Safe
by Amorette

Ares screamed, in rage and agony, struggling against the confines of his prison. Those miserable giants. How dare they attack him, the God of War, and stuff him into this whatever he was stuffed into! It was small, dark, cramped, hot and hard. And whatever it was, it was infused with such power that it completely damped his own.

He tried to leave, stepping into the aether, and found he couldn't. He risked injury to throw a fireball or a bolt of energy against the walls and failed. He used his godly strength, pushing outwards on the curved wall of his prison until even his immortal body ached with effort, all to no effect.

Damn them both to the darkest pits of Tartarus. He'd rip them limb from gigantic limb, tear their heads off and piss down their necks, yank out their livers and eat them raw.

Twisting, cursing, pushing, clawing, shouting, Ares tried to break free, his rage turning the blackness that surrounded him throbbing red. He fought until he was exhausted, until he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't escape.

Panting, he tried to relax, to think clearly. That's how those miserable misshapen bastards got him, catching him off guard, not giving him time to formulate a plan of attack. Well, he had time now. Grinding his teeth, he twisted again. Damn them, this place was so small. He couldn't stretch his legs, or even move his arms away from his body. All he could do was get himself more tangled in himself.

Think, Ares. Think, he told himself, driving the anger back down. There must be a weakness. Slowly, carefully, he extended his consciousness as far as his prison would allow. Oblong, smooth, hard. . .aha. Some sort of door at the top, with no hinges that Are could find, sealed so tightly the seam was barely detectable. An exit. Smirking to himself, the god tried to move enough to free a hand to explore.

There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be. There had to be a way out. There had to be.

If he could just see, just have a moment of illumination, no matter how dim, so he could orient himself in his tiny enclosure. If he could just straighten out. He was too big to lie curled up like a newborn, back bent into a curve, legs drawn against his chest, one arm pinned between his legs and his chest, the other trapped beneath him. Painfully beneath him, twisted at the shoulder. If he could just draw a decent breath of fresh air that didn't stink of fear and anger. If he could just escape.

He howled, wordless fury. He sobbed, unspeakable anguish. He struggled, mindlessly. He slept, exhausted.

***

Leading his first battle, an unhappy Athena at his back. She had been training him and criticizing him in equal measure for a decade now, always telling Zeus that his new God of War was too young for war. He'd prove her wrong, the frigid bitch. He hadn't blooded his sword but he had taken his first lovers, and had decided Athena needed a good fucking.

The battle had been small, less than a thousand combatants on both sides. The opposition were a barbarian tribe from the north. Ares had taken to the field himself. He had killed one of the enemy almost immediately, driving his sword through the man's body, severing the spine. The man had gaped up at his enemy, eyes wide with horror, recognized that his killer was more than just another Greek soldier. It had felt wonderful. Better than sex, even.

He had slashed through the enemy. Whenever he felt those around him flagging, he sent out waves of bloodlust and anger, ambition and power, and they surged forward, renewed. He could have kept up the slaughter for days but Athena stopped him, as he stood atop a heap of bodies.

"We won," she said, her patrician nose wrinkling.

"So," panted Ares in return, "why are you so unhappy?" He spread his arms, holding his sword triumphantly in the air. "WE WON!!!"

"You're filthy. Go bathe."

Athena's disgust couldn't dampen his enthusiasm. He had gone to where his sister Hebe waited to assist him. They had laughed together, as she helped him undress. He hadn't wanted to clean his sword and sheath it but she insisted, telling him it was her duty and their father would be disappointed if she failed.

Still, she had trouble bathing him because he kept jumping to his feet so he could demonstrate a thrust that had skewered some barbarian or swing his imaginary sword as it decapitated another. When he fell back at one point, the water surging out of the tub over his sister, they had both laughed so hard they were in tears. Hebe had pushed her wet hair out of her face, shaking her head.

Hebe. Sweet little Hebe, with her long dark hair and laughing eyes, so unlike any of Ares' other siblings. Sweet Hebe, with her soft, pouting lips and deep dimples. Sweet Hebe, with her smooth skin and small, high breasts. He reached for her and encountered hard metal.

***

No, no, no. He raged against his prison in which he'd been trapped for days. Twisting, he managed to slide the arm that was under him until he could bring it around to his chest. It wasn't much of a victory but it was something. He tried to think of something else.

They'd grabbed him first. They'd told him that, those foul Giants, Otus and Ephialtes, that they'd taken him first, to make their conquest of Olympus easier. Not Athena. Him. They didn't fear Athena but they feared Ares enough to capture him. Cold comfort but the best he could come up with.

He made another effort, exerting all his strength, pushing out against those walls, until he thought his heart would explode. Useless. Useless. Utterly useless. Staring into the darkness, he slid back into his memories.

***

Athena. Tapping her foot, frowning. He wondered if she ever smiled. He hung back as his elder sister spoke to Hephaestus. Hephaestus was old, older than Ares, older even than Athena. Ares had heard the story from his tutors about how Hephaestus had split open Zeus' skull to free Athena, fully grown and in armor. He stared at his older brother as he listened to Athena lecture him on the design of some weapon he was making for her.

Ares had three, full siblings, all sisters. Through his father, Ares shared so many half siblings, he couldn't remember all of them. Some were gods on Olympus, some were demigods living on Earth, some were animals. He had tried write them all down once, along with the names of their mothers, and given up before he had finished the list. His mother only had one other child, aside from the ones she had with Zeus, and that brother was standing in front of him now, bent and crippled.

Was Hephaestus his half brother, the way Hermes was, or was Hephaestus his full brother, since Hephaestus didn't have a father? And should Ares pity Hephaestus for that lack of a father or envy him?

As Ares studied the God of Fire and the Forge, he noticed that they did resemble each other. Although Hephaestus wore his hair cut close to his skull, it was dark, as were his eyes. His body, save for the withered limbs, was strong and muscular, the way Ares knew his would be when he was fully grown.

"Little brother." Hephaestus voice was light and gentle, surprising in such a large, grim man. "Come here."

Ares stepped closer as Athena turned aside to examine whatever Hephaestus had made for her.

"Closer."

Ares moved until he was next to the forge itself, could feel the heat that radiated off it in waves.

"I have a present for you, God of War."

Behind them Athena made a sound of disapproval. "Not yet he isn't," she said. "And I'm not sure he ever will be. I don't know what Father was thinking."

Ares flushed at her complaint, although he should be used to it, since it he had been hearing it for years. Looking towards his brother, he was surprised to see Hephaestus appeared flushed and angry as well. Perhaps the reference to a father had upset him.

From beneath his anvil, Hephaestus produced a knife in a sheath and handed it to Ares. The hilt was black and silver, with a mark of crossed swords set into it in polished bone. Ares grinned with delight as he pulled the weapon free, the light from the forge glinting and reflecting off the perfect blade.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, running his thumb across the edge.

Hephaestus managed to smile back, although his face seemed unaccustomed to the action.

His voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, Hephaestus said, "Don't mind her, little brother. You will be a God of War. Zeus doesn't create powerful gods just to waste them."

"I'm not very powerful," said Ares, aware he sounded sulky and annoyed with himself.

"You will be. Zeus and Athena are holding your power in check until you are strong enough to channel it yourself. And when you are, mark my words, you'll be worthy of your title." Hephaestus' big hand rested for a moment on the top of Ares' head, his thumb pushing a curl back off the younger god's forehead. "Someday, you will be powerful and beautiful. Trust me."

"Ares." Athena's voice had its usual commanding snap. "We're late."

"Thank you," said Ares softly, noticing how his older brother stared at Athena. What was in those dark eyes that Hephaestus might be better off hiding? "For the knife."

Hephaestus smiled again. "You're welcome, Ares. Come to visit me whenever you like."

"Ares. I'm going. If you want to watch the battle, you'd better come now."

***

Battle. Ares lived for battle but not a battle like this. Not one so hopeless and so lonely. How long had been in this place? He had lost his sense of time. Days? Weeks? Longer? He had given up his struggle. He knew when he had been defeated and this prison had defeated him. Defeated Ares, God of War, until he wasn't the god of war anymore. He was a trapped, angry creature, who longed for light and comfort and the sound of another voice. Any voice. Even Athena, criticizing him again.

***

When Zeus told her to instruct his son in the ways of War, Athena had been furious. She had pointed a trembling finger at Ares as he stood by his father's side and shrieked, "I want nothing to do with him!"

Zeus, his face dark, had said, "You need someone to inspire men since you don't seem capable of it yourself. That's what he will do. He'll give courage and strength to warriors."

"And bloodlust." Athena's voice was full of sneering contempt.

Ares stared at her, bewildered. He thought she would be happy to train him, glad to have someone to share the burden of War. He shrank back against his father's throne. Zeus would have none of it. He shoved his son away.

"Athena," said the King of the Gods threateningly. "You will take Ares and you will train him."

She stared at Ares, who was trying to look as godlike as he could manage.

"No," she said and vanished in a flash of golden light.

Zeus leapt to his feet. "Athena!" he bellowed and vanished as well.

Ares stood in the empty throne room, blinking at the afterimages of light. What now? He wanted to leave but was afraid of his father's anger if he did.

For lack of anything else to do, he started to pace off the dimensions of the room, making careful note of every vein of grey and fleck of gold in the white marble. He studied the tapestries, although he knew them well, chanting the poetic story of his ancestry to himself as he moved from scene to scene. Uranus, son of Ge who was the daughter of Chaos, getting his balls hacked off by his son Cronos. Cronos, son of Uranus, vomiting up Ares' aunts and uncles and parents. Zeus, with his siblings all on a slightly smaller scale standing behind him, tossing Cronos into the pit of Tartarus.

"Ares?"

Hebe was standing in the door to the throne room, holding a puppy under her arm. It was cuddly and black, with three heads, all of which had lolling tongues.

"Hullo." He walked over and scratched each head in turn, which made the puppy's tale wag furiously. "Who's this?"

"Um, Cerebrus. I was petting him and sneezed and . . ."

Ares laughed. "Made him a puppy again."

"Ah, yes. I thought Papa might be able to fix it."

"Before Uncle Hades noticed."

"Um, yes." Hebe set the puppy down on the floor. It scrabbled happily over to Ares. While one head chewed at a foot, the other two submitted to Ares' scratching.

"I thought you were supposed to be getting lessons from Aunt Athena."

Ares sighed, sitting down on the cold floor and pulling the warm puppy into his lap. The heads decided to lick his face while he rubbed its back. When that proved too much, Ares rolled the puppy over and rubbed its tummy, the heads falling back over his leg while the tail flapped ecstatically.

"She told Father she won't teach me."

Hebe's eyebrows went up at that. She was trying to give each of the puppy's heads equal time but it wasn't easy.

"Why not?"

Ares shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think she likes me."

"Athena doesn't like children. I suppose because she was never a child herself, she doesn't understand,"

Cerebrus righted himself, curled up and two of the heads went to sleep. The third kept licking Ares' hand in a half-hearted way, knowing it would fall asleep soon, too.

"Nobody likes me." Ares was surprised to hear himself admit it.

"Ares! How can you say that? I like you!"

"Yeah, but. . ."

Hebe reached out and stroked her brother's soft curls, much as she had petting the puppy. He leaned into her touch, grateful for it.

"Apollo looks at me as if he thinks I smell bad. And Artemis is worse."

"Oh, who cares about them! They're just jealous because you're Papa's true heir and they're just bastards."

Ares didn't want to look up at the tapestries but he couldn't help it. Son crippling and overthrowing father. Son banishing and overthrowing father. Was that what it meant to be the true heir?

"Come on." Hebe scooped the sleeping puppy out of her brother's lap. "Let's go see if Mama can fix this."

Ares stood up, intending to follow, when he remembered why he was in the throne room in the first place.

"I can't. Father and Athena may come back and I'd better be here."

"Oh." Hebe gave him a last look, then turned, saying as she left, "if you change your mind, call me."

Ares walked over to the tapestry that depicted his father throwing his father into Tartarus and eternal torment. Zeus had swallowed his first wife, Metis, while she was pregnant because he feared their child would overthrow him. That's where Athena came from. Why had he let Ares be born, then? Because he didn't fear Ares? Ares touched his father's woven face. Would there be another tapestry someday, showing Ares tossing Zeus into Tartarus?

***

Tartarus. Maybe that's where Ares was. Dark and lonely Tartarus. He curled in tightly on himself, hugging his arms close to his body. That's all there was. His curled body and the silent, mocking darkness.

***

Blue and green, flickering in the sunlight, as he lay on the soft grass under the trees. He could hear voices, laughing and talking, one of them Mama's. His older sister came over to where he was lying and sat next to him on the grass, pulling him into her lap. He looked up at her and smiled, saying her name as best he could.

"Eilei."

"Hello, sweetie."

"Look!" He held out his chubby hands and flicked his fingers. Blue sparks flew from them, making him giggle.

"Oh, Ares, you are such a clever little god, aren't you?"

He giggled again, snuggling against his sister's warm bosom. She stroked his hair, running gentle fingers through it, carefully pulling out the knots.

"Eileithyia!"

"Yes, Mother."

"Where's Ares? Is he with you?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Bring him here, would you?"

His sister stood up, making him stand as well. The grass tickled his feet and he giggled.

"Toes," he said, smiling up at his sister. He held up one foot and wiggled his toes at her. She laughed, slipping her big hand around his small one.

"Yes, sweetie. Those are your toes. Those are Ares' toes."

They walked through the garden, past some of those big birds of mama's that were pretty too look at but he mustn't touch. Mama was sitting on a couch, shaded by towering laurel trees, a fountain tinkling nearby. When she saw him, she smiled and spread her arms. He dropped his sister's hand and ran to her.

"Mama," he crowed, delighted to be the center of her attention again. He scrambled up onto her lap and into her arms.

His sister dropped onto another couch. "I swear, Mother, you'd never guess he was his sister's twin, they are as alike as chalk and cheese."

"He is a dear, isn't he," Mama murmured as she opened her gown, offering him her breast. He sucked happily, his head resting against her arm. She was stroking his hair the way his sister had a moment ago. Everyone liked to run their fingers through his soft black hair.

"Are you sure father is right to make him War? I don't mean to criticize but surely, he'd be more suited for Love."

"Oh, I don't know. He has a temper, you know. He kicked his poor nurse black and blue the other day because she stopped him pulling his sister's hair."

"Knowing Eris," came the muttered reply, "She started it."

His mama laughed softly and he had to shift to keep her nipple in his mouth. His hands pressed into her soft breast. His eyes drifted closed. Mama smelled of almonds and sunshine and her milk tasted better than anything, even the ambrosia he ate sometimes.

He was drifting off to sleep, lulled by the nipple in his mouth and the sound of his mama and sister as they talked. He was warm, it was dark, he was happy sucking gently, even though he wasn't getting any more milk, he was just sucking for the comfort.

Mama loved him. He was warm. He was happy. He was safe. His world was small and warm, full of love and milk and soft curves. He sighed, drifting to sleep, his lips still working at the nipple, happy. Warm. Safe.

***

A sound. He hadn't heard a sound besides his own breathing, his own heartbeat, his own quiet whimpers, in so long that his ears rang with the noise. A dull grating sound above him.

Light. Burning into his eyes. Stabbing through to the back of his brain. What was light? He had been in the dark so long he had forgotten.

"Gaia's guts, Ares, is that you?"

The sound made him whimper, pulling away, curling tight, scrunching his eyes shut.

"Ares! It's me. Hermes. Those idiot giants are dead."

The noise didn't stop. The light got brighter. Ares pulled himself as tight as he could, trying to cover his eyes and ears at the same time. Something grabbed his arm and tugged. He cried out in pain.

"Come on, Ares. Give me some help here. By the. . .you look awful. Ares?"

The thing that brought in the noise and the light tugged and pulled. He sobbed as his bent limbs straightened. The noise thing was shouting, making him cringe.

"Paean! Come quick! I've found Ares and he's dying!"

He kept his eyes tightly closed and tried to curl up but now there were two people tugging at him. A cool hand laid across his forehead and a voice said, "Drink this." He didn't want to until the cup was pressed to his lips but the taste was sweet on this tongue, almost as good as his mama's milk. He struggled to swallow. It has been so long. Then the voice said, "Sleep," and he did.

***

He stirred. When he realized he was lying on his back, Ares' eyes flew open. He was lying in his own bed, in his own temple on Olympus. He recognized the mural on the ceiling, a metaphorical battle with monsters fighting men, blood and gore spattered across the blue background.

It came back to him slowly. The giants. The prison. The months of confinement. Hermes telling him that more than a year had past. The giants were dead, killed by Apollo.

He lay quietly, listening, reaching out with his power. It felt odd to do that after so long. He could sense everyone in his temple; scurrying about their duties. He pulled back from that. So many others after being alone for so long was unnerving.

Snarling, Ares threw the sheet back. He looked down at himself, seeing himself for the first time. He did look terrible. Thin, gaunt even, the muscles he took such pride in melted away. He was a god. Given a day or two and another dose of ambrosia, he'd be back to himself.

Thirteen months without sustenance, without battle, without sex. He needed to do something about that right away.

Gritting his teeth, Ares sat up, willing away the wave of dizziness that threatened to drop him back to his bed. He grabbed the post at the foot of his bed and lurched unsteadily to his feet. The room tilted and spun. He kept a death grip on the post until the world righted itself.

Clothes. He stared at his nakedness. He had to get dressed, to help cover up his disgusting condition. How did he go about summoning clothes?

The door to his room suddenly opened, the movement catching him by surprise. He staggered back, nearly falling.

Mama?

No. No, Hera. Her cold eyes flicked over him.

"You should be in bed."

"I should . . ." His voice, unused for so long, was rough and weak. He cleared his throat, remembering now how to cover himself in his usual black leather. "I should be out killing someone."

Her lips pressed tightly together, she gave a little shake of her head. "No need. They're dead."

"I know that." He let go of the post and walked slowly and carefully across the room. There was a jug of ambrosia on the table. He picked it up, managing to keep his hand from shaking, and took a swallow. The burning heat made him feel stronger, steadier at once. "I still should be killing something." He gave her a feral grin. "I haven't in months, you know."

"You should lie down and rest. Give yourself time to recover. You're safe now and. . ." Her voice trailed off at his expression.

Sagging against the table, Ares started to wheeze. After a moment, the wheezing became a laugh. Safe! What did she know about safe! He hadn't been safe since. . .

The floor came up hard underneath him. She was kneeling beside him, her hand reaching out.

He could let himself sag against her, rest his head, let her comfort him, make him feel safe. But it would be an illusion.

With a roar, Ares sprang to his feet, pushing Hera away from him.

"You didn't even look for me!" he accused her furiously. "The only reason Apollo attacked those misbegotten monsters was because they offended you and Artemis."

"Ares, we didn't know where you were. The jar was left from the time of the Titans and none of us could sense what was inside. We didn't even realize Otus and Ephialtes had taken you. No one knew where you were."

"I see. You thought I had just abandoned Greece."

His mother looked embarrassed. "Athena thought you had gone to Egypt."

"Athena." He spat on the floor. "I imagine she's disappointed."

"I don't know. I don't often speak to her." Hera's voice was cold. She brushed her hand against her forehead. "I'm glad you're back. That you're. . ."

He held up his hand. "Don't say it. I am not safe. Not so long as enemies attack. And I have lots of those."

Before Hera could say anything else. Ares took himself away, to a mountain top along the Thracian border, where he knew no one would follow. He took his jar of ambrosia with him. Tomorrow, when he was fully recovered, he was going to start a nasty war with the southern states. Then he'd find some willing partners and fuck himself senseless. He'd recover everything he lost in those months he was in prison. He'd recover himself, Ares, God of War, who would never be safe again.

END

July 2001