Work Text:
There was no place like Hestia's kitchen.
It was a special kind of home.
An island of peace and stability amidst a family of high-and-mighty gods, who were arguing 24/7.
It was the domain of a goddess, who was revered by all, yet she was more respectful and humble than all of them combined.
Never judgemental, never angry, always down-to-earth, a beacon of domestic bliss – that was the goddess of the hearth.
She was the third oldest deity on Olympos; only Themis and Aphrodite were older. She remembered things that others didn't – like those short few years, when her father Kronos had been kind and loving, before going mad and devouring each of his children right after their birth.
Once she had been a member of the Dodekatheoi.
But she had stepped down and relinquished her seat in the council for the sake of her nephew Dionysos.
Why?
Because he had earned it.
The poor young god had been through so much by the time his father had finally taken him up to Olympos – the least he had deserved was to be one of the big twelve. That and Hestia had known, that with a throne, he would receive much more power and respect than he had been given so far.
Besides … she didn't need her throne anyway.
What was a fancy golden chair, compared to all the other, far better things she had?
She had her quiet little realm, the most peaceful place in the entire Kosmos.
She had the reverence of mankind. To them it mattered as little as it did to her, that she had no throne anymore – when they thought of home, safety and comfort, it was always her fire that came to their minds first. It was the ultimate symbol of domesticity.
She had her family – her wild, unhinged family, that fought all the time, but in her presence always became gentle and calm. From her proud and roving younger brothers, over her long-suffering and temperamental younger sisters and her sensible and independent nieces, to her flighty and raving mad nephews – she loved and respected them all equally and they all equally loved and respected her.
And really, she thought, as they all gathered around her hearth like wide-eyed children, waiting for Zeus to read a letter from his absent son Ares. Who cares about a fancy golden chair? I have all that I need.