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Hercules...how I miss thee.
The High Priest
PG-13
Summary: Strife remembers and waits in an old temple.
The crumbling building had been consumed by wildlife as time went on. The vines busted through the mortar and mold crept up from the ground to cover the smooth stone walls. A storm about a decade before had partially collapsed the roof, exposing in the inside to sunlight and weather. The forest was pushing up through the floor, gradually tearing the place to shreds.
It was depressing as Tarturas, but beautiful in a way a being of chaos could appreciate. Even the alter was beginning to show signs of wear. Originally, it had been a perfect slab of black, white-veined marble, now it had lost it's gleam. The dirt of a century of neglect had gathered, filming the surface.
The whole building was one medium sized room, an old forgotten temple. There were no decorations, at least none that had survived, besides the altar. Only the writing around the doorpost (the door itself had been ruined in the same storm that took the roof and now hung at a strange angle away from the wall) would tell the story of the temple. If anyone ever found it.
Strife laid his head down in his arms with a small sigh. The altar was cool even through his leathers, but made for a different resting place. Beneath him, the hum of long faded blood sacrifices made for a pleasant song. It had been blood spilled in his name. The only place in Greece that he had been worshipped as a singular god, instead of part of the House of War.
Abandoned as it was, he liked to visit it every so often. It reminded him of good times. Times after his mother, but before Ares had become bitter. Lying on the alter, eyes closed, he could smell Theron's sweat as the boy labored with the stones stolen from a local quarry.
)*(
"Let go of me!" The boy screamed writhing against the hands grasping at his flesh. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"
"You're nothing, but trouble!" His mother spat at him. "Worthless little thing, pulling tricks on you're poor mother!"
Theron squirmed against her hold, holding back tears. When he finally managed to win his way free of her, he fled into the busy village. He hadn't meant to arouse her hatred as much as he had, but it he'd thought she'd laugh at the pig chasing it's own tail trying to bite at the scrap of food he'd tied there. How was he supposed to know the stupid thing would bite it's own flesh to get a morsel of food?
Teary eyed, he ducked into the local temple. It was the only completely stone building in the village. It was an older temple, built when the village had been more important. When it had been dedicated to Ares. It remained dedicated to the war god, but there were other, smaller temples that people came to more often. What use did farmers have for a War god?
But, Theron liked it. He felt protected there like someone outside of the town knew all about him and cared for him. Bastard son to woman with more mood swings then a young son could predict. So he came here, kneeled before the stone altar. He never sacrificed anything. The priest rarely came out of his room anymore and the two or three villagers who voluntary cleaned the temple only came at night after the day's work was done.
Mostly, Theron had the place to himself and today, he curled up next to the great stone and let silent tears trickled down from clear gray eyes. His shoulders shook and snot soon clogged his nose and head.
Strife watched from the doorway. Ares had sent him to gather some of the daily sacrifices. It basically included taking the choice bits of food and collecting up whatever energy hadn't made it up to the god. Usually, the job took less then a few hours and wasn't necessary unless Ares needed a reason to Strife out of his hair.
He'd come to Andreus with the intention of scooping up some of the prime dates they grew, but instead came upon the strange scene before him. There was no about in the temple, save a little boy crying his heart out. With power that was second nature, Strife read the boy's thoughts, quickly gleaning why Theron had run to the temple for sanctuary.
"I sympathize kid." Strife muttered, catching glimpses of motherly affection that turned so quickly to rage. With an invisible touch, Strife soothed away the headache the boy was crying himself into and gave him a little strength. "Won't always be like this, kiddo. Some time you'll get ta do your own thing."
It was a small promise, easily fulfilled if Strife remembered in a few years. He picked up a bowl of dates and flashed out, before the boy could register that anything had happened.
)*(
The god drew patterns in the dust of the altar. If he hadn't met Theron or made that promise, he probably wouldn't be here, acting like a wistful moron. Making a promise to a mortal, one with a minor compulsion to remind himself of that promise.
)*(
"THERON! Get in the house, now!!"
A dirty blonde head rose quickly, eyes widening in fear. The other boys stared at him, smirks curdling their previously pleasant looks. For a moment, he had almost believed that he could have gotten involved in their game. So close and then his crazy mother had to ruin it.
Everyone around town knew to avoid Damara. She was crazy old woman, who claimed to be visited by the gods and was forever disappointed that her son wasn't the demigod she had claimed. Theron knew now, from the whispers of the village, that he was no more then the son of a whore, who had been known to service soldiers as they passed through the village. Perhaps that's why he liked Ares' temple. Solider blood was in his veins, pulsing with war.
He kept the idea of the temple in his head as he trudged towards home, his mother's face contorted with anger, peering through the door. He'd persuaded the old priest to train him in service of the temple. The old man had no sons and since he rarely ventured outside, didn't know of Theron's shame. Instead, he taught the boy what he knew. Including how to read and that was a glorious thing by itself. Sometimes the thought of words in his mind were all that kept him from dying.
"You stupid stupid boy. Don't you ever listen to me?" The first blow landed as soon as he walked in to the door. "I told you to never play with those nasty boys. You know they don't want to talk with you or play your games."
"But Mana!"
"Don't you, but Mana me! I know you think they want to be your friend." Another blow rained down on him. "But you better listen to me because one of these days I won't be looking out the windows and one of your 'friends' is going to hold you down and take."
Tears stung at his eyes. For a long time, he hadn't known what she meant by these speeches, but reading the temple scrolls and watching the other boys from afar had enlightened him. He knew what his mother meant. Fear quacked through him when he remembered the boys smirking at him.
"I'm sorry." He said softly. "I won't do it again."
"Of course not." Her sigh surprised him, along with the gentle hand on his head. "You don't know that you're beautiful, my son. You don't know what happens to beauty that is weak."
Slyly, he catches a glimpse of her face and can see the hard memories burning in her eyes. He knew suddenly that he had been conceived in the angry lust that she so feared for him. All the mood swings, all the insanity had been from her torn feelings about her son, the son of a rapist. When she saw that he was taking after her, delicate, blonde and pretty, she had hidden him away from the world. A surge of love came to him then and he knew that no matter what happened between them, at least now he understood.
This time, Strife was in the window sill, called by the compulsion he had created for himself a decade before. The boy had been banished from his mind until the gentle pull drew him back here. A decade was a long time and Strife could see why the mother was so worried. Beautiful slim boy with a cascade of thick blonde hair and those strange gray eyes. Theron had the victim look. He could cause a lot of trouble with those looks, but not in Andreus where he was so well known. A foreign city though....he could wind masters around those long nimble fingers.
He 'listened' to the boy and shivered with echoed emotion. How old had he been when he first questioned Discord about his father? Around twenty, maybe thirty. Theron was fifteen, a little early, but mortals had less time and did everything a little faster.
Strife, of course, had been a lot less forgiving. When she wouldn't tell him, he had left. Walked out of her temple and into the wide harsh world of Olympus. Once Ares recruited him, Strife moved his things into Ares' main temple and never entered his childhood home again.
He had promised Theron that he could fulfill the destiny he desired and he wasn't going to begrudge him that. For the second time in Theron's short life he was touched by a god.
Weeks later, he was cast out from the village, his mother crying as she packed a small bag while he bemusedly watched. It had all happened so quickly. The old priest had died, naming Theron as his successor. The villagers had been horrified that a bastard child of a crazy woman would be tending to the sacred place. They had almost torn him to shreds, but some voice of sanity had suggested exile and the suggestion was readily taken up.
Now he was leaving the only place he'd ever known. A part of him crowed in triumph while the other wept in fear. Mostly, he was numb and as he started down the dirt road towards his future, he didn't feel the eyes that followed him.
)*(
Strife remembered the years that followed warmly. Theron traveled to the great city-states nearby, living with fellow exiles, bards, thieves and traveling heroes. And Strife had followed, a silent partner in every crazed expedition. The youth worked quite a reputation over him, so that by the time he had been on the road three years, some Athenian admirer had dubbed him Master of Mischief.
)*(
A chipmunk ran through the temple and into it's burrow. The foundation was cracking. The god rolled onto his back, staring up at the trees and sky. Leaves whispered secrets between the trees and it was as beautiful a day as the one Theron had come face to face with Strife at last.
)*(
"Master Mischief! I had not thought to see you in these parts again, what with the bounty on yer head." The burly man served the young man a drink, smiling broadly.
"Oh, that's all been settled now. I've paid my debts."
"How do you repay a high standing man like Epinon for taking his favorite's daughters chastity?"
Theron smiled mysteriously, before pulling from his pocket a purse heavy with drachma.
"Anyone who wants a drink tonight has it on me!" The young man announced. "And before you ask, my curious friend, the money is completely legitimate. "
"By the bosom of Aphrodite, lad!"
The money disposed of, Theron leaned back to enjoy his well-earned drink. He could feel the hungry stares of those around him. Let them look, looking cost nothing. He knew that he had grown into a slight, beautiful man whose body was a weapon in more ways then one. The body his mother had always feared would get him killed had turned him into a Master. He wanted for nothing, living as he would, sleeping with who he pleased and alone when he wished it.
Maybe not alone. Frowning, he thought of the intensifying feeling of being watched. Ever since he was a child, he knew that someone was with him, taking care of him and giving him the speed to get away from any would be attacker. Lately though, that feeling had become stronger to the point he could feel himself becoming gradually more paranoid, looking over his shoulder at every turn.
The follower meant well, obviously or he would long ago have made his move. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't some crazed ex-lover looking for blood or one of the many assassins sent to take debts from his flesh.
A scream at the door brought him back to the present. Three armed men had walked into the bar, scanning the tables.
"Our lord Epinon has sent us in search of the one they call Master of Mischief. " The leer on the thugs face told Theron all he needed to know. Epinon had not been satisfied with his single day bedding him. He wanted him on a more permanent basis and if that meant taking him by force then so be it.
Discreetly, Theron looked for an exit. None. He would have to fight his way out. The three men could be taking out with a little trouble and minimum effort, if no one else got in his way.
"Our lord gave us a fine bit of drachma to the man who finds him."
The room which previously had seemed so friendly, turned greedy eyes to him. An image of children smiling at him rose from the past as he tried to suppress his fear. No exit. A room of angry men.... this was it. Mischief was finally going to...
Wind up in the middle of the forest and what the Tarturus just happened?
There's someone standing before him, but in his confusion, Theron can't register him as more then a smudge of pale skin and black leather.
"Who? What?" He closed his eyes, trying to take a long breath.
"You know who I am, you've been using my name for the last few years." A rictus grin spread over the pale face.
Theron fell to his knees.
"Forgive me, lord. I meant no harm."
"Hey." Pale hand on his face. "It's cool. I wouldna let you live if I didn't think it was all right. You're a lot kinds of okay."
"You!" Theron surged to his feet, recognizing the voice. "It was you, the whole time! You're the one that watches me! Since I was a child....but why? Who am I to you?"
Strife's grin faded a little and he looked off into the distance.
"We've got a lot in common. And I knew you'd be something great if you had someone helping."
"But you're....you're a god! What could we have in common?" He stared openly, no longer fearing his safety. This was his guardian. The person who freed him from a life of peasantry.
"It doesn't matter. You're free to go, ya know. The road is your concubine and all that."
For a long moment, Theron hesitated, staring at the creature before him in a mix of awe, fear and anticipation. This lean wild thing had given him his charmed life. The son of Discord had come to him of all people.
"Where can I thank you, lord? Where can I go to give you the worship you deserve from my unworthy hands?"
Strife stared at him, momentarily confused. Blue eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. Finally, after another moment of silence, he mumbled,
"Don't have a temple."
"You don't?!" The thought of an unworshiped god was unthinkable. Especially one who had taken such a personal interest in him.
"Nevah really got around to it." The energy in the clearing was picking up a little, but true to his title, Theron didn't flinch in the face of a little intensity.
"Then I guess I'll have to. Is here okay or do you have a preference?"
"Wha? You wanna build a temple? For me?" The power that had started to fill the forest died immediately.
"No god should be without one and where I'm I going to thank you from if you don't have a temple. So, is here good?"
Strife looked around the clearing. He had jumped Theron here because it was far enough away from any major roads that the boy could not easily be found, but close enough that in a days walk he could get to a decent highway that eventually led to Athens.
The clearing itself was good as clearings went. It had a few good trees, some rocks. Strife's knowledge of nature went far enough that he wouldn't pick flowers with the weeds when he was given the privilege of gardening with Hera or Gaia. Those occasions were rare enough that even that small parcel of information was dusty.
"Sure. This is cool. Do you need like stuff? Stone or whatever?" A temple. The idea was having a hard time fitting into his head.
"I don't think you're supposed to help build your own temple. I can manage it. Don't watch me for a few months while I build. It can be a sort of surprise."
"I'm supposed to trust yah, not to get in any trouble?" The God of Mischief locked eyes with the Master of same and for a long minute it looked like Theron was going to win. But Strife was still a god and the boy blinked first.
"Because even I don't have enough courage to go back on my word to a god."
That had to satisfy him for the time being, Strife flashed out, leaving Theron to begin his work. Every so often, he would watch from a distance, checking on the mortal. In all the years of keeping tabs on the boy, he couldn't kill the habit. He watched as Theron widened the clearing, uprooting several small trees. He watched him steal stones from a nearby quarry he had found. Originally it seemed Theron was going to content himself with an outdoor idol of some kind, but he had stumbled across the quarry while hunting for his dinner.
The temple grew and more and more often, Strife stayed away, finding himself wanting to be surprised. In the end, he didn't check on Theron for a month. He had been lounging in Olympus swapping dumb mortal stories with Hermes when he heard a whispering in his ear. It was faint, but insistent.
"Oh great lord of chaos, hear my prayer. I have erected this temple in your name and now dedicate it with this sacrifice..."
"Hephestus' in a dress, I gotta go, Herm. I'll catch ya latah!"
Strife flashed out, arriving just in time to see Theron slit the throat of a deer over a beautiful marble slab. An altar. His altar. Power pulsed through him in an intense wave. It was double the small prayers of children and thieves who appealed to him. The life blood intensified it, sending out waves of energy to give him a godly high.
"It's beautiful." He said into the silence. Theron turned, slowly, smiling at the stunned Mischief god. A smile that had bent great lords and ladies, full and golden. "Where did ya get the marble? It's fit for Ares' temple."
"Five days walk from here, there's a town whose temple was defiled. I remember walking through it a year ago and thinking it was a shame that all these relics were now abandoned and since no one goes in there, thinking it's a place that angers the gods..."
"Ya stole it." The rictus grin was back. "So how did ya drag it all the say here?"
"Tied it to some flat pieces of wood. It took me a week. One of the weeks that you weren't checking on me."
"How'd ya know 'bout that?" The god stared at the dirtied form of his sole worshipper.
"When you watch me, I can feel it. Like an itch between my shoulders." Theron said softly. "I've been able to since the first time you whispered in my ear."
"Huh. Weird." Strife surveyed the inside of the small stone dwelling, then walked outside, admiring the solid wood door and the writings chiseled into stone. He traced familiar letters with long bony fingers,
"Safety for all who enter here and offer their prayers to the God of Mischief. Any who defiles this place will find a most dreadful curse laid on their heads." He grinned. "You betcha. Anyone defiles my temple, they bettah say good-bye to their family jewels."
"You really never had one before?"
"Nah. Nevah had worshippers who cared enough ta do it. Most of mine need me for a minute or two. Not like harvest gods or war gods. I'm easy to forget." Strife let his hand slip. "Guess that makes you the high priest."
"I could live with that. Sounds better then Master of Mischief. I never liked that title anyway. High Priest of Strife has a good ring to it."
Strife concentrated for a moment and plucked something from the air.
"Ya evah need me, just hold on tight to this. It'll take ya back here." With that Strife was gone, leaving Theron to hang the tarnished silver pennant around his neck, slipping in under his shirt.
)*(
A noise outside, reminded Strife why he was here today. It wasn't to remember or enjoy the atmosphere, it was to discover who had been using his temple as hotel. Someone had been sleeping and eating in this place. He could see the remains and feel the traces of a mortal life. The worst of it was that the mortal had been praying, but not to Strife. The mortal was protected by another god, foiling Strife's attempts to trace him. For now he had to sit and wait.
Casually, he sat up, leaning against the still solid wall behind him. To imagine someone else's worshipper holeing up in his temple was enough to give any god hives, but to Strife it was infinitely worse. This was his only temple. It had been here that his High Priest raised his knife and here that Strife had done what he did with no other mortal before or since.
)*(
"Cerebus on a hunt! This is so not good." The alley was a dead end and the guards were coming up behind him fast. The framing job had apparently been a bust and Lord Climuses' thugs had already discovered the true culprit behind the whole silverware incident. It had been worth watching that pompous ass spill scalding broth on his pristine toga. That he got his wife in the process had been a bonus.
"We've finally got you, ya nasty runt!" Slurred one of the hired muscle.
"Sorry, wrong again!" Lightening quick, the silver was in his hand and his mind filled with the temple he had built with his own hands. The last view he had of the thugs was amusing enough that he landed in the grass laughing.
"Ya nevah get sick of makin' 'em look stupid, do ya?" Strife sat next to him on the grass, folding his legs impossibly in the black leather outfit.
"It's my job, lord Strife." Theron pointed out and then abruptly started laughing again. "And it's the best job in all of Greece."
"Glad yer happy." Absently, Strife reached over to pick a blade of grass from the mussed blonde hair. It was softer then he thought it would be. Theron sobered instantly at the touch, reaching up to catch Strife's hand in his own. The bond between them had grown the past two years, an understanding deeper then anyone else could reach. Gradually, Strife revealed his past, one piece at a time until Theron had a fairly good idea of why the god had chosen to guard him. Their lives had followed a similar path. One that drew them together.
This was the first time they had truly touched. It had never occurred to Theron to take such a liberty with a god, but Strife was no longer just a powerful being who had randomly chosen him. Strife was his friend, the only one he had. The only person he trusted. And he was beginning to think the feeling was mutual.
The hand was surprisingly ordinary besides it's unusual paleness. It was warm to the touch, the skin dry and smooth. The finger tips were calloused in the places of a thief. Leather, softer then it looked, skimmed over the palm. Theron sat up enough to touch his lips to the callouses.
"How do you have these?"
"I like ta work with my hands sometimes." The voice is the same as always, but Theron feels the faint tremble in the fingertips.
"Can I kiss you?" Theron asks. If he's going to try and seduce a god, then he might as well do it right.
"Sure." But he doesn't move. Maybe he's just used to others doing the work.
Carefully, Theron sat up, never letting go of the god's hand. Gently with his free hand, he cupped the smooth skin of Strife's face in his hands. Blue eyes waver uncertain and the quick pink tongue darted out to wet thin lips. Gently, Theron captured godly lips, pressing gently, sighing when they parted to allow him entrance. The kiss started at their lips, but Theron thought he could feel it all the way through his body down to the soles of his feet.
"You taste like fresh grapes and rain." He said when he could breath again.
"Ya taste like dates."
"Can I kiss you again?"
"Like, duh!"
The second kiss ended with Theron breathing hard and the place on his back that always itched when Strife watched him intensified to a lovely throb.
"If I ask to have sex with you would that be impious or a form of worship?"
"Oh, I think I could let it slide as worship."
They tangled together in the sweet grass, under the late afternoon sun dyeing everything golden.
)*(
The day was waning and Strife was beginning to think that whatever mortal had desecrated his temple had gotten enough sense to leave. He gave it one more hour and then he was out of here. He couldn't be in the temple at night. It was too painful, even for his masochistic side. The way the moonlight played havoc with shadows, anything could surface.
)*(
In theory, Strife had always known that Theron would die. After all, they had agreed that Theron would not accept the immortality that was rightfully his as Consort. It was too much to ask a man who lived on the edge to give up the thrill of mortality. Too much to ask him not to seek the last and greatest adventure in death.
Theory was so vastly different from the reality of it though. Theory was a bitch and a half, worse then a prostitute who painted her face to hide her years. And after this horror was over, Strife intended to rip her to shreds.
Because Theron was dying now. The death he would have wanted. One that caused havoc. In scaling the walls of a smallish city-state, his rope had snapped sending him on a lightening quick fall to the ground. Hundreds saw him falling, but no one saw where his body came to rest. He had managed to grab the pendant at the last moment, impacting and then disappearing. The search for his corpse went on for a week after the incident.
Meanwhile, he lay now on the altar he had once dragged for a week to fulfill his promise. Strife cradled his lover's broken body, weeping silvery tears. The wounds were beyond healing. Beyond help. Theron had not woken since his body arrived in the sweet grass that grew high around the temple. Strife had found him there and taken him inside to die.
It took three long days of painful breathing for him to die. In that time, Strife tried to memorize everything he could. Age had subtly altered the young beauty, giving him gravity and laugh lines. He had lived a full life and had dozens of scars to prove it. Strife memorized every inch, every imperfection, always keeping one hand right between the shoulder blades. It was there that Theron had always directed him to kiss.
The last breath came too soon after such a long wait. It came with the night and in the darkness of the stone dwelling, it seemed to Strife that he could watch the wispy soul rise from the body. It took form for an instant, a wink and a blown kiss and it was gone. WIthout too much thought, Strife moved through the motions they had agreed on long ago. With tender care, he prepared the body for the pyre, singing one long lament that sounded like a drawn out sob. He gathered whatever ashes he could and using godly powers, interned them in the marble altar that had been the set for many scenes between them.
)*(
The humming startled Strife out of his hardest memory. It came from outside, an upbeat tuneless hum that was threatening to become a song. With a thought, Strife made himself invisible to the human eye and waited.
He did not have long to wait before an ungainly mortal made his way inside. A large sack was thrown over one shoulder and when he tossed it down next to the pallet he'd obviously been using, the bag clanked restlessly. The man was stripped to his waist, a lightly muscled chest and strong arms seemed at odds with the awkward movements of his body.
"Joxer?" Strife mouthed to himself. Curiouser and curiouser. No wonder he couldn't read the mortal. Joxer had umbrella protection from Ares both from being the son of a favorite war lord and one of Xena's companions.
The mortal went on obliviously for a while as Strife continued to stare, trying to plan his next move. It just didn't make sense. Joxer should know better then to set up tent in an abandoned temple. Not only was it common knowledge, but Joxer, unlike most mortals, had met gods up close and personal. He had to know how jealous they could become.
"Is someone there?" The voice jostled Strife and he watched as Joxer studied the temple, warily.
And starched behind him to scratch between his shoulder blades.
"This is my temple." Strife found himself saying, willing himself visible. "You're trespassing."
"Strife?!" Joxer stared at the crazed god.
"My place. Not Ares'." Strife growled.
"I know that." And why is Joxer not afraid? "One of Ares' priest asked me to come here. Said that Ares had a job for me. I had to wait here until you showed up and give you something."
"Give me something?" Strife echoed, helplessly.
"Hold on.." The would be warrior dug through his pack, tin armor making a din. Finally he pulled out a soft skin and unraveled it. "I don't know what makes it so special, but the priest said you would know."
Lying on the skin was Theron's pendant. The one that Strife had given him the day he had dedicated the temple. The pendant that had been burned with his body. It was impossible, but Strife could feel that it was no fake. With trembling hand, he lifted it from Joxer's hands, rolling the small piece of jewelry between his fingers. There was the smooth side, worn even smoother by twenty years pressed close to warm flesh and the other with the loose carving of the temple itself.
"Do you know what it is? I don't want to intrude, but I've been carrying it a long time."
"I know what it is." The question was, why had Ares sent Joxer here with it.
"This is your temple?"
"Yeah." Strife answered, to absorbed in thought to give the mortal much attention.
"Could use some repairs. Do you want me to clean it up?"
"No!" Strife's answer is immediate. The idea of making this place new.... "To much here to fix."
"You should have a temple of your own, Strife. Everyone deserves a home."
Strife stared at the mortal. For the first time, really seeing him. The doe brown eyes, stringy hair and odd face, coupled with that wonderfully shaped, but awkward body. But beyond that, he could see... He broke Ares' shields, not realizing that he had done it and just SAW.
"But yer...Ya can't be!"
"Can't be what?" Joxer stared, wondering if it was time to beat a hasty retreat. Strife was gazing at him intensely and playing with the pendant with his free hand.
"Have ya touched the pendant with bare flesh?"
"No, it's been in the skin the whole time. Should I have?"
"Hold out ya hand."
Obediently, but with no little anxiety, Joxer presented his palm. Carefully, Strife dropped the pendant into the proffered hand and curled Joxer's fingers around it. Large eyes fluttered shut, a small sigh fell from his lips. The warrior could feel things shifting in him, things moving into place.
"I'm not him, Strife. I'm not Theron." He spoke softly into the darkness.
"Nah. He's dead. But yah are his successor. You were born into the High Priesthood of Strife. Nah wonder ya can't fight, but followed Ares. Yah musta had a hella time tryin' to figure that out."
"But, you have to be born into a high priest hood or at least trained and I'm already dedicated to a god..."
"Newsflash, Jox, if Ares sent yah here, he knew what was gonna happen. And what makes yah think yah weren't born into it? Theron's favorite challenge was seducing lords and ladies, especially already married ones." Strife hesitated, "Yah don't have to accept. It's the kinda thing where it's bettah to say so now."
"I accept." Joxer hung the pendant around his neck without pause. "You need me Strife. Everyone needs a home and someone to tend it. Even gods. And Ares' knows, I was made for mischief. Just not the on purpose stuff." "That I can train you in."
They stood, unsure of what to do or say next. Strife considered leaving and was just about to when Joxer spoke softly into the dark,
"Can I kiss you?"
With a sigh, Strife accepted his new High Priest and vowed never to tell Joxer just how much of Theron he had in him. It was a reincarnation of sorts. A new personality, but the soul remembered. And this time, Strife was forcing immortality on him. He could not loose his love twice. The loss of Theron had made him unbearable for years and he swore that he would never do it again.
Softly, he let his hands creep around Joxer's back and stroked the spot he had been itching at earlier. He would love Joxer as fiercely as he loved Theron. It was fitting that this should start in the ruins of the old love. A rebirth and a reclaiming. A rising from the ashes.
PG-13
Summary: Strife remembers and waits in an old temple.
The crumbling building had been consumed by wildlife as time went on. The vines busted through the mortar and mold crept up from the ground to cover the smooth stone walls. A storm about a decade before had partially collapsed the roof, exposing in the inside to sunlight and weather. The forest was pushing up through the floor, gradually tearing the place to shreds.
It was depressing as Tarturas, but beautiful in a way a being of chaos could appreciate. Even the alter was beginning to show signs of wear. Originally, it had been a perfect slab of black, white-veined marble, now it had lost it's gleam. The dirt of a century of neglect had gathered, filming the surface.
The whole building was one medium sized room, an old forgotten temple. There were no decorations, at least none that had survived, besides the altar. Only the writing around the doorpost (the door itself had been ruined in the same storm that took the roof and now hung at a strange angle away from the wall) would tell the story of the temple. If anyone ever found it.
Strife laid his head down in his arms with a small sigh. The altar was cool even through his leathers, but made for a different resting place. Beneath him, the hum of long faded blood sacrifices made for a pleasant song. It had been blood spilled in his name. The only place in Greece that he had been worshipped as a singular god, instead of part of the House of War.
Abandoned as it was, he liked to visit it every so often. It reminded him of good times. Times after his mother, but before Ares had become bitter. Lying on the alter, eyes closed, he could smell Theron's sweat as the boy labored with the stones stolen from a local quarry.
)*(
"Let go of me!" The boy screamed writhing against the hands grasping at his flesh. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone!"
"You're nothing, but trouble!" His mother spat at him. "Worthless little thing, pulling tricks on you're poor mother!"
Theron squirmed against her hold, holding back tears. When he finally managed to win his way free of her, he fled into the busy village. He hadn't meant to arouse her hatred as much as he had, but it he'd thought she'd laugh at the pig chasing it's own tail trying to bite at the scrap of food he'd tied there. How was he supposed to know the stupid thing would bite it's own flesh to get a morsel of food?
Teary eyed, he ducked into the local temple. It was the only completely stone building in the village. It was an older temple, built when the village had been more important. When it had been dedicated to Ares. It remained dedicated to the war god, but there were other, smaller temples that people came to more often. What use did farmers have for a War god?
But, Theron liked it. He felt protected there like someone outside of the town knew all about him and cared for him. Bastard son to woman with more mood swings then a young son could predict. So he came here, kneeled before the stone altar. He never sacrificed anything. The priest rarely came out of his room anymore and the two or three villagers who voluntary cleaned the temple only came at night after the day's work was done.
Mostly, Theron had the place to himself and today, he curled up next to the great stone and let silent tears trickled down from clear gray eyes. His shoulders shook and snot soon clogged his nose and head.
Strife watched from the doorway. Ares had sent him to gather some of the daily sacrifices. It basically included taking the choice bits of food and collecting up whatever energy hadn't made it up to the god. Usually, the job took less then a few hours and wasn't necessary unless Ares needed a reason to Strife out of his hair.
He'd come to Andreus with the intention of scooping up some of the prime dates they grew, but instead came upon the strange scene before him. There was no about in the temple, save a little boy crying his heart out. With power that was second nature, Strife read the boy's thoughts, quickly gleaning why Theron had run to the temple for sanctuary.
"I sympathize kid." Strife muttered, catching glimpses of motherly affection that turned so quickly to rage. With an invisible touch, Strife soothed away the headache the boy was crying himself into and gave him a little strength. "Won't always be like this, kiddo. Some time you'll get ta do your own thing."
It was a small promise, easily fulfilled if Strife remembered in a few years. He picked up a bowl of dates and flashed out, before the boy could register that anything had happened.
)*(
The god drew patterns in the dust of the altar. If he hadn't met Theron or made that promise, he probably wouldn't be here, acting like a wistful moron. Making a promise to a mortal, one with a minor compulsion to remind himself of that promise.
)*(
"THERON! Get in the house, now!!"
A dirty blonde head rose quickly, eyes widening in fear. The other boys stared at him, smirks curdling their previously pleasant looks. For a moment, he had almost believed that he could have gotten involved in their game. So close and then his crazy mother had to ruin it.
Everyone around town knew to avoid Damara. She was crazy old woman, who claimed to be visited by the gods and was forever disappointed that her son wasn't the demigod she had claimed. Theron knew now, from the whispers of the village, that he was no more then the son of a whore, who had been known to service soldiers as they passed through the village. Perhaps that's why he liked Ares' temple. Solider blood was in his veins, pulsing with war.
He kept the idea of the temple in his head as he trudged towards home, his mother's face contorted with anger, peering through the door. He'd persuaded the old priest to train him in service of the temple. The old man had no sons and since he rarely ventured outside, didn't know of Theron's shame. Instead, he taught the boy what he knew. Including how to read and that was a glorious thing by itself. Sometimes the thought of words in his mind were all that kept him from dying.
"You stupid stupid boy. Don't you ever listen to me?" The first blow landed as soon as he walked in to the door. "I told you to never play with those nasty boys. You know they don't want to talk with you or play your games."
"But Mana!"
"Don't you, but Mana me! I know you think they want to be your friend." Another blow rained down on him. "But you better listen to me because one of these days I won't be looking out the windows and one of your 'friends' is going to hold you down and take."
Tears stung at his eyes. For a long time, he hadn't known what she meant by these speeches, but reading the temple scrolls and watching the other boys from afar had enlightened him. He knew what his mother meant. Fear quacked through him when he remembered the boys smirking at him.
"I'm sorry." He said softly. "I won't do it again."
"Of course not." Her sigh surprised him, along with the gentle hand on his head. "You don't know that you're beautiful, my son. You don't know what happens to beauty that is weak."
Slyly, he catches a glimpse of her face and can see the hard memories burning in her eyes. He knew suddenly that he had been conceived in the angry lust that she so feared for him. All the mood swings, all the insanity had been from her torn feelings about her son, the son of a rapist. When she saw that he was taking after her, delicate, blonde and pretty, she had hidden him away from the world. A surge of love came to him then and he knew that no matter what happened between them, at least now he understood.
This time, Strife was in the window sill, called by the compulsion he had created for himself a decade before. The boy had been banished from his mind until the gentle pull drew him back here. A decade was a long time and Strife could see why the mother was so worried. Beautiful slim boy with a cascade of thick blonde hair and those strange gray eyes. Theron had the victim look. He could cause a lot of trouble with those looks, but not in Andreus where he was so well known. A foreign city though....he could wind masters around those long nimble fingers.
He 'listened' to the boy and shivered with echoed emotion. How old had he been when he first questioned Discord about his father? Around twenty, maybe thirty. Theron was fifteen, a little early, but mortals had less time and did everything a little faster.
Strife, of course, had been a lot less forgiving. When she wouldn't tell him, he had left. Walked out of her temple and into the wide harsh world of Olympus. Once Ares recruited him, Strife moved his things into Ares' main temple and never entered his childhood home again.
He had promised Theron that he could fulfill the destiny he desired and he wasn't going to begrudge him that. For the second time in Theron's short life he was touched by a god.
Weeks later, he was cast out from the village, his mother crying as she packed a small bag while he bemusedly watched. It had all happened so quickly. The old priest had died, naming Theron as his successor. The villagers had been horrified that a bastard child of a crazy woman would be tending to the sacred place. They had almost torn him to shreds, but some voice of sanity had suggested exile and the suggestion was readily taken up.
Now he was leaving the only place he'd ever known. A part of him crowed in triumph while the other wept in fear. Mostly, he was numb and as he started down the dirt road towards his future, he didn't feel the eyes that followed him.
)*(
Strife remembered the years that followed warmly. Theron traveled to the great city-states nearby, living with fellow exiles, bards, thieves and traveling heroes. And Strife had followed, a silent partner in every crazed expedition. The youth worked quite a reputation over him, so that by the time he had been on the road three years, some Athenian admirer had dubbed him Master of Mischief.
)*(
A chipmunk ran through the temple and into it's burrow. The foundation was cracking. The god rolled onto his back, staring up at the trees and sky. Leaves whispered secrets between the trees and it was as beautiful a day as the one Theron had come face to face with Strife at last.
)*(
"Master Mischief! I had not thought to see you in these parts again, what with the bounty on yer head." The burly man served the young man a drink, smiling broadly.
"Oh, that's all been settled now. I've paid my debts."
"How do you repay a high standing man like Epinon for taking his favorite's daughters chastity?"
Theron smiled mysteriously, before pulling from his pocket a purse heavy with drachma.
"Anyone who wants a drink tonight has it on me!" The young man announced. "And before you ask, my curious friend, the money is completely legitimate. "
"By the bosom of Aphrodite, lad!"
The money disposed of, Theron leaned back to enjoy his well-earned drink. He could feel the hungry stares of those around him. Let them look, looking cost nothing. He knew that he had grown into a slight, beautiful man whose body was a weapon in more ways then one. The body his mother had always feared would get him killed had turned him into a Master. He wanted for nothing, living as he would, sleeping with who he pleased and alone when he wished it.
Maybe not alone. Frowning, he thought of the intensifying feeling of being watched. Ever since he was a child, he knew that someone was with him, taking care of him and giving him the speed to get away from any would be attacker. Lately though, that feeling had become stronger to the point he could feel himself becoming gradually more paranoid, looking over his shoulder at every turn.
The follower meant well, obviously or he would long ago have made his move. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't some crazed ex-lover looking for blood or one of the many assassins sent to take debts from his flesh.
A scream at the door brought him back to the present. Three armed men had walked into the bar, scanning the tables.
"Our lord Epinon has sent us in search of the one they call Master of Mischief. " The leer on the thugs face told Theron all he needed to know. Epinon had not been satisfied with his single day bedding him. He wanted him on a more permanent basis and if that meant taking him by force then so be it.
Discreetly, Theron looked for an exit. None. He would have to fight his way out. The three men could be taking out with a little trouble and minimum effort, if no one else got in his way.
"Our lord gave us a fine bit of drachma to the man who finds him."
The room which previously had seemed so friendly, turned greedy eyes to him. An image of children smiling at him rose from the past as he tried to suppress his fear. No exit. A room of angry men.... this was it. Mischief was finally going to...
Wind up in the middle of the forest and what the Tarturus just happened?
There's someone standing before him, but in his confusion, Theron can't register him as more then a smudge of pale skin and black leather.
"Who? What?" He closed his eyes, trying to take a long breath.
"You know who I am, you've been using my name for the last few years." A rictus grin spread over the pale face.
Theron fell to his knees.
"Forgive me, lord. I meant no harm."
"Hey." Pale hand on his face. "It's cool. I wouldna let you live if I didn't think it was all right. You're a lot kinds of okay."
"You!" Theron surged to his feet, recognizing the voice. "It was you, the whole time! You're the one that watches me! Since I was a child....but why? Who am I to you?"
Strife's grin faded a little and he looked off into the distance.
"We've got a lot in common. And I knew you'd be something great if you had someone helping."
"But you're....you're a god! What could we have in common?" He stared openly, no longer fearing his safety. This was his guardian. The person who freed him from a life of peasantry.
"It doesn't matter. You're free to go, ya know. The road is your concubine and all that."
For a long moment, Theron hesitated, staring at the creature before him in a mix of awe, fear and anticipation. This lean wild thing had given him his charmed life. The son of Discord had come to him of all people.
"Where can I thank you, lord? Where can I go to give you the worship you deserve from my unworthy hands?"
Strife stared at him, momentarily confused. Blue eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. Finally, after another moment of silence, he mumbled,
"Don't have a temple."
"You don't?!" The thought of an unworshiped god was unthinkable. Especially one who had taken such a personal interest in him.
"Nevah really got around to it." The energy in the clearing was picking up a little, but true to his title, Theron didn't flinch in the face of a little intensity.
"Then I guess I'll have to. Is here okay or do you have a preference?"
"Wha? You wanna build a temple? For me?" The power that had started to fill the forest died immediately.
"No god should be without one and where I'm I going to thank you from if you don't have a temple. So, is here good?"
Strife looked around the clearing. He had jumped Theron here because it was far enough away from any major roads that the boy could not easily be found, but close enough that in a days walk he could get to a decent highway that eventually led to Athens.
The clearing itself was good as clearings went. It had a few good trees, some rocks. Strife's knowledge of nature went far enough that he wouldn't pick flowers with the weeds when he was given the privilege of gardening with Hera or Gaia. Those occasions were rare enough that even that small parcel of information was dusty.
"Sure. This is cool. Do you need like stuff? Stone or whatever?" A temple. The idea was having a hard time fitting into his head.
"I don't think you're supposed to help build your own temple. I can manage it. Don't watch me for a few months while I build. It can be a sort of surprise."
"I'm supposed to trust yah, not to get in any trouble?" The God of Mischief locked eyes with the Master of same and for a long minute it looked like Theron was going to win. But Strife was still a god and the boy blinked first.
"Because even I don't have enough courage to go back on my word to a god."
That had to satisfy him for the time being, Strife flashed out, leaving Theron to begin his work. Every so often, he would watch from a distance, checking on the mortal. In all the years of keeping tabs on the boy, he couldn't kill the habit. He watched as Theron widened the clearing, uprooting several small trees. He watched him steal stones from a nearby quarry he had found. Originally it seemed Theron was going to content himself with an outdoor idol of some kind, but he had stumbled across the quarry while hunting for his dinner.
The temple grew and more and more often, Strife stayed away, finding himself wanting to be surprised. In the end, he didn't check on Theron for a month. He had been lounging in Olympus swapping dumb mortal stories with Hermes when he heard a whispering in his ear. It was faint, but insistent.
"Oh great lord of chaos, hear my prayer. I have erected this temple in your name and now dedicate it with this sacrifice..."
"Hephestus' in a dress, I gotta go, Herm. I'll catch ya latah!"
Strife flashed out, arriving just in time to see Theron slit the throat of a deer over a beautiful marble slab. An altar. His altar. Power pulsed through him in an intense wave. It was double the small prayers of children and thieves who appealed to him. The life blood intensified it, sending out waves of energy to give him a godly high.
"It's beautiful." He said into the silence. Theron turned, slowly, smiling at the stunned Mischief god. A smile that had bent great lords and ladies, full and golden. "Where did ya get the marble? It's fit for Ares' temple."
"Five days walk from here, there's a town whose temple was defiled. I remember walking through it a year ago and thinking it was a shame that all these relics were now abandoned and since no one goes in there, thinking it's a place that angers the gods..."
"Ya stole it." The rictus grin was back. "So how did ya drag it all the say here?"
"Tied it to some flat pieces of wood. It took me a week. One of the weeks that you weren't checking on me."
"How'd ya know 'bout that?" The god stared at the dirtied form of his sole worshipper.
"When you watch me, I can feel it. Like an itch between my shoulders." Theron said softly. "I've been able to since the first time you whispered in my ear."
"Huh. Weird." Strife surveyed the inside of the small stone dwelling, then walked outside, admiring the solid wood door and the writings chiseled into stone. He traced familiar letters with long bony fingers,
"Safety for all who enter here and offer their prayers to the God of Mischief. Any who defiles this place will find a most dreadful curse laid on their heads." He grinned. "You betcha. Anyone defiles my temple, they bettah say good-bye to their family jewels."
"You really never had one before?"
"Nah. Nevah had worshippers who cared enough ta do it. Most of mine need me for a minute or two. Not like harvest gods or war gods. I'm easy to forget." Strife let his hand slip. "Guess that makes you the high priest."
"I could live with that. Sounds better then Master of Mischief. I never liked that title anyway. High Priest of Strife has a good ring to it."
Strife concentrated for a moment and plucked something from the air.
"Ya evah need me, just hold on tight to this. It'll take ya back here." With that Strife was gone, leaving Theron to hang the tarnished silver pennant around his neck, slipping in under his shirt.
)*(
A noise outside, reminded Strife why he was here today. It wasn't to remember or enjoy the atmosphere, it was to discover who had been using his temple as hotel. Someone had been sleeping and eating in this place. He could see the remains and feel the traces of a mortal life. The worst of it was that the mortal had been praying, but not to Strife. The mortal was protected by another god, foiling Strife's attempts to trace him. For now he had to sit and wait.
Casually, he sat up, leaning against the still solid wall behind him. To imagine someone else's worshipper holeing up in his temple was enough to give any god hives, but to Strife it was infinitely worse. This was his only temple. It had been here that his High Priest raised his knife and here that Strife had done what he did with no other mortal before or since.
)*(
"Cerebus on a hunt! This is so not good." The alley was a dead end and the guards were coming up behind him fast. The framing job had apparently been a bust and Lord Climuses' thugs had already discovered the true culprit behind the whole silverware incident. It had been worth watching that pompous ass spill scalding broth on his pristine toga. That he got his wife in the process had been a bonus.
"We've finally got you, ya nasty runt!" Slurred one of the hired muscle.
"Sorry, wrong again!" Lightening quick, the silver was in his hand and his mind filled with the temple he had built with his own hands. The last view he had of the thugs was amusing enough that he landed in the grass laughing.
"Ya nevah get sick of makin' 'em look stupid, do ya?" Strife sat next to him on the grass, folding his legs impossibly in the black leather outfit.
"It's my job, lord Strife." Theron pointed out and then abruptly started laughing again. "And it's the best job in all of Greece."
"Glad yer happy." Absently, Strife reached over to pick a blade of grass from the mussed blonde hair. It was softer then he thought it would be. Theron sobered instantly at the touch, reaching up to catch Strife's hand in his own. The bond between them had grown the past two years, an understanding deeper then anyone else could reach. Gradually, Strife revealed his past, one piece at a time until Theron had a fairly good idea of why the god had chosen to guard him. Their lives had followed a similar path. One that drew them together.
This was the first time they had truly touched. It had never occurred to Theron to take such a liberty with a god, but Strife was no longer just a powerful being who had randomly chosen him. Strife was his friend, the only one he had. The only person he trusted. And he was beginning to think the feeling was mutual.
The hand was surprisingly ordinary besides it's unusual paleness. It was warm to the touch, the skin dry and smooth. The finger tips were calloused in the places of a thief. Leather, softer then it looked, skimmed over the palm. Theron sat up enough to touch his lips to the callouses.
"How do you have these?"
"I like ta work with my hands sometimes." The voice is the same as always, but Theron feels the faint tremble in the fingertips.
"Can I kiss you?" Theron asks. If he's going to try and seduce a god, then he might as well do it right.
"Sure." But he doesn't move. Maybe he's just used to others doing the work.
Carefully, Theron sat up, never letting go of the god's hand. Gently with his free hand, he cupped the smooth skin of Strife's face in his hands. Blue eyes waver uncertain and the quick pink tongue darted out to wet thin lips. Gently, Theron captured godly lips, pressing gently, sighing when they parted to allow him entrance. The kiss started at their lips, but Theron thought he could feel it all the way through his body down to the soles of his feet.
"You taste like fresh grapes and rain." He said when he could breath again.
"Ya taste like dates."
"Can I kiss you again?"
"Like, duh!"
The second kiss ended with Theron breathing hard and the place on his back that always itched when Strife watched him intensified to a lovely throb.
"If I ask to have sex with you would that be impious or a form of worship?"
"Oh, I think I could let it slide as worship."
They tangled together in the sweet grass, under the late afternoon sun dyeing everything golden.
)*(
The day was waning and Strife was beginning to think that whatever mortal had desecrated his temple had gotten enough sense to leave. He gave it one more hour and then he was out of here. He couldn't be in the temple at night. It was too painful, even for his masochistic side. The way the moonlight played havoc with shadows, anything could surface.
)*(
In theory, Strife had always known that Theron would die. After all, they had agreed that Theron would not accept the immortality that was rightfully his as Consort. It was too much to ask a man who lived on the edge to give up the thrill of mortality. Too much to ask him not to seek the last and greatest adventure in death.
Theory was so vastly different from the reality of it though. Theory was a bitch and a half, worse then a prostitute who painted her face to hide her years. And after this horror was over, Strife intended to rip her to shreds.
Because Theron was dying now. The death he would have wanted. One that caused havoc. In scaling the walls of a smallish city-state, his rope had snapped sending him on a lightening quick fall to the ground. Hundreds saw him falling, but no one saw where his body came to rest. He had managed to grab the pendant at the last moment, impacting and then disappearing. The search for his corpse went on for a week after the incident.
Meanwhile, he lay now on the altar he had once dragged for a week to fulfill his promise. Strife cradled his lover's broken body, weeping silvery tears. The wounds were beyond healing. Beyond help. Theron had not woken since his body arrived in the sweet grass that grew high around the temple. Strife had found him there and taken him inside to die.
It took three long days of painful breathing for him to die. In that time, Strife tried to memorize everything he could. Age had subtly altered the young beauty, giving him gravity and laugh lines. He had lived a full life and had dozens of scars to prove it. Strife memorized every inch, every imperfection, always keeping one hand right between the shoulder blades. It was there that Theron had always directed him to kiss.
The last breath came too soon after such a long wait. It came with the night and in the darkness of the stone dwelling, it seemed to Strife that he could watch the wispy soul rise from the body. It took form for an instant, a wink and a blown kiss and it was gone. WIthout too much thought, Strife moved through the motions they had agreed on long ago. With tender care, he prepared the body for the pyre, singing one long lament that sounded like a drawn out sob. He gathered whatever ashes he could and using godly powers, interned them in the marble altar that had been the set for many scenes between them.
)*(
The humming startled Strife out of his hardest memory. It came from outside, an upbeat tuneless hum that was threatening to become a song. With a thought, Strife made himself invisible to the human eye and waited.
He did not have long to wait before an ungainly mortal made his way inside. A large sack was thrown over one shoulder and when he tossed it down next to the pallet he'd obviously been using, the bag clanked restlessly. The man was stripped to his waist, a lightly muscled chest and strong arms seemed at odds with the awkward movements of his body.
"Joxer?" Strife mouthed to himself. Curiouser and curiouser. No wonder he couldn't read the mortal. Joxer had umbrella protection from Ares both from being the son of a favorite war lord and one of Xena's companions.
The mortal went on obliviously for a while as Strife continued to stare, trying to plan his next move. It just didn't make sense. Joxer should know better then to set up tent in an abandoned temple. Not only was it common knowledge, but Joxer, unlike most mortals, had met gods up close and personal. He had to know how jealous they could become.
"Is someone there?" The voice jostled Strife and he watched as Joxer studied the temple, warily.
And starched behind him to scratch between his shoulder blades.
"This is my temple." Strife found himself saying, willing himself visible. "You're trespassing."
"Strife?!" Joxer stared at the crazed god.
"My place. Not Ares'." Strife growled.
"I know that." And why is Joxer not afraid? "One of Ares' priest asked me to come here. Said that Ares had a job for me. I had to wait here until you showed up and give you something."
"Give me something?" Strife echoed, helplessly.
"Hold on.." The would be warrior dug through his pack, tin armor making a din. Finally he pulled out a soft skin and unraveled it. "I don't know what makes it so special, but the priest said you would know."
Lying on the skin was Theron's pendant. The one that Strife had given him the day he had dedicated the temple. The pendant that had been burned with his body. It was impossible, but Strife could feel that it was no fake. With trembling hand, he lifted it from Joxer's hands, rolling the small piece of jewelry between his fingers. There was the smooth side, worn even smoother by twenty years pressed close to warm flesh and the other with the loose carving of the temple itself.
"Do you know what it is? I don't want to intrude, but I've been carrying it a long time."
"I know what it is." The question was, why had Ares sent Joxer here with it.
"This is your temple?"
"Yeah." Strife answered, to absorbed in thought to give the mortal much attention.
"Could use some repairs. Do you want me to clean it up?"
"No!" Strife's answer is immediate. The idea of making this place new.... "To much here to fix."
"You should have a temple of your own, Strife. Everyone deserves a home."
Strife stared at the mortal. For the first time, really seeing him. The doe brown eyes, stringy hair and odd face, coupled with that wonderfully shaped, but awkward body. But beyond that, he could see... He broke Ares' shields, not realizing that he had done it and just SAW.
"But yer...Ya can't be!"
"Can't be what?" Joxer stared, wondering if it was time to beat a hasty retreat. Strife was gazing at him intensely and playing with the pendant with his free hand.
"Have ya touched the pendant with bare flesh?"
"No, it's been in the skin the whole time. Should I have?"
"Hold out ya hand."
Obediently, but with no little anxiety, Joxer presented his palm. Carefully, Strife dropped the pendant into the proffered hand and curled Joxer's fingers around it. Large eyes fluttered shut, a small sigh fell from his lips. The warrior could feel things shifting in him, things moving into place.
"I'm not him, Strife. I'm not Theron." He spoke softly into the darkness.
"Nah. He's dead. But yah are his successor. You were born into the High Priesthood of Strife. Nah wonder ya can't fight, but followed Ares. Yah musta had a hella time tryin' to figure that out."
"But, you have to be born into a high priest hood or at least trained and I'm already dedicated to a god..."
"Newsflash, Jox, if Ares sent yah here, he knew what was gonna happen. And what makes yah think yah weren't born into it? Theron's favorite challenge was seducing lords and ladies, especially already married ones." Strife hesitated, "Yah don't have to accept. It's the kinda thing where it's bettah to say so now."
"I accept." Joxer hung the pendant around his neck without pause. "You need me Strife. Everyone needs a home and someone to tend it. Even gods. And Ares' knows, I was made for mischief. Just not the on purpose stuff." "That I can train you in."
They stood, unsure of what to do or say next. Strife considered leaving and was just about to when Joxer spoke softly into the dark,
"Can I kiss you?"
With a sigh, Strife accepted his new High Priest and vowed never to tell Joxer just how much of Theron he had in him. It was a reincarnation of sorts. A new personality, but the soul remembered. And this time, Strife was forcing immortality on him. He could not loose his love twice. The loss of Theron had made him unbearable for years and he swore that he would never do it again.
Softly, he let his hands creep around Joxer's back and stroked the spot he had been itching at earlier. He would love Joxer as fiercely as he loved Theron. It was fitting that this should start in the ruins of the old love. A rebirth and a reclaiming. A rising from the ashes.