THE GODS' TEARS

Notes: This is the third story in my Joxer/Ares series, following "Lessons in Battle" and "Without Rhyme or Reason". Appease the Goddess and encourage my Muse. Feedback is appreciated and responded to by the author. Many thanks to Dyevka (Kat) for beta reading this one.

The Gods' Tears
by Miriam Heddy

"If you ask me, it's stupid."
"Did I ask you? I don't remember asking you."
"Then why are you here?"
"I--" Ares couldn't actually remember why he'd come to Aphrodite's Temple. And now that he was here, surrounded by pink fabric, enough mirrors to fill a fun house, a dumb blonde, and vases of flowers scented so strongly that he felt the human urge to sneeze, he was really starting to regret the impulse. The problem with being a God, well one of many problems, was that when you thought about something, it happened. And if you didn't always think things through, you sometimes found yourself somewhere you didn't want to be, talking to your really irritating sister about things you didn't want to talk about. Like little stubborn mortals who turned down everything you offered them and wanted something you couldn't give them.
"See. I told you. It's stupid. If you'd asked me, babe, I could have told you The Golden Rule."
"Do unto others?" He said it so that it sounded obscene. It didn't take much. 'Dite, for all her hearts and flowers, was just a slut, and he knew she'd get his meaning.
It wiped that smug smile off her face quick enough, but she replaced it with her best insincere pout. "No. The other one, Leatherboy. Never get involved with mortals."
"Oh, like *you* don't get involved with them."
"Hey, Ar. We both know that's different. As far as I'm concerned, you can kill them. You can torture them. You can sleep with them. You can even make their lives miserable... But *you* are not supposed to *love* them. You are, like, seriously stepping into my territory here."
"Well, I am just *so* not giving a damn. Besides, I don't..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. Joxer was amusing, but nothing more. How dare she even suggest it. Love. The God of War did *not* love mortals. They were amusing when they fought. They served his purposes. They died in battle, as they should. And the occasional one, the Joxers of the world--and he was sure his little mortal wasn't *that* unique--were amusing in...other ways.
On the other hand, the last time he'd looked in on Joxer, the mortal was...well, miserable might be an understatement. Even his little sword was droopy, dragging along behind him. Hardly amusing. So why did he bother watching anymore?
Okay. He could admit that *maybe*, since the beginning of Time, 'Dite was almost right about something. So maybe he cared, just a little bit, what happened to the mortal. It wasn't love, but maybe it was more than amusement. That didn't stop him from wanting to just smack her one. But he knew that it wouldn't really make him feel much better. Besides, she tended to hit back. Hard.
"Fine, Ar. But take my advice. Lose the mortal before you start looking as bad as he does."
They both looked into the closest mirror and saw Joxer trailing behind Xena and Gabrielle. Even from this far away, the hazy image clearly showed black smudges under Joxer's eyes. Humans didn't last long when they looked this bad. They started to make mistakes and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he'd have to do *something* about the mortal. He just wasn't sure what it would be. Right now he was thinking that maybe she had the right idea. It was within his powers to make Joxer forget he'd ever met the God of War.
He shook his head at the image looking back at him in the glass. They had traded places somehow, obviously. Because when he looked at the handsome specimen of masculinity, at the black leather and the wild hair, he could see that it was *he* who had become the fool. And even if he made Joxer forget, it was too late for himself. Another problem with being a God is that you had to live with your mistakes for all eternity.

It was at least one lunar cycle before he could bring himself to look in on Joxer again. He was a busy God. He'd neglected Carthage for too long and, right now, Xena probably *could* go in there and put an end to the War that he had so carefully, painstakingly cultivated. It wasn't easy to make reasonable, marginally intelligent mortals decide to take up arms against each other. And once you got them going, you had to keep the fire stoked high or they would get tired of the carnage around them and start to think about ending it all. He'd had to let loose the Dogs of War just to keep the momentum up and had been watching the results with less than his usual enthusiasm. Oh, the people took to drink and were filled with bloodlust and brother turned against brother. But somehow it just failed to satisfy.
Thinking about one dissatisfaction led to thinking about another, and he finally gave in and admitted that he was bored.
When he finally narrowed his attentions to search out the one small mortal who seemed capable of entertaining him, he was surprised to find himself watching the same bloody War in Carthage.
The scene was fire on fire, the flames of Carthage projected into the fireplace in his Temple, and there, swinging a sword that seemed too heavy for the thin arm that hefted it, stood a Warrior. At first Ares thought he had made a mistake, so he focused again. But the image continued to center on the same tall, thin Warrior. He was dressed all in black. Black leather pants and a matching shirt covered by an apron of chainmail that looked like it must have cost the human quite a substantial sum. If he didn't know that Joxer's brother was locked away in jail he would have assumed that this was Jett. But the long, pale face was definitely Joxer's; the wide brown eyes still held some trace of softness, some innocence that his brother and most all other mortals were born without and couldn't acquire. It was something that Joxer couldn't seem to lose, either. Not even with dimples that made Joxer always seem on the edge of a goofy smile gone and the narrow jaw grimly set. His little mortal had transformed into something that Ares might have taken for a parody of himself, except that Joxer looked deadly serious about it.
Ares watched, for a few seconds too stunned to move, as a blade struck and bounced off Joxer's chest, sending the mortal back a step. Then Joxer recovered, dancing forward again, arm extended, and with a small, surprisingly fast movement, sliced a long red line into his opponent's arm. It was the sight of blood that finally made him move, and he had only to blink before he was standing, invisible to the mortal eye, beside Joxer on the battlefield.
His first impulse was to strike Joxer's opponent dead. He was surprised at the level of his own anger and the irrationality of it. This was, after all, exactly what he wanted. Two men, for no apparent reason, trying to hack each other to pieces.
The opponent's sword arm was dripping with blood and, as Ares watched, drops of it hit the ground and were absorbed into the dry, red clay of the hillside.
Joxer took another wild swing at the man, and this time caught him in the shoulder, the tip of his blade sinking an inch into the soft, unprotected flesh before pulling out again. Then another swing and the man was leaning forward, grabbing his upper thigh, where the blade had dug deep enough to expose a flash of white bone. The fight was over, now. The opponent was too injured to continue, falling forward to the ground, and Joxer moved in for the kill, raising his sword to plunge it into the man's exposed neck.
Joxer drove his arms downward and then looked at his hands with shock. His sword was gone, as was his opponent's body, and Joxer was thrown off-balance with his hands clasped in front of him gripping the air.
He landed on his knees in the spot where his opponent had fallen, and when he lifted his hands off the ground, they were stained red with the other man's blood.
"What in Tartarus do you think you're doing?" Ares finally found his voice and winced at the sound. He had to get back some control. But Joxer continued to stare at his hands and didn't look up, even when Ares made himself visible to the mortal.
"I *said* what in--"
"I heard you the first time." Joxer looked up at him, interrupting him before he could continue.
"Then explain yourself."
"What, exactly, don't you understand?"
Ares could still dimly hear the metallic clank of sword hitting sword, hundreds of them clashing on the field, a steel symphony. He could smell blood in the air, salty and sweet. But all that seemed far away. His attention was on this one mortal who knelt before him, whose wide brown eyes were staring at him with complete devotion.
"Joxer, get up." He didn't know quite why he said it, except that it was making him nervous to have Joxer kneeling before him.
He tried to see into Joxer's mind but pulled back before he could make sense of what he saw. Human minds were messy, but Joxer had never been like other mortals. His motives were usually clear. But now, touching Joxer's mind was unpleasant, the thoughts were intense and conflicted and all of them seemed to center on him.
"Joxer, I said stand when I speak to you."
Joxer got to his feet slowly and held out his bloody hand. "Give me back my sword. And my opponent. I had him, so bring him back so I can finish him off."
"No. You were about to miss and he was prepared to gut you with the dagger in his boot." It was not quite a lie. The man *did* have a dagger, although he never would have reached it in time.
"No he wasn't. I had him. Even *I *could see that. He was afraid of me. He knew he was going to die."
"He is no longer yours to fight."
"So give me my sword. There are others. Unless you're afraid that I will kill them."
"No."
"Fine. I'll fight them with my bare hands."
"You'll do no such thing."
"Why not? It's what you want. It's what makes you hot. I can see it in your eyes. You want me -- to fight."
Joxer had him there. It *was* making him hot, arguing with Joxer on the battlefield with the mortal looking like a poster boy for War. Joxer's body was tense, as if he was still anticipating the enemy, and Ares noticed that the cords of the mortal's neck stood out just as they did when Joxer lay beneath him, coming hard. Join the army. Be all you can be. Damn. The black leather and the blood made it hard to concentrate. He could see the pulse of blood beating at Joxer's pale throat. This could be fun.
He waved his hand and the blood that dripped from Joxer's hands was gone. Joxer didn't seem to notice and continued to rub them against his thighs.
"Here. Have your sword, mortal. If you want to play with the big boys, you'll have to get past me first."
Joxer had to understand that War was ugly and someone always got hurt.
And Ares was damned if it was going to be him.
He pulled out his own sword and stood to attack, putting as much menace as he could into the stance. He wouldn't actually kill Joxer, but he wasn't above injuring him at this point.
The sword materialized in Joxer's hand and the mortal gripped it tightly. "You want me to fight you? But you're a God. I'm a mortal. It's not a fair fight. So why bother?" But Joxer didn't lay down his sword, continuing to stand ready, waiting for Ares to attack.
"No fight is fair. And most of these men would kill you without a second thought." Saying this, he moved closer, bringing his sword down in a slow arc that ended with the point just grazing Joxer's side.
"Then I will have died serving you." Joxer didn't falter, although the wound must have hurt. The mortal wasn't very strong, but he had long arms and was deceptively quick on his feet when he wasn't tripping over them.
Joxer brought his own sword up quickly and thrust at the small space Ares had left unprotected, pulling across his upper arm before Ares could move out of reach.
The dull blade cut deep into his skin and Ares created the illusion of blood flowing from the wound. The mortal was not as bad at this as he looked, when he was sufficiently motivated. In time, and with practice, he might even be good. But there were too many others who were better.
Ares danced backward and made Joxer close the distance, then quickly drove his body into Joxer's, dropping his weapon and pushing the man off balance. Joxer stepped back but didn't fall. Ares lunged again, this time bringing his sword up, letting just the tip of it scratch a fine line below the mortal's eye. Blood welled up and ran down the mortal's pale skin and Joxer brushed his hand over it as if he couldn't quite believe that he'd been injured again.
"If I don't heal that it will leave a nasty scar."
"So? I wasn't that pretty to start with. Leave it. Scars add character to a man, right? My body is yours, whole--" Joxer moved forward again and swung wildly, "or in pieces."
Ares easily evaded, but found that the mortal had managed to back him up against the wall of a small horse-shed. The horses inside sensed the presence of a God and he heard them kick at their stalls, trying to get out.
"I prefer you whole." He healed the cut on the mortal's face but left the one in Joxer's side. "Besides, pretty or not, you serve me in other ways." He edged away from the barn, and the horses quieted again.
Joxer shook his head, calmly, as if he was turning down an offer at the market, then moved forward again, and this time the mortal's sword pulled back after cutting an angry red stripe into Ares' chest and the God found himself backed up against the wall again. He could have taken Joxer easily, but it was harder than it looked to fight a mortal and *not* kill him. He was actually beginning to enjoy the challenge of limiting himself to the scope of a mortal body.
Joxer lunged forward again, catching Ares with his sword still at his side, and the mortal pressed the length of his body against his, digging his arm into Ares' throat. "Oh. I get it. You mean that I should serve you with my body? Puleeze, Ares. You were bored with that in what, a week? Two? No. It's not enough. You need more and I'm going to give it to you."
Ares took the opportunity to thrust his hips against the mortal's, feeling him harden at the touch before he pushed Joxer away from him, using his still far superior strength. "Who do *you* think you are, mortal, to say when *I* am satisfied?"
He made the ground tremble under Joxer's feet, letting the now very frightened horses out of the barn before they hurt themselves.
Joxer threw down his sword and crossed his arms. "Save the special effects, Ares. If you want to kill me, do it. If you don't-- Put an end to this. Because we both know I can't beat you. Let me fight a War I can win. Where I at least have a chance."
"That is not for you to decide. Now sheathe your sword. This fight is over." Ares had never considered there would come a time when he would order someone *not* to fight. It seemed to sap some of his strength to say it. But at least he finally had the mortal's full attention.
Before Joxer could argue, he continued. "You will serve me with your love, if not your body."
"You have my love. Heck, you can have my body if you want it. You know that. I love you more than life. Let me prove it. Give me what you always offer Xena. Ask me again and I'll say yes. I want it. Please."
Ares noted that Joxer had phrased it as a polite request. The mortal knew him too well, but even deference would not sway him. "No. It was a one-time only offer and you turned it down."
"But you offer it to Xena every time you see her. And she always says no. You want her more than you want me. And she doesn't even love you."
Joxer was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, demanding reassurance. It was almost charming. They got jealous so easily, these mortals. When the mortal wanted Gabrielle, he was jealous of Xena for having her. Now the little man had the nerve to think Xena had the God of War in her pocket as well! It really should have made him angrier to be put on equal terms with Gabrielle, but then this was Joxer and he gave him considerable leeway when it came to his feelings. Besides, it really was more laughable than annoying. Even Xena would see the humor in it. At least the mortal was consistent. Predictable, even.
But Joxer was putting him in an untenable position. He was too close to the truth and there was no way he was going to tell the mortal that he knew Xena would never say yes, that tempting her brought him as much pleasure as it brought her pain. She was stronger than Joxer and he knew she would resist him. It had never occurred to him that Joxer's love would be such a problem. That he might actually say yes because of it. Mortals were difficult to understand. They were more complicated than they looked, but sometimes behaved less logically than the average farm animal. And they were harder to control.
"No. Xena isn't the issue here. What I offer that woman has nothing to do with you."
"But--"
"No. That is my final word. If you're going to be a fool and fight, then you can take your chances with Hades like the rest."
Joxer stepped back as if he'd been hit and blood filled his pale cheeks. The mortal spent all day out of doors and was still almost deathly pale. But now, with his pink cheeks, he was glowing. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever call me that again. You can think it. I *know* you think it. And it's true. Just--don't. Don't say it. Leave me that, at least."
Ares could actually feel the mortal's temperature rise and knew he had made a tactical error. He found himself about to apologize but didn't. Gods didn't apologize to mortals. Damn fragile mortals. If they weren't fading out at inopportune moments, they were having their *feelings* hurt. But he would not apologize. Joxer would live. The idea of it was preposterous. How dare Joxer put him in this position!
But Gods did move the heavens and the earth, and right now he could feel the charge of his own frustration building. Soon it would have to be evacuated, and he searched for an appropriately dramatic target, trying not to look at the man who was the focus of his wrath and who could not survive the brunt of it. Finally, he set on one of the castle walls. He created a loud explosion and the large stones tumbled to the ground, filling the moat and raising a thick cloud of grey dust that made the army on the ground retreat, coughing and gasping.
"Very impressive." Joxer said it, with exaggerated sarcasm, but there was a flatness to his voice that made it low and hard.
Ares resisted the desire to grab hold of Joxer and shake his thin frame. For some reason the thought of touching Joxer now was impossible. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't trust himself to get that close to the mortal.
But Joxer's expression softened a little. His lower lip was thrust out slightly. Ares tried again to read him and this time, in that swirling mass of nonsense that humans called a mind, he could see one clear thought. Joxer seemed to believe that this was his only option and was willing to die if he thought that it might prove his worth. The mortal couldn't see that he had nothing to prove to the God of War. Other men had only their lives to give and nothing else. Joxer had...other things. But maybe that wasn't meant to be. Maybe it was wrong to presume more for this mortal. He would not corrupt Joxer with the power that he asked for. If he had to choose between seeing Joxer killed and protecting him so he could fight for eternity, he would let him die. The other option was unthinkable. And it would be so easy, it would happen quickly, just a snip and the thread of him would be cut short. One less mortal on the Earth causing trouble and writing bad verse. It would solve a lot of problems. Xena might not thank him for it, but she would be better off without the burden of protecting Joxer from himself. And it would certainly solve *his* problem.
He'd never thought much about mortal deaths as meaning anything before. They had such short lives in this world, and after they left it and moved on to the Underworld, they were outside his jurisdiction. He and Hades had a good working relationship that he wouldn't jeopardize for one little mortal. Not even for Joxer. He could let Joxer fight and there would be no guilt. Not that he ever felt guilt. Because he didn't. But just the same, Joxer's blood wouldn't be on his hands. If the mortal wanted to perform some pointless sacrifice to the God of War, then that was his problem.
Aphrodite was wrong. The mortal was amusing--nothing more. It had been sentimental of him to bother to fight the mortal over this.
He sheathed his sword and healed the wound in Joxer's side that was starting to make the mortal wince when he moved. Might as well give him a fair chance.
"There. Good as new. Pick up your weapon. You don't care what army you're fighting for, do you? Good. Then you should start with the man by the tree-stump. He was injured in the battle at Athens and favors his left side, so you should aim for that spot just under his left arm."
Joxer tipped his head to the side as if he didn't expect to be allowed to fight. "Are you sure? I mean-- I guess-- Okay, then. Right. And, um, thanks for the tip." Joxer picked up his sword and headed toward the man Ares had pointed out. Ares noticed that Joxer kept turning back toward him, nervously, as if he thought Ares would stop him. But Ares held his tongue from calling Joxer back. The decision had been made.
Joxer said something to the other mortal and then the fight began. Joxer took several blows to his chest, most of which were minor. Joxer returned the blows and Ares watched as he pulled back for no apparent reason. For a second, Joxer seemed about to turn away from his opponent. But then he sprung forward and Ares could see that Joxer's opponent was not going to bring his arm up quickly enough to block him. He could see the trajectory of Joxer's swing and once again found himself removing the opponent from the battlefield. This time he left Joxer his sword, which cut through the air.
Joxer spun around, this time not losing his balance. "Hey. Bring him back."
"No."
"Why not? I had him. What's the point in fighting if I can't make the kill?"
There was no point. He had no good reason for removing the soldier. Except that he didn't like the idea of Joxer killing someone. He should have started with someone more difficult. Someone who could give Joxer a good fight, nothing too quick. Joxer's defeat should come without humiliation. He could die a Warrior's death, with some dignity. He deserved that.
"I removed that soldier because I needed him elsewhere."
"So you're not going to make them *all* disappear?" Joxer was frowning at him.
"No. Go ahead. I promise not to interfere again."
"So I can go ahead with it, then? Fight them? And you'll let me fight for you?"
"Yes, Joxer. That's what I said. Go ahead."
"So you don't want to stop me?"
"No."
"And if I'm killed?"
"You will be dead." He said it calmly, evenly. It felt good to say it. Proof that he didn't care. Joxer would be dead.
"Okay. So I'll be dead. For you. Um. All right then. I guess I'll be going. Um, is there anyone in particular...?"
"Choose your own battle. I won't interfere. I'm going to the Temple."
He didn't want to think about it. The day was not going well. But tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow he could get back into the routine. Maybe find Hercules and threaten his little buddy. That would take his mind off this--this situation. But it would be over soon. He looked forward to sitting in his Temple. Maybe he would call for some entertainment, after. Some whores to dance for him. Maybe bring a few fighters in for a demonstration. But first he had to take care of Joxer.
"Um. Okay. Well, goodbye Ares. Will you be watching? I mean, from your Temple? You don't have--"
"Yeah. I'll watch." It would only take a few minutes. Then he'd bring in the whores.
"Good. Um, well. Goodbye then."

"I think that you *knew* this would happen. And this was all just a petty mortal ploy to distract me from--from my duties." He almost said 'from more important things,' but Joxer wouldn't have taken that as intended, so held his tongue. The mortal could hear him, but didn't respond except to flutter his eyelids a little.
The mortal was dying and taking an absurdly long time of it. The fight, at least, had been quick and Joxer had fought well, but his opponent was stronger and faster and brought Joxer down with a swift blow that cut through Joxer's belly, slicing under the armored apron.
He'd watched from the Temple but had barely had time to really unwind before the fight was over and he decided it was only fitting to come back and see Joxer over to the other side. The little mortal had meant *something* to him, after all.
Joxer finally opened his eyes and his breath was coming in short bursts. When he spoke, the blood seeping from his wound increased its flow. It was amazing how much blood one mortal contained. Joxer's blood was the same as all mortals, bright and sweet-smelling, like crushed flowers. Ares decided that he would request a tree for this spot. So much blood would make the ground rich and a tree would flourish here. Gabrielle could come and sit under it. He shook his head. So disgustingly sentimental, and the mortal hadn't even passed over yet. Somewhere, Aphrodite was probably laughing at him.
"Oh. Well, if --I'm distracting you-- You don't have to stay-- I'm sure there are plenty of other mortals-- to keep you busy. I'll be fine."
"Joxer-- You're not going to be fine. You're dying."
"I know, that, Ares. But it's not as-- bad as I thought it-- would be."
"I've taken away the pain."
"Thanks."
"It's no problem."
"I was hoping I'd-- have some really-- good dying words, you know? But I can't-- think of anything."
"Don't worry about it."
"I know. Mortals don't have-- anything important to-- say. But-- could you tell Gabrielle--and Xena-- if they ask-- could you say-- something clever for me?"
"I'll tell them you died a Warrior's death. But they won't approve."
"S'okay. Love-- I-- Sorry. Just-- tell them."
Joxer finally closed his eyes and Ares could tell that the mortal had no more strength to speak. It would be a few more moments, and he would be gone. Already, the wheels were in motion. Hades would be sending someone to collect Joxer and take him to the River Styxx. Joxer would cross over and be taken to the Elysian Fields. He had been a good man.
Ares lowered himself to the ground. He hadn't expected that this would bother him. He'd watched mortals die before. And Joxer hadn't even made a drama out of it. He didn't understand why, but everything seemed wrong. Even the idea of torturing Herc's annoying little hunter seemed flat and distasteful. The War continued to rage around him but he protected Joxer from it, so he could die in peace. It was ironic, but he let it go. Joxer was different, that was all.
The mortal was too pale, paler than ever. His blood was soaking through Ares' leather and he ignored the stickiness of it against his body. It felt oddly good to be surrounded by this mortal's body. And this would be the last time for that.
He picked up Joxer's hand to look at it. It was a nice, mortal hand. Probably the nicest thing about him. Other than his neck.
"I've come for the mortal."
What? He looked away from the hand but continued to hold it. Standing above him was one of Hades' drones.
"Go away."
"I've come for the mortal."
Did these men have their brains removed or had they died stupid?
"I said. Go. Away."
"I've come for the mortal."
It was time, then. They would take Joxer's spirit. And the body? He would have to bury it. Maybe right here, where the tree could grow on his remains. "Hades will--" The drones always gave three warnings before they started to whine about bringing Hades.
"Don't bother. Tell Hades-- Tell him I've changed my mind."
"But the mortal is--"
"Not yet. And I've changed my mind. Tell Hades he can come in person if he has a problem with it. Tell him I look forward to it."
He growled for emphasis. Let Hades try. He was in no mood right now, dammit. The mortal was supposed to be dead and he would have no end of trouble with Hades now. The God would probably torture him for a while about this. He'll probably start sending back Warlords, claiming Tartarus was overcrowded. Damn. All this trouble for one little pale odd mortal who wasn't even *that* amusing. Damn.
"Are you still there?"
The drone was watching him, his head cocked to the side. The expression reminded him of Joxer when he was confused.
"Go away, drone."
"Yes, Ares. You message will be delivered. Shall I--?"
"No. I'll take care of it."
The drone faded out, still giving him a strange look. But it wasn't worth chasing after him. He still had to clean up this bloody mess. Damn that mortal.
"Joxer, wake up."
Joxer didn't move.
"Joxer, I don't have all day. Get up."
"But-- Ares?"
"No. You're seeing things." Who did the mortal expect to see?
"Ares?"
"Get up." Ares waved his hand and the blood and the still seeping fatal wound disappeared. Joxer looked no worse for wear, really. But he was still a little pale. The mortal obviously had no blood to spare. His hand was still cold and Ares dropped it.
"Am I dead?"
"No, Joxer."
"But his sword... You said..."
"It wasn't fatal after all."
"But--"
"Look, I'm not a healer. I misjudged." So many things. Damn.
"So I'm not dead?"
"Not yet. But if you don't get up off of me..." Joxer's head was still resting in his lap and he realized that's what the drone had found so funny. Drones didn't laugh, but he could still tell. There was something about the drone's tone of voice. Damn. Hades had to have heard about this by now. The humiliation was going to be intense.
"Oh." Joxer lifted himself up and looked around. "So I killed him? I don't remember--"
The mortal wouldn't remember any of this clearly. Ares hadn't wiped his memory clear. It was far too much trouble and would have resulted in too many questions from the mortal that he wasn't sure he wanted to answer. Like why had the God of War sent Joxer to his death. And why couldn't he let Joxer go. So he left most of Joxer's mind, such as it was, intact, adding a small layer of haze and confusion over the last few minutes. Joxer would believe what he told him to believe. And he would never know that he had died.
"I removed him."
"But you promised... You told me I should fight."
"So I lied. Can you stand up?"
"Yeah. I guess so."
Ares offered him a hand. Still too cold, but he held it for a moment before letting go.
"So, what do I do now?"
"Go find Xena."
"You want me to fight *Xena?*?"
"What?" Was the mortal damaged? Why would he want... Oh. The mortal was still chattering on. What was he saying?
"...here to stop this War and I'm not sure I can take her alone. I'll give it my best shot, though. I'm sure she'll understand. After all, you have other things to do... I'm sure she'll make it quick. She wouldn't want to make me suffer. Much."
Joxer almost seemed to be enjoying this. If he didn't know better, if he hadn't seen the desperate look on Joxer's face when he woke up, he *would* suspect that Joxer somehow knew what had happened and was taunting him with his own weakness. But Joxer couldn't remember what happened after he raised his sword to fight the man who had killed him. He was sure of that. He had fixed the matter just minutes ago and what a God did could not be undone by a mere mortal. That other mortal, Joxer's opponent, had been less lucky. Hades would not approve of the trade, but maybe he would accept the mortal in the spirit with which he was given.
Joxer was recovering his wobbly balance and had settled into a battle stance, as if he expected Xena to round the corner any minute. Ares checked, just to be sure. No, Xena was still a half day's walk from here, more if she let Gabrielle's short legs rest on the way. He didn't bother to tell Joxer he could relax. He enjoyed watching Joxer's body tense, the way his thin arms flexed as his fingers opened and closed at his sides. The way the mortal parted his legs, drawing the leather pants tightly across his cock which Ares could see was hardening with the anticipation of the fight to come. He invaded Joxer's mind, letting himself skim across the surface of it without delving deeper. The little mortal was thinking about fighting Xena. Ares watched the images run through the mortal's mind, each more preposterous than the last and, in all scenarios, Joxer imagined himself losing the battle. Finally, Joxer just shook his head and shrugged, running one hand through his messy hair. The action made more of it stand up. It had grown out an inch since that day Joxer had walked away from his bed, and a lock of it now fell forward onto his damp forehead, sticking there.
Without letting himself think about it, Ares reached out and brushed it back again, letting his fingers slide through the smooth silk of it, allowing his fingers to graze the warm skin of the mortal's scalp.
Joxer stiffened, then relaxed under his touch. Ares watched a very clear mental image of Joxer running him through with his sword, that smile still fixed on the mortal's face. Apparently, not remembering how close he'd come, the mortal was still a little angry about their earlier discussion. It would serve the mortal right to tell him he almost died. Joxer would probably fall to his knees and tremble in thanks. But he wouldn't do it. Let Joxer's anger run its course. Still, he found it odd, amusing, really, because in Joxer's mind, the sword cut a hole in Ares' chest and Ares could see that Joxer thought he was hollow. Mortals had such strange conceptions of their Gods. Why would he be hollow? Why not solid or filled with fire or water or the stars or even human blood, for that matter? Why not an ordinary man? But before he could react to that the image changed. They were suddenly both naked and Joxer had a fine, well-developed ... imagination.
Fuck it. He couldn't argue with that. Let Xena and Gabrielle stop the War. It would occupy them for a few days, at least. Long enough for him to start something up elsewhere.
He waved his hand and brought Joxer to his Temple where he noticed that the mortal finally relaxed slightly, his wiry body uncoiling from its not ungraceful battle stance.
"So you don't want me to fight Xena for you?"
"Um, no." Ares materialized Joxer's sword and handed it to him.
"I would, if you wanted me to." Joxer sheathed his sword with a small grin.
"I know you would. And I appreciate your enthusiasm. But Xena would kill you too quickly. There's no entertainment value in that." Ares checked to see that Joxer knew he wasn't serious.
"Yeah. You're probably right. And if she didn't, Gabrielle probably would. She's very feisty with that stick. Red-heads, you know."
"Women. All of them." He sighed dramatically and pulled Joxer closer.
"Goddesses too?"
"Oh, especially." Especially the blonde ones. Later, he would have to pay 'Dite a little visit. An I-told-you-so was definitely in order. She had been wrong. He had handled this perfectly, of course. Joxer had just needed a stern hand to steer him. That hand was tracing a path over Joxer's back, settling on the curve above his ass.
"Hmm. Is Hera a red-head?"
"I don't want to talk about Hera. Don't spoil the mood."
"There's a mood?"
Ares waved his hand and filled the Temple with dozens of lit candles. "There. Mood-lighting."
"I'm still not feeling it."
Ares pulled Joxer closer, pressing their bodies together and growling when he felt the hard length of Joxer's cock against his thigh. "Oh. You're feeling it, mortal."
"How about some mood-music?"
"No music. You can sing to me later. If you're good."
"I gave that up. Warriors don't sing."
"I'm the God of War. If I say you sing, you sing."
"Yes, Master."
Joxer was rocking against him to some music the mortal carried with him. He couldn't hear it himself, but the rhythm was familiar.
"Oh, fuck. Say that again."
"Yes, *Master*." Joxer stopped moving and cocked his head to the side, exposing his long neck. Ares kissed the smooth, taut skin. The pulse beat strong and steady under his lips. Joxer still seemed cold, so he raised the heat of the fire until he could feel its radiation filling the Temple. Then Joxer spoke again. "Did you kill them?"
Ares knew who Joxer meant and took it as a good sign that Joxer was finally showing some concern about the mortals that disappeared. But he didn't know what to say. Joxer would not approve. And he'd given up pretending that the mortal's approval meant nothing.
"You killed the last one." Joxer sounded surprised.
"What do you mean, the last one?"
"Nevermind. So what about the others that disappeared?"
"They'll live to fight again."
"So why didn't you let me kill them?"
"All Warriors are *mine*. To do with as *I* please. And you've never killed a man in your life."
Joxer looked like he was about to argue, but then frowned. "Okay, so what if I haven't?"
"It changes people. Ask Gabrielle sometime."
"So change is bad? Gabrielle said that change is good. That mortals have to change or-- or die."
"Some change is good. Like your outfit. But not what's inside."
"Oh. So you noticed that."
"I noticed. That kind of change I approve of. You have better taste than I thought."
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Gabrielle told me that."
"Well, I'm flattered."
"Really?"
Oh, if there was anything hotter than Joxer on the battlefield, it was the way his face lit up when you petted him.
"Really."
"I want to--"
"Joxer, don't."
Joxer didn't have to say it. It was on his face, in his eyes, and Ares knew if the mortal said it again they would be at a stand-off, again, and he would hurt Joxer, again. The mortal had managed to find the God of War's limit. He had very few limits to his powers. He couldn't kill another immortal, no matter how much he wanted to. And he wanted to kill Hercules. A lot. Well, most of the time, anyway. He couldn't destroy the world that belonged equally to the other Gods. Trying to was pointless, as the first limit seemed to prevent the second from any success.
And the last limit, one he hadn't even known about before Joxer, appeared to be that he couldn't love a mortal. The human penchant for that emotion was a weakness. It kept mortals from fighting as often as it drove them to it. It was messy and soft and he didn't do soft. And, if those weren't good enough reasons to avoid it, Love was Aphrodite's department, and that alone should have been enough to warn him away from even trying to feel such a limiting mortal emotion. It was not even as strong as hate, not enough to overcome fear, and anger seemed to blind mortals to it, so it was surely a lesser emotion on the scale of things. Inessential. It was a weakness to love. And so he wouldn't. But the idea that maybe he *couldn't* love had been bothering him ever since Joxer had said those *words* to him, demanding an answer. The mortal found it just as easy to love as to feel anything else, and his love was stronger than his hatred, his anger, and his fear. Joxer almost died for it. So was it a weakness to not be able to do what this mortal found so easy?
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Oh. So you can read my mind now, little mortal? And what were you going to say?"
"I was going to ask if I could take your clothes off. Not...the other thing."
Joxer had apparently just asked to be polite, because his cool fingers were already fanned out against Ares' chest, sliding under the leather vest and pushing it over his shoulders. "Joxer, wait. Not yet. In a minute."
"I don't want to wait. Please, Ares."
"Later. I promise. First-- Joxer, I said stop that. Right now I want to tell you a story."
"You tell stories?"
"I'm a God, Joxer. I can do anything." Given the number of times he'd had to remind Joxer of that in one day, he was starting to think that it did more harm than good. It was supposed to be self-evident, but Joxer seemed intent on making him prove the point. It was this unease that made him stop before he let himself get lost in Joxer's body. It would be too easy to do that, to let the threat of Joxer's suicidal behaviour fade away. This stubborn mortal might decide one day to try again. His eagerness to fight Xena was a problem. If this was going to be Joxer's reaction to any perceived slight, if anytime he felt the need to prove himself to his God he did so by fighting, Joxer would eventually be killed. Even when the mortal tried to stay out of trouble, it seemed to find him. One day he might die and Ares might not reach him in time. And there would be no more time for stories.
"Is it a naughty story?"
"No."
"Oh. Is it gory? I don't like gory stories."
"No, Joxer. It's not that kind of story, either. It's a parable."
"A War parable?"
"All stories are War stories if I tell them. Now sit down and listen."
Ares walked Joxer over to the throne and sat down on it, letting out a small, satisfied sigh at the comfort of being home. He had seen Joxer test it out and knew that the mortal would find it a poor fit, as he should. Joxer moved to sit on the floor at his feet, but Ares pulled him over and perched the mortal on his knee, then began his story. "In the mountains of Tibet, there's a cavern."
"Where's Tibet?"
"Near the land of Chin. Now don't interrupt."
"Where is Chin?"
"I'll take you there sometime. Now be quiet so I can tell you the story. In this cavern there lived a small band of priests who tended a spring. The spring was, by day, just a depression in the ground, but at night it would fill with salt-water. The caves in the mountain were beautiful, with great salt-crystals hanging overhead. The crystals would glow as if they were lit from within. This, and the salt-water that only appeared at night, was how the priests knew the cavern was sacred. Now, the people who lived in the land below the mountains heard about the spring, and, knowing it was holy, they began to make pilgrimages to the cavern. The priests warned them that the water was indigestible, but, despite the priests taking watch over the small pool, the people would somehow manage to steal some of it and, drinking it, they would quickly die."
"They should have listened." Joxer interrupted, quietly.
"No. They were mortal and mortals always want more than they can have. It's their way. Do you interrupt Gabrielle's stories or am I boring you?"
"Are you kidding? With her temper?"
"I'll pretend you didn't just say that." Ares stroked his hand through the mortal's hair again as he spoke, pulling just hard enough to force Joxer to tip his head back. Joxer, an odd looking mortal in some respects, had an unusually attractive throat. Like a swan. He leaned down and kissed it. Lovely.
"Go on. I'll be good. So what did the priests do with the bodies?"
He let go of Joxer's head and continued. "The priests dug into the great rock and buried the dead. But more villagers still would come to drink and die. Eventually, the priests had no more space for the bodies. Fearing that it was their presence that drew the villagers to the spring, they decided that if the Gods couldn't help them, they would have to leave the caverns and hope that no one would ever find them again, and that no one more would ever die. But the priests had a life carved into the mountains and didn't want to leave. So they prayed to the Gods. They asked, 'Please, Gods. Your tears are wasted on mortals. Besides, what can be so sad as to make a God cry? Surely the Gods have no unhappy days or nights?'"
"And what did the Gods say?"
"The Gods rarely lowered themselves to speak to ordinary mortals, and had no desire to speak to the demands of priests. But after days of listening to the priests' prayers, the Gods finally relented. The spring dried up and never filled again. Without the water, the salt-crystals in the caverns came crashing down, each so sharp that, upon falling, it killed the priest who stood in its path."
"You said that this isn't a gory story."
"Gore is relative. Now, do you want to hear the moral?"
"Yeah. What's the moral?"
"There are two. The first is that it is always better to let a God cry than to make him angry."
"And the second?"
"The second moral is the more important one and the reason I chose this story, so pay attention."
"I'm listening, Ares."
"The second moral begins when one brave villager, months later, climbed the mountain and entered the abandoned cavern. He was thirsty from the long hike, and, not knowing that the depression had once held poison strong enough to kill a mortal, he knelt down before the altar to pray. There was no water to be found anywhere in the cavern, as the Gods' wrath had collapsed the one working well, and the man was very thirsty. So he prayed to the Gods. He said, 'Gods, I have come a great distance because I heard that this is a holy place and that this cavern is closer to the Gods than any place on this earth. I have no family and no friends, and my life has been empty. So I offer myself to you. Give me water so that I may live, and I will serve you forever.' The Gods as a group were still angry with the mortals who had dared to deny them their tears. But one God, for reasons that even he didn't understand, found the mortal's plea so sincere, and the mortal so pure of heart, that he was touched by the offer and shed a tear for the man. Now, for a God, one tear is a small thing, but it was enough to fill the cavern's depression and the mortal's thirst was quenched."
"But it was poison. So he died, right?"
"Joxer, tell me. Why are mortals so impatient that they would dare to interrupt a God?"
"Life is too short to be patient, Ares. So did he die? He died, right? What's the moral? Wait, let me guess. Um. No. I can't think of anything for that story, so you'll have to tell me. Can I tell this story to Gabrielle? She collects them and I'm sure she's never heard your version of it."
Joxer was bouncing up and down like a small child and Ares grabbed his waist and stilled him before continuing.
"You can tell her the first part, but the second part is a secret, for now."
"Okay. A secret. I can keep a secret. Can I tell the other secret? I'm not sure I can keep two, and..."
Ares glared at him. The last thing he needed was Joxer telling Xena *that*.
"Okay. Two secrets. I'll keep two secrets. So how does the second story end?"
"Well, the mortal didn't die. His love for his God was strong enough to purify the tear. So he lived."
"So what's the moral?"
"That's the moral. He *lived*."
Ares kissed the confused look from Joxer's face. The mortal moaned softly and wrapped his thin arms round his neck.
"That's not a very good-- Oh. Wait. You mean-- Oh! I get it. Really? Oh. Wow. Are you sure? I--"
"Don't make me regret it, Joxer."
"I won't. I promise. And-- I love you, too."
Ares sighed, and leaned back in his chair.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I said I wasn't going to say that. Just pretend I didn't, okay?"
Oh, that smile. Joxer's grin was too knowing. The mortal seemed too sure of himself. But no, he couldn't remember what happened. Ares had erased the memory and the only one who could restore it...
Damn. Oh, Hades was going to pay. He wasn't sure quite how, but he was going to pay. Something to look forward to, at least. And maybe after that he'd go find Iolaus and see what trouble he could cause Herc.
"Joxer, I didn't give you permission to do *that*."
The mortal's cool hands were tracing the Greek alphabet over his chest and it was very close to tickling. But the God of War wasn't ticklish.
Still, he pushed Joxer to the floor, cushioning his fall on a soft feather mattress covered in silk. He'd had enough of storytelling. It was a maudlin occupation best suited to mortals who had no better entertainments. The chainmail apron chimed like a thousand bells as it hit the Temple floor, and the leather made just a faint, sensual whisper sliding off Joxer's skin. Life was good.

—FIN—

© 1999
Feedback to the author is appreciated, as always. The Muse does not work for free. More stories (one in the works) will very likely follow. It seems that Ares just won't shut up, and Joxer has too many secrets right now to even consider keeping quiet.
Note: The parables are not part of Greek mythology, to the best of my knowledge. The story of the Gods' Tears is mine, although Joxer and Ares are still the property of Renaissance. Or, you can take the larger view, as Ares likes to think of it--Joxer is the property of Ares, and Ares is his own property, and don't even *think* of suggesting otherwise.

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