"Agraulos [daughter of Kekrops king of Athens] and Ares had a daughter Alcippe. As Halirrhothios, son of Poseidon and a nymph named Eurtye, was trying to rape Alcippe, Ares caught him at it and slew him. Poseidon had Ares tried on the Areopagos with the twelve gods presiding. Ares was acquitted." - Apollodorus, the Library 3.180
Today of All Days
By Sister Grimm Erin
For Her Beloved Neko
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Ares gazed up at the eight gods- all of higher rank than him, unafraid.
"You stand," reflected his father Zeus, "Quite proud, Miaephonus."
"I do," said Ares, unusually composed, not denying the title of bloody-handed – indeed, he's glad of the blood on his hands…I am no hero, I am a delighter in the slaughter of battle and I am no savior and I slept with my brother's wife and I have sins I do not even care about, they are so numerous- but today of all the days I should not have to stand here... The righteous anger within him rebelled to a mighty roar, but an image quieted him strangely, filled the war god with an uncharacteristic peace.
He thought of his and the Princess Agraulos' daughter, Alcippe. She possessed a long, quick stride, a ready smile, and sandy tresses down nearly to her feet. A strange observation stirred in his chest; he did not love her completely, totally, but for this golden child, he had tried his best to be less selfish.
Alcippe was wild, unrestrained with all she did and unwilling to be caged or to be held or tied down and Ares felt a peculiar emotion sing his breast whenever he visited her. She laughed more, she was impulsive and quick to any emotion, and he could see all the best parts of himself reflected in her; loyalty and determination and love and passion – reflecting back at him in those laughing brown eyes. Yet he could see none of his faults.
He visited her often.
Aphrodite thought him foolish for it, since he had never truly cared for her mother. But… Alcippe was the only child he'd ever had who made him want to say 'My daughter.' She made him proud- a pride of paternity that had never before swelled so rightly in his chest.
Halirrhothios had come across her running through a field. He had courted her, once, but she had refused him as she had refused all of them: by no means was she a devotee of Artemis, but unwilling to be wed. She continued to run faster than any nymph.
Later, after they had all finally departed, finally faithless in their ability to snare her, she told her father in a whisper, 'I wish to be free.'
He had told her in response, "I will keep you safe from any trap."
Yesterday she had been running, barefoot through a meadow, alone and unhindered. Something in the sun – and Ares was hit with a fresh wave of anger against Apollo- had caught her eye so she could not reach her crossbow, and Halirrhothois had snared her from behind.
The son of Poseidon was on top of Alcippe, about to brutally violate his daughter, his favorite child, his pride and joy, when Ares caught him at it.
The war god's response was efficient- he took his spear and stabbed it quickly and cleanly through the heart of the hated cretin.
The god of war had been unsure of her reaction, but Alcippe had been shining-eyed. "Thank you, Papa," she had said, biting her lip back against the weakness of tears. "I'm… glad you were here." He and his daughter were not free with such blatant declarations; Ares is still uncomfortable and unused to emotion such as this, but she had offered him something bare. She shivered, and he gave her a shred of his tunic to cover her shame.
"Of course," he told her. And he wished he could kill the son of Poseidon over again when he saw the marks that might scar on her neck. "I'll take you to the nymphs. Promise me you won't leave them?"
And she nodded with emphatically.
Alcippe cast back a glance at the body, unsure of what to say. She saw not the horror but only her father.
And in that grateful glance, Ares knew that today of all days he had been his daughter's hero.
(The god of war has always disapproved of those who took passion by force; lovemaking should be confined to one arena, fighting to entirely another. It is a dishonorable form of combat to combine them, and a true master in either does not need to.
But never before has he seen its workings in such a personal manner, felt the effects so closely; and he doesn't quite know how to look his brothers or his father in the eye without accusation, right now. He is not so disillusioned that eternity cannot veil his sight again. But today of all days, he looks his father in the eye and is not only unashamed, but feels better than almighty cloud-gathering Zeus.
It is a look that is somewhat of a 'fuck you' defiance and sneer but mostly it's tinged with disgust.)
And so he feared not the eight gods who ranked above him in the Olympian Council, thought not of the consequences. He looks his mother unflinchingly in the eye, and for the first time, he sees something remarkably akin to pride in her face, and that's when he knows he does not care what else comes to be.
Because today of all days, the warrior got to be the savior.
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