Trigger warning for SA
They said he was a weak god. He could not control the skies or the seas or the very ground itself. They said he was a foolish god. He was not scholarly and did not teach craftsmanship. They even said he was a cruel god because he did not guide in medicine or bring love. He was just war and bloodshed, nothing more. Sometimes, he believed them. Every once in a while, whenever they gathered around and told their grand tales, he did not feel so loathsome by comparison. He would listen to them talk about mortals they had transformed into beasts for sheer fun, mortals they had violated, and random lives they stole. They shared these tales and laughed. Ares never joined in with their laughter. Maybe this was why they did not invite him so often. He did not mind. Their stories disgusted him. They required no courage. The actions were cowardly to him. The only ones present with courage were the mortals who tried to fight against them. Of course, they often failed. It was inevitable.
Often, Ares wished for a story to end with one of his kin being disappointed. Anything was better than those smug smiles at the end of the tales. And yet, they said he was the one to be despised by everyone. Maybe he was. Who liked war anyway? Even he did not always enjoy it. He just liked fighting. He was good at it. Fighting made his existence meaningful. He could watch the mortals fight for what mattered to them, whether he agreed or not. It was more interesting than the slanted battles of mortals against immortals. So, he stopped expecting invitations. Those on Mount Olympus were aware of his scowls directed their way beneath his helmet. They thought he was audacious for that. How could he of all gods view himself as better than they were? He was the god of war–loathed by the mortals and immortals. He was better than no one. It was what they always said and what he often believed. It was why he was so surprised to sense a summon one day.
It was a strong feeling. All the gods felt it whenever one was meant for them. The summon caused a sensation in their chests. Some said it was warm, like the promise of a welcoming embrace. Those who were more truthful said it was painful, like burning magma that was in their cores. It was no gentle request to return home, it was a threat for what would happen if they did not. Out of sheer spite, Ares occasionally chose to ignore it. These summons were rare. His father did not really want to see him. He knew his mother did not either. If they did, it was just to ridicule him. The god had better ways to spend his time than that. So, he would stoke the flames of their hatred by not running the first second they called. This time was no different. Ares slashed the air, using a new move he was creating for his soldiers. He took great pride in the Spartan military being the best in Greece. He could be called the worst god in every regard except that. No one could deny it. Not even his father, no matter how much he might have wished.
A clap of thunder caught Ares's attention and he turned to it. Before him was the god king, strong-bodied and elderly in the face. Another version of the lightning god might have been able to use these traits to show that he would protect those he loved all while having the tenderness wanted of the head of a family. This was not the version Ares knew. The god regarded him with a look that was just less than rage, but not by much.
"You ignored my summon," Zeus said, sounding livid.
"I was about to join my soldiers," Ares answered, eyes low.
He was the god of war, not foolishness. He knew that Zeus would not permit him to look him in the eye. Some of the others could, but the younger god would always remember the scars he got the first time he tried. So, since his eyes glowed beneath his helmet, they were kept low. A heavy hand was placed on his shoulder right where the armor was not. Its grip tightened. If Ares had not been so battle-hardened, it would have hurt.
"Do I mean less than those mortals?" Zeus questioned, saying the last word like it was an insult.
"You're eternal. They're temporary. I thought I could answer you afterwards."
The king went silent and it sent a chill into Ares. He disliked his father's silence. Whenever a bold god like him decided that his thoughts needed to be kept to himself, it seldom ended well for anyone else. Still, Ares would not retract his statement. Zeus knew this and lightning was in his eyes. He tried to blink away the emotion and mostly succeeded.
"You'll answer me first," he said plainly. "I wanted to speak with you because I tire of you being the pariah of the family."
"Everyone's hated me for as long as I can remember. I don't mind."
"I don't care whether or not you mind it," Zeus snapped. "I said that it tires me."
Suddenly, Zeus's grip on his shoulder loosened. He reached for the war god's helmet, but Ares moved back. He enjoyed wearing his helmet. Ares knew he was called paranoid because of that, but he also knew a fight could start anywhere and at any time.
"It's been centuries since I've seen your face, Son."
Ares almost scoffed at that title. It meant nothing and he knew it. At most, it meant Zeus wanted to pretend like he was being nice. Without asking, the king took the helmet and tossed it aside. That made Ares's teeth grind in anger. He glared at where the helmet had gone, then back at the older god. Zeus held his chin so that they would be eye-to-eye this time. The king wanted to see what was in his gaze. He found that same spunk–same rebellion–that had always been there. His eyes were as fierce as his father's. Zeus got a closer look at the rest of his face, taking his time. In spite of how long he had been around, Ares still looked like a handsome, young man. It was frustrating to say the least. Zeus released his grip and roughly patted the side of his face.
"We'll go to a festival," he decided. "Dionysus told me of one with plenty of wine."
"I don't really like wine."
"I don't…" Zeus took a deep breath, calming himself back down. "Ares, we're going to that festival. Now."
He yanked Ares's wrist and began moving them through space. The war god took his hand back, but he followed for now. At least the sooner he went, the sooner he could get back to his soldiers. The duo arrived in a city with lively music. They took mortal forms that mostly resembled their own and Zeus led the way to a tavern. He got several bottles of wine for himself and several more for his son.
"Drink," he ordered.
Grunting, Ares began drinking the beverage. It was impossible to miss the glances Zeus would send his way. They were full of anticipation. He was waiting for him to become intoxicated. A bitter sense of amusement filled Ares when he saw a look of disappointment on his father's face. His lack of drinking was not out of an inability to withstand the liquid. It did not phase him. War was always on his mind. It was a sobering thought.
"Talk," Zeus stated. "I didn't bring you here for you to be silent."
Ares considered some spiteful silence, then changed his mind. Get back to Sparta fast. That was more important than starting a fight.
"Some of my soldiers enjoy wine," he commented. "I don't let them drink it unless they win. I don't want their minds to be unclear during battle."
Zeus leaned against a bar, side-eyeing him. "You and your soldiers. What does it matter if their minds are unclear? They'll die soon anyway."
Ares's brow began to furrow. "Not as soon if they win."
"What do a few more years mean?"
"A lot to some mortals."
Zeus scoffed, then drank another bottle in a single gulp. "You spend too much time with them. They'll weaken you even more than you already are."
Ares scowled at him, but Zeus did not see. His focus was on the mortals. He saw the way the people were looking at him. Pure attraction. He liked that. It put a smirk on his face. He knew what really meant a lot to mortals. Pleasure. His favor. Zeus enjoyed giving them both when he thought they deserved it. There were a few people at the festival who had been coming around the bar often, but they did not drink anything. That was why Zeus knew the reason they were heading that way was for him. He used a hand to brush back his hair, smiling as they got closer.
"Would you care to dance?" one asked.
"I would be deli–"
Zeus's eyes widened when he realized where the people were. They were by Ares. They liked him. The war god simply shook his head.
"I don't dance," he said, "but I know some war hymns if you'd like to hear them."
This intrigued the people and their eyes lit up excitedly.
"We'd love to."
They were not the only ones. More people were gathering. Their eyes were filled with attraction. How this mocked Zeus. Quickly, he went over.
"I suppose you can't tell without his helmet," Zeus stated, drawing some attention his way. "He's not a mortal."
The people's eyes widened in surprise and they looked at Ares.
"Who are you?"
A large grin spread over Zeus's face. "He's Ares, the god of war. I, on the other hand, am Zeus, king of the gods."
As soon as they heard this, the people backed away from Ares. They did not want to go so fast as to offend him, just fast enough to be safe. They regarded Zeus more favorably. It made him laugh. He approached the other immortal and grabbed his head.
"Don't worry," he said, bringing his own head close. "I still like your face even if they don't."
Ares knocked his hand away. "We've gone to this festival. Now, I'm leaving."
"You're not leaving until I give you permission," Zeus hissed, his smile having completely vanished.
He grabbed Ares's arm and started pulling him away from the group.
"Where are we going?" Ares asked.
"We're going to get to the point of this," Zeus informed him.
He gestured to a duo who had moved far from the festival. They still smelled like fear. That was more intoxicating than the wine.
"See them over there?"
Ares followed his gaze and nodded. "Yes. What about them?"
"They're beautiful, don't you think?"
"Aphrodite's more beautiful."
"Aphrodite's not here. They are."
Ares started to frown and this deepened as Zeus inhaled. A sickening smile spread over his lips.
"They're virgins, Ares," he said. "Let's lay with them."
The king speedily approached the duo. He grabbed one by the neck and dragged him over to the war god.
"You go first," he encouraged.
The mortal was struggling against Zeus's grip, but Ares knew the attempt was in vain.
"I don't do this," he said, sneering. "You know that."
"Have to start somewhere. Just give this a try for once," Zeus said.
Ares looked into the mortal's eyes. He looked as terrified as someone who was forced onto the battlefield. Seeing the father's lustful gaze just disgusted Ares.
"Let him go."
Zeus's smile turned into a scowl. "This isn't negotiable. You're going to do this."
Automatically, the other immortal filled with rage. "I won't," he stated.
"You will or you'll be smote!"
"As if I haven't been before!"
Zeus glared at the other god with all the hatred in his being. He flung the mortal aside and began storming over to the other one.
"Watch and repeat," he instructed coldly.
The king knocked the mortal to the ground, starting to climb on top of her. He had just begun to tear at her dress when a sword blocked his path. In shock, Zeus looked up to see Ares at the other end.
"I won't watch you do this either," Ares growled.
Zeus was too stunned to say anything at first, then heat filled him from rage and embarrassment. How could Ares do something like this in front of so many mortals? They would think that the king was not even able to command his subordinates.
"You are my son," the king said through gritted teeth. "You will respect me."
Ares did not back down. Instead, he started to help the mortal to her feet. She quickly thanked him and ran off. Zeus watched her go, still feeling the effects of his denied pleasure.
"She was beautiful," he lamented before turning to Ares. His eyes were somehow both cold and fiery. "You've disrespected me for the last time."
Pale light flashed before Ares's eyes. In an instant, he had to block with his shield. It barely worked, but it saved him from the brunt of the attack.
"Everyone, fall back!" he yelled.
At his command, the people scattered, getting as far away as they could. Ares's grip began tightening on his weapon. It would not stop Zeus, but anything was wanted to help him in this fight. As the lightning came at him, he slowly stepped forward. It still burned and shocked, but it would not make him yield. Zeus hated this as well. The god transformed into his lightning and suddenly appeared beside Ares. The war god sliced at him, but he turned into lightning again. It was impossible to hit him, but it was very possible to be hit. A strike. Then another. Claws of lightning tore at Ares's arms and legs. The attack began to burn through his armor, causing more pain when the only layer between it and him was his tunic. Ares refused to yell out in anything other than rage. He never did during any of his father's disciplining sessions. Agonized cries would only bring joy to the king and as the god himself had told him before, he never did that.
Lightning is formless and cannot grow tired. Ares forced himself to remain on his feet. A blow charged with lightning was directed at his right leg, breaking it. The bones would mend, but they took more time than what he was provided in this battle. Soon, ichor ran down the left side of his head and his abdomen. It pooled around him on the ground, making a large, golden circle. If he had been mortal, he would have already been dead from the blood loss, but he was not. He was the god of war and he would not surrender so easily. Zeus knew this as well, but he did not require an acceptance of defeat, merely defeat. When Ares raised his shield again, his eyes widened. The lightning had turned into shackles. It caught his wrists, forcing him onto his back. Then it began covering his ankles and neck. Some of Zeus began to materialize again. Ares tried to escape the trap and slice the king, but it was of no use. Zeus kept his face close, chuckling cruelly.
"I won't ask you to surrender," he said. "I know that you never will."
"Then what do you want?" Ares questioned hatefully.
"I had wanted you to join me in what we do as immortals. Myself, Poseidon, your brothers, and so many others have this right. Yet, you think you're better than we are for abstaining. You don't deserve that luxury, but you can never just do as you're told. So, if I can't get you to join us, I'll just have to convince you to be less of a problem."
Zeus's hand raised up to wipe some ichor off Ares's forehead. Once he did, he kissed it. The war god stopped struggling, taken off guard. Zeus's eyes had momentarily been closed. When they reopened, Ares felt sick. He knew that look.
"Father?"
"The time for talking has ended, Son. Let's just enjoy our time together."
Ares struggled against the lightning restraints again, but they were unbreakable. They just caused more agony each time he would hit them. His skin went raw, blistering and spilling more gold because of this. Zeus appeared amused. This would teach the bold god to undermine him. Zeus had gone to the festival with the intention of laying with someone. He would not let that be lost. Ares made it easy for him. Zeus's hand went over his strong jaw and muscular neck. Some of the other gods were so lean. Zeus enjoyed the strength that Ares had gained solely through his own training. It must have been how he tried to become strong. It made this all the more fun for Zeus to render his strength ineffective when against an opponent like him. Still, the king enjoyed the appearance. With the armor mostly destroyed, Zeus took it off, leaving just the tunic.
Zeus looked into Ares's eyes. He saw more hatred than fear. This angered the king. In a moment so intimate, he wanted the younger god to only feel terror and humiliation. How dare he still hold onto some dignity. Zeus forced their lips against each other, then pulled back when he was bitten. He tightened the shackles, making Ares grunt in pain.
"Let's try this again."
Both gods were met with the same result. Zeus wiped his bleeding lip, scowling. A twisted look twinkled in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Ares as he turned back into his lightning form. When he did, he deepened the kiss. The trapped immortal was too consumed with pain to inflict any on him. In the embrace, the lightning began burning away the tunic. Ares's face felt hot with embarrassment as he was left nude. The king felt the muscles on his back. They were plentiful. When his hands moved to the immortal's chest, they found just as many. It was arousing. Zeus could feel himself getting more excited as he felt around the body. With a powerful kick, the war god managed to push against the shackles enough to hit his father. This sent Zeys several paces away from him. Surprise showed on the king's face, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper lust. Ares was stronger than he expected. It would make breaking him all the more satisfying. Zeus undid his own tunic, letting it fall. Ares did not want to look at him. It seemed wrong and yet, he wanted to look just to know where the immortal was.
Zeus's eyes took in everything. He did not think that the sculptors did Ares justice, but he never would have admitted that. The king lunged, using the lightning trap to bring the war god closer. One hand went to grab his hair and yank his head. His other hand traveled up his thigh before finding a more sensitive area. Ares tensed at the sensation, but Zeus liked how he felt in his hand. He explored the part entirely and smiled when he saw how it excited the other god. Ares wished that it had not, but the firmness in Zeus's grip was more than enough evidence for the king. Zeus knew lust. One of the many cruelties of his times of pleasures was how he made the other individual feel. He could make it hurt and feel pleasurable, confusing the mind and body enough to turn someone mad. Zeus went near Ares's ear.
"Are you going to defy me again?"
Ares did not answer. His breathing was fast and the lightning around his neck was making speech difficult anyway. Despite this, he needed no words. Zeus saw the answer in his eyes. He would. If Zeus attacked someone else in front of him or if they called to the war god, he would answer. Furiously, Zeus tightened the neck shackle, choking Ares more. Then he turned the younger god so that his bloodied face was being forced into the ground. Despite everything he believed in, the immortal was afraid. He could not rationalize it away. That was never his strong suit. He knew feelings, raw and unrestrained, and what he felt was terror and shame. Finally, Ares did cry out. Zeus wanted this to be as painful for him as possible. He was rough and took his time. Ares hated himself for yelling, but it was an unfamiliar type of pain and the yell was in part due to rage. He started to shake under the king, but it was not out of fear. Zeus was shaking them both. With a loud moan, the king relaxed and laid against the war god. He touched the immortal beneath him and smiled. The firmness was gone. Ares had just refused to moan lest Zeus interpret that as saying that he enjoyed any of this, even if his body did.
Zeus slowly stood back up, putting his tunic on again. A god born of two gods. That was uncommon for Zeus. He had nearly forgotten how much better immortals were than the mortals. What would have killed a mere human could be survived by a god. When Zeus was dressed, he went over to the still shackled immortal. Ares wanted to keep fighting–to pierce the king with a sword through his chest or continue punching him until his own hands broke, but he just felt tired and injured. His face was still on the ground and much of him wished that Gaia would conceal him. Zeus released the shackles on his ankles and wrists, but grabbed the one on his throat and turned him so that they were facing each other again.
"I can't stop you from getting in my way," Zeus admitted, "but you can't stop me from getting what I want. Remember that next time."
The king licked some ichor off his cheek, then got up and returned to Mount Olympus. Ares just stayed where he was, not thinking about the tremor in his body. Everything hurt. Most of his bones were broken, so he steadied his breathing as he began to force himself up and away from the ichor pool. There was that tremble again. It must have been caused by the pain. It was not fear. It made no sense for it to continue. Ares used some of his power to repair his tunic, but he helplessly looked at his ruined armor. He would have to ask his brother to repair it. Ares knew Hephaestus would have questions. What could have possibly broken the blacksmith's fine work? He would search for an answer. If pressed, their father would share. He might share even without being asked. Horror filled Ares. He knew how his mother felt about those who Zeus laid with. She needed no additional reason to despise Ares. Hephaestus would be delighted to hear this. Anything to make the immortal feel worse. The rest of his siblings would not be phased. They ignored him as it was. He knew Poseidon would be amused. His other uncle and aunts might have sympathy, but he did not want their pity. Additionally, they would not dare oppose his father enough to indicate anything wrong had been done. So, he was alone.
Ares was normally alone, but it bothered him more this time. It seemed like even when he tried to help, he was punished. He was not sure what he wanted to do. Some of him wanted to go to Aphrodite–crawl into her warm arms and stay there until he healed, but even that seemed wrong. She would not understand any of this. She would not consider his actions justified. Why protect mortals from a good time? The goddess had caused mortals to attack each other in that way, even between parents and their children. She never seemed to understand why Ares looked upset afterwards. So, she was no one he could go to. He was just on his own again. He would have to accept that.
"Lord Ares," a timid voice said.
The immortal turned to the sound. He saw the two people who Zeus had tried to attack. Their expressions were still uncertain, but they had gratitude in their eyes. Behind them, some more of the people started to return. Ares disliked being seen this way–seen as weak. He was supposed to be the brutality of war, but he was stabilizing himself against a tree and a few of his wounds were still bleeding. The immortal was not sure how much the humans knew about what had transpired. The last thing he needed was to be looked down on by mortals as well. A few of them came to his side and offered their arms. He regarded them skeptically. They did not appear to be mocking him. Reluctantly, he accepted the aid. They helped take him to an area to sit. A gentle cloth was brought to his face as they began cleaning the wounds, careful to not touch the ichor which would have killed them. Ares sat there in surprise. Such tenderness was never given to someone like him. He was a weak, foolish, and cruel god. Why would anyone try to help?
"Thank you for protecting us," one of them said.
Ares heard the sincerity in her voice. This was the same sincerity in the smiles around him. He had succeeded. Zeus had claimed none of them as his own. Ares had been able to protect them and against the king of gods. Maybe he was not such a disgrace after all. The god of war did not smile, but something twinkled in his eyes. It felt nice to not be constantly hated. His injuries slowly started to heal themselves and he was able to stand without as much pain. He stood taller than the mortals present, but they did not cower before him. They regarded him with respect. Somehow, Ares felt better. He knew mortals well. This was where his powers laid–in their human emotions. He understood it and as such, they could understand him. He was the spirit of battle and that could be against anyone.
"Spread the word," he declared, eyes determined. "Beseech me when there are attacks like this. I'll never stand by in the face of cowardice."
The people assured him that they would and Ares returned to Sparta. His soldiers would wait a little longer. He had more training he wanted to do. He needed to get stronger for the next time. Ares was not loathsome nor was he pathetic. He was the god of war…war and courage.