Listen, those who would know. Open ear, you who wish to understand. Draw close, child of my people. Pay heed, stranger to my story. All men know of our gods, powerful immortals who look upon our people with favor. Who bless the good and curse the evil and to whom all must pay homage. The most powerful gods are the brothers three: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. At the beginning of the world the priests speak of a draw of luck between them. Thus were their roles decided. The Amorous Lord Zeus wields lighting and presides over the Heavens. The Haughty Lord Poseidon holds a triton and commands the Oceans. The Dark Lord Hades rules the Underworld, and all that exists beneath the earth, the mines of jewels and metals, all the wealth of all the worlds, belongs to him. After centuries of living among the dead, of knowing constant death and seeing it wherever he looked, his heart hardened.

One day he was on his way to Olympus, the home of all the other gods, to discuss various matters of business with his brothers when he looked and saw Persephone, the goddess of Spring, the most beautiful and gentle of all the goddesses, playing in the fields. Where she sets foot it is said it is as if Heaven comes to visit and there is no god or mortal who can look upon her with hate or scorn. Hades fell in love with the graceful angel on first sight and swore that she would be his bride.

His wooing of her began gently, in a golden field. One day when she was with her friends he caused a beautiful flower to grow just a little away from the others. She saw it and went to pick it. Then she saw an even better one just a little further on. She continued in this manner, always seeing an even better one a little ways further until she was separated from her friends completely. Then she laid eyes upon the most beautiful of all. This one caused her breath to catch for it was like none she had ever seen. She paused a moment for it seemed to promise devotion, protection, and love, but whisper obsession, possession, and lust. For this was no regular bloom, no wild field flora or wind-scattered weed, but a flower created using Hades' powerful emotions, sprung from his dark, love-struck heart. But she, a sheltered goddess who only knew of the sweet courtly love her nymphs had sighed over and gossiped about, did not understand. And so she merely decided to be careful, for though it hinted at something she could not comprehend, it was too wonderful and too beautiful for her to resist. But when she plucked the blossom she learned too late her mistake. The ground beneath her opened up and Hades himself appeared in all his dark glory, a twisted inverse of an angel. He held her tight to him and returned to Hell.

There he offered her all the wealth of all the worlds for they were his to give. He offered his servants, his palace, everything he had to her. He promised her power over mortals, that they would fear her name, tremble at the sound of it, would beg for her favor, would worship her with unreserved devotion for fear of his wrath. He offered himself and all he was. He swore that she ruled his heart and that he would do whatever she desired; do anything she wanted – anything, save let her go. But she still refused to love him for taking her away from her family.

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Padme laughed, "I don't suppose it's the most romantic myth."

"You don't think so?" Anakin asked in a sleepy, lightly curious murmur that showed his current contentment with the world at large as he lazily turned his head toward her.

Padme frowned. She and her secret husband were in the golden field where he had wooed her, spending time together for one of his few leaves from war. She was sitting, leaning back on her hand, skirts spread. Anakin lay next to her, head pillowed on his folded arms, soaking up the sun. Somehow their meandering conversation had arrived on the topic of legends and myths that they learned growing up. He had just finished telling her the story of the trickster god Loki and his faithful wife Sigyn. Now it was her turn and the flowers dotting the field reminded her of Hades and Persephone. She responded to her husband's question. "Not particularly, no."

"But he loves her. He offers everything he has, everything he is, in exchange for her love. He loves and wants the being of his devotion, his worship, to love him back. There is nothing he won't do for her, for her favor, for her love."

"He won't let her go."

Anakin turned to look at her fully now. "He can't. He loves her too much."

She sat up and unconsciously brushed her skirts down, smoothing them in familiar, senatorial gesture. "He loves her possessively, selfishly. He cares more about her being his than her being happy."

Anakin caught and held her eyes. She felt the conversation subtly sift to something more serious. "If it was you, if you were Persephone, would you hate him?"

She blinked at both the question and the change from their light-hearted story telling and chatter and didn't answer. Anakin rolled up onto his knees so he was kneeling before her. He took her folded hands in one of his and reached out the other to caress her face, eyes no longer meeting hers but following his hand. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, down to her neck, and then brought it around to run through her hair before bringing it back up to where it began. It was a familiar path, but for some reason it felt different to Padme this time. It was if he was reassuring himself that she was there and there was something that she couldn't quite define lingering in his eyes… So focused was she that she jumped when he spoke in a soft, almost whisper, that she might not have been able to hear if the whole world had not paused and gone silent to listen.

"If he refused to release you. If he said he couldn't let you leave, knowing you would never return. If he said he would do everything to keep you by his side, risk his life, kill indiscriminately, bargain with his soul, sell himself into slavery again, or more and damn the consequences. If he said he would pursue you beyond the ends of the universe, rip the stars from their places in the sky and tear the planets from their orbits to keep you. If he promised you the universe and all that was within it, but would not, could not, let you go. Would you hate him?"

Again. Hades had never been a slave at all, but Padme knew that he and his wife were no longer the focus of the conversation. She felt the answer somewhere in her chest but it refused to come up – to travel through her suddenly blocked throat and exit her though her parted lips. And she didn't know what it was. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as he ran a thumb across her cheek, gathering the strength needed to deal with Anakin when he was under the control of his powerful emotions. For all he was a Jedi, he had very little control over them when it came to her. He admitted it, sometimes swearing by it passionately other times murmuring it in her hair with heart stirring devotion, and while most of the time it gave her a thrill of feminine pleasure, sometimes it would frightened her. Her husband was a force of nature and in many ways under the control of his depthless heart. She knew him well enough and was a politician of enough years to know when the conversation topic needed to be changed. She opened her eyes and smiled. "If I were Persephone? You, husband mine, are not the Lord of Death."

He still didn't meet her eyes or stop his strange caresses but quoted without humor, "After centuries of living among the dead, of knowing constant death and seeing it wherever he looked, his heart hardened. I saw murder since before I can remember as a slave to a hutt. How long have I been at war? How long has it been since I've known constant death? How long since I've seen it wherever I look? How many times has it taken a friend, comrade, or ally? How many have I killed? How many will I kill? How many times have I realized that those around me, soldier and civilian alike, are unlikely to see the end of the day, the end of the month, the end of the year, the end of the war, and that I might as well be living among the dead? How often have I walked though a city where not one survived, where it belongs to the slain, to ghosts that sometimes I swear I can hear screaming and crying on the wind and think I catch a glimpse of out of the corner of my eye, drenched in blood? How long until not even the sight of my angel can temporarily erase what I've seen and be my salvation from my own mind and memories? How long until not even the presence of my goddess is enough to cleanse me of death and soften the heart war has hardened?"

He met her eyes then. Her words were trapped in her chest. She could feel them weighing heavily and hindering her breathing. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, as he leaned forward.

"I will never let you go," he whispered against her lips before they met.

That day in the field he possessed her, laid claim to her in the most intimate way possible. But a voice in her head, in pain and sounding desperate and heartbroken in its honesty, whispered that they did not make love.

Later that evening when they sat together in front of the fire, he offered her a pomegranate from the bowl on the low table and she could not help but hesitate before accepting it. He noticed and tried to catch her eye in question but she avoided his look and he did not comment. She scolded herself. It was a fruit for Heaven's sake! It didn't mean anything. There seem to be two voices in her head with their own opinions. The one that sounded like her old political science teacher, and she had gotten used to hearing at work, had a fine running commentary going. The darker one just laughed. She ignored them both.

She never did finished telling him the story.

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"We have to run my lady!" Padme turned to look at the man. He looked young, nineteen maybe? The same age her Ani was when they set the universe on it's path to Hell. The preparation had been laid ten years before, but that was when they had decided and began to walk their doomed path. And now they had reached their destination, the end of this road.

"Not yet it's not!" the officer declared passionately. She started, not realizing that she had spoken the last bit out loud.

"Are they gone?" she asked. She knew that the ship with Luke had departed two days ago and the one with Leia the day before that, but she had to make sure.

"Yes. They're gone. And your funeral was held a week ago. No one knows you're alive now. You're dead to the world. But if we don't go now you'll be dead for real! Lord Vader himself is here! We–" a crash broke in, interrupting him.

Persephone had a chance to return to the world of the living. Padme remembered. But Hades did not want to let his wife go. So he gave her a pomegranate. She ate his fruit, and became his. She was one of the dead now. She could only return to the living world in spring when new life appeared, back from the dead. (New life caused Padme to think of her children and she sent up a prayer that the gods of her ancestors would look upon her children with more favor then they had her.) But until new life returned Persephone lived as the Queen of the Dead all winter long.

Until her children returned, new life, Lady Vader would have to live in Pamde's place.

"I suppose we're in for a long winter then," she murmured. The young officer stared at her. Another crash reminded him of the situation at hand. He grabbed her arm, pulling lightly in hopes she would stand.

"You go," she told him, as composed as she had ever been, "I will stay."

Warning sirens blared. She heard shouts and cries occasionally drowned out by crashes and blasts. She hoped that as many as could escaped. Her husband would not follow them if she remained. But if she tried to flee with them… "If he refused to release you… do everything to keep you by his side… pursue you beyond the ends of the universe, rip the stars from their places in the sky and tear the planets from their orbits to keep you… promised you the universe and all that was within it, but would not, could not, let you go. Would you hate him?"

She heard first one hum then another that indicated two sabers had been ignited. Then there was a clash that signified they had met. One she knew would be Vader's red, the other would be the blue of that Jedi with them, Bairdon Jace she thought his name was. Jace didn't stand a chance. She acknowledged this with horror and a bit of pride. She tried to squash the second feeling, but it remained. It was after all her husband who was so skilled with the blade. Her husband. She closed her eyes.

"No," she whispered in response to the long ago question, "even though you've taken me from my family, the world I've known and loved, and made me dead to all others, I cannot hate you. But oh how hard you make it to love you."

"My lady!"

Lord Vader would be a powerful person in the Empire, she knew. Second-in-command and able to give his wife whatever she desired. Because he loved her "…offers everything he has, everything he is, in exchange for her love… there is nothing he won't do for her… for her favor… for her love."

"He won't let her go."

"He can't. He loves her too much."

"My lady!"

Yes. Vader would be able to give his wife anything and everything…

He offered… everything he had to her… promised her power… that they… would beg for her favor… would worship her with unreserved devotion for fear of his wrath…whatever she desired… anything she wanted… anything, save let her go.

"My lady!"

…except what she wanted most.

"I will never let you go."

"My lady!"

"Go now. Leave me here," she somehow wasn't surprised how accepting she was. In truth she had made her choice long ago.

"No! We have to go! I will not abandon you to your death my lady!" he declared fervently, frightened. He really was young she noted, but through his fear he would still try to save her from her savior. She found this highly amusing and wondered when her sense of humor had become so warped. He continued on, not realizing she was no longer listening and oblivious to her thoughts, which was probably better for his pride, she observed, but not helpful to his rapidly shrinking life span. She realized he was still talking and returned her attention to his words.

"He is – Vader has – He will not spare you my lady, Vader is an angel of death!"

Time slowed. The clash of sabers had stopped. She knew there was another dead by her husband's hand.

"How many have I killed? How many will I kill?"

He could sense her she knew.

"I will never let you go."

He was moving rapidly toward her. She could hear people trying to get out of his way, fleeing before him and praying they would escape his notice. They would. He wasn't interested in them, wasn't there for them.

"I will never let you go."

"No," she corrected the officer softly, almost absentmindedly, looking at the wall as if she could see though it and was watching him approach. The sounds that had previously dominated were muted now. All she could hear were his determined, distinctive steps, echoing and amplified. Coming closer. Coming to reclaim what was his.

"I will never let you go."

Detached, she realized in a slightly resigned, slightly amused manner, that he was coming to reclaim that which he was truly in no danger of losing.

"I will never let you go."

She continued speaking to the officer, no longer listening to her, in the same distracted manner, seeing nothing but blue eyes with something still undefined lingering within.

"I will never let you go."

"The angel of death can be tricked, beaten, bargained with, turned aside, or appeased with blood above the door." He was very close now. He would not be denied.

"I will never let you go."

"Vader cannot. He is the god of the dead," she smiled, not knowing why.

"I will never let you go."

"And the Lord of Death will not return to Hell without his Queen."