to object, pushing past his fear of the Lord of the Underworld, “I absolutely won’t allow it.”
“She invoked my realm tonight,” Dick purrs, playing the enemy Myand’r knows him to be, “By the old law I could take her to the Underworld and keep her there forever. Be thankful a dance is the only price I seek.”
Kory is watching him, making no attempt to remove her hand from his but a slight frown takes over her face at his words. Silently, he begs her to play along. He had no desire to dance with her before he said it and now, Dick desires nothing else.
Her father’s voice is hard, “You take her, you start a war.”
“I love war. It keeps me busy.” Dick retorts, “But I’ll settle for a dance if the Goddess agrees?”
All eyes turn to Kory and Dick wonders what her choice will be, wonders if he overstepped by forcing this decision on her under the guise of help. He loosens his hold a little, a non-verbal communication that it is still her choice.
Her eyes meet his in a flash of something he can’t decipher, “It’s fine.” Kory relents with a look of contempt, “I can handle one dance.” She assures her father as she takes a step closer to Dick.
He smiles wide, a flash of teeth as he whisks her away from her father and Kovar, both staring after them with looks of anger and murderous intent. Dick ignores them completely as he finds a space on the floor in between the hordes of people and drops her hand.
“Did you just threaten to kidnap me?” Kory asks in a harsh whisper. A tone he hasn’t heard from her yet but finds it tightens something at the base of his spine.
Dick has the decency to look regretful, “I didn’t think you’d want to unleash your power in front of all the Gods in existence. They have no idea, do they?”
“My power is my business.” She tells him sharply, “Aren’t we meant to be dancing?”
The question throws him, “Not if you don’t want to. I just wanted to get you away from Kovar.”
She blinks at him for a moment, as if stunned by his response before taking a small step towards him, holding up her arm with her palm outstretched to him. The starting position for the dance everyone else around them is doing. A silent invitation, he knows, and Dick isn’t about to let it pass him by.
He takes a step towards her as well, palm out to mirror hers so he can feel the heat of her palm near his, not touching but close enough. Kory nods as the violins start up, a new song for their dance, and Dick takes the lead, guiding Kory to the left as they circle each other in a slow movement for a beat before turning with the opposite palm and doing the same in reverse.
“You’re more powerful than you know.” Dick tells her softly as they circle each other, his eyes locked onto hers, “More powerful than anyone in this room could comprehend. Yet, you hide it.”
Kory huffs as they turn again, “But you felt the need to save me anyway?”
The music around them picks up speed as the beat changes and Dick lets his hand drop, closing the gap between them to settle a hand on her waist and pull her towards him. Kory lets out a small gasp at their closeness as her hand finds his shoulder, fingers digging into his black jacket. Dick takes her other hand in his, rough meeting smooth, cold meeting warmth.
“Trust me Goddess, I was more than willing to let you burn his hand to ash without blinking.” Dick replies, moving them around the small space they carved out for themselves as the music plays.
Kory follows his lead, but he can’t help but feel like she’s the one in control as they dance, the raw heat of her tickling his power in a way that makes his toes curl, “They wouldn’t like it. If they knew about the extent of my power. My father wants me to grow flowers, create gardens. He wants beauty and perfection.”
Dick’s hand spans her waist, fingers splayed out wide, “Then your father is a fool.”
“You just threatened war for a dance with me.” She points out, green eyes meeting brown as the crowd around them seems to fizzle from his mind. The feel of her in his arms is too much and Dick has to force himself to keep his hold loose, easy to break out of. Kory seems to realise that’s what he’s doing and tries to get closer.
Damn her.
Dick dips her suddenly, palm against her spine as Kory trusts her body to him, trusts him to hold her up as she bends backwards, Dick’s body follows hers like a lovesick fool in the heat of summer.
“Well, you are an exquisite dance partner,” He tells her roughly, “I’d happily go to war for this.”
He brings her back up in a rush of cream silk and dark curls, her eyes sparkling with amusement now. Dick has to bite his cheek to keep a groan from escaping his lips. She’s beautiful and he’s more than a little breathless.
Kory settles back into him as they sway, her hand in his and Dick chances a glance over her shoulder before wishing he hadn’t. He frowns, tilting his mouth towards her ear, “I should warn you Goddess, everyone is staring.”
She freezes in his arms for a moment and Dick knows without seeing her that she’s looking at the crowd of Gods pretending not to be gawking at them, “Clearly they didn’t know the Lord of the Underworld can dance.”
“It’s not me they’re staring at.” He replies, “You’re the one dancing with death.”
Her hand tightens around his, “I’m not afraid of you, Dick.”
Perhaps not, but she should be. There’s a part of him that’s terrified of her, of the effect she has on him, of the things she seems to invoke in him with every glance. Still, he can’t help the thrill that goes through him at her words. The way his body heats up from the fact she hasn’t pulled away from him yet.
Their dance ends too soon, the violin softening out for the last notes and Dick finds himself staring into those pools of luminous green as they come to a stop yet make no move to separate.
“Thank you for the dance.” Dick tells her, a quirk of a smile on his lips.
“Promise me you won’t kidnap me in my sleep?” She replies, lightness playing in her eyes.
That gets a smirk from him, “A promise from me is a dangerous thing.”
“Dick.”
“I promise I won’t disturb your sleep.” He assures her, “Unless you call for me.” His voice drips with something not appropriate for a crowded room and he feels a prick of heat from her fingers against his own.
Kory presses closer to whisper into his ear, “My father owns a God’s blade. I’m not against stabbing you.”
Dick tries to hide his shiver at the threat, at the conviction behind it, at the boldness of it. She just threatened him. The King of Hell. She’s either braver than Zeus or she’s mad. Dick finds he respects it though, her boldness, the rare display of the Goddess she pretends not to be.
He nods in understanding as he releases her from his hold, “Well, forgive me if I insist on searching you the next time we meet. For my own protection, of course.”
Kory smiles at him sweetly, then she does something very unexpected. She bows. To him. Her head lowers as she dips, one hand fanning out the material of her cream gown, “My Lord.”
The air whooshes from his lungs and his tongue gets stuck to the roof of his mouth. Dangerous, he reminds himself, so very dangerous.
Kory straightens just as quickly, the laughter on her face tells him that his look of shock is a picture. Before she can leave or proper sense can return to him, Dick bows back to her. There’s a gasp of surprise from somewhere behind him. The God of the Underworld doesn’t bow. Not to anyone. Not to anything.
Even Kory looks shocked at his actions.
“Goddess.” He responds, no smile on his face as he straightens. Dick turns on his heel and parts the crowd in his hasty retreat to put some distance between himself and the Goddess of Spring.
This is not going to end well, he knows.
(Dick knows he’s screwed from the moment he sees her smile at him for the first time. He just had to develop a crush on the Goddess of Spring, of Sunlight. The bringer of life when he only knows death. Yet, there will be nights after this that he contemplates whether darkness really does seek out darkness. Maybe Kory as a little bit of that in her. She flirted back with him after all).
/
Dick spends the next few weeks pretending that night never happened. He stays in the Underworld and continues to throw himself into his work with reckless abandonment. It’s easier than thinking of her. If Gar notices the change in him then he wisely doesn’t comment, instead he silently watches Dick plough the fields until he’s sweaty and exhausted, he lingers with him as he walks the length of his realm to survey the souls in his care, stands to the side as Dick judges soul after soul that crosses into his domain in order to find them the right place to rest.
It's tedious work, tiresome, and it still doesn’t stop him thinking about her.
It becomes something for a secret he harbours, recalling their dance together, their talk, her smile. Moments he saves up to return to when he finds a moment to be still, when the thoughts of her invade him without his permission.
Dick realises it becomes pining the moment he decides to check in on her, to see how she spends her days topside. It’s curiosity about her, the Goddess who pretends to be weak and compliant yet threatened to stab him after one dance. It’s infatuation at best, he reassures him, and he simply needs to rid himself of thoughts of her. Purge her from his mind.
If only it were that easy.
He uses the reflecting pools in the palace, his time topside is limited by Bruce and at most he can afford an hour or two a day before he’s dragged back to his domain weak and exhausted. He isn’t meant to enjoy the world above or the people that live in such beauty, he’s meant to be separate from it. Constantly reminded of what he longs for yet always denied it.
The water allows him to see it from a distance and when he focuses on Kory’s face, on the power rippling through her veins and the black rose she put into her hair, the surface ripples until he sees her.
Dick watches her kiss her father’s cheek, agree to his every word, play the perfect daughter without so much as a slip in her mask. She spends long hours out of the house though, frequenting a meadow nearby that drowns in rows of flowers and rich green grass. Her domain, he thinks, that she created for herself. A place where she can let it go, let herself breathe.
She’s as trapped as he is.
Her fingers burrow into the earth and weave impossible things, vines and tulips and wisteria and roses. She experiments here. Colours that don’t fit. Her roses are purple. Her tulips are white. She grows brambles with sharp thorns that could draw blood, she pulls trees from the ground that ascend to the sky that are ancient and forever.
Kory’s skin glows orange. She rivals the heat of a thousand suns. Her power clings to the air in thick waves of summer.
Dick pretends he doesn’t long to see her again.
It becomes something of a routine, a moment where he allows himself to check on her as if he were a friend calling round to inquire about her day. The reflecting pools give him a glimpse of her and the more he sees, the more he understands.
Her smile is never as big as when he saw it in person, her eyes don’t shine with the same amusement and fire. She’s a dragonfly trapped in a jar, battering against the sides in the hope of freedom. His heart aches in understanding.
Kory’s power takes a toll, he realises, she burns too hot and too bright. She can’t always control it. He watches her burn through the trunk of a tree with her palm one afternoon when the air above is sticky with heat, and he has run out of distractions for the day. She’s angry, but he doesn’t know why. Her power bursts from her like flames leaping up from a fire. Destruction marks the tree she brought to life.
Destruction marks her.
Dick thinks it must scare her, the depths of her power, not knowing how to control it when she keeps it hidden from everyone else. Kory has nightmares, ones that rouse her from her sleep in the middle of the night with a gasp and a frantic wild look in her eyes.
Dick longs to help her.
He has no control over dreams and there is little he can do when he’s trapped below but he conjures up a black rose bud, small and as eternal as the one he first offered her and uses shadows to leave it on her dresser for when she wakes. A reminder that darkness can be beautiful, a reminder that perfect isn’t always what we think it will be.
He watches her find it the next morning, wonders whether she’s connected the dots about where it came from. She weaves it into her hair, nestled amongst the curls and Dick tries not to think about the feel of petals stroking along her bare skin.
Not just dangerous then, he thinks to himself, addictive.
The dreams come without his permission and much like her nightmares, he can’t seem to get rid of them. Of her.
In his dreams Kory smiles, blindingly and beautifully, stretched out in his bed as if she belongs there. In his dreams, she pulls him down and he is lost to her. The heat, the power, she makes his body tremble and his pulse quicken. In his dreams, he dreams of them.
The press of her body against his, the little hitch in her breath when he enters her and steals the air from her lungs. The way she’d scream his name when his head is buried between her thighs. The way she’d command him, silently and vocally, the way she’d be able to let herself go with him. He’d let her burn his whole palace to the damn ground if it meant he got to see her come undone by his hands.
(Dick wakes up hard and panting, the heat of her body lingering in his mind, the press of her lips a phantom that sends sparks through his blood. He is the King of the Damned and if there is one thing he knows, it’s that the Goddess of Spring should not look that good in black).
A month passes and still Kory refuses to leave his mind, burrowing deeper and deeper with each passing day. He doesn’t understand why she has this effect on him after one meeting, doesn’t understand why his desire for her roars in his blood like a violent thing.
But he knows someone who might.
Rachel doesn’t like visitors; her solitude helps her focus on her visions and for that reason alone Dick offered her space in his realm. He doesn’t get many visitors after all, and Rachel likes the quiet.
He makes the trek to her early one morning, a stash of chocolate in his pocket that he sent Gar to retrieve from the world above the night before. Her weakness, dark and rich and a little sticky from the heat. He needs a favour after all and while he might be the Lord of the Underworld, he still has some manners.
She’s so young, that’s the first thought that always strikes him when he visits her, so untethered to the world. She is Fate itself, she belongs in all places, to all things, but never truly resides in any of them. He wishes he knew a way to ground her for a moment, let her experience a single minute without seeing everything that has ever happened or ever will.
Her hair is blue, her cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and her pale face enhances her eyes. Icy blue and all-knowing but she smiles at him like she’s happy to see him and he presents her the chocolate in his pocket with a smile of his own. Rachel doesn’t always see things the way they are meant to be, he knows, but she’s never refused to help him.
“You’ve come to ask about her.” Rachel greets, snapping a corner off the chocolate in sheer delight, “I’ve been waiting.”
Dick finds it hard to keep up in a conversation with her. Sometimes they play chess together, but she always wins. He wonders whether she likes the company or whether she tolerates it because she’s made her home in his realm. He hopes it’s the former.
“I’m not sure what to ask.” He admits as Rachel pops a chunk of chocolate in her mouth, savouring the taste. She offers him a piece and Dick declines, he brought it for her to enjoy and he doesn’t want to rob her of a single ounce of it.
She nods, her black robe fanning out behind her like the wings of a raven, “I believe you do.”
She already knows how this conversation will go; he’s still figuring it out. It’s frustrating and confusing yet Rachel is always patient and gracious with his denial. He should have brought her more chocolate.
Dick tries to focus, knows he needs to ask the right question to receive the right answer. She sees fate, she sees the potential of something, of all things, but she cannot see which path that potential will ultimately take.
“The Goddess of Spring,” Dick starts, ignoring Rachel’s grin, “Her power, is it safe? Will it overwhelm her?”
It’s funny that the first question he asks is about Kory’s safety, but Dick tries not to think about the implications of that.
Rachel tilts her head to one side, “It has the potential to. But it is her fate to find a way to control it not yours. She can’t do that until she decides who she really is.”
He goes through his list of questions in his mind, trying to choose the right ones. It’s important and yet the question out of his mouth isn’t the one he really wants to ask, “Will I see her again?”
The responding smile is enough of an answer, but she speaks anyway, “Yes, on her terms.”
“Should I see her again?” Dick presses, a single word changing the whole meaning of his question.
“A difficult question to answer,” Rachel replies softly, “The two of you… the thread there is thick. The potential is immeasurable. She could be everything you desire, you could be everything she craves.”
“But?”
Rachel clasps her hands together, “But not everyone will be happy about it.”
“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t see her again.” Dick summarises as his stomach fills with lead and his heart stutters in his chest, “I should forget about her.”
“Can you?” Comes the replies, “The answer to the question will set the path whether you want it to or not.”
He forgets how many riddles this girl speaks in, how vague her answers are. She doesn’t tell him the future, doesn’t provide the answers. There are many possible futures after all, and it is not up to Rachel to choose them. Only to see them.
Dick knows the answer without having to voice it and by the smirk on Rachel’s youthful face he thinks she must know the answer as well.
“I bowed before her.” Dick admits softly, as if that’s the answer to everything, as if it explains so much more than his heart can comprehend.
Rachel looks at him, like she sees right through him, like he turns translucent. As fickle as a memory, as wild as a heartbeat, “She’d look good in a crown.”
Dick bites his tongue to keep himself from replying, from saying things he isn’t ready to admit to himself yet let alone to her.
Of course she would look good in a crown, he knows. She’d look good in black, she’d look on a throne besides his own but that means nothing. That doesn’t mean she wants it. That doesn’t mean she wants him.
Their fates are laced together in one way or another, that much is clear. Dick just hopes it doesn’t bring the entire world crashing down around their heads because of it.
Atlas might be able to hold up the sky, but Dick isn’t that giving. He doesn’t have that strength. No, he feels more like Icarus, burning himself apart just to reach for the sun.
But then, he doesn’t think he’d mind burning for Kory.