Chapter Text
His heart thumped against his chest as he closed the door behind him. He had come face to face with the King of the Dead and lived to tell the tale. Adrenaline soared through his veins as he slid against the wooden door, settling on the floor with a small thud. He had given his name so freely without thinking over the consequences. Would giving his name mark him for death?
Perhaps it was foolish, but that thought was overshadowed by the appearance of the god. All his life he had heard him only by his many names. The unseen one, the receiver, killer, the feared. No one had seen his face and all were scared to call his true name. Endless stories were passed down to children, “if you say his name,” they were told “he will unleash a fury so deadly that none will live to tell the tale.”
He had asked Armin his name, but Armin didn’t ask him. Though he still gave an answer.
Jean.
He shot up quickly, scared that the god would hear his thoughts and come to drag him back to the Underworld with him. Perhaps it would be worth it, just to stare into those eyes again. He had not known what to expect, as no one had ever seen him and lived but Armin was not prepared for how breath-taking the god would be. Where he expected eyes black as pitch he met only soft hazel, shining as they stared back at him. His face was young yet chiselled, his sharp jaw framed with a short beard. His long hair stuck out in all directions, tousled and soft from the helmet that remained under his arm. It was light too, like it had been bleached after years of exposure to the sun despite the darkness that was his home. He wanted to know if it felt as soft as it looked.
Blushing, he tried to forget how he almost smoothed down the hair of the god of the Underworld. What would he have thought? Perhaps Armin would have been struck down before he could even make contact with the ashen locks. Though the look in Jean’s eyes was one he was more than familiar with. The look of a man desperate to claim him for their own, to steal him in the night and take him without thought.
But he didn’t.
Armin’s mind raced as he thought over their interaction. There was nothing stopping him from taking Armin back with him into the pits of hell. The gods were known to be selfish, to steal and take whatever or whoever it pleased them. Armin had even given him the option, “are you going to drag me back to the Underworld with you?” but he didn’t take it.
Just that single interaction had his mind reeling. Confusion settled in his stomach as he dragged his knees close to his chest. There was something pulling in his chest, like too many unanswered questions begging him to search for answers. But more than that, it was the desperate desire to see Jean again.
When he slept, he dreamt of hazel eyes and strong arms carrying him through the darkness. When he woke he wondered if the god was visiting him in his dreams, if Jean wished to see Armin as much as he did. His heart raced as he changed, picturing in his mind how they would look, side by side together in their crowns and finery as they ruled the Underworld together. A silly thought, he knew. He had only seen the god once and though he had escaped the encounter unscathed, it didn’t mean he had Jean’s favour.
His mind was so muddled with unattainable daydreams he did not notice the argument outside until he stepped out of the house. He could see Onyankopon’s back turned to him, trying to turn away the old stout man in front of him. He had a whole procession with him, a dozen men dressed in crimson and gold armour, the brush atop their helmets revealed them to be soldiers. Armin didn’t recognize the pattern on their round shields, clearly they were not local to the region, though he had no idea where it was they called home.
The earth was cool beneath his feet as he ran over to the two, finally able to make out parts of their conversation.
“-And I told you, I won’t listen to some shitty farmhand. Take me to him, now.” The man demanded. His face was red with anger, or maybe exhaustion from the steep walk up the hill to the farmhouse. He mopped his sweaty brow with a silk handkerchief. The sun shone off the top of his helmet. While the soldiers around him had a standard red warband made of hair on the top of their helmets, the man speaking to Onyankopon’s was much grander. It rose in an arch high above the top of his helmet, a silver spike sticking straight up the top. No doubt this was to differenciate his rank. A general perhaps?
Onyankopon stood his ground. Though Armin could not see his face, he saw the way he squared his body against the intruder, hands resting on his hips. “And as I explained, my kyrios is still mourning the loss of his grandfather and is not currently seeing visitors. It would be best if you left.”
Before the other man could huff his indignation, Armin laid his hand on Onyankopon’s shoulder, standing him down. “Thank you, friend.” He forced a tight smile on his lips as he faced the stranger. His friend’s presence eased his worries as he spoke. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
The General stared back at him, all fight and words suddenly absolving themselves from his body as his eyes fell on Armin. It took all his power not to roll his eyes. The look revealed the intentions of the man's visit. The intensity of the man’s gaze made Armin’s skin crawl. No doubt he was trying to determine how Armin’s body looked under his garments. He wanted to shrink back like a violet but knew submission and passivity would only make him more desirable in the vulture’s eyes.
He understood the way men stared at him, like hungry wolves finding their first meal in days. He was the ideal eromenos , the perfect specimen to take as their lover. His chest was chiselled from years of working the soil and his straw-like hair tumbled down past his shoulders. Though his body was firm, his face was effeminate. His round cheeks and button nose made men think they could control them to their whim. Maybe visually, he was the perfect partner, but he knew he would never bow easily to the men who tried to steal him. Demure and subservient were words he hoped would never describe him, yet the beast would still try.
“You are more divine than I expected.” The man’s eyes shone, like a magpie in a field of jewels.
He couldn’t wait to disappoint him.
“I appreciate the kind words, my lord. I know people speak of me often in this region but I don’t understand why. I am not a good choice to take on as a lover.” Armin always tried logic at the first hurdle, hoping to rattle the suitors off of their hunt. “I’m just a farmer.” He held up his calloused hands as if to demonstrate. Dirt burrowed into the crevices of his short, brittle fingernails. They were scarred and the skin rough from work, not suitable for the delicate lover the man sought.
Unfortunately The General persisted. Without warning, he grasped Armin’s hands in his own, pulling him closer. The man stood a foot taller than him, the onion from his breakfast filling the air as he spoke. “You are not just a farmer, you are a statue come to life. With your beauty I would not be surprised if you were a nymph.”
This time Armin couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head in annoyance. “Again, I appreciate you saying so. Was this all? Or may I start my day's work?” He went to rip his hands from the man's grasp, but his fingers wrapped around Armin’s small wrist like a vine.
Onyankopon moved forward, trying to shield Armin from the man. “That’s enough, sir.”
The General’s eyes finally tore away from Armin, to look at the angry form towering over him. He let go of Armin with an apologetic smile. “Beautiful perhaps, but naïve.” The air turned cold as the man’s tone shifted from amicable to threatening. “Perhaps your humble upbringing has sheltered you from the way of the world, but understand that I am a man who does not back down from a fight.”
Armin nodded, suddenly scared at the man's implications. He’d had many offers before. They made promises to spoil him with gifts and food and money, to take him away from the simple life on the farm for the rich and lavish parties of Athens. They would save him from serving in the military just so that they could parade him around on their arm. All for him to be their obedient little flower. Most men had accepted the rejection he gave them and some would grow angry, cursing his name to the gods. None had threatened him before. “I understand and I apologise for my poor hospitality.” He needed to buy himself some time. “Please, return in three days and I will be able to accept you into my home properly. As Onyankopon mentioned, my grandfather has recently passed and I need time to gather myself before I can greet you as a proper host.”
With a nod, The General accepted the offer. “I will see you in three days time, my eromenos .” Armin grimaced at the nickname, thankful that the man had already turned to climb his horse before catching his expression. Once their horses were out of sight, and only the faint clattering of hooves could be heard echoing through the valley did Armin allow himself to relax.
Onyankopon finally turned on Armin, incredulous that the blond had invited him back. “You can’t seriously intend to go with him?”
Armin scoffed, shooting his friend a smile. “Of course not, you know me better than that.” Armin let out a small laugh as he watched the tension leave Onyankopon’s body.
He had started working on the farm when Armin was still young. Already struggling with the physical demand of the work, his grandfather had hired Onyankopon. “We need some muscle in this place,” the old man had joked, poking at Armin’s lean frame. Onyankopon had become so much more. He taught Armin to harvest and ferment grapes to make wine the way the Armenians showed him. He would speak of spices Armin and his grandfather had never heard of that Onyankopon had found during his time in Spain. He had travelled across the Mediterranean listening to scholars and philosophers discuss and argue one idea over the other and shared their words with Armin.
He had become a friend, and a protector, chasing away anyone who made Armin feel uncomfortable. Armin was sure his grandfather put him up to the task, but he knew Onyankopon cared for him regardless.
“I don’t think it’s safe for me here anymore.” Armin sighed. They had retreated to the house once his unexpected guests had left. They shared a jug of watered down wine, allowing themselves the luxury of a drink so early in the day to calm their nerves.
Onyankopon scoffed, “Of course you won’t be safe when that gasbag had his eyes on you.”
Armin nodded, “But there will always be men like him. I think it would be safer if I moved on.” He swirled the liquid in his cup, admiring the way the light shined off the purple liquid.
“What do you mean?”
He sighed, unable to look his friend in the eye. “Do you ever feel like you’re destined for something more? I want more than working on this farm until the day I die. I don’t want to waste half my life at the beck and call of some man I can’t stand. I want control of my own future.”
Impassioned by his own words, he found the courage to look up. There was a melancholy smile on Onyankopon’s lips, and a look in his eyes that Armin couldn’t quite place. “If anyone can do it, I know it’s you, Armin. What’s your plan?”
Of course he knew Armin well enough to know he was already formulating a plan in his head. The only variable was Jean.
If he could get Jean’s attention, maybe he would visit again. It was a far fetched idea, but it was all he truly had. There were not many who made sacrifices or offerings to the god of the dead. People were focussed on living rather than the fate they would have once they left the mortal realm. Pomegranates were the fruit of the Underworld, their season was usually autumn-winter so it made sense that they could thrive in the dark cold of the Underworld. He could use that to garner Jean’s attention. Unless he required a sacrifice? His mind drifted to Dolos resting in the stable…
He stopped his thoughts in their tracks, ashamed that his brain would think of such a thing. “I need a pomegranate. And then I’m going to seduce the king of the Underworld.”
“You know this means the farm is yours now.” Armin said as they walked back up the hill towards the farm. It hadn’t taken long to find a pomegranate. It wasn’t a crop that Armin’s grandfather had grown, but they were sold in multitude at the market in town. He held the pomegranate in both his palms like it was the most delicate possession he owned. His eyes were trained on the fruit in his hands. Perhaps it was the most precious thing to him now. A key to open his life up to a whole new world. The farm would be in better hands with Onyankopon anyway, even if he did stay he knew it would never be something he could truly love. “You can sell it if you want, use the money to travel. Apparently Rome is becoming quite something.”
Shaking his head, Onyankopon smiled. “I’ve done my share of travelling now. I think I’m ready to settle somewhere. I think Mr Arlert’s farm is the perfect place.”
Armin’s smile mirrored Onyankopon. He was thankful that his grandfather’s farm would be left to the one person he knew would dedicate himself to the work his grandfather started. Maybe he could visit. He could see the farm as it grew along with Onyankopon’s family.
He wondered what kind of person he might be by then, should Jean take his bait. Would he be by the king's side, helping him rule in his daily life, or would he be banished to Tartarus, living out a life in hell for the rest of existence. People spoke of rivers made of liquid fire that engulfed the darkest depths of the Underworld, and the great three-headed dog that guarded the realm. He shuddered at the thought, but if he played his cards right he knew he could avoid such a fate.
The house finally towered over them, the shade providing sweet relief from the sun they had sweat through on their way back. “I’m going to wash up then make the offering.” The blond explained, eyes still focussed on the red fruit in his grasp. “You go home. I appreciate your help today.”
Onyankopon nodded, “Will this be the last time I see you then?”
“Only if my plan goes badly.” Armin confirmed. “Although I do hope I will be able to visit you soon.”
Before he could say anything else, he was being crushed against Onyankopon in a hug. “Take care.”
Armin watched until Onyankopon disappeared behind the hills, and then he turned back to the pomegranate cupped in his hands. He washed up, cleaning himself of the dirt and sweat he had accumulated over the course of the day. Seducing Jean would not be an easy task. He could have any mortal or god he wanted if he saw fit. And there was the possibility he wouldn’t be interested in men. He thought back to their first encounter, and the way Jean’s eyes had followed his every move, calculated yet shining as he sized up the smaller man. It was not a guarantee of attraction, but there had been a flirtatious tone in his voice when he smirked and asked Armin for his name. It was a glimmer of hope, a chance that Armin had to take.
It was like a thread, unravelled ever so slightly, trailing in front of him. If only he could grab on, then he could untangle Jean with his words, with his looks, with his body if need be. And once the god was loose thread in his hands, he could craft something brand new. He would sew himself into the lining of Jean’s world, until the god did not know where Armin began and the fabric ended. He didn’t need much, he just needed to see Jean again.
“Again, thank you all for being here, I know we’re all very busy gods with very busy things to do,” Eren paused and the whole room burst into a bout of laughter. Fucking Olympians. Jean hated attending these councils. Not only did he have to waste time getting to Olympia from the Underworld, but he had to sit in a room of boisterous sex addicts who didn’t understand the intricacies of genuine power management.
He spaced out, letting the petty arguments and sexual tension become background noise as he thought back to the mortal from the other day. His dreams had been filled with golden hair, and sapphire eyes smiling up at him. It was a strange feeling, like a hand had wound its way around his heart like a vine. It squeezed, pumping the ichor through his veins and the release gave him the sweetest breath he had ever taken. That vine was his lifeline, tethering him to the dream that was Armin.
Armin wasn’t a dream though. He was blood and flesh and beauty transcended. He was pink cheeks and a round nose that was begging to be kissed. His fingers were caked with dirt, though Jean would pull them to his lips for a kiss all the same. He wished the mortal would leave his thoughts, to go back to the lonely world he had known his whole life. But there was comfort in the company, even if it was only in his dreams.
Something hit his leg with a harsh shove, pulling him from his thoughts. Connie peered next to him with a wary look on his face. “What are you thinking about?” He whispered, being careful not to draw the attention of Eren who was still addressing the gathered gods and goddesses.
“Nothing,” Jean shot back, “I’m listening to this very interesting meeting.” He pointedly turned forward to face Eren with a tight smile, acting like he hung off his brothers every word.
“-And Erwin, we all know you’re fucking the god of death, but do you have to keep starting mortal wars over nothing? I get it’s a romantic gesture but you can’t keep sending thousands to their death like that.” Eren asked, exasperated.
Connie stifled a laugh next to him while Jean only rolled his eyes. These meetings were so pointless, why couldn’t they just be sent in a letter? It would keep Falco busy delivering letters across the realms instead of flirting with Gabi every chance he got, and would leave Jean time to do meaningful work instead of sitting around and boosting Eren’s ego against his will.
Luckily it seemed he had daydreamed through most of the meeting, as it wasn’t long before Eren began to wrap things up. “Well I think we’ve all heard enough-”
“Actually there is something I’d like to bring up.” Jean spoke, smiling when he saw the scowl on Eren’s face. Hopefully this would teach him better than to invite him along to these idiotic dick measuring contests. “I understand we all like to send people off to Tartarus from time to time,” he started calmly, then his anger took over him. “But would you please tell me if you do! The Underworld is overrun right now. I currently have twenty thousand misplaced souls because there’s some guy being constantly trampled by a herd of fucking sheep!-”
“A flock.” The look in Mikasa’s eyes sent a chill down his spine.
“What?”
“It’s a flock of sheep.” Though her eyes were shielded by her fringe, her eyes shone with amusement as a small smile tugged at her lips. Eren next to her had gone completely still, the colour draining from his cheeks.
Reiner coughed awkwardly, barely dissipating the tension that was rising in the room. Eren had been known to toy with mortals on earth, taking them as lovers until Mikasa would find them and curse the poor soul to eternal damnation. Clearly the poor redhead being flattened in his basement had shared the same fate.
Jean swallowed harshly. “I understand, just uh… let me know next time.”
People turned away, eager to gossip with each other about the fate of Eren’s latest conquest. Jean was just glad to finally be free of the Olympus drama. He could finally head back and get some work done. No doubt there was a long queue of souls lined up in the throne room awaiting their judgement.
He had only made it through about twenty souls when his chest started to tighten. Something felt off but he couldn’t place what it was. It felt like someone was calling out to him, like he needed to be somewhere.
Marco, his assistant burst through the room suddenly, a grin on his face as he raced up the stairs to reach the throne where Jean sat. The throne room was an austere room. The throne was its centrepiece, a tall blue seat that commanded attention. It rose high into the ceiling, the summit clouded by mist. It was hard to tell how tall the room was, or if it even had a roof especially by the coldness that encased it. If you could breathe, you would surely see your breath puff out as you spoke.
Marco finally ascended the steep staircase, falling to a knee as he greeted his friend. “You’re never going to guess what just happened.” Marco was still grinning as he kissed Jean’s hand. It was all for show, an act to remind the shades and staff that Jean had the ultimate power. “Someone made an offering to you.”
Jean was caught off guard, though he made sure to keep his face steady. That explained the feeling he felt moments before. Marco kept talking, excited that someone had made a new offering to the god after such a long time. Most mortals didn’t bother trying to commune with the god of the dead. “Do you know where?”
“A little way outside of Delphi, in the Phokis region.”
Jean stood quickly, surprising both himself and Marco with the sudden movement. “I need to go,” He announced, quiet enough for only his friend to hear and before the freckled man could protest, Jean was gone in a cloud of black.
The bright yellow of the rapeseed fields greeted him when he arrived in the mortal realm. The sun welcomed him with a warm kiss that he had missed dearly. However he had no time to bask in the beauty of the afternoon, another beauty was waiting for him not far off. He made his way towards the farmhouse, keeping his helmet securely on his head this time. He did not know the meaning of Armin’s offering, and wouldn’t want to startle him by appearing so suddenly. In all honesty, Jean wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was for this kind of thing. He knew the other gods received offerings all the time. Many gave sacrifices to Sasha to bless their hunt, people prayed to Connie to keep their cups full and their laughs bountiful. Did they visit every person who called to them? Surely that would be impossible.
Jean could not remember the last time he received a prayer like this. Centuries ago a clan had risen from the ashes to worship him. They built a temple in his honour and would provide bounties and sacrifices to please him but they had been ridiculed as a cult and died out. Jean had granted them the peace of Elysium to spend the rest of their days as a thanks for all the work they had put into their worship. Perhaps it was a little biased of him, but it was his domain to rule as he pleased.
Jean’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Armin kneeling in the middle of a field. The earth was dark yet barren, ready and waiting to house crops that had yet to be planted. Jean carefully sat down opposite him, crossing his leg under the other so he could fully admire the man before him.
His beauty was unchanged, though his hair was half pulled back. Hair still fell over his brow, but Jean could see more of his face this way. His nose seemed a little pinker than it had last time, maybe from days in the sun or maybe the light just hit him differently. The eyes Jean was so desperate to lose himself in were focussed on the ground before them. Armin was staring intently, like he may burn a hole through the Earth’s crust just to reach the man sitting directly in front of him.
“I guess you aren’t coming.” With a sigh, the mortal sat back on his heels and Jean tried to ignore the way his chiton rode up his thighs ever so slightly. Instead he clung to the disappointment that laced the blonde’s voice. Jean couldn’t remember the last time someone truly missed him. He so desperately wanted to reach out and hold Armin, to let him know that he was there now and everything would be okay, but he stopped himself. It may have been wrong, but part of him was curious what Armin might say if he didn’t know he had an audience.
Jean hung on every word as Armin continued speaking to the dirt. “I’m sure you’re busy. People are probably always praying to you like this. I just didn’t know who else to turn to.” Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. “I feel so lost. Grandpa’s gone and I’ve never felt more alone.” He looked up suddenly, his eyes trained to where the path disappeared into the hills. His blond hair carried in the wind behind him kissed gold by the sun. “I guess I won’t be alone anymore. I’ll be gone in a few days. A man came by this morning and told me he wanted to take me as his lover, and that he won’t take no for an answer.”
Jean felt the hair on his arms stand as Armin’s words sunk into his skin. It was unfortunately common in the mortal world for things like this to happen, it shouldn’t be a shock that Armin would be a desirable target for many men. He could not begin to imagine the hardships Armin had faced from those vultures alone.
“I’m scared.” Armin's voice fell to a whisper as his tears began to fall. They hit the ground at his knees like raindrops, dampening the dirt as he cried. “To lose control over your own fate… it’s something truly terrifying. Of course we all end up in your domain eventually but I suppose it’s human to think you can live your life the way you want before the inevitable outcome. I just wish I had more time to live for myself.”
The wind whistled past him, rustling the leaves in the trees and Jean was reminded how precious life really was. He was so used to dealing with people after life, their existence being reduced to the major decisions they made in their life. Murder was bad and charity was good, this person went to Elysia and that person went to Tartarus. Death had become clinical, humanity forgotten as he judged mortal after mortal on the choices they made. He never really thought about the motivations behind all these decisions. Most people were just trying to spend their years in the best way possible, and some people had those opportunities snatched away from them like Armin was about to. Jean wanted to give him the chance.
“Jean.” Armin’s voice shocked Jean again, and when he looked towards the mortal, piercing blue eyes were locked with his own as though the mortal could see him plain as day. Jean’s hands flew to his head, checking that his helmet was still securely sitting on his head. There was no way the blonde could see him, right? “My grandfather told me we could never call out your name. That if we dared to utter the name of the unseen one that you’d come out from the earth and drag us back down with you. I guess it was just a silly story to scare children. I suppose I was naïve for hoping that would work.” Jean smiled, it was a fable he was familiar with. No one in the mortal realm dared to utter his name. He wondered how they would feel if they saw him sitting in the dirt, hiding behind his helmet from fear of talking to a pretty boy.
For a moment, it seemed like that was all Armin had left to say. A comfortable silence fell over the farmer and the god as they sat there. Jean could smell the grass in the wind and earth beneath him. He wanted to memorise every second he was in the company of the blonde. Like a sculptor, he carved each memory into the soft clay of his mind. Every detail was vivid and fresh from the dry flaked dirt beneath him to the soft lines between Armin’s brow. Selfishly, he wanted more than just the Armin painted in his mind. He wanted to reach out and hold the blonde in his arms, to protect him and keep him safe from harm. He wanted to learn his favourite colour, his favourite songs, to listen to his dreams and make them all come true. He wanted to wipe the tears from the handsomeness of his cheeks and be the one to replace the sadness with a smile.
Endless blue stretched out before him as he looked up to the sky. A few scattered clouds scratched the sky but they weren’t enough to hide the sun away. The air around him began to warm again now that Jean had left. He hadn’t said anything, but Armin had felt Jean beside him. Cold had crept up his skin like it had the day they first met, like the day his grandfather died. It was the tell tale sign of death that Jean carried with him wherever he went.
The god must have grown so used to it over the years that he no longer realised how large his presence was, even when he was not visible to the human eye. Armin didn’t know why Jean hid himself, but at least he knew the god had heard him. There was truth to his words, though perhaps he had embellished some of the emotion.
He was no actor, though the little acting he had seen from the amateur troops that often performed at the amphitheatre seemed much more dramatic and caricatured than what he had intended. The best lies were based in fact. It gave them body and life and that was what made them believable. He had done all he could to make Jean believe and scary as it was, Armin’s fate was no longer in his own hands.
“You need help, and you asked Eren?” Reiner’s hearty laugh carried across the room as he entered the room, Connie in tow behind him.
Jean glared at his middle brother. “You told them? How did you even get word to them so quickly?”
Eren smiled as he lounged back on the golden chaise, delighted to see Jean riled up. “Falco. He’s the fastest god in Olympus, I’m his boss, and this is important!” Connie took a seat beside Jean, pouring them both a cup of wine each as he shot Jean a questioning look. “Our baby deity has fallen in love!”
Jean bristled. “I’m not a baby, I'm two thousand years old!”
“You’re in love?” Reiner's eyes lit up. He knew the isolation and loneliness that Jean would never admit he felt over the years.
Jean looked away, hoping no one would notice the blush that crept up his neck. “Well, love might be a bit much. How can you love someone you’ve only just met but… I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with him. It’s like when I look into his eyes everything just clicks into place, its like the warm embrace of home.”
“Your home is freezing though.” Connie muttered, earning a smack to the back of his head.
“It’s a metaphor you dumb shit.”
“So,” Eren’s voice brought the conversation back to focus, “what do you need my help with?”
Reiner scoffed. “Yeah I don’t think Eren’s the one to turn to for love advice.”
“It’s a bit complicated.” Jean explained. “He’s about to be sold off as a consort… and he’s mortal.”
Reiner’s brows pulled together, clearly searching for a solution.
Eren didn’t bat an eyelid. “Okay so bring him to the Underworld? I know I’m not supposed to allow humans in the Underworld or Olympus but honestly how else are you going to get any action?”
Jean ignored the slight in favour of imagining Armin by his side. He wanted to see the mortal’s eyes light up in wonder as Jean showed him his kingdom. All he had to do was ask him and then they could get to know each other at their own pace. But… “What if he refuses?”
“Then don’t give him the chance.” Eren shrugged like it was the simplest solution in the world.
“Nothing like some light kidnapping to build a strong foundation for your first relationship.” Connie’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he took another drag of his drink.
“Well no ones going to willingly follow the King of the Dead to the Underworld, are they.” Eren bit back. “Besides he deserves some love in his life.” Trust Eren to see no real issues with a plan like this, though he may have a point. It had sounded like Armin was crying out for help when he made his offering to Jean, but what if Jean just heard what he wanted. He knew that if he could get Armin to the Underworld even for a short time it would be safer than leaving him where he was now but, was that his choice to make?
Reiner looked sceptical. “Alright great wise one, what do you think he should do then?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Eren grinned.
All night he tossed and turned, his stomach aching in fear and anxiety. It scared him, the loss of control over his fate. By this time tomorrow he could be in the unwanted arms of the General, either accepting his fate or being beaten into submission. With a shaky breath he tried to close his eyes again, focussing on the sound of his heart beating against his chest.
Amber light woke him, streaming through the windows where he forgot to pull the shutters closed the night before. The sun kissed his skin, warming him for a moment that eased his troubled spirit. It was still early, he could tell as the birdsong was quiet, sparrows chirping to pull the rest of the world from their sleep. He allowed himself that moment, soaking in the rays and listening to the wind rustling against the leaves of the trees. He could smell the earth and feel the gentle breeze caressing his skin. It was a moment of peace he had stolen, just for himself.
He didn’t know if he would have one of those again.
Accepting his fate, he finally rose. It was hard to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment that had settled in his heart. Jean was supposed to come for him, to get him away from the idiotic entitlement that so many in the mortal world seemed to hold. He was supposed to take Armin away, but Armin wasn’t smart enough. It was like his grandfather told him, you don’t play the game of the gods, because you will lose every time. He could have been a king, but instead he was left in the dirt.
He’d dashed his hope away, already thinking over the conversation with the General in his head. If he could find a way to put the man off, then maybe he would leave Armin in peace, realise he wasn’t worth the fight, and move onto the next poor boy.
Then he saw it. In the middle of the dark soil of the potato field, a bright white flower in full bloom, exactly where he had buried his offering to Jean. His legs were moving before his brain could catch up and he fell on his knees in front of the plant. It seemed to peer back at him, curiously as he inspected it. Up close, he could see the outer petals were a pale yellow, almost white to the untrained eye. But the inside was a yellow brighter than the sun, pulling him closer as though he was Icarus. It was a narcissus, the flower of death.
A grin spread across his face as understanding overcame him. This was it. Armin had laid the trap and pulled Jean into his orbit, and now Jean had come to steal him for his own. His fingers brushed the soft velvet of the petals, admiring the flower for one more moment. He didn’t know what would happen when he plucked the stem from it’s home in the dirt, but he knew this would be his last time for a while in the sun.
Leaning his face towards the sky, he allowed himself one more moment of respite. The breeze carried his long hair back, flowing gently behind him as he felt the sun on his cheeks for one last time.
“Armin!” The sound of his name shocked him, pulling him out of his reverie as he spotted Onyankopon, running towards him with a desperation that twisted his insides. They were out of time. “They’re here!”
“Go!” Armin called back. “Don’t come back until it’s safe!”
“Armin!” Onyankopon’s voice was desperate as he continued his approach. The sound of hooves began thundering, echoing across the valley as the General and his party began their ascent up the dirt path to the farm.
He could see the red feathers atop the soldier’s helmet’s starting to peak over the hills. Bile burned his throat as it started to rise from his stomach. He swallowed it down, his voice hoarse as he yelled, “Onyankopon! Get out of here!” The man finally stopped in his tracks, eyes flitting between Armin and where the party was approaching. “Don’t worry about me, just go! They’ll hurt you!”
He felt guilty when he saw the conflict in Onyankopon’s eyes. He was a loyal friend to the end, wanting to protect Armin from the slimy grasp of The General. Time was moving too fast, so Armin did the only thing he could. He grabbed the stem of the flower with all his force, stumbling backwards as he freed the roots from the dirt.
In one beautifully horrific moment, the earth began to crumble, a hole appearing where the narcissus once stood as the world began to shake under his feet. He looked up, relieved when he could no longer see Onyankopon in view. Hopefully he had got himself somewhere safe. The hole only continued to grow as he heard The General calling out his name. The horses had stopped in their tracks as the party watched Armin from afar, some scrambling to move back as they saw the world open up behind him.
He smiled.
Then he jumped.