Another installment with my borrowed boys. As usual, I don't own them, I just like to pull the strings every now and again. Things are about to get bumpy, and it's quite possible I'mma start making with the slash. Be nice or be gone, chil'rens.
Hercules and Iolaus watched as their new companion finally fell into a restless sleep, curled in borrowed blankets and twitching every now. As one they rose and disappeared into the tree line, far enough away to be able to talk without waking the boy.
"What do we do with him, Herc? Someone might be looking for him."
Hercules pinned the shorter man with a sharp glance, his expression difficult to read in the darkness.
"I don't know, Iolaus. Something about him is... very familiar."
A snort then from the hunter.
"Herc, you've saved half of Greece by now... familiar isn't saying much."
The demi-god shrugged, glancing off to the flickering glow of their campfire.
"No, this is... something else. I can't place it."
"You're not suggesting we leave him, are you? He's just a kid... a scared kid, at that."
The hunter seemed indignant now, compact frame bouncing on the balls of his heels. He couldn't believe Hercules would just leave the boy because of some feeling. He fought the urge to glare.
A sigh then from the larger man, hands thrown up in defeat.
"No, no... we're not going to leave him. We'll take him with us to Thebes- no, don't look at me like that. We're going that way and he'll just have to come with us."
Iolaus bit his tongue, reigning in his desire to argue with his friend. He would rather walk their newfound charge back to someone they could trust, someone who could watch the youth. Of course, he realized that once Hercules made a decision, it simply stood. He conceded the argument with his own sigh, following the bigger man's gaze back to the campfire and the lump nestled there.
Maybe Galen would enjoy the festival. It was a small hope, but the hunter took solace in it as he made his way back and clambered into his own bedroll for the night.
Hera had been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to wring answers from the Fates. She stood in all of her imperious glory, hands on hips, and glared at the unrepentant trio.
"You will tell me why he has returned."
Stated in haughty tones, she eyed the youngest of the Fates. The maiden, however, merely smiled her enigmatic smile and glanced sidelong to her counterparts.
"The time is not right for you to know," spoke the maiden.
"Far too early," agreed the crone with that same smile.
Hera snorted her exasperation, narrowed eyes focusing on the silent member of the trio.
"Well? No cryptic remarks from you?"
She was met with an expression best described as carefully blank, though the Queen of the Gods could read amusement and something vaguely akin to condescension flickering behind the mask.
"You would have a prophecy, then? A rhyme? It will not lessen your irritation."
Hera all but stomped her foot at that, checking herself with an effort.
"I'm not irritated. I just want to know why. Why now? Why him?"
Of all the dead they could have returned, they chose Strife? Skinny, witless, impossibly useless Strife? Why her favorite son was so attached to the little mischief-maker she never could understand. Lips pressed into a tight line, she eyed the Fates once again. They calmly kept about their business, measuring, weaving, cutting...
With a short hiss of that irritation she claimed not to be feeling, Hera flashed out.
The Fates exchanged glances with one another, all wearing the same smile.
Strife woke before dawn, panicking for the briefest of moments at the unfamiliar surroundings. Certainly not his bedroom on Olympus, he reflected with a bitter pang of longing. Carefully nudging that thought and its accompanying emotions aside, he stood and stretched. Muscles protested the movement and he fought back a hitch in his lungs that attempted to urge him into a coughing fit. He wasn't quite ready for company yet, and he cast a wary eye across his sleeping companions.
We-ell... leave quickly, or travel with them? Strife puzzled quietly over his little dilemma, pacing away from the remains of the campfire on bare feet. Logically, he knew he should stay with them- after all, he had no money, no supplies, no means of protecting himself. He swallowed a groan, thinking that his uncle would be disappointed in him for relying on the despised Hercules. This whole situation was ridiculous and wearing on his last nerves. Lips compressed into a bloodless line, he eased himself back down upon his bedroll. Might as well take advantage of the more knowledgeable company for now, right? It was a good plan- nevermind that it was his only plan.
Drawing his legs up to his chest, he settled a spade-sharp chin on the rise of knees and watched Iolaus rouse from slumber. Of course the hunter would be the first to wake. Suddenly self-conscious, Strife looked away and studiously watched the first edges of the sun peek over the treeline. It brought to mind Apollo, and though Strife had never particularly had much contact with the Sun God, his throat closed up and he found himself blinking back unexpected tears. Gods but he was homesick. Did anyone even miss him?
Off to the side, he heard the blond hunter scuffling around in his blankets. The other man cleared his throat, sitting up to peer at him in some surprise.
"Awake already? Good, you can help me round up some breakfast," Iolaus announced in a cheerful voice. Tartarus. He would be a morning person, wouldn't he?
Strife managed a wan smile, offering a silent nod in response as he uncurled himself. Rising once again, he watched the older man with a certain amount of uncertainty.
"Know how to fish?"
Blue eyes met blue eyes, one pair hesitant and the other twinkling with a fair amount of patience and understanding. Strife relaxed and allowed himself to be led away from the campsite, Iolaus chattering companionably on the finer points of fishing. Behind them, Hercules slept on.
After her lukewarm reception at the Temple of War, Aphrodite decided not to flash over to Discord's temple to check on her again. Sniff. Ungrateful, Eris was. Or hysterical. Either way, Aphrodite was in no mood to deal with her tempermental sister. Instead, she popped into Cupid's temple, so flustered she completely forgot the usual flare that heralded her arrivals and departures.
"Cupie, doll?"
Her warm contralto bounced off the temple's walls, the cool white marble doing nothing to dampen the sounds. Unlike Ares' temple, which was decidedly dark and intimidating (what with the throne-like chair decorated in human bones and the overabundance of weaponry on the walls), the Love God's temple hinted at airiness and light, braziers of incense providing a comforting warmth and scent to the wide space.
Aphrodite peeked around, finally spotting her son. He sat brooding, hands automatically preening the shafts of his arrows, stocking his quiver for the day. His mother frowned, her gaze going distant for a moment- and then snapping back to focus in surprise. Cupid felt... felt... well. Smothering the urge to clap her hands and giggle, Aphrodite smoothed her expression and blinked to her son's side.
"Cupid? Sweetie?"
She settled a manicured hand on one tanned shoulder, blinking slightly as muscle tensed and Cupid jerked back in shock.
"Wha... mom?"
Classically handsome features rearranged themselves into something approximating irritation, though Aphrodite could see a myriad of other emotions lurking in her son's dark eyes. She offered him a sympathetic smile, stepping between him and the mirror that had formerly occupied his attention. Poor dear, had it bad and didn't even know it. 'Dite wasn't sure whether to be exasperated with her son's inexperience with his own emotions (let's not even discuss that Psyche debacle) or her lack of foresight. How could she not have seen this coming? It was so obvious. Duh.
"Cupie, you look tired. You know, worrying'll just give you wrinkles," she cooed in her sweetest voice.
"M'not worried. I was just... curious. Yanno, mortals," he muttered with a dismissive gesture, forcing himself to release the death-grip he had on his crossbow.
"Whatever, kiddo. I just wanted to make sure you're feeling well. I just came from visiting Ares and Eris, you know," 'Dite murmured in a conspiratorial voice, leaning close to her tow-headed son.
"I'm sure they were like, thrilled," he muttered, baritone thick with sarcasm.
"Cupie, be serious! Poor Eris, losing her only son and now this? Tsk. It's such a tragedy. I dunno what I would do if I lost you," and 'Dite was in full swing now, all melodrama and heaving sighs, wringing her hands in imagined distress.
Cupid rolled his eyes, setting crossbow and quiver aside to gather his mother into his arms. He rubbed reassuring patterns across her back, the feeling of gauze beneath his hands comforting him as well. Over his shoulder, Aphrodite smirked to herself. She was truly incredible at distraction- one of her more subtle skills, to be sure.
Sniffling, she untangled herself and eased back, brushing a kiss across her son's brow in passing.
"My little angel, so sweet. You'll make someone very happy someday, I just know it."
Cupid's brow furrowed and Aphrodite clucked her tongue, smoothing the wrinkles with a practiced thumb. Her other hand darted to nudge her son in the side, sneaking between the straps of his harness with ease.
"No more brooding. Wrinkles, remember? Now, off with you. Spread a little love, stir up a little lust," stated in motherly tones, just a hint of authority overlaid in concern. She stepped back and then made a little moue, fingertips ticking against her lower lip.
"Oh, and while you're out and about, dollface, you think you can stop by and invite Sweetcheeks and big bro to that festival coming up in Corinth? I'd hate for them to miss it."
This was added as if in afterthought, tossed out with her usual flippancy. There was nothing ditzy about the look in her eyes, though. Aphrodite could be shrewd on the rare occasions it suited her to be so. She watched her son's eyes widen, a grin tugging at his lips before he managed a business-like nod.
"Sure thing, mom. Gotta fly."
And the Love God practically bounded forward to give a bemused Aphrodite a quick hug before he flashed away from Olympus, his characteristic shower of golden sparkles lingering behind to be joined with 'Dite's display of rose petals as she too disappeared.
It had been hours since breakfast, hours spent walking and walking and walking. Strife was currently lagging behind the two heroes, wrapping himself in his silent misery. Cataloguing his many discomforts, starting with the disturbing sensation of sunburn and ending with weary feet, he failed to notice the rustling in the bushes or the significant looks traded between his more experienced traveling companions. In fact, it wasn't until he practically ran over Iolaus that he noticed the two had slowed, muttering to one another in low, tense voices.
"Um... guys. What's goin' on?"
He sounded nervous. He hated sounding nervous. He was a member of the House of War, for Zeus' sake. He shouldn't be nervous at the first sign of trouble. Gritting his teeth, he glanced from Hercules to Iolaus.
The demi-god peered down at him, taking a breath to say something– and then all Tartarus broke loose. An arrow whizzed past Strife's ear, or so it seemed to him, and he found himself being thrust toward the ground by a grinning Iolaus.
"Stay down! Herc and I'll take care of this," he stated with confidence and a maniacal sort of amusement, and before Strife could reply, the hunter threw himself into the melee.
Practically spitting at the indignity of being thrown down (former God here, witness and participant in many battles and right-hand of War!), Strife jumped back up at took the scene in with a practiced eye. Thieves? Most likely, as the rag-tag bunch had no leader by the looks of things. They attacked en masse, the larger men charging at Hercules as Iolaus snarked at the archers still hiding in the trees, bouncing to clobber some of the men Hercules had managed to keep at bay thus far.
"Iolaus!" Strife found himself sprinting into the midst of the small battle as a man attempted to sneak up behind the small hunter. The bandit was of average height but possessing a stocky build, a wicked dagger held in one hand. Strife tackled the man from behind as Iolaus turned, sparing a shocked look before another thief demanded his attention.
The former godling felt his heart sink at the way his opponent handled that knife– obviously, he was competent with the weapon, which meant it would be more of a challenge to take it from him. Strife's musings were cut short as the man bucked him off, scrambling to face him with a snarl. Eyeing the bandit warily, Strife edged back and into a looser stance... only to be clipped soundly in the shoulder by another bandit's staff. He howled in surprise and hurt, adjusting his position to eye the new threat while keeping attention on the man with the knife. Both smiled nastily at him, leering at the slender youth. Favoring his shoulder, Strife threw himself toward the lesser threat, rolling to kick the legs out from under the man wielding the staff.
The thief flailed, his staff connecting with Strife's head as he attempted to right himself. Blinking back stars, Strife curled nimble hands around the staff and tugged it from the other man's lax grasp. Dazed, he allowed his body to take over, muscles flowing into patterns well-learned over many years. The disarmed bandit was taken down with ease, sprawling into the dirt to join a number of his companions that had been knocked senseless by Hercules. Distantly, Strife could hear Iolaus taunting an archer, though his attention was focused on the knife-wielder. Capable hands twirled the staff, swinging it in a low arch at the man's knees. Seemingly startled, the man jumped back... and found himself dangling from Hercules' grasp. Hissing a curse, the bandit opted for throwing his dagger at Strife. In a movement that was pure reflex, Strife knocked the projectile away with his borrowed staff. He had time to notice that Hercules was staring at him with a very peculiar expression before the gray spots threatening at the edge of his vision closed in, dropping him into darkness.
Iolaus practically bounced out of the treeline, humming a piece of a bawdy tavern song under his breath. A good fight always got his blood rushing, his heart pumping, his–
"Galen!"
The youth was sprawled in the dusty road, a bruise darkening along his left temple, blood matting his disarrayed curls. Hercules was kneeling at his side, and the small cadre of bandits had vanished the moment they regained consciousness. Iolaus hurried up, dropping next to his friend.
"What happened?" He demanded, brushing tentative fingers across the wound. Wincing, he moved to check the unfortunate youth for other injuries.
"I don't know. One minute, he's doing some impressive work with that staff... the next minute, he's down," murmured the demi-god in some confusion, moving to gather the weapon in question. At least the kid would be armed, now. Hercules settled on his heels, the staff across his lap, and watched his friend work.
Iolaus gingerly probed at Galen's shoulder, eliciting a moan from the younger man. Lashes fluttered, pale blue eyes unfocused and bewildered in the sunburnt face.
"Did we win?"
The question was so childlike, both heroes had to fight back a laugh. Snaking an arm behind the youth's shoulders, Iolaus helped him to sit up, steadying him as he swayed.
"We always win," came the grandiose statement from Iolaus even as Hercules snorted. Both men watched their young companion regain some awareness of himself, sharing a sympathetic look as he hissed in pain.
"Guess mah head's not as hard as Unc always said," murmured the injured youth as he fingered the lump beneath the tangled mop of black curls, steadfastly ignoring the sticky blood clinging to hair and now fingers. Abandoning that pain, he rolled his shoulder forward only to whimper quietly, going a ghastly shade of white beneath his sunburn.
"Careful, now. Can you stand?"
The blond hunter helped his new friend struggle upright, staggering slightly as the youth swayed to one side. Hercules seemed lost in thought, staring at nothing in particular as his mouth reshaped Galen's words. Something was so familiar about...
"Herc!"
An impatient Iolaus snapped the demi-god from his reverie, and he hopped up. Passing the staff to Galen, he watched the younger man steady himself, tucking his injured arm close in effort not to jostle it.
"Guess we should find a healer when we get to Thebes, huh?"
Hercules nodded his agreement, struggling to regain the snatches of a memory. Iolaus merely made an exasperated sound and returned to aiding the wounded youth, chattering quietly in efforts to keep the boy's attention off his aches and pains.
Cupid materialized a quill, checking the last pair of names from his daily scroll. Both the scroll and the quill vanished as he took a deep breath, sighing out frustration and anxiety. Gods but his job was a drag sometimes. Ruffling his wings, his gaze went distant as he searched out the location of his uncle and cousin. Taking another deep breath, willing himself to be calm, he flashed to a crossroad just outside Thebes.
Invisible, he leaned a tanned shoulder against the flimsy post and waited for the trio to enter his sight. He could do this, play the game of posturing and nonchalance. He wasn't here to check up on Strife, no... he just wanted to insure his favorite uncle and loyal companion attended mom's next big bash. Shouldering his crossbow, he waited for the three to come 'round the next bend before shimmering into sight.
Hercules came first, long strides easily outstripping those of his companions. Iolaus entered his view as well, walking backward, arms waving as he related some tale with his typical enthusiasm. Cupid frowned, watching his cousin stagger in the hunter's wake. There was something wrong with Strife, that much was clear. He was leaning heavily on a crude staff, elegant fingers wrapped so tightly around the weapon that his knuckles were white. A bruise mottled expressive features, which were drawn tight with pain and weariness. Cupid's heart lurched and he found himself not only visible, but striding anxiously toward the smaller god's side. Former god, he reminded himself with an angry snarl- looking all the world like his father's son in that instant.
"Cupid?" Hercules deep voice was surprised and just a little wary as he took in his nephew's expression and bearing. But the young God of Love paid him no mind, his attention focused entirely on–
"Hades, Strife... what happened to you? Are you all right?"
The beleaguered former God of Mischief blanched, becoming even more pale (if such a thing were possible). Hercules and Iolaus rounded on the younger man, identical looks of shock and betrayal written upon their weathered faces. Cupid, for his part, groaned and clapped a hand across his big mouth.
"Oop. Guess they didn't know, huh? I..uh.. Mom's gonna kill me," he muttered between his fingers, watching the trio with anguished eyes.