Crown Him part 8
Pairing: god of spring!Timothée x goddess of the Underworld!OC
Warning: brief depiction of god-slaughter and war and mention of smutty times 18+ only
A/n: Well gang it's finally fucking here. The angst starts comin' and it don't stop coming now. I can also officially say this is part 8 of 10, so literally the rest of this series is gonna be mostly tragedy, as the myth goes. But with a little flavor and flair 😀! Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, even part 10 won't be the end for these two, so don't be too bummed out! Only 4500 words boohoo 😢 Standard issue: DNI blank blogs, ageless blogs, and those who serial like fics instead of reblogging. I will block you. Every time. Also take a look at my other face claims for the pantheon & company mentioned here!
Aggravating in all forms, Timothée thought with a scrunch of his nose. His arms flexed as he readjusted his grip on the pot in his arms. The fragrant scent was inescapable, especially at his chest as it was. He rolled his eyes with a huff. Conspicuous and attention-seeking were apparently transferable traits.
The streets of Del were quiet and bare as Timothée marched forward, his deed in his grasp. He would have preferred some noise, some distraction. Instead, with only the crunch of loose gravel under his sandals, too many thoughts played and replayed in his head. Hermes’ words. Menthe’s words. Zeus’ relayed message. His mother’s relayed grief.
His jaw clenched. It wasn’t fair. Why was he the only one who cared about his happiness? He and Aidonea, that is. Stomping a little harder, a little faster, Timothée made his way into the palatial home they shared. With the reverberations of his footfall, he honed in, getting out of his own head and seeking out. Where was his wife? His emotions were clouding his ability to feel the thrum of the Underworld, the whispers of his love’s mysteries. Timothée shook his head, trying to shake the chaos inside him straight. But he was too frustrated. It’s fine. He didn’t have to use the powers he was still trying to develop, he just needed to think.
Though it was late, he was not at her side, so he knew that she had not gone to bed yet. Work-life balance was something they were still working towards which meant Aidonea was sure to be in her study still. So he made his way there.
Back pressed to the door, he shoved it open. And as his eyes fell upon the goddess therein, the tension in his shoulders, in his jaw, in his pursed lips, all relaxed. He even thought about smiling.
“Plouton.”
Her gentle smile was like a hug, warm and comforting. Timothée wanted to fall in and curl up in it like a cat sunning itself. “My husband. What have you made? I felt a surge of your power.”
Ah. Yes, that. The reason he was here. “Not what you expect.”
He placed the large fragrant potted plant on the table.
With a curious set to her brows, Aidonea studied it. “What plant is this?”
“Um, I only just created it.”
“Another new one?”
“Yeah…”
“Why do you look guilty?”
He sighed. “First of all, I want to say that I’m not sorry about what I did, I just feel guilty because I feel as though I should have involved you more.”
“Timothée…?”
“This is Minthe.” Timothée finally admitted. Aidonea blinked at him once. Then again.
“…The nymph?”
“Yes.”
“You… turned her into a plant?”
“Yes.”
Aidonea opened and closed her mouth a few times, finally setting on: “I didn’t know you could do that.”
He shrugged. “I just changed her life energy.”
“‘Just’ he says,” Aidonea muttered as she rolled her eyes. “So you mean this is reversible?”
“She’s still alive. I could change her back whenever I wanted to.”
“What was her offense?”
“Harassment over jealousy.”
The face Aidonea pulled brought the guilt of leaving her out of the loop back. “Jealousy?”
Timothée flicked at one of the large serrated leaves, causing the scent to spike and stick to his fingertip. He grimaced. Annoying chit. “She has been antagonizing me about your previous relations.”
Aidonea’s eyes narrowed at the plant and Timothée may have imagined it, but it seemed like its stalk shivered. “A fault I knew her to be capable of. I called myself sparing her feelings the first time I addressed her about you and I. She told me she had more pride than to mistreat you for our past.” Aidonea swept it to the corner of her desk without another glance. “As she clearly lied to me and aggressed against you in blatant insubordination, I believe she can remain this way for as long as you like, my love.”
Timothée preened the tiniest bit, happy to be validated and supported in his choice. He bowed his head a bit in acknowledgment and turned to leave feeling much lighter. Then he paused at a thought, looking over his shoulder to declare, “Also I want new sheets.”
Aidonea frowned, befuddled. Then shrugged. “Sure, pick whichever color you like.” She looked back down to her work. “Except pastels; you are blinding enough to wake up to each morning.”
Timothée made a noise of affront. “I have not lost that much of my tan, how dare you!”
“I will mistake you for a statue soon, I fear.”
“You are the meanest wife I’ve ever had.”
Aidonea smiled briefly then let it fall, searching his face. For what, he wondered? Not remorse, surely, for he had meant it when he said earlier that he did not regret what he did. But if he was being honest with himself, he may have been a little embarrassed under the unapologetic righteousness. That it had to come to this. But the nymph had been spoiling for a fight since he arrived and delaying giving one to her had only brought them to where they are now. And with it, his satisfaction.
His queen regained his attention, coaxed his fallen gaze– when had he looked to the ground?— back to her own and regarded him openly. “You had every right to exact the punishment you saw fit of a transgression against you from who is supposed to be a loyal courtier. I trust your judgment, my king.”
The reassurance made him straighten, re-steel his resolve. Then he nodded perfunctorily. Swallowing, he let his gaze settle on the scrollwork before her. “What are you doing?”
“Answering prayers.”
“In your study? That should be more happy work, should it not?”
She breathed a humorless laugh. “We are not invoked for the same things, my love.”
His brows drew in on themselves, only able to guess at what the contents one may pray to the sovereign of the dead and afterlife for. Timothée placed his hand over hers. “Come, Plouton. Give to those of the living who call out to you from a livelier place.”
They gather her scrolls and her charcoal styluses and he leads her to a random village square in Del. There, Aidonea sent blessings while surrounded with the calming bustle of her shades at work, going about their duties as she went about hers. Timothée organized her stacks and grouped them by content as he hummed windingly at her side.
From then on, she did so every time she went to answer mortal prayers, with and without Timothée by her side. She would simply walk the streets of Del, surveying the common goings-on and find a spot to sit with her scrolls of the rising’s requests.
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(They fucked on sumptuous silken, ruby red sheets that night.)
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It had been awhile since last she had spent time with Cerberus, so she decided to take them on a walk. Relieved from their constant duty, the dogs gleefully split apart and relaxed.
Ruscĕus’s big head was on her lap as Cernŭo playfully wandered the area, butting up to greet and shades and get pets. Bēryllus’s sharp green eyes were alert and watching the goings on.
Cernŭo trotted up, nudging something against her hand to encourage a game of fetch. She grinned indulgently to the canine, wrapping a hand around the bone and pulling her arm back for a throw. Then paused before launching it.
“Wait, Cer, whose bone is this?”
Slender arms slung around Aidonea’s shoulders from behind as the scent of dark berries and fire nuzzled against her cheek.
“I’ve tracked you down, wife divine.”
“I was not hiding from you,” she smirked.
“I did not say you were, only warning that you may not be able to any longer even if you try. I am becoming quite adept at reading the Underworld! Getting even better at separating your aura from the ambient mysteries of you that suffuse the lands.” Aidonea praised his growing skill and he preened and basked in it momentarily. His chin tilted over her shoulder as he peeked in on what she was working on. “More prayers?”
She hummed in affirmation. The number was idly increasing and she had intended to send an envoy to uncover why. But Timothée had a way of unwittingly distracting her. Aidonea made a mental note to do so the next time she saw Thanatos. Or maybe Hermes.
“Where have you gone?” Timothée murmured with a kiss to her temple before finally rounding her and kneeling at her side. He reached over and patted Ruscĕus’s side. “Somewhere inward I cannot follow, and I don’t like that. Come back to me.” She laughed at the faux pout in his tone.
“You are a glutton for attention.”
“Your attention,” he corrected with a teasing roll of his eyes.
As he did so, the corner of his vision caught a glimpse of something new in the area. A statue near the road. Well he had been commissioning new ones left and right, though he doesn’t remember an idea for this crossing in particular. Honestly, good on Daedalus for taking the initiative to add more without his express direction. Timothée moseyed over to admire the handiwork, but his pleasantly curious expression fell as he got closer. “Hold on, is that me?”
“Nothing wrong with your eyes.”
“You knew of this? You arranged this? You got a statue made of me?”
“The other half of this union was being woefully underrepresented and is still soundly outnumbered by your aversion to moderation.”
“Whyever would I simply want a moderate amount of depictions of you?”
He marveled at the figure for a bit, his likeness posed in serene repose. That woman was still full of surprises, it would appear. How had he got this passed him?
Timothée rounded on her, narrowing his eyes teasingly. “What other secrets are you keeping from me, Hidden One?”
A coy smirk adorned Aidonea’s lips. Mischief. Sneakiness. A novel but welcome sight from her. Timothée gasped a bit theatrically, eyes widening in realization.
“There is something else. What are you up to? What have you done?”
“I was only told this rising that it was ready.”
He waved for her to stand. “Well?? I’m not the god of patience and delayed gratification! Lead the way!”
Ruscĕus grumbled to have his comfy nap disturbed, but he eventually rolled off and let her leave, though not without a little huff of disapproval. Aidonea took her husband by the hand and they walked from the bustling streets to the far less congested grounds surrounding their temple home. A ways passed, but not so far as the path to Elysium, Aidonea showed him an archway that hadn’t been there a fortnight ago.
She pushed open grand stained glass doors and Timothée’s jaw dropped.
Half cave and half greenhouse, the space was encrusted with moonstone, jade, and emeralds in the walls and ceiling. The green tint to the room gave it a calm but hopeful air. And bathing under it was a sizable empty field of dirt.
“The soil is from aboveground,” Aidonea explained and he wasted no time dropping to his knees. Timothée sank his hands splayed wide into the soil and sent his chaos out. “Thanatos probably looked like an actual gravedigger.”
“I can do anything I want with this,” Timmy murmured as he analyzed the soil, diagnosing it. “Oh, I can hear you,” he comforted absentmindedly, not talking to Aidonea. He heard it as clearly as a mortal's prayers, the soil beseeching aid, telling him its pains and imbalances. His brows furrowed, forlorn and empathetic as it cried out to him.
Aidonea placed her hands on his shoulders, seeing the way he reacted. “I’m sorry. I did not expect this of my gift.”
“No!” He shook his head, grinning at her over his shoulder. “It’s okay because I can fix it. It’s a little salty— a lot salty— a little dry. Some compost would be great, but it’s all doable, baby. It’s good foundation, I can definitely heal it and grow anything I want from this.”
Reassured, Aidonea smiled with a little relief as she gently squeezed his shoulders. “Of course you can, Kthonia.”
She had intended the epithet to delight him but not thrill him as it did. “Karpophoros…” she continued, her hands trailing down his arms. “Obrimo…” she whispered in his ear and he shivered. Chaos ran down from his shoulders, into the earth and made it ripple out with the epicenter where his hands disappeared below the soil. Asphodels sprung up only to wither in the deficient earth. “Okay, yeah, I never thought I’d say this but, divine, you must leave me.”
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Megaera finished up her report of the beach of Styx and its recent overcrowding; how they were needing to reallocate resources. Why were so many dying penniless? What could possibly be the shift that was taking place?
Aidonea rubbed at her temple. “Give a message to Thanatos for me. Have him send a delegate to investigate this influx. Assist Tisyphone with surveying the new shades with no toll coins and get back to me as soon as you can.”
The Erinye bowed. “With haste, your majesty,” she assured and turned to leave.
“Megaera, before you go, could you please take Minthe with you? The scent is giving me a headache.”
Megaera snorted and hefted the large pot effortlessly. “Not a novel feeling in her presence. Our king certainly created with accuracy.”
Without the heavy fragrance in the air, Aidonea could focus again. Clear her mind a bit more. What hour was it? What more did she need to finish tonight? She looked at her task list and saw it to be uncommonly sparse. She’d really fallen out of the routine of using it as she spent more and more of her risings outside of her study. Her darling husband had done a fine job of coaxing her out of her seclusion.
Now that she thought about it, routine was something she had all but abandoned since the wedding. Easing out of the honeymoon and back into her duties had not been seamless and she could admit to herself that balancing the responsibilities to her position as queen and her position as wife leaned heavily one way one rising and the other way the next.
It wasn’t necessarily a change she disliked, but change certainly wasn’t her strong suit like it was Timothée’s. How long would she need to adjust? But the benefits of having him far outweighed her difficulties.
The tender smile that had begun to spread on Aidonea’s face fell abruptly.
There was an unwanted visitor in her home. And from the faint crackle of electricity in the soles of her feet, sending the gentle sensation across the surface of her skin up to her fingertips, a damning feeling fell over her like a shroud. Aidonea made a quick stop by the Infernal Armory before moving through the shadows.
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Timothée stomped towards the entrance of his home again. He felt the shift in the Underworld, the way another oppressive aura had forced its way in, demanding it make space for them. The closer he got, the more he recognized the rumble under his feet to be the low, reverberating growl of Cerberus.
Could it be Hermes again, back and bolder? He told him all those risings past that—.
The messenger god was not the one stood at the maw of the Underworld.
Zeus frowned and settled ice blue eyes on him from where he still stood upon his chariot.
Timothée sized up the god, the cut of his jaw as he lifted it proudly to look down upon him. Nothing about him suggested this would be a pleasant visit. So Timothée abandoned hospitality immediately as Zeus did by invading their home unannounced and unwanted.
“Zeus Xenios,” Timothée greeted with a mildly sarcastic tone. “What could bring you to our home this rising without invitation or permission asked?”
His great jaw clenched before he spoke, cutting to the chase. “You’ve been missing for months. Your mother is worried sick. She’s poisoned the mortals’ fields with her bitter tears. They’ve salted the grounds.”
Breath caught in Timothée’s chest as he thought of the soil in his gifted garden, salted and malnourished. It was his own mother’s weeping who’d done so. He never wanted her to worry. He just wanted to do what he did want. “Tell her I’m fine, that I’ve chosen to live here with Aidonea.”
“Hermes told her you were fine. Her tears did not stop. She wishes to see you.”
“Well, I cannot just leave to assuage her!”
Zeus sneered. “You must! She is your mother and your place is with her!”
“Aidonea is my wife! My place is with her! Though, you may be a little foggy on that concept,” Timothée spat, his temper returning with a vengeance. “I willingly ate the fruits of this land! Knowing I would never be able to leave, knowing I never wanted to leave! This is my home now!”
Zeus’s eyes flashed, as if lightning streaked in his very irises, but Timothée did not back down. Rooted like a tree, he stood tall, eyes fixed and hard as jasper on the sky king. Zeus’s voice rumbled like thunder as he spoke and stomped forward into Timothée’s space. “You may think yourself more important because Aidonea has handed you royal status but I am still the king of the gods. You will return to your mother. You will return aboveground. You will do so because I say—.”
“What you will do, is take care of how you speak in our domain, dear brother.” Aidonea hissed as she made herself known, removing her helm and slipping out of the shadows. Zeus shrunk a bit under her glower. Demeter had once mentioned that Zeus was a little fearful of his older sister, a fact she’d overheard from Hera’s gossiping lips, readily corroborated with by Poseidon. Zeus maintained his bravado, speaking with his chest at her.
“This needs to be handled, Aidonea.”
“It already is. Timothée is my husband. He has chosen to stay here. Demeter can stop her dramatics, she even knows he’s safe. He’s not missing, he’s home. If you are the king of the gods, then tell her to get over herself and do her job.”
“You know I do not interfere with the pantheon’s allotted domains.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And yet here you are.”
“To request that he return to his grieving mother!”
“Who chooses to grieve at this point! She’s been told he’s well and happy and yet she throws a tantrum because she wants him back with her!”
Zeus sighed, breaking from the strain of the argument. He does not often have to argue. His wife and sister being the only ones who ever do so with him. And while tuning Hera out came easy, Aidonea posed more of a threat. Moreover, her parlays would always be aimed at him instead of misdirected to another.
He held his hands up, placating her. “Plouton—.”
“Do not call me that! You are so full of shit! You will not placate me!”
“You see the position I am in!”
“Yes! In my domain! In our home! Demanding we defer to Demeter because she is becoming a thorn in your side! Disrespectful and completely lacking decorum, though neither of those are foreign to you.”
He bristled, electricity sparking at his fingers.
Aidonea saw and goaded his ire. “Oh, do call it down, Jupiter, call your lightning down! You’ll do worse damage to the mortals than that fool Demeter is blubbering all over the lands.”
He visibly restrained himself, huffing out his nose like a bull enraged. “A compromise. We will meet on Olympus. You and Timothée will come, meet with Demeter and we will all reach a favorable decision going forth. You know that is the only acceptable course of action.”
Aidonea said nothing, her anger darkening her entire countenance and unease rippled through Zeus as his own shadow seemed alive below him. But he didn’t dare take his eyes off of Aidonea.
“Leave us.” She began to walk towards Timothée, her back to Zeus.
He backed away towards his chariot that brought him there. “Two days, Aidonea. Meet on Olympus by daybreak in two days.”
“Go away!” She hissed in Greek, shooing him over her shoulder impatiently.
Timothée had never seen his wife so… angry. Unlike the fierce Titanomachy statue where her ferocity was devoted to winning a war, the sharp pinch of this being personal gave him the image of a storm given flesh. Aidonea even appeared to… blur around the edges; as if her body was unwittingly becoming shadow, forgetting to hold onto corporeal form.
Timothée grabbed her hand and it snapped solid under his touch. She squeezed it and Timothée pulled her close, into his arms so that he could press a kiss to her forehead. The tendrils of her hair returned to coils instead of formless wisps of darkness. The wrinkles of her frowned brow smoothed under his lips.
The rustle of packed soil and whimpering sounded as Cerberus bellied their way over to the royal couple. One large head nuzzled at Timothée as the other two did so with Aidonea.
Timothée breathed an amused sigh, turning now tired eyes down to his love. “My place is next to you, as I told him. I am yours.”
“And I yours. We chose each other, a concept he surely cannot fathom.”
Timothée pressed his forehead against hers. “Woe to whoever seeks to cleave me from your side, Aidonea. My love, there is no limit to the chaos I could unleash for you.”
She cupped his cheek, not responding directly to his words. “Come, my king. Let us calm ourselves.”
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Sandwiched between the unforgiving smooth black marble of the recessed bath and Aidonea’s comforting weight reclined on his chest, Timothée was making his way towards relief. The geothermal water piped in from an underground spring steamed with the soothing scent of minerals and salts around them. His muscles tried to relax, his mind tried to calm. But he could not when he could feel his wife thinking.
Aidonea had a brilliant mind, vast beyond his knowledge. She saw backwards into the past more times than most people blink in a day. Countless lives, mortal and immortal alike, she had watched begin and end. Her mind was an abacus, a machine, constantly taking input and trying to follow it ‘til it’s natural end. But knowing it was their relationship she was lost pondering, he refused to let her travel her mental prediction tree.
Timothée was only certain of two more risings with her. And he wanted all of her in the present.
His hand rose from the water; the sound of it trickling from his cupped palm and falling back to its surface and along her skin broke the relative silence. He smoothed his hand down her arm, feeling the familiar softness of her that he’s traced countless times with hands and mouth alike. “Don’t think, Plouton, just feel. Just be here with me.”
Her form melted into his and he knew he had her back. She sighed as her head tilted backwards, rested on his shoulder and her eyes closed.
“Tell me of your garden.”
“I’ve decided to grow in there the old fashioned way. After healing the soil and a brief impatience to see sprouts, I just used enough chaos to get them to break ground. They will develop a bit more rapidly here than aboveground, but the trunks are still green.”
“What did you plant?”
Timothée’s smile crooked. He ducked down and murmured the answer in her ear like it was a secret. “A pomegranate grove.”
The chocolate diamonds that were her irises twinkled as they opened again, pinning him with a look. “Sentimental.”
“Guilty.” He shrugged. “That accusation the least of what I can be charged with. ‘Disgustingly adoring’ is what Thanatos leveled at me when I told him that I can't wait to give you the best of them when they grow. I’ll pick the fruit that bends the tree with its weight. That when we part it, the myriad seeds will sit like gathered ruby and garnet pebbles. The juice will be bright and refreshing on your tongue. And it will taste of the love I put into growing it for you, to fortify your body and keep your heart strong for me.”
“And at which point of that did Thanatos cut you off?”
“Wouldn’t even let me get to the part about the seeds! Such dour help we keep in him.”
“Even more lucky we are to have Spring among us.”
“I suppose so.”
Aidonea turned at the trace deprecation she could here in his voice, maneuvering to straddle his lap with a sure face. “We are fortunate to have you here, Timothée. I am fortunate to have such a partner as you. You are unparalleled.”
Timothée cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone and he watched as the water dripped down her jaw. “I never sought more for myself until I saw you in my forest. I am fixed to you, Aidonea. I cannot be removed.” His eyes lowered as his hand did, he followed its path as it brushed down over her chest. Palm pressed to the warm skin, ichor pumping rhythmically there. “My heart is here. To leave you would be a surgery.”
“I thought we were not to speak of such things.”
He smiled. “Right, as always, my wife. Occupy my lips otherwise.”
They kissed and washed each other languidly until their skin pruned. It was the intimate reset Timothée needed to rest easy that night.
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It sickened her, truly. This fucked up family and the way they spilled each other’s ichor like it was nothing. Like it was not precious.
And there was Timothée, laying absolute waste.
He dove in with no hesitation. He looked like an avenging angel; so beautiful, so wrathful, merciless in the damage he dealt. His purple chiton ichor-streaked, his eyes vibrantly green, almost drunk off his own powers. Having fun.
Those who tried to stop him were met with profound pain, left altered, his touch indelible as he embraced his chaos. Thorns spreading like gooseflesh along their skin. Their bones turning to bark as branches reached forth from their extremities. A terrible feedback loop of his anger and his power’s instability.
Could he face his mother with such malevolence?
Could he watch Aidonea do so?
But then he looked over plant-morphed bodies leaking gold into the earth and saw her. His eyes softened, releasing the rage as his gaze rested on his heart’s desire. The one he was doing all of this for.
Face streaked with others’ ichor, he smiled at her.
Aidonea’s eyes snapped open to her meditation sanctum with a shaky gasp.
