~she dresses up just like the night. You follow her into the dark, you won't come out alive.
To Vitoria.
The Blacksmith
He isn't much of a stranger and not much of a celebrity, living amongst the people in the seaside hamlet. They call him the blacksmith, and all they know besides his ebony hair and deep emerald eyes was a man capable of wielding weapons and melting iron. Day by day they pass by his forge, ears familiar to the hisses which came from within, skins customary to the heat crawling in, and eyes trained to the fog and ash which spills from the bricked chimney on its flat roof.
They know him through his slim build, and that he is a man hardened as the metals which hung on the walls of his bricked house: a house he built by himself, refusing help and denying assistance. His eyes were bold and sharp, and altogether his face is solid as a warrior's and rigid as a lion's. Underneath it all, he is none other than handsome and ladies swooned even at the sight of his back. A few old scars remained on his tanned skin, a draconic art ornamented his upper body which was usually seen peeking through sleeveless, filthy, and almost burnt working blouse.
When he speaks, he does so limitedly. A word or two can be his responses, definitely boring the communicator. A few people can only be around him as most of them cannot stand his silence or triviality. But he is a man able to feel the need of others, and is always there to help in times of labor such as in putting up the rafters of a house or pulling the net which can almost overturn a small fishing boat. He is branded for a unique strength like that of a demi god or even a deity itself, and in exchange of his aid he is given a fresh catch or sometimes fruit favourable of the season.
He had stayed in the fishing village for almost two full moons now, and is known by the name of Ares. Yes. Ares of Olympus. The war god. The legitimate son of Zeus who was treated as a bastard for gaining murder as a profession; praised by warlords and admired by killers of the innocent. When he had said his name, the people were amused. Amused, by the fact that it is impossible, and that they thought his folks must have gone insane to name their child after the god of bloodbath. Eventually they got used to calling him by his name, his real name, and no one had a clue that he has, in fact lived millennia before any mortal and that he is the real son of thunder.
One afternoon, as any other, he came in rescue of an old fisherman whose boat was spotted nearly sinking. Even before the saviours came to attend to him in a boat, he had gone first into the sea and pulled the man from being stuck among the wooden planks. After which, bobbing the unconscious chap on the boat which arrived, he went back into the shore to be greeted by women ready to help him revive. He refused help even after vomiting salt water and coughing terribly, and decided to move to his house without further issues. Along the way he was stopped by a small child calling out to him. Ares looked back, still light headed from almost drowning, and saw the child's golden hair fluttering with the sea breeze as he ran towards him. He towered over the boy, water dripping from all over his body, and eyed the small hand-made boat which the small hands were reaching out for him.
He gave out a smile and dropped his right knee on the sand to receive the gift.
"What is your name?"
The boy smiled in return, and Ares realized he was deaf and mute. He saw the boy's mother running up to them in a worried voice.
"Cesar!" she caught up with them and the boy reached out to his mother. "I'm sorry Ares, was he bothering you?"
Ares smiled weakly and shook his head, still holding the toy that Cesar handed out to him. He messed the boy's hair, who in turn laughed without a sound and embraced his mother's neck. The sound of applauses came from the group of witnesses on the shore who met the boat which the old fisherman was rescued. The mother looked back at the crowd and smiled brightly, "You've been of great help again, Ares. We do not know what to do without you."
When she looked at Ares, she was dumbfounded to see him disappear from in front of her. She can trace the footsteps in the sand which he made away from them. All she saw now was the door of his forge which closed.
Inside the forge was the same emptiness he reviled. He sighed, leaned his back against the doorpost, and let himself slide until he sat on the floor. He wet his lips and tasted salt water, after which he remained in there for a few minutes until his throat itched for something familiar. He got up and began plucking the nails off a plank on the floor. He grunted as he pulled the plank and rummaged through the sand. His mouth watered, craving to rectify the thirst which irritated him most. Pulling the bottle out of the cool sand, he popped the cork out of its mouth and closed his eyes as he let the alcohol burn through his mouth down to his stomach. A few more gulps went in, and he felt his muscles getting warm, his stomach getting sore, and he missed that fiery sensation creeping under his skin.
He was about to give in to his drowsiness when a certain cool breeze swept across the shabby room. The empty bottle slipped from his loosening grip and he moved his head when he felt the icy presence occupying therein.
"And I thought everything has changed you,"
Ares opened his eyes, now aware of the familiar voice he had no time nor joy to listen to. He wanted to remain hammered, didn't want to wake up. But right then he was dealing with someone more powerful than any creature known, and this was his own father.
"Except the fact you are still a drunkard." Zeus continued. Ares grunted. He stared at the white robes but didn't take time to look at his father's face.
"What do you want?"
Zeus sighed. He seems not welcomed in this house. He never was.
Ares groped for anything to hold on to and finding one, he got up to his feet but still feeling lightheaded.
"Ares. Son." Even Zeus felt the knot forming in his stomach upon saying the last word. He had never addressed that word to him for years. Pushing the thoughts aside, he continued: "Come back."
Ares sniffed and gave no wordy response, instead laid himself on the bed softened by hay, fishnet, and sheep's wool.
"The council needs you. We cannot move with two thrones empty. The lesser deities cannot handle as much task as you both can." Zeus reasoned. He knew Ares was listening though eyes were closed and mind stifled with hatred. He lost count at how many times his father had come to redeem him, soothing him with words he had never said back home; dressed in any form of beast of old man just so he can have the chance to talk to him.
Zeus waited for nothing, and instead continued.
"I am aware of your reasons, Ares. But even I cannot do anything. I love her too," he swallowed, "you know that."
Of course he knew it. From the moment she was born, he knew it, because his father had made it recognizable from the beginning.
"And you know she cannot come back. But you, you still can. You are welcome,"
Ares wanted to cover his ears to stop the words from beating in. When his father said she cannot come back, he twitched and wanted to beat him up for being hopeless. She was his reason for staying in the mortal world, and it was a promise that he will not return unless she returns with him.
The last thing Zeus wanted was silence as a reply, and yet it was the one he was rewarded with. He breathed in and after a long sigh he left a scroll, a map to be exact, on the mess of a table.
"I came here for another purpose, though." Zeus supplemented, "We have just found her. Maybe this will aid you."
At these words, Ares' eyes flew open and he immediately sat up from lying but to his dismay, he found he was alone in the room once more. Sweat formed beads around his forehead, and he saw the lustre glow from the paper on the table.
Miles away from the fishing hamlet, she stared outside the window at the break of dawn. In her fingers she held the opened scroll with the signet of militia. With heart pounding, she took a glimpse of the vast garden outside the walls which carry her and at the sight of the sun's rays consuming the dark she stood to undress.
Slowly she donned the purple tunic which was set aside by her maids the night before. This day will be unlike any other day, a day which comes in every four full moons which was anticipated by everyone in the casa.
She sighed and tied the last ribbon behind her neck which needed to be tied. She was steady and calm as she sat in front of the polished copper which served her reflection. Her hands bent on her hair and poured a considerable amount of olive oil which began to smoothen each strand. Her nose delighted at the scent of the polish and her fingers moved through the coils, tying each of them as a bun behind her head. She let a few ringlets hung from her temple towards the tip of her collarbone. Her dark pools of emerald eyes stared back at her in their full glory and she swallowed, trying to put herself together in the misery which lies within.
She painted the edge of her eyes with earthen colors, made her lashes thicker and her brows arch perfectly. Her lips she dyed with sweetened rose and banded her neck with a string of Corinthian pearls. In her ears hung golden lockets which swayed at every twist of her head and the end of her work she brushed something from the edge of her eye.
Tears were no stranger in her chamber, nor the sighs and moans which fill the air. She stood once more to be appreciated, and in any naked eye she looked brilliant, but in her own eyes she feels disgusting and horrific for no one knew the truth behind her story but herself.
"My lady?"
She looked at the entrance and saw a woman come through the silken curtains, holding a small silver casket. The maid was stopped once she sighted the loveliness beset in front of her.
"Oh. My." Her eyes, much older and wiser than the other, rounded. She immediately stepped towards the damsel in a purple tunic and placed her palms on the surface of her cheeks. "You are so...beautiful." She inspected every inch of the belle and opened the casket, "Now I have been thinking of something which will lighten up your mood." She pulled out a small clip with a pendant of daisy petals between shining gems like broken glass and tucked it between on the bottom of the bun of dark chocolate hair. "There," she said in approval and her thin lips curled into a smile which made her brown eyes small. "You are absolutely perfect."
The younger woman smiled and held the hands which put the ornament in her hair, "Thank you, Agnes." She kissed the fingers in utmost gratefulness, "You've always been so kind to me."
Agnes, the head chamber maid and land lady, cooed like a child despite her advanced age and greying hair, taking into pride the beauty of the lady in front of her. "You resemble much of my daughter, oh come here." And with a quick move, she pulled the woman against her bosom and kissed her temple.
They were interrupted when another maid came through, her hands clasped together and greeted. "A pleasant morning, my lady must now come towards the courtyard."
Agnes separated from the dame and looked at the maid clad in servant tunics and a band around her hair. "Have they arrived, Helena? I haven't heard the trumpets nor the gallop of the master's horses."
Helena touched her chest and responded sluggishly, "I apologize but it is not the master who needs your presence."
"Then who?" Agnes queried, brows knitting in surprise and curiosity. "What stranger would come into the house at dawn?"
Reviews are love ~ xx
AthenAres