Never had Ares felt the touch of a soul as pure as this. It caused feelings to stir within him, unfamiliar, painful but somehow necessary, as if he could no longer exist without them. He was a god, but he'd found something, someone greater. Could he be worthy?
*****************************************************************
The God of War rose from the field of battle he called his bed with a smug grin. Discord, bruises already fading from her body, curled up among the cushions and furs and smiled back.
"Come back to bed, Ares. We're not finished...yet."
He clothed himself with a gesture and bent to kiss her. "Oh, yes, we are, my dear insatiable one."
She pouted. "But, Ares.."
He slapped her hard. Her eyes glazed and she hissed. "I said we were finished, and we *are*. If you want that to be permanent, just try my patience again." He strode out of his bedchamber, anger replacing all the satisfaction he'd felt moments before.
And right now, no amounts of chains and leather - no matter how enjoyable - could give him what he needed. If only he knew what that was.
Maybe he needed a good battle. Things had been quiet for a bit too long. That was it...he needed to see steel clash and blood flow. He needed to be among the messy and passionate minds of mortals in the throes of both victory and defeat. Xena and his thrice damned half-brother were keeping things too peaceful. Maybe he could stir up trouble some place.
He sat down in a comfortable chair and poured himself a cup of wine. Closing his eyes, he let his Sight wander around the mortals he knew the best, seeking out the places he knew were on the brink.
Ah...yes. Those two cities were always spoiling for a fight. The slightest thing could set them off. Right now, they were trying to resolve things peacefully - Hah! - with a sporting competition, and things were getting heated. Even spectators were calling for blood. He'd seen this before. Yes...
Now, how could he best intervene? The game used neutral marshals to keep things legal...perhaps if he interfered with their perceptions. Yes, that could make things interesting indeed.
Yes, nice and subtle. Nothing that would call the attention of either pair of troublemakers. Besides, the sporting event was a last ditch effort by the two kings to prevent all out fighting - the victor winning trade rights. They were on the edge as it was. The bad perceptions would only touch things off. Yes, very elegant indeed. Ares smiled, tossed off the rest of his wine and dropped to the stadium to see what was going on.
Unseen, he walked along the two sides of the arena, tasting the growing tension as the marshals made error after error, sometimes favoring one team, sometimes the other.
"Blind! You are blind!"
"If you're bribed, *stay* bribed!"
"He had the bladder legally!"
"He was off the field! Use your Tartarus-damned eyes!"
"He was on the field, Beaner!"
"Yowlker!"
"Use your own eyes!"
"My eyes? *You're* blind, *friend*. But maybe *this* will teach you to see!"
Ah, the sweet sound of steel being drawn. And now the sweeter sound of swords clashing filled the air.
Oh, they were ripe for this battle. To his delight, he saw more than swords - women were clawing at each other's eyes, and those with daggers or even broken drinking vessels were using them, usually with less skill than enthusiasm.
Even the players on the field were joining in the fray, which was delightful sight, as this game was played in the nude, with only arm bands to tell the teams apart.
But those armbands made decent weapons and, yes, those toned young bodies were beautiful to watch as they tangled together.
Maybe he'd been spending too much time with Discord...he'd been ignoring the other side of the side of the fence. Ah...blood. Yes...this was working nicely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sun glinting off a helmet - a strangely familiar one. What was *he* doing here? Shouldn't he be following Xena and Gabrielle around like a trained puppy?
What was that fool doing? He wasn't from either city and could have no interest in the sporting event. And why was he standing between two men with swords? Didn't he know...
What sort of an idiot was he? What in Tartarus was he trying? Was the man *talking* to them? *Look out, you cretin!*
Joxer jumped back behind the two men, shaking his head, which only made his ridiculous helmet and breast plate more laughable. Why did he wear those?
And why was Ares so relieved that he was out of danger?
He shook that thought away as the fighting began to get serious, and people began to fall. Shouts of pain and despair filled the air - and that fool was right in the middle of things. He'd given up trying to "reason" with the fighters and was down on his knees with the wounded. He actually managed to glare away a man whose sword was still dripping with blood.
This was too distracting. There was a delicious battle raging, and all he could think about was a cowardly fool.
A horn blasted. Two horns. Ah, the city armies were up and ready, finally. Yes, this was indeed war.
And that cowardly fool was...was standing over a group of wounded spectators with his helmet off and his sword drawn, protecting them. Protecting total strangers from a mob out for blood.
There was a look in Joxer's eyes that Ares had never seen before - not puppy love or idiocy, but steely determination, and if his sword was clumsy, it was true.
Ah, the soldiers were wading in to the battle. Good...not so good. They were actually breaking things up! How dare they! What right did those mortals have to stop a perfectly good war before he even began?
He exerted all the influence he could, causing the spectators to fight the soldiers, but it was of no use. There was a circle of quiet beginning at... at the place Joxer was standing and spreading out like ripples.
Faster than the battle had begun, it was over. The spectators actually looked chagrined as those who could helped the wounded out of the stadium and the players on the field sorted themselves out and replaced their armbands. To Ares' disgust, some players actually *traded* armbands, effectively placing themselves on the opposite team. Some players limped off the field, and two needed to be carried.
Those officials who could still walk gathered together, and to Ares' further dismay, decided to declare the game a draw. They walked off the field with their players in one disorganized mass. Soon after, the now-clothed players emerged from their changing rooms and began to help with the field hospital that the army medics had set up.
This entire afternoon was completely wasted. That was the most unsatisfactory battle he'd ever been involved in. And he'd spent what bloodshed there had been worried...worried! about a clumsy fool.
Speaking of...where was he? Ares scanned the field, looking for the tell-tale helmet and breast plate. He looked at first at the triage area, and then where the walking wounded were being bandaged. He wandered unseen through the field of moaning and bleeding victims without taking the time to acknowledge them, or even savor their pain. Joxer wasn't even with the stretcher bearers. Finally, he found him.
He was sitting on the outskirts of the camp, his helmet and breastplate off and his scabbard next to them, holding the hand of a man about his own age. They were being ignored by those around them.
"I...I just wanted to see a game." The man's voice was weak.
"That's why I was here."
Joxer's voice was gentle. He brushed the wounded...no, dying...man's hair off his face. "I never get a chance to just watch without being on one side or another."
"Yeah. And if the marshals hadn't suddenly...it was a good game. I didn't want to fight..."
"I know."
"He drew his sword. And...is he all right?"
Joxer bit his lip and looked at a still form to his left. "Yes. He's not hurting."
"At least one of us is...I just wanted to see the game...don't go away..."
"I'm here."
"I can't feel you...it's not hurting anymore..."
Ares blinked at his own hand. A little less pain wasn't going to make any difference. But he couldn't just stand there and watch.
"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Thank you..."
Ares felt compelled to do what little he could. Another gesture, and the man's shade slipped painlessly and easily from his tortured body and down to Hades.
Joxer disentangled his hand from the slack fingers, and gently closed the man's eyes. He searched in a thin, empty looking pouch until he found something. He placed two copper coins on the stranger's eyes. Ares glanced at the other body. He'd done the same.
"That's a wasted gesture, mortal."
"Ares!" Joxer stood, grabbing and dropping his armor, his sword and his helmet.
"Someone will steal those coins once you leave the bodies alone."
Joxer gave up on his equipment. "Why do you care, Ares?"
Good question. "Folly bothers me."
Joxer blinked. "Why are you here? Do you have something to with this...this debacle?"
"I am God of War. I go where there is fighting."
"There was no fighting, no *hint* of fighting until the marshals...it was *you*, wasn't it?" Joxer looked straight up into Ares' eyes. There was that steel again. "You caused this to happen. Why?"
How dare this fool, this coward, this *insect* question *his* motives? Ares prepared to blast him where he stood, next to the bodies of the two strangers. He pulled back his arm, expecting the man to cringe or even run.
Joxer did neither. He just stood there *looking* at him. No, on closer examination, Joxer was trembling slightly, and sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.
Ares put his arm down. "What's wrong with you?"
"I just want to know why you did this."
"I could ask the same of you. These men, these people - they are nothing to you. You hold no allegiance to either city, you have never fought along side any of them. You could have left the stadium, as I saw others do, and remained safe. What sort of fool are you?"
Joxer shrugged. "I don't know. I know I am a fool, and I know I'm not a warrior like Xena or even Gabrielle, but even a fool can do the right thing, and even a coward can take care of others." He was trembling harder. Ares could taste the fear rolling off him. It was as bitter as old wine, and gave Ares no pleasure.
"Why don't you run?"
"Why did you start this, Ares? What good would a war between these cities be? What territory would be extended, what evil would be toppled? Why did you kill that man?" Joxer glanced at the man whose hand he'd held.
Ares flinched. How did Joxer..."The other man there killed him. I didn't hold the sword or cause him to fight."
"You killed him. And him. And her. And them." Joxer pointed to other bodies laying on the grassy field. "There would not have been a battle if you had not decided to start one. You can blast me if you like. It'll be cleaner than what they went through." Now even his voice was shaking.
"A warrior can't fear war."
"What's that supposed to mean? And are you going to blast me or not? I questioned the great god Ares."
Ares drew back his arm again, but stopped. Instead, he reached forward one hand and touched Joxer's shoulder gently. Joxer flinched. The man knew exactly what he was asking for and was utterly terrified. And yet he stood his ground.
"You're not a coward, are you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind." Ares let go of him. "I don't have to answer to you, mortal. Suffice it to say that I had my own reasons for this battle."
"You have to answer to them, not to me. I know who and what you are. *They* don't know who hit them."
He'd stopped trembling, and his eyes were flashing. He wanted an answer, and Ares had none to give him. And he was ashamed. And impressed. Ares had thought he'd known courage - in himself, his brother, his daughter - but this was something else. Who was this man?
"I will not kill you for your presumption, mortal." Ares returned to Mt. Olympus, his mind in turmoil. He'd just retreated from a mortal - and from *that* mortal. Something was strange.
Something about that mortal. He'd dismissed him in the past as a buffoon, not worth his time and attention.
Discord was still in his bed when he returned, although she was now fast asleep. The bruises were all gone. Just as well. They weren't as attractive as he'd thought. He reached out to touch her, but stopped short.
That hand had touched Joxer earlier.
Where did that come from? He shook his head. Her skin was soft, of course. What goddess' wasn't? And she smelled of ambrosia, just like any other goddess. Joxer...Joxer smelled of fear and his tunic was rough, and his skin was sure to be flawed.
Yet, when he took his hand away from Discord, it felt filthy. It was as if it were covered in slime. He wanted to scrub it clean. Which was insane.
"Up! Get up, woman!"
Discord stretched and moaned. "What time is it...oh, Arry, you weren't gone long." She grinned. She looked hungry, feral - all her dark, sultry beauty was gone. "Miss me?"
"Get out of my bed. Now."
"But, Arry..."
He pulled her out by the arm, his skin crawling at the touch. "I want you out of my bed and out of my home *now*. Here!" He clothed her with a gesture. "Now, go!"
Discord looked at him in confusion. "What's going on, Ares?" Even her voice, which that morning had been sexy and inviting, grated on him now. He pointed to the door. She gave him one last look and left.
He collapsed on his chair and poured himself a cup of wine. He had to think this through. This afternoon had been an unqualified disaster, and he even felt *guilty* about it. He *never* felt guilty. That would imply he was accountable for his actions.
What was that clown doing to him? Well, perhaps he was wrong to start a skirmish at a sporting event. If the two kings were against war, he really couldn't force one. But...he'd never cared about that before.
Why did he care now? Because an idiot with melting brown eyes who couldn't mind his own business asked a couple of tough questions? Because a man with the courage to stay with a dying stranger didn't run away from him?
This was insane. Fine, he was off of women. That had happened before. There were any number of handsome warriors who could fulfill his needs - and all he had to do was crook his finger. With a little more effort, he could probably even get that blond bedmate of his brother's.
He absolutely didn't need some foolhardy...man with a goofy grin who spent his time lusting after that annoying little bard. He downed his wine, poured himself another and drank that down.
Plenty of men down on Earth. Plenty of strong, handsome men who know how to use a sword - in every meaning of the word. Ares chortled at that and poured himself yet another cup. None of them would ask dumb questions or stand in the middle of someone else's battle, either.
Ares spilled a little wine as he poured another cup, and spilled even more as he drank it.
The jug was empty. Time to get some more...might as well kill two...humans with one stone.
He knew just the tavern, too. It was just on the outskirts of Thebes. Some of the most delicious wine...and some of the most delicious warriors, too. Yes. The Poked Pig was exactly the right place.
He stood somewhat unsteadily and tried to walk to the door. It took him a couple of tries, and several more to open the door, but he was soon walking in Mt. Olympus' clear, cold air.
He gestured clumsily. Nothing happened. He blinked, concentrated and gestured again. Ah, yes.
The sun was just setting over Thebes, and the barracks were emptying out. Pairs of men poured to the taverns that serviced them, while unpaired men moved towards the ones they favored.
The biggest of those went to the Poked Pig. And big was what Ares wanted.
***************************