Compelling Association
Ares, God of War, meets Xena, warlord, for the very first time.
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The following story is classified as Fan Fiction. The characters of Xena, Gabrielle and others who have appeared in the series, Xena: Warrior Princess, are the property of MCA/Universal Television and Renaissance Pictures. I only borrowed them. The story itself is mine and cannot be redistributed in any form without my consent.
by LZClotho
(c) January 1998
CHAPTER FOUR - NEW ASSOCIATIONS
Xena's army moved on to the plains of Thrace. She still had an army to feed and her home village to protect. Mendices joined her in the campaign tent now, the ache of having lost Borias now all but gone. She never spoke of the departed Borias, or his betrayal. Mendices became her companion, and they often took their evening meals together by the candlelight of the tent.
But as a year since Borias' death neared an end, Xena grew quiet. Her part of the conversation, whether it was tactics or strategy, or reviews of the new recruits began to drag. Ares found himself wanting the warrioress back and began to regret having stayed as long as he had. But he could not seem to leave her. Every time he tried, he would return the next dawn, compelled by something he did not understand to see if she was all right.
One night, he broached the topic after reporting the latest mission results. "You are quiet, Xena," he began. "Is there anything you would like?"
Xena shook her head. Feeling distinctly alone at the moment, her rejoinder told him more than she probably would have wished. But the words could not be taken back. "I want to be with you," she said, raising her eyes to his face.
Both of them were a bit startled by the admission. Ares pulsed with joy, but tamped it down carefully. "You have never said anything," he replied cautiously.
"You have been everywhere for me, Mendices. You are truly my right fist in this army. There is nothing we do not speak of..." Her voice trailed off. "I would not normally ask."
He said he understood. "You are quite protective of your image." She nodded when he inclined his head silently obtaining permission to draw her to her feet. "I'd like to build that image up." She didn't say anything as he pulled her into his arms. "We can conquer together. All of Greece. Yours."
"I don't wish to speak of conquering tonight," she whispered against his ear. "Do you?"
It wasn't feigned when he captured her mouth with his own and replied roughly. "Not now. But soon."
The kiss they shared was the mark of duelists. Two strong wills coming together in a fierce combat, and Ares' heart, which until now, only pounded with the thought of battle, drew near to his throat and pounded in tandem with Xena's. She breathed hard against his throat, and fiercely tasted the skin there.
He held himself, only at great effort, from her bed that night. It nearly killed him to leave her with only gentle kisses. But he could not suffer the Fates' wills should she become with child... his child. Ares had learned long ago, that a child close to him would destroy him. Until now he easily restrained himself the baser pleasures with mortals so easily.
"You are not easy to leave, my lady," he whispered as she moved against his hands. "But I must... see to the troops."
Mendices moved easily from soldier to soldier, several smiling and offering him greeting. He took up night watch from a man drooping in his saddle. He did not reprimand the sandy-blond young man, but rather clapped him strongly on the back and chuckled, "Go sleep it off, soldier. I'll take this post for the remainder of the night."
And he did, leaning in contemplation against the rough bark of a tree while his mind conjured Xena's sweetness, and he feared he was well and truly lost.
He received word from Hephaestus through one of the disfigured god's spindly-legged helpers. The youthful-looking man appeared at Ares' post on the outskirts of Xena's camp when the full moon was high.
"It is done," the man reported simply. "Master Hephaestus requests that you retrieve it yourself, and thank him."
Ares laughed. It was so like the Master Smith to gain a social visit through delivery of a prized item. He rubbed his hands together. Soon, he thought, the entirety of the known worlds, both above and below, will feel the power of the unity of Ares and Xena.
"You will stay here. Act like a guard, all right?" He paused and his smile was dark, proud. "I won't be long. Don't move from this place. Or you'll be answering to the leader of this army, just as I would, for dereliction of duty." The messenger blinked. He was just an immortal youth having very little knowledge of the mortal plane.
Ares laughed again. "You'd best fear it, young man. She's Xena, Destroyer of Nations, and soon, whether she knows or not, she will be serving the mission of the God of War." Ares stepped away from the tree trunk and changed into his magnificence, while simultaneously changing Hephaestus' messenger into the garb of one of Xena's soldiers.
With a backward glance over his shoulder and around the nearby woods, Ares lifted a hand and erased himself from the mortal plane.
He rematerialized in the cave of Hephaestus, just outside, in an alcove off the mortals' entrance. He stroked the hilt of the Hephaestus Sword, a massive weapon thrust into a rock near the entrance. The first weapon created by the master smith, it was older than Olympus. The weapon had been used by Zeus to severe Cronos' head which had led to the fall of the Titans and the commencement of the Olympian Age. It was going to outlast the Olympians themselves for it was made not of mere metal - even god-touched, but of the primordial ooze with which the very universe had been created.
Ares afforded a certain measure of reverence toward the great weapon and never turned his back on it as he moved around it to pass through the entrance to Hephaestus' main forge.
"Hephaestus, I am here," he called out, looking amidst the steaming bins, and hissing molds for the hulking bulk. "You said it was ready." Behind him Ares heard the uneven thump-plod of the master forger's walk. He turned and smiled. "Heph," he greeted with a smile.
"Ares," Hephaestus said, a god of sparse words.
"Well?"
"Here it is over on the table." He gestured to a workbench against the rear wall of the cave.
"What did you model it on?" Ares asked as he and Hephaestus moved toward the indicated workbench.
"You said she held reverence for the Eastern people and their ways. There is a weapon which they use, a disc, in the wilds there."
Ares smiled. "Perfect. And the design?"
"Yes, I took your notes. I sent a messenger to copy the design."
Ares lifted the weapon and admired it, tracing the design which Xena had told him was carved around the doorway of Lao Ma's home, the squared gold-inlay filled the inner edge, dotted in each plateau with a crystalline indentation. "Did your messenger happen to find out what it meant?"
"No," replied Hephaestus. He looked worried. "That could be a problem."
"Oh? How so?" asked Ares as he turned to examining the edge, marveling at the workmanship which made it both sharp and blunt at the same time.
"Everything bearing a symbol has a bit of the magic associated with the symbol's concept, Ares. You know that," Hephaestus took the weapon from Ares' hands.
"And the problem?"
"If the symbol is for good, whoever you're wishing to gift this to may not be as wholly in your power as you hope." Then Hephaestus gestured. "Speaking of that, who is it, anyway? And why not a sword this time?"
"This one is special, Heph. I'm not even gifting it in person. Well," he smiled. "not exactly. She's special - "
"Since when did you recruit women warlords, Ares?"
Ares's scowled. "I've never seen anyone fight like she does, Heph. I have no idea how I missed her early years, but suffice it to say, I'm not going to neglect her now that I've found her."
"And why not gift her in person? If she's as deadly as you say, wouldn't she welcome an alliance with the God of War?"
Ares shook his head. "It's just a feeling I have, Heph. I've been working in her army for the last annum."
"Smitten? You? Never," Hephaestus humphed. "You know what the Oracle told you."
"I've not lost control, Smith," responded Ares. "I've never made love to her. Though Zeus probably knows I want to." He smiled at Hephaestus as the Master Smith raised a brow at the war god's very mortal choice of epithet. "I want her in service to me. End of discussion."
"Well, this disc is a gift of some magnitude. Bloodlust should sing in her whenever she wields it."
"And who can train her?"
"Why not take it upon yourself? In disguise of course." Hephaestus shrugged and passed the disc to the Olympian. "Try it out for yourself."
Ares smiled, feeling the weapon's surface glassy smooth against his palm. For a moment he considered the best approach for attempting a throw. Finally, he decided on an upraised flick of his wrist. The disc flew from his hand... and imbedded itself in a distance rock wall, after shearing through two of Hephaestus's stands of spears. "Impressive."
"Cause a spin in the other direction," suggested Hephaestus as they walked over to the wall to retrieve the weapon.
As Ares pulled the disc from the rock, he considered the master smith's suggestion. "All right," he said finally. Arm outstretched, he put pressure on the release in the other direction. The disc fled his hand spinning in reverse. It flew across the room, but upon encountered an object it bounced away. It careened throughout the forge, bouncing from surface to surface. It hit the edge of a squared off rock tabletop and began spinning in the opposite direction, slicing through another stand of spears before impaling a wall.
Ares' face fairly glowed with excitement. Hephaestus shook his head and muttered, "Get the damned thing out of here before I have no more spears left."
Ares laughed, retrieved the disc and headed for the door. Over his shoulder he asked, "What did the Easterners call their weapon?"
Hephaestus thought a moment. "A chakram. Means 'disc' in their tongue."
The God of War smiled broadly. Then Ares looped the weapon through a strip of leather on his belt and strode from the cave. Hephaestus stood still a long moment looking after the departed Olympian. "I hope you know what you're doing, Ares." He shook his head and returned to his forge.
Soon the clang of metal and a smithy hammer echoed from the mountain, occasionally interrupted by the loud hiss of the wind... or was it a weapon being dunked in cool stream waters for curing before being molded by the hammer of the Master Smith once again?
