Work Text:
Broke your heart, I'll put it back together
To say that Orpheus was terrified would be an understatement. To say that he didn’t wake up in cold sweats, gasping for breath as quietly as he could, as to not wake the figure sleeping next to him, would be a lie. There were days when doubt crept into Orpheus’ mind and it took all he could to shake the chill from his bones. To let his eyes adjust to the darkness around him so that he could see clearly.
She was sleeping next to him, a look of sheer vulnerability on her face — Eurydice, the guarded girl. She only looked like this when she slept and Orpheus believed himself to be one of the luckiest men as he was the only one who got to see her like this. Who she trusted enough.
His nightmares woke him up more often than he would have liked to admit. He kept them to himself though — the last thing he wanted to do was worry Eurydice, especially with her first winter back coming up just around the corner. He could tell that it might come early, any day now, especially with how manic Persephone had been. She sometimes got that way in the final days of summer, finding it both too hot and too cold, craving both more sunshine, and the sweet embrace of the Underworld. Eurydice’s arrival marked the first spring back, and for a while it seemed like winter would never come again. But seasons change, and opposites attract, and the underground was calling their Lady home.
Eurydice shifted in her sleep, her arms pulling the pillow she was cradling closer to herself. Orpheus smiled at her, watching her eyes flutter softly for a moment before a sense of comfort and rest settled on her face once again. Gods, they had come so close, he thinks in these moments. He was a breath away from turning around, and the demons that run through his head remind him of this moment. He did wrong by her — he wasn’t enough for her head and her heart. And even worse, he doubted her. His heart clenches and he feels as though he can’t breathe when he looks at her, so beautiful, so vibrant, so alive, and he thinks about how close he came to condemning her to a life in Hadestown.
He carefully slid out of bed, careful not to wake her, and he walked slowly out of their small bedroom. He did this when he couldn’t calm his mind, couldn’t banish the nightmares. He took stock. He started in their pantry, checking to see what food they had, how long they could make it last if they feasted every night. How long they could stretch it out if one day Persephone decided to stay in Hadestown for good. Bread when I’m hungry echoed in his mind.
He counted the bags of flour. He counted their supply slowly and diligently. He moved into their living room — a small sofa, a large chair, a fireplace, a bookcase. He counted the firewood. He counted the match boxes. He counted kindling. How many fires? How many nights, how many days could they keep themselves warm with firewood alone? How long until they would have to burn the books? How long would the books last? Fire when I’m cold rattled around his brain.
“Orpheus?”
He turned around at the lilting of her voice. She was standing in the doorway, their blanket wrapped around her shoulders, dragging on the floor behind her. She was squinting slightly, as she rubbed sleep from her eye. His eyes couldn’t help but brighten a little, his shoulders soften.
“Did I wake you?”
“No,” she whispered, leaning against the doorframe, a small smile pulling at her lips. “But the bed got cold when you left. Come back to sleep?” She said this, and reached out her hand from under the blanket. She looked so small like this — reaching out to him, asking for nothing besides his hand, his warmth. His heart fluttered, and if he were not so desperately in love with her, he would have felt embarrassed at how easily she made his heart rate shift. He smiled and went to her, taking her hand and allowing her to lead him back to their bed.
Remind her how it used to be
With pictures in frames of kisses on cheeks.
Tell her how you must've lost your mind
When you left her all alone and never told her why
“He’s magic.”
Eurydice looked away from the other side of the fire, where Orpheus was busy singing, to the woman who had slid in next to her. Persephone had moved quietly on the lush grass, and was now perched on the ground beside her. She had a little glint in her eyes.
“Who?” Eurydice asked, a little smile pulling her lips.
“Your poet,” Persephone stage whispered, passing Eurydice a cup of something sweet, knocking her shoulder a little. “He’s got an unruly heart. It doesn’t listen to rules or reason. Only rhyme.” Persephone’s eyes were trained on Orpheus, his fingers plucking chords on his lyre, totally wrapped up in his own little world.
“I know,” Eurydice said softly, taking a sip of her drink.
“He’s just like my lover in that regard,” she remarked, the Lady thinking of her Hades, equally as wrapped up in his own world. Eurydice stiffened at the reference.
He’s nothing like that monster, she wanted to spit back. Orpheus is good. You’re delusional if you think they’re anything alike. Before she had a chance to calm her mind and form words, Persephone continued on.
“You don’t know him like I do. I know what you’re thinking. But he is. He’s magic. He’s got an indestructible heart. He’s the strongest person I know.” Eurydice had never seen the goddess like this. Her eyes were like liquid gold, melting at even the thought of her husband. She looked away from Orpheus then, and right at Eurydice.
“I’ve left that man more times that I can count. And our fights are epic. Our reunions even more so. But each time I leave, he’s left with rotting petals. I get to leave and come here. I get to see my mother, my family. My poet and my song bird,” she nudged Eurydice then, trying to coax a smile out of her.
“I leave and my poor lover is left to pick up the pieces. He’s watched me go without looking back for years. And that is just how it is. But you’ve got to have something akin to magic in your veins to still accept another with open arms.
“When you were in Hadestown,” Persephone said with a hint of a giggle in her voice, “Your poet sang until his voice cracked and until his fingers bled. Hermes told me. He didn’t even notice. His heart was too focused on you. I’d bet that he’d let the world fall away if he had to choose between it and you. He loves you with every ounce of his being. He’s torn worlds apart for you.” She punctuated her last words by wiggling her fingers in the air a little. Eurydice found that her gaze had once again shifted to Orpheus across the fire.
“He deserves someone better,” she murmured.
“He says the same thing about you, Songbird,” Persephone responded.
“He deserves someone with more faith.”
“He thinks you deserve someone who keeps their promises.”
“He deserves someone who stays.”
“So stay.”
And then you say
I want you for worse or for better
I would wait for ever and ever
“Will you just stop and listen to me?”
There was ice in her voice, and it struck him in some deep part of his chest. It felt like a slap to the face, a stinging snap back to reality. He turned and looked at her. Really looked at her. Her eyes were fire. They were ice. They were daggers and rose thorns and fresh blossoms and rotting petals all at once. He didn’t know what was happening within those dark eyes — within those stormy windows.
She looked back at him. There were circles under his eyes. They looked like bruises beneath deep wells of hazel. Gods, she thought, her emotions raging wildly within her. How have they let this go on this long.
“Euryd—” He started, his voice hesitant before she cut him off.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He couldn’t read her emotions. If she was being honest, she didn’t know what was leading her forward. Anger, yes. Disappointment, for sure. Fear? Probably. Regret.
Orpheus was silent. He dropped his eyes to the forest floor. The ground was covered in mulched leaves left behind after the snow melted. There had been sunshine today, and patches of the ground were visible under the snow. He pulled his coat around him tighter, not wanting to meet her eyes. Gods, those eyes.
“Orpheus, why didn’t you tell me?” her voice was filled to the brim with emotion that she didn’t know what to do with. How had it taken her this long to pick up on what was happening. For letting almost an entire winter pass without saying anything. Without really having the words.
“I … I didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured, still not meeting her eyes. She scoffed at him, without regard for how she sounded.
“Orpheus, I’m a big girl I can handle these things,” she stated, her eyes boring into him. “They’re nightmares. We can handle them. You don’t need to shoulder this burden by yourself.”
He stayed silent. The winter wind whistled around them. “Orpheus why won’t you answer me?” She was angry, now. When Eurydice was mad, she wanted those around her to know. He had been dodging the question until it all came to a stand still. She begged him to talk to her until he couldn’t stay both silent and in the house with her. Everything in his body screamed to tell her. To just talk. But he couldn’t do it. He grabbed his coat and went for the door, walking out of the house, a broken “Eurydice, I can’t” on his lips. She had chased him out, coat forgotten.
“Orpheus,” She shouted at him, frustration turning to anger, turning to sadness, turning to rage.
“Bread and fire, Eurydice!” He shouted back at her, still not meeting her eyes. “That’s all you asked for and I couldn’t give it to you.” His answer bubbled and erupted from a deep cavern in his heart. He didn’t mean to shout it but once he opened his mouth, he couldn’t control it. “Bread to fend off the hunger. Fire to keep you warm. That’s all you fucking asked for and I couldn’t give it to you. And I almost lost you for it.”
“Orphe—”
“I looked for you and you weren’t there,” he continued to cry, tears running down his cheeks, eyes trained on the ground in front of her. “I could barely keep a roof over your head. I couldn’t provide for you. I’m your husband. I promised you that I would keep you safe, and warm, and happy, and I couldn’t fucking do it. I couldn’t protect you once, and I won’t make that mistake again. I won’t let you starve, Eurydice. I won’t let you freeze. You deserve so much better than me. And I’m scared — I’m fucking terrified that I’ll fuck up again and you’ll be gone.”
His eyes were red rimmed, and his jaw was set when he looked into her eyes. He looked at her like she was the most precious thing he had ever seen, and like she might vanish into thin air if he were to as much as blink. And he was tired. He looked as though his bones weighed a hundred pounds and he was keeping himself standing by sheer will.
“I lost you once, Eurydice, and I can’t lose you again,” His voice cracked.
It was quiet between them for a long moment — a moment that felt both like less than a second, and like enough time had passed that all the snow might have melted.
When she finally responded, it was a whisper: “You’re forgetting something, you stubborn asshole.”
She crossed the small space that lay between them, and cupped his face. It was warm against her frigid fingers, and he shivered at her touch. “My sweet, stubborn, bone headed, poet. You’ve forgotten something.”
He looked deep into her eyes, and while the daggers weren’t gone, they were sheathed. The petals were fresh — her eyes held the deepest love and kindness, and the frustration and grit of someone who had been dealt too much. He didn’t understand, what had he forgotten? He looked deeper into her eyes as she squeezed his face gently, pushing him towards remembrance. Of course.
“A steady hand to hold.”
She smiled at him sadly, and leaned to lay their foreheads against one another. “Orpheus, I let fear consume me once before. I was so scared that I wasn’t going to make it through the winter, and I fucking choked. I know what you’re feeling. I listened to my fears before my heart and it broke me in two. I didn’t trust you enough, and I will never stop apologising to you for that. I am so sorry that I didn’t trust you.” Tears were running down her cheeks slowly, causing her to shiver. Orpheus reached up to hold her hands where they held his face. He squeezed her fingers softly.
“You’ve spent so long,” she continued, “holding your own fears. This burden is too big for just one person. I’m a pro at holding my own, and if you’ve taught me anything, it’s how to hold someone else. So please, Orpheus. Let me carry some of it. And hold my hand again. There’s no use being fed and warm if you’re not with me. I’d rather be in Hadestown.”
That word struck a nerve, and she meant for it to. She meant for it to sting. She needed him to know how serious she was. She’d rather be dead in the ground than without him. He looked into her eyes and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered almost too quietly for her to hear. He was drained. The chill in the air was getting stronger. The fire in his soul had settled. “Eurydice, I was just so scared.”
“Listen to me, poet,” She said, a smile on her face. “I’m not going anywhere. As long as we’re together we’re going to be okay. We’re learning. We’re learning.”
***
That night Orpheus sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Again.
He didn’t get up. He reached over and put a hand on Eurydice’s shoulder. She rolled over, suddenly very awake. “Was it a…” She trailed off in a question. He nodded, not ready to speak.
She nodded, sitting up against the headboard, opening her arms to him.
Their dishes sat dirty on the table. The fire in the heath quietly crackled. And Orpheus slept, with his arms around Eurydice’s waist, her fingers running through his hair.