Chapter Text
Ares was often in the mortal realm, but his chosen domain was the battlefield in between encroaching lines of spears. The rolling green countryside they were moving over was far from the devastation he was most comfortable with.
Hermes, like a red spark, danced on the winds in front of him.
“It won’t be that bad! I take a lot of letters to and from, and honestly, the nymphs are real friendly.” Hermes looked back at Ares flying behind him. “Watch out for Demeter, though. Real scary.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They both drifted over a line of lush pomegranate trees, heavy with fruit. And then, they were able to see the crowd of nymphs in their light linens and braided, flowing hair, and leading them, looking up to the sky, was the verdant Demeter. The tight curls of her hair looked like bunches of lilac flowers crowning her head.
Hermes and Ares both touched down lightly, on their toes, and then sitting back on the balls of their feet, as if tiptoeing their aerial entrance.
“Ares.”
Ares smiled, and it sat like painted plaster on his face. “Demeter! Nice to see you.”
“I didn’t ask for you nor do I want you here.”
“That makes me feel very welcome.”
“Good.” She sniffed slightly.
Hermes coughed. “Well, I’ve– delivered him. Feel free to call if he’s trouble, or if you need letters, or anything, okay, bye !” Then, he lifted and dashed into the clouds. Ares watched the disappearing speck of red over the horizon. Coward.
Demeter finally turned her severe gaze back to Ares. “Don’t think you’ll get any privileges from being Zeus’s son. You’re here to work, and work you shall.” She turned and then began leading the way deeper into the grove. Ares followed Demeter, and the nymphs followed them further back, looking at him with big, curious eyes.
Ares turned back to them as he walked, waving, and then winking at them. “Yes, ‘punitive labour’ does imply that.”
“There shall be no consorting with the nymphs or anyone else here. Should I hear any rumours like that, you will be kicked out, and the next place they find for you to serve your sentence will not be so pleasant.”
“Huh. I mean, where would they send me? I can’t imagine–”
“Underworld.”
The word chilled Ares's spine. Far worse than being under the supervision of Demeter was the thought of doing desk work for ten years . He would go insane by the end of the first week, and ‘postal’ would not even come close to describing what he would do to that office building.
“Here is where you will be staying.” Demeter opened the door. Ares looked up and down the structure curiously. It was very small, a mortal structure like most of the things in the grove, so it didn’t have AC, but all things considered, it looked nice. It was made with clay bricks with a wooden frame and roof and had one main room. It seemed to be a groundkeeper’s cottage. There was a rug on the floor, a bed, chest, table, and chair. “Whether it satisfies you or not.”
“Compared to the months I spend in tents, this is nice.”
“Get yourself set up, and then meet me in the field at dawn. I’ll show you your tasks for the day. Food will be brought to you,” Demeter went on.
Ares sat down on his bed, bringing out his knapsack. He put away his clothes, his sword in the corner, and then, slowly, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a crayon drawing of him, Aphrodite, and their children; well, that’s what Mania had said it was. To be honest, the vague shapes could have been anything. Ares tacked it onto the wall next to his bed.
His eyes darkened as he stared at it. He had kept up a playful face, but inside, he was fuming. Rage upon rage was boiling in the pit of his stomach. His anger was quick to start and slow to burn out, and the council of Olympus had heaped coal into the furnace of his chest. Ten years where he would not see his children, see Aphrodite, and they would grow up and grow different without him. No doubt Aphrodite would be ready to welcome him back into her bed, but he would be missing those many precious years with his children, and for what?
Zeus sent him into the mortal realm often enough. He always seemed ashamed to see Hera’s glorious golden son, especially since Ares was one of the few to call Zeus out on his bullshit. War pretended he was not the son of the sky, sometimes. He liked to imagine that Hera had had a virgin birth. It would make sense, for how similar they looked. But, if he stared too long into the mirror, he would see the Thunderer in his cheekbones, his nose, the plumpness of his lips, where Hera had a thin and elegant mouth.
If it had been any other of Zeus’ children, Zeus wouldn’t have even let it go to trial. He would have talked Poseidon down, said he was overreacting, and paid him off. But, Ares being out of favour meant that he was vulnerable to the snapping teeth of the law.
He was jolted from his thoughts by a knock on the door. By the time he opened it, there was no one there but the chirp of birds, but there was a basket. Ares grabbed it, going out into the grass and sitting down to eat: there was bread, cheese, fresh fruit, and a wine sac, regrettably not filled with wine, but milk.
He wasn’t given a knife, so he had to use his sword to cut the bread and cheese. He ate the apples and grapes with relish, leaving his fingers sticky. It was a fresh and clean day. In the darkness, his rage devoured, but out here under the setting sun, eating this simple fair, it settled into something lukewarm and bearable.
While he was eating, he would catch sight of bright eyes and hands looking at him from the trees. But, if he turned to look at them, they would always vanish in a moment.
“Am I that scary?” he muttered to himself. Then, he smiled at the thought.
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He slept, and at daybreak, he went down to the fields of golden grass, where Demeter was waiting. Her hair looked more ruffled than usual. She might have forgotten that meeting Ares at dawn meant she had to wake up too.
“Good morning, ‘Meter.”
Despite the scowling, Demeter was a good teacher. She delivered clear, precise instructions, and seemed to light up when asked a question (she smothered her delight when she remembered who was asking).
This was actually a field of harvested grain. All of the grain had already gone to the mill, and now they were harvesting the leftover straw, which would go to the animals. She taught him how to identify nymph plants. The most common nymphs around here were flower and tree nymphs, so any flowering weeds were to be treated with utmost caution. So, no touching anything with a flower, and if he nicked any plant and saw red blood, he was to immediately leave it alone and call Demeter for help.
Ares remembered this easily. He wasn’t planning on weeding anyway.
It was hard and delicate work to cut all the straw and roll it into bales. Ares then hoisted the bundles back to the storehouse; with his strength, it looked like tossing pillows around. His skill with the sword did not translate stroke for stroke to a scythe, but it certainly helped, and it wasn’t long before he could lose himself in the motion.
The nymphs were watching him from the shadows of the treeline. Their voices didn’t reach him, but when he looked over in their direction, they vanished back into the shadows. When it was beginning to get too hot to work, he turned to head out, and one nymph was standing past the forest, watching him.
She wore white, and the slight breeze lifted the linen past her calves. The distance made her face unclear, but the pink of her skin and hair made her wholly distinct from the greenery. Ares pretended not to see her, but he could not help but watch, because she too, was watching him, and did not even turn away her face. Perhaps she was just oblivious to him looking from the corner of his eye, but she watched him for a good while before she finally returned to the shadows.
It had been like watching a rosebud bloom and then vanish. Just another flower nymph, but her image had been burned into his memory.
The wonder in his chest was not love at first sight, nor was it lust. He was in awe, and he could not properly express why. She had been there for barely a moment, but she had looked at him and met his gaze without fear, and let him see her. It was enough to send Ares’s curiosity bounding towards the afterimage she left in his mind. She was a rose, but he could feel the prick of her thorns from here.
That evening, there was a knock at the door, and when Ares opened it, he was surprised to see a mint-green nymph standing there. She held the basket with both hands, low next to her legs. She jumped back slightly when the door opened. Then, she swallowed and stuck the basket out towards him. As he reached for it, she pulled it back.
“They say you killed someone,” she said suddenly.
Ares frowned. “I did.”
“O-oh–...”
He sighed. “It was for my daughter’s honour.”
“Oh.” She chewed on this information, swallowed, and then handed the food over.
Ares nodded and took it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He waited until she disappeared from view to sit out on the grass and eat his peasant’s fare. He didn’t understand what people expected from him here. They seemed to be trying to punish him by giving him what he expected. holding him at arm’s length like he had the plague while staring at him like a carnival attraction. He supposed that was what happened with all outcasts. Demeter did seem to think he wouldn’t be satisfied with simple food. It was good. Fresh. Enjoying it under the sunshine made it seem better than any steak in the world.
He sat outside well after dark until he finally managed to pry himself away from the view of the setting sun and the emerging stars. He thought he saw Hermes in the distance, but he couldn’t be sure, as he was tired and turning in at that point anyway.
He rose for another day of work and met Demeter in the vineyard. The rows looked like green braids on Gaia’s brown brow. He was given a large basin, and Demeter showed him how to snip off the bunches of grapes. Simple enough work, but with the number of grapes there were, it would take multiple days, weeks, even. He wondered if the nymphs were just using him as an excuse to not work, or if they just went to other crops and fields. He never minded helping, but he hated the idea that he was doing their work for them.
He was going down the rows, collecting bunches in his basket. He readjusted it every few minutes to sit on the other hip, resting his arms. The cool of the morning was pleasant on his face, the leaves still shaking off the morning dew.
As he was leaning in towards the trellis, he saw the ghost of a rose from between the leaves, passing, and then it was gone. He looked closer, and then stood up to his full height, trying to peer over the rows of vines. He just caught sight of pink hair moving past him.
He held his breath.
It stopped, and then, a hand reached up, pushing the leaves down, and her dainty fingers played with a trailing shoot. He knew it was the one he had seen yesterday.
“I heard what happened,” came the voice from behind the wall of leaves.
“Did you?”
“To be honest, I think you were in the right.” The soft huff sounded like birdsong.
“Oh? And who are you? A flower nymph?”
She laughed, and said, “No, I’m Ko—... Persephone. Demeter’s daughter.” And then, the hand at the top disappeared. She pulled apart the vines like a curtain, and stepped, delicately, one foot out onto the tender grass as she looked up at Ares with her doe-like eyes. “Hi!”
Ares blinked at her.
“Please don’t tell her I’m talking to you.”
He smiled. “I won’t. She doesn’t want you around me, does she?”
And the girl leaned back. “Oh, ha, uh, well, no, not really–...”
“But the, uh, greenish one told you what I said?”
“Yes, I told her to ask you... And I may have sent a letter.” She pulled a strand of long hair up over her mouth. “To hear the whole story.”
Ares looked at her for a moment, before smirking. “Well, you have more sense than most of Olympus, that’s for sure. Or–”
He looked her up and down. He snipped off some of the vine he was holding without even looking at it. He had a taste for emotions. Like smells, they hung in his mouth, and he could feel the clenching and unclenching of her heart’s teeth. To bite her essence felt like popping bitter berries in his mouth. Tasted like nightshade. She was angry. Viciously angry. Her hatred boiled over, and for who, for what? For him? No.
“Or what?” she asked, her face none the wiser.
He shook away the feeling. “Nothing.”
“No, what?”
He sighed again. “Well, I was wondering if it was something you wished you could do or something you’ve done. It’s usually one of the two.”
Her gaze no longer met his as she stumbled over her words. “I– neither. Neither. I, well, I just think you didn’t do– anything wrong. When you see someone you care about get hurt, then, well– All you want to do is protect them, or at least, make sure they’ll never get hurt again.”
Ares nodded. “Yeah. That’s it.”
“So, I understand. Even though, you know, shouldn’t break the law. Kind of the law.” She waved her hands slightly during the last phrase as if it was the end of a musical number.
Ares scoffed as he snipped off another bunch and tossed it into his basket. “Yeah, whatever. Goody-two-shoes.”
“I am not!”
“Yeah, you’re not. Going against your mother to talk to me. You really toe the line.”
She huffed. Poppies bloomed under the skin of her cheeks. “Pardon me, I’ll set aside the afternoon for some light arson and tax fraud.”
And Ares paused for a moment. His shears hung dangerously, just beginning to cut into the meat of the plant. “You wouldn’t kill someone?” Then, he snipped through.
Persephone choked on her breath and then forced out a laugh, but Ares looked at her, and the look in his eyes stopped her dead.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t. I bet they deserved it.” He could almost see the blood on her hands.
She began running her fingers through her hair. Her eyes looked off beyond the fields, beyond the horizon, to some distant past or future, and she sighed. “I don’t know. I just met you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, but you said we agree, don’t we? And it looks like you need a friend.”
The words twisted in the air, until they knotted, formed, and ripened, into the tempting fruit of an offer.
Ares could see her considering it. She was about to reach out. Until, she turned back to the vines, and lifted them. “I… I should be getting back.”
“I’ll see you— Agh! Shit! Fuck!” The shears had slipped and left a long gash in his finger.
“Oh, let me get that for you–”
Before Ares could ask what she was doing, she took his hand and squeezed the cut as if to close it. He watched in wonder as white-pink light washed over the wound, and the bronze of his skin turned molten and melted back over the cut, closing over the yellow-gold flesh.
“There you go! Okay, I really have to go now, bye, nice to meet you–”
Too stunned to stop her, Ares watched as she disappeared under the vines.
He didn’t remember any god that could heal. Why was this ringing a bell in his memory? It probably wasn’t that important.