HEARTS' HOMELAND TRILOGY

PART 3: RITE OF PASSAGE

Ares was standing absently gazing out the window of his bedchamber down onto the valley below the front entrance of his temple, arms folded across his broad chest.

He, too, was thinking. He knew Kendaa would never openly admit to him what had been done to her and that it had been done because she was who she was - his chosen. Her stubborn pride had always annoyed him, but now, for some reason, he found it frustrated and angered him more - perhaps because he had now accepted that he did love the mortal woman, more than he had loved any other. More, even, than Xena. Xena and Kendaa both had fire and the most magnificent spirit, but whereas Xena was almost always reserved, even in the act of lovemaking, the dryad was warm, sensual and entirely giving, even when she was infuriated with him. She couldn't seem to help herself, for all that she was normally by nature very reserved too. Her warmth and giving in the act of lovemaking was an integral part of her dryad-born nature. He loved it. And he wanted her to reach out to him for the comforting he found he yearned to give her.

In truth, he knew she was the first being, mortal or immortal, to show love for him. Many women had, over the centuries, made a display of loving him; but they had always been driven by fear, avarice, the desire to be close to power. He had despised them. He'd used them, and discarded them, tossing them casually aside for the shallow, boring creatures they had all been. But this one, ah... She was so different. He wondered if it was her unique nature, being a mixture of mortal and dryad, and ruefully reflected that her marked lack of fear had often confounded and angered him no end - because he was so used to mortals being afraid of him. He smiled to himself. Some of them were terrified at the very mention of his name. Oh, they were priceless.

Kendaa's attitude towards him had often infuriated him. Yet as he had come to know her better, he'd found he admired that reckless lack of temerity in her. It excited him and drew him to her.

He smiled slightly and somewhat ironically, owning that throughout his entire existence, he had deliberately fostered fear of his name. After all, he WAS the God of War. It had always been expedient that mortals view him as their worst nightmare come to life. But Kendaa...he recognised that he wanted her precisely because she had never feared him. Like almost all mortals, she had been imbued with a proper respect for the gods. But she was also dryad, and dryads had a deeper knowledge of the gods than mortals, not being human and entirely mortal themselves. As a warrior, she had always given him respect, acknowledging that he was in fact the Lord of War. Yet she knew him for who and what he truly was...and still chose to like him.

To be liked...what a strange, novel experience. He now realised just how much it meant to him that she actually liked him, in spite of all he had done to her. She was a perverse, often frustrating, but entirely alluring mortal. He felt himself hardening just at the thought of her, and expelled a long breath. She doesn't need that right now, he told himself. What she needed was time, patience and healing.

He frowned. He found he wanted more than anything to be able to provide that for her. Never in his existence had he experienced such a longing.

He sighed.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his senses. Kendaa was still floating in the hot spring, her own eyes closed in a tired, drawn face. She'd been very careful to hide the depth of her pain in front of him. But she kept forgetting he could look inside her and see for himself. He didn't often do that, but he had that morning.

He had winced at the pain within her.

In a way it was a pity that Nolus was now with Hades. He would have given much to torment him over and over again for laying his hands on her. But his rage had needed feeding the previous day when he went back for his traitorous warlord, and there had been vicious satisfaction in hearing the creature scream so terribly as he was torn apart.

His eyes opened again, a reflective light in their dark depths. His father's recent visit had given him much to think about. He had been surprised to experience delight in the thought of the mortal woman carrying his child. It was true, as Kendaa had said, that he had thousands of children spread over the mortal and godly realms. Most of them didn't particularly interest him, except of course for the ones who showed real promise. He took a personal interest in them.

But he found he very much wanted Kendaa to bear his child. Especially after Eirene had been taken from her before she could even come to mortal life. While he had made it possible for her to see her daughter, he knew it still hurt her to have lost her child before she was born into the mortal world, and to have to settle for seeing her only when Ares could arrange it.

Kendaa opened her eyes and looked around the quiet glen, her hands making lazy motions in the water. Sighing, she drew herself out of the spring. A large towel lay on a nearby rock, so she took it up and began slowly drying her dripping body.

Strong hands gently took her hair and began wringing it free of excess water.

She smiled. The scent of his leather mixed with the remainder of the lavender, sandlewood and pine to stir her senses.

"That feels good," she whispered softly as he began to gently rub her thick hair dry. She leaned back and treated herself to an upside-down view of his handsome face.

He leaned down, planting a soft, feathery kiss on her bruised lips.

"Thank you," she said against his lips. She could feel him beginning to smile as he moved back and concentrated on her hair.

"Oh believe me, it's entirely my pleasure."

Now she could feel a brush moving gently to ease out the tangles. It felt wonderful. She sighed and relaxed a little more.

When he'd finished he turned her to face him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, dark eyes uncharacteristically sad.

She knew what he was sorry for. Passing her hand to his cheek, she shook her head slightly.

"It wasn't your fault, Ares. Hera ordered it. Our relationship was only the excuse she was looking for"

The pain in those beautiful dark eyes mesmerised her. She wasn't aware that it mirrored the pain in her own eyes.

He took the hand against his cheek and kissed it, his eyes closed for a moment, savouring the unique, wonderful scent that was his Chosen. That he had almost lost her tore at him. He knew he would have defied Hades himself if she had died; he would have returned her to life, and the rules be damned.

He now freely admitted to himself that he loved this obstinate, proud, lovely half-mortal completely and passionately. In all his centuries of existence, she and she alone had found the key to his heart.

Oh, he'd been extremely fond of others; Xena, Serena, to name but two. But this woman had set his heart free to experience all the intricate movements of a heart liberated by love.

Ares opened his eyes, a determined glint in them, and stood back a pace from her before moving his hand over her form.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing a simple knee-length white woven robe, not unlike the robe worn by those about to take vows as priestesses of Ares. It felt cool, clean and comfortable next to her skin. She smiled in appreciation of his thoughtfulness. The God of War was full of surprises lately, she thought in bemusement.

Ares extended his hand.

"Come," he invited her.

She placed her hand in his, and instantly, they were back in his temple.

Even then, Ares could feel his beloved dryad tremble slightly as he drew her close.

Kendaa was, in spite of the hot spring, still tired and sore, both in mind in spirit, and the soothing warmth of the water had relaxed her enough to let her body demand the rest it still so badly needed.

"I'd like to sleep again," she told him, just before her legs disconcertingly folded under her.

Caught unawares, he barely caught her in time. He gathered her into his arms once more and carried her back to his bed.

He made to lay her on the bed, but she looked up at him, an unaccustomed diffidence on her features. "Would you hold me until I sleep?" She asked him, her voice trembling slightly. Never in her life had she asked for such comforting, and she had never expected to ask it of the God of War.

His hesitation was only brief. He nodded slightly, his face expressionless, and sat on the bed, stretching his legs out. she lay on his lap, her head resting against his firm, warm chest.

They sat in silence for long moments.

It was Kendaa who broke the silence. "You know what the worst thing was?" She asked him in an empty voice.

He looked down at her. "What?"

She drew a deep breath. "Not being able to fight back. They took that away from me, Ares."

He was silent, considering that. The warrior above all warriors understood only too well what it would mean to a warrior to be completely deprived of any means of self-defence. Or offence for that matter.

"Kendaa, the shame isn't yours," he told her firmly. "What was done to you was completely lacking in any kind of honour. Those animals were not warriors. They were poor excuses for worms." Handsome features had curled into a snarl of hatred, for all that he kept his voice even.

The woman in Ares' arms didn't answer. Cradled in strong, warm arms, against a firm body, she sank slowly into a deep sleep. The God of War continued to sit holding her for a considerable length of time, before finally laying her among the sheets and pillows of the enormous bed.

Ares moved away from the bed to sit in a chair against the far wall, contemplating the sleeping form on his bed and absently stroking his beard. Every single warrior who was personally known to Ares was known and understood by him as their nominal god. He knew the mettle of the warrior woman who had become his Chosen. She had tasted defeat; had been badly hurt, and not just physically. In time she would recover, he was certain of that. He could have taken the memory from her, but she wouldn't thank him for it. He lowered his head, deep in thought.

Kendaa slept without interruption for two days, and woke feeling much stronger for it. When she finally left the bed, she discovered Ares was nowhere to be found. On a quest for food, she sought out one of the Temple attendants who provided her with a tempting array of all things edible, on Ares' specific instructions, as well as the information that Ares was absent monitoring a war that had just broken out in the Peloponnese.

Feeling the need for exercise, the Amazon left the confines of the temple for the surrounding forest. She wandered among her beloved trees for the better part of a day, doing battle with the memories of her torture at Nolus' hands, and returning to the temple to sleep alone that night.

The following morning, Ares had still not returned. The tall blonde dressed and broke her fast with fruit. She paced the floor of Ares' private domain for some time before coming to a decision.

She needed to stretch her stiff muscles.

Ares had left her weapons in a corner of his bed chamber, and she now unsheathed her sword. Moving to the outer room, she stood in the centre of the room and began a series of exercises, taught her by Ares himself, designed to warm and gradually loosen her muscles.

As she worked with her sword, doggedly ignoring the pain from her muscles, her movements gradually became more and more intricate and involved. Her weapon began to move faster and faster, cutting, thrusting and parrying over and over, in an ever-changing pattern. She had tied her hair back in its customary ponytail and now it flew wildly around her head with each movement.

"I've always found that to be a good way to focus my anger," observed a deep voice from behind her.

Kendaa spun around. Ares was standing with his own weapon drawn, a slight smile on his face.

Was she angry? She frowned, looking within, and discovered that anger was indeed rising to overwhelm the pain, shock and hurt she had been feeling until then. White hot, incandescent anger.

Without warning she lunged at the God of War, a humourless grin etched on her face.

He sprang forward to meet her challenge, the old, arrogant grin in place. Time lost all meaning for Kendaa as she and Ares moved around the room fighting furiously. It was only a practice duel, and Ares easily had the better of her, but the no-holds-barred contest gave her a much-needed release for the emotions that had been dormant within her since she had been ambushed. Even so, she managed to put the God of War on the defensive on a few occasions before he eventually called a halt.

"Enough!"

She lowered her weapon, breathing hard, as Ares sheathed his sword. "Well done, my dear. I'm pleased to see you've never forgotten your training."

The Amazon held her side. "Being pregnant really depletes you, you know," she told him when she could catch her breath enough to talk.

"Is that so?" Ares asked dryly. "It's not something I've personally experienced, so I'll take your word for it."

She placed her sword on the table. "I'm glad there's something we mortals can do that you can't, my Lord," she retorted.

Ares rolled his eyes. "Ahh Kendaa...I know you're feeling better when you can't curb that sharp tongue of yours." But it was more question than statement.

She nodded slightly, understanding.

"I'll live. I suppose it just...takes time."

He made a gesture that could be taken to be agreement, but was frowning slightly, Kendaa noticed.

They made desultory conversation for a while, but Kendaa could sense a peculiar tension in the air. It was emanating from Ares, and it bothered her.

She frowned herself now.

"Ares, what's wrong?" She asked quietly in her characteristic, blunt fashion.

He remained silent for several heartbeats, gazing at her with unreadable eyes.

Finally, he nodded slightly.

"My dear Kendaa." He paused and drew a deep breath, uncertain for the first time in a very long time, and knowing he'd have to tread very carefully.

He moved to stand just inches from her face, gazing down into her eyes. "You are my Chosen. You stand as such before all. Do you accept that?" He asked quietly, his eyes intense.

She didn't answer for a moment, thinking back over their paradoxical relationship. But in the end, she smiled, knowing what she had to say.

"Ares...," the words she had thought to say left her. Instead she said, quite deliberately, "I love you, my Lord. You took my heart long ago."

He drew in his breath sharply at that, unable to drag his eyes from the gold-flecked green eyes that stared so openly into his.

Her smile grew.

"So yes, I accept that I'm your Chosen, but the only thing that matters to me is what's in your heart, Ares. I don't care what anyone else thinks, but I need to know what you think; what you feel," she told him quietly, a peculiar acceptance settling within her. She'd never said those words to any other man. She'd never loved any other man as she had come to love the fierce God of War. The last several days had taught her to cherish what mattered in life. She was a warrior and used to the idea that life could end suddenly and violently, but never before had she been so acutely aware of the impermanence of mortal life.

His hands came up to gently cradle her face.

"Kendaa, my dearest, annoying, perverse Kendaa. Yes, my dear, I love you."

As the strange, never-before-uttered words quietly left him, he knew them to be the absolute truth. His heart lurched with shock. Somewhere deep inside him, a wall came crashing down with shattering force. For eons he had existed immersed in coldness, hate and blood lust because of who - what - he was. Now, something he had been fighting for a very long time came surging up from his deepest, most hidden recesses.

A tidal wave of emotion threatened to swamp him.

He reached out to pull her gently to him, mindful of her still-hurt and bruised body and spirit, his arms moving to enfold her and hold her against him.

Her own arms wrapped themselves around him, holding him as closely to her as she could.

Together they stood, uncaring of the world outside that quiet room. Kendaa's head rested on his shoulder, drinking in his closeness and warmth.

Ares rested his face against the head lying on his shoulder, his eyes closed. At that moment he would have given his very immortality to be simply Ares, the man who loved the woman in his arms. There was a harsh, cutting pain deep within him, because he knew that was the one thing that could never be. He was, and always would be, the immortal, enthroned God of War, the one responsible for bringing cruelty, suffering and death to mortals. Inwardly he railed against it, but knew with a terrible sense of inevitability that it was the destiny to which he had been born and shaped. Yet, there was a chance that they could be happy together, if only she would agree.

Taking a deep breath, he released her and stood back a pace from her, his eyes never leaving her questioning eyes.

His hand came up and in it materialised a solid gold cup.

Kendaa looked at the cup and then back at Ares again, puzzled.

He held it out to her, his face bearing a strangely intense quality.

"Drink," he bade her, his deep voice inviting.

"Ares, what...?"

But suddenly she knew.

Ambrosia. The food of the gods.

She knew what he was offering her.

Immortality. A place at his side as his goddess, for eternity.

She raised stunned eyes to the dark eyes watching her so intently.

"Ares, I..." She shook her head, unable to find words.

Unshed tears filled her eyes now.

The words caught in her throat, but somehow she managed to get them out. "I can't, beloved. I can't," she whispered wretchedly.

Ares swallowed. His eyes closed for a moment. For a moment, there was a most ungodly look of terrible loss on his darkly handsome face.

His eyes opened. He looked impatiently at the cup, still in his hand. It vanished. Reaching out, he stroked her still-bruised cheek. "Why not, my dear?"

Her tears were spilling over now, and pouring down her cheeks, onto his caressing fingers. He gently wiped them away.

Kendaa's tear-drenched eyes somehow found his, and she saw her own pain mirrored in the dark, unfathomable eyes of the God of War.

"We can't. It wouldn't work." She shook her head to back up her words.

He remained silent. There was a curious roaring in his ears, but he somehow pushed it away so he could hear her.

Desperately, she tried to find the words. "I would like nothing more than to be with you always," she told him, her voice catching. "But I, we... We can't be together like that," she finished in a low voice.

Ares shook his head and opened his mouth to argue, but a pale, slender hand touched his lips to silence him.

"Ares, we are both who - what - we are. You can't change your nature any more than I can now deny that I am as much dryad as I am human - and that I have a responsibility to the Northern Realm. If I became a god, it would change me. That wouldn't be right."

He shook his head, almost desperately. "No! You would be able to help them even more."

Kendaa's eyes were almost opaque with the tears that were streaming from them. "There are things you don't know! Only one of dryad blood can do what has to be done for the Green World and those who now live there! There are sacred laws that not even the gods are aware of. You saw what happened to Hera! Even she didn't know of the Earth Power."

The God of War was simply staring at her now. She could sense his withdrawal as a tangible thing.

Ares took a step back from her. "It seems to me, my dear, that your kind are of more importance to you than what we share. Go to them then, I won't detain you further." Having delivered the stinging words Ares, his face cold, vanished from her sight.

She stood looking at the spot he had so recently occupied, her own face crushed, the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"Damn you Ares!" She cried tiredly, shaking her head in frustration.

But then she remembered the look on his face when she had refused the ambrosia. Realisation slowly sank in. Oh Zeus... He's hurt. She drew a deep breath, hardly daring to believe that the mighty, all-powerful God of War could actually be hurting.

Her eyes closed on the tears. When they opened they were filled with determination, and were a colour Ares knew only too well.

Ares sat brooding on his throne, watching the development of a small war between Thassos and Lemnos. The idiots who passed for leaders on both islands had been trading insults for some time, and he was gratified to see they had finally opted to settle their differences on the battlefield. It would be a mildly amusing piece of entertainment.

"My Lord?"

He raised his eyes, his features expressionless. Kendaa stood just inside the doorway.

"I'm busy." His eyes returned to the mirror on the wall beside him, dismissing her.

She moved a little further into the chamber.

"Ares..."

"I said I'm busy! Which one of those two words did you not understand?" He roared at her with sudden violence.

It was like flame to oil.

Kendaa stalked rapidly forward, her own pain forgotten. For both their sakes she had to make him hear her.

"I don't care if you're busy! We have to talk, and we have to talk now!" She yelled back at him in anger.

He shot up off his throne with a snarl.

"You're...!"

He didn't get any further, because the still-advancing woman overrode him.

"I'm what?" She yelled. "Your lover? Your Chosen? The already and soon-to-be again mother of your child? The one who loves you?" She ended more quietly.

Ares descended the steps leading from his throne, his face thunderous. But he remained silent.

"If you wish, I come as a supplicant," she added, quietly now, and went to go to her knees, but he reached out and forestalled her.

"Don't you dare," he growled, refusing to release her arms.

She looked up at him, her eyes clear now.

"Ares, my kind have always lived apart from both the gods and mortals, and we hold many secrets to ourselves. You think you know all about us, but you don't," she began, watching him slowly subside into something resembling calmness, for all that anger was still written across his dark features.

"You doubt me, my Lord?" she asked when he said nothing. "Well, it is the truth."

She looked absently down at the large hands holding her so tightly.

"For instance," she continued quietly, "there is one secret that no god or mortal has ever known about us. A dryad cannot be impregnated by any other except the one who is her true and only mate; the one in whom her heart has found its homeland. Her body, by its very nature, rejects the seed of all others."

The anger had faded from Ares' face, to be replaced by a look of stunned surprise.

Quite deliberately, she said, "Ares, I have conceived two children by you. Doesn't that tell you all you need to know?"

He swallowed, then realised he was still holding her in a grip that could only have been painful. He released her.

"Then why won't you accept the ambrosia?" He asked her intensely. She smiled now. "Because we don't need it. I'll always be yours and no one elses. My heart has already given itself. The commitment is made. Whatever comes in the future - well, it comes, but I will always belong to you - if you want me -just as I am." She halted, hoping her words would be enough to convince him.

"If I want you?" he whispered.

"Foolish mortal," he chided softly, just before his lips closed over hers.

The day was growing old. Helios had begun the final stage of his journey for the day, sending a shower of brilliant golden colour to bathe the sky close to the horizon, as the dying light of day grew slowly dimmer. There was a coolness in the air now that made one draw one's shawl or cloak more tightly around one's body, to keep out the early evening chill, although it wasn't yet what might be deemed overly cold. The crisp, cool scent of early evening cast a glorious, fresh perfume over the Greek world.

The tall, slender, blonde woman sat on a large rock on a promontory well above the great temple of the war god. Her beautiful face was pensive and serene as she gazed out over the temple and it's surrounding valley and forests. She wore a long, white classical chiton. Golden sandals adorned her feet, and matching golden earrings hung from her ears, while golden armbands encircled her upper arms and wrists. She drew the warm woollen black shawl more closely around her and sat back, admiring the close of the day.

Something drew her attention, and she looked down. And smiled a little. The waiting was almost over.

She gently placed a hand on her swollen belly, ripe with the child she was carrying, feeling his strong kick. Her smile grew.

Taking a deep breath, she settled herself more comfortably and thought back over the circumstances of her life. Half-dryad by birth, Amazon warrior by choice and training, about-to-be-mother of the child of a god by mutual choice and desire. And Chosen of the God of War.

A sigh of deep contentment escaped her. Once, she had never thought to experience such a degree of happiness...of contentment...in her life again. But now, she reflected, life was just about as perfect as it could be for her. She knew it would always be hard; she would always be a warrior at heart and in practice - it suited her temperament. More than likely she would die at the end of a sword. Once her child was born, she would return to her sisters in the City of the Amazons.

But for now, she loved, and knew herself loved in return, with a joy and reckless passion that surprised her.

She looked down again, experiencing a new, foreign sensation. She laughed quietly. "Just like your father. Ever impatient! Very well, my son, let us see what your father and I have made!"

Quietly, she called into the twilight. "It's time!"

A dark shadow materialised behind her. The tall figure slowly approached her and drew her carefully to her feet. Her eyes sparkling, she looked up into the intent face of the dark God of War. "Our son is eager to make your acquaintance, My Lord," she told him in a soft, musical voice.

Ares' face was exultant, his dark eyes caressing her with a loving look that was reserved for her alone.

"In that case, love, we'd better not keep him waiting," he replied with just a touch of laughter in his voice as he moved to lift her gently into his arms.

The God of War and his precious burden vanished, leaving the night to blanket an empty landscape.

In the quiet, pre-dawn stillness, a loud wail was heard from the private domain of the God of War.

Ares' and Kendaa's son had inherited both his father and mother's temper.

FINIS

As the Hearts Homeland trilogy is now concluded, I'd like to thank several people for their kind and invaluable encouragement and feedback during this, my first major marathon. So thank you to Laurissa, Therese, Khyra, Klio, Bastet, Amphalia, Ceallach, Arete, Calico, and Calee. And perhaps above all, thanks to the very talented Kevin Smith for creating such a wonderful, multi-layered, many-faceted character for our enjoyment.