Written for Day 10 of Sheith Month: Fidelity.
(While the word 'suspicion' is actually used in this story, it was strictly accidental as I chased the prompt 'fidelity'. XD)
Keith paused, then took a step back, his eyes narrowing sharply. "Excuse me?" he said in an icy tone.
Lance winced and edged a little further away from Apollo, who was evidently not a very smart creature himself. That tone honestly would have sounded more fitting coming from the God of Death than Spring, but for all his teasing about what Keith should be Lance had given up thinking Keith was truly soft or warm by nature in any way years ago.
"Oh, beautiful, don't you want to come away with me?" Apollo invited. "I know you'll have to return to that cold husband of yours, but it's weeks yet before you must. . . Wouldn't you enjoy basking in my light a little more . . . closely?" he purred, catching at one of Keith's hands and bringing it up as though to kiss it. "Take some enjoyment and warmth before you must submit yourself to such a cold darkness?"
Keith had begun twisting his hand to free it from Apollo's grasp as soon as it closed around his fingers and Lance couldn't stop staring at the Sun God. He was aware Apollo was a little self-centred but even Lance, who had never gotten on well with Keith - and, he could admit, sometimes was maybe not the most observant of gods - could not possibly have missed his devotion to his supposedly-cold husband.
Keith might be a particularly prickly, angry creature but Lance had seen the way his eyes softened and his whole body oriented towards Shiro - like one of his blessed flowers turning towards Apollo's light, Lance thought wryly - whenever he was present. And Shiro, who was much warmer and kinder than most people guessed, doted on him devotedly, if not without what seemed like a faint bewilderment at having his attention.
"I suddenly find myself caring little for your light." Keith said evenly, tilting his head away and glaring. "Like its master, wandering whither it wishes, with little regard for season or need of those who rely upon it, only for itself."
Lance's eyes widened.
Apollo looked at least as shocked, though he shook it off after a moment, his hands curling into fists. "Your flowers and nymphs would die without me!" he spat at Keith, reaching out again.
"Then perhaps you should seek your companions among them," Keith said coolly, turning away and slipping neatly away from Apollo's reaching hand, "perhaps they will be more forgiving of your brash mannerlessness and accept your company in spite of the trials it brings. I find it distasteful."
Apollo sputtered, and Keith brushed a hand through his hair, the golden wheat twisted through the shadowy-dark strands joined by a single stem of blue larkspur with tiny yellow rue flowers twining close alongside.
"I take my leave of your . . . light." Keith said in one of the sneeriest tones Lance had ever heard - and he spent time among Coran's court regularly, watching and trying not to get caught up in the backbiting and jockeying for position himself. "If you'll pardon me, my lord of light," Keith continued, "I find I needs must be elsewhere." Then he turned his back dismissively and strode away.
Lance glanced at Apollo's twisted and offended face - not quite so pretty like this, the golden god, he thought with some vindicated amusement - and continued after Keith. Though he had no wish to try his luck resuming his needling and teasing of Keith from before Apollo's interruption, he didn't want to stay near Apollo right now either.
He was soon out of sight, and Keith had not slowed, striding determinedly onwards. Lance opened his mouth, then closed it again, not wishing to drawn the ire of Persephon for real. Their sniping was one thing, and not truly meant; Keith's real temper would be entirely another. Lance skidded to a stop hurriedly as Keith halted.
Keith made a disgusted sound and suddenly spun on his heel, gesturing sharply. An asphodel grew rapidly before him, then bowed, heavy with bright blooms. Lance stared as Keith stomped off in the direction it had bent.
"Uh. Keith?" Lance said uncertainly.
"I'm going home!" Keith snapped without looking around, and the asphodel bobbed, drifting a little more towards Lance. He jerked backwards with a yelp, then stifled himself. He eyed the flower and told himself firmly that it was not giving him a judging look. It was a flower. Even if it was one of frigging Keith's.
Lance turned on his own heel and wove his way back up into the clouds, leaving the new asphodel behind. Honestly he had better things to be doing than poking at an already irritated Keith anyway. And he suspected he knew right where Keith was going, and while he could walk there freely if he chose, of course, the Underworld made Lance . . . twitchy.
Shiro was nice and all, but. . . Lance shuddered.
His suspicion was borne out a few days later when next he returned to land. He huffed with some amusement, even as he conjured up a slightly warmer wrap and draped it around himself while walking through the clouds.
The weather only became more and more blatant as he continued further inland.
Lance sighed, peering down at the frost limning the mortal realm. Someone, he thought with some reluctance, should probably inform Zeus why he would soon begin receiving a deluge of prayers begging for the return of Persephon. Before he grew angry with Shiro, or with Keith. Though he was unlikely to blame Apollo even if told the truth - he and his golden son were too alike. If Lance were to mention to Allura, on the other hand. . .
She liked Keith well, for whatever reason, and she would definitely rein in her twin, with a vengeance, if she knew what he had said to drive Persephon into Hades' arms early. She had enough distaste for her brother's idea of flirtations already.
Keith would come back - he would never neglect his duties, though Lance had once seen his saddened, regretful face upon leaving the Underworld, and how snappish he became through into the long days of summer - but this unseasonable cold snap was likely to stretch on at least a few days more. Until Shiro's gentler nature soothed his husband's fury. Really, no one wanted Persephon back until he had, whatever they thought - Keith was a terror when his temper was roused.
Best leave him to the Underworld and Shiro's boundless patience and affection, for now.
Apollo, Lance thought with some amusement, glancing at the frosted-over mortal realm again, was unlikely to find quite so many lovely young things willing to dance in his light amongst the flowers just at the moment.
Lance, on the other hand, would be happy to return and find his dolphins and nereides waiting for him, the shelter of the ocean meaning they were less bothered by the tempestuous cold. Persephon's leimakides and anthosai could well bear the frost of their lord's absence, but while normally they loved Apollo, they would not be inclined to look kindly on the god who had driven their beloved Persephon away from them early.
They - and Lance would know - might look sweet but had learned viciousness well from their lord. He shivered at the memory. Still better, of course, than attempting to assay any manner of similar overture to Allura, who needs must be courted very carefully if at all. . .
Lance reached down, breaking off a slim branch nearly coated with ice. He sighed. To Zeus, to warn him of the cold snap, then - carefully avoiding Demeter, who was dreadful to be around when her son was away - on to find Artemis. He smirked.
Lance liked the sunny days of summer well also, even if the silvery light of the strong and changeable moon suited him - and all those of the sea - best, and Apollo shouldn't be allowed to cause this problem again. It would be fun to see Apollo the target of his sister's ire, besides, Lance thought with a snicker.
Lance is one of the many Greek gods of the sea - specifically modelled somewhat after Palaemon (who aides sailors in distress) but also thinking of Delphin.
Nereides are sea nymphs. Anthosai are flower nymphs and Leimakides are nymphs of the meadows.
Asphodel is, of course, a flower representing death and the Underworld to the Ancient Greeks. Drawing from more recent flower meanings, larkspur means fickleness and rue disdain. (Up to you whether you think Keith chose them on purpose for that or not, but that's why I chose them there.)
