Mylene sighed as she stood stiffly still, her eyes closed and her entire body stiff as she tried to deal with the long-familiar pain that wracked her body.

After a long moment the pain receded to a more bearable level. She turned slowly, beginning to move with an awkward, shuffling gait towards the doors of the chamber.

Someone stepped out of the shadows to her left.

She drew in a surprised breath, and then took a closer look at the tall man now moving to stand before her.

He was tall, dauntingly so. His sleek, muscular, graceful form was clad from neck to feet in black leather, and an enormous sword hung at his side. But it was his face that drew her immediate and total attention. It was beautiful. Totally masculine, yet beautiful at the same time, as was the rest of him. Thick, glossy shoulder-length curls rested against the top of the vest he wore. His eyes - oh his eyes were the most beautiful, compelling part of him - gazed down at her with detached interest out of a dark, severe face devoid of any readable expression.

She smiled uncertainly up at him, thinking him one of Ares' warlords come to make an offering at his Lord's temple.

"I'm sorry...you startled me."

His expression didn't change. "Did I? It wasn't my intention," he told her quietly, his voice as beautiful as the rest of him.

Sheer, leashed power radiated out from him in almost overwhelming waves.

Gods, were all Ares' warlords so incredibly imposing? She wondered, bemused and unnerved.

She made to move around him, but as she did so, her leg gave way beneath her and she almost fell. Strong arms went out and caught her, holding her until she righted herself. He released her then, but still stood, gazing at her with that same disconcerting regard.

"Your leg is damaged," he observed quietly.

Mylene nodded, shrugging. "It's an old injury. Just seems to hurt more lately, though - with the cold weather," she answered. The man before her nodded slightly. She wondered if Metion had known him at any time.

"I see you've come to worship your Lord. I'm sorry I've held you up. Excuse me," she smiled slightly, tiredly, as she moved to the side and went to go around him.

A long arm shot out and a large hand took hold of her upper arm, detaining her. "Why do you pray to Ares? You're not a warrior. I would have thought Hestia would be of more interest to you." His voice was still quiet, for all that there was a strong impression of cold steel beneath the overtly unthreatening words.

He looked down at her, curious. She was an unremarkable mortal in appearance, really. But she stood before him with a quiet dignity that would have been touching if he'd been anyone other than who he was. Still - he was curious. He knew what she had asked for, and knew he couldn't give it to her. And after so long, she still persisted.

"I pray to Ares to send back my husband. He went to war five years back..." Her voice trailed off, as if the subject was still painful to her.

He waited.

Taking a breath she continued quietly. "Metion - my husband - was called to fight in the Army of Ares. The last I heard was he fought at Tanagra. I haven't seen him since. I ask Ares to send him home to me," she finished, her voice breaking slightly.

Those dark eyes continued to gaze at her intently, dark brows lowering in a slight frown. "Surely it has occurred to you that your husband died at Tanagra," he told her with more bluntness than was called for, but mortals with their peculiar ways of denying the truth to themselves annoyed him. Metion? He searched his memory. Metion - a rather good warrior. He remembered the man. He had died at Tanagra on the blade of an enemy sword, the name of his Lord the last sound to leave his dying, bloodied mouth. He died well; she should be proud of him. Yet she can't even acknowledge his death.

She was looking up at him out of stricken brown eyes. "If Metion had died, I'd know. I know I would!" She told him with a small show of spirit that surprised him a little.

Mylene winced at her own loudness in such a quiet, sacred place. "I'm sorry. It's just... I need him," she finished in a small voice.

The dark man blinked. "Perhaps Ares can't give you that which you desire," he told her, his voice softer this time.

There were tears in her eyes. "Well I have to ask, don't you see that?" She whispered.

He didn't say anything, merely continued to gaze at her out of those beautiful, disturbing dark eyes.

She hastily wiped her eyes and swallowed, trying to avert the emotions that threatened to drown her, as they had so often in the past.

"You're a visitor here," she said in an effort to change the subject. "I haven't seen you here before. I'm Mylene."

He nodded slightly in agreement. "I...haven't been here in a long time." But he didn't offer his own name in return. He gazed around him, frowning slightly. His priest in this place needed a good talking-to. Signs of neglect were apparent wherever his eyes fell. Dust and the remains of long-dead offerings littered the floor of the altar chamber. Not that he cared for himself. He was entirely indifferent to the offerings placed by mortals in his temples and shrines. He did feel, however, that his followers deserved a decent place in which to worship. In another place and time, similar military thinking would engender the concept of "spit and polish."

His gaze returned to the woman before him. Her long, russet dress, while clean, had clearly seen better days. Her long, dark hair was clean and neatly secured in a practical braid that hung down her back. She intrigued him - there was something about her... She was far from being headstrong, for all her previous small show of spirit, which he couldn't help but applaud, but there was an earnest, vital, real earthiness to her that was appealing.

She was looking out the window to her right, but her gaze returned to him. "It will be dark soon. Are you staying in Elaea?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm just passing through. I'm staying at a place close by," he found himself saying.

"Oh. Well... You're welcome to have dinner at my home. It won't be much and it will only be simple, but you're probably hungry after travelling," she volunteered shyly, only to add hastily, "That is, if you don't have any other plans."

Her soft brown eyes looked up, waiting for an answer. She wondered if he could tell how much it cost her to make the offer. The anniversary of Metion's leaving for Tanagra always left her feeling bruised, bereft and lonely. She would welcome the company, even if the company seemed to seldom smile.

He watched the play of emotion across the careworn face with interest.

"Thank you. And no, I have no other plans right now," he found himself telling her, mildly surprised. It was true - he had no other immediate plans; there were no major wars brewing or in progress which required his attention. He very rarely sought out the company of mortals unless he had to. Now he found that he did indeed feel the inclination to spend time in undemanding company - well away from the endless intrigues and tensions of Olympus.

She smiled. "Good, then that's settled. ...Would you like to leave now, or would you prefer to finish your devotions...?"

Inwardly he laughed at the irony in that. "No. They can...wait," he told her, with a slight smile that went a long way to transforming his face.

Mylene nodded, pleased.

They left the temple together, moving slowly as she had difficulty in walking down the steps outside the temple and onto the street outside.

He again looked around as they walked, not missing a detail. Household refuse lined the narrow walkway on either side. His nostrils flared delicately - the aroma surrounding them was less than pleasant. Skinny, starved dogs slunk through the piles of rotting garbage looking for anything edible.

The houses lining the street were in a similar state of disrepair. Clearly the town had seen better times.

Mylene saw his look. "It's been like this since Tanagra," she told him quietly, a faint flush suffusing her face.

He turned and looked down at her. He knew exactly what she meant. These were defeated people. Their - his - side may have won the war, but the retreating enemy soldiers had wreaked their worst on the provinces through which they passed on their way home. Scorched earth policy was so much more than a mere policy. It was a harsh, cruel reality that very often occurred during or immediately following a war. This area had suffered badly in the aftermath of the war and had never recovered.

"Didn't you try to rebuild?" He asked, although the answer was obvious. He wanted to draw her out, though.

She flushed again. "Of course we did, but how do you expect a village of women, and what's left of our men to do that?" Her voice was annoyed as she looked up into his face.

He shrugged. "Isn't it better to try than to simply give up?"

Mylene snorted. "Oh yes, that's easy for you to say, isn't it, my fine warlord?" She threw at him without any real anger.

He stopped dead in his tracks, forcing her to waver to a halt and look back at him. "I beg your pardon?" Came the icy retort.

The very air around them seemed to grow a trifle colder. She shivered and put it down to a figment of her imagination.

She sighed, making a placatory gesture with her hands. "Look... I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. You can't help it if Ares creates these circumstances and then after it's all over, leaves us mortals to deal with the consequences."

If anything, he now looked even more offended. In the distance, thunder rumbled, a dull, threatening sound.

He was trying to rein in his anger. She was, after all, only stating the truth as she knew it from her limited mortal perspective. Still, he took exception to the sheer injustice of her remark.

He nodded shortly. "Apology accepted," he told here quietly, for all that irritation hovered near the surface. Perhaps later he'd correct her misconceptions.

They resumed walking, and not long afterwards, reached the small hut that was Mylene's home.

Once inside, the stranger made her small home seem all the smaller.

"Please, make yourself at home," she bade him, moving to the small pot hanging simmering over the fire.

He nodded his thanks and moved quietly around the tiny living area, frowning thoughtfully at the small objects adorning the dwelling and which spoke of its occupant and her past.

His eyes fell on a small, beautifully carved figure of a horse sitting proudly in the middle of the table where they were to eat. He picked it up, examining the fine workmanship that had created the object.

"Oh please! Be careful!" Mylene had left the fire and was standing beside him, her hand held out, an anxious expression on her face.

Automatically, he carefully placed the carving in her two waiting hands.

She clutched it to her in a gesture that touched something deep within him. He frowned, annoyed at experiencing such a feeling.

"Your husband's work?" He asked, his eyes on hers now.

"Yes. He made it for Naxie," she told him.

"Naxie?"

Her face paled. "Our son - Anaxos."

He nodded, understanding the meaning of her anxiety that he should break or damage the small object. "What happened?" He asked, his god-sense feeling the awful depth of pain filling her.

She suddenly sat at the table, her hands folded around the carving in her lap. She didn't speak for a long moment, trying to draw courage to recount the worst day of her life.

He remained standing, dark eyes gazing down at her.

"It was after Tanagra. We had heard there was a major battle. At first we weren't even sure which side had won. Everyone was worried. Then the enemy army came through Elaea in retreat." She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment as she remembered. "Of course, they destroyed everything in their path as they went. For no reason, really... Naxie was six years old. He was playing outside when they came riding through. I heard him screaming - 'Mama! Mama!' - over and over again. I ran outside." She swallowed, unaware of the tears spilling down her face. "There was a horse...Naxie had been directly in its path. It was on top of him, stamping down again and again, while its rider did nothing to stop it."

The tall stranger could feel the anger boiling up within him at such a cowardly act, but she was talking again, and he viciously quelled the rising red tide of fury to hear her words.

"I ran to him and threw myself on top of his little body, trying to protect him. I didn't know until later that he was already dead. The horse kept rearing. It started coming down on me too. I could hear the bones in my leg snapping."

She stopped and looked up at him, her face strangely expressionless. "The commander of the warriors saw what was happening and ordered him away from us. But it was too late."

Mylene fell silent for a moment, remembering. "Naxie was playing with this little horse when he died," she told him, wondering why, after all this time, she was telling a total stranger something she had not shared with anyone, ever since the day of Naxie's death.

He stood looking silently down at her, his face severe and cold. Acts such as she had just described always infuriated him. While war was, by its very nature, cruel and brutal, there was, nevertheless, a code of honour, however tenuously expressed and maintained, that he expected both sides in any conflict to adhere to. Killing and maiming women and children was not part of his personal code of conduct. Nor was it, on a more practical level, so far as he was concerned, an efficient or helpful means of conducting war. Still, such accidents commonly happened in circumstances such as those following Tanagra.

He took one step closer to her, his dark regard never leaving her bowed head.

"I'm sorry."

The almost-whispered words caused her to look up at him through tear-filled eyes. She wasn't to know that it was the dark Lord of War himself offering her an apology of sorts for the terrible exigencies of something over which he himself presided.

He returned her gaze moodily, something like regret coursing through him. He didn't often allow himself to get close to mortals. Most of them irritated him beyond reason with their emotional sentimentality and run-of-the-mill stupidity. They deserved what they received from the hands of the gods. Oh yes, he'd involved himself from time to time in their affairs, often regretting it, and at other times deriving great personal amusement from their foolishness.

But at that moment, he was not in the slightest amused. The woman before him carried integrity about her like a personal banner. He had personally been aware of her husband, and had known him for an honourable, courageous warrior, who had died valiently. And then to lose her son in a senseless accident that should never have happened... She had deserved better.

He crouched down in front of her. 'Listen to me. What happened to you was a terrible by-product of war. It should never have happened, but it did. You can't bring Metion or your son back. No amount of wishing or praying will give you that. Even the gods are bound by rules of sorts that they must adhere to in such things," he told her quietly.

She wiped the tears away, surprised at the sudden gentleness in the beautiful voice, and evident in those dark eyes. "Did... Did you happen to know Metion?" She asked, trying to get away from the pain.

He was silent for a moment before replying.

"Yes," he nodded slowly. "I...knew your husband slightly."

"Was he...? Did he...?"

He nodded again, confirming her worst fears. "Yes, I saw Metion die at Tanagra." She didn't know - nor did many mortals for that matter - that the God of War was always fully aware of the deaths of those who called him Lord. It was one of many things about him that was not generally known. Not even Zeus himself, who had formed and shaped his dark son into the God of War, knew the terrible price his son paid for his godhood. Over the centuries, Ares' inner being had become laden with the darkness with which his godhood surrounded him. Layer after layer of darkness had encircled and taken hold of his heart and soul until he was all but buried under it. He was more often than not cold, ruthless, and deadly.

And yet... And yet, somewhere deep within the tall, dark god, there remained a tiny place reserved for more gentle feelings. He himself had come to loathe them when they dared to make themselves heard or felt, but for all his efforts, he couldn't deny them or get rid of them. And he was aware of the terrible pain and loss caused by his work. For all that he was, in fact, the very spirit of war, that small, quiet, painful place remained hidden in his depths. The only way he could deal with them and remain sane was to reach out and embrace the all-encompassing darkness ready and waiting for him to pick it up. But right then, he didn't want to remind himself of that, or of the anguish that receded forcibly into his depths under the lash of his will.

He returned from his thoughts to find the mortal woman weeping quietly, her head lowered. After so long, she had to face the awful reality that Metion would not be coming home to her.

After a long silence she raised her head to gaze up at him, the tears receding from her red-rimmed eyes. "You know, I think...I really think that my Metion deserved better. He honoured Ares from the time he was old enough to wield a sword, even if he only ever used that sword in defence of his homeland. Ares should have protected him," she added bitterly.

The stranger sighed slightly and shook his head. "Ares can't protect all those who honour or serve him. That's not how it works. That's not how war works," he told her calmly.

"Don't tell me how war works! I know how it works! It takes people and swallows them! And spits out empty, dead or broken husks when it's done! Thank you very much, but I do know how it works, and Ares be damned! He takes everything that is given to him and gives nothing in return except pain and suffering!" She was all but screaming at him. "Metion honoured Ares and prayed to him all the time, and in the end, what did he get? A death that went unnoticed and unremarked! Oh yes, I know how war works, warlord!"

In one swift movement he had reached down, grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet, until her face was inches from his. "Don't you dare speak to me of what war is! You know nothing! Metion died, yes. That is what happens in war! But he died a valiant, honourable death." Rage consumed him at her insolent, unknowing words. He shook her like a manikin in his hands. "Better he should die with honour on the field of battle than to return here and become yet another defeated, lifeless, husk," he taunted her harshly.

She was staring at him in shock.

For several heartbeats they remained locked in a frozen tableau. He continued to hold her, breathing hard in his anger. He slowly calmed himself, his face losing the terrifying look of dark rage. At his breathing slowed, he lowered her to the ground, his eyes still holding hers captive.

He released her, stepping slowly away from the frightened woman, moving to stand on the other side of the small room, his face remote.

There was a heavy silence as they continued to regard each other.

Slowly, painfully, Mylene turned back to the fire, shaking her head, but saying nothing. She was numb. That blessed state wouldn't last, of course. For so long she'd held on to the hope that somehow, somewhere, against all odds, Metion might have still been alive. And now this frightening stranger had taken her last hope from her, confirming that her husband was in fact dead, and had been for a long time.

Metion was dead. Naxie was dead.

She stirred the stew in the pot hanging over the fire without seeing it, trying to come to terms with the waves of grief now beginning to assail her heart. She didn't turn again to her visitor until the stew was almost ready.

Laying out utensils and plates, she at last looked over at him standing in the shadows, as if he were one of them come to dark life.

"Please - sit down. It's ready," she told him quietly.

He slowly did as she asked, his face once again set in unreadable lines. He watched her take each plate and fill it with the stew, before setting one of them before him, and one in the place where she would sit. Fresh bread and wine joined the other items on the table.

She was pale, but composed. He knew she would now start to grieve in earnest for her husband. He idly speculated on the complicated emotional lives of mortals. Yes, their common lot was a difficult one. He wondered at the resilience that kept them from complete and outright despair.

"It's not much - just venison. One of the older men brought a small buck down a few days back. We don't often eat this well," she was telling him with quiet irony, causing his eyes to focus on her again.

He didn't particularly feel like eating, nor was eating a godly necessity, but now he pulled off a piece of the fresh bread as she poured them both some wine.

He scooped up some of the stew with a piece of his bread. "It's good," he told her, knowing she was trying to move away from their earlier discussion. She was, in fact, rather a good cook. The judicious use of herbs and seasonings had served to add tempting, solid flavour to what would otherwise have been a bland stew.

She smiled, pleased that he seemed to be enjoying the meal. As she ate, her eyes fell on Naxie's small horse, in the centre of the table.

"I used to love horses, you know, and riding," she said, a wistful smile on her face, her eyes caressing the small object. "But since... Well, I can't stand to be around them now. They frighten me."

He nodded slowly. "That's understandable. But perhaps in time you will overcome your fear," he mused, before taking a mouthful of wine.

Mylene shrugged. "I don't know. I doubt it." She drank from her own mug. "It's not something I think about too often these days, anyway. But you know..." The smile she now wore brought the tired face alive, eyes sparkling with remembered pleasure. "Metion and I used to borrow old Gratillis's colt. We'd sneak out past the fields near Ares' temple and once we were out of sight of the village, Metion would set the horse into this full-out gallop. It was magical. To feel the wind in your hair, the movement of the horse beneath you..." She stopped, lost in the memory.

The tall man sitting opposite her smiled for the second time since they had met. He knew well the things of which she spoke. He had always enjoyed riding himself. Except he most often did it when he chose to lead his own armies into battle. But he was well aware of the exhilaration of urging the horse beneath one to a full gallop. Yes, it was a glorious feeling.

She was looking at him now, and at the beautiful smile, however slight, that transformed his face.

She smiled softly in return.

"You should smile more often," she told him, before scooping up some more of the stew with her bread.

An ironic brow raised. "Is that so?" He replied, amused now. No one had ever dared say that to his face before. "Why?"

Mylene shrugged while she finished chewing. "Because it makes you look less...angry."

He laughed outright at that, his genuinely amused laughter filling the small space.

"My dear, I am often...angry. But thank you."

His laughter subsided as he drank some more wine. He sat back at ease, contemplating her as she ate, his face serious again for all that his dark eyes still danced with laughter. It was rather pleasant, he conceded to himself, to simply be for a while, and not be the God of War, with all the accompanying expectations that went with the office. He had never, in his very long existence, shirked his responsibilities. Rather, he had always embraced them and carried them out to their fullest. But now he found himself enjoying one of the very rare moments in his long life when he didn't have to be or do anything that was expected of him. It amused him as much as it relaxed him.

The mortal woman opposite him continued to eat as he watched her. He found himself speculating idly on what would become of her. The loss of her husband and son, while angering her, had not served to fill her with bitterness, as it would many mortals. That fact alone pleased him and set her above a great many others, although why it should please him, he really wasn't sure.

"What?"

His thoughts and eyes both refocused at the sound of her questioning voice. Dark eyes locked with hers in corresponding question.

She smiled again. "You were staring at me," she told him.

He shook his head, the silver earring in his left ear catching the firelight as it danced.

"Just thinking. Nothing of import."

He had not finished speaking when there was a knock at the door.

At Mylene's invitation the door opened and a small, plump woman with flaming red hair stepped quickly inside.

"Brrr! It's cold out there! Hey, I've brought..."

Her voice trailed off as she saw that Mylene had a visitor, and then she stiffened, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open.

He saw, and knew what she knew.

In an instant his will reached across the room and possessed her, taking from her all memory of their meeting on the enormous, bloody field of Tanagra, where she had gone to find and return home with her husband's body.

The eyes of Mylene's visitor briefly went blank, before the woman visibly shook herself, confused. "What was I just saying?" She asked vaguely.

Mylene grinned. "You were about to tell me what it is you're holding with that cloth wrapped so tightly around it. Then she turned to her other visitor. "This is Dilharis, my cousin," she told him, before returning back to the other woman. "And this is...," she got out before she remembered he had not given his name. "...One of Lord Ares' warlords," she finished, smiling, her eyes daring the inquisitive Dilharis to probe further into her mysterious visitor.

The tall, dark man inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Dilharis openly admired him, much to his amusement,and Mylene's embarrassment.

"So, what do you have there?" She asked, her eyes focussed determinedly on the shape in Dilharis's hands.

"Oh. This? It's just a date pudding. I had some left over and thought you might enjoy it. You should be able to split it two ways," she told her cousin cheerfully, her own eyes dancing with mirth, and saying all too clearly that she knew what Mylene would be doing later that night.

With some haste, the slender woman limped as quickly as she could to her cousin. Taking the covered dish from her, she gripped her tightly by the arm, drawing her to the door. "Thank you! It was good of you to think of me. Be careful going home! I'll return your dish tomorrow. Night!"

She all but shoved her cousin out the door, shutting it securely behind her.

When she turned back to the room's other occupant, she was flushed.

"Dilharis... She... She's always trying to push me off onto..." She stopped abruptly. "Never mind. We'd better eat this before it gets cold."

Her visitor kept his own face carefully expressionless, although he was amused.

"Indeed," was his only response to both her comments.

They finished the meal and the wine and Mylene cleared the table. Her visitor watched her with mild interest the whole time. He didn't seem disposed to leave once he had finished eating, which surprised her, so after she had finished, she sat down again, return his frank gaze.

"Do you have far to travel tonight?" She asked, curious. He was like no other man she'd ever met. She laughed to herself at the thought. She had never been out of Elaea, and so had limited knowledge of the world and of men, but even so, she thought this particular man had to be apart from others. Perhaps that was why he had been elevated to become one of Ares' Warlords. And a highly-favoured one, if one took into consideration the obviously expensive leather pants and jewelled - albeit simply - vest he wore, not to mention the silver earring and sword pendant hanging from his neck. Yes, this man had obviously done well out of his chosen path in life.

"No," he was saying, somewhat shortly, before adding, "What work did your husband do before he went to Tanagra?"

Mylene's hand rose to indicate all the furniture in her small home. "He...was a carpenter. He made all the things in our house, and he made things for a lot of people in Elaea. he loved working with his hands," she added softly.

She looked down at her hands, avoiding those disconcerting, all-seeing eyes. "I wish he'd never set eyes on a sword. If he hadn't..."

"Is that how you really see it?" He interrupted her to ask. "Do you think it was really that simple for him - for any of those who go to war?"

She looked up, startled at the sharpness of his tone, for all that his face was still relatively mild.

"I..."

"Did it never occur to you that one of the reasons people take sides in a war, or even go to war for that matter - is to protect and defend? That when all is said and done, in spite of the brutality and cruelty, there is nevertheless another side to war - that of courage, self-sacrifice, patriotism, love. Yes, love," he told her, the reflected firelight dancing patterns across his almost-black eyes. He wondered why he was virtually defending himself to this woman. Perhaps, he thought, it's because she is one of the normally faceless multitudes whom no one ever sees or takes account of in the heat of battle. He wasn't sure he liked that thought, and that annoyed him. He frowned.

She shook her head slowly. "Perhaps you're right," she said quietly. "But what does all that matter to those who are left behind by those who fall in battle? They have still, in the end, lost someone, and have to face that loss, and the grieving and sorrow and pain..." She stopped, defeated by her own bleak words.

"Yes, people do lose those they love. That is the nature of war. War will always bring pain. That too is its nature. But even in the loss and grieving, is there not pride in the one who has given up their life so that others might be freed from tyranny of any kind? Weren't you proud that Metion chose to march to defend his people" His eyes never left her face. He really was curious. And if he were honest with himself, he'd never really stopped before to wonder whether or not - or even care, for that matter - many of those left behind actually did feel pride in those who went off to war.

"I was proud of Metion. Of course I was, but being proud of him didn't bring him back to me, did it? Any more than praying to Ares did," she finished bleakly.

He blinked, slowly, and pushed down the anger that had started rising.

He stood. "It's time I left."

Mylene rose too.

"Thank you for the meal and your hospitality. It was kind of you," he told her, his face once again set in unreadable lines.

The slender woman before him nodded. "You're welcome. I didn't like the idea of seeing someone pass through our town and go hungry. We have no inn."

He smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said again, moving to the door.

Then he was gone, quietly closing the door behind him.

Once outside he stood still, gazing into the dark night without really seeing anything, his fingers tapping absently on the hilt of the great sword at his waist. Frowning, he considered the time he'd spent with the mortal woman over the past several hours. Yes, it had definitely been easier than spending the evening on Olympus listening to the boring conversation of his family. And more interesting. For all that her body was damaged, she still had a fire within her that was pleasing. This was no meek, frightened widow. He grinned to himself, dark eyes sparkling wickedly as a plan formed. Still grinning, he vanished and became one with the darkness of the night.

Inside the humble house, Mylene stared at the closed door, thoughtful. What a strange night. She was almost sorry he had left. He had been intriguing, if somewhat severe company. Shrugging to herself, she turned and prepared for bed.

But that wasn't the last time she was to see the dark stranger. He returned the following afternoon, and again the next day. Both times, he brought a basked filled with an array of food that had her eyes widening in surprise. Meats and fruits and cheeses of several different kinds, complemented by the lightest, freshest bread she had ever tasted, all topped off with a wine that defied description.

After the meal they sat and talked and argued - and even fought - well into the night. She goaded him as much as he goaded her. And still, by the third night, he had not identified himself to her. Each night, as he left her, he knew himself to be calm and relaxed for the first time in a very long time, and he resolved not to scorn the company of mortals so scathingly in the future.