Chapter Text
The skin on his neck burned as he sorted the produce in front of him. Harvest season was approaching quicker than ever and with plenty of mouths to feed, he and his grandfather's work was at its most needed. Leaves turned their colour around him, vibrant greens fading into equally bright yellows alerting him that summer was indeed over. The autumn sun was no less forgiving though. His legs were sore from walking the fields all day, and his arms ached from the crates and barrels that he lifted. All the labour was down to him, and had been for the last few years as his grandfather’s strength continued to deteriorate. The old man rested on the porch, watching Armin as he worked. He missed the days of tilling the earth and watching the crops he planted grow tall and large over the months, but he knew the God’s blessing on him was coming to its end.
Armin closed the last crate, loading it up onto the back of the wagon with difficulty. He had grown strong as he learned his grandfather’s trade, but only enough to be able to work. He heard stories of men strong enough to carry the world on their backs, of mortals with the power to tear the ground in two at their hands. Mortals with the strength of the Gods, who had been rewarded with power and immortality. He risked a glance at the old man. He knew he couldn’t read his mind, but if he knew Armin still dreamt of such things he would surely get a scolding. “You don’t play the God’s games,” his grandfather had told him once. Armin was younger at the time wanting to follow the nymphs into the forest at the chance to meet a Demi-God. “The Gods use you as a pawn until you trip up, or they tire of you. Never forget that.”
The words were true enough. Stories were shared of men and women who were favoured by the gods, but when they tried to deceive them, they were struck down or punished for their disobedience. It was clear that they were at the god’s disposal no matter what. But it was never easy to stamp out a dream.
“I’ll be back before supper.” Armin promised, clambering onto the front of the cart. His horse, Dolos started slowly up the dirt path as they made their way into town. It would be his last harvest with the horse, he knew that, and he feared the last with his grandfather too. They were the only family he had known. Since he was a boy, he could never place the face of his mother or father. He knew his mother had taken him to the farm, leaving him there in the care of the old man. It was to protect him, she had promised. “The world is far crueler than you may ever know.” She warned him, wiping the fat tears that rolled down his cheeks. The words stuck with him as he grew, ever cautious as he navigated his childhood. They echoed through his mind when the first man tried to claim him and his beauty for their own.
White buildings of the town came into view as they continued their journey. As did a figure on the road. He felt a shiver run up his spine in anticipation, the hairs standing on the skin of his arm. Cautiously, he pulled his hood up to try cover his face, hoping it would not be too late to hide himself.
“Armin.” The familiar voice called. He had been unsuccessful. The figure approached the cart as he called Dolos to a stop. “I have an offer.”
He sighed, pulling the cloak away from his head to respond. “How many times do I have to say no, Marlowe?”
“As many times as my master asks for you.” He shook his head, clearly as bored of the conversation as Armin was. “I know you will reject him, but you know I must ask. He’s raised his price this time.” Marlowe hoped that would grab his interest, but he knew the effort was fruitless. “A roof over your head, a slave of your own. You’d be cared for and wouldn’t need to work the farm anymore. He’s even raising his offer to five thousand drachmae.”
Armin raised an eyebrow at that. “Five thousand? That’s a lot of coin to waste on a dying man.”
Marlowe bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Armin. I did not realise his condition had become so bad. What will you do once he passes?”
If Marlowe hoped this would sway him into accepting his master’s offer, then the poor man had learnt nothing. “I’ll continue to work. Was that all, Marlowe?” Before the dark haired man could respond, Armin turned forward, flicking the reins to continue his journey. He couldn’t blame Marlowe for trying, he was only doing his job. His master was a politician in the city who led a small portion of the democratic debates. He had a wife, and two children, but after he heard of Armin’s beauty, he wanted him too. Greed was a nasty thing and it was spreading across Greece like wildfire. The politician wasn’t the first person to try and buy Armin into their service. Suitors travelled across the region to see it for themselves. Apparently his looks rivalled the Goddess of beauty herself, though Armin hoped he could find out for himself one day.
Beauty, he had learned, could get you a lot. Free drinks, free passage, a seat at a table, discounted seeds, the favour of a man, the jealousy of a woman. There were plenty of frivolities he could get from being pretty. But none of them were what he wanted. Since the third slave had visited their modest farm, Armin knew he would never accept their proposals. Even if they offered all the drachmae in the world they would walk away empty handed. No mortal being could offer him what he really wanted, he only wished they would realise that already and move onto the next pretty thing.
By the time he arrived home, it was already dark out. The night had turned cold without the guidance of the sun. Grandpa was nowhere to be seen, hopefully he’d managed to drag himself to bed. He should have moved him inside before he left for town. The old man slept soundly in his bed when Armin checked on him, ducking out of the room with a small smile he went to tend to Dolos. The horse looked relieved as Armin removed his reins and harness, keen to eat and sleep after a hard day's work. He sighed, brushing Dolos’ coat as the horse ate. “You have things so easy, you know.” He told his companion. “You eat the same hay every day, you walk the same roads, you sleep when you can and you seem so content. Do horses have dreams? Aspirations? I suppose if you do then there’s no way of achieving them.” The horse ignored him, focussing on his meal instead. He shook his head at himself. What was the use of speaking to horses of wants? Animals had that primal instinct that humans had nearly evolved from, they didn’t have to worry about emotions or ethos. There must be a liberation within that ignorance, Armin thought. Part of him wished he could be absolved from those burdens.
When he woke, he broke his fast with bread and salted fish before shuffling to his grandfather’s bedside to help him eat. The old man looked more fragile than ever. The thin dappled skin under his eyes was skunken into his skull, his eyes unfocussed as he lay there. His skin looked almost bruised with discolouration, only highlighted by the sun that streamed through the curtain. When had he gotten this ill? “My boy.” Armin met his grandpa’s shaking hand with his own. “My light is fading, fast.”
“W-what?” Tears fell freely from his face and his stomach dropped. He thought they’d have another harvest together at least. “It’s too soon.”
His grandpa attempted a chuckle, but could only cough instead. “How many times must I tell you that we cannot best the gods? If it is my time then it is not my place to argue.”
Blue eyes continued to well and cry as he clutched at his grandfather’s hand like a lifeline. “You can’t leave me, you’re all I have left.”
“Not all you have left.”
Jean was pissed off. A major development project in the Asphodel Meadow was delayed by three weeks due to staff illness and holidays causing the palace to become overcrowded with souls awaiting their judgement. He rubbed his temples, hoping for any piece of relief he could get. The day's arrivals list was on the desk in front of him, outlining all the souls that would be entering the Underworld that day.
Ruling the Underworld seemed like a lot more work than the other realms, but he supposed that's why he had drawn the short straw. Eren had stolen the sky, Reiner claimed the seas, and Jean was left with the earth. He bet fish weren’t difficult to manage at all, and Eren barely ruled which is why the gods were so debauched in the first place. They could fuck, kill, and punish whatever mortal they wanted as long as Eren didn’t mind. Jean didn’t have the time for that kind of behaviour, not that he would want the time for it. He knew Eren loved to fuck with mortals whenever he had the chance, and Reiner seemed to be searching for someone or some thing to bring him joy. He’d let his brothers get on with it. He had a kingdom that actually needed him.
“Levi!”
The God of Death popped his head around the large black door to Jean’s office, eyes drooped in annoyance “What do you want?” He asked, his mood clearly matching Jean’s. There weren’t many people who would talk so brashly to the king of the Underworld, but he supposed being the embodiment of death itself gave you certain liberties.
“I need to get out of here.” Jean explained. It had been a while since he visited the surface and the dark was getting to him. Usually he found solace in the black cold of the Underworld, but with so many lost, tormented souls roaming the lower halls of the palace, he needed to escape to the light, even if just for the day. “Would you let me collect a few souls off your list? I could do with some fresh air.”
Levi may have been the only person Jean was truly scared of anymore. The short God narrowed his eyes as he stormed further into the room until the two were face to face. “You’re the fucking God of the Underworld. If you want a day off, just fuck off and do that.”
Jean frowned. “We’re working overtime here, I can’t just disappear and gallop around meadows with mortals and nymphs. I’d rather use my time efficiently if I can. I’m not asking for many. Five souls, maximum.” After he had finished those duties, he would need to reassess how full the Asphodel Meadow had become.
The Underworld was split into three sections. The Elysian Fields were where the purest of souls would spend the remainder of existence. They lived in golden fields with plenty of fruit and wine. It was bliss, a reward for their good deeds done while they were alive. Tartarus was the darklands, where no one wanted to venture. The rivers surrounding it were liquid fire, not allowing any lost souls to escape from their hell. Any other soul who was neither exceptional nor detestable lived in the Asphodel Meadow, a middle ground for normal people. It was the most populated area, and that population only continued to grow and grow.
“One soul.” Levi settled, and Jean knew that was the best offer he would get, “ and you finish work early, I’m tired of seeing those ugly bags under your eyes.”
Jean glanced down again at the arrivals list, picking a name near the top of the list. “Don’t miss me too much.” Before Levi could protest or hit him, Jean clicked his fingers and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.
The bright light of the sun blinded him as he materialised in the mortal realm. Lifting an arm to shield himself, his black woolen cloak fell to his side. That was one thing he didn’t miss about the mortal realm, the clothing was always so loose, one wrong move and suddenly you were exposing more than you ever intended. His helmet sat at his feet, sunlight glistening off the side. With a sigh, he lifted it to his head. It was an obnoxious thing, bright and golden with two large horns sticking out from either side. The Helm of Darkness, that’s what Eren had called it, a stupid grin on his face as he handed it to Jean. Really it was more Reiner’s colour than his own. Jean had always preferred black.
The helm sat uncomfortably on his head. The metal guard covered his face down to his chin, the gold reflecting into his eyes made it even harder to see but he knew it was necessary. Most gods were worshipped in the mortal realm. They had shrines, temples, and theatres built in their name, but not for the king of the Underworld. Should anyone see him, they would surely curse and scream at him. The less exposure he had, the better.
The smell of pig shit felt out of place against the aesthetic of the Greek countryside. The fields were lush with different crops and foliage. They spanned out far, and he could even see the dormant grape trees waiting to bloom in spring. He wished he could taste the wine on his lips instead of the stale musk of manure. The sun was high in the sky, still kissed pink from when it had only recently awoken. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, promising a beautiful day for the mortal world. Well, maybe not beautiful for everyone. With a sigh, he turned his sights back to the white house sat at the front of the farmlands. Without proper time to research before escaping Levi, he wasn’t sure what this soul would have in store for him.
The quiet struck him as he approached, like this place had been untouched for days. He could feel the faint pull of the soul as he wandered towards the entrance of the house. Steeling himself, he raised a hand to push open the old wooden door, only to be stopped by a voice next to him. “That’s trespassing.”
He jumped, turning towards the voice, finding an old man leaning against the white wall of the house. There was a wrinkled smile tugging at his lips. His skin was a translucent blue, the sign of a shade. This was the soul he had come for, ready to make his descent into the Underworld. “Mr Arlert.”
“I didn’t realise I was important enough for the God of Geath himself to collect me.” He chuckled, nodding his head towards the helmet that sat on Jean’s head. “Does this mean I’m going straight to Tartarus?”
Jean quickly removed the offending helmet from his head. How could he be two thousand years old but still feel like an embarrassed teenager in front of some old guy? “I like to check in now and then. Do you have your coin?”
The old man nodded, “My grandson made sure I was ready for the journey. I was worried though. He refused to have me buried in the temple. He said I should be returned to the land where I was born.” He pointed up past Jean’s head. When he turned he noticed a figure at the top of the hill that overlooked the farmlands. Despite the summer season coming to its end, the land on the hill looked lush, covered in bright flowers that shone like jewels in the sun.
“It’s a beautiful place to rest. He chose well.” He knew it was time for him to take his leave, but something kept him there. Perhaps it was the nature of the old man. Jean couldn’t remember the last mortal he spoke to who didn’t scream or cry and beg for their lives. This man had an air of peace about him, like he was welcoming his fate, accepting that it was his time to return to the Underworld. “Do not panic, you will never see Tartarus, I can already tell your soul is good.”
The old man nodded. “Some comfort as I take my journey. Thank you, your highness.”
He nods dumbly, glancing back up at the hill for a moment. The figure was no longer there but flowers still smiled back at him. He wondered if there were any other mortals like the old man, who didn’t despise him. He called him your highness . The last person that called him that was Reiner, but even that had been sarcastic and biting. With a snap of his fingers, the earth next to the shade shifted, a staircase materialising in the dirt. “Safe travels.” The shade nodded his thanks before starting his descent. Once he had disappeared from view, Jean closed up the ground back to its original state. Caught up in his own thoughts, his helmet remained tucked under his arm as he turned, ready to depart back to the darkness of home.
There was a figure steadily approaching him. Jean cursed himself, realising he was still visible to mortals as the helmet sat uselessly between his arm and his chest. He looked down to the ground, was it too late to open it up and drop straight down? A shadow cast over him as the figure approached and he knew he’d hesitated too long.
He looked up and in an instant, the earth stood still. There was no birdsong, no breeze in the trees. Every brook stopped babbling and every hill stopped rolling, for in that moment everything was blue. The ocean stared back at him through the man’s eyes, wet with tears and red from sadness. Long golden hair framed his delicate face, each strand like the Fates had thread it themselves. His pink lips puffed out in a shocked ‘o’ as they took in Jean’s presence and the waves came crashing down around him. In that moment he was just a man, a mortal swept up in a tsunami of shining beauty and he was drowning.
The Goddess of beauty herself would be put to shame in his presence.
“Who are you?” The vision asked, brows raised in shock. Surely this was the grandson Mr Arlert spoke of earlier. He had not mentioned how breath-taking he was, but Jean supposed that was probably the last thing the shade was thinking about when face to face with the God of Darkness. The blond stepped back, alerted by the intrusion and the lack of response from Jean.
He cursed himself, now was not the time to lose his words. “I apologise for alarming you.” He finally spoke, keeping his voice low and smooth. It was not often he spoke to mortals, and should word spread of their interaction, he needed to make sure his reputation stayed intact. “I only came to pay my respects to your grandfather.” The lie slipped easily off his tongue. It was true he had come for the old man at least.
The man only narrowed his sapphire eyes. How could he be so beautiful even with such a distrusting look on his face? “You knew him?”
“Not well, I must admit. We only met recently.” His eyes drifted back towards the house where he had spoken to the shade moments before.
Blue eyes stayed locked on his, softening but only slightly as they took in Jean’s appearance. They lingered on the golden helm at his side for a second too long before returning to his face. “You’re late. We buried him this morning.”
There was a question in his voice, though Jean could not decipher it. The mortal burial process was an involved one, and if the old man was already one with the earth then he must have passed two days ago at least. Those blue eyes continued flicking between Jean’s helmet and his face. Did the grandson know who he was? Eren told him all the time that it was fine to lie to mortals, “they didn’t know any better!” he would laugh, but already Jean’s lie was coming back to bite him. It had been years since he had stepped foot in the mortal realm, had they grown more perseptive since he last visited? Should he reveal himself, most likely the beauty would run as far as possible, but perhaps that was the safer option. Another second in his presence and Jean was sure he would surely give his heart without question.
“News travels slow where I am from.” Jean settled on, hoping the man would understand the meaning behind the words.
The man gasped in realisation and with a shaky breath of his own, Jean took in the man's appearance for the last time, burning it into his memory to remember in his dreams. But the man did not run, he came closer . “The unseen one.” Small hands reached out like they were moving for his face, but inched back like he thought better of himself.
“But now you’ve seen me.” This close, Jean realised how he towered over the man, even in his mortal form, yet still he didn’t run. With the sun shining over his face, Jean now noticed the freckles that dusted his nose like stars, pulling Jean into their gravity. They stood like that for a moment, the man’s arms hanging in the air as Jean continued to admire him. The man looked back at him in wonder. Jean knew it could only be from the miracle of seeing a god in person, but in the bottom of his stomach he ached for something more.
The moment had to end eventually, he knew that, but as the man let his arms fall back to his sides, Jean wished he had the power to pause time, even if for a second. “Now I’ve seen you.” The man echoed. “Are you going to drag me back to the Underworld with you?”
His wide eyes looked vulnerable as he stared up at Jean. How could a mortal have him so weak? He shook his head in answer. “I’ll let you go, but you have to do something for me.”
The blond nodded quickly, knowing the wrath the god would descend upon him should he refuse.
“Tell me your name.”