Hullo again, and insert the standard disclaimer here. Not mine, though I do so love them. And I think I should be able to claim poor Strife, since they killed him off and all.. But hey. If wishes were fishes, right? Yes, I am strange, thanks for noticing. Now on with the story. Kinda dark, and beware of bad verse.
Safely ensconced in sleep, Strife let himself drift. Morpheus was being kind, as he had been more or less free of nightmares. Distantly, the young man found himself wondering if it was intentional kindness or if the older God was simply too busy to worry about a disgraced relative. For he surely was disgraced, wasn't he? A slave. Chattel, to be bought and sold and abused on a whim. Mentally cringing, he attempted to rouse himself from that line of thinking... some fuzzy part of his brain recognizing a voice outside of his pen.
Cupid? Cupid was here? Don't be stupid, Strife... he silently chided himself for wishful thinking. No one was coming for him- not for Olympus' trouble-maker. Giving himself back into the hands of despair, he retreated behind mental shields and waited for someone to wake his body... and when did he start thinking of himself in component parts? Maybe he was just as crazy as they had all whispered. Crazy Strife, unbalanced, unstable... waste of a perfectly useful godhood and why did Ares put up with him, anyway? He'd listened to it for decades, ignored it the best he could, gotten petty revenge here and there by stirring up what little trouble he could to irritate some of his least favorite relatives. Another mental sigh as he retreated further into himself, wondering if they hadn't been right about him all along.
Fractured, exhausted emotionally and physically, Strife disconnected himself from the cringing ruin of his body as the gate to his pen swung open once again.
Kyros regarded his most recent purchase with interest, keeping an eye on the young slave as his procurer attempted to rouse the youth. Darius knew his taste in... toys, and had sent a messenger to his camp earlier in the day. Now, as the burlier man hauled the slave upright, Kyros had to catch his breath. He was perfect- tall, wiry, all lean muscles and sharp angles and his skin bruised so obligingly.
"Quite a find, my old friend. He is all that you promised and more."
The slaver grinned, a flash of yellowing teeth in the dim light of the pen.
"I knew you'd like this one, my lord. Taken some of the fight out of him, but not all of it... knew you'd like to train him personally."
The youth's eyes widened comically, and Kyros felt a leap of anticipation at the sheer depth of emotion he could read in the blue orbs. Terror, panic, shame, the faint stirring of anger... had the boy always been this open, or had Darius already begun on breaking the slave? Raking an eye down the assortment of bruises, lash marks, and burns, Kyros suspected the latter. And what was this? Snaking a hand out, he caught at one of the rings pushed through sensitive, swollen flesh, and smirked as the slave moaned. Thoughtful of Darius to prepare the boy, though he would've liked to witness the piercing.
"Worth every dinar, as usual," and he dropped a jangling bag into the slaver's outstretched palm, exchanging coins for a handful of chains. He waited patiently for Darius to unfetter his property from the pen's far wall, waving him off as he moved to remove the shackles on the slave's abraded wrists.
"Leave those, for now. I'll send them back to you when I have him properly settled,"
and the boy's eyes, could they get any wider? Only one way to find out, Kyros mused, tugging the line of chains that hooked to the slave's collar. A monstrosity, that rusting iron band... he would replace it soon enough. Something finer, slender...like the cringing youth himself.
Another tug and the two departed from the stable's interior, and Kyros tightened his grasp on the lead as the boy made an immediate and predictable effort to free himself, scrabbling and hissing like an angry cat. Too perfect, indeed. Leaning forward, he curled fingers through the youth's collar, pressing against the bruised throat to impede the airway. He smiled as lips gaped, harsh rasping and gritted apologies caressing his ears.
"Too late now, pet," and he pressed harder, free hand darting to twist at those thoughtfully placed rings. Rewarded with another pained moan, Kyros watched his new toy cease struggling, watched those magnificently wide blue eyes roll up in his head. Well. Easier for the ride home, if nothing else.
"You sent Cupid down there? Cupid!"
The temple shook, bits of marble and plaster raining down upon the assembled Gods and Goddesses. Zeus paced in agitation, up and down, up and down the length of the meeting chamber. His sandaled feet made little sound on the marble, though the rolling sound of thunder left little doubt that he was angry.
"Chill, pops. I can watch his end of things for a while, no worries. He'll be back as soon," Aphrodite wheedled, trying to slow the build of her father's wrath.
"Zeus, she's right. Cupid controlled a relatively minor godhood, all things considered. Aphrodite can maintain his duties for a short period of time and no one will be the wiser for it," agreed a surprisingly subdued Hera. After visiting the Fates days ago, she had been distant, distracted. Some thought she'd retreated to the Halls of Time to try to sort out this puzzling development with Strife... others thought it more likely she'd been tormenting some of Zeus' past indiscretions to release her frustration.
"But what if something happens to the boy? He's hardly equipped to be down there," the King of the Gods sputtered, wondering if Ares and Aphrodite had properly thought through sending their only son down to the mortal realm.
"Oh, gonna worry about flyboy but you can abandon my son without a thought? Was Strife better equipped to be stranded down there?" demanded Eris, obviously irate. She was furious Zeus would display such concern for Cupid after the way he'd denied Strife any assistance. Teeth bared, nails biting bloody half-moons into her palms, she glared daggers at her father... quite literally.
Ares rolled his eyes, vanishing the projectiles with a thought. His twin could be impetuous at times, downright insolent on occasion, but even hint at an insult towards her son... well. That was another matter, and it had always intrigued the God of War. After all, Eris displayed no outward affection for the boy... never coddled him, praised him, or really cared for him in any proper maternal sense. Most of the time she had ignored the godling, leaving Ares to keep him out of serious trouble. Her irrational tendency to lash out at the others in the Pantheon that taunted or teased the boy was nothing short of astounding.
"Zeus. Cupid will be fine. I wouldn't send him off unprepared," the God of War drawled lazily, the insult plain.
Aphrodite, who had been fussing over Eris, paused and shared an incredulous glance with her sister. Hera merely sighed, accepting a goblet from a saucer-eyed Ganymede before shooing the cupbearer along. Deimos and Phobos flinched, determining themselves superfluous to this little meeting as one and flashing out in a muted display of green and silver.
"Just what are you implying, son?" Zeus demanded of his chosen heir, his voice deceptively mild.
"I would've thought my meaning was clear. I determined Cupid capable of retrieving his cousin. I gave him the necessary equipment for making his way as a mortal. I gave him the option and he took it... unlike you, father," he spat the word, eyes flashing onyx in his handsome face, "who dropped a defenseless, frightened boy in the mortal realm and left him alone, unaided and without any provisions."
A feral smile twisting her lips, Eris took a step toward her brother... only to scramble back as the Fates manifested in the middle of the little enclave. Almost as one the assembled Gods and Goddesses stepped back, eyeing the trio with no small amount of wary curiosity.
It was only Ares that voiced their shared thought with a heartfelt "Oh, Tartarus."
Maid, matron, and crone stood in a loose half-circle, wearing identical expressions of amusement. It was Clotho that stepped forward first, girlish soprano echoing oddly in the silent temple.
"The bones are cast, the players in place," she intoned before stepping back, allowing Lachesis to take up the ominous chant.
"Though opportunity's passed, time tattered to lace," murmured the matron with a sad smile.
"A second chance given to not one but two," resumed the sprightly maid, slanting a peculiar look in Aphrodite's direction.
"Conflict hiding the truth from your view," this from the crone, concluded with a cackle.
The peculiar trio clasped hands, speaking as one in an eerie monotone.
"Divided, you shall fall. The least among you may prove the salvation of all... but lose him and lose yourselves. That which is halving Olympus must become whole. Cling to your differences and all will be lost."
Concluding on that ominous note, the now silent Fates stared fixedly at the uneasy Gods and Goddesses. A tense moment passed, broken when Clotho giggled and tugged upon the hands she clasped in her own. Sharing an indulgent smile, the matron and crone edged closer to their youthful counterpart and the trio vanished without fanfare.
Zeus sank down upon a hastily conjured chair, gaze distant and guilty.
"Have I damned us all, then?"
Exchanging startled glances, the small group of Olympians drew closer to their King, each puzzling out the Fates' message in the anxious silence reigning over the temple.
"Rhyming again, Lachesis?" muttered Atropos as she snipped at a dull gray thread, head tipped just slightly to one side to hear the distant echo of a woman's scream.
"Tried but true, dear sister," shot back the matron, running calloused fingertips across a blue strand.
"Always gets their attention, and that was the point," conceded Clotho, tousled head bent over a spindle.
"Shouldn't take them too long; wasn't even a good rhyme. Not properly complicated, no riddle... no subtext," complained the crone, severing another thread- this one bright green- with a decidedly irritated snick of her scissors.
"Wasn't supposed to be difficult, Atropos," reminded the maiden in a gentle soprano, glancing up to eye the massive tapestry they had worked for so long. Threads moved in and out, seemingly of their own accord. Some joined, twining into thicker strands, others fraying here and there. No discernable pattern could be detected- it was too complex, a riot of color and intricacies only comprehensible to the mysterious trio.
"Only need them to stop squabbling long enough to see," Lachesis all but whispered, a fingertip tracing one thread in particular... following its winding, silvery path to an abrupt termination and then to its surprising reappearance alongside a similar strand of gold, the two oh so close to intertwining.
"Tsk, no interfering. We set the rules, and even we must follow them. Must do it themselves or not at all," Clotho chastened with a lopsided smile, watching her sister's fingertips twitch in anticipation of the twining of those two threads.
"Watch that one, lovelies. Coming too close to me again, he is... shame no one realizes how precious they hold him," clucked Atropos with a shake of grey locks.
"Give them time. They will work through our message...they must."
The Fates nodded, resuming their endless work to the accompaniment of a scissor's snicking and the rhythmic clack of a spinning wheel.