Summary: Ares POV - pondering after "Ten Little Warlords", Hera has given him a mission - but can he complete it?

L1inque@aol.com.

"Yes, mother, I agree," I'm not sure what I'm agreeing with but I've learned after years of experience - you ALWAYS want to agree with Hera.

"Yes, of course I will, mother" I'm not sure what I will, but I know that I will. My mother has requested something of me, of course I'll do it. After all, she is my mother.

"Yes, and soon." I'm sure that what I'm going to be doing soon because I agree with her isn't going to be pleasant for someone. From past experience, it's safe to assume that I'll be killing one of Zeus's doxies in the near future. I hope this one isn't pregnant. Sometimes they are. Sometimes they aren't.

"Alright, Goodbye mother, yes love you too," Do I love her? Probably. She did give me life. I'm still trying to figure out if I love her for that or hate her for that. Am I grateful I'm alive? Sometimes. Do I wish I'd never been alive? More times. But never being born is different from being killed. I don't want to DIE. Never being born, I wouldn't mind - how could I? But dying... living and then not, I don't think so. And she has saved me from Zeus's wrath more times than I can count. So yes, I am mama's boy; I love my mother.

Zeus, though, that is another story. I'm not even sure if he's my real father. I hope he's not. I don't think it would be possible. Zeus has blue eyes. Hera has blue eyes. I have brown eyes. Isn't that impossible? Thus, Hera must have been with a brown-eyed man from whence I got my brown eyes.

Am I vain if I say that my eyes are sexy? I don't think so, they are. And vainness isn't really a flaw among Olympians. It's a way of life, rather.

But I'm getting off track, I have a mission to do. Sort out this woman - in retrospect, I remember, that is what I've been asked to do, and destroy her. Again, I hope that she isn't pregnant.

Why would I hope that you ask? Well, I'll let you in on a secret. I'm not as evil as I like to pretend. I don't like slaughter. I like violence, alright, I confess. I AM a violent person. That's probably how I got my job. But war... once it was a noble thing. Armed men versus armed men, deciding who is the stronger, settling a matter of grave importance. Now, it's simply rabid butchering of any and every, over a petty argument or just a bad hair day. The nobility and honor that war once held has long since faded, and I still have a job to do.

You'd think that being god of war, I'd be able to help this. Well guess what? I can't. I'm not as all-powerful as I pretend, either. Zeus has control over me, as do other gods. It's politics you see. Here's how it works. I owe Athena a favor. Apollo insults Athena's dress. Apollo's chief city - most devoted worshippers - get toasted, compliments of me. Understand? Who cares if they're unarmed? I can't help that. Who cares if my "soldiers" (and I use that term loosely) want to rape half the inhabitants? Again, I can't help that. I can try, by handpicking soldiers that I think will do their job. But the problem is... the noble ones, the ones I respect, the ones who'd never do that, they also refuse to attack unarmed cities and such, and I can't have that if I'm to maintain my head. But it won't be like this forever, I tell myself.

I meant it when I said to Xena that I would change. That SHE has inspired me to change. It's all true. And I will change... one day. But not today.

Tapestria of Arthemon. That's her name. Why do I have a bad feeling about this? I had kind of been hoping for a self-absorbed, controlling, ill-tempered princess who's abusive of her servants and dissatisfied with all attempts to please her. Somehow, I don't think this one is.

~***~ She's pretty. That is her crime. I watch her help her father work the fields and wonder, what makes this girl pretty? She doesn't spend more than five minutes tops on her appearance. Most women in my circle would consider that barbaric. *I* probably spend more than five minutes on my appearance, in fact I take quite long for a male and other men would find it preposterous. At least, mortal men would. Olympians are vain - remember. We are obsessed with our own appearance.

Her hair is pulled back in a crude ponytail, strands falling out affront of her. Her hair is a sort of ditch-watery mousy shade. It's not blonde, like Zeus prefers, but it's not dark in any striking way. Her skin is clear which is good, and tanner than the fair princesses Zeus seems to prefer. It sort of sparkles with sweat. She's small and frail - not my type at all, but she has a determination about her that's admirable. There's nothing unusually beautiful about her, but her smile seems to light up everything near her. Sweetness is emanating off of her body, wishing goodwill to everyone. She looks up in my direction and smiles. It takes me a moment to realize that she doesn't see me, that she's just smiling as she works. I don't want to kill this one. But my mother requested this of me. I'll kill her tonight, while she sleeps. I have to kill an innocent, harmless slip of a girl tonight in her sleep. But I intend to reform, and I will... just not today.

~***~ Sleep, little one. I watch her as she prepares herself for bed. Something about her hapless innocence causes me to turn away in respect as she changes. Why would I do that? She sings and hums to herself as she removes her underclothes - still wet from bathing in the nearby stream. She hums away and I turn around carefully to see her in a simple white shift. None of the frills or lace which the goddesses I'm used to wear. It's not tight or form-fitting, not see-through, or thin. Just simple. Because who has she to dress for? She stands in front of a crude mirror and places a hand on her stomach and begins talking. She's talking to her child I realize. Damn. She's been impregnated.

She tells her child not to worry. They may be poor, but she loves him anyways. Him? Not it? Strange. She doesn't know the sex of the baby, and yet she calls it him. The few goddesses I've known who actually are impregnated, and actually go through with the birthing of the child, have always referred to it as 'it' - after all they don't know. The ONLY time I'd ever seen a goddess refer to a child by he or she, was Psyche: last week and it amazes me how she acts. She calls it he, not it. I asked her about that, when we were left alone at one of the infernal parties we gods are forced to attend for politics. I asked her if she KNEW it would be a boy. She said no. It could very well be a girl. But her child was a person, and persons are he's or she's, not it's. IT is reserved for objects. He's a baby, not a thing, she said.

She got a look in her eyes and before I knew it, she'd grabbed my hand and placed it low on her stomach. I didn't understand, and she explained to me that I could feel the baby kick. I felt something, which I assumed was the child kicking, and I have to admit, I never felt anything more amazing than that in my life. Seeing the happiness in her eyes and feeling the very real life of the child made me wonder about all those times babies were 'just gotten rid of'. I never thought for a second that children were alive pre-birth, and even after they were never of consequence. But if children within the womb ARE alive... that makes this TWO lives I take for loyalty of my mother. Two.

Tapestria holds her hand over her stomach, a look in her eyes that I've only seen once or twice before. A pleased look of pride and joy and tenderness, happiness - and love for her child. It's the same look Psyche had in her eyes that night, and them same look in Aphrodite's eyes many years ago when she told me of her pregnancy with Cupid. She told me first - as her brother, her confidant, her *friend*. She was scared to tell the father, but she told ME. And for as much fear and shame there was in her eyes, there was a look of love that I'd never seen in even HER eyes before.

Tapestria talks to her baby. She tells him that it doesn't matter what the other women in the village think, talking about how SHE knows what she knows, and she's not a sinner. She talks and I realize that she hadn't even known. Typical Zeus. Purely innocent girl. She doesn't even remember doing anything, mostly because she never did. She is, to her knowledge, a virgin. Rage seeps into my chest. Have you ever notice that rage feels a lot like you're drowning? Your lungs get inflamed and your need to breathe increases because you panic, and you struggle so much just to grab onto anything.

She lies down for bed, closing her eyes. //Do it now// She folds her hands and prays like that. She prays for safety, for guidance for wisdom. She prays that her purpose be revealed to her - she feels she's been chosen, blessed by the gods with this virginally conceived child, and is destined to be the mother of someone great. She's been chosen alright. She's destined to be doomed. She has not been blessed by the gods, rather she's been cursed by them.

//Now// She begins to talk to herself. She describes her son as great warrior //NOW!!//, going on about how her son will be a NOBLE warrior. //Noble.// She catches me. The nobility of war. An ancient tradition of long ago. Before the other gods. Before politics. She describes how he will only fight other warriors and will always be merciful, and will only fight with a just cause, and will defend the innocent. //Ignore it and kill her.// She talks and talks, painting beautiful pictures into my head. I can't afford to spare her. I WILL reform, just not today. I WILL do a good DEED - tomorrow. But not today, I can't today. She finally falls asleep, her breathing evens to long, deep easy breaths. //Good night, fair maid.// When killing the innocent, I find it's easier to think of the one who's been wrong, than the one you're wronging. I don't think of the innocence, the guiltlessness of this tiny slip of a girl. I think about Hera. She is the victim here. This girl has been impregnated with her husband's seed. This girl has called his attention away from her. I think of how my mother has been wronged. How her husband abuses her so. I think of the mockery into which ZEUS who dallies with every girl in sight has made her. She is embarrassed. She is humiliated. She is shamed. She is *A*SHAMED. She has been abused and used and treated with disrespect. Her reputation is tarnished by the fact that she can't keep her husband's interest. I think of my guiltless mother, to this guiltless girl.

I place my hand on her chest - a small chest. I feel her heart beat and become one with it. The rhythm sings a song to me. //Thum-thum thum-thum thum-thum// it beats in time. Child of night cry out. //thum-thum// Her heart thrums and sings to me. //Stop// I command it. //Stop// I command it. //Stop// I command it. The beats slow, the breath slows. Stop, heart. With my powers I will it to stop. Slowly, it stops. She stops. No breathing no humming no beating. No more.

Dead. Two innocent little birds killed with a stone I threw because my mother told me too. I don't blame Hera - I can't. So I blame Zeus. He's not my father, he doesn't love me. Hera doesn't love me, but that's just because she cannot love. She protected my body in youth so I could repay her with my heart in age.

I am bad today, but I will start again tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will reform. I will be good like I told Xena I could. Because I am good. In my heart. I'm just a victim. I will do something good tomorrow. I INTEND to be good. For every evil deed my body does, my heart has good intentions.

//*The road to Tartarus is paved with good intentions*// Intentions do no good. Deeds do.

My advanced senses hear the child struggling with in his mother's womb. Struggle. Struggle. //Storm// a whispered name of mine I wish to remember not. //Storm save me// a friend and love I couldn't save. //Ares// warriors. //Ares save us//. //Ares damn you// Curse me soldiers, I have brought your death. //Ares// //Ares// //Come for me, Storm// //Praise thee Mars// //Where are you?// //Help me, help me// //No, I know not// //We sacrifice to you...// //remember me// //be happy, Storm// //I can't, I love you// //Storm, take this// //No, you shan't die// //Hold this and remember me and be good// //I love you. I love you.// //Do you love me, mother?// //Your son, not mine// //Take it, I don't want the filthy thing// //MURDERER!!!// //Ares// //Ares...// //Save me// Struggle child. Struggle. Last dying breaths (is that right?) and - STOP! Freeze time. Hera has requested that the women die. She knows naught of the babe. Open womb and release to me an infant unborn. Rise out. Infant frozen in time. Perhaps he can be saved.

~***~ Across the country here in this town a woman is weeping for loss of a child. Stillborn. Born still. Not born. Released dead. She screams and cries. She wanted this. She wanted her daughter so badly.

Her husband strokes her back as she weeps. He wanted this as well. The midwife watches from a distance. She can not help. Her job is done.

They can be given a child. A child can be given a life. A sickeningly still infant lies in a bucket near them now. Still born. Born still. Miscarriage. Miscarried. Carried wrong. Delivered incorrectly. Delivered dead.

I appear. This will be the right couple. They are kind and gentle and sad. They will keep this babe safe. I manifest myself visually. All living entities in the room gasp.

"You're..." a god.

"Yes." I am.

"Are you..." Ares the butcher? "Ares. Yes." I am. I am Ares the murderer of small women and children. Or is it small children and women? I forget.

"I come with this." I make the baby manifest for their eyes to see. I hold it in between my hands, not touching it, as it floats in a protection of glow in between my hands.

"Hold it within you until it's time and raise it as you would the other. Who's it was is of no consequence, now, it is yours." They nod acceptance and I move to them. 'Holding' the infant in one hand, I sweep my other over the woman. //Open// I command, //open womb, I command thee// She is opened. Enter child. Rest. Restore. Meld. Adjoin. Child may live. Womb close. Child lives. Woman lives. All are saved.

A gasp arises from the simple woman. Her ragged workworn hand moves to cover her stomach. Gasp.

"He kicked," she says, "he's in there." A smile spreads across her plain face and she looks into my eyes with gratitude, "Thank you." Thank YOU. That look that I've seen only thrice now shines in her happy eyes. Love.

The husband puts his hand on her and feels the kicking. Kicking is always amazing to me. Goodbye all. And then I'm gone. There is a satisfied thrill of what I've done. I've completed, possibly my first, Good DEED. Not good intention. Good DEED. The road to Tartarus is paved with good intentions. But the road to happiness is paved with good deeds. Because, I *HAVE* changed, not will, HAVE. And I have *today*. Thank you Xena.

~The End~