...
.
She cries to the heavens for aid, for mercy. Despite her mother, princess Agraulos of Athens, testifying again and again of her divine parentage, the young girl never believed it. She has always been a weak child, too fragile and sensitive to be a daughter of an Olympian. Perhaps it is as they say, her grandfather and the others. Perhaps her mother had shamed the family and refused to confess it.
She cannot be the daughter of any god. Not when she is weak and frightened.
His strong hands turn her over, forcing her on her back. In this way she sees him, those terrible eyes anxious and demanding. She fists her hands and strikes him with all she can summon, tears escaping her eyes.
He is Halirrhothios, a young man borne of the nymph Eurtye and supposed son of the Earth-shaker who rules the seas. She has seen him but thrice in her short life, always by this very spring. Because she was forbidden to leave the palace, save for special occasions, she had carefully devised a plan to escape her daily walk in the gardens. How free she had felt then, walking amongst the weeds and flowers. It had become a habit these past days, sneaking off and leaving her poor attendant drugged with berries and herbs. Even now that maidservant was sleeping peacefully as her charge lay half-bare on the ground, crying under this man.
"If you lie still it will not hurt, pretty maiden. I promise I will be sweet to you." Halirrhothios pins her arms to the dewy grass and kisses her neck harshly.
She shudders and tells him again to stop. But he laughs and spreads her thighs with his knee.
It is then she decides that though she is weak, she can still fight and she screams as she never has before, sending echos through the forest and drowning out the gentle waters beside them. A rough hand covers her mouth but she won't stop screaming even as it is muffled by skin. Her body thrashes violently as he pushes against her, but he is still as a dark shadow casts itself over them.
Her vision is blurred by the sudden darkness and also by the tears streaming down her cheeks. She can make out the form of Halirrhothios above her, a glimmering object raised in the air between them. And then there is blood, so much blood flowing from his chest. He is pushed from her, as if he were no more than a feather. She can only watch as his body falls back from her and he is clutching himself in agony. She is sniffling now, clutching what is left of her robes and her face is drenched in sweat and tears as she gazes upon the figure standing before her.
He is tall and adorned in the most splendid of armor she has ever seen, a cape as dark as the blood leaving Halirrhothios' body. Her own body has stopped shaking, though she finds her breathing has remained erratic. He is not a mortal, that much she knows. He is radiant as he clutches his immense sword, watching as the young man on the floor gasps for air.
When he turns to her she cannot stop from crawling back, distancing herself if only a little from his terrifying form.
He continues to her without noticing or caring for her fear, reaching down and picking her up like a child. She is still shaken from her attack, but he only removes his cape and wraps it loosely around her form. When she is engulfed in the heavy cloth, he sets her down on unsteady feet.
"Can you stand on your own?"
She nods, testing her strength as his arms release her. When she doesn't fall he seems oddly pleased. Odder still is when he searches her face, turning her head this way and that. When he stops his inspection, his eyes are wild with fury when he speaks.
"Has he taken your maiden's honor?"
She shakes her head frantically.
She is weak she wants to tell him, this great immortal who has answered her pitiful cries, but she is not worthless. She is a Princess of Athens. She can become stronger if this is what her life must be. She doesn't know if her answer is what he had been expecting or if it matters at all for his blackened eyes remain the same.
"He will suffer and die regardless."
With too much grace for one so tall and strong, he sets himself upon Hirralhothios, whom she is shocked to see still breathing. His wound is a terrible gash running from shoulder to hip. She wants to look away as this god positions his sword but there is a frightening fascination building within her.
He must be the war-god, she realizes as his sword comes down. She clutches the cape around herself to ease the shivers coursing through her body as he, horrible horrible Ares, drives the fury from his sword. She is transfixed by the blood that begins to coat the golden-brown skin, the dark red of it gleaming in the morning sun. And suddenly there is a great hound beside her, nuzzling her belly affectionately. She should be terrified, for Ares' great dogs were rabid creatures capable of tearing her skin from her bones. But the hound is wagging his tale happily, gentle with her fragile mortal body.
"He won't hurt you."
She turns her attention from the beast to find great Ares walking back. She doesn't glance to the carnage behind him.
"He is fond of scratches from raven-haired beauties." The god smirks. He holds out his dripping sword to the hound who obediently holds it between his sharp teeth. "Of course only if you so wish."
Hesitantly, as carefully as she can, she reaches to the hound. It is almost as if he knows her fear for he remains still as a statue. She scratches his head lightly and is rewarded with a soft whine.
"You look so much like your mother. But your eyes are as green as your grandmother's."
Before she can react, he is walking away, his four legged companion close behind. They are leaving a trail of blood and his cape behind them. In her sixteen years of life as a sheltered princess, remembering the whispers of her mother's scandal and the promise that her father was some great immortal who dwelled on Olympus, she raises her voice.
"Please wait!"
He halts his departure, turning her way expectantly as if to scold a petulant child. He is fierce in the brightness of the sun, a dark silhouette that destroys armies. But she is of his ichor, the violence that flows from him has granted her this new and brazen voice.
"I am waiting for your question, girl. Or perhaps you have forgotten."
"This boy lives...lived by this spring, down that hill with his nymph mother. His name is Hirralhothios and they say he was son of great Poseiden."
Ares' laughs darkly. "I am not surprised though this does complicate things."
"I will be forever grateful." She bows her head, holding out the cape he leaves behind.
"Keep it. It shall protect you from any who wish to do you harm."
She clutches it against her breast, unaware of the voices approaching behind her. Ares' notices, his eyes flicker towards the small crowd that rushes towards them. No doubt some well-goer has heard commotion from them and sent an investigation of sorts.
"I suppose they will know now." He sighs, once again turning from her. "Send your mother my greetings, lovely Alkippe. Tell her your father guarded you well."