Patched
5 - Family
Ares was studying a map of Greece, plotting where to direct battles that would cull the population before starvation and cold did. He really hated this part of his job, but it was both necessary and tedious. Just as he dipped his quill in the jar of ink, a shout startled him. Ares growled at the smudge now obscuring his notes. There had better be a good reason for this or heads would roll.
He stalked towards Strife’s set of rooms and he could hear raised voices from the guestroom. When he reached the doorway, he could see Ace trying to calm down a jubilant Strife. “What’s going on here?” Ares questioned. All he could make out from Strife’s joyful babble was something about paint and ‘Mine’ repeated over and over again. He finally resorted to restraining Strife in his arms with one hand over his mouth to silence him. Ares raised an eyebrow at Ace giving the healer god a look that said he wanted to know what was going on and he wanted to know NOW.
Ace looked slightly flustered and gestured to the bed and the body lying there. “It seems that Joxer is ... that Strife is Joxer’s blood father. Strife is a bit, um, excited over the news as you can see.” Ares grip loosened enough for Strife to wiggle free. He turned around and grabbed up his Uncle in a bear hug and bounced him about a bit. Ares took all this in with a stunned expression.
“Is that who you were carrying about? How did you find out? Is he all right - is there something wrong with Joxer?” Ares asked once again holding the enthusiastic new father still. He looked back and forth between the two men, his brow furrowed, trying to make sense of this shocking revelation.
Ares sat beside Joxer on the bed, gently running his fingers over the sleeping man’s cheek and up through his hair. He couldn’t believe that this man was Strife’s child, the son of a god, and that seemed to be the problem. Something about his heritage was causing this sleep. Ace was baffled by it. He still had a lot of Joxer’s life to pore over, but he was hopeful that some kind of pattern would emerge. Surely if this was caused by something godly, it wouldn’t be the first time.
He thought about the many years he had known of the mortal and never once had imagined he was a demi-god. Even after he had started keeping tabs on Joxer, he had seen nothing to hint at it. Now of course the familial resemblance was obvious, Ares thought, shaking his head. When Joxer had been dedicated to him as a child along with his brothers, Ares had barely given them a thought other then to mark them. Childs’ markers - marks of potential.
He had checked on them every so often just as he did every other child that had been dedicated to him. Those who were regular followers were nothing like those who were dedicated. Being dedicated was something special and it afforded them greater respect and it demanded more from them in return. Some he let go, as they were lacking in skills, lacking in dedication-unlike those adults who dedicated themselves-better to let them leave his service then deal with them. Most of the pantheon did so and it made everyone happier when that one in a family of bards who can’t carry a tune isn’t made to inflict their singing on the masses.
Jayce, he had let go at twelve even then it had been obvious that his talents lay elsewhere. Jett was still nominally his as an assassin, and had on occasion worked for Eris. Joxer though - there had always been something compelling about him. He had felt a swell of pride when he learned of Joxer’s leaving home at fourteen and smirked over his setting the camp on fire. Ares had never liked Joxer’s father, but he wasn’t quite sure why. The man was an adequate warlord, but there was something about his attitude that had rankled.
Ares enjoyed the way Joxer looked at the world, finding his joy in the simplest things. He had a rather off-center sense of humor that had Ares near to giggling a time or two. The war god had found himself as time went by doing little things for the mortal. Putting the occasional rabbit in a trap so he wouldn’t go hungry, compelling an Inn owner to let him have a room in exchange for labor, things of that nature.
Joxer was exceedingly prideful so the gestures were subtle things that Ares could brush off if he asked himself why he was doing it. He had tried on more then one occasion to get Joxer to train at one of his temples. The man was in dire need of proper self-defense training, but Joxer had looked at the priest’s offers as pity or charity and declined. So then Ares decided to get a bit sneaky which was an urge that was harder to excuse. Joxer had met and shared campfires with soldiers who, in exchange for a shared meal, taught him a few basics.
He remembered thinking about taking Joxer as a lover, but nothing had ever come of it and Ares wondered why. He was certainly still attracted and it was not like the God of War to deny himself something he wanted. In fact, it had been around that time that Joxer had fallen in with Xena and her bard. Ares had trusted his daughter to protect Joxer and his attention to the man had lessened.
Ares sat brooding over this. There was something wrong here. Someone, a godly someone, had been meddling with his thoughts. Joxer still bore his mark, a mark of his favored, one he had given to Joxer soon after his seventeenth birthday. The attack in the alley never should have happened. Even if his attackers couldn’t sense his mark, there was no way Ares would have allowed him to be hurt so badly.
His connection should have flared long before he reached the point where Strife found him. Ares would have torn those men apart for daring to touch what was his. The god felt rage start to boil through him. Someone was messing with his family and it pissed him off. He would find out who had caused this and take vengeance on them, for himself, for Strife and for Joxer.
He would get Strife and Ace to keep quiet about Joxer’s presence and paternity until they could formally present Joxer to the pantheon. No one was taking Joxer from him again and as a child of the House of War, he would more securely protected. Ares grinned ferally. As a child of War, he could claim vengeance against them even after death. There was no way his Uncle Hades would deny him the right to choose punishment. Hades valued family as highly as he did and was as protective of his own as Ares himself was.
Joxer sighed contentedly. He could feel a presence out there and it felt so familiar somehow. He could feel pulses of emotion from his visitor-caring and protection and a confusing mix of family and possessiveness that brought a faint stirring of heat deep inside him. But the most wonderful thing was, the presence demanded nothing from him. It did not try and pull him from his beloved shadows or poke and prod at his flesh. It just let him be.
Joxer shivered at the sensation of invisible fingers caressing over his face. No one had ever touched him like that, with such gentleness. He rolled on to his side and looked at his shadowy companion. There was a look of resignation. For this they would endure being left, being forgotten. Joxer pulled his friend closer hoping that maybe whoever was out there could help him find a way keep them with him even in the bright world.
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