((Follows on after Sanctuary. Contains material of an adult nature toward the end.))

Midday had barely come by the time the dressmaker Ares had sent for arrived, bearing with her two huge suitcases of clothing, shoes, and underwear. She didn't speak a word of English, bustling Ayden into a private room from which there was no sound but the occasional yelp or giggle for around an hour. But it was a productive hour - by the time the girl reappeared, she was dressed, and the dressmaker disappeared up the stairs with one of the staff of the villa to stock drawers and closets with clothing that would both fit and suit the young woman the master had brought home with him. Embarrassed by the attention, and feeling more than a little out of her depth, Ayden went in search of Ares, only to be distracted by the view once again. She stepped out onto the veranda, one shoulder finding a lean against one of the columns that held the tiled shade in place, gazing out over the rolling foothills of Mount Taygetus in quiet awe.

As for Ares, he'd disappeared as well, but to his own quarters for a time. Not to the small set of rooms he was sharing with Ayden, but to another suite, much simpler in decoration, where he tended to stay when he was alone here. This was a private place with a locked door, where very few were ever allowed entry, a place of solitude where he was not allowed to be disturbed. What he was doing there, why he had secreted himself away, was no one's business or concern but his own. He would reveal this place - this inner sanctum - to Ayden, only when he was ready, only when she agreed to be his wife and he was sure she was his. Until then, this place remained his secret.

He was not there when she returned to the veranda, but she didn't have to wait very long for him to arrive. He did his best to hide the pained expression from his face for her sake, the sight of her standing there taking his breath away and distracting him from other worries and concerns. She was certainly a sight, and he could think of no one who was more worthy of immortality than her. He slipped up quietly behind her, arms weaving around her waist as his lips found the nape of her neck. "You look lovely," he remarked in a hushed voice, as though he was afraid talking might spoil the moment.

Surprised by his quiet approach, she gasped softly, the sound fading as her lips curved in a smile that was beginning to be reserved just for him, as his arms curled about her waist. Her hand rose as she stepped out of her lean, reaching back to stroke against his cheek as she looked up at him. "Thank you," she murmured, accepting the compliment without a fight for once. And though he was doing a good job of hiding that pain from his expression, she was training to be a doctor. She could feel the tension in him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he lied. "Are you ready for our walk?" he asked, changing the subject. He had instructed his staff to prepare and pack a light meal, which he'd left, for the moment, on the table where they'd breakfasted a short time ago. "How did things go with the dressmaker?" he asked further, turning the attention away from him onto her.

She wasn't convinced by the lie, but let him have it, trusting him to tell her if something was very wrong. His change of subject, however, made her roll her eyes. "You mean before or after she grabbed my boobs and started shaking them around?" she asked, demonstrating just to make sure he was completely clear on what she was talking about.

That made him laugh, which only caused him more pain, but he was too amused to let it bother him. It had been a minor wound, not deep, a simple scouring of flesh. It should have healed by now, but instead it seemed to be festering and getting worse. He'd managed to keep it to himself for now, hoping it would mend on its own, too proud to ask his mother or anyone else for help. As an Olympian, his flesh was impervious to mortal wounds, but the dagger used to cut him was no ordinary weapon. "I should like to have seen that."

"Play your cards right, I might let you recreate the moment," she told him, a little playful and perhaps a little promising as she turned in his arms to look up at him properly. Her fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, wondering at just how this gorgeous specimen could possibly believe himself to be in love with her. "So what are we going to do?" she asked him curiously, one brow ticking upward as she smiled once again.

"My cards. I do not play cards, Ayden." He considered quietly a moment, trying to sort out what it was she was trying to say. "Did you wish to make a wager?" he asked, misunderstanding her yet again, but then she was turning to face him, and her beauty nearly took his breath away yet again. It was good she didn't ask him what he wanted to do, or she might have received a very different answer than that of a mere walk. "If you wish, I will show you the villa." All of it, but one locked set of rooms.

She couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped at his misunderstanding, shaking her head even as she kept that gentle caress tracing his features with a tenderness she hadn't thought herself capable of. "It's a figure of speech," she told him. "It means keep doing what you're doing, because it's the right thing." On impulse, she rose up onto her toes and kissed him then, a soft, shy press of her lips to his, wanting to share some of the tenderness she was feeling, even if she didn't yet understand it. "What do you want to do?"

Each touch, each caress, each kiss went one step further in taming his wild spirit, soothing his troubled mind. He drew comfort from her touch in a way unlike he had with any other woman since Aphrodite. It was what had drawn him to her all those years ago - her gentle demeanor, so unlike his tormented heart. But this was not Aphrodite, this was Ayden. She was not forbidden, nor did she belong to someone else; she was free to choose for herself who she would love, and he hoped it would be him. Faced with such a question, he could only be honest, even though she might not like the answer. "I wish to make love to you," he replied, honestly and bluntly.

On the contrary, she liked his answer very much, if the gentle rose flush on her cheeks was anything to go by. Add to that the sudden shallowness of her breath, the way her eyes darkened with longing, and he could be pretty certain that she wasn't at all averse to that suggestion. But perhaps she wasn't quite ready to approach it as a task he wanted to complete, though she was sure he didn't mean it that way at all. Her fingers brushed his throat, her palm settling against his chest as she looked up at him, shy and confident all at once, sure that he would not walk away from her for saying what she was about to say. "Can ....can we let it happen when it happens?" she asked him in a soft whisper. "It isn't far away, I just ....I'm shy and a little bit scared of not being good enough. Maybe in the moment I won't feel that way."

"You have nothing to fear, beloved," he assured her quietly, surprisingly so for a god known for his warlike qualities. "I will be gentle," he promised, touching her cheek softly as if to prove his claims, but he did not press her further. He was confident it would happen sooner or later, if he, as she had said, "played his cards right", though this was no game. Not to him. The thought of life without her was becoming harder to bear.

As he moved away, her eyes were drawn to the sculpture that dominated the center of the room, aware that she was in the presence of priceless treasures she wouldn't dare even breathe on if she came across them anywhere else. The marble lovers held her attention so completely that she almost didn't hear him, forcing herself to turn away from the arresting tableau in stone. "Shakespeare's overrated," she shrugged. "I was never very interested in all those thee's and thou's. You've got no idea how sexy it is that you showed me this, do you?" This was offered almost as an after-thought as her gaze fell to the volume in his hand, a self-conscious flicker crossing her expression. "You know, I've never read the Iliad."

"Sexy?" he echoed, turning his head toward her and arching a blond brow, even as he balanced that volume in his hand. "It's full of inaccuracies, but makes for interesting reading, I suppose." He frowned a little as he closed the volume and returned it to the shelf. "I believe I have a copy in English here somewhere."

"Or you could tell me the real story," she said quietly, moving to curl her arms about him as he turned his back to her, hugging close into the plane of his back. She didn't know how to tell him how moved she was by the fact that he had shown her his library, much less that he had suggested it in the first place. It was so obviously a place he took great pride in, a place where he had spent much of his time over the long years since the villa had been built. "It's awe-inspiring, Ares," she told him finally, her voice muffled against his back. "I'm speechless."

He felt her arms go around him, glad that his back was toward her so she would not see him wince, refusing to complain as he'd done after that very battle, to his own father's admonishment. After a moment, he regained his composure and turned to face her, his eyes soft on her. "I'm glad it pleases you."

"Of course it does," she objected softly. "It's a part of you." She leaned into him, stroking her hand down his chest as she breathed him in ....and quite suddenly she realized what it was she could smell, hidden underneath the scent of his skin. She reared back abruptly, laying the back of her hand against his t-shirt, over the site of his wound, and a deep frown appeared on her face as she felt the heat radiating from what should have been healing nicely. A faintly accusatory look was leveled on him. "Tell me you have a first aid kit or something around here."

That frown returned to his face when he realized she had found him out. Had he actually thought he could keep it a secret from one such as she" One who was studying to be a physician' One as astute and wise to rival his own mother" "I'm afraid I am immune to your ministrations, Ayden. It is not a mortal wound and cannot be treated as such." He lifted her hand from where it lay against the wound and pressed her hand against his lips.

"Oh, yeah' You have pus that is impervious to being drained, do you?" she asked him pointedly. Without asking for permission, she hooked her fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up beneath the hang of the shirt and jacket he wore, to get a good look at the festering wound. What she saw did not inspire confidence - reddened flesh, pinched and swollen with pus. "Why didn't you tell me it wasn't healing?"

He shrugged as if he had no good answer to her question. "What would you have done" It is a minor wound. I thought it would heal. It should heal. Your wounds were far more serious than mine," he told her nonchalantly, feigning apathy, as though he was unconcerned about the wound when nothing could be farther from the truth.

"I'm mortal," she pointed out. "My body is used to healing on its own time, and it isn't resistant to all forms of medication, unlike yours. Seriously, if you were mortal, this would be an easy fix, but you're not. And I can't believe you didn't tell me!" If he had any doubts about her growing to care for him, they could easily be dispelled by this rather sweet outburst of concern over what was, for now, still a minor wound, however painful it was. "Isn't there a god of healing or whatever" You should call someone who can deal with it."

"No!" he exclaimed rather vehemently, almost as vehemently as her own outburst, snatching her hand up to make his point, looking horrified by the mere suggestion of calling on one of the other Olympians for help. He had seen his mother just a day or so earlier, and she had said nothing nor offered any healing. Whether she had not noticed or was only waiting for him to ask for help was hard to say, but he had his pride. How far would his pride let him go' Would he let his pride take him to the brink of death or would he be able to swallow before he reached that point' He exhaled a sigh, gentling his voice so she did not think he was angry with her. "I cannot, Ayden. Apollo is....He is needed elsewhere, and there is no other I can ask."

"Fine," she answered him back stubbornly, more concerned for him than he seemed to want to admit. "You either call someone and ask for a little help, or you shut up and put up with me doing what little I can do to make it more comfortable for you. Your choice." Because whether he was Olympian or not, no pus-filled wound was going to get the better of her.

"Very well," he replied, easily giving in. What choice did he have, after all" "There is a medical kit downstairs in the bathroom. Shall I fetch it?" he asked, not really feeling like being poked and prodded, only to watch the wound fester in another day or so anyway.

"Nope, because I'm coming with you," she informed him, taking him firmly by the hand and turning to march back to the staircase. She hadn't yet realized that she was ordering the God of War around as though he was something of an idiot, but it was pretty much guaranteed to sink in once the immediate concern was dealt with. As things stood, however, he was just going to have to put up with it until Ayden was happy with the state of his chest.

He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She was only doing what she was trained to do, and he was touched by her caring nature. The question was whether she was so concerned because she cared for him, or if it was only because it was an innate part of her nature? "I had thought it would heal by now," he told her again, as if trying to make excuses for himself. "I did not wish to worry you."

"I know." She came to a halt in the hallway outside the suite he proposed to share with her, turning to face him with that concern livid on her face. "I know I'm freaking out, okay' But I know what wounds like that do when they fester, I know what comes next, and if you were mortal, I would be able to fix it. I would be able to spare you that pain and that discomfort, and the fever and the blood poisoning. But you're not mortal, and I thought I wouldn't have to worry about it, because of course a scratch won't kill you." She sighed, biting her lip, green eyes awash with glistening tears suddenly. "Only this one might, and I'm tired of losing people who mean the world to me. I won't lose you, Ares."

Ayden rolled her eyes at his amusement, fidgeting awkwardly as he raised his arms to call on his sister. She, too, looked up at the ceiling as though expecting it to open or crack somehow, utterly failing to notice when a mischievous young woman appeared out of nowhere right next to her, leaned in close, and said, "Boo."

Ayden let out a loud yelp, jerking sideways away from the unexpectedly impish visitor. She tripped over the edge of the table and landed on her rear end, staring up at the pretty Olympian female who had just arrived, and who was giggling merrily at the reaction she'd gotten for her mischief.

Despite the fever and the pain that accompanied it, Ares found himself laughing at his sister's antics. Of all his siblings, he'd always felt closest to Hebe, though, naturally, that little fact had never been recorded by Homer or any of the other so-called historians and epic poets and writers of the day. "Ayden, meet my sister, Hebe," he introduced the two women to each other, remaining seated for fear he might not be able to get up again without falling down.

Hebe turned out to look remarkably like Ares, though she was paler than he was. Blonde haired and blue eyed, she was strikingly pretty, rather than beautiful, a ready smile on her lips, and apparently unrepentant for having startled her brother's companion so badly. "She's lovely," Hebe told her brother, approving of his choice even before he informed her of it, sending a wink in Ayden's direction as the mortal girl picked herself up off the floor.

Ayden eyed the goddess warily. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but not a playful little imp of a woman whose first act had been to scare the crap out of her in fun. "Uh ....nice to meet you," she managed in greeting, yelping again as Hebe surged forward and kissed her cheek.

The younger Olympian then turned to Ares, hands on her hips. "Why are you being so formal, hmm?" Hebe demanded teasingly. "Were you trying to impress the pretty mortal" Because, you know, I think she's already impressed. You can even kiss that new bruise on her backside better after I go."

Ares rolled his eyes at his sister's antics, his entire demeanor changing in her presence. This was what happened when someone who knew you better than anyone dropped by for a visit. "You know what Father would say if he knew you were here," he replied, frowning worriedly. Despite what Hera had told him, he was apparently still worried about what Zeus thought of his eldest son, even after thousands of years.

"Oh, poo to Father," was Hebe's charming reply, though she, like Ares, tended to try and keep on the good side of the King of the Olympians, and if she couldn't do that, she just stayed out of the way. "Last I saw, Mother was talking his ear off about some angel." She glanced between Ares and Ayden, one brow raised. "Family visit, or business?"

Ares exchanged glances with Ayden at the mention of an angel, both of them knowing what particular angel was most likely the topic of conversation on Mount Olympus, wondering just what Zeus might think of his mother's plans. If there was anyone who could bend Zeus' ear and sway his opinions, it was Hera. He had yet to fully discuss that plan with Ayden, but it would have to wait until later. "A little of both," Ares replied, turning back to his sister and feeling more than a little embarrassed about his situation.

Hebe leaned herself comfortably against thin air, one elbow propped as though she were leaning on a lintel or mantelpiece, glancing between Olympian and human with mischievous consternation. "Just how young do either of you want to be?" she asked with comical concern. "Because, you know, if you get any younger, pretty Ayden, what he wants to do to you will be illegal even in Ancient Sparta."

Ayden blinked, utterly at a loss with this announcement. To be honest, she'd never even heard of Hebe before Ares had called for his sister, and as such, she had no idea of what this particular Olympian was capable of. Confused, she looked at Ares with a small frown. "What?"

"No, no," Ares said with an slightly impatient sigh. "I did not summon you for that," he told his sister at her misunderstanding of the situation, realizing he was going to have to swallow a little pride once again and explain the situation or simply tell her. He chewed at his lip as he momentarily seemed to ponder what to do. "It's this," he said at last, tugging his t-shirt up high enough for her to catch a glimpse of the wound that was festering there.

Hebe's reaction to the wound was one of utter shock. She'd seen a wound like it on an Olympian once before, and only once, and knew exactly what had caused it. "When did that blade resurface?" she asked in horror, moving to crouch in front of her brother to touch the hot, pinched skin that edged the weeping slash in his skin.

"A few days ago," he replied, shrinking away from her touch with an obvious wince of pain. Obviously his labors had not reached the eyes or ears of all those who resided on Olympus, just yet. That was probably a good thing as he did not yet know who, if any, were in league with Hades, though he suspected Zeus was well aware of Apollo and Aphrodite's meddling and quite possibly had even instigated it. "The blade is in safekeeping, for now," he further informed his sister, unsure just how much he should tell her. She was not one to get very involved in the intrigues that surrounded the other Olympians or their meddling with mortals, but that did not mean she didn't care what became of them.

The frown on his sister's face did not seem convinced, but they were close enough that she trusted her brother's judgement. If he said the blade was in good hands, then she believed him. But there was only one reason she could have been called, if the wound was the cause, and that was risky in itself. She sat back on her heels, looking Ares right in the eye. "Father will kill me if he finds out what I'm about to do here," she told him, calm but worried in the face of that risk. She glanced toward the now silent Ayden, not certain it was wise to have a mortal witness to what was about to happen.

Hebe's statement brought a sad, disappointed frown to Ares' face. If his own sister refused to help him, then he had few choices left. He hoped he would not have to beg his father for help once again, but he was quickly running out of options. "Does he still hate me so much, Hebe?" he asked, unable to hide the infinite sadness from his sister or from Ayden, for that matter. He laid a hand against hers, meeting her gaze unflinchingly and bravely. There would be no groveling today. "I do not wish to jeopardize your safety. I will find another way."

Ares' smile grew into a grin at her playful tweak of his nose, one of the few who he allowed to tease him and touch him in such a way without risking his anger. "Yes, dear. I shall try to keep my sword sheathed until the time is right," he told her with a cheeky grin back at her. It wasn't much of a promise; he was his father's son, after all, though once he promised himself to one woman, he intended to remain faithful only to that one.

Ayden turned her astonished eyes onto Ares, rubbing a hand against her neck awkwardly. "That's a goddess, is it?" she asked slowly, not entirely sure what to make of what had just happened. "Are they all like that?"

"That is my sister," Ares remarked in response to Ayden's question. Hebe was not just any goddess, but the one that he felt closest to. Was it any wonder she had married a man who was in many ways so like the older brother she so adored" "No," he replied as he moved to his feet, feeling strangely invigorated now that he was no longer wounded, like there was nothing he couldn't accomplish, if he put his mind to it. "No one is like Hebe." He moved over to a mirror to examine the place where the wound had once been, finding no trace of it whatsoever, not even a scar.

"Does she always just ....pop out of nowhere?" Ayden asked, still trying to get her head around what she had just witnessed. Not so much the healing, which she had expected, but the obvious familial love that was shared between Ares and his sister. How was he so lonely, when he was so loved" She moved with him, wanting to look at the freshly healed skin herself, smoothing her fingertips over the place where only a few minutes before there had been an angry wound. A small frown touched her brow as another thought occurred to her. "Who are the boys she referred to?" she asked softly, glancing up at him with what might almost have been jealousy in her gaze.

There was that frown again, a little sad and thoughtful. "Her sons," he explained. "Alexiares and Anicetus, the sons of Heracles," he told her further, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Oh." Relief flared for just a moment in the green eyes that looked up at him before lowering to his smooth chest once again, unable to stop her fingertips from stroking back and forth where the wound had been. "Heracles?" she asked then, unfamiliar with that particular name, but intelligent enough to make a guess. "Like Hercules, but real?"

"Hercules, yes," Ares confirmed, watching in the mirror as her fingers moved over the place where the wound had once been, nearly as much in awe as she was. To anyone who wasn't immortal, it would seem like a miracle, and even to Ares, it was something of a wonder. He frowned thoughtfully as he thought on his old friend, his brother-in-law, his sister's husband and beloved. She had loved him so much she had never wed again. "He refused to....to become immortal and died. She has never loved another."

"I thought he became an immortal," Ayden mused softly, finally drawing her fingers away from the miraculously healed skin as she stepped back. "That's so sad, that he didn't stay with her." She frowned, sympathy for the Olympian woman who had so startled her filling her expression.

"No, the legends and..." He paused a moment, stopping himself from using the word myth, since there was obviously nothing fictional about him or his people. "...stories," he continued, "are not always accurate, I'm afraid. In fact, they are wrong more often than they are right." He turned to face her then, wondering if they should continue their tour of the villa. He paused a moment as he considered, deciding there was something - some place - she needed to see. "May I show you something?"

Gently easing his t-shirt back down once again, Ayden raised her eyes to his, curious to know what it was he wanted her to see. What he needed her to understand. "Of course," she agreed, without even considering what it was he might want to show her. "You can tell me anything, you know."

Anything was rather all-encompassing. It had been a very long time since he'd given his trust to anyone outside those of his own bloodline. There were even those of his own blood he was unsure of, but if he was going to make Ayden his wife, if he was going to make her his immortal consort, then who better to trust with his secrets" He offered her his hand to lead her back toward the door. Wherever they were going, it seemed they were walking.

Intrigued by this sudden display of fascinating secrecy, she linked her fingers with his, Hebe's visit almost forgotten in the surge of curiosity that came with Ares' hints. A faint smile touched her lips as she moved along with him toward the door, wondering just what was going on here.

Ares opened the door to a flurry of activity from the servants, two of them almost immediately chattering away at him in Greek, apparently alarmed by the rattle that had shaken the house, albeit briefly. Calmly and patiently, he settled them down, assuring them that he and his guest were fine, uninjured, and that nothing had been damaged. Perhaps it had been a small earthquake, he agreed, but all was well, so they should just go about their business as usual. It took a little convincing, but the servants finally dispersed, not before looking to Ayden as if to make sure she was not hurt, as well.

The unexpected cacophony that greeted them as he opened the door was enough to wipe the smile from Ayden's face, pulling her back from his side to hide behind him rather than be in the full view of all those people. It wasn't like her to be shy, exactly, but Ares had made it so clear that these people were his employees, his staff, that she had no idea how to behave around them. The curious glances sent her way didn't help, either, feeling herself blush under the scrutiny. As the gathering dispersed, she squeezed Ares' hand, frowning uncertainly. "Why do they stare at me so much?"

"I have never brought a woman here before," he replied with a smile as he turned to touch his fingers to her cheek. "Be glad you don't speak Greek, or you might never get a moment's peace," he said with an amused smirk. "Especially the women. I've heard them whispering. They think we're lovers." This seemed to amuse him for some reason. His servants were not entirely wrong, but nor were they entirely right just yet.

He smiled to himself and hugged her to him, glad to have helped her in some way, to have given her some comfort at last when she'd given him so much. "You have been too worried about me," he admitted. "But I do not think that is why you have not dreamed of him. You are an Oracle, Ayden. If it was going to happen, you would have seen it."

"You're right," she murmured wonderingly, finally realizing just how long he must have watched her to know that little piece of information about her Sight. A tiny smile touched her lips at that thought, the worry for her brother easing away in the face of this logical reasoning, fading in the light of Ares' care for her. She raised her head, showing him that smile. "Thank you." And again, on impulse, without even thinking of the feeling that urged her on, she rose onto her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips, wanting to share with him that lightening of her heart that he had given her.

She had given him so much more than he could ever give her in return, or so he thought. She had renewed his hope and his faith in people, and more importantly, she had given him a reason to live again. He returned her kiss with one of his own, not only of gratitude but of growing desire and affection. Each moment spent with her only deepened the burgeoning feelings that were burning in his heart. Breaking gently from her lips, he smiled fondly down at her. "Come. There is something I wish to show you."

His smile found an echo in her own as they drew apart, still amazed that he loved her at all but growing accustomed to the feeling of being loved by a god. And aware, deep in her heart, that there was something binding her to him that was stronger than anything she'd felt before, something she need only gather the courage to face and name before she could share that with him as well. "If you're just waiting for the right time to take your pants off, I have to disappoint you and say I've already seen it," she drawled teasingly. "Now there's a view that'll be etched into my memory for all time."

He smiled at her teasing, feeling renewed vigor now that he was no longer pained by that festering wound. "I hope you were not disappointed. I do not think the statues made in my likeness do me justice," he remarked as he linked an arm with her to lead her not toward the library but down the hallway toward a closed door.

She giggled, hugging to his arm as he continued, finally, on his way, leading her toward this mysterious something that he wanted to show her. "You know, I read somewhere that a couple of hundred years ago, some scholars went around cutting off all the statues' dicks and replacing them with teeny ones or fig leaves," she commented mildly, knowing this would either make him laugh, or infuriate him. Either way, it was funny to think that somewhere in a dusty, forgotten room, was a box labeled "Phallus of Ares, God of War".

It might have enraged the Ares of the past, but this Ares only found it amusing. It was just a work of art after all, and there was a good reason it didn't bother him, one which she was about to find out. "Perhaps it is for the best. I expect that is not a sight you would wish to share with the rest of the world." He needed no key to open the door, which to anyone else appeared locked. He simply opened the door and stepped inside.

This earned him another giggle, twinned with a soft blush as she noted that he'd obviously noticed the beginnings of an odd sort of possessiveness in her. She'd made no claim on him, but the thought of his being with anyone else made her angry to consider. Was that all part and parcel of what was growing in her heart' "I don't think anyone likes to share that much," was all she said, stepped with him through the door and into the space beyond.

"You might be surprised," he replied as he led her into his most private and secret of places. The room, for lack of a better word, was a large space, not unlike the library, but filled with different sort of treasures, all of them obviously very old. Artifacts, really. Weapons, paintings, scrolls, very old tomes, as well as couches and furniture reminiscent of ancient Greece. This was his private place, his true sanctuary, but not only that, this was where Ares kept his most cherished treasures. And though it was an unexpected place for it, in the very corner of the room stood a statue, one that was quite obviously one intended to depict himself and one that had never been seen or shared by the rest of the modern world.

Whatever she had expected, it wasn't to be transported back to Ancient Greece in a time capsule of a room that took her breath away. Ayden couldn't have named even half of the things she was looking at, but even she knew they were far, far older and more valuable than even the most ambitious archaeologist's treasure trove. Her eyes skimmed over bronze weapons in pristine condition, over a hoplon shield emblazoned with the face of the Gorgon, over golden armor that had clearly been created solely for the Olympian who stood beside her. She took in the archaic artwork, the carefully stacked scrolls of papyrus ....even the carving on the couches and other furniture was exquisite and ancient. And then, drawn to it by a force she couldn't possibly have identified, she found herself looking up at a statue of Ares himself, one she had never seen before in any book or photograph, one she doubted anyone had ever even hoped might still exist in the modern era.

He had, over the centuries and millenia, somehow saved all these things, stored them away in secret places around the world. This was his pride and joy, and no one had ever been allowed to enter this inner sanctum in all the long years of its existence. He said nothing for a long time, letting her take it all in, absorb it, knowing it must be more than a little overwhelming to discover it all. It did not take a historian or an archaeologist or a scholar to appreciate the value of these treasures.

"I have never brought anyone here, until now." And by no one, he meant no one. Not even his sister Hebe had been allowed to enter this place. No curator, no caretaker, no servant, no Olympian. No one but himself, and now Ayden. He wondered if she could possibly understand how great and rare a gift he had just given her.

She didn't know what to say. It was such an honor to be in this room, such a rare privilege, that no words could possibly do justice to any thanks she might have given him for allowing her to see all this. Surrounded as she was by so much that he so obviously treasured, Ayden truly was speechless. He had kept all of this, cared for all of this, for more than two thousand years, clinging to the world he had known, the culture that was such a part of him. How did you not love someone as sentimental as that' Caught up in her admiration of everything in the room, she almost missed his words, turning back to him as he spoke, her eyes alight with tender awe and that unspoken affection, appreciating finally that he really did love her. Without another moment of thought, she moved to him, drawing him down into a kiss that displayed no shyness, no lack of experience ....nothing but that ever-present desire, not just to have him but to please him, to show him just how deeply he had touched her.

She was right in her assumption that the book was filled with his memories, his take on history from his own point of view and experiences. It wasn't a complete history of the Olympians, as he did not know every story and experience of each and every one of them, but it was his history, his memoirs, not told by Homer or Euripides or Herodotus. It was the story of his life as told by Ares, the God of War, the son of Zeus, the Champion of Olympus.

Yes, some of it was personal, but in all his years of existence, he had never told it to anyone. It had taken years of work to write it all down, centuries even, and in that moment, he realized that he had not written it for himself or for the history books. He had written it to be read by one person and one person only, and that person was her. "I wrote this so that someday someone would know and understand the truth. I want that someone to be you, Ayden." She did not have to read it today or tomorrow or a year from now. She did not even need to read it at all, but he needed her to know that if she wanted to know the truth according to Ares, it was there, all of it. He had no more secrets and nothing to hide, not from her.

Touched once more by his faith in her, his unswerving certainty that she was what he wanted, Ayden couldn't quite bring herself to point out that she wouldn't understand a word of it. Not yet. But then, hadn't he promised to teach her Greek" She would be able to read it, someday. A tender smile softened her face as she held his gaze, nodding her acceptance of what he was offering her. "Then I'll read it," she promised him. "When I can."

He flushed almost bashfully, embarrassed suddenly that he'd been so vehement about the importance of the book, but honesty was important to him. They could say what they wanted about him, but he, at least, was no liar. He suddenly seemed to realize that he had very little left to show her, other than the villa itself, the gardens, the beach, the town. "You must think me foolish, to bring you here and show you these things."

She was shaking her head even before he finished, that tender smile not once leaving her face. "Ares, you're a lot of things, but you're not a fool," she told him firmly. Her gaze turned to take in the room and its precious contents. "All this ....it's a part of you, and a part that you keep hidden from the whole world. You're letting me see that part of you. It's an honor. I hope I don't let you down."

His heart leaped into his throat, afraid for just a split second that she might be having second thoughts about him, that he might have overwhelmed her with too much all at once. "I have made many mistakes over the years, Ayden. Patience has never been one of my best traits, but I will be patient. I will wait for you, but do not make me wait too long. Life is too short for mortals, and I do not wish to lose you."

"I think you've already got me," she said softly, nothing but sincere honesty in her eyes as she held his gaze. "But what you're offering me ....marriage, immortality, becoming an Olympian ....it's just too big for me to grasp right now. It means changing my entire life, every plan I've ever made, every hope I had for my future - it's all suddenly dwarfed by this enormous promise you've made me, and ....I can't focus on it. But that really is just a matter of time, and it won't be very long in your concept of time. Months or a year, at most. I don't think you need to be patient for long."

"It doesn't have to be that way," he pointed out. "You wish to be a physician. You can still accomplish that. These people, here in this town, they would welcome you. They would embrace your presence here and accept you as one of their own. It will take time, yes, but it will happen. Think of all the good you could do, all the things you could learn, the people you could help. It's not just about me or you. We are called Gods for a reason. Oh, there is much debate about the word, I know. But we love the human race. It is why we are here; it is why we came back. It is not so much about power as it is about love, Ayden. Can Heaven or Hell make that claim' They would have destroyed the world without a thought, and for what? What would that have accomplished" So, you see, Ayden, your brothers - Samuel and Dean - they are not just heroes among your own people, but they are revered among mine, as well."

It was a lot to say all at once, and he wondered if any of it made any sense, as he turned away from her, his fingers brushing the cover of that leather-bound volume again. "All anyone ever wants is to be loved and understood and remembered, whether they are God or man."

For all that she understood what he said to her, Ayden didn't think he had understood her at all. She felt scolded again, frowning as he turned away, looking down at her empty hands, feeling as though the explanation she had tried to give of her feelings had just been brushed aside. But then, how did you explain to an immortal being the ties that bound a mortal life? She swallowed, feeling suddenly like an intruder, here in this place that was a temple to his memories, itching to run away and hide and indulge the ridiculous urge she felt to cry, simply because he wasn't hearing her. And she didn't know how to tell him. Every time she thought she'd explained herself, tried to put into words what she was feeling, something always happened to make her doubt her ability to express her own thoughts and emotions. Hurt that he didn't seem to care that she was struggling with even the concept of becoming as he was, she shook her head abruptly, brushing her hair back out of her eyes. "I think I need some air."

What could he say to that' He had tried to explain that her life didn't have to change as much as she thought it did, but perhaps she didn't want her life to change at all. Perhaps he had simply overwhelmed and overloaded her with too much information. Perhaps he was seeing things too much from his own perspective, but he didn't know what it was like to be mortal, and she had no idea what it was to be like him, as much as he'd tried to explain it. He thought he was giving her a gift, the greatest gift a god could ever offer, and he didn't quite understand how difficult it was for her to accept it or even grasp it. He only shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head, and the door opened with a sweep of his hand, allowing her to leave the stuffiness of his inner sanctum, if she so desired. "You need time. I understand. I am sorry. I didn't mean to rush you."

She nodded, feeling the sting of the dismissal implied in his gesture and words, her throat tightening as she turned stiffly to walk toward the door. But she couldn't bring herself to walk away without telling him what had done the damage, without being honest with him, as she had been since the moment they had met. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back. "I know you don't understand," she said softly, "and I know I'm really bad at explaining myself. You don't have to understand. But you need to at least acknowledge that I am really struggling here, and you can't just dismiss what I'm feeling or make it all better by pushing more and more information at me. It's too much." She had to stop, the tightness of her throat making it difficult to speak without betraying blatantly how close she was to crying. "It hurts that you can't even acknowledge that I'm having trouble with this. And I'm sorry, but I won't lie to you. That's why I need some air, because ....because it feels like you just ignored me when I'm trying to share with you what I'm feeling." A drop of water hit her chest, and she whirled away suddenly, not wanting him to see that he had, inadvertently, made her cry.

"A....scrapper?" he echoed, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the word. "I am not sure I know what you mean," he said, looking only further confused.

"I fight dirty," she translated for him, and with that new-found confidence that had come with offering herself to him without a moment's hesitation, she reached down and spanked his rear end hard, just once. Pulling away, her giggles filtered back to him as she turned to run along the hall toward the stairs, glancing back just once in an obvious invitation to chase her, very much a young girl in the first flush of love.

"Women are confusing," he muttered to himself. There was no doubt about it. A few minutes ago she was railing at him, followed by weeping, and now she was giggling like a schoolgirl and playfully slapping his rear. What was a God to think" He thought he should have probably paid more attention when Hebe was trying to explain women to him several centuries ago. But he couldn't help but chuckle at her playfulness, leaving the treasures and memories of the past - both good and bad - behind and following her from the room. The door automatically closed and locked behind him as he followed her down the hall with a hasty step that was not quite running but quicker than walking.

Hebe would certainly have approved of a mortal girl who was prepared to abuse the God of War's backside and run away laughing. Hearing Ares' footfalls on the tile behind her, Ayden accelerated, rushing headlong down the stairs to the next level, looking around wildly for the steps that would take her down to the ground level. She hadn't been anywhere in the villa but these two floors - her pursuer had a distinct advantage, even if he didn't choose to use his natural abilities to catch her.

He had even more of an advantage than she might think and he wasn't afraid to cheat, forgetting for a minute that his servants were unaware of his divine nature and thought him human. A moment later and he was no longer where she had left him, but standing right in front of him, appearing so quickly and abruptly that she was likely to run right into him.

And run into him, she did, letting out a laughing shriek of surprise as the clear way ahead of her suddenly became a strong chest and enclosing arms, blocking her escape as she giggled playfully. Shaking her hair out of her eyes, she leveled a teasing glare up at him, pouting like a child. "That's not fair!"

"I was not aware there were rules to this game," he pointed out, as he caught her around the waist, a dimpled, boyish grin back on his face, blond hair falling over his forehead. "Would you like to see the garden, Miss Milligan, or would you prefer to further rouse the curiosity of my staff with a game of tag?" he asked with a bright twinkle of green eyes. Whether they were aware of it or not, their laughter had drawn the attention of a few servants who were peering curiously at them from the hallway.

"Oh, there are always rules," she grinned, heedless of the curious eyes on them as she swayed in his arms impishly. "That I reserve the right to change at any moment." She reached up to flick his hair back out of his face, the gesture so familiar that they might almost have been married already. "I was heading for the garden, actually, Mr. Ares," she added, still drawling out her teasing with easy laughter. "Just as soon as I work out where the stairs are."

"Oh?" he asked, arching a single blond brow, an obviously amused expression on his face, as unaware as she was of the onlookers who were giggling and whispering to each other. They'd never seen their master with a woman before, and they had certainly never seen him in such a mood as this. He was almost always very serious and somber. "And just how did you think you were going to find the garden without my help, Miss Milligan?" he repeated the formal address, just because it amused him. He actually used a surname here in Greece, but as of yet, he had not shared it with her.

"Dumb luck and stubborn ignorance," she informed him with a mischievous quirk to her smile, leaning close as her arms wrapped about his waist. And just because there hadn't been any retribution last time, his rear got another spank, followed by what could only be described as a possessive fondle. "I want to see your garden, with you, and make out under the sun."

"Hmm," he mused quietly, flashing a mischievous smirk of his own. "Which garden are we talking about?" he teased, as though the word might allude to something else. He wasn't quite sure what make out meant, but he managed to put two and two together, chuckling as she spanked him again, followed by a grope that only encouraged him. "Then, by all means, let's go see the garden," he said, sliding his arms around her waist and hoisting her onto his shoulder to the audible giggles of a couple of servants who were watching.

Ayden squealed as he hoisted her up as though she weighed nothing, dangling over his shoulder in a flail of arms and legs. Thankfully, she didn't hear their audience laughing at the spectacle they put on, or she might well have retreated into herself again. But caught up in just playing, in just being herself in a way she hadn't been able to since before her mother's death, she let Ares do as he pleased with barely an ounce of protest, enjoying this lighter side of him as much as he seemed to enjoy her.

Without another word, he marched her - flailing arms and legs and all - down the stairs, through the house, past more gaping servants, and out the door that led to the gardens that surrounded the villa. "Stop wiggling, woman," he warned her, as he carried her through the house, "Before you put my eye out."

"How is this better than chasing me?" she asked in a laughing tone, each step he took shaking her on his shoulder as her hair fell in messy coils from her neck. "I have no dignity like this at all, you know."

"Oh, stop complaining," he scolded, though from his tone of voice, he was obviously not angry. "It is you who started it!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "As for your dignity, would you have the God of War chasing you through the house like a schoolboy' I would never hear the end of it!" Though in truth, he would probably never hear the end of it anyway after what his servants had just witnessed.

"I thought you were just a wealthy businessman here?" she countered, trying to keep her hair out of her mouth and eyes as he carried her further away from the house. "How is you carrying your random woman who arrived with no clothes around more dignified than chasing her?" She had a feeling they were moving in the direction of the olive grove she'd seen from the villa, but aside from a faint whiff of chlorine as they passed the pool, she had no point of reference to substantiate that suspicion.

"It was, in part, stubbornness, that kept me here, I suppose," he mused as he led her through the tangled, twisted grove of ancient trees, trees that stood in silent witness for centuries. It wasn't long before they came to a small clearing, much of it covered with growth, though if one looked hard, there could still be seen the remnants of a building that had once stood there. He let go of her hand in order to tug at a growth of vines, revealing the partial remains of a statue that had once stood proudly in vigil over this place.

Released from his grasp, Ayden watched as he drew the vines back from the remains of that statue, recognizable even in ruins as something made in honor of Ares, the god who had watched over these lands so very long ago. It was a marvel that no archaeologist had found this place, and she wondered if that was by design. It was a temple, or what was left of one, ancient but so revered that even though the walls had crumbled in places, the sturdy blocks that had held high honor to Ares still stood, marking out the sacred place dedicated to him. "Not stubbornness," she heard herself say softly in the stillness, recalling what he had said to her in his personal apartment at the villa. "You stayed out of love. That's why you're still here."

He frowned sadly as he looked on what remained of the statue and the temple that had once stood there in glorious honor of a god who had sworn to protect this place and these people above all others. These people had been good to him through the years, and yet, eventually, even they had forgotten him. It saddened him to know that he'd been forgotten and replaced after he'd given them so much, but he had long ago learned that nothing lasted forever and that humans did not live long enough to keep the old ways and traditions alive in a constantly changing world. But he did not argue with her statement, knowing she was right. It was love that had kept him here, love of the land and the people. Perhaps that was why it had broken his heart to have been so forgotten. "I bought all of the surrounding land long ago so that this place, especially, would be protected, undisturbed by man."

She left his side then, fingertips gently skimming the pitted, weathered limbs that remained of his statue - maybe even the first ever raised to him - moving beyond that guardian of this sacred grove and into the ruins of the temple itself. There was quiet reverence in her silence, in the gaze that swept the ruins of what had once been great. Here there would have stood great columns; and there, an altar where offerings were made; and there, behind thick stone walls and strong wooden doors, would have been a treasure room, long since emptied. She couldn't help but wonder how many people had worshiped here, had dedicated themselves to the God of War, who was remembered now only as a petty, arrogant character of violence and jealousy in the myths and legends left behind. It saddened her to realize that he had been loved here, and because of that love, he had stayed, long past the days when he had been forgotten. How long had he waited, hoping to be loved again by a people who knew nothing of him"

He let her explore quietly, lost in his own thoughts, but there was more that needed to be said, if not for her sake than for his own. He had spoken of none of this to anyone all these years, only to his sister during her occasional visits, both of them lonely in their own way. The others had given up trying to convince him to come home long ago, but thankfully, they had not yet forgotten him, even if they ignored him and left him mostly to his own devices. "I tried not to get involved in the conflicts of men, many of them petty. So many years, so many wars. War is not a pleasant thing, Ayden. It is not meant to be a pleasant thing. There is a reason for that. War is horrible, terrible. Lives are disrupted and people are hurt and killed in horrific ways. Man has learned how to kill and wage war most efficiently without any help from me. I am not a warmonger, Ayden, but sometimes there are things that are worth fighting for. Troy was not one of them."

She paused by the altar stone once again, her fingers brushing over the thick softness of moss that had taken root there, lifting her eyes to him as he spoke. "Of course you're not a warmonger," she told him, her voice still quiet in the stillness. "You were never a warmonger. You preside over wars, but you don't start them. Without you, there wouldn't be any rules when men start killing each other over religion or power or money. Without you, humanity would have killed itself a long time ago."

"Perhaps," he mused aloud. "How does the saying go....Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely' I have seen great men, great warriors become corrupt in their need to conquer, in their egotistical need for greatness, never satisfied, always wanting more." He didn't have to name names - there were plenty of names to choose from through the ages. "And now we must fight one of our own to save humanity from destruction, when it is nothing short of a miracle that they have not destroyed themselves by now. They have forgotten us, and still we watch over them." Or at least, one of them did.

"This war is one of Zeus' making," Ayden reminded him gently, not wanting to offend him but needing to let him know that she knew the reason Hades wanted his brother dead. "He tricked his eldest brother into taking the Underworld, and locked him out of Olympus. It's a long time to hold a grudge, but the dead never forget. Why should the one who rules them be any different?" She turned to face him. "You're not forgotten," she promised him softly. "Not worshiped the way you once were, but you haven't been forgotten. I knew the names of the Greek Gods before I was ten years old. You're a part of us, a part that we can't let go of. And this is your time again."

"That is not the point, Ayden," Ares interjected. "Whether it is the fault of Zeus or Hades, it is the human race who will suffer for their disagreement, and I will not stand by and do nothing while the Earth is laid to waste." It was obvious from his tone of voice that he was passionate about what he was saying, angry at both his father and uncle for using the Earth as their battleground. "I am forgotten," he contradicted, softening a little, that sad look in his eyes again. "I am no more than a myth, a legend, a story told to school children to entertain and amuse. I was once the Champion of Olympus, and this is what I have now become." He gestured with a sweep of his arm at their surroundings. "I am as forgotten and neglected as this place. Do you know what they would have done to it if I had not rescued it?"

"Which they are you talking about?" she asked, a pertinent question in light of their conversation. "The Olympians, or humanity' I know what humanity would have done - they would have learned from it, learned all they could about you, about the people who built this place for you. They would have done to this place what has been done to Delphi, and to the Parthenon, and to Knossos on Crete. They would have learned."

"What would they have learned, Ayden" They would defiled this place, stripped it of its beauty, and made it another point of interest for the curious. No, it is better this way. This land is too lovely to turn into a tourist trap. Hotels on the beach," he said, turning toward the sea they could hear lapping at the beach even from here, though they could not see it, and sweeping an arm to indicate a line of invisible hotels. "Restaurants, nightclubs, casinos. I did not want that to happen, not here. This place is too beautiful, too peaceful. I had the villa built here so that I could make this place my home. No one will ever take this land from me. Ever. I will not allow it."

She couldn't help smiling a little, touched by how passionate he was about this one small reminder of a time that had begun long before the words were ever written to record it. "What did they do here?" she asked then, turning his mind away from the gaudiness of modern humanity and back toward the past. "How did they worship Ares, God of War, in his temple?"

There was no rational thought left in his head as he drew her down to the soft bed of moss-covered ground within the grove of trees that had once been a sacred place dedicated to his worship. He had told her earlier - five days or five hundred years would not make a difference. He loved her, needed her, wanted her for his own. They were not just meaningless words, but words that came from the depths of his immortal heart. He kissed her again and again, each kiss growing ever more full of passion and feeling as his hands moved over her, slowly exploring every peak and valley.

Laid down beneath him, she was as much his slave as his master, desperate to be touched, frantic to touch for herself. She wanted this, more than she could ever recall having wanted anything, swept up in the rich sensuality of the moment as she eased those clever fingers beneath the cling of his t-shirt. As his hands covered her, she felt new sensations crowding to be felt and experienced in the wake of his touch, impatient to have those hands on her skin, eager to savor every last second. As her knee rose to press her thigh to his side, gathering him into the cradle of her legs, skirt falling to her hip, she moaned his name, as much a sound of worship as any, falling from the lips of a woman very close to being in love with her god.

At twenty-three years of age, she was young, but she was no child. She knew what was supposed to take place between a man and a woman in the throes of love, but she had never experienced it. As her teacher and her first lover, he wanted to be as gentle and as loving as he could, but with her moaning his name, their bodies pressed so close together, heartbeat to heartbeat, he could not resist the heat that was building between them. Together they were reaching the point of no return, but he was unable to stop, knowing that once they passed a certain point, there would be no turning back.

He didn't say a word, only paused a moment to look down at her, as if he was silently asking what she wanted, searching her eyes for an answer. Did she want him to stop or go on' This was the point of no return.

He left her breathless once again, her arms buried beneath his shirt, pressed to the warm, supple expanse of his back as she whimpered at the loss of his lips against hers. Her eyes opened, stormy with need, pleading for him not to change his mind without a word as she stared into his eyes. If he let her linger too long, the natural fear would come back, and she didn't want to be afraid of him. She just wanted to be his. Some instinct made her move in a slow undulation beneath him, arching her back as her hips pressed to his once again, catching her breath at the feel of him even through their clothing. "Please," she heard herself whisper in the stillness of the forgotten temple. "Don't stop ..."

What better place to make love to her for the first time but that place that had once been the temple dedicated to his worship" Who was he to deny her" She clearly wanted him as much as he wanted her. Five days or five hundred years, they had waited long enough. Time would not change his feelings for her. In that moment, he made his decision, throwing caution to the wind, daring all the gods to stop him, to try and come between them. He dropped the shield from around his heart that he had long ago put in place to protect him, taking her completely into his arms and his heart and his life with one kiss that was deeper and more passionate than all the rest, answering her desire with his own. He felt her move against him, building the friction of desire between them, nearly to a point where he thought it might drive him to madness. He fingers found her thighs, sliding upwards to disappear beneath her skirt, searching for the place that held a woman's deepest secrets to make her completely his.

His kiss drew a moan from her that could not have been more loving if she had tried, not simply a sound of desire but a sound that illuminated the tenderness of feeling she was accumulating for him. She might not yet have words for it, but it was there for him to see and feel. She felt her skin tingle in the wake of his fingers as his hands slipped beneath her skirt, that first touch from hands not her own bringing with it a sharp gasp that encouraged more than it objected. Her hands tightened on him in response, grasping him to her as she ravished his mouth with hungry kisses, sweetly inexperienced but a fast learner at the hands of this god. Reluctant lips broke from his just long enough to force his t-shirt over his head, to bare the magnificence of his torso to her touch, before she moaned once again at the brush of his fingers, arching to him in her need.

He felt her fingers graze his skin, with a touch that sent an almost electrical jolt through his body, making even an Olympic god moan with delight. She seemed to think she was ready for him, eager for his touch, for him to take her and claim her for his own, but he was experienced enough to know that it was not so simple. If he took her too soon, there would be pain, and while there would be pain either way, he didn't wish her first time to be unpleasant. As trembling as he was with desire, he was unhurried in his attention to her needs, her desires, her pleasure, taking his time to bring her to the brink of pleasure, to the point at which she might be ready for him with the least amount of pain and friction. He readied her with gentle, pliant fingers and soft, attentive lips, until he deemed she was ready and could wait for him no longer.

He drew from her a fever she'd never realized it was in her power to feel, a burning need that swept aside any hint toward hesitation or fear, overwhelming her rational mind with the most basic of loving instincts. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly where to touch, how to touch, when to tease and when to relent, driving her ever higher into that feverish sense of wildness until she could barely recall her own name. But it was his name on her lips always ....no endearments, no declarations to an unnamed god, but Ares, over and over again, whispered, cried out, moaned, offered up in tender prayer until she thought she might burst into flames if she didn't have him.

And perhaps most importantly, he knew just when to stop, to leave her wanting more, so that he didn't take her all the way until they were both ready. It was only when he knew she was ready, when she was cresting so close to the pinnacle of ecstasy that he took her, claiming her for himself and making her his. She had offered herself to him, and he had accepted her offering, taking her virtue and leaving his mark upon her so that there was no mistaking that she belonged to him and no other.

He had done his job so well that if there was any pain, she barely acknowledged it, her cry one of delight that echoed around the secluded grove as he claimed her for his own entirely. She might not yet be able to say it, but there was little doubting that Ayden loved her Greek God, more than lust shining in her eyes as she gazed into his, slowly but surely learning this ancient dance between lovers under his guidance. Perhaps it wasn't the romantic moment girls were taught to hope for, but it was hers. Here, in the first temple of Ares, the last temple to remain inviolate, the first step had been taken to acclaiming the God of War as well and truly taken.

((Something tells me Dean's going to get the cliff-notes version of this little side trip. Awesomungus thanks to Ares' player!))