FALL FROM GRACE

"You've gone too far this time, Ares!"

To the god of War's surprise, his father materialized in the shabby temple he'd taken up residence in of late. Strife, ever the coward, immediately vanished and the curvaceous attendants melted into the background.

"Zeus, what brings you visiting? Not fatherly concern, surely?" he drawled.

Zeus scowled darkly. "You. You're supposed to be the God of war, not evil incarnate. You've become so...so!"

"Dedicated..?"

"So obsessed with your work, you've allowed yourself to become as evil as the things men do to each other in war. I cannot forgive your attempts to control the other gods, or your attempts to hurt Hercules, but I can't punish you for those things without their approval. I can, however, do whatever I choose to any god who lifts a hand against another god. If you had killed Apollo with that bloodied dagger, I would have destroyed you where you stood. Wasn't what you did to Hercules enough for you? Wasn't your bloodlust satisfied by the death of that poor damned hind?!"

Ares smirked. "Such solicitous concern for the little deer. Pity you didn't think of that before you killed her sisters in cold blood."

Zeus turned a violent shade of puce. "You know why I killed them!" he roared. "You and your mother both! Don't you think I know what you were planning? What she would have done with hind blood once it occured to her to use it?"

"You know, you could give a boy a complex with all this favoritism, dad. Hercules, Hercules, Hercules, its all I ever hear."

Zeus' face screwed up in distaste. "You were never my son. You were your mother's from the day you were born, as twisted and spiteful as she ever was."

Ares straightened, his face suddenly serious, his eyes glittering. "Is that why I got this job? Is that why you made your own son the god of slaughter and cruelty and death?"

Zeus stared at him. "Ares, I didn't choose this for you," he said softly.

Ares stared back, genuine surprise in his eyes. Followed by confusion.

"It's not me you have to thank for your life, son," Zeus continued. "But its me you have to deal with now. I've had enough of your mother and enough of you. I can't do anything about her, but I can teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

There was genuine regret in the old man's eyes.

Ares' eyes suddenly opened in shock and amazement. And then he wasn't....

The stream was cool and clear and it felt good to wash away the dust and grime of the day's work. The sun was setting, but the afternoon had been bright and hot. Mariana twisted her long coppery hair up into a knot on top of her head and pinned it, then moved from the shallow water into the cool depths of the bend in the small river.

When she emerged it was with reluctance. There were more chores to do, food to cook, the clothes to fold...and time to be spent with Dimi. She looked up at disappearing sun. Vina, the babysitter, would be worrying. It took only seconds to dress.

She turned for the settlement downstream and was about to break into a run when a bright flash in the twilight shadows caught her eye. She blinked. Where there had been nothing but grass moments before, there now lay a naked figure.

When she was close enough to make out what it was she stopped, startled. It was a naked man. A naked man with the physique of a god...

He was semi-conscious. She draped the length of fabric she'd brought to the stream to dry off with over his hips and bent to touch his brow. He wasn't feverish, and his groaning meant that he wasn't dying...yet. There was no wound, not even a bruise, on his beautiful body.

"Can you hear me?" she asked gently.

Dark, almost satyr-like eyes flickered open and stared at her.

"Of course I can hear you," he retorted impatiently, but even he could hear the strain in his voice. Everything...hurt. That was the word. He couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed himself to experience pain, but he was certainly experiencing it now.

"Well, you can't stay here," the woman was staying. "You need help...and clothes."

Ares looked down at himself and started. "What happened? How did I get here?" he demanded irritably, and at the woman's blank look growled low in his throat and thought himself back in his temple.

Only he wasn't in his temple. He was still lying naked on the same grass and rocks, in the middle of a field with a mortal woman hovering over him. For the first time in aeons, Ares knew fear. It lasted only a few moments, but it burned like acid into his soul.

The woman was watching him. When all the color drained from the dark face she started forward in alarm.

"Let me help you to your feet. You just can't stay here. Whatever your wound is, the healer in the village can probably help you."

Still recovering from the realization that Zeus had taken away his powers, he allowed her to take his arm and clumsily help him to his feet, only to feel the cloth slide from his hips. He made no effort to retrieve it, unfazed by his nudity.

Mariana, however, went crimson and lunged for the cloth, draping it clumsily around the lean, hard hips. "Hold this!" she ordered.

Ares was so unused to anyone ordering him around, least of all a woman, that he did.

"Good," she muttered. "Now, can you walk on your own, or do you need to lean on me?"

Ares blinked. Every bone in his body ached. He felt...strange, but he didn't see any reason to lean on a woman. His head swam as he walked and his legs trembled from the strain, but his innate strength and stubbornness prevented him from showing any weakness.

They reached a thatched hut, a hovel, in Ares' opinion, at the edge of a small non-descript village. She was looking at him again.

"You're as white as a sheet," she exclaimed. "We're not going any further. You'll come into my house and lay down while I send for the healer."

He scowled with irritation, but when he tried to stride out he faltered and she caught him as he started to fall.

"You're not going anywhere," she told him wryly. "Now do as you’re told."

Ares guffawed involuntarily, and remained so bemused at being given orders by a female that he allowed her to lead him into the small house and help him into what was obviously once a marriage bed. Once his head touched the pillow, however, he was so overcome by exhaustion that he fell asleep in seconds. Mariana nodded to herself and went to explain to the non-plussed Vina, to ask her to find the healer and to say hello to Dimi.

The little boy was full of questions from the moment his mother closed the door behind the sitter. Mariana pushed back his dark curls and looked into the big, soft brown eyes.

"He's a stranger. He was sick and I helped him," she explained as simply as possible.

"Then he's not my daddy?"

Mariana swallowed hurt. "No, sweetheart. I told you, your daddy went away and we don't know when he'll be home."

"Then what are you going to do with him?"

"Well, we'll know that as soon as the healer tells us what's wrong with him. Until then, let's get you bathed and into bed. It's past your bedtime."

The five year old wrinkled his nose. "I'm big enough to stay up now. Why do I have to go to bed all the time?"

"You want to grow big and strong, don't you? Well, you do all your growing when you're asleep, so the smaller you are the more sleep you need," she improvised, well used to reasoning with a small boy. When Dimi was settled, Mariana went to check on her 'guest.'

He was still sleeping. In sleep there was something almost sad about him. Awake he'd exhuded almost an animal sensuality, an aura of power and...what? She frowned. Controlled violence was the best description she could think of. Asleep, however, he was very different. Long lashes fanned out on bronze cheeks, and his mouth, instead of being insolent and harsh was slightly parted, his lips full and red, like those of a small child.

There was a light tap at the door. Athan, the healer, was old and bustling. There was blood still on his tunic from whatever had kept him. His eyes followed hers.

"Oh...A farmer out to the north slashed his own leg with a scythe. I hate harvest. S'why I'm late," he said offhandedly. "Where's the patient?"

His eyes widened when he followed Mariana into the bedroom. He'd known her long enough to be more than a little surprised.

"This is what you called me here for?" he demanded, lifting his hand from the man's brow, after having lifted the bedcovers to look at his body, and an eyelid to check his eyes.

"Fit as a fiddle."

Mariana's mouth dropped open in amazement. "But, he could barely walk. He's slept ever since I put him in here...how can there not be anything wrong with him? He was weak, in pain."

The healer shook his head. "Where did you find him?"

"Up by the bend in the stream. I was on my way back. There was a flash of light and then he was lying there, on the grass, naked. He hasn't said anything about who he is, or how he got there yet. He wasn't well enough," she finished pointedly.

"Well, all I can do is wake him and ask him where it hurts," the old man muttered and shook Ares' shoulder. It took three attempts before he stirred.

His eyes flickered open and narrowed when they alighted on the old man. "Who dares wake me?!" he demanded. "Strife! What..?"

He stopped. He wasn't in his temple and these weren't attendants.

The woman's eyes were wide, and the healer's frightened.

"Wh...who are you?" Mariana asked timidly. "And why do you call for Strife, one of the worst of the gods?"

The healer put his hand on her arm, his earlier curiosity about the physical perfection of the man, the familiarity of his bronze, bearded profile consolidating into the sheer terror of realization. "You don't want to be upsetting the gods," he told her pointedly.

Ares laughed. "Why not?" he asked. "She was right."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "Who are you, my friend?"

The lazy smile was back on his face again. "Let's just say I'm from out of town. The name's Ar...Aeson." He snickered under his breath. Hercules would love it.

It was obvious that the old man wasn't convinced, but he didn't push the issue. When he was gone Mariana returned with a pitcher of water and a plate of food.

Ares was startled to find his body responding to the aroma of the venison, bread and mushrooms. For the first time he noticed the unpleasant, empty feeling at the pit of his stomach. He cleaned the plate.

"Would you like some more?" Mariana, who'd returned to eat hers with him, asked.

He shook his head. It was an interesting concept, eating because you had to, because you needed to. There had been years when he hadn't bothered to eat because too much was happening on the battlefields. It seemed a waste of time, of energy to not only stop and consume food, but to already be contemplating where the next meal was going to come from.

"You're scowling. Was there something wrong with the food?" Mariana asked from her chair next to the bed.

He focused on her again. She was lovely. Not beautiful, but smooth skinned, winged browed, slender and with the most magnificent copper hair braided around her crown and trailing down her back.

He snorted. He wanted nothing more than to demand Zeus' presence and to further demand that he be given back his powers, but that wasn't going to happen.

A hundred years as an imprisoned minotaur had shown both he and his brother the futility of defying Zeus. And how would these stupid mortals react if they knew he was the fallen god of war? They'd probably string him up from the nearest tree...

He contemplated the idea with real interest for a few moments, then discarded it. Zeus might let him stay dead. And eternity with Uncle Hades was not his idea of fun...

The woman was still waiting for him to say something.

"I ate it didn't I?" he snapped.

"Manners of a five year old," she said tartly and took the plate. "You seem to be feeling much better. The healer doesn't think there's anything wrong with you."

Ares smiled bitterly. "Oh, there's plenty wrong with me. Its just nothing the old fool can fix. Which reminds me, where pray tell are you going to sleep tonight?"

"I wondered when you were going to get to that," Mariana drawled. "With my son, if you must know. He's just five, so there's plenty of room."

"Son? Where's his father?" Ares was surprised into asking.

"Sacrificed to Ares," she retorted bitterly. "Fallen, gods know where, on some nameless battlefield. I haven't heard anything in three years."

For a moment Ares was silent, then he lifted a brow. He'd forgotten he was mortal and was surprised to have found himself trying to locate her fool husband.

"A noble end," he told her, and was amused by the low noise of contempt that issued from her throat.

"There's nothing noble about Ares. All he knows is blood and torture, hate and death."

Ares eyes glittered. "Well you got that right," he whispered bitterly.

She crossed to a trunk under the window and opened it. When she turned there were clothes in her hands. She threw them onto his lap.

"These were my husband's. He was a little taller than you, though perhaps not as broad or as powerful. The clothes should fit."

Ares raised the same brow again. "Are you asking me to leave?"

Mariana ran a hand through her hair. "If you are not ill, then there's no reason for you to stay. You must have a home somewhere."

He slid from the bed and was holding up the white shirt with distaste, still oblivious to his own nakedness. This time however, Mariana didn't turn a hair. She'd seen her husband unclothed enough times, and this man's body was beautiful to look at. And, she decided, sneaking another glance, all of it was...impressive.

"Somewhere...," he agreed, confused by his reluctance to leave. His face grew dark again. "Anywhere would probably be better than here."

Mariana scowled. "In that case, dress and go." She wheeled and left him to dress, to return a moment later to drag boots from under the bed and throw them at him.

He laughed as her back disappeared through the door, then sobered and looked to the heavens.

"Zeus, you're going to pay for this, if it takes eternity for me to find a way!" he shouted, his voice rising almost to a pitch of pure rage.

He emerged from the room to find her sitting by the fire rocking a small child. 'Sickening," was his second reaction. The first he prefered to ignore as one of the penalties of being human.

Mariana looked up. He was magnificent. The collar of the white full-sleeved shirt against the bronzed skin and the rawhide leggings moulded to the muscular legs...were breathtaking on him. She didn't know whether to be angry, or exhilarated by the strength of her feelings for him.

"How do you feel?" she asked instinctively.

"Like I was hit by Hades' chariot," he muttered, wondering what Zeus had done to make him feel so bad every time he got up. "But I'm still leaving."

"Where will you go?"

"There's an inn in the village, isn't there?" he growled.

She nodded. "But you don't have any money."

He sighed with annoyance. "Do you?"

She nodded again. "But...but I need that to buy food for Dimi."

"Oh, yeah, you feed a stranger a meal like that, then expect me to believe you need to buy food."

Mariana looked away. "I gave you most of what we had. I thought you needed it more."

Ares snorted. "Fine, I'll find my own money," he told her and left without another word.

Mariana rose as the door closed and carried Dimi back to bed.

He was gone. And she didn't know whether she was glad about that or not...

Ares strode toward the village, ignoring the pain in his joints and the surprising cold of the evening. He would find some fool with a money pouch, beat him senseless, then find an inn. It seemed like a sensible plan.

It didn't take long to find a target. A mortal about his size staggered out of the tavern, money jangling at his belt and turned down a dark street.

Ares laughed to himself, feeling the singing of his blood before the battle. He caught up quickly, but not quickly enough to strike the man before he turned. He blocked several blows before punching the man hard in the face.

It hurt. The pain was exquisite, even his forearm still throbbing from the blocks. He lunged again as the mortal tried to knock him senseless with a forearm to the head. He avoided the blow and delivered several more to the other's body and head before his feet were cleverly swept out from under him.

Suddenly Ares found himself in the dirt, on the receiving end of blows and kicks, to his body, his head, and most terrifying of all, powerless to stop it. Over and over he struggled to get up, to break free, but the other man was as strong as he was.

His 'victim' was about to raise a dagger to finish him off when there was a noise behind them.

Ares squinted through a rapidly swelling eye, beneath a temple that was turning black and blue. "Who's there?" he demanded. His attacker didn't wait to find out.

The figure stood watching him for several seconds, then vanished again.

Afterward Ares lay for a long while, exploring the depth of his battering, noting curiously the different forms of pain one could suffer at once. He suspected broken ribs, something nasty in the kidney area, deep bruising everywhere and something rather wrong with his head. Each had their own peculiar symptoms and pain.

Eventually, however, the agony became wearing. He spent the next several minutes dragging himself to his feet. He could barely see, or move for the pain from the ribs, but he managed to stagger back out of the alley through sheer stubbornness. By that time he'd lost all interest in the mechanics of pain, and was simply fighting not to succumb to it, or the sickening throb of his head and his gorge.

Moments later more patrons spilled out of the tavern, and Ares suddenly knew fear again. He swayed.

Two of them approached him and he struggled to prepare for battle until they were close enough for him to smell them.

They smelled like swine. Farmers, he thought, with disgust.

And promptly passed out.

The world came into focus very slowly, and extremely fuzzily. Or maybe he was dreaming there was that face again, and a strange familiarity...Whether he was or not, wherever he was he was still in pain.

"Aeson? Can you hear me, Aeson?" a voice called softly, close to his face.

He tried hard to focus. "You?" he managed. "How?"

"Some farmers found you near the tavern and took you to the healer. He brought you back here," Mariana explained wryly. "You are going to live, but only if you rest long enough for the injuries within and those to your head and your ribs to heal."

"Why...you?"

"Because you don't seem to have any connections anywhere around here, and they don't like people dying in the rooms at the inn. Bad for business."

Ares made a face at her. "You said I wasn't going to die."

She smiled. "Not now you aren't, but I wouldn't have bet on your chances alone in one of those unsecured rooms at the inn."

He tried to sit up, but quit quickly, swallowing hard and grunting in pain from the momentarily forgotten ribs.

"Can't you do something about this pain?" he snarled.

"I can give you something to make you sleep," she offered. "Otherwise I'm afraid that it'll be a few days before it lessens."

"A few days?" he repeated, startled. "Of this? How do you mort…!" He choked off the words just in time and rephrased the question, restrained violence in his voice. "Why is it that after thousands of years of pain and suffering mortals still haven't found away to deal with pain?"

"Perhaps because the gods were enjoying our suffering too much to allow that to happen," she offered cynically. "It will pass. Besides, a man like you should be able to deal with a simple beating. Wait until you've been sliced open on the battlefield, or your arm or leg has turned black with blood poisoning and the healer wants to cut it off, or until you fall into the hands of one of Ares' warlords. They know ways to inflict pain that even the gods couldn't come up with."

Ares slid down into the covers, thousands of torture sessions flashing through his mind. It had been such great sport...and a battle wouldn't be a battle without the slicing and slashing.

The aching from his bruises bored right into his bones and his kidneys, and his head throbbed. His vision still wasn't clear and any movement, even too large a breath, caused exquisite pain in his torso where the ribs were broken.

He wanted to scream, not in pain, but with rage and frustration at all of it. He wanted to kill Zeus; he wanted to smash things, to vent his anger on anything in reach. The puerile impotence of lying beaten in bed, a simpering mortal, was almost more than he could bear.

Mariana could see the naked rage and hatred in his face, but somehow knew that it was not for her. What concerned her more was the paleness around his eyes and mouth, the lips compressed into a line of resistance against great pain. She poured a mug of water and slipped the sleeping powder Athan had left, into it, while he was preoccupied with his anger.

He drank it without question and slid into a deep sleep while she watched. Within moments all the pent up rage had slipped from the handsome face, and it relaxed into the contradictory vulnerability she'd seen earlier.

She sighed, and slipped out to prepare to spend an uncomfortable night with Dimi after all...

Ares woke to sunlight streaming in his window, and a small face at his bedside. He stared at it, his brows down and his bleary eyes annoyed.

"Mamma says do you want breakfast?" Dimi asked matter-of-factly.

Ares made a contemptuous noise. Mortal children were one of his least favorite things in the universe. They made men happy, stopped wars and frequently prevented what could have been glorious attacks. Even Xena had succumbed to one of the squealing, wriggling things. They had no redeeming qualities.

"If she wants to know let her ask!" he snapped nastily.

Dimi blinked his large brown eyes. "You're not my daddy," he stated, his voice less sure than before.

"Damned straight," Ares agreed. "Don't you have anything else to do?"

Dimi shook his head. "Does it hurt much?"

Ares blinked. "Of course it hurts!" he retorted much too quickly, wincing at the pain from the pulling of the impressive bruising over his eye and temple.

Dimi stepped back, his eyes wide, then turned and ran out the door.

It was several long minutes before Mariana appeared. Ares decided not to explore why it seemed like an eternity since he'd last seen her.

At the sight of him she lifted an amused brow. "Feeling poorly this morning?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "There's no need to take it out on the boy."

"Came squalling to you, did he?" he drawled, his eyes closed.

"As a matter of fact, no. He wanted to know if your head was sick too, because you were so cranky. Are you hungry, or not? I have eggs, and there's oatmeal. I can't afford fruit. If it wasn't for our chicken there would be just oatmeal."

He opened his eyes again. "Then how did you get venison?" he asked nastily. "Shoot it yourself?"

Mariana's eyes danced with amusement. "As a matter of fact, yes," she revealed. "I lived in an Amazon village until I was fourteen. That was long enough to teach me all I needed to know to survive alone. Meat is not a problem, but one can't hunt fruit."

"Trade venison for it."

She laughed bitterly. "I need the money the inn will pay for my kills to buy clothes for Dimi, milk and grain for us and the chicken, and arrows for hunting, to mention just a few. It doesn't go far, and Faro, the inkeeper, isn't exactly a generous buyer."

"Mortality is such fun," Ares muttered.

Mariana didn't catch it. "What?"

"I said you'd have been better off staying with the Amazons. A trained warrior shouldn't be reduced to grovelling over dinars to survive."

"I said I was trained. I didn't say I was a warrior," she pointed out. "Our village disbanded before I ever drew blood. The women had gradually filtered across to the village where my father lived, to live there, and raise their children, boys and girls, with the men who fathered them."

"And none of the Amazons objected to that?" Ares asked incredulously.

She shook her head. "It was their choice, and the men had changed. Legend has it that some of them went to find Hercules and that he taught them how to love someone without owning them."

Ares flashed a look of disgust at her. "I know that village. Those were my m… Hera's Amazons. Hercules should have minded his own business both times."

"You worship Hera?" she asked, ignoring his non-sensical remarks.

That brought another guffaw of real mirth from him.

"Hardly. Let's just say I have an interest in the affairs of the gods...and Hercules," he said silkily.

"Then you know that he's on his way here to accept a gift from the village for freeing our river from a fire serpent a few months ago? It wouldn't let us draw water, or fish or take any game near the river banks. It killed five people before Hercules fought it."

Ares face screwed up in disbelief and monumental irritation. "No, I didn't," he snarled, and rolled hostile eyes up to the ceiling. Zeus! "But I know someone who did..."

Then his stomach growled, annoying him even more.

"Bring me food, I don't care which, and drink," he commanded.

Mariana made an elaborate curtsy. "Yes, your highness," she said tartly, smiled sweetly at him and left without looking back.

It was not Mariana, but Dimi who returned with a tray some time later.

Ares, who was bored witless and in a great deal of pain, welcomed even the runt's presence. He struggled to lift himself enough to eat the food, and looked around in bemused surprise when the five year old put down the tray and came around to stand his pillow up against the wall and to stuff a spare one behind his back.

When the pain in his ribs subsided, he demanded the tray, surveying the contents as it was slid onto his lap. Things were more or less in focus this morning, though he still felt as though his head was going to explode.

There were eggs, and a hunk of bread, a mug of warmed milk and a little soft cheese. He demolished it at a pace that even impressed Dimi. When he was done he pushed the tray at the boy, who took it wordlessly, but didn't leave.

"Are you a soldier?" he asked.

Ares chuckled. Now there was a question. "I have been," he replied, this time without irritation.

"Have you killed a lot of people?"

Ares stared at the small curly-headed child, at its pink cheeks and rosebud lips, its ridiculously large brown eyes and tiny nose and made a noise in his throat. The question seemed incongruous coming from those lips. What's more, the veritable epic of boasting he might have done in reply to anyone else dried up on his tongue before he could begin to speak.

He snorted again. "Get away from me!" he snapped.

Dimi blinked and disappeared with the tray.

"Zeus! I hate you!" Ares roared at the ceiling. Come to that, he wasn't very fond of his mother either. She hadn't rescued his brother from his hundred year prison, and she hadn't lifted a finger to help him either...

Somewhere in the midst of his tortured family reminiscences he fell asleep.

Days passed, mostly unaltered in their boredom and repetition. He was gradually regaining strength, and the bruises were fading to startling shades of yellow and green. The healer had visited again, tutted over the extent of the bruising and the head injury, which had finally stopped throbbing, and had left more herbs to help him heal. The boy continued to visit, either bearing meals or contriving to bring him all manner of treasures found and rescued from around the village, from a near petrified dead bat, to a spearhead found near the creek.

Mariana, on the other hand, didn't visit anywhere near often enough. He found himself watching the door, listening for her footsteps and hating himself for it. It had been almost a week since his fall from grace, and her face was all that had saved his sanity.

It wasn't long after dawn. Eventually the door opened, and instead of the child, Mariana came in, bearing both his food and linen for the bed.

"Where's the brat?"

"If you mean Dimi, he's gone to his babysitter's house. I have to hunt. It's been a week, and I can't afford to wait any longer. I've already lost my job at the stables."

Ares watched her with an air of bored disinterest, which successfully disguised his delight in seeing her again.

"Today you can sit in the chair by the window while put fresh linen on your bed," she told him, putting the tray on the bedside table. When she put down the sheets he saw that she was carrying the clothes he'd spoiled in the village. They were cleaned and ready to wear.

He'd been sitting up reasonably comfortably for a couple of days, but the effort to actually swing his legs over the side of the bed had him breathing heavily, sweat on his brow and his muscles tensed against the pain.

Mariana moved her shoulder in under one of his arms and put one of hers around him, and supported him as he put weight on his feet. Her strength surprised him, almost as much as the weakness in his legs. They made it to the window with difficulty.

Mariana, silently mesmerized by the warmth, the male scent of him, found her heart beating fast and her senses burning. When he was down on the seat she moved to draw her arm away, only to find herself centimetres from his face.

Ares looked up at her, violently aware of the sweet smell of her hair, her clothes and the womanly scent of her skin. Without thinking about it he slid a hand into the thick copper hair and drew her soft mouth down to his.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. His mouth burned against Mariana's, his lips pliant, but hungry, searching. She couldn't let them go.

Ares had never known such a hunger. He wanted her more than he'd wanted anything in centuries. He buried his fingers in the glorious hair and drew her down to her knees as his mouth explored hers. His lips were crushing, probing, seeking hers, until their mouths opened in mutual need, a sensual ballet of lips and tongue. And when his hands moved down her back and over her body she arched to him, shuddering as the big hands found the softness of her breasts, held them for a moment, then slid over them and down past her lower back to force her hips toward him.

It was Mariana who finally drew back, a change in his breathing reaching through the fog of her desire.

"Aeson? You're in pain," she said worriedly.

"Of course I'm in pain," he muttered, frustrated desire leaving an edge of irritation in his voice. "Broken bones will do that to you."

She drew away, her heart still pounding, and changed the bed quickly. He was wearing little more than the top sheet off the bed around his loins, and it wasn't hiding much.

Getting him back into bed was even more difficult than getting him out. The distance between the chair and the bed was easy; the difficulty was in getting him into it. When they reached it he lowered himself to sit on its edge, but couldn't lift his legs without his ribs and his kidneys screaming in pain. Finally, it was Mariana who lifted the long legs and slid them onto the bed as he lay back, groaning.

She turned to get the clean top sheet.

"Mariana..." Ares whispered, in a voice hoarse with desire.

It tingled up her spine. She turned slowly and came back to him, bending to meet his mouth with hers again. As their mouths crushed together she allowed him to unlace her blouse and pull it off, unknot the sash of her skirt, and let it fall away before she eased the rest of her body onto the bed and moved a pale leg over his.

His hands moved over her body hungrily as she came to him, warm on her buttocks as he lifted her hips to his and took her, as much as she took him. Their love-making was frenzied, and hungry, with a wildness and power Mariana had never known, and a need Ares had never experienced before.

Only when it was over and she slid gently down alongside him, to rest in the crook of his arm, did he realize how different their passion had been. He'd always taken what he wanted. Always. And now a woman had taken him. And he'd wanted it.

He closed his eyes against it, and against the hand resting on his chest, the tender body pressed against the side of his, and the rhythmic sound of her breathing as she slept. The god of war needed no one, loved no one. Where there was love, hate died. And without hate there was no war.

But closing his eyes wasn't enough. He wasn't the god of war any longer. And as devastating as that was, the fact that he wanted Mariana even more now, than he had before they made love, was even more so...

It was mid-afternoon before they stirred. Ares woke to the softness of Mariana's lips against his.

"Aeson, I have to go hunting," she told him when she lifted her head. "You'll be fine for a couple of hours."

He took her mouth again hungrily, his hands doing provocative things to her creamy flesh, but she giggled and drew away.

"You're terrible," she teased. "I have to go, or you'll be eating gruel for dinner tomorrow."

He watched her cross to the door without covering herself, her soft round breasts, womanly curves and creamy nakedness driving him crazy with desire. And when she was gone he cursed the four walls, and his sister Aphrodite for the frustration of it all.

The hours dragged interminably. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't rest. Eventually he hauled himself out of bed again, sitting on the side of it to dress in the shirt and pants, and to step unsteadily into the boots. It was getting late, and she wasn't back. And neither was the boy.

By sunset he was beside himself. She should have been back. She always fed the boy at sunset and put him to bed soon after. In sheer frustration he managed to get himself to the main part of the house, then worked his way along a wall to the front door. Outside it he snatched a broom from the wall it leaned against and used it as a support to make his way laboriously toward the village.

He was almost to the first building in the settlement when someone stopped and asked him if he was all right.

"I'm looking for Mariana," he said tersely. "She hasn't returned from hunting yet. Do you know where she is?"

The man shrugged. "Haven't seen her today. You could try the stables. She works there sometimes."

"Stables," Ares snarled, "got it," and continued on his way.

He saw a woman through the window of the third building and thumped on the door with his broom. She answered it reluctantly.

"Tell me where Mariana leaves the boy to be looked after. She hasn't come back from hunting today," he said, wearying of explanations and helplessness, and ready to strike out at anything in his frustration.

"Three doors down, on the other side of the path. At Vina's house. I haven't seen Mariana today though," the woman pointed out.

Ares made an aggravated noise in his throat and headed for the door.

The boy was at the house, and unharmed. They hadn't seen Mariana either. The only suggestion the boy or the sitter could make was that she often bathed at the bend in the stream.

Ares' frustration grew. There was no way he could make it up there and still be of use to Mariana if she needed help. Unless...

Dimi watched Ares storm out without another word. For Aeson to be out of bed something bad had to have happened. The moment Vina went back to the kitchen he moved a chair to take one of the daggers from the display over the fire place and slipped out the front door...

Ares wrinkled his nose. The stables were less than impressive. They housed three donkeys, several cows and goats, two work horses and currently, only one decent saddle horse. He commandeered it without asking. Saddling it was an exercise in pain, and climbing up the stall gate to mount it was an indignity, but the feel of being in control again, of having some power over Mariana's fate at last outweighed both.

He dug his heels in and pushed the beast to a gallop almost before they cleared the stable doors. It hurt like hell, but he didn't care. All he cared about was finding Mariana. Even in twilight he was able to remember the path they'd taken to get him from the field to her house. He followed it all the way to the field, and then to the wide bend in the stream, itself.

All was still and quiet. Not even the sound of a bird disturbed the evening. He frowned. Too quiet. Some instinct prevented him from calling her name, but he grew even more frantic in his effort to find her, pushing the horse up and down both sides of the stream, kilometers in both directions, and chasing any track, and broken twig or branch in the hope that it might lead him to her.

Fully an hour later he still hadn't found any trace of her, alive or dead. Finally, he turned the horse for the village in the desperate hope that she'd returned from wherever she'd gone and was waiting for him there. He was less than half a kilometer from it when two things happened.

The first was a cry in the night. A cry he recognized as the boy's. It was moving away from the village and was accompanied by the echo of swords and armor rattling and horses snorting.

The second, as he wheeled the horse toward the noise and prepared to give the beast his heels, was the emergence of two dark figures from the trees.

"Whoa, stranger," one voice said. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

And then they were close enough to see each other. The diminutive blond owner of the voice was staring up at him, waiting for a reply. The second, bigger man, was just staring.

"Ares? Ares? What are you doing here on a horse, in the middle of the night?" his brother demanded.

"I don't have time for this, Hercules," he snarled and turned to Iolaus. "Give me your sword!" he demanded.

Iolaus stepped back, a 'you've got to be kidding' look on his face.

Give me your sword!" Ares roared, and turned the horse to charge Iolaus.

"Now wait a minute," Hercules interceded. "If you tell us what the problem is, we might be able to help."

Ares roared in frustration and reared the horse, making both of them leap backward, then galloped off in the direction of the cry. Hercules and Iolaus watched in amazement as he vanished into the night.

Iolaus sighed. "We're going that way, right?"

"Right," Hercules confirmed, still bemused by the sight he'd just seen, and started to run.

Ares brought the horse to a halt at the place where he believed the noise had come from. If he dismounted he wouldn't be able to get back up again. Instead he peered through the darkness at the ground, the trees, looking for sign. There were none visible.

A horse whinnied somewhere ahead. He wheeled his mount in that direction and took off after it, ignoring the tearing in his lungs, the pain of his ribs and the dryness of his mouth as he rode.

A kilometer behind him Hercules and Iolaus were tracking him, hurtling through the darkness with little regard for their own safety, Iolaus because Hercules was, and Hercules because wherever Ares was, so was trouble...

When Ares finally caught up with the horses he'd heard he cursed under his breath. He recognized the leader of the band of mercenaries immediately: Braggas, cutthroat slave-trader who'd been a particular favorite of his for decades. They had five children of varying ages in a cage and four women strung together on a lead line.

There was little he could do on horseback without a weapon, but on the ground he was next to useless. He followed their much slower progress for half a kilometer, by which time Hercules and Iolaus had caught up, their wind spent, their bodies soaked in sweat despite the coolness of the night.

"Ares, are you going to tell me what's going on, or not?" Hercules demanded when they came to a halt near the horse's flank.

"Not," Ares told him nastily and turned to Iolaus. "Now give me the blasted sword!" he demanded.

Iolaus shook his head.

Ares face grew black with rage. "I don't have time for this!" he shouted in a strangled voice. "If anything happens to them I swear I'll kill you both, now give me the sword!"

"We can't do that, Ares, and you know it," Hercules told him, confused by the desperation in his brother's eyes. "Like I said before, tell us what's going on and if we can help we will."

"I should have killed you years ago!" Ares snarled through his teeth. "They're mercenaries. They have five brats and four women from the village. If I know Braggas they're headed for the slave markets in Nedra. We have to get them back now."

Hercules was astonished. But not as astonished as he was when Iolaus sneezed, startling the horse into jibbing sideways and almost throwing Ares. Never had Hercules seen a look of real pain on his brother's face before. And yet here Ares was gasping for breath and holding his ribs.

He stepped forward and lifted the god bodily off the animal before he could object.

"WHAT is going on, Ares?! Its like...its almost as if you're mortal."

Ares laughed almost hysterically. "Nobody ever said you were slow, little brother," he drawled. "Now, I will have that sword." He lunged at Iolaus, who almost, but not quite got out of the way, leaving both men to go sprawling onto the grass.

Impatiently, Hercules lifted them off one another, still unable to quite believe that he had hold of an agonized Ares by the scruff.

"If rescue is really what you're here for, then we're with you," Hercules told him. "If its not, expect no quarter. Now come on, or we'll lose them."

Ares tore himself free and went back to the horse. He'd almost managed to lift himself on the stirrup when he felt a powerful hand push his right boot up and over. If he could have called down lightning and struck Hercules dead he would have. Instead he booted the horse around and urged it toward the band of mercenaries.

Once again Hercules and Iolaus were forced to run. By the time they caught up Ares had ridden into the center of the procession of mercenaries and prisoners and was being dragged off the horse.

It took Hercules seconds to free him, ragged bodies flying in all directions. Ares struggled to his feet, gasping, and saw Iolaus fell another, the brigand's sword falling nearby. Before Hercules could stop him he had it in hand and was heading for the women. He dispatched two more of the mercenaries almost without stopping before reaching the line that anchored the women to the wagon and cutting it.

Mariana was the third one along it.

"Aeson!" she called joyfully as they pulled the rope through their chains and freed themselves. He started toward her, oblivious to the fact that he was grinning, when she leaped forward. Then he heard Iolaus' shout of warning.

Braggis wasn't dead. He had a bowman standing, arrow drawn, ready to shoot Mariana. The silent standoff was broken by Braggis' order to kill them all. The bowman loosed the arrow and reached for another.

"N.o.o.o.!" he screamed and threw himself at her as she came toward him, his great arms engulfing her as they fell.

"Ares!" Hercules cried as his brother fell to the ground, an arrow in the middle of his back.

Iolaus despatched the bowman and Hercules made short of Braggis, before running to Ares and Mariana, who'd struggled out from beneath the fallen god and was cradling his head in her lap.

"Who are you?" she sobbed.

"Hercules," he answered. "His brother."

"But your brother is King Iphicles," she protested. "Aeson doesn't even like you."

Bent at her side to examine the wound, Hercules almost laughed. "No, I daresay he doesn't," he agreed. "Aeson, huh?" he said to the tousled head in her lap.

"I...thought you'd like that," Ares whispered. "Can you...take it out? I really can't stand Hades..."

Hercules shook his head, unable to resist a smile. "I'll be sure and tell him next time I see him," he shot back, then sobered. "Ares, I can't take this arrow out. It'll kill you if I do."

Mariana looked up through a veil of tears. "Ares?" she demanded, shocked. It would explain a great many things. "How can a god be dying? How could he suffer so much?"

Hercules shook his head. "That's between the gods," he told her helplessly.

Iolaus had released the children, and couldn't stop Dimi from going to his mother, whom he knelt alongside.

She put an arm around him, sobbing, while her free hand continued to stroke Ares' hair and brow.

"Aeson?" the little boy called.

"Yeah?" Ares growled.

"Did you kill anyone?"

Ares chuckled weakly. "Yeah, kid. This time I did," he confided, then coughed and choked. Blood had now trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"What happened, Ares?" Hercules asked quietly.

"Ask Zeus," the god of war managed, closed his eyes...and then he was gone.

Vanished.

Mariana went into shock. Hercules helped her to her feet and held her while she sobbed, and Iolaus picked up the boy.

In a little while they started back for the village, the boy in front of Iolaus on Ares' mount, and Mariana before Hercules on one of the wagon horses.

Ares opened his eyes. If it had to be the other side, let it be Tartarus!

But it wasn't. It was his temple, but he was still laying on his stomach with the arrow in his back. On the steps above him, Zeus was watching.

"Come down here you bastard!" he called weakly. "You killed me once, so get on with it. This pain thing is starting to get on my nerves."

Zeus chuckled as he came down the steps. "Do you know why you're here?" he asked, and sat down next to his son.

"So you can gloat, you broken down old goat," Ares snarled.

Zeus shook his head. "Nope. You're here because you learned how to do the one thing you've never done before in your life. Not only that, but you were willing to give up your life for it."

Ares snorted. "Talk so I can understand you," he growled.

Zeus shook his head, still amused. "Ares, Ares. Think of it, you loved Mariana enough to die for her."

"I wanted her and she didn't come back," he corrected petulantly.

"It won't work, Ares. I saw your heart; your black, selfish heart, open up for one magnificent moment, and reach out for something you've never known before... love."

"And whose fault is that?" Ares shot back and spat blood onto the steps. "This is ridiculous, either send me to, gods forbid, Hades, or put me back, whole, with Mariana," he demanded.

Zeus' eyes widened. "You love her that much?" he asked.

Ares groaned. "I just want to get this blasted arrow out of my back, you stupid old fool!"

Zeus grinned. "But you didn't ask me to give you back your powers," he said triumphantly, and raised his arm.

Iolaus cleaned off a second plate of venison stew and bread and sat back, contented. Hercules hadn't finished his first, and was watching Mariana with concern.

"Do you think she's all right?" he asked.

Hercules turned back to him. "I don't know. Probably not. Losing someone you love..." he began, met Iolaus' knowing gaze and didn't have to continue.

"But Ares?" Iolaus couldn't resist asking after a beat.

Hercules shrugged. "He said: ask Zeus. That can only mean he was being punished for something."

"So is he dead?"

Hercules shrugged again. "Maybe, but I don't think so. Zeus has a hard time killing family," he recalled, the image of a dying brother he'd never known still burned in his mind.

Iolaus frowned. "But if he's got his powers back why isn't he here, for Mariana?"

The big man looked back at Mariana, who was busy in the kitchen, as she had been almost since they arrived. First it was feed the child and put him to bed, then it was a meal for them, and now cleaning up. He got up and went to her.

"Mariana," he said softly, "Ares is the son of Zeus, and Zeus won't kill him."

She looked up at him, disbelief in her beautiful eyes.

"Trust me," Hercules reassured her, "I know my father. Wherever he is, he'll be all right."

Tears trickled down her cheeks again and she allowed Hercules to hold her again, not really caring about anything. Aeson/Ares might not be dead, but wherever he was, he hadn't come back to her, probably never would...

Moments later Iolaus leaped up when someone rapped loudly on the door.

"That'll be Vina. She'll have seen our light," Mariana said diffidently as he opened it, then promptly fainted, to only just be caught by a startled Hercules.

In two beats Ares, the old Ares, was taking her from Hercules' arms and carrying her to the bedroom. Before either of the others could follow he kicked the door shut.

Iolaus chuckled, but Hercules just shook his head in amazement.

Inside, Ares was laying Mariana gently on the bed, calling her name.

She roused, saw him and sat up, throwing her arms around his neck.

For a long time they remained like that, the powerful god's arms holding her so close it almost took the breath out of her. Then, finally, Ares' mouth was looking for, finding hers, the kiss a lingering, needing thing this time.

And when he finally lifted his head, Mariana searched the dark eyes, even darker now above the dark warrior's clothes.

"You're not staying are you?" she whispered.

"I can't," he admitted. "I am who I am, Mariana. I will always want you, and I'll be back, if you still want me."

"Always," she whispered, and kissed him again. "Just promise me one thing," she said when he lifted his head.

"What?"

"Don't bring Strife with you..."

Hercules and Iolaus heard the god of war roar with laughter and looked at each other.

"He's back," Iolaus observed unhelpfully.

Hercules sighed. "I know," he said. "I hate my family..."

THE END