Abaddon (BoyxBoy)

δώδεκα: Recklessness and the Winning of Sorrow

"Attack me once more mortal!"

Vangelis's body ached with a throbbing pain that traveled from the curve of his back to the expanse of his toes. Ares's training regime was relentless, ruthless, and outright cruel if you were to ask him of his opinion. However, of course, nobody did. No one except Ikaros, who stood by the sidelines, his face awash with worry. Hades stood with him along with Hermes, his face an unreadable slab of poetry.

Resentment, stronger than the hands of Herakles, was upon him and he rushed at Ares, whose smug face made his stomach churn with disgust. The god did not use his sword. Instead, he threw his to the side and, in a move far too swift for Vangelis's eyes to capture, caught his sword mid-swing and was able to wrench it away from him with a side step that sent the blond spiraling to the ground. Vangelis laid there, with his arm aching, not fully healed from the monster's encounter, soaking in his own humiliation. He heard deep caustic laughter above him and his nails dug deep into the earth below him.

"Do be gentle with him Ares," Hades called out, almost flippantly, "He has not the years of training that you have."

But, I do have the years of training, Vangelis thought to himself, slapping away Ikaros's concerned hand. He just was not as skillful as his friend or...Simonides. His face grew redder than the firmest apple in an orchard.

"Pah," Ares answered with derision," you are too gentle with the boy. He needs to learn and he needs to learn now. Hera will strike whilst we are the most vulnerable, nay when he is the most vulnerable, and he must be ready for whenever."

The sarcastic glint in Hades's eyes grew soft in a way Vangelis had never seen before. He almost felt....mortified to see it. As if, it was not meant for mortal eyes. He hated this feeling with the upmost passion.

"It is," Hades began slowly," not just Hera you fear. Am I right?"

Ares nodded wordlessly and sat on a misshapen rock, no bigger than the one Vangelis had once sat on in his village to watch the sailors from afar. His body language was different from mere moments ago. It read, tired and weary. Vangelis's face twisted violently. The god had no reason to feel such things. He was a god.

"Yes uncle. Even if we get Vangelis to his little family in Sparta, there is no telling what will be the response of Menelaus, even Helen herself."

Vangelis straightened at the mentioning of his mother and listened to Ares sharply, his heart thumping wildly in his chest cavity. This god, this foolish god, knew nothing of his mother. He knew naught of the dreams he saw of her nightly. Helen would welcome him. She had to. Why would she not welcome her own child?

He saw Ares glance at him once before he continued to talk. It was a glance of pity and there was nothing Vangelis hated more. He had been pitied all his life. He would rather the god have hated him than give him pity.

"The Helen I knew from the war was vapid and manipulative to a fault. How are we to know that she is any different-?"

"She is!" Vangelis cut in, once more growing crimson at the gazes locked in his direction. Love and the dreaded emotion of pity was in his lover's Hades's eyes.

"I have dreams of her," Vangelis continued, impervious to the stares, "Dreams of where she tells me her woes. She wishes I was at the palace with her. She wants me-"

"How do you not know that she is probably placating you child," Ares cut in viciously. "How do you know she is not setting you up for your death and her freedom? You have the features of Diephobus and of hers, one look at you would have spelled danger for you both."

Vangelis's mouth grew dry. "Menelaus-"

"Is not the man you think he is," Hades finally said softly. "When we go to the palace we must be very careful about the things we say."