Ares’ heart ripped in half when he saw her hanging on that cross. His roar brought the God of the Underworld to his side. Falling into his uncle’s arms, he moaned, "Bring her back to me!"

"I can’t," Hades said quietly. "I cannot undo the damage you did, Ares." His arms were cold comfort to the trembling body. "I wish I could." Ares collapsed, his shoulders shaking with his sobs.

Ares looked at Discord with irritation. "And this should interest me why, exactly?" He threw his leg over the arm of his throne. "Caesar’s activities in conquest of political power are immaterial to me. What do I care who rules Rome?"

She stared at him. "Because Xena is involved. I thought you would care about that."

"You did." The sarcasm was blatant.

"Ares," she said, coming closer to him, "a little bird told me that Caesar is planning to put the warlords on notice by conquering the unconquerable Xena. I would have assumed …"

"Your ‘little bird’ is wrong, Discord."

The goddess rolled her eyes at the ceiling, her hands on her hips. "My ‘little bird’ is Brutus, Ares. He’s not wrong. He told me --"

He cut her off with a flash of sparks. "I don’t care what he told you! I am not going to waste time explaining myself. Especially not to you. The subject is closed." He reached for an apple. "Anything else?"

"No," she said with a pout.

"Good. We’re done here."

She flounced from the throne room, leaving the god alone.

* * *

He got up and began to pace. In reality, he had no doubt that what Brutus had told Discord was true, insofar as the man knew. The problem was, it didn’t make any sense. The Warrior Princess was no longer a warlord, and everyone knew that. Caesar taking control of Xena, even if he could pull it off (which Ares doubted), would prove nothing to the most troublesome warlords who were standing against the Roman. Given Xena’s abilities and reputation, it would certainly be a coup for the man -- but the victory would be personal, not political.

Caesar was too ambitious a man, and too single-minded in his drive, to be diverted from his goal of ruling the world by the settling of the old score between him and Xena. Ares knew for a fact that Caesar kept careful track of what he saw as debts owed him, and that he fully intended to exact his payment for them at some time, but that day of reckoning was somewhere in the future. For Caesar, right now, everything else was secondary to his quest for absolute power in the Roman Empire. The man wouldn’t waste his energy and time on Xena at this point.

Ares stroked his beard pensively. He kept coming back to what Brutus had told Discord. What worried him was that, even though it was bad strategy, the way it was laid out stank of Caesar’s world view and his way of thinking. Providing such an "example" was paramount in Caesar’s tactical arsenal of the ways and means to dominate and subdue an enemy, and past practice had taught him that the empathy possessed by his fellow human beings caused them to place themselves in the shoes of his victim, allowing him to effortlessly kill two birds by only killing one of them. The Roman delighted in the efficiency of the double annihilation, and used the device frequently enough for his detractors to say that his power base was built more on fear than on military prowess.

And it would work, at least with all but the most powerful warlords, who used the same technique and saw it clearly for what it was. The lesser warlords would cower in fear at the mighty Xena brought down by Caesar, and run for cover to escape a similar fate. Even the greater warlords would show more care and deliberation as they conducted their activities, a watchful and, more important to Caesar, a more respectful eye on the Roman warlord who had been able to do what they could not.

But, from a political standpoint, it was a bad move. In Rome’s eyes, barbarian warlords were beneath notice, worthy only of contempt and dismissal, and Caesar’s concentration on their activities would be viewed as giving credence to the trivial. Although the common Roman citizens might enjoy the spectacle and cheer at the defeat of an enemy of the imperial state, expending energy in that direction would cause him to lose stature with the Senate, and the conclusion of that august body would be that he had lost his focus, and was therefore suspect.

And yet …

Ares mentally weighed Caesar’s ambition against Caesar’s sadistic lust for revenge, and the scale in his mind dipped and fluctuated and finally came into perfect balance. The two sides of the Roman’s character were evenly matched, and either, or both, motivated every step the man took. The course of action would be justified with absolute logic, but his reasoning was dictated by lust. In this case, it was impossible to say with any certainty which of the two, ambition or revenge, was in the ascendancy. At least, not without a closer look.

His decision made, Ares vanished from the Halls of War.

The War God maintained an invisible presence as he tested the waters of the climate in Rome. He felt civil unrest and an undercurrent of tension that vibrated from the lowest beggar to the white-robed figures of numerous patricians. The twang of paranoia and suspicion flared his nostrils, and he could taste the burned, metallic pungency of hatred and fear in every corner of the city. The desperation of the people set his teeth on edge. He contrasted the obvious state of emotional and political flux with the controlled behavior he witnessed, and in his mind he saw a cauldron only seconds before the boiling eruptions disturbed the smooth surface of the liquid. Tranquillity sat mask-like on the faces of Rome’s citizens, a deliberate arrangement of features in emotionless, unconcerned lines designed to disguise the terror beneath the surface.

Ares saw poverty reflected around him, in the form of beggars and street urchins, stomachs swollen with the gas of hunger and the markings of ill health on faces and bodies. And he saw just as many litters borne by a plethora of servants, the wealthy carted gently among the masses. Feast or famine, he mused. No middle ground was reflected between the two extremes of the haves and the have-nots. Prostitutes sold themselves openly on the boulevard, drunks reeled between the pedestrians, the sick and dying were propped in doorways -- and the affluent Romans were seemingly blind, beyond even having to avert their eyes.

This was Caesar’s Rome: like the man himself, bipolar in its extremes, the Janus unaware of its opposing face, all-seeing and half-blind at the same time.

* * *

The Roman general, Gaius Julius Caesar, quickly scanned the text of the official scrolls, placing his signet on some, tossing others into the fire behind his desk. The expression on his face showed no sign of either pleasure or distaste in his task. His eyes betrayed nothing of his feelings, and no involuntary twitch was permitted to mar the immobile lines of his profile.

The young adjutant watched him nervously.

Caesar paused a moment, enjoying the rapid breathing of the soldier. His glacial green eyes moved to rest upon the young man’s face. So rapt, so cringing, such fear at a misstep! Caesar tasted the ambrosia of his power, a small treat with one so unimportant, but a treat nonetheless. He noted a small, intermittent tic at the corner of his mouth, and relished the lack of control it evidenced. Finally, he leaned back, steepling his fingers.

"Meritus, do you enjoy your position in my service?"

The young man jumped, the tic becoming more pronounced. "Yes, My Lord General!" He snapped to rigid attention.

"And what are the duties of that position?"

Meritus focused his eyes straight forward. "Sir! To serve as messenger for My Lord General. To carry official dispatches and receive replies to those dispatches. Sir!"

"And may I assume you wish to retain that position?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then I would suggest," he said evenly, "that you not require specific instruction to perform those standing orders." He made a slight gesture at the bare expanse of the desk. "Do you see more scrolls awaiting my attention?"

"No, Sir!"

"So, you would presume that I am finished?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"What, then, are you waiting for?"

The adjutant grabbed the metal bin from the right-hand corner of the desk, tucking it beneath his arm. He gave the traditional military salute, spinning sharply on his heel and striding to the door.

"Meritus." The tone was soft and uninflected. The man turned back quickly to face the General.

"Sir!"

"Have I dismissed you?"

A flush crept up the man’s neck and he swallowed nervously. "I thought …"

Caesar’s smile was remote. "I see. You may go, Meritus." The soldier left the chamber hurriedly, a doomed look on his face.

* * *

Caesar turned in the direction of two hands slowly clapping. His eyes fell upon the massive figure of the God of War, sprawled comfortably on a divan.

"Bravo, Caesar!" Ares smirked sardonically. "A marvelous performance." He rose gracefully and walked toward the General. "And if the eager young Meritus had had the temerity to assume Great Caesar was finished, prior to being so instructed?"

Caesar’s arms locked behind his back, his wrists clasped. "Then he would have been castigated for making an assumption, of course."

Ares laughed. "Of course." He laid his hands on the man’s shoulders, his fingers caressing the sides of Caesar’s throat. "I always find your blatant manipulations a refreshing change of pace from the artifice usually employed by you Romans." He brushed his lips casually against Caesar’s mouth, his tongue flicking lightly. "It’s always a delight to see you in action, you know."

Caesar stepped back, efficiently removing himself from the god’s embrace. "What do you want, Ares?"

Feigning dismay, Ares asked, "I have to have a reason? Maybe I just longed for the joy of your company."

"Right." Caesar’s eyes were remote as he looked at the War God. "Ares, you and I both know you abhor Rome." He filled a goblet with wine from the carafe on his desk and handed it to Ares. "Something about feeling like less of a god here, wasn’t it?"

Ares said coolly, "I don’t believe I actually put it that way."

Caesar cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, perhaps I misunderstood you."

"It’s been known to happen … Gaius." Ares noted with satisfaction the almost imperceptible stiffening of Caesar’s face at the god’s disrespectful familiarity.

"Unfortunately, yes." Caesar draped himself easily in his chair. "You should endeavor to make yourself more easily understood, Ares. I have always found it prevents misinterpretation."

"Well, what can I say?" Ares smiled evenly at the man. "I can only dumb it down so much, after all." He leaned against the edge of Caesar’s desk, folding his arms loosely across his chest.

Caesar’s face hardened. "True. I have the same problem." He studied the god. "Ares, I ask you again: why are you here? You’re not the type to engage in purely social calls."

Ares said, "We need to talk."

"About --?"

"Things relevant to us both. But not here." Ares drew the man up from the chair to face him. "The walls, as they say, have ears." He tightened his hands on Caesar’s waist. "Someplace more … private … would be better."

Caesar deftly evaded his lips, once again extricating himself from the embrace. He slowly walked several steps away and then turned back to face Ares. "Very well," he agreed, bracing his arms behind his back. "Come to my home tonight at dusk. We can have a long … chat."

Ares nodded, humor in his black eyes. "Fine." He vanished, still smiling.

* * *

Man and god reclined on couches around a low round table laden with the remains of dinner. The room was softly lit from sconces on the walls and the brazier that burned at the north end of the private bedchamber. Conversation between them since Ares’ arrival had been light and desultory, flitting easily from the theater, to training regimens for the legions, to the social dramas being played out among the aristocracy.

"But you’ve met Pendraeus, haven’t you? The drunken sonofabitch is running true to form."

"Seems that way." Ares shifted slightly on the couch. He looked at Caesar. "Is he really of import to you?"

"No, but I’ll take the amusement where I can get it."

"Let me do that." Ares reached for Caesar’s hand, still glistening with meat juice. His tongue moved deftly on the fingertips, and he drew them into his mouth, sucking them gently. He probed the sensitive area of skin between the fingers at the base and licked teasingly at the palm.

Caesar laughed deep in his throat, his eyes never leaving Ares’. "My wife has a cat that does the same thing." His tapered fingers, still damp from the god’s mouth, toyed lightly with the curls of hair on Ares’ face, tracing the path of the line of hair from his chin up to the bristling black mustache over the full lips. He covered the war god’s mouth with his own and slid his tongue forcefully into its heat, the pressure of his lips intensifying to a bruising level as Ares sucked it and lapped deliciously at the sensitive veined underside. He twisted his fingers in his beard, holding him in place as he broke the kiss.

"You came all the way to Rome for this? I’m flattered." His breath came rapidly.

"Don’t be," Ares growled, reaching for him again. "I came to talk. This is just a bonus." He came off the couch, his cock stretching the leather at his groin, and Caesar rose to meet him. They pressed against each other, four hands roaming restlessly over and under leather and linen, and he allowed himself to be swept up in the god’s arms and dropped onto the large bed.

Ares flicked his fingers, and the constricting clothing vanished, bringing a laugh from Caesar. "I do love that particular parlor trick," he said as the god’s body pressed him down against the mattress. He slid his hands around to caress the flexed back, digging his fingers cruelly into the hard muscles as Ares bit at the skin of his throat and shoulders. He whipped his head in a sudden motion and fastened his teeth on the side of Ares’ neck, coppery taste in his mouth as his fingernails dug a bleeding trail from ass to shoulders and back down again. Growled response to the obscene pain vibrated against Caesar’s lips, and he moved his mouth slightly and bit down again, tearing fresh flesh and hungrily swallowing the divine blood. An unholy shudder went through the massive body above him, the huge cock leaking a snail’s trail of lust across his hard stomach and pressing against him in a throbbing massage.

"I take it you prefer to talk later?" His whisper into the god’s ear was accompanied by the swipe of a hot tongue deep into it and around the surface whorls, and the response was guttural and unintelligible.

Caesar moved suddenly, his arms sliding between them, and he shoved Ares onto his back, catching his arms and pinning them above his head. The catlike maneuver positioned the man on top, his balls settling heavily around the swollen head of the god’s cock. Ares’ body tensed, preparing to throw him off, and Caesar countered by slathering the length of his tongue rapidly across a copper nipple that tightened and pebbled into a hard point. Gasp turned to desperate moan as he moved his hips slightly against the cock imprisoned beneath him, and his own breathing went ragged when he saw the glittering black eyes go cloudy and unfocused.

His hands slid from the thick wrists down the arms, a fingernail-defined caress, and he tugged lightly on the tufts of hair in the armpit. His knees pressed tightly against Ares’ ribs as he squeezed and rolled the nipples between his fingers, occasionally stroking the ball of his thumbs over the sensitized tips. A small smile curved the god’s swollen lips as he arched his chest into the relentless stroking and slid his hands under his head.

"I guess you want to be on top, huh?" His chuckle came from deep within his chest as his hands firmly gripped Caesar’s waist. "Come up here."

Caesar intensified the motion of his hips, the wetness from Ares’ cock mixing with his own precum that seeped in an unbroken stream from his slit. "You’re not enjoying this?"

"I am," he gasped, "but …"

"Then why should I stop?" He reached behind and gently squeezed Ares’ balls, one finger stroking the skin underneath the sac. He knew the powerful fingers were leaving bruises on his hips, and he ground himself harder against his cock.

"I want … oh, FUCK!" He threw his head back as Caesar’s fingers moved deliberately across and into the puckered circle between his cheeks.

"What do you want?" Caesar twisted his fingers rapidly. Ares’ answer was a deep groan, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"You want to suck me." The god twisted helplessly beneath him, and Caesar smiled evilly. "You want me to fuck your throat, don’t you?" He stopped undulating his hips and his fingers stilled inside Ares’ ass.

"Ask me for it."

Ares opened his eyes, his chest still heaving. "What?"

"Ask me for it. Better yet, beg." He laughed, giving a twitch with his index finger.

The god whimpered, his ass clenching. "No fucking way," he spit out hoarsely.

"Really?" Caesar laughed, stroking his finger feather-light against the smooth gland exactly once. Ares’ hips bucked, but he was ready for the reaction. He pressed him down firmly and squeezed a nipple. "Are you sure?" Another light stroke and a soundless scream widened the god’s mouth. "Ares, tell me what you want." His tone was silky even through the uneven panting. He slid his hand out of Ares with a brutal twist.

"Please …" The tortured murmur was intensely gratifying, but he wanted more. He stroked himself, groaning involuntarily as sensation prickled through his balls, and he gloried in Ares’ rapt attention to the movement of his hand on the hard shaft. He caught a drop of pearly fluid on his thumb and licked at it with the tip of his tongue, savoring the god’s displeasure at being denied more than the pungent flavor. He did it again, noting the dangerous glitter in the black eyes, and his hand shook lightly with the third drop.

"Damn you!" And the surging roar was accompanied by the movement of the huge body, and Caesar’s fist, prepared and tensed, smashed into the chiseled jaw of the god, driving him back with a grunt.

"When I say so!" He backhanded him. "And ONLY when I say so."

Ares was breathing hard, his eyes snapping furiously. "I could kill you, are you aware of that?"

"An idle threat." He fingered the bruise already forming on the god’s face. "And you know it."

They stared at each other, green eyes frosted and unreadable locking with black eyes that glinted silver daggers. Lust or rage, Caesar mused giddily, which will win out this time?

* * *

"An idle threat, yes." The god’s voice was unsteady. "At least for now." He looked up at Caesar, the muscles of his face and body still tense and unyielding. His hands stroked from the man’s chest down to his hips and pulled him forward. "Please."

"Yes." He moved up to kneel next to Ares’ shoulders, his left hand sliding underneath his head, his fingers tangling in the black curls as he eased the head of his cock between the god’s lips. The hands clasping his hips relaxed and began to caress his ass as the hot tongue swirled around the swollen tip, working its way under the foreskin and probing the slit. Caesar leaned forward and rested his arms against the headboard, giving himself up to the pleasures of that experienced tongue and the delicious graze of teeth as he slid farther into the tightening throat. Ares’ hands moved restlessly, over his back and down to the curve of his ass, up to his chest to pinch nipples hardened and aching, and then slid smoothly between his legs to knead his balls. Caesar moaned lightly and his heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his hips in the same lazy rhythm as he moved his cock slowly in and out of Ares’ mouth.

Finally, he drew back, his face flushed. "Turn over and get on your knees."

Ares’ eyes were glazed and he complied without question. Caesar slapped his ass sharply, rewarded with the god’s shiver, and said maliciously, "A whore’s posture suits you so well." Unlubricated except for what remained from the moisture of the god’s mouth, he drove his cock brutally through the tight ring of muscle, ball-deep on the first stroke. Ares groaned loudly, and his head dropped down to rest on his crossed forearms. Caesar pounded into his ass, his lust increasing another notch at the sight and feeling of the red wetness that coated his cock coupled with the continuous gasps and moans from beneath him. His growl was feral as his hands dug deeply into the narrow hips and pulled Ares against him, his rhythm relentless and each stroke delivered with battering-ram force. His balls tightened and he felt sizzling sensation move upwards along his shaft at the same time that his cock was squeezed by the vise of Ares’ muscles. He threw back his head as the wave crashed through him, his cock still erupting in convulsive spurts as he sagged on Ares’ heaving back.

* * *

"I’m never quite sure what to expect when I come here." Ares raised up on one arm and looked down at the man reclining next to him.

Caesar stretched languidly. "Which is why I draw you."

He watched him through half-lidded eyes, knowing that it was true. The mental and physical stimulation pulled him here almost against his will.

"You’re a challenge, General." He handed him wine, the movement making him conscious of the pain in his body. "Shall I leave the bruise?" The discoloration across his cheekbone was reflected in the metal goblet.

Caesar laughed. "Of course. It pleases me to look at it." He traced the disappearing marks on Ares’ torso with his fingertips.

Ares settled back against the cushions, his fingers laced behind his neck. Through slitted eyes, he watched Caesar study him appraisingly. He yawned deliberately, flexing his arms deeper into the bed.

"So tell me about this vendetta you’re staging against my warlords."

Caesar grinned. "So that’s why you’re here." He ran his fingers through the curling hair on the god’s chest. "I should have known. It’s nothing personal, Ares."

"They see it as personal."

"They would. I give you credit for more intelligence." He kissed Ares softly on the neck, nipping lightly at the skin.

"They give me their allegiance. Most of them have served me faithfully for a long time." He turned his head so that Caesar’s mouth could reach the sensitive area behind his ear. "They have … expectations … of support from my corner." He slid his arm around the man’s shoulders, his fingers trailing lightly down the column of the spine. "They call out for me to intervene against their enemy. In this case, that enemy is you."

Caesar pulled back a degree. "If I did not know better, I would think you were threatening me, War God." Amusement flickered in his eyes. "Are you?"

"No. Just stating facts." He ran his hand warmly over Caesar’s chest and hips. "And you do seem to be targeting my warriors, specifically. Maybe I should take it personally." He laughed throatily as he pulled him closer, sliding his hands over the curves of the man’s ass.

Caesar outlined Ares’ lips with the tip of his tongue. "Let me assure you, I am doing nothing of the kind." Their kiss deepened for a moment, then Caesar eased his mouth away. "I am mounting a campaign against those who threaten my authority. And although that certainly includes your warlords, it also involves others."

Ares kissed him lingeringly as his hand encircled the rapidly stiffening cock. "Really? It doesn’t look that way to me. Such as …?" He tightened his thumb and forefinger around the man’s sac and tugged lightly.

"I’m sorry," he said breathlessly, "what was the question?" He spread his legs wider as the god pushed him back against the bed. "Ares, you’re making me lose my train of thought."

{Exactly my intention.} Ares cupped his balls, squeezing them gently. "You said your endeavors involved others besides my warlords. From what I’ve seen, that claim doesn’t hold water. Give me an example." He closed his teeth carefully over a swollen nipple.

Caesar twisted his fingers in the god’s hair and pulled his head up. "You’re after something, Ares. I know you."

"Mmmm."

"What is it?"

Ares grinned. "Isn’t it obvious?" He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it sensuously.

"Cut the crap." He sat up, back rigid against the headboard, one arm resting on his upraised knee. "You want something, and you want it bad enough to put on quite a performance. Now talk."

Ares rolled onto his left side, moving the damp tendrils of hair off his forehead as he faced the man. "What’s with the attitude, handsome?" His gaze rested lightly on Caesar’s face for a moment. "And I ‘perform’ for no one. Don’t flatter yourself."

Caesar jerked his hand in irritation. "We’ve known each other far too long for these games." He locked his arms tightly across his chest and the eyes that rested on Ares’ face were cold and bored. "Give me the respect of speaking honestly, and save your finesse for the mortals stupid enough to fall for it, Ares."

"I would advise you to remember that you are talking to a god, mortal. And one most particularly renowned for his violent temper." Muscles in his arms and chest bulged with his anger. "The other gods tread carefully with me, Caesar. You might want to keep that in mind."

"Don’t fucking pull rank on me, Ares," Caesar sneered, his nostrils flared. "That doesn’t work, either." He stood up, looking down at the god with an imperious expression. "You have three choices. Fucking, talking or departing. Pick one."

Ares sighed, feeling his anger dissipate, to be replaced with grudging admiration for the man standing before him. Never a shred of fear, no matter how warranted, and an innate dignity that never wavered, even when his lips trembled with their need for the god’s cock. Ares had watched the man stand unflinching in the path of certain death on the battlefield, and survive through the power of his will; and he had seen senators enter into negotiations with Julius Caesar, armed with unbeatable arguments based in undeniable logic, and lose against the force of the General’s personality.

"I only get one option?"

"No. You can have all three," Caesar said tersely. "But you will have them one at a time."

Ares chuckled. "I have to say that’s … limiting. And boring."

"It’s also reality. Deal with it."

"Fine," the god said, exhaling heavily. "Let’s talk." A small nod, and then Caesar slipped into a silk robe and sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed, still unsmiling. "But lay down here so we don’t have to shout."

"A tiresome maneuver. Let’s proceed." He crossed his legs, his face closed.

Ares felt a flare of anger, but ignored it. "Your campaign against my warlords."

"As I have already told you," Caesar stifled a yawn, "my campaign is not against your warlords. It is against insurrectionists in general. Some of them are yours, true. But not all of them."

"For example?"

"Centropo is not yours. Neither is Hamann."

"Old news," Ares said evenly. "At least two months’ old. Let’s stay in the present, shall we?"

Caesar’s face stiffened, and then instantly relaxed. "Nimos."

Ares snorted. "You snared him by accident. He was never a primary target."

"Dedaros."

Ares smiled. "Okay, that’s one." He crossed his legs at the ankles. "Who else?"

"What is the point of this, if I may ask?"

"The point," he said, his tone silky, "is that so far you have come up with only one. Of the 16 you are currently pursuing. And frankly, instinct tells me Dedaros serves as camouflage."

Caesar glared at him, but his voice remained controlled. "Krona. Xena. Toreus."

Ares sat up, running his fingers through his hair. "Just a moment. One of those IS mine."

"Which one?" His voice was very quiet.

The god cleared his throat. "Xena."

"Xena?" His amazement sounded genuine. "Xena? The one who has made it known far and wide that you represent everything she despises? That Xena?" Laughter bubbled from his throat. "You can’t be serious, Ares."

"I am." Heat flushed the hollows of his face. "Her defection is merely a temporary situation. Irritating, but not irrevocable. She’ll come to her senses eventually." He reached for the goblet. "Would you get rid of a fine thoroughbred just because it was high-spirited? No, I know for a fact that you would do no such thing. Neither would I." He leaned forward slightly. "She’s still mine. And she always will be."

A smile twitched the corners of the man’s lips. "My apologies, Ares. I didn’t realize you felt so … strongly … about the Warrior Princess." His eyes narrowed. "Does she know of your warm regard?"

"Does Brutus know of yours?" Caesar’s flinch told him the arrow had hit its mark. He stretched out across the bed, chewing on his lower lip to prevent the grin from spreading across his face. Although he knew, better than anyone else, that verbal fencing with Caesar was at best a zero-sum game, he couldn’t help feeling satisfied that he had surprised him into a visible reaction.

"Two different situations, I think."

"No, they’re not." He exhaled. "But both are irrelevant."

"Perhaps." His eyes focused on a point somewhere to the left of Ares’ head. "Are you asking me to back off?" he said absently.

Ares felt himself tense. "No. I am asking you why Xena." He raised himself to one elbow. "It makes no sense. She’s not a warlord and she has no army. One single woman is no threat to Rome. Or to you, for that matter." Careful, he told himself. "Or is she?"

"She has no army, but she does have a following. And the locals listen to her." He stood up, pacing slowly. "She is a rebellious influence. And she has openly threatened to kill me. And why the fuck are you laughing?"

"I shouldn’t laugh?" Ares’ eyes danced maliciously. "I shouldn’t hoot at the sight of the General of the Imperial Roman Army in the grip of a case of the vapors about a single female?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "For your information, she’s threatened to kill me, too. And at least a dozen others that I can name. It doesn’t keep me awake at night. Let alone make me offer the unbelievable sum of six million dinars for her capture." He stepped behind Caesar, resting his hands on the man’s shoulders. "And I could afford the price. You can’t. Neither can Rome."

Caesar turned to face him, eyes sharp and mouth set firmly. "Go on."

"It’s illogical from both the political standpoint and the vantage of battle strategy," Ares said coldly. "Therefore, it’s personal."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Caesar rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You know the answer to that."

"And I should let you kill her for the sake of your wounded male pride?"

"Kill her?" Caesar smiled easily. "I have no intention of killing her."

"Right. You take me for a fool, Caesar." He stalked back to the bed, dropping himself heavily.

"Ares," Caesar said, and the hackles on the back of Ares’ neck rose at the velvety brush of his tone, "what have I always told you? Murdering an adversary delivers the victory into the adversary’s hands. It’s taking the easy way out." He sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on the god’s leg. "For me to simply execute the bitch would send the message that she had left me no alternative, that I had run out of ideas." He ran his hand down Ares’ calf, grasping the ankle loosely. "She would win."

"I see." He fought to keep his voice even.

"The money I offered was for capture, not her head." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "I’m going to break her. I assure you I intend to keep her alive for a long, long time." He made a low murmur of amusement. "Although I anticipate her begging for mercy, eventually. If the Fates are kind, that is." He looked steadily at Ares. "Ask me nicely, and I might allow you to participate."

"That’s what I enjoy -- hatred sweetened with gracious generosity." Ares exhaled slowly, the internal quivering subsiding to an intermittent prickle. He chose his words carefully. "I may take you up on that."

"We’ve worked so well together on such things in the past, haven’t we?"

"Yes." He laid back, listening to Caesar lie, thinking of cobras hissing. "You’ll need my help, after all."

"Your help?" His fingers grew lax and still on the god’s cock.

"Oh, yeah." Ares wrapped his hand around the man’s fingers and moved it slowly up and down the hardening shaft. "You don’t have the chance of a fart in a strong wind of conquering the Warrior Princess by yourself." Heavy pressure on the back of Caesar’s head brought his lips against the head of the cock. "I should know: she’s my …"

* * *

The effort required to bite back the word as it hovered on his lips caused him to relax his hand. And the man, smelling blood, pounced.

"She’s your what?"

"What?"

"Xena. You said ‘she’s my,’ and stopped. What is she to you?"

Ares swallowed. "She’s my protégé. My finest effort." He closed his eyes. "Why? What did you think I was going to say?"

Even with his eyes closed, he felt Caesar’s eyes crawling avidly over his face, searching for a shadow or line to reveal something hidden. Ares concentrated on the regular thud of his heart, focusing to the extent of being blind and deaf to anything else, confident that the self-induced semi-trance would keep his face absolutely immobile. But in the back of his mind he could still hear the sibilance of the cobra’s hiss.

* * *

Caesar rose from the bed, still watching the god carefully. A mask, he decided, a deliberate mask. What is he hiding? he wondered. And why?

He locked his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet as he arranged his face in an amiable presentation.

* * *

"Ares, I can tell that this means a great deal to you."

Ebony eyes betrayed nothing.

"Surely you know that you have only to ask me … and I will withdraw any action against Xena." He took Ares’ hand gently between his two palms. "It would, of course, be a privilege to grant a favor to the God of War." He patted the back of the god’s hand in a conciliatory fashion. "Please … ask."

* * *

Ares laughed, a single blast of derision. "What is this shit?" He jerked his hand away from Caesar. "I always assumed you turned away from the priest’s life by choice. But it must have been because you were putrid at it." A grimace twisted his mouth. "Get me some wine to wash away the taste before I puke." The god kicked out with one powerful leg, sending the man flying to land unceremoniously on the floor.

Caesar steadied his nerves before he rose slowly and walked deliberately to stand at the foot of the bed. He gazed steadily at Ares, motionless. He waited for the fury that burned hotly in his brain to turn to ice, and he knew better than to speak until it did.

"I told you to fetch me some wine."

{Thank you, Ares.} The taste of metal filled his mouth and he felt the familiar numbness spread through him in a flood. His vision telescoped, reducing the massive form of the god to something small and distant and unimportant, and his heart slowed to a calm thud.

"Get it yourself."

"I said --"

"And I said get it yourself."

Ares growled hoarsely, "I could k --"

"Oh, yes, I know you could kill me. Do it. And all of the Underworld will hear of my absolute victory over the God of War." He savored the anger contusing the god’s face. "Kill me, Ares. Or don’t. You are the god, after all." He smiled humorlessly. "But do stop threatening me with it every time you find yourself at a loss for words. It’s boring."

He turned away from Ares, but continued speaking in an uninflected tone. "If you ask me to back off from Xena, I will. At your request. If you do not beg the indulgence, I will continue. I intend to have her. I intend to break her. I intend to enjoy doing so. Are you interested in my reasons?"

"Yes." He heard the tightness of emotion in Ares’ voice and shelved it for later reflection.

"The Warrior Princess is believed to be indomitable and without peer. You are the only contender she has not beaten, and every contest between the two of you has been a draw. When she breaks under my hand -- and she will -- it will reverberate through Rome and Gaul, not to mention Greece, and it will undermine courage and confidence and breed fear. When they see her cower before me -- and she will -- they will do likewise."

He turned from the window and faced Ares. "You informed me of your belief that my campaign is personal. It is. I will take great personal pleasure in seeing her press her lips to the toe of my boot, at my whim. But it is also cogent strategy for accomplishing my goal of political and geographic conquest."

He walked to the table in the middle of the room and filled a goblet with wine. Handing it to the god, he said, "If you are worried about my ordering her execution, I give you my word that I have no plans to do so. And if there remains some other reason why you object, Ares, disclose it. And I’ll consider it in light of other factors."

Ares drawled sarcastically, "How kind of you, Gaius. Shall I genuflect now, or can it wait until later?"

"Later will be fine." He knelt beside the bed and drew the thick cock into his mouth.

* * *

Ares inhaled sharply as Caesar’s tongue devoured him, flicks of a wide paintbrush up and down the veined shaft interspersed with long, slow swipes lavished across the satiny head. Tiny bites down the underside made him shudder, and his back arched involuntarily as the heat of Caesar’s mouth enveloped his sac, smooth lips that massaged and pulled and a deft tongue that fluttered lightly over the taut skin. He groaned deeply as the warm lips moved wetly down and suckled his ass, tongue probing firmly. He felt his body flex and open, and the hot bar of flesh slid smoothly into him, again and again, the slight flutter and wiggle inside him sending tidal waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

Caesar withdrew gradually, leaving a moist trail from his ass and across his balls, finally lapping greedily the musky precum slicking the cock. Ares pulled him up and took his mouth, tasting the intoxicating combination of flavors, and as he bit down fiercely on the man’s tongue, drawing blood, Caesar moaned deep into his mouth. Ares felt tapered fingers twine themselves in his hair and twist the curls tightly, and he pushed him back, slowing his pace so that he could fully explore his mouth and throat. Caesar whimpered in frustration, but Ares pinned him securely, his weight holding him in place.

"What’s wrong," and humor mixed with lust in Ares’ voice, "aren’t you enjoying this?"

"Yes … yes, you bastard … let me --"

He drew his mouth down Caesar’s throat to his chest, leaving a trail of skillful bites that bruised but didn’t break the skin. Nails dug into his shoulders as he sawed the edge of his teeth roughly against the nipples, and his throat tightened with lust when Caesar’s fingers wrapped around the head of his cock and squeezed it. Ares moved down and kneed his legs apart roughly, sliding his arms under the man’s thighs and grasping his waist. Pulling Caesar against him, he pushed deliberately through the tight resistance, sheathing his cock inch by inch in one long, magnificent stroke that dragged a raw scream of ecstasy from the man’s throat. He pulled out almost completely, closing his eyes as he lost himself in the sensation of Caesar’s anus enclosing the pulsing head of his cock in a warm kiss, and then he drove himself inside him again, a thought of oil providing slick friction and silken heat around the shaft.

He moved forward, thrusting faster and deeper, and braced the weight of his body against Caesar’s chest, his fingers pulling the swollen nipples as the heels of his hands left bruises on the man’s abdomen. In the back of his mind, he felt ribs break under the pressure, and as he healed them, he heard them crack anew. Ares saw his eyes dilate, and his howl of agony deepened into a hoarse wail of wanton need. His arms dropped from Ares’ shoulders to rest limply, palms up, next to his head. Ares stopped, not able to breathe, his need for what he knew was coming dwarfing the pounding in his balls.

"My god." The words fell from the man’s lips, powerless and pale, and Ares savored the ambrosia of that most precious offering that rose unbidden, unconscious, and always unremembered by the speaker, from the depths of Caesar’s soul. He closed his eyes, a shudder moving through his body.

"My lord." And time stopped for the god.

"My master." And the surge of triumph rolled through him, fire-hot and ice-hard, and he came with a roar, his hands crushing the hipbones and the fury of his final thrust bursting an artery inside the man. Hot jets of his semen mixed with the convulsive arterial pulse of blood, and he roared again as the hot scent filled his nostrils and coated the inside of his mouth.

* * *

Ares rose slowly, his face and chest slimed with blood. He cleansed his body and dressed with a thought, aftershocks still rippling pleasurably through him. He sprawled across a couch, throat muscles flexing powerfully as he drained the carafe of wine, then let it drop carelessly to the floor. The god closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

The sound of tortured breathing broke through his stupor, and he got up and walked over to the bed. The elegant face was twisted in a pinched grimace and his body looked waxy from the loss of blood. Air whistled rapidly in and out of lungs punctured by broken ribs and a stream of black blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Ares shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. {I hope he has the brains not to let it get to this point with anyone else.} Then he laughed at himself. {I must be losing it. Of course he doesn’t.} He bent down and placed his hands flat against Caesar’s chest and sent a push of energy into him, and a glowing yellow haze spread out from under the god’s fingers and expanded to cover the man. A glint in his eye, Ares lifted his hands just before the haze began to dissipate. {Something to remember me by.}

He stepped back and looked around him. A wave of his hand repaired the rips in the bed linen and removed the gouges from the wooden headboard. He touched two fingers to the blood-sodden sheets and absorbed the carnage into himself, and pleasant dizziness swirled through his head.

"Sleep well, General," he purred softly as he brushed his lips over the face of the now peacefully unconscious man. "It’s been fun, as always." He stepped back and disappeared.

* * *

Ares materialized on the deserted northern coast of the Isle of Lesbos. He needed to think -- the only way he could do that effectively was to walk -- and he needed a refuge from interruptions, which could not be found in his fortress. The deserted island with its miles of coastal land fronting the Aegean Sea provided him with both privacy and space to pace.

He knew the man was lying.

He knew the man was telling the truth.

He was not sure, however, which was which.

Ares dismissed immediately Caesar’s claim of self-defense. He had made it known that he intended to remain in Rome for an indefinite time, and so long as he did, his soldiers provided almost unbreachable security, even against someone as determined as the Warrior Princess had always shown herself to be. The god knew that Xena hated the man, but she would never be so foolish as to start a war she had no chance of winning, unless there was no other way.

And this fact was as well-known to Caesar as it was to Ares. Which was why the man had thrown the gauntlet down to Xena when he offered a fortune for her capture. She was the target, not him, and any attack by her was in reaction to that. Caesar’s gesture was offensive rather than defensive, and served the purpose of virtually guaranteeing that she would have to do something to protect herself. And since he had no plans to set foot outside of Rome, and had fully publicized that fact, she would have no choice but to come to him. Efficient hunter that he was, Caesar had set a trap -- and had diabolically set himself up as a bait that he knew she would be unable to resist.

It was brilliant, Ares thought ruefully as he kicked rocks along the shore, and the rabbit would hop right into the pen, and her eyes would be wide open as she did so. Although Xena’s fighting skills were unparalleled, and her ability to lay out a battlefield plan was everything he had ever hoped it would be, he had never been able to teach her anything but the most basic strategy when it came to the manipulation of people.

The god also dismissed Caesar’s reasoning of her disruptive influence. He had said that Xena had a following among the locals, and this was absolutely correct. The local people might very well appoint her their champion -- it had happened before. But by his own admission, Caesar was campaigning against the warlords, not the civilians and villagers, and the warlords would be unaffected by anything Xena did. They had their own agendas, and although they might welcome her efforts insofar as they kept the Roman occupied and out of their territory, she had no power to incite them to any course of action. The man’s stated concern, that Xena would marshal the people and the warlords to make a stand against Rome, evidenced flawed logic and a misreading of the crowd. And since Ares knew that Caesar was not likely to misread societal tides in any degree, let alone to the extent necessary to put stock in the theory, he concluded that it was a lie.

But using her to provide an example -- that was typical. And the god knew that Xena would be his first choice for this, that Caesar had spent years biding his time and waiting for the chance to bring her down. She had robbed Pompey of a hero’s death and had been indirectly responsible for the execution of Crassus, and she had stalemated him in his efforts to gain political favor by the public execution of Vercinix. All of those were counted worthy of Roman "justice." But those were trivialities, small details that would have no definitive power in any strategic decision. Her crimes, in Caesar’s view, were those of omission, a subtlety that would pass unnoticed for anyone else.

She had forced him to show his hand before he was ready, and he had had to change his preferred course of action to accommodate her defiance.

She had refused to honor his mandate, and in her single-minded fashion, had drawn a line in the sand that the man had been forced to acknowledge and work around.

She had questioned his absolute authority, and had belligerently declared herself to be his equal.

And those improprieties, and the attitude that spawned them, were unpardonable.

Ares saw clearly that in this respect the man had spoken the truth. A simple death would leave the bulk of the debt forever unsettled. His intention was not to take her life -- it was to destroy her soul. She must be made to clear the account by paying to the Roman what she had refused to tender years ago: she must declare him her master and beg his forgiveness.

And the god stopped suddenly as two dark certainties coalesced in his mind. His heart sank as they slipped into place with an audible click:

Caesar was, possibly for the first time in his life, guilty of a grave miscalculation. He would never break her -- there was no force in the world, god or man, that could compel her to kneel subserviently. Her blood, HIS blood, made that an impossibility.

Admitting defeat was not a part of her nature.

And Xena was doomed, not to death, but to something much worse -- a lifetime at the mercy of a sadist who would never give up because his belief in his destiny dictated that the master of the world conquer all.

Admitting defeat was not a part of his nature.

* * *

Caesar ignored the food on the tray, concentrating on the wine. He had quickly dispatched the business that could not wait, giving his frightened adjutant orders to refrain from disturbing him further. "On pain of death, Meritus." He lifted the carafe to fill his goblet and grimaced.

Every movement sent a bolt of agony through his body. That prick of a god had taken care of the wounds, broken bones and the like, but the pain of the assault remained. He felt a sharp stab every time he inhaled, his head throbbed dully, and the effect of the wine was the only thing that made the crest of pain in his throat worth enduring. It was not worth the cramp in his kidneys and the eye-tearing burning in his cock when he pissed, but he drank it anyway.

And there wasn’t so much as a scratch visible on his body.

He walked carefully to the divan and stretched out, gasping as his hindquarters pressed against the cushion. Yes, food was out of the question for the next couple of days. A bowel movement would probably kill him.

He closed his eyes, making another attempt to distance himself from the pain that made it impossible for him to think in a coherent fashion. But it was useless. The twisted sonofabitch had made sure to leave him with the full physical experience of their encounter to endure at a time when there could be no possible enjoyment of it.

Because of Xena.

Caesar wondered, as he had before, what the hold was. She denigrated the god at the top of her lungs and with undisguised glee at every opportunity, public and private, throwing up obstacles and fucking up his schemes, all punctuated by that ear-splitting yell of triumph.

And Ares took it. In the ass, Caesar thought. And went back for more.

Yes, the god and the woman had a history. That was common knowledge. And knowing Ares’ tastes as he did, she must have been hotter than the hinges of Tartarus between the sheets with the god, for him to even remember her name the next morning. He smiled in spite of the discomfort it brought to his mouth. He remembered her as being an athletic fuck, but nothing he felt compelled to seek out more than a few times. Left something to be desired in the cock-sucking department, now that he thought about it.

"Ares, you should give her a few lessons," he mused aloud, thinking back to last night. And he was rewarded for the thought by a glassy pain that clamped his cock and balls in a vise with steel teeth. He concentrated on not splattering the tile floor with vomit.

"You look a little under the weather, Caesar."

"What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Have a bad night?" The lilting voice was closer. He opened his eyes slowly to see her peering curiously down at him. "You look … not at ALL well."

He inhaled as deeply as the pain would allow and exhaled very slowly. "I will admit to having been better."

"Can I help?" She giggled evilly, her eyes shining. "All you have to do is ask."

He grunted. "If I thought there was anything you could do, I would ask."

"Caesar, I can help you."

"No. You cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said tiredly, "this was done by a god. Deliberately." He raised himself carefully to an upright position. "I know the rules. You cannot undo it."

She laughed gaily, tinkling bells that hurt his ears. "Oh, that! Well, sweetie, I guess you don’t know everything after all." She waved her hand lightly in his direction.

And the pain vanished. Completely.

"Feel better? Good!" She clapped her hands, perching cutely on the edge of his desk.

He looked at her, cunning quickly replacing surprise. "How were you able to do that?"

"Not important. For now." He felt her eyes on him as he walked easily to his chair. "I think a thank you might be in order, my dear."

He smiled evenly and said nothing.

"Or, maybe I should put you back the way I found you?"

"Thank you."

"Oh, it was my pleasure!" She tilted her head and smiled demurely. "I know Ares can be a little, shall we say, enthusiastic?"

He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. "You were … watching?"

"No. He would’ve sensed my presence." She thought for a moment. "Well, actually, he wouldn’t have known it was me, specifically. But he’s not oblivious. Especially not that one."

The man stifled a yawn, bored with the conversation. "Do you have a reason for being here, other than to cure my … hangover, for lack of a better phrase?"

"Of course."

"Well?"

"Ummm … about Xeee-naaaa …"

"Yes?" Unsmiling, he waited.

A crease appeared between her eyebrows and her eyes flashed. "It’s useless trying to be nice to you, Caesar."

"I neither need nor want your friendship. I have told you that repeatedly." He stood up and faced her. "State your business and then leave me. I have work to do."

The cute and dimpling demeanor vanished. "Fine. The reward has been posted?"

"Yes."

"Any response?"

"Several. All of them impostors."

"Are you sure?"

"Very." He sorted through several documents. "They brought me the heads."

"And?" The familiar shrieking undertone was back.

He stared at her calmly. "We wait." He smiled coldly. "Xena will come to me."

"You seem unconcerned."

"I am." He turned away from her. "I trust you will let me know when she reaches the city limits, will you not?"

"Of course. That is the arrangement. Or part of it."

"Then I have no reason to worry, do I?"

She pursed her lips slightly, gazing at him with a sideways glance. "So what did tall, dark and overbearing have to say?"

Caesar’s lips tightened slightly. "Nothing. He came to get his ashes hauled, as usual. Why do you ask?"

She tittered wildly. "Oh, my dear, you are a GOOD liar!" Her face went blank and cold. "Try again."

"I assure you …"

"I said I wasn’t watching. I said nothing about listening."

He studied her closely. "Then there is no need for me to repeat what you already know, is there?"

She flounced away from him, her arms tightly crossed. "You are making this very difficult!"

He ignored her tantrum. "Tell me something."

"What."

"Why does the Warrior Princess have such a hold on the God of War?"

Her eyes got very wide. "I … why do you ask?"

He grasped her wrist. "I have my reasons. Now answer me."

"Because … ummm … how should I know?"

"But you do." His voice softened.

"I can’t tell you." She pulled away from him. "It’s against the fucking rules, okay?"

He smiled. "So there is … something." He sat down slowly, his eyes distant. "As I thought." He concentrated for a moment, his index finger tapping his front teeth lightly. She waited, sighing loudly.

"Is it anything I need to know?"

"Oh, are you talking to me?" The sarcasm was poisonous.

"I need you to tell me," he said sinuously, velvet in his voice, "because if there is something that imports on our agreement, I need to take it into account. After all, we both have things at stake here. If there is anything …"

She stared hotly at him for a long time before answering. "No. It’s nothing." And she was gone, only the slightest whiff of sulfur remaining.

* * *

He leaned back, his mind operating quickly. So. There was a connection, and it was undoubtedly something deep and murky. Several possibilities immediately came to mind.

It was, as the god said, that she was his protégé and his "finest effort," and he was grooming her to take the position of his consort and goddess of war.

She had some secret information so covert and damaging that Ares would literally bend over backwards to keep it from public view.

She had borne him a child, one in whom the god took enough pride to make him protect the mother.

She was related by blood to a god.

All of the choices were certainly possible, and they all had a fair amount of merit.

Images ran through his brain, a kaleidoscope involving Ares and Xena, accompanied by an auditory recital of all the truth and lies and statements of undetermined veracity that he had ever heard spoken. He made no attempt to filter them or debate their worth, but merely sat placidly and let it all wash through his mind.

The process took approximately one minute.

He was not preparing her to assume a position at his right hand because Ares was not such a fool that he would place so close to himself a woman whose basic loyalty was seriously in question. There was no information of such a sensitive nature as to compromise the arrogant pride of the god. She had borne one child in her life, and since the boy had blond hair and blue eyes, he was obviously not Ares’ spawn. Therefore …

His throat closed and he tasted metal as he realized with a dawning sense of horror that he had set a course to murder the daughter of the God of War.

"CALLISTO!" he screamed.

She poked at the fire, both irritated with and grateful for the necessity of stopping for the night. The delay ate at her nerves: she wanted to get to Rome, get it finished, finally close the book on him after all these years. She knew that the longer it took her to get to the imperial city, the more prepared Caesar would be for her arrival. But her survival instincts, honed by years of living, spoke staidly, telling her to go slow, to take her time and wait for the right moment. Because there would be only one chance.

She stared into the flames, not feeling the chill in the night air. It had come to this: Xena, one of Ares’ chosen, hunted like a dog through the foothills of Greece and in Rome proper, the king’s ransom of a reward from the pig whose carefully enunciated words had the force of law spurring the efforts of the greedy and desperate. Half of her time since leaving Corinth had been spent fighting off those determined to collect on Caesar’s offer. The remainder of time she had spent alternately traveling as quickly as possible through dense forests on ill-defined footpaths that had never felt a weight heavier than the body of a child or small animal, and hiding from groups of armed men that she was not in the mood to take on.

If everyone with a working weapon and half a brain wasn’t on my tail, she thought sourly, I could have been to Rome and back by now. But she knew that was Caesar’s intention, his reason for offering the money, and even knowing that, there was no other choice available to her now. It had reached the point of kill or be killed, and if she had to die, she was determined to go down fighting. And, she thought, licking her lips, if I can take that monster with me, I’ll die happy.

The back of her neck prickled suddenly, the familiar sensation narrowing her eyes and quickening her breath. Tension filled her body, tightening muscles hardened by a lifetime of war, but her face remained impassive.

"Ares, show yourself."

A blue haze several feet beyond the fire coalesced into the large form of the God of War. He strolled over, shaking his head in amusement. "Do you have any idea how irritating I find your ability to do that?" He sat down next to her. "Kinda takes all the fun out of being a god, you know."

"What do you want?"

"I don’t get it. Everywhere I go, everyone assumes I have ulterior motives." He rolled his eyes and sighed melodramatically. "I’m so misunderstood."

"Sure you are," she said gruffly. She took a pull from a waterskin. "If you’re here, there’s a reason, Ares."

"Perhaps." He glanced around the campsite. "Where is she?"

Xena looked at him steadily. "Who?"

"Your little girlfriend." He laughed lightly. "She of the blonde hair and girlish giggles."

Xena stifled the retort that rose instantly to her lips. "Gabrielle went on ahead."

"Marital spat?" he asked condescendingly. She felt a flare of anger but made no reply.

"Well, I’m sure it’s nothing serious. She’ll come to her senses."

"Ares, I’m too tired to fence with you tonight." She threw another log on the fire and settled back down. "So back off, or take yourself elsewhere, okay?"

A small smile curved his lips. "Fair enough." He paused deliberately. "I guess you’ve got enough on your mind without my adding to it, Xena."

She looked sharply at him, her eyes hard. "Meaning what?"

His face was bland. "Meaning … Caesar."

Her mouth set itself in a thin line as she watched him lower himself to the ground and stretch out on his side. "I should have known you were involved in this."

"Don’t jump to conclusions, my dear. Knowledge is not involvement." He smiled carelessly. "If it were, the entire Roman Empire would be guilty. Caesar has made sure that every man, woman and child will immediately recognize the sight of your beautiful face." He studied her, his eyes hypnotic in their intensity. "He painted a target on that oh-so-impressive bosom of yours."

She looked away from him, feeling trapped by his enjoyment of the situation. She could always count on Ares to be delighted by any predicament that put her at risk, even if it could result in her death. His deliberate interference had doubled and tripled the odds against her more times than she could remember, and she was never sure if it was base meanness or absolute confidence in her ability to win that drove him. He’s a god, she thought dully. It’s probably boredom.

She took a deep breath. "You relish seeing me with my back against the wall, don’t you?"

The smile faded from his face. "You won’t believe this, but no. Not always, anyway." He came over to her, sitting down and taking her hands. "You’re beautiful when you’re cornered, Xena, and I can’t deny that it warms my heart to see you that way. But this thing …," and his eyes dropped away from hers, "this is no good. And it does not please me. Not at all."

She smiled evenly, amused as always when he played the caring lover. "How touching, Ares."

"I’m serious, Xena. I know, and you should know: the man means business. He’s not playing a game."

She laughed harshly. "No. Six million dinars takes it completely out of the game category. So what?"

His eyes flashed darkly. "For once, will you listen to me? Caesar intends --"

She stood up slowly, staring hotly at him. "How do you know what Caesar intends?"

"I have eyes. It’s not that hard to figure out."

"Ares …"

"Sit down here and listen to me."

She let him pull her down next to him, close, too close, for her to be able to think straight. Unwelcome and intoxicating, repulsive and delicious, his presence had always aroused a war within her, a battle that never lessened with time or eased with familiarity. She wanted him, hated him, lusted for that huge body, was repulsed by his very existence, felt drunk and weak when his musk invaded her nostrils, and recoiled in disgust from those arrogant eyes and the patronizing caress of his voice. She fought to distance herself from the maelstrom whirling inside her.

"I know what he intends because I know the man. I know how his mind works. Something you have never been able to get a firm grasp on, my dear." His fingers moved gently under her chin, and she jerked away from his touch.

"He wants me dead. I know."

"It’s not quite that simple." His hand rested lightly on the back of her neck.

"Get to the point already!"

"Killing you would be a mercy. He is capable of far worse things than that." His thumb stroked firmly down the side of her throat.

"And you think he would win."

"Under the circumstances … there’s not a doubt in my mind."

She clenched her fists tightly. "I wouldn’t be so sure about that."

"Don’t be an idiot, Xena." She rejoiced in the badly contained irritation in his voice, much preferring to deal with the god’s anger rather than his kindness. It was far easier for her to hold him at a distance when he wasn’t so warmly charming.

"I know all about Caesar’s methods. I’ve known him for a very long time. He hasn’t beaten me yet, you might remember, although, by the gods, he’s certainly made more than one attempt."

"Do you think for one moment that he’s not eager to get you on Roman soil, on his own turf? That damned money was a fucking engraved invitation to you. Are you too stupid to see that you are walking into a trap?" He glared at her, fury darkening his face.

"I have been on Roman soil before," she said defiantly, "and I have beaten the prick ON ROMAN SOIL, in the very city that he calls his own." Her eyes darkened to navy. "You may fear him. I DON’T."

"That’s enough!"

"Too right. It is enough. Tell me, Ares, just so I know for future reference: Do you remove your tongue from his asshole when he takes a dump, or do you just swallow it on down?"

He clamped his hands around her upper arms, squeezing the metal bands into her flesh. "I said enough! Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you!"

She steeled herself against the pain and struck out at him, her knee coming up between his legs with the driving force that had turned mortal men into airborne projectiles. Cursing, he released his grip on her, and she drove the heel of her hand into his jaw, knocking him back. With a deadly speed, she found herself launched across the clearing as the back of his hand connected with her face and snapped her head sharply backwards. Her vision swam dizzily as she fought to stand.

When it cleared somewhat, she went for him again, but his fingers tightly encircled her wrists as he kicked her legs out from under her.

By the time she finally admitted defeat, her face was battered, one eye already discoloring, and her hip joint had been badly dislocated. Her broken right arm, snapped like a twig over the steel of his leg, was swollen to twice its normal size. Gashes from impact with rough bark and the heavy rings on his hand covered her arms and legs, and blood streaming from a deep wound on her forehead stung her eyes.

She looked up at him. There was a dark bruise on his jaw visible even through the beard, and a deep scratch that ran diagonally across his chest, both of which quickly faded from sight. A shiver of something like fear ran up her spine and tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up when she looked into the merciless blackness of his eyes.

"Well," he said tightly, "that was fun, wasn’t it?" He walked over to where she lay and stood over her, his face unreadable. She swallowed fear and met his eyes evenly.

He squatted down and took her hands in his, and heat flowed through her in a consuming wave, washing the pain away and providing her with the god’s strength. She closed her eyes, the feel of his hands enclosing hers eclipsing everything.

* * *

He had been thinking, and he didn’t notice that she had regained consciousness.

"Who do you have to fuck to get some wine around here?" The mocking sarcasm in her voice made him smile.

He tossed her the wineskin, drawling, "I guess that would be me." He watched her empty the bag, knowing it was apprehension, not thirst, that called for the wine. And it wasn’t just his presence: he had observed her for some time before allowing her to feel him, carefully cloaking himself against her immortal intuition. Her nerves were on alert, and she was skittish, almost twitching. The kind of warrior, he saw with concern, who was prone to strike out first and ask questions later. The kind of warrior that she had never been before.

His eyes rested for a moment on her hands. They were steady. Well, he thought, at least there’s that. Not much, but it’s better than nothing. But he knew that if he kissed her, he would taste the bitter metal of adrenaline in her mouth, and he had already noticed the sour smell on her skin.

She was … scared, he realized. Or as close to scared as she was capable of getting.

"More?" he asked.

"No." She leaned back on her forearms, her legs stretched out straight in front of her.

"Well, my dear," he said easily, "at the risk of starting another battle …" He looked sharply at her, cocking an eyebrow. "And, by the way, do you kiss Gabrielle with that mouth? Remove my tongue from his asshole? Ye gods and little fishes, girl, what a picture!" He started to laugh.

She looked at him, and a smile twitched the corners of her mouth. Their laughter grew into whoops and howls that echoed through the quiet forest, until they were both holding their stomachs.

She wiped tears out of her eyes, still yelping, and said, "Well, if the body orifice fits, Ares …"

He shook his head, trying to regain control. "Okay, I really think that’s quite enough now." He winked at her, chuckles still bubbling from his throat. "You know, honey, sometimes I really miss the loopy side of you. When Gabby’s here, you’re always so deadly serious. Does she ever see you like this?"

"Not really. It … I guess she doesn’t see me that way."

"You don’t want her to see you that way."

"Whatever." Her eyes sharpened. "Oh, you are so good."

He shook his head at her. "Simmer down, babe. This is just us here. I’m really not after anything. You, above all others, can easily tell the difference. Look at me."

She studied him, her face stern and shadowed. Finally, she shrugged. "All right. Maybe."

"Okay. So … truce? At least for tonight?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

He stared into the flames. "If you are on your way to Rome, I’m telling you he’s waiting for you." He watched her out of the corner of his eye. "Is that where you’re headed?"

She stretched out on her side, pulling a fur up over her shoulders. "I’m on my way toward Athens. That’s where Gabrielle is."

"You’re not moving in the direction of Rome," he said skeptically.

She looked steadily at him. "I’ll admit it’s tempting. But I’m not stupid." She motioned to him for the wineskin. "Like you said, Ares, I couldn’t possibly win. I’m good, but the entire Roman Army? Not even the Warrior Princess can buck those odds." She sat up and crossed her arms over her knees. "I wish …," she murmured, her eyes taking on a faraway cast. Then she shook her head and met his eyes, coldness underlining her words. "I would like nothing better than to rip out the bastard’s heart and feel it beat for the last time in my hand. If I had even a slim chance of success, I’d take the risk. But I don’t. I know that." He listened carefully for a quiver of falseness in her voice. "He wouldn’t kill me, you know. He’d keep me for a … pet." Her face twisted in a grimace on the last word.

"I know."

"Yeah, I guess you would." Icy blue eyes burned into his. "Are you just trying to make sure that I’m not going to do damage to one of your crown jewels?"

He grinned. "I’d hate to lose him, Xena. He’s so … effective." He sat up and took the wineskin. "Uniquely qualified to rule mortal men."

"Not to mention being a great fuck."

He chuckled. "Of course. The fact that he has a throat that suctions like quicksand has nothing to do with my high regard for the man."

She laughed shortly. "It’s nice to know that your yardstick hasn’t changed, Ares. I like consistency."

"Well, we all have our standards, you know." He moved closer to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders. "Are yours … still the same?" He took her hand casually, stroking the tip of his index finger back and forth against the callused palm.

"No. They’ve changed." She drew back from him, lines of strain etched on her face. "You’re not in the running anymore."

He raised her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Her pulse galloped madly against his lips.

"Ares, what part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?"

He noted the high flush in her cheeks and her rapid breathing, and he felt her stifle a gasp when he pressed his mouth against the side of her neck and teasingly closed his teeth on her earlobe. "Frankly, there is no part of ‘no’ that I do understand."

She pushed halfheartedly against the hardness of his chest. "Damn it, I don’t want you!"

"I know," he agreed softly. "But you do need me." Clothing vanished with a faint hissing sound.

He eased her down to the ground and covered her mouth with his. The tip of his tongue nudged insistently against her lips. He felt her resistance begin to dissolve as he pressed harder against her, and the fingers that had defensively twisted the black curls unclenched and began to caress. He slid his tongue deeply into her mouth.

She bit him and then whipped her head to the side, her arms pushing against his chest. "ARES! I don’t … STOP!"

He laughed hoarsely at the weakness in her voice. "I don’t think so, hon."

"Ares," she gasped. "I am asking you to stop. Please." She still held him at arm’s length, but he felt her hands quivering against his chest. Amused, he took her wrists and pinned them over her head, and then stretched out fully on top of her, enjoying the way she still tried to struggle under his weight. Finally, she stopped moving and looked up at him. He saw exhaustion in her face, and anger and passion competing in her eyes. He also saw dull resignation in the set of her mouth, and he sighed. That was not at all what he wanted.

"Xena."

"Yeah?"

"After all these years, do you expect me to seduce you?"

Her eyes glinted silver in the moonlight. "Do what you want, Ares. You will anyway."

He raised himself from the ground in one smooth motion and looked down at her. "Oh, shit, anything but the long-suffering woman. Please, at least spare me that," he said sarcastically.

She glared at him coldly. "Don’t guilt me." She inhaled deeply. "I know you’re not averse to rape. So what stopped you?"

"It’s not important. Skip it."

She smiled evenly. "I would think that if what you needed was some helpless little thing to clasp her hands and moan, ‘Oh, Ares, take me!’ --" her voice climbing into a falsetto range "-- you could find it just about anywhere."

"Anywhere but here, obviously." He fought the smile that tugged at his mouth, deliberately scowling.

"No use looking for a fish on a tree limb, Ares." She sat up and crossed her arms over her breasts. "So if you weren’t after that, then what?"

"Maybe I wasn’t looking for anything." He studied her, trying to gauge the source of the lilting banter he heard in her voice.

She barked a laugh. "Is that even possible for you?" She shook her head slowly as she got to her feet. "Even now, the games still go on. And on. And on." She picked up her muslin shift and slipped it over her head.

"Maybe I thought you needed my strength, Xena," he said quietly. "Now, if never before."

"So this was for my benefit?"

"Is that so hard for you to believe?" He exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"Well, Ares, you are … well, you."

"You did say you liked consistency, my dear."

"So I did." She stopped looking for the leather overdress and faced him, her hands on her hips and her jaw firm. "We’ve known each other for a long time. Long enough for you to know that nothing pisses me off as much as a lie. Unless it’s being underestimated by one who should know better. I also know that such manipulations and schemes are not only in your nature, they define it."

He acknowledged the truth of it with a nod, but said nothing. He knew she wasn’t finished.

"You’re a selfish prick, Ares, and anyone who ever thinks otherwise usually pays dearly for giving you the benefit of the doubt. Even I have made that mistake with you. And so far as I can remember, you’ve never felt compelled to let honor be your guide. You’re a lousy loser, and an even worse winner, you know. You always press your advantage."

"Very true. I do not deny it." He wondered exactly where this was going.

"No, of course you don’t deny it. On the contrary, you take pride in it."

"As a rule."

"Even now." She laughed lightly. "Giving me enough rope to hang myself, right?"

He smiled.

"Then do me a favor." Her face hardened and the smile vanished. "Put aside all of that, if you can, and tell me why you’re here, and what you want. No artifice. No games." She sat down across from him. "No bullshit."

* * *

She watched him arrange his face in careful lines. No, she didn’t anticipate hearing truth, but a small part of her still hoped for that. Truth, on the rare occasions when it fell from his lips unvarnished by seduction or a play for power or simply his perverse need to obfuscate for obfuscation’s sake alone, made a clean cut that shined like a newly fired sword. It hurt, but it hurt good, and the bloodletting washed away toxins in a flood. The glassy pain unhinged her mind and blew away the cobwebs of anger and resentment that clouded her analysis. It illuminated the shadowed corners with a hurtful brilliance, and gave her the sharp focus of seeing all the hidden details that normally existed beneath the surface. She needed that, hungered for it, and she knew beyond all doubt that she would not survive Caesar without it.

She would do anything to get it.

Except ask him for it.

* * *

He studied her carefully, noting the determination in the set of her chin and the icy resolve in her eyes. She wanted to do this thing, maybe needed to do this thing, and she had already set the course to accomplish it. The need burned hotly in her, and as was usually the case with Xena, a righteous reason overlay the deep drive for revenge and victory. But his keen eye discerned a small twinkle of indecision within her, a minute spark that flickered like a candle in a light breeze.

A chink in the armor.

He took a deep breath and set out to widen the gap.

* * *

"I came here to make sure that you were not planning on visiting Rome. You’re not good enough to beat him. He has the advantage of being unemotional about it. You don’t. Therefore, you will lose." His eyes narrowed. "And you will lose everything. A pet? No, my dear, not a pet. An example. He plans to use you to take Rome. You’ll be largely responsible for his power increasing to a level where no one can stop him. And if it was anyone but you, I would personally escort you to Rome and deliver you into his hands. Because he suits my purposes and serves me better than you do. Maybe better than you ever did."

She swallowed the pain, clamping her tongue between her teeth to keep it still.

"He has what you lack, and have always lacked: the ability to withstand his own emotions and concentrate on the larger goal. His actions are dictated by logic, by hatred, and by ambition. All strong and predictable touchstones, and all indestructible. Yours are dictated by passion, fleeting and subject to change at your whim. And now, my dear, you have muddled up even that by pursuing the greater good. You have allowed your ethics to tell you which way to turn, and those ethics have skewed your ability to weigh the cost or benefit of what you do."

She saw him bite his lip, and the panic rose up in her. She knew that the characteristic finagle and softening of his words was on its way, too soon, before the flesh was fully sliced. She deliberately twisted her mouth into a mocking sneer.

"Well, don’t stop now -- I’m terribly impressed by this soliloquy. Such insight on my failings … from such a shallow mind." She laughed shrilly.

She felt relief when his face turned to bloodless stone.

"You have taken up the yolk of being humanity’s savior and embraced the concept that dying for a noble cause is a virtue. You have forgotten the first tenet of the warrior’s creed, that the ultimate goal is to survive. The knowledge that your own life is worth more than all the others. I see before me a voluntary martyr, and it fills me with disgust. Passion for life, that spark that glowed in your eyes and made you greedily reach out and take what you wanted, has been replaced by passion for death. You’ve become a pathetic victim who seeks her destiny of annihilation."

He spoke quietly, his words uninflected even by anger, and the chill of him sank deep into the marrow of her bones.

He shook his head slowly. "I might champion your efforts if I thought it was vengeance that motivated you. But I know it isn’t. You want to do ‘the right thing.’"

"I --"

"You feel that your own life is a small price to pay for being able to save the world from Caesar."

"He is a monster."

"Yes." He pulled her up into his arms. "But he is my monster, Xena. And your reasons for going after him aren’t good enough for me to look the other way."

She looked at him with disbelief. "You’re … forbidding me? You think you have that right?"

"I have that power. And I will use it if I have to."

She felt a dull thud inside her, the sound of a heavy door closing with absolute finality.

"If I have to." His eyes softened slightly. "If you force my hand. I would regret it, true, but … yes, I would stop you." He cupped his hands warmly around her face. "For your own good."

She moved slowly back from him. "To protect me from myself."

He shrugged. "You could say that."

* * *

And there it was. The knowledge of where his loyalties actually lay throbbed within her mind. She embraced the coldness and let it take her.

* * *

She walked away from him. He waited patiently, wondering what would face him when she turned back around. He had hit her between the eyes with what he said, delivered in a way designed to lacerate, and he had done it deliberately. Because she had to be kept away from Rome, at all costs.

"Tell me something." Voice carefully even, face a study in blankness. Oh, shit, he thought.

"Okay."

"Not only is his victory not in question, but it would be easy. Is that how you see the situation?"

"Did I say that?"

"I’m not sure. That’s why I’m asking."

He sat down heavily. "Come here." She joined him, curling her legs under her.

He took her hands. "I never said you were easy." He got the expected smile, but it was brief. "Nor did I mean to infer that your defeat was a foregone conclusion."

"‘You will lose. And you will lose everything.’ That sounds like a foregone conclusion to me."

He sighed. "Yeah. I’m … Look, I lost my temper." He pressed his lips together for a moment, his mind racing. "You pissed me off."

Her hands rested limply against his palms. "I know."

"You are not an easy victory. Far from it." He chose his words with care. "But neither is he. And I want to make very sure that you know that."

"Does he?"

"Yes."

"He has said so?"

His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Yes."

"All right. You’re forgiven."

He looked at her. "For what?"

"For inferring that I’m incompetent."

"Xena, I --" He saw the twitch of a smile. "Oh, very funny. And as I recall," he said blandly, "I did not infer it. I think I pretty much said it straight out."

"Don’t remind me." She shifted and settled back against him. Slightly surprised, he slid his arms around her waist, cradling her against his chest.

"Like old times," she murmured, stroking her fingers through his hair as he nuzzled her neck.

"I could almost take that as encouragement," he said huskily, his hands cupping her tits.

She laughed lightly. "Almost?" She moved lithely, stretching out on the ground.

I’ll be damned, he mused, as his eyes traveled over her. If it was anyone else, I might believe this. He eased himself down next to her, his head propped casually on one hand.

"What exactly do you have in mind, my dear?" He rested his hand lightly on her hip.

"Do I have to draw you a map?"

He heard a tension in her voice not put there by lust, and he smiled slowly. "No. But I find this a rather abrupt change in personality."

"Oh, c’mon, Ares!" She took a deep breath and her voice softened. "After all these years, do you expect me to seduce you?" He heard his own words come back at him, and he shook his head.

"Not necessarily, but …"

"No more talking. Please." She moved closer to him. "Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, okay?"

"I see. Do you expect gratitude?"

"Please," and the pleading in her voice shocked him, "I … need you, Ares." It came, barely audible, with a bloody rawness that he had never heard from her before. He nodded, and she pulled his mouth down to hers.

He took her, as he always had, without elegance or finesse, and the roughness was only from the combined force of two battle-hardened bodies working against each other. His hands and mouth claimed her body, the fever in his blood wiping away coherent thought and hardening his cock. He felt a surge when he heard the moans than fought their way from her throat, deep and guttural, and he dragged his mouth down to her tits, suckling the nipples into hard points. He slid his hand between her legs, through the swollen lips of her cunt, his thumb pressing against her hard clit and two of his fingers plunging deep inside her, and the smell of her creamy wetness as it gushed over his hand overwhelmed him. It maddened him, pushed him over the edge, and he rose up abruptly, driving his cock deep inside her, using her body like a sheath, pounding relentlessly into her, over and over. She matched him, thrusting up to meet his body, her legs locked around his waist and fingernails gouging his back, and he bellowed with the pain and the pleasure of it. He felt her cunt clench around his cock, like a vise, and then release, and he drove himself into her one final time. Hot cum exploded from his balls, and he groaned loudly, and sensation still pummeled him as he slumped heavily on top of her.

* * *

She lay in his arms, memories from the past merging with the present. It was always the same way. She had watched him with others, and his style changed depending on who he was fucking, but with her he was always like this: driven, determined, his lust taking him beyond thought, beyond emotion, beyond everything except its own existence.

She felt his hand lightly stroking her arm and shoulder, and she glanced at his face. Eyes closed, the flush fading gradually, his full lips curved in a slight smile. Good, she thought. He took the bait.

Yes, she had enjoyed it. She always did. And she hadn’t lied to him when she said she needed him. The strength of his body infused her with calm, and the power of the orgasm drained her nerves of their vibration of panic. But, under ordinary circumstances, she counted the cost as being too high. Every time she opened her legs to him, he made assumptions. Not to mention the irritating cock-of-the-walk attitude that always reared its ugly head.

But in this case, she saw it as a bargain. Because it was the easiest way to get him to close his eyes. And stop watching her. She feared the razor sharpness of his vision in being able to see into and accurately read her motives and intentions. She gave him ample credit for being as good as he was at doing that. And she knew that the psychic afterglow would fuzzy-up that vision.

At least long enough for her to get to Rome.

* * *

"That was good." He savored the feeling of her snuggled up against him. She let him fuck her -- and he did not fall back on the self-delusion that he was in charge -- once in a blue moon, and the rarity of it made him want to enjoy it while it lasted. It never did. He knew he had caught her in a weak moment, and he cheerfully accepted it for what it was.

"Yeah." She made a move to get up.

"Not yet. At least let me get some feeling back in my feet, okay?" He pulled her down, his arm sliding back around her shoulders.

"This is new. Since when do you like to cuddle?" Her fingers played with the dark fur on his chest. "Or is this something you picked up from Caesar?"

He kissed her lightly. "Pull in the claws, dear. I’m not in the mood." A warm blanket descended over them. "Let’s get some sleep."

"You don’t need to sleep."

"But you do. And my chest makes a terrific mattress."

"It does, but -- Ares, I need to get moving." She got to her feet, looking around for her clothes.

He raised up on one elbow, watching her intently. "Rome waits, right?"

She turned to him, her face tense. "Are we back to that?" She knelt down next to him, her hands flat against her thighs. "I’m starting to feel at risk here, you know."

"Oh?" he said calmly.

"You still believe I am going after him, don’t you?"

"You’re relentless, Xena. I have no choice but to assume the worst."

"Look at me." She took a deep breath. "I am on my way toward Athens to find Gabrielle. I’m not even heading in the direction of Rome. Nor will I. I give you my word."

"So why leave now, in the middle of the night?"

She shrugged. "I’m a hunted woman. It’s safer to travel at night."

* * *

He studied her carefully. Her eyes were clear, the pupils undilated, the irises a clear blue and the whites unjaundiced. Her face was relaxed: the lines of tension around her mouth erased, the skin translucent and the blush across the cheekbones indicative of health rather than emotion. The knotted muscles in her shoulders had unlocked, and the bitter smell of adrenaline was gone.

And he knew all of that could be attributed to the bout of sex.

So he looked deeper, listening for a chiming bell of alarm in his mind, watching for a red flag or anything in her that might draw the focus of his instinct. Nothing. He backtracked, giving every step the full sweep of his attention. And still found nothing that flared his nostrils.

She was telling the truth. She had to be telling the truth.

She was a mortal. He was a god.

He would know.

* * *

He exhaled deeply. "All right, Xena. I believe you."

She shook her head slowly. "It’s about time. By the gods, you’re a hard sell!" She started packing up the campsite.

"My protection is yours for the asking. If you want it."

She finished stowing the gear in the saddlebag before she spoke. "I don’t need it, Ares." Her face was set as she looked back over her shoulder. "And I don’t want it."

He had made the offer, but he knew she wouldn’t take it. She never had. Pride mixed with irritation in the god. He had told her, a long time ago when he first took her in hand, that anyone who asked for his help didn’t deserve it. It was a flippant throw-away remark on his part. But she had never forgotten it.

And providing her with a shield, even a tracing power tag, against her will, would make her spit in his face.

And send her straight to Rome.

He walked over to her. "Promise me you’ll be careful." He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her warmly. "And tell Gabrielle I said hello."

She hoisted herself onto Argo. "I’ll be sure to do that. She’ll be just thrilled."

He was not a good mood. The god tersely barked orders at the godlings, his tone of voice causing Deimos to flinch with every word. That involuntary jump was irritating, but easier to take than the self-satisfied smirk on Discord’s face.

"Make sure that they have whatever they require in the way of weapons or food. If it’s extra men they need, contact Ferrias."

"Okay."

Ares pointed to two scrolls. "Take those. Tell the commander to use those battle plans only if the tide needs turning. Otherwise, I have confidence in his abilities." The pale young god grabbed the scrolls and tucked them into his shirt.

"That’s all. And don’t come back here telling me you can’t do it. No matter what your reason is." He glowered at his cousin. "You’re standing in for me on this deal, Deimos, and I better not hear from Iphicles that you fucked it up. For once in your miserable life, act like a god and not a worm."

"Yes, sir." The pale god vanished with an air of relief.

"Ares, you’d be better off sending me. It’s a little beyond his abilities, don’t you think?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don’t start with me. I am not in the mood."

"But, Ares --"

"Enough!" He looked at her sternly. "If it’s any of your business, he will never develop any skills if he’s never allowed to stretch himself. And this is the perfect testing ground because I’m sure if Iphicles is unhappy with his performance, I’ll hear about it PDQ rather than after the fact, when it’s too late to fix it. Besides," he added, fixing her with a pointed look, "Iphicles told me in no uncertain terms he doesn’t want you anywhere near him after the last time."

She crossed her arms tightly. "I explained that to you, Ares. It was a minor misunderstanding."

"You rendered him impotent, Discord. I don’t think he saw that as minor."

"I told you. He --"

"I do not want to hear about this again. He was pissed. He is still pissed. And you were wrong." He held up his hand, cutting her off. "I said drop it."

She studied her fingernails. "Fine."

"Now. Did you take care of the prayers for assistance?"

"I took care of the ones that couldn’t wait. The rest of them are here." She handed him a roll of papyrus. "There are a few requests for victory in there, too. Most of them have to do with Corinth."

He read the scroll quickly. "Good. Where’s the list of what you and Deimos did?"

"Here." She passed it to him. "And HE didn’t do anything. He was too wrapped up in some village boy to care."

He ignored her comment. He already knew all about that, and it was one of the reasons he had sent Deimos to Corinth.

"All right." He relaxed back in the throne. "Anything else happen that I should know about?"

"You mean while you were in Rome?" she simpered knowingly.

He stared at her with badly-concealed impatience. "I’m waiting, Discord."

"I just wanted to make sure of the time period you were referring to, Ares. I mean, you’ve been gone on several occasions in the last month. Corinth, Crete … and Rome, which was after we spoke the last time." He saw triumph in her eyes. "Yes, that was after you basically told me I was full of shit, I believe."

The fireball came with no warning, hitting her in the chest and knocking her across the room. "You just don’t know when to quit, do you? Even after all this time. It’s sad, really."

She painfully picked herself up from the floor. "That was NOT necessary!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Neither is your gloating."

She walked slowly back to face him. "Okay. I’m sorry."

"Whatever. Answer my question." She looked at him blankly. "I wouldn’t advise you to make me repeat it, dear."

She thought for a moment. "Oh. No. Nothing important, anyway."

Ares nodded and looked back down at her list. "Now, about this imprecation from Amphemus?"

* * *

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped on the back of his neck. Delicious anticipation filled him. She had entered the City of Rome that morning and was probably even at this moment rapidly making her way to his palace. All that remained now was for the mouse to go for the cheese.

He had been shaken, severely so, when he realized exactly what Xena’s relationship to the God of War had to be. And it had been sheer panic that fueled his first scream to Callisto, anger mixing with that when she did not appear. By the time she presented herself, he was in a teeth-gnashing state that made his support staff tremble with fear.

"Caesar? You bellowed?"

He turned on her in a fury. "Where the FUCK have you been?"

"Temper, temper! What’s wrong?"

He paced rapidly across the length of the room. "You told me there was nothing I needed to worry about, did you not?"

"Did I?" Her brown eyes sparkled. "You’ll have to refresh my memory, dear."

He sighed with exasperation. "I specifically asked you what connection existed between Xena and Ares."

"Yes, you did."

"And you told me there was nothing about which I needed to concern myself."

"True."

His face hardened. "I should not concern myself that the bitch is his DAUGHTER?"

"Oh!" She stared at him, animation fading to nothing. "You figured it out. Your mental powers never cease to amaze me, Caesar. I was just saying --"

"Damn it! Stick to the subject, Callisto!"

"Oh, please," she said irritably, "spare me the attitude. What’s the big deal, anyway?"

"The ‘big deal,’ quite frankly, is that the cost of this little enterprise just rose to a level I am not willing to pay." He braced his arms behind his back in finality.

"Well, you can’t pull out of this now, Caesar. You’re in it for the duration."

"I assure you, I can. And I do. The stakes are too high."

She strolled over to him, laying her hand on his chest. "Let me explain something to you. You made a deal. You will uphold your end of the deal. My Master will permit no cowardice at this late date."

"Your Master --"

"I would be very careful of my next words if I were you, dear." Her voice was very soft.

He stared at her mutely.

"You are pivotal to my Master’s plans, Caesar. And until those plans come to fruition, He will protect you. My Master holds the Olympians as being of no account in the larger scheme of things, and His power exceeds even Zeus’. There is no need for you to be concerned. You will proceed with things as they have been planned."

"And that course will make Ares my sworn enemy."

"So?" Her high-pitched titter filled the room. "When the dust clears, Olympus will be no more, and the gods and goddesses there a mere memory. A thousand years from now you will be remembered as a great leader, and Ares and the rest of the immortals will be relegated to the shadows of mythology. And my Master Dahak will still reign supreme in this world."

He shook his head slowly. "In a thousand years, perhaps. But Ares exists in the here and now. Ignoring him would not a prudent choice."

"But Ares cannot give you Rome." Her voice wormed its way insinuatingly through his brain. "Ares cannot make you Emperor."

"Not cannot. WILL NOT." He fixed her with a level gaze. "Your Master may have the power you claim. But I KNOW what power Ares has. That is an absolute. And no force in the world will allay his quest for vengeance if I do this thing. Not even your Master has the ability to do that."

Agony washed through him, a familiar agony. "That is what he left you with. That was the price he exacted for the pleasure of his company. And you told me that what a god does deliberately cannot be fixed, right?" And just as suddenly as before, it vanished, the relief causing him to slump onto the divan. "But I did fix it. My Master’s power wiped it away as if it had never been. How can you have any doubts about who will come out on top?"

She sat cross-legged on the top of his desk and gave the words time to take root. "I think your loyalties are misplaced, dear. You’re not thinking straight." Tilting her head to the side, she said liltingly, "Is not the Warrior Princess and your relationship with Ares a small price to pay to have the world at your feet?"

His whispered answer hissed through the room. "Yes."

* * *

"I brought you something." He looked up, jarred out of his reverie by her words. When this is over, he thought, I hope to never again hear that irritating simper.

"What?"

She handed him a circlet of gilded laurel leaves. "Care to try it on for size?" He looked at it, his throat constricting pleasurably.

"A bit premature, I would say."

"Perhaps. But I thought you might enjoy the indulgence."

He set the garland carefully on his head, adjusting it slightly to make it secure. The reflection in the ornate shield that hung on the wall behind his desk was of an emperor -- The Emperor -- heavy with imperious authority, overshadowing Rome and extending to eclipse the world. The fated culmination of a life spent in conquest and treachery threaded with loss. The destiny for which he had been created. He touched the leaves reverently with his fingertips, and felt his doubts and reservations firmly, and irrevocably, disappear from existence.

Her movement a blur, Callisto stepped behind him, effortlessly catching the chakram in nimble fingers. "Brings back memories, doesn’t it, Xena?"

* * *

"You didn’t come to leave an offering?" The priestess looked at the harried soldier.

"No. I need to speak with the God of War."

"He’s not here." She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.

"Listen to me. This is important. Call him."

She jerked her arm away angrily. "I will not! You can’t just waltz in here and expect to get a personal audience with Ares!"

"My name is Brutus." He took a deep breath. "It concerns the Warrior Princess."

The deep voice came suddenly. "I’ll handle this. You can go, Camilla."

* * *

Ares held up his hand, cutting him off in mid-word. "Relax, Brutus. I talked to Caesar. There’s to be no execution." He smiled tightly. "He has other plans for her."

Brutus shook his head emphatically. "My lord, I just came from Mt. Amaro. Gabrielle and Xena are being held in the jail there. And the crosspieces were being erected as I left."

Ares stared at him for a moment. "Are you sure about this, Brutus?"

The man crossed his chest with his right arm, his armplate clanking sharply against the chest armor. "I offer up my life in forfeit if my words are untrue, my lord."

The god’s eyes darkened, crimson sparks glinting in the blackness. "Tell me how this happened."

Brutus involuntarily snapped to attention. "I received orders from Caesar himself to arrest Gabrielle and the group she was staying with. The official warrants listed interrogation as the intended purpose of the seizure. I was instructed to remand them into the custody of the head jailer at the Mt. Amaro facility. I did so. Three days later, I was summoned to Caesar’s quarters and commanded to take into custody the woman Xena. The warrant of arrest listed charges of attempted murder and treason. I gave over custody of Xena at Mt. Amaro early this morning." He took a deep breath. "Then I came here."

"Why?"

It took all of Brutus’ training to keep himself from reacting to the violent emotion that suffused the god’s face. He had only met Ares twice before today, and he couldn’t tell if the rage was directed at him, or at Caesar, or at something else. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"To keep you apprised of the situation, my lord."

"Why? Did I request such action on your part?"

"No, my lord. But I knew of your interest in Xena, and --"

"You assumed."

"Yes, my lord."

"Satisfy my curiosity, Brutus. Have you so little loyalty to your commander that you undermine him in this manner?"

"I am loyal to Rome, my lord." He felt sweat trickling between his shoulder blades.

"Indeed. And you thought that I would be amenable to your efforts, even knowing that Caesar and I have been allies for years?"

"Yes, my lord." The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the cold death in the god’s voice.

"WHY?"

He flinched at the thunderous roar. "Because Gabrielle told me to come here!" He swallowed and closed his eyes. "She said you could help, my lord."

He felt a large hand on his shoulder. "All right, Brutus. Stand at ease." Relief flickered coolly through the man’s body as the god turned away from him.

"You said interrogation for Gabrielle and the others. Has that been done?"

"No. That was the official reason, but he told me point-blank that he wanted Gabrielle arrested in order to distract Xena from trying to kill him. He also told me that no harm would come to Gabrielle. That was a lie, of course." His face tightened at the memory. "My personal feeling is that Gabrielle’s arrest was intended to be not a distraction to Xena, but an incitement."

"Yes." Ares paced a few steps. "Attempted murder, yes, but why treason?"

"By Roman law, the attempt to murder a high government official -- a senator or, in this case, the General of the Army -- is considered to be an attack against Rome. Therefore, treason."

Ares stopped, looking intently at the man. "Wait a minute, are you telling me she actually made an attempt? This wasn’t a proactive measure on Caesar’s part?"

"She did indeed make an attempt." Brutus smiled slightly. "Of course, for anyone else, flinging that metal ring wouldn’t be considered a serious threat. But she has a reputation of being able to kill with that thing."

"The chakram."

"Right. Chakram."

Ares sighed, shaking his head. "And this took place where?"

"At Caesar’s office, several days ago."

"His office in Rome."

"Yes."

"In ROME."

"Yes."

"Damn it! I told her …" Brutus saw what could only be pain flood the god’s face. "I should have known. Shit!"

Brutus stood firm when Ares drove his fist into the stone column, averting his eyes from the crack that spread vertically through the pillar, but he dove for cover, military training forgotten, when the large marble altar flew past his head.

* * *

He was furious. She had set the course he had specifically told her to abandon, once again discounting his advice and letting herself be guided by her emotions. She had done the unthinkable for a warrior, which was to attack from a position of weakness, and had forged ahead determinedly blind to all the traps. She had flagrantly disobeyed him. And she had deliberately fucked him and used everything in her, mortal and immortal, to make him believe the lie.

And it had worked.

The killing rage that seized him turned inexorably inward. He had known what she was capable of, the lengths to which she could go and had gone in the past to reach an objective. We have that in common, that bullheadedness that makes us blind to our own errors and weak spots, he chided himself. She goes on her merry way believing that good will always win eventually, and my arrogance does me the great service of blinding me to what I don’t want to see anyway.

He slumped down onto the only piece of furniture that remained whole, a hard stone bench.

{She played me. And I let her.}

{She told me lies. And I believed her, because of course she couldn’t lie to ME.}

{And I could say the same things about that cocksucker in Rome.}

Bitter laughter erupted from his throat as that last insight sank firmly into him.

He stood up, squaring his shoulders, and made a beckoning gesture toward the soldier cowering behind an overturned table. "Let’s go," he said, and he heard the throb of impending battle in his own voice.

"To where, my lord?"

"Rome."

He laid his hand on Brutus’ shoulder and they vanished.

Caesar walked slowly up the stone path, a dull headache throbbing at his temples. It had been a productive day, in spite of the blonde harpy who had buzzed around him like a demented gnat, but he sighed when he thought about the amount of work yet to be accomplished this evening in order to be ready for tomorrow. Several hours’ worth of official documents required attention, and he had meetings scheduled late into the night. He needed sleep, but for now, that was a luxury.

But the evening’s work could wait. Right now, he wanted only a bath and food, in that order.

He stepped inside the foyer, closing the door softly behind him, and tried to relax the area between his shoulder blades. He heard a rustling sound approaching him.

"My lord, you have a visitor."

He looked evenly at his wife. "I am expecting no one. Who is it?"

"I do not know the man, but he said he was a colleague of yours." She smoothed her hair nervously. "I put him in your office."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. Better the unknown caller than his wife’s flutterings. "All right." He strode down the corridor to his office.

Tight control kept his face immobile on seeing the face of his visitor. He closed the door slowly behind him.

"Ares." He spoke precisely, his enunciation of the god’s name deliberately reverberating in the almost stentorian tone with which he usually addressed the Senate. "What brings you to Rome this time?"

* * *

After arriving in Rome, Ares had decided it would be better to handle this away from the multitude of people in the government building. He gave Brutus terse instructions on where and when to meet him later, then made his way to the graciously appointed estate that Caesar called home. He had been pacing in the man’s office for nearly an hour, and he was much calmer than when he had destroyed the temple.

"A need for drama, Caesar," he said lightly. "The Halls of War have none of the twists and turns present in Rome, and most particularly, in your presence." He filled a goblet and eased himself into a large armchair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. "So … how goes it?"

"It goes, as you might expect." Caesar seated himself behind his desk with a patient air.

"Some good, some bad?" Ares asked softly.

"That is the way of most things."

"True. And in what category," he asked casually, "would you place Xena’s arrest?"

Caesar exhaled slowly. "Fortuitous. It was my plan, after all."

"Yes." Ares said evenly. "As I recall, I heard all about your plans the last time I was here. At least, I heard all the lies that you intended me to hear. And believe."

The only thing that belied the man’s tension was a slight flattening of his features. "I see."

"Not even a denial."

"There would be no point to my denying it," Caesar said flatly. "Besides, I knew you would find out."

"Obviously, my discovering your treachery was of no concern to you."

"It was a concern." Frost limned the green eyes. "A calculated risk that I elected to take."

Rage prickled along his nerves without warning. "You make so few mistakes, Caesar." He rose slowly, his voice a low rumble. "It’s a shame this had to be one of them."

* * *

Caesar realized that he was now, for the first time, in the undiluted presence of the God of War. Friendship, familiarity, and humanity had vanished, leaving only the dark majesty of the godhood. Ares’ eyes were as muddily opaque as old blood, and danger radiated from him in a cloying wave. He swallowed covertly, masking his fear with cool bravado. "I see. Another of your threats to murder me."

"Not this time," Ares said shortly. "This time you may regard it as a promise."

"Well, in that case," Caesar said mockingly, "allow me to meet Fate on my feet." He rose slowly to his full height, his lips tingling numbly. "However, satisfy my curiosity about one small point first. Think of it as the condemned man’s last request."

"Yes?" The hissing growl stiffened the hairs on the back of his neck.

He felt his nerves starting to crack under the uncoiling miasma of malice that emanated from the god, and hardened himself to withstand it. "I would never have been so callow as to accept the transparent subterfuge I outlined for you. Why did you?"

Ares laughed coldly. "You thought I bought that?"

"You gave that impression." His back muscles tightened as the god moved closer, but he held his ground. {You DID believe it, you bastard!}

"And you bought that." Ares’ eyes bored into his. "I needed the amusement of seeing how large a jackass your colossal ambition would make of you." Caesar fought his panic when Ares enclosed his throat in a massive hand and lifted him in the air.

"Bray for me, little jackass. Make the transformation complete." Steel fingers clenched with increasing brutality, and dark roses bloomed suddenly, nauseatingly, in his vision. Then the pressure released, monumental agony replacing it as blood refilled flattened arteries and compressed nerves came alive again.

He dropped heavily on the tiled floor, gagging at the slickness of blood in his mouth, and heard the god roar from a distance through the ringing in his ears. "Did you really expect to get away with this, you insignificant piece of dung?" Caesar doubled over around the thick leather boot that buried itself in his midsection. "Did you expect me to let you get away with it?"

Steeling himself against the pain, he dragged himself off the floor, supporting his body on one arm. "Ares, I’m surprised at your question," he said hoarsely, affecting a thin smile and stolidly ignoring the crest of pain in his throat. "Surely you know I expect to get away with whatever I choose to do."

Caesar watched Ares’ biceps curl and bulge with the clenching of his fists and heard the tiny squeak as the leather stretched across his back. He fixed his eyes steadily on the god, waiting with unflinching fortitude for the inevitable.

* * *

Killing force flowed through Ares’ body and propelled his arm like a deadly missile toward the man, and the impenetrable barrier with which he connected drilled that power back up his arm and settled it thunderously in his back. He screamed more from the shock than from the immense pain.

"Oh, I think that’s just about enough, Ares." Giggles bubbled around the words. "Although I must admit, it was really entertaining."

He looked up dully. "Callisto."

"Awww, you remembered. How sweet. I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me with short hair." He watched numbly as she walked over to Caesar and helped him up.

"You know, if you don’t mind my observation," she said musically, "I think the two of you should just stay away from each other. You don’t seem to get along at all. I mean, last time … and now this."

"What are you doing here?" He stood and moved cautiously toward her.

"Oh, I’m here for the same reason you are. And him, for that matter. The one-and-only Xena." She smiled demurely. "Although admittedly you’re the only one who’s interested in keeping her alive."

"It certainly took you long enough," Caesar muttered tightly. "One more blow and the bastard would’ve killed me."

"So what?" she said carelessly. "If he had, I would have brought you back to life. No big deal." She gave him a cynical look. "Besides, I thought you enjoyed him kicking your ass around the room. You usually do, from what I’ve seen. How was I supposed to know this wasn’t just your peculiar brand of foreplay?"

"Be that as it may," Caesar said caustically, "if it happens again, I will personally release the Warrior Princess into the loving arms of her father here, and your Master can do whatever he sees fit. Is that clear?"

"I guess."

"Is that clear?"

"Yes," she said angrily.

"And, yes," Caesar said arrogantly, glaring at Ares, "I figured out your little secret, Daddy."

"Obviously," Ares said tightly. "And you’ve thrown in your lot with Dahak." He gestured sharply at Callisto. "Or she wouldn’t be here."

"Get to the point, Ares. I have things to do," he said, boredom heavy in his voice.

His mind whirling, Ares began to pace. "And Xena is the price. For what?"

"That’s none of your concern, and I don’t care to discuss it." Caesar stood up, his arms locked behind his back. "I’ll thank you to leave now."

Ares ignored him. "It’s not hard to figure out Dahak’s interest in Xena. He wants her out of the way." Intuition sparked suddenly. "If he can’t get her on his side." He fixed Callisto with a hard look. "She turned down whatever offer you made, didn’t she?"

She gaped at him, her brow furrowed. "I didn’t make her an offer. ANY offer. So there!"

He studied her intently for a moment. "Yeah, I think you did. In fact, I’m sure of it." He laughed grimly. "Your Master would’ve had better luck with another messenger. Or another message, for that matter. I guess he didn’t figure that out, huh?"

"You couldn’t be more wrong, you arrogant prick," she said hotly. "He didn’t care whether she …" And she stopped, a look of consternation on her pretty face.

"Right." He turned away from her, his pace accelerating in time with his thoughts. "So, according to the will of the almighty Dahak, Xena is out of the picture. End of story. Then …" He spun abruptly back to face Caesar. "So what in Tartarus is your angle in this?"

* * *

"As I said, I do not care to discuss it." Caesar clenched his hands tightly behind his back. His mind tried to grasp the fact that he, Julius Caesar -- who prided himself on always being one step ahead of everyone, who foresaw every event like a master chessman who easily anticipates the next three moves of an inferior opponent -- had so badly, so miserably, so arrogantly underestimated the god. He was appalled by the speed with which Ares was assembling the pieces of the puzzle.

"Oh, you will discuss it. Or else."

"Or else what?" Caesar spat the words at the god. "You no longer have any power over me. There is absolutely nothing you can do, whether your aim is hindrance … or murder."

"So you intend to hide behind the lady’s skirts for the rest of your life?" Ares’ eyes began to smolder again. "I can be very patient … when I have to be. I am a GOD, you sonofabitch. I can wait just as long as it takes."

"How immensely flattering that you plan to devote your life --"

The sudden rap on the door made Callisto squeal in surprise. Caesar took a deep breath, watching the god out of the corner of his eye. "Enter."

The young soldier stepped into the room and saluted. "Sir, I am sorry to disturb your meeting, but this was marked to be delivered to you at once."

Caesar motioned him over to the desk, still unwilling to take his eyes off Ares. He broke the seal, already knowing the contents of the envelope.

"Am I to wait upon your answer, Sir?"

He considered for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes." He ignited the flame under the small salver of wax, glancing quickly to his right. The god had not moved, nor relaxed his posture in the slightest. His face was disdainful, almost bored. All right, Caesar thought. If what I’m seeing is real, then I can use this. He poured a small quantity of wax at the bottom of the first document and pressed the signet wand firmly into it until the wax cooled slightly, then repeated his actions with the other document. He scanned the text of them casually while the seal hardened, then rolled up the stiff parchment and sealed the seam with a dribble of the wax.

He stood up, handing the package to Meritus. "Serve these warrants upon the sergeant-at-arms at the Mt. Amaro facility," he said tersely, noting with satisfaction the dramatic change in the god’s face at his words. "At once."

"Just a moment, Meritus." Ares moved toward the desk in an uncoiling fashion.

Caesar saw the adjutant’s eyes twitch quickly between the god and his commanding officer, uncertainty accelerating the nervous tic at the corner of his mouth. Caesar pressed his hands flat against the desk, locking the youth’s eyes with his own. "You are dismissed, Meritus."

"I said just a moment." Ares held out his hand. "Give me that."

The soldier licked his lips, eyes skittering wildly. "Sir?" he said weakly.

"I said you are DISMISSED!" He punctuated the last word by slamming his fist on the desk. Meritus gasped at the resounding crack and jumped back, his arm involuntarily jerking against the salver.

"You IMBECILE!" Caesar yelled as the bubbling wax covered his hand like a glove. "Get the fuck out of here!" He shoved his hand into the wine carafe. Meritus recoiled and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, I don’t think so," Callisto admonished lightly as the god began to shimmer and fade. She flicked her fingers in his direction, and his form became solid again. "We’re such a cozy little group, Ares. Can’t have you spoiling the party by taking a powder." She swiveled her head toward Caesar. "See, I told you he wouldn’t be a problem, didn’t I?" Ares stalked over to the window, turning his back on both of them.

He ignored her gloating. "I wish you would pay attention, Callisto. You could have stopped this." He noted with distaste the layers of skin adhering to the wax. "I have reports to write up tonight. This will slow me down substantially."

"Oh, poor baby!" she laughed. "Want me to kiss the boo-boo and make it better?"

He stared at her, fighting his impulse to knock her down. "Fix it. Now."

"No. I don’t care for your attitude."

"Callisto --" He saw Ares quietly watching the interplay between them, his face inscrutable.

She crossed her arms defiantly. "No. I don’t feel like it. Suffer."

"Well. I guess we can see who’s running things now, can’t we?" Ares’ voice glittered with amusement.

Caesar grabbed her arm with his uninjured hand and twisted it. "This is your job, you impudent little bitch. Now do it."

She squirmed out of his grasp. "Leave me alone!" she screeched. "Don’t you EVER touch me!"

The pain in his hand worsened dramatically for a moment, then dropped back to exactly the same level it had been before. He inhaled deeply, concentrating on stilling the flood of anger that washed over him. "All right, Callisto. Have it your way. And be assured I will remember this."

"Oh, my, I am so scared," she said with cold spite. "I’m out of here as soon as you declare yourself emperor of Rome. So shove your threats straight up your ass, Caesar." Never taking her eyes off him, she flicked her hand in the air, and a shower of sparks instantly combusted, then fizzled, against the wall. "Ares, stop that. It won’t do you any good."

"My apologies," he said offhandedly. "I figured since you were distracted, I might as well give it a shot."

"Well, you’re wasting your time, dear. You can’t hurt one hair on his head."

"Apparently that’s true," he said in the same absentminded tone. "I have to say, Callisto, dead or not, you’re still as good as you ever were. I shielded that damn push as much as I could, but your instincts are as on target as they were when you were alive. Better, in fact." He gave a low whistle of appreciation. "I’m truly impressed."

"You’re wasting your time there, too. I’ve been immune to your charms for a very long time."

"Yes, I’m well aware of that, my sweet. But I want to give credit where credit is due." He looked down, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Anyway … Back to our discussion, Caesar."

He had been watching the exchange very closely. Ares did not accept any kind of defeat in good grace, and he certainly would not dispense effusive praise to the one who defeated him, as he had in this case. Something was very off here.

"Our discussion? As I recall," he said remotely, "we were not having a discussion. In fact, I believe I requested that you vacate the premises."

"Yeah, I seem to remember that." Ares leaned easily against the wall opposite Caesar’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "That was a short while before Callisto let the cat out of the bag about the emperor thing."

{I had really hoped to avoid this, he thought. Why did I think I could?} "Yes."

"Is it true?"

He considered, and rejected, several responses. "Yes. It’s true."

"This is taking place tomorrow."

"Yes."

Their eyes met. And held. "And Xena is the price demanded by Dahak for the laurel leaves."

"Yes."

"And since you will certainly want to attend the execution personally, I would assume that is set to take place in, say, two or three days."

"Ares, this is pointless. And very annoying. There is nothing you can do to stop either event. That should be obvious even to one of your arrogance."

"Answer me." The god’s voice dropped to a silken rumble.

Caesar once again forced the flare of anger into submission. "The executions are set for three days hence. Does that satisfy you?"

"Eminently. One final question, if I may." Ares’ voice was flat. "When did you discover that she was my daughter, Caesar?"

He stood up abruptly, the pain in his hand forgotten. "This discussion is over."

"Indulge me, General," Ares said with a tangible malice that closed the man’s throat. "After all, I suspect this will be the last time you and I will enjoy each other’s company. So satisfy my curiosity. When did you figure it out?"

"The next day," Caesar said in a dead voice.

"The day after we last … spoke."

"Yes."

"Prior to her arrest."

He nodded.

"Prior to your signing that death warrant."

The silence stretched and deepened until it became unbearable.

"Yes," Caesar said in a dry whisper. "Yes."

Ares looked away from him for a moment, and then slowly turned back.

"Caesar." He felt himself being drawn unwillingly into the liquid midnight of the god’s eyes, powerless to look away, unable even to blink. "I’m going to give you the chance to save yourself." The god’s voice deepened to a rumbling vibrato. "Call off the execution. Or you will not live to see your own coronation."

He felt himself sinking further into the god’s will, knowing that his absolute capitulation to Ares was only moments away. Dull fingers moved sluggishly on the desk, finally touching the item they sought, and his last surviving wisp of pride drew the dagger deeply across the palm of his injured hand.

The glassy sharpness of the pain cleared his head, and he embraced the strength in that clarity. "Callisto," he said quietly. She took his hand between both of hers, and a scalding heat instantly ran up his arm.

He shot a cursory glance at the hand which, although still badly burned, now showed no sign of the knife wound, and then turned to Ares. "You had your chance previously to request that I modify my strategy with regard to Xena. You did not beg the indulgence at that time, and the option no longer exists." He gazed at the god with cold indifference. "My answer is no. That refusal is irrevocable. And we are finished here, Ares." He strode abruptly from the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

* * *

"You’re late, Brutus." The man jumped as the god stepped from the shadows in the dank subterranean corridor.

"I’m sorry, my lord," he stuttered. "I was unavoidably detained."

"Yes, I know." Ares crossed his arms over his chest. "And what was Caesar’s mood when you left him?"

"Fair," Brutus said shortly, his voice strained. The flickering light from the rough lanterns that hung at irregular intervals on the stone walls deepened the shadows of his face into hollows.

Ares laughed shortly, visualizing terse words and barely contained rage seasoned with caustic sarcasm and withering contempt. "Absolutely furious and taking it out on everyone within reach, I would assume."

"He is occupied with many heavy responsibilities."

Ares rolled his eyes at the words. "Your loyalty is admirable, but don’t waste my time defending him, Brutus." He gave the man a long look. "Did he mention his plans for tomorrow?"

"He plans to make an announcement to the Senate."

"He gave you no specifics?"

"No." His eyes met the god’s for a moment, then slid away. "I assume it is something to do with Gaul. Or Mt. Amaro," he added in a careful tone.

"He is going to use the forum of the Senate to declare himself emperor." He noted the resigned consternation on the man’s face. "You are not surprised."

"That is the second time I’ve heard that." The words came haltingly.

"And the first?" Ares asked brusquely.

"Xena. The day before her arrest." He shook his head as if to clear it. "I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t …" He looked at the god. "I still can’t. Caesar would not do such a reprehensible thing!"

"Your faith in his virtue is touching. But misplaced." Ares cupped the man’s face in his hand. "Caesar will do whatever it takes to sate the hunger of his ambition. Surely you realize that."

He shook off Ares’ hand angrily. "Yes! He is ambitious. But he is not stupid, my lord. The Senate and the people of Rome will never allow this … this perversion … to happen."

Ares nodded slowly. "Your naïveté surprises me, Brutus. The people of Rome, those fine citizens, will tolerate whatever keeps a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, at this point. And Caesar’s lapdogs in the Senate will authorize any whim he demands so long as he allows them to go on breathing." He shrugged lightly. "Besides, I have it from his own lips. He declares himself emperor tomorrow."

He watched Brutus slump limply against the wall, waning disbelief and waxing betrayal dilating his eyes as the truth sank into him. He looked up at Ares dully. "It’s true, then? He is really going to do this thing?"

"Yes. Tomorrow." He laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. "Unless you stop him."

The man looked at Ares in confusion. "Me stop him? How do I do that?"

Ares looked at him intently, but said nothing.

Brutus’ mouth tightened. "No, my lord. You’re asking me to betray him, and I will not do that."

"I am asking you," Ares said intensely, "to be loyal to Rome. And everything that stands for."

"You talk about Rome as if it means something to you," Brutus sputtered hotly. "I know it doesn’t."

"Quite right. But it does matter to you, loyal and honorable Roman that you are. And surely your loyalty to Rome supersedes any allegiance you have to Caesar, does it not?"

"Yes, but …"

"Then your choice should be simple."

Brutus stared at him. "Ares, you ask too much. Caesar is my friend. More than that, he’s my mentor. He taught me, guided my progress, assured my career advancement …" He closed his eyes for a moment. "You cannot ask me to do this, my lord."

Ares made a sound of disgust. "Friend? Caesar is sending you to Gaul, is he not? For the sake of your ‘career advancement’?"

"Yes. He has arranged for me to take command of several legions there."

"Brutus," Ares said intently, "your friend sends you into the arms of Gaelic assassins. The only legions he intends for your command are those in Tartarus." He studied the man for a moment, then said softly, "And you are no more surprised by that than by Caesar’s pending declaration, are you? You know."

Brutus shook his head. "Ugly gossip. I cannot believe it. You’re wasting your time, Ares." He exhaled heavily, his mouth tight. "You ask too much."

"There is no other way."

"There HAS to be!" he said doggedly. "If steps must be taken, you’re a god, for Jupiter’s sake! Why do you need me?"

"That is not your concern." Ares felt a stab of irritation.

"MAKE it my concern!" he argued stubbornly. "I want to know why!"

He eyed the man closely, looking beneath the brazen defiance at the deep strain of patriotic fervor that begged convincing, along with intelligence and a need for rational explanations. He nodded. "All right. I have no power against Caesar. He has a … protector … who can neutralize anything I do." He thought about her instinctive, almost unconscious deflection of the blast of power. "If she’s around, I can’t touch him."

"Callisto?" Brutus asked faintly.

"That’s the one."

"But if YOU have no power, then what can I do?"

Ares laughed shortly, remembering the incident with the wax salver. "You’re mortal. She has no power over you and can provide him with no shield against anything you do. And she cannot fix it after the fact, either." He saw Caesar’s hand, still as badly blistered after Callisto’s efforts as it had been prior to that.

"Fix it? What are you talking about?"

Ares fought for patience. "Fix the damage." He took a deep breath. "If you kill him, he stays dead. She can’t bring him back to life."

Brutus took a step back, his eyes widening in horror. "NO!" He shook his head violently. "I can’t … not to him … I won’t do it!"

"You must," Ares said with finality. "You are the only one who can get close enough to him." He stepped in front of the man, laying his hands on his shoulders. "It is the only way to save the Rome that you love, Brutus."

"Ares, I just --"

"Brutus." Ares said quietly, abandoning his efforts to persuade the man logically. "Look at me." He caught the man’s eyes with his own, looking deep into them, and the god sent a slight tickle of power into his brain. It eased itself into the folds of cognitive process, erasing tender loyalties and highlighting his love of country, bringing to the forefront every petty hurt and stinging critical remark usually kept from conscious thought by Brutus’ love for Caesar the man and loyalty to Caesar the statesman. His face slackened slightly for a moment, then tensed again. Ares smiled cynically at the deep lines that formed around the man’s eyes as he tried to fight off the invading influence, amused, as always, by the valiant and ultimately pointless struggle. He covered the man’s mouth with his own in a deep kiss that consumed the man’s will to do anything except submit to the bruising lips and forceful body.

When he raised his mouth, Brutus sagged against the god’s chest, trembling weakly. Ares spoke softly, his lips grazing the curve of the man’s ear. "You will do this thing … for Rome."

"Yes."

"And … for me."

"Yes."

"Good," he whispered, his hands moving deliberately. Slight pressure on the shoulders brought Brutus to his knees. Ares nodded, and eager fingers unlaced the leather breeches.

"This is what I want you to do." He closed his eyes as the warm mouth surrounded his cock. "Go to those senators who are opposed to Caesar." Ares breathed deeply as a tongue swirled wetly around his shaft. "Tell them what he is planning to do." Fingers pressed into his hips, pulling his cock in deeper. "Invoke their indignation at Rome becoming a monarchy, and gain their support for whatever strong measures may prove necessary." He cradled the man’s head firmly in his hands as cum filled his mouth and throat and seeped out the corners of his lips. "Arm yourself with daggers when you attend the meeting tomorrow." He laced his leathers and drew Brutus up to face him. "When Caesar makes the announcement -- in fact, before the words leave his lips --" he caught a drop of milky cream from the corner of the man’s mouth on his thumb "-- carve him like a roasted pig." He sucked the wetness from his thumb. "Do you understand what you are to do?"

"Yes, my lord." He licked his lips, staring drunkenly at the god.

"Good," Ares said. "Very good." He kissed the man slowly. "Now go. You have senators to persuade." He watched the man walk unsteadily down the corridor.

The casual observer would have noticed nothing amiss gazing down upon the flock of white-robed senators who milled slowly around the palatial auditorium. There was an unhurried grace about the men as they chatted and sampled the tempting delicacies piled on large silver trays borne upon the shoulders of numerous servants. A sense of having all the time in the world and all the wealth and power with which to enjoy it was uniformly imprinted upon both the young men in the process of attaining success and the elder statesmen who accepted it as their due. These were the power brokers of the imperial city: these were the makers and breakers of war and peace, prosperity and poverty, and life and death. They made the laws and caused them to be enforced, guided the sails of political status, and rewarded or punished the dishonorable and honorable alike at their whim.

On the surface, this was simply one of the many convocations called by Rome’s ruling body, indistinguishable from all the rest. The experienced political analyst, however, would have immediately felt the pervasive undercurrents of turbulent expectation that simmered in the shifting eyes and guarded stance of the men with the blandly relaxed faces, and would have known beyond any doubt that this was no ordinary conclave.

Cloaked in invisibility, the God of War saw more than that. He discerned the separation of the senators into two discrete, unevenly populated groups, obvious to his eye even commingled as they were in the large chamber below him. The majority faction was characterized by its anticipation, either optimistic or pessimistic, of what would prove to be a momentous occasion, if gossip and their own instincts proved correct. Composed of only a handful of men, the other side was like a herd of untamed stallions scenting the air before a storm. It was this latter group that claimed Brutus as a member.

At the current time, both groups had a common focus: they were waiting on the arrival of the last remaining senator. Caesar.

A tall, emaciated man with sunken eyes drew Brutus aside, his shifty gaze snapping in all directions. "Brutus, we are severely outnumbered here. This could go horribly wrong."

"We have to take that chance, Cassius. Rome is under threat, and I have conclusive proof that Caesar is responsible."

"We should wait, maybe catch him alone." Skeletally thin fingers clawed his arm.

"It must be here. Only in this place do we have immunity."

"The boy’s right," said Casca, glancing surreptitiously over his left shoulder. "Here it’s an executive decision, not murder."

"Besides, if we wait," Brutus said, "he’ll have time to declare himself emperor. If he does it here, it has immediate force of law and is irrevocable. That must not be allowed to happen." He shook his head firmly.

Ares watched the exchange between the men with satisfaction. Brutus had done his job well, marshaling the support of the most dissident elements in the Senate to his side.

Tillius moved quickly past the group, hissing, "He’s here!"

The tall man entered the chamber, and Ares noted with no surprise the almost choreographed surge of the senators toward him. He stood, patiently accepting the customary homage and obsequious attention of the other senators, and sharp green eyes surveyed the room and its occupants with a consummate air of ownership. He already affects the mien of a god, Ares thought cynically, wondering if any of the senators caught the note of patronization that lived in the heart of the effusive charm lavished upon them by the man who was so obviously their master.

Caesar strolled casually into the center of the room, greeting each senator by name, accepting wine from Tillius, clasping hands and bestowing the feigned warmth of his regard on one after another. Ares shook his head in grudging admiration at the seamless performance, already feeling a stab of regret at the necessity of what was to occur. The man was simply so good at this, so inimitably qualified for the reign of command.

"Friends, I must beg a moment, please." He smiled and turned to Brutus, his gaze resting fully on the man’s face. He frowned slightly. "What’s the matter, Brutus?"

Brutus looked down at the ground, then met his eyes. "Welcome, Caesar. Important day for you, isn’t it."

"Yes." He laid his hand on Brutus’ arm. "But something is wrong. What is it?" He absentmindedly returned a greeting from a senator, his eyes never leaving Brutus.

The soldier swallowed nervously, picking at a fold of his toga. "Caesar, I just … It seems …" He shook his head. "Do you have anything to tell me?"

Caesar’s face showed surprise. "Tell you? What do you mean?"

"About this … announcement … you’re going to make today." Brutus looked away from him.

Caesar chuckled lightly. "Oh, that. Well, yes, at first, you probably won’t like it. But … I plan to persuade you. By whatever method necessary." The pressure of his hand lightened to a caress. "But we can address that … later. Silveri, I need to speak with you," he said, turning to the large man that had touched his shoulder. He gave Brutus’ arm an intimate squeeze before stepping back. "So. Are you ready for your trip to Gaul?"

Brutus closed his eyes, inhaling slowly. "I’ll be ready."

"Good." He studied Brutus for a moment. "Very good." Brutus stood frozen in place as Caesar walked away from him, his hands doubled into fists.

Ares relaxed again. He knew Brutus had been on the verge of caving in … until Caesar had mentioned Gaul. The god had felt the steel vise close securely around the man’s heart at the mention of the distant Roman province.

His ease was brief, however, and his eyes narrowed as Caesar stepped to the raised podium in the center of the room. He quickly made note of the positions of all the appointed players, instinct drawing his attention to the twitching hands and grimacing face of one of them. {So be it.}

"Good senators! True patriots of Rome! Your attention, please!" Caesar’s voice reverberated in the chamber. Small talk abruptly faded to silence in its wake as it resonantly commanded the obedience of every senator. Ares leaned back, his black eyes glinting, and sent a pinpoint beam of force into the mind of Senator Casca. The man’s eyes widened suddenly, his hand sliding inside the fold of his robe.

"I have an important announcement to make!" Ares saw Brutus edging his way slowly from the back of the room toward the platform, and twin flicks of the god’s finger put in motion the forward movement of Cassius and Tillius at Caesar’s left.

"To quell civil unrest I have decided to make an important change to our government." Ares watched a shimmering mass behind Caesar coalesce into the petite form of Callisto. She smiled maliciously at the god, deliberately raising two fingers in a gesture of victory.

"And I must supply the leadership so desperately needed." Ares grinned widely, his lips stretched across his teeth ferally, and extended his right arm in her direction. He clasped his fist, the thumb pointing at the ceiling. With majestic slowness, he rotated his arm in a full half-circle to the left. And held it there, his grin widening as her face drained of color.

"On this day -- the 15th of March --" Ares held up his left hand, fingers spread, and sent three blades of directed energy which sought out the chosen senators -- Casca, Cassius and Tillius -- and impelled them in Caesar’s direction like arrows released from a taut bow.

* * *

"I declare myself --" And the man’s eyes were drawn suddenly upward to the massive darkness of the god, arm still extended in the traditional Roman gesture of defeat. In his mind’s ear, he heard the god’s insidious whisper.

{I always keep my promises, Caesar. And I promised that you would not live to see your own coronation.}

Pain sliced into the side of his throat and he saw Casca’s clouded eyes fixed at some point in the distance. He staggered backward, one agony becoming many as the knives rose and fell, until the cold marble of Pompey’s image embraced him and conducted him gently to the floor.

* * *

Green eyes still blazed, not wavering even when the whites hemorrhaged with impending death. Ares looked at the man sprawled at the foot of his enemy’s monument, white robes soaked in the blood that pumped from a dozen mortal wounds. Even now -- when it would mean nothing, when it would neither help nor hinder any objective or plan, when the self-imposed destiny had been reduced to so much dust -- the dignity of Caesar remained intact and whole and unbowed.

The god’s eyes softened as he looked upon this man who had been so much more than a mere mortal to him. Caesar had earned his respect and his rancor, and had been the focus of his pride and disgust in equal measure. Ares remembered discussions that lasted late into the night, both in and out of bed, the man seeking the god’s advice or counsel, never accepting it before weighing it carefully in the scale of his sharp intelligence and finding every tiny flaw in the reasoning. He heard again the seductive voice razor into sharp dissension, then freeze into the remote height of supreme indifference, and the god’s dark chuckle drawing it back down to the velvet that brushed maddeningly across his nerves. He closed his eyes, feeling against the pulse of his lust driven by bloody pain and the searing heat of smooth fingers and strong muscles that first dominated and then sweetly submitted to Ares’ greater strength.

But at least she’s safe, he told himself, grasping tightly the hollow victory that did not console his loss.

The words echoed painfully through the chambers of the god’s heart and an unwilling groan rose from his throat. He held Caesar’s eyes with his own, an involuntary burst of charity numbing the man’s body to the pain of the assault of honed steel, and slowly delivered the Roman salute of a subordinate to a superior officer, holding the posture until the emerald fire in Caesar’s eyes dulled and guttered out.

* * *

"Ares, I TRIED!" Deimos crouched in fear, trembling convulsively as the god approached.

"Yeah, you TRIED," he said maliciously, mimicking the godling’s squeak, "but, as usual, you fucked it up, didn’t you?" The back of his hand connected viciously with the pale face, knocking him across a stone table. "I give you one little thing to do -- one small task -- that even a monkey could pull off -- tell you exactly -- how to do it -- and you manage -- to fuck it -- up!" The god punctuated his thundered words with sledgehammer blows, and Deimos’ high-pitched screams echoed through the Halls of War.

Ares had spent the two days since returning from the debacle in Rome alternating between bone-melting fury and morose introspection that bordered on the cataleptic. Word had quickly spread through Olympus and its environs that the God of War was in a murderous mood, and all affairs requiring his involvement had been quickly postponed. The blood of the mortals who had been stupid enough to approach him personally dripped from the walls around the black marble altar and formed liquid pools on the floor, and gore stained the face and leather of the god himself.

But that had been the first day. Now, the Halls of War were deserted, except for Deimos and Discord, for whom there was no escape from his seemingly inexhaustible wrath.

"SHUT UP!" he roared, and the godling’s howls dwindled to intermittent whimpers. He dropped himself heavily in the throne, his eyes dark and unfocused.

He heard her voice from a distance.

"Ares?"

"Ares."

He tuned it out.

"Ares."

He pushed it away.

"ARES!" Awareness tingled through him when she grabbed his arm.

"Not now," he growled.

"Yes. NOW!" She grabbed his hands tightly in her own. "Will you please snap out of it and listen to me?"

She picked herself up from where she had landed against the wall and walked slowly back to face him. Her white face was carefully blank, but fear clouded her eyes.

"I assume this is something beyond your capabilities, cunt," he said with cold loathing.

She took a deep breath and spoke with measured deliberation. "The crucifixions are proceeding on schedule. Brutus says Xena is to be executed at dawn."

Ares appeared at the base of Mt. Amaro and forced himself to walk slowly up the rocky incline to the prison, fighting to control the overwhelming emotion that swept over him in waves. His powerful legs ate the distance rapidly even at his slackened pace, and his vision was still washed in a red sheen when he came in sight of the forbidding austerity of the Roman detention center. He leaned back against an outcropping of gray stone, breathing deeply, and concentrated on gaining some measure of equilibrium.

He located Brutus within the command center of the facility and summoned him.

"Ares, I …" The only thing that kept the flare of rage from igniting fully within the god was the look of abject misery in the man’s eyes.

He jerked his head abruptly to the side to clear his vision again and managed to bark out a single command before his throat closed with the effort of holding back the tide. "Explain."

"This is … his … personal battalion. They don’t care about the law." Brutus gasped out the words. "He saved Decitus’ life in Egypt. He considers this as paying his respects."

"Decitus?"

"The sergeant-at-arms. The head jailer." Brutus dug his fingers into his armpits against the cold. "He says he is going to carry out Caesar’s last request, no matter what Rome says." His teeth chattered behind blue lips. "And Rome really doesn’t care."

"I want the two of them out of there. Now. I’ll take it from there."

"I can’t. I have no authority in this place." He cut his eyes away from the god. "The soldiers here … they know … I’m in the Senate," his words dying away to a whisper.

"All right." Blessed calm licked gently at the corners of his mind, and he closed his eyes and let it blot out everything else. He exhaled slowly, studying the outlines of the prison. "Where are they?"

"In the lower level."

* * *

Ares scanned the inhabitants of the filthy cell, finally finding the two women in a dark corner. He picked his way between bodies across the straw-covered dirt. "Gabrielle," he said quietly.

He saw her back stiffen even from a distance. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood." He squatted down smoothly, gently brushing the dark hair off the unconscious woman’s face, the acrid odor of critical, if not mortal, injury wafting up from her. He looked into Gabrielle’s worried eyes. "What’s wrong with her?"

"It’s her spine," she said sadly. She jerked her chin at the piece of broken metal that lay by Xena’s hip.

He reached down for it, turning it in his hands. "Broken Hephaestus metal. That’s something you don’t see every day." He looked around absently. "Where’s the rest of it?"

"It’s …" and her voice broke slightly, "it’s still in her back." Tears ran down her face. "Ares, I don’t know what you can do, but … do it."

"Easy does it," he said, his arm supporting Xena as he rolled her cautiously toward Gabrielle. He saw the jagged edges of the metal protruding on either side of her backbone and a large pool of blood soaking into the dirt floor. Grimacing, he realized the metal was buried in her to a depth of at least two inches. "Can you hold her steady by yourself?"

"I think so."

He eased his hands away from her shoulders and grasped the edges of the metal between his fingertips. Ares pulled gently, but it didn’t budge. He focused a thin beam of energy at the muscles that held it in place and felt their grip on the chakram lessen. The torrent of blood that gushed from the suddenly unconstricted tissues ended when he pressed the glowing palms of his hands against the wound and sealed it.

He lowered her carefully and took her hand. "Xena." There was no response, and the smell was still on her. He laid his hand on her face, stroking it lightly. "Xena."

A flicker of sluggish movement beneath the lids, then nothing. He wrapped his fingers tightly around her wrists and sent a strong flow of energy into her. She jerked twice, and then lay quiet again. He intensified the force and sent it through her again.

She gasped, coughing weakly. And he looked down into blue eyes dulled with pain.

"Ares?" Her face tightened suddenly. "Ares."

"Yes." He looked up at Gabrielle. "We have to get the two of you out of here."

"Did I … call for you?" Her voice was stronger, but still a shadow of what it normally was.

"Think of this as my … good deed for today, okay?" He nodded at Gabrielle. "Take her hand, and then give me yours. You can both recuperate at the Halls of War."

"No, Ares." Her words were firm.

He looked down at her. "We can discuss this later. Right now …"

"No." Opaque blue became clear, and her eyes snapped fire at him. "I don’t want your help." She grimaced slightly. "And I won’t accept it."

"You don’t have a choice, Xena. You’re in no condition right now to make decisions." He waved his hand.

And nothing happened. Not even a spark.

"Oh, great," he said with disgust.

* * *

Ares turned away, trying to make some sense of it. He vanished suddenly, reappearing a moment later. {That still works.} And then three images arose side by side in his mind.

Caesar’s burned hand.

Gabrielle’s face. Ares, I don’t know what you can do, but … do it.

Xena’s determined eyes. I don’t want your help. And I won’t accept it.

Comprehension dawned bleakly, and the taste of metal washed through his mouth.

* * *

He knelt down on one knee, leaning close to Xena. "Listen to me. If you stay here, they are going to execute you. You and I have both seen crucifixions, and it’s not a pretty death." He gestured at the younger woman. "Maybe you don’t care about yourself, but you don’t want to watch her die. Not that way."

"No. I don’t."

"Then let me help you. Please."

She studied him. "You’re right." She smiled tightly. "Take Gabrielle out of here."

"No!" she argued. "I won’t leave you!" She grabbed Xena’s hand. "I am staying with you. Wherever you are."

He reached for her hand. "Xena, don’t be ridiculous. Just this once, swallow your pride and let me do this."

"No." She sighed, looking away from him. "Not this time. Not ever."

"Sweet Zeus, girl -- I am begging you now!"

"I will ask you for NOTHING," she said hotly. "Today is no different than any other day."

"The fuck it isn’t!" he said caustically. "This isn’t some sword fight or village in trouble. Refuse my help today and you’ll die. I will not allow it, Xena!"

"Then do it!" She wrenched her head, the movement stripping the color from her face. "It’s not as if you need my permission, Ares."

He shook his head slowly. "All right. Let’s try this again. Xena, I can get the two of you out of here. I can heal your spine -- or I can call upon Apollo if that’s beyond my skill -- and you and Gabrielle can get on with your lives. Or you can stay here and let them execute you as a sign of respect to Caesar’s memory, which, according to Brutus, is why your executions are still on the schedule. Those are your choices." He glanced at the barred window near the ceiling of the cell. "But you don’t have a lot of time. It’s only about an hour from dawn."

He stood up, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "I have no power to compel you. I can help if you want that help. I’m powerless if you refuse."

"You just want me to ask, Ares. Like always."

"No," he said intently, his eyes narrowed. "NOT like always. The fact of the matter is, I can’t move you one inch across that floor unless you want me to. Callisto has power from Dahak to stop anything I try to do -- but she has no power over mortals. Like you. Like Gabrielle." He stooped down, his hands braced against his knees. "Maybe you don’t remember, but I did try to remove you from this place before. You refused, and you’re still here. Does that ring a bell?"

"Yeah."

"That should be proof enough for you, then."

She looked directly at him and nodded. "Proof enough, I suppose."

"Good."

"And the answer is still no, Ares."

"Damn you!" He stood up and turned away, clenching his fists. He heard a small sigh behind him.

"I’ll ask you, Ares." Gabrielle looked at the two of them. "I’m sorry, Xena," she said softly, "but he’s right. This is your life. And mine. If he can stop this wretched crucifixion, LET HIM."

Xena smiled at her. "Go with him, then. I want you to," she said warmly. "I said that before, sweetie."

"And you --"

"No, Gabrielle. From any other god, maybe," she said deliberately, "but not from HIM. I won’t."

* * *

He turned slowly back to her. "So that’s it, then? No matter what, you are determined to martyr yourself?"

"I’m not a martyr, Ares."

Several deep breaths tamped down the fires of anger blazing inside him. "Then why do you persist in being so stubborn about this?"

Her eyes were cold and hard. "I want nothing from you, Ares. At one time, yes. But not now. Whatever benefit you might hand out, it’s never for free. You always get paid. With interest. And I reckon the cost too high for me to pay."

He stared at her. "What cost? What fucking cost are you talking about? Have I not made it clear that if it was within my power, you would already be out of here? What payment am I demanding that I have a choice about asking for?"

"Maybe what you’re saying is true, but frankly, this whole situation stinks of a typical God of War setup. You ride in here like Zeus Almighty himself. You’re always on my side, and your only interest is in seeing me win. And you REALLY want to do everything in your power to make it easier on me. BUT … first you have to be asked. Wooed. Cajoled. Then you dole out the big favor, supposedly out of the goodness of your heart. And then later you show up to collect for that favor."

He crossed his arms. "That is not exactly the way it is. Now be reasonable."

"Oh really? The first time I met you, you offered to save me from execution, remember? An execution for killings that you performed, specifically to put me in the position of having to be rescued. The price for that was becoming your consort. Is my recollection correct?"

He shook his head. "Ancient history, Xena. And it all worked out, didn’t it?"

She snorted. "The next time, you took the form of my father, pretending to be him, in the hopes that I would return to warlord ways and slaughter the village out of revenge for that supposed lynching. Sound familiar?"

He tapped his foot, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. "Also water under the bridge. And I don’t recall any bloodshed in that village. Do you?"

"You plotted with Callisto, after her death the first time, and I ended up doing time in Tartarus in her body while she, under your guidance, made an attempt on my mother’s life. I got out of there, but you left me in her body for how long, you bastard? Until I had paid the price you assessed after the fact, of course: I helped you get your godhead back from Sisyphus. And let’s not even discuss your little plot involving the Furies." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"Are you finished?" he asked quietly, knowing that her adrenaline-fueled tirade had run its course.

"Pretty much," she said, her voice heavy with fatigue. "I’ll let Gabrielle hammer you about everything you’ve done to her." She raised her head carefully. "Ares, it’s the same thing over and over again with you. You set up situations to put me or Gabrielle or someone else at risk, knowing that I will come out fighting, and that it will be at a disadvantage. You appear and offer me a way out -- of the crisis that you created in the first place. Then you expect to be reimbursed -- one way or another -- for the privilege of having had the amusement of watching me run the track of the maze you designed."

His eyes were drawn to the deep navy blue of the sky outside the cell. It was nearing dawn. And knowing that the only chance he had of saving her life was to spend this time talking, he swallowed his impatience and relaxed his posture. "And you’re a better warrior today because of all of that, aren’t you?"

She stared at him. "You haven’t heard a fucking word I’ve said, have you?"

"Oh, yes," he said evenly. "I heard it. And the warrior who lies here before me would have seen through that first situation before it even occurred. Each of those ‘situations’ has been more complex in nature, haven’t they? And why do you think that is?"

"I know why. You’re cruelty personified. You enjoy it. All of it."

"I will admit to enjoying some of it," he said. "Beyond that, it’s a question of interpretation. I am what I am. And so are you. But the fact remains, dear," he said deliberately, "that the only way to increase any skill is to attempt the unreachable goal and reach it. Had I left you to your own devices, Xena, you would never have become who you are today."

"So you expect thanks, you pompous prick?"

"No. I expect an acknowledgment that there might have been a motive for me other than my own amusement."

She closed her eyes. "Unbelievable. Fuck you, Ares."

All shades of black had vanished from the sky. He knelt down next to her. "Time is running out. There are no strings to this offer. It comes free and clear. I will give it to you in writing if I must, only let me take you out of here." He fought the urge to shake her. "I will remove myself from your life completely, if that’s what you want. Listen to me!"

The weariness in her eyes met the urgency in his. "I want to believe you. For Gabrielle’s sake. But …"

"You have no reason to trust me. I have been many things to you through these years … lover, teacher, mentor, ally, enemy, even friend on at least a few occasions." He leaned down and spoke into her ear. "See me as your father right now, and let me help you."

A weak ray of light spilled across her hand, and heavy footsteps sounded in the distance.

She looked deeply into his eyes. "I can’t. It would kill my soul, Ares. At least leave me that."

He shook his head numbly.

"No. I refuse."

And the cell gate crashed open.

* * *

The god knew it was pointless, but he tried to destroy the prison anyway. He grimaced each time one of his blasts stopped short, hanging in the air a good fifty yards from the walls, and then disintegrated into nothing. When he saw the soldiers dragging the two women out across the desolate yard, he threw blast after blast, none of which got even close to reaching their mark.

No, it’s too much, he thought incoherently as the uniformed men draped her over the crosspiece that lay on the ground. He turned away, then doubled over suddenly, his whole body numb and cold except for the flaming agony that flared hugely in his right wrist, a crushing invasion of steel that reverberated up to his shoulder. He mutely endured its duplication in his right wrist, then in his ankles, but a throbbing roar ripped raggedly from his throat when the massive jolt of the crosspiece being dropped into the post hole seized his body and threw him to the ground.

The events of the last month ran through his mind, dizzyingly fast, a rippling of frozen images and lackluster pictures. Every misstep, every miscalculation, every wrong turn and missed opportunity, stood out in bas-relief and razor detail. They dropped with silent screams into piles of his mistakes, and her mistakes, and Caesar’s mistakes, before a wind of gibbering madness swirled them around, and he embraced them, accepted them, and claimed them as his own. You have no choice, came a screeching wail in his depths, you’re the only one left alive to take us.

{I lost … everything, he thought, despair filling every cell of his body. I should have … could have … But I didn’t. This was the last thing I wanted … none of this was my intention … but … I CAUSED THIS. And I did it … deliberately.} He dropped his head on his crossed arms, fighting to hold back the scream that lacerated his throat.

{My responsibility.} He raised his heavy head.

{My doing.} He got to one knee slowly.

{My design.} He stood fully upright, a shiver creeping along his spine.

{My fault.} And he turned to face the nightmare in the valley below.

Ares’ heart ripped in half when he saw her hanging on that cross. His roar brought the God of the Underworld to his side. Falling into his uncle’s arms, he moaned, "Bring her back to me!"

"I can’t," Hades said quietly. "I cannot undo the damage you did, Ares." His arms were cold comfort to the trembling body. "I wish I could." Ares collapsed, his shoulders shaking with his sobs.

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