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It is a foolish idea, he is under no pretences that this subterfuge is not ridiculous, and demeaning for the Lord of the Underworld to partake in.
This is his domain. It ought to bend to his will alone; its residents reverent and untroubled. God forbid that a king might enjoy his kingdom rather than parse through a mountain of paperwork.
But Zagreus is trouble and irreverence personified.
His foolish attempts at escape were a mild irritant at first; his witless son rooting around in a past he had no business uncovering seeking a home that did not belong to him, throwing away all Hades had built – built for him did he not understand? It was some youthful rebellion certainly, some new attempt to spite him for whatever perceived wrongdoing he had committed. Zagreus’ mind could not stay fixed to any task; he was a useless administrator and a barely capable swordsman. He would get bored soon enough. And besides, Megara was more than capable of dispatching their errant prince.
But he did not get bored.
And then Megara emerged from the pool; dripping with blood and bristling with fury. Perhaps by surprise alone he simply admonished her and ordered her back to her post – this was a fluke, some undue interference by his invading Olympian brethren, Megara would not fall again.
But she did.
There were procedures in place, of course, the Asphodel fields were by nature inhospitable, the environment itself enough to dispatch any souls lucky enough to wander from Tartarus’ infinite rooms. The Hydra was a mighty beast, a part of him admired the creature, to nearly best that intolerable nephew of his, it earned its place of prestige in Asphodel.
And Zagreus kept killing it.
The first time he reached Elysium, Hades had roared and with his anger bought a total stillness to the house as he slammed his mighty fists against the desk of ceaseless paperwork and departed to arrange more suitable defences. Elysium was supposed to be a place of peace for the revered dead, for heroes, having earned by deed a glorious afterlife. Zagreus had earned nothing, yet continued to defile and destroy his kingdom.
And this is where the idea is formed. Theseus is an imbecile, but a capable one. If his honour is considered at risk he will do all in his capacity to defend it, and Asterius has not left the side of the king since they were united in death. The champions of Elysium are surely enough to finally halt their rebellious prince.
But of course, nothing so far has gone right without his oversight. And Theseus is of course an imbecile.
So he takes a far less conspicuous shape; resembling one of a legion of shades, tinged red, and takes his place in the crowd.
When his son arrives he is exhausted, bruised bloody and burnt in a way he does not see, always washed away by the cleansing waters of the Styx that always carried him home. The match does not last long; though the boy is quick, dashing around the pillars of the arena as his sword glints in the green glow of the stadium, but Asterius’ axe is mighty, and the favour of the gods Theseus still carries catches him off guard, and a rain of spears claims his last breath. In a flash, Zagreus’s body crumbles, and the red waters begin to rise and pool under him, ready to return him to where he belongs.
Hades rises, and returns to his throne – it would not do to leave it empty when Zagreus arrived.
He tries not to dwell on the twinge of discomfort at seeing his son’s crumpled body, the desperate screams of his wife clutching a lifeless babe ringing in a distant corner of his mind.
But she is gone, and Zagreus will not follow.
--
It becomes a habit.
Zagreus learns. He dispatches Asterius first, often weakened by earlier duels before focusing on Theseus, darting behind the shield to pepper him with attacks. It is never enough, of course, but perhaps a part of it is…. Enjoyable. This passes for entertainment around Elysium, and the roar of the crowd can be somewhat enticing when his disguise allows him to set aside his kingly pretence, the dominance required for his position. He can acknowledge the appeal of passing amongst mortals as one of them; he has no time for the flights of fancy of his siblings to constantly interfere with mortals’ lives, but he can take some comfort in this mindless activity.
And a part of him enjoys seeing Zagreus.
Their conversations are brief and difficult these days and always end in one, or both of their shouts echoing about the hall.
Despite what his son might think, and claim to elicit sympathy from his chthonic colleagues, he does love him. He simply knows what is best for his son, and his son consistently fails to understand that Hades is not only his father, but his king and Master and obedience is not a choice. Besides, Hades has never been an affectionate man, and staring into that one eye, green as spring, so often scowling at him under a furrowed brow is… difficult.
Of course, he can recognise in theory that his son must have been growing more capable, more powerful, but seeing him in action is different. There is a grace to his actions, the gangly awkwardness of his youth having been thoroughly shaken off under Achilles tutorship. He does not like it, but he cannot deny the adept way he calls upon his relatives’ favour, roars about the stadium on a powerful ocean wave.
He finds himself curling ethereal knuckles around the edge of a marble bannister as Zagreus manages to dodge a blow just in time. And when Theseus falls, he joins the roar of the crowd as Zagreus blinks around the arena, stunned, sword held loosely in his hand, panting heavily. He reasons it is to blend in with the crowd, to not betray his disguise. But he cannot ignore the wave of pride behind his impulse reaction.
When Theseus falters once, he falters again.
Hades accepts the inevitable; his son will find a way around Cerberus, - the old beast had always been too fond of the boy, he would fold easily – and they would face each other at the gates of his realm.
His visits continue, for it is rare to get such an insight on your enemy, to know what weapons and blessings they carry, how wounded they are before you face each other – it is vital insight, that helps even quell his surprise that his son had somehow managed to steal Varatha from him.
He cannot quite reason the banner. He chuckles when he first sees it, at the gates of the arena where shades trade obols for trinkets of their favourite heroes. Zagreus’ stall is so barren and pitiful - perhaps that is why he buys it, to simply please the dejected-looking stall-shade, failing to hawk the little marble figurines with red painted feet, small embroidered pennants bearing his sons face, and of course, the banner depicting his likeness in familiar colours. Perhaps the humour of the situation is why he buys it – yes that must be why, he could laugh once – this is funny. It is funny.
That’s not why he ties it to the marble railing, why he positions himself behind it at every visit, why he swells with a rare affection when his son notices, and points a friendly wave and appreciative call towards him.
-
Zagreus beats him. The two are clinging to life, covered in each other blood and his son is towering over him, an almost excited, shocked look in his eye as Hades falters, and falls.
Zagreus does not know what awaits him but Hades does – how many times did he himself try to leave his realm only to find his body collapsing in on itself? It was the more compassionate option; to keep this inevitable failure from his son. It would be a cruel fate that awaited him in the snowy frozen plains of Greece. And if he even found her… she hadn’t wanted him, would she even want their boy, after all these years? Would she reject him? Even if she didn’t, Zagreus would lead them right to her and before they could be reunited Persephone would be stolen back into her mother’s suffocating and frigid embrace.
No, he had been protecting his son by keeping him close and Zagreus did not understand, but that did not negate why he did what he had to.
There is a lightness to him when they see each other again in the house. Hades cannot delight in it. Every continued defiance of his orders brings more risk to all of them.
He stops attending the arena.
He tries not to react when he hears his son inquiring after a red shade, to Hypnos’ sleepy confusion.
--
When she returns, she brings… spring. The garden he had locked away blooms, the residents delight in her presence, his son – their son, looks him in the eye with expressions that are not just… anger, and pain.
It is her idea, as all good things are. The royal box has gone long enough unattended, and it would do good to remind the shades of who ruled down here. The first time, Zagreus is so surprised and distracted by his parent’s presence in the battling grounds of Elysium that Theseus gets in one too many lucky hits, and dispatches him. The next time he is prepared; he bests the two, as he has countless times. He bows to his mother, sending a warm smile towards her as she curls her hand around Hades’ arm, beaming with a proud delight.
Zagreus sends him a hesitant nod, and he returns it, rising.
He will see his boy soon enough, and it will not hurt – they will display their power in a way that no other in the kingdom can understand, and the two strongest beings in the underworld will share a moment away from all onlookers. Father and Son.
And things will be better.