Athena was a mystery to him. A puzzle. Her compassion for mortals, for morality and justice, for arts and skills perplexed him. She was a goddess of war, but she rallied not in the bloodshed, not for the lives lost, but for those saved through strategy. But she was goddess with furious temper. She was not vain, unlike Aphrodite, but she was not one to take insult without punishment. She was a force of nature. And she despised him effortlessly.
Centuries of his relentless bloodlust in battle, affairs with their sister Aphrodite, sabotage attempts within the walls of her mortal cities, and unceasing attempt to seduce the virgin goddess had left the Goddess of Wisdom feeling more than a little contempt toward her male counterpart. Yet the more time Ares spent trying to bring Athena down in Zeus' opinion, he found her to be more intriguing with each confrontation, until he found himself in love with her.
That was before Cronus escape from Tartarus. They had lived for so long under his imprisonment, not one believed that escape was possible from Tartarus. They were all taken unprepared for the vengeance that Cronus had planned. With an army of vengeful, tortured souls trapped within Tartarus, Cronus struck. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades were the first to fall to Cronus' wrath, destroyed for their part in overthrowing their father. That had been the first strike against the Olympians, the first claim of war against the gods.
Several Olympian had tried to form a truce with Cronus, others had tried to pledge their allegiance to him, and there were some that simply tried to flee. Each was met with the same reply, treated with the same mercilessness as the former King of Olympus. That was when the Olympians fought back.
Without Zeus to lead them, the duty fell to her, his favorite child. Athena led the Olympians against Cronus and his army. And that was when Ares truly saw what his sister held within her. She was fury on the battlefield, mercilessly taking down Cronus' soldiers, wielding their fathers bolts. But her cunning and skills had not been enough to save them. The army had swarmed Olympus, broken through every line of defense, and driven back the Olympians in a slaughter until there were only a few left. Until only Athena and himself remained.
They stood on one of the precipices, overlooking the mortal world. Bodies of Cronus' armies and Olympians lay about the floor within every wall of Olympus. Their armor was battered and covered in blood, their bodies were exhausted from the seemingly endless war. Ares knelt on one knee upon the ground while he braced his left arm on his left knee. With his right hand, he held his sword. Athena stood just an arms span on his right, gazing out from Olympus at the mortal land.
"How much time do we have?" he asked, turning to her. "Before Cronus sends the next wave upon us?"
"Not long." she replied.
The sun was setting upon the earth once more, quite likely their final one, casting rays of golden light across her stunning face. Blood from endless hours of battle had saturated the hem of her dress entirely, leaving no space pure. Further up her dress, the purity of her white dress peeked beneath the blood. Most of the blood had come off her armor, but stained the cloth around it. Not even her lovely face had been spared of the blood of their enemies. Yet as she stood alongside him on the precipice, gazing down on the mortal for the last time, clothes in not just her own purity but the blood if their enemies, carrying herself as high as the day she was born, Ares found himself transfixed in a newfound alluring feature within her.
It stirred something within him. Something he had never felt before. Not even Aphrodite has stirred just a passion-such a desperate longing- within him. In that moment, Ares didn't care if he would live to see the sun rise over the earth, so long as she saw it. Ares pushed himself from the ground, still holding his gaze upon her.
The golden rays illuminated her alluring dark curls in a way he had only imagined during his nights with Aphrodite. She was all that he was not. Honorable, just, virtuous, a true warrior. If one of them survived this next assault from Cronus, it deserved to be her.
Athena must've felt his transfixed gaze. She turned to him, casting new angles for the fading light to dance upon. Strands of hair had fallen during the fight and now danced in the wind. "What is it?"
Ares reached his free hand to her face, gently brushing back the loose strands behind her ear. his fingers lingered as he drew his hand back, letting his fingertips dance across the smoothness he'd never felt before. "He was wrong."
Her brows knitted together. "Who?"
"Paris." Ares answered. "He was a fool not to see that you are far more exquisite than any on Olympus."
Her lips parted as she took a stunned breath at his words. His thumb brushed over her soft lips. He'd imagined kissing her for centuries, living in the fantasy, living them through another. He wanted nothing more than to indulge in one final act and feel the touch of her lips before they died. But he had far too much respect for her, loved her far too much to take something that should be given freely. That was it! The final piece to the puzzle he had tried to solve for centuries. That was why she had never succumbed to him. That was what separated them from one another. He took and lived with the consequences. She lived with respect and wisdom in waiting.
Ares leaned to her until his forehead touched hers. "We were all fools to never see your worth."