Where the River Goes
Wicked Garden
TITLE: Where the River Goes
SERIES: Mourning Duet (story one)
AUTHOR: Scorpio
EMAIL: scorpiofic@aol.com
ARCHIVE: AJCS
PAIRING: C/S
NOTES: I originally wrote this a few years ago, long before the list was around. I thought that you all might like it though. Also, the series name *is* spelled correctly. It's Mourning...as if to mourn or greive for the dead, *not* morning as is look at the sun rise up.
DISCLAIMER: Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada. No own, no money, no sue.
WARNING: Strife is dead in this.
SUMMARY: Cupid visits his dead lover while Ares slowly slips into insanity.
WHERE THE RIVER GOES
by Scorpio
the first story in the Mourning Duet
Strife, the dead God of Mischief, came to a complete
standstill in the middle of the morning chores he was
performing for his great-Uncle Hades, Lord of Asphodel.
A wave of unbearable longing and grief washed over
him painfully. His assignment, or victim... depending on
your point of view, was left dangling by his ankles over
a pit of jagged rocks as Strife tuned into the thoughts of
the living. The force of those thoughts was
overwhelming and, try as he might, Strife could not
keep them from ringing in his ears and echoing through
his soul. The mind thinking them was too strong, too
focused, and too powerful for him to filter out.
Ares.
His favorite Uncle, the one who had taken him into his
home and raised him as a son, was most definitely NOT
taking his death well at all. Few beings knew Ares well
enough to notice his... abstraction of late and of those
that *did* know the War God well enough to analyze
his odd behavior were all too busy dealing with their
own hurts and problems in the aftermath of Dahok's
attack.
But the dead God knew all too well the madness that
was slowly creeping over the God of War. Not only had
he been one of Ares closest confidants, he was dead.
The dead can hear the thoughts of the living when the
living think about them, and Ares was almost constantly
thinking about Strife. There was always a low murmur of
thought trickling in from his Uncle as Ares always had
thoughts of the Mischief God tucked into the back of
his complex mind. But every now and then, Ares would
pull out a memory and torture himself with it anew, and
then Strife would share the War God's pain and
suffering with him.
Another violent wave of emotion slammed into the
dead God and Strife crumpled to his knees with a
gasp. He lost his grip on the creaking rope that had
held his prisoner suspended and the man dropped
down into the pit with a sickening crunch of shattered
bone and flesh. Strife didn't notice. He was quickly
being pulled into the swirling chaos that Ares mind was
slowly turning into. He had a brief moment of lucidity in
which he noted that the manic stage had passed and
that the War God had now swung back to the
depression end of the spectrum before his
consciousness was usurped.
...o0O0o...
Trembling in every limb and feeling as if he'd had the
life sucked out of him once again, Strife answered his
great-Uncle Hades summons. The energy needed to
materialize in the Great Hall was almost more than he
could do, and when he arrived he collapsed into a
heap in front of the Lord of Asphodel's throne. He lifted
tired and wan eyes up at his great-Uncle and basked in
the shimmer of power that surrounded him.
"S'up Uncle Hades?"
Hades flashed him a compassionate smile and began
to gently feed power and energy into him. As the
trembles slowed down he grinned up in gratitude and
straightened up a bit.
"You have a guest young one."
Hades tipped his head towards the side of the room
and the dead God turned to see his ex-lover staring at
him in horror and shock. The Love God's thoughts were
a chaotic swirl and they battered at his mind painfully.
He couldn't help it, he cringed away.
"Cupie! Stop, please! Don't think so loudly, you're
*hurting* me. I... can't handle any more right now."
Cupid's mind was pulled up short in confusion to Strife's
vast relief. He sighed as the force of God focused
thoughts eased once again.
"The dead can hear the thoughts of the living,
remember?"
Almost as if in a daze, Cupid nodded his head at the
Lord of Asphodel. Strife could sense the Love God's
thoughts come back into order, but this time they were
not a vicious blow to his soul. They were protective in
nature as apposed to blazing anger and fear.
"But... but... how does that explain the condition he's
in? I mean... he can barely *stand*. What does *that*
have to do with the thoughts of the living?"
The God of Mischief grimaced and painfully pushed
himself to his feet. He staggered slightly, but he caught
himself. Cupid quickly started towards him so that he
wouldn't have to walk across the floor in his condition.
Hades got a thoughtful look on his handsome face as
he considered the question seriously.
"The thoughts that come from mortals are like feathery
touches to a dead soul. If the soul is strong enough,
they can tune them out as easily as they can listen to
them. But the thoughts of a God? *Those* thoughts are
too focused and there is too much power behind them
to shut out. Not only that, but the thoughts of a God
also carries the emotions and feelings of that God to
the dead soul."
Strife enjoyed the feeling of Cupid being able to
physical pull him into those thickly muscled arms he
had missed so very much. Only here in the Underworld
did a soul have substance, physical properties, and as
such, they could... and often did, enjoy the touch of
another. It was so tempting to just forget his troubles in
the calming arms of his ex-lover, but this might prove to
be his one chance to get some help from the other
side, so he focused on the conversation.
"What does that have to do with Strife? I mean... are
you saying this is *my* fault because I think about him
and I miss him?"
The Mischief God hugged Cupid tighter and hastened
to reassure him.
"No! Cupie, no. It's *not* you at all, honest. It's Ares."
Cupid blinked in surprise.
"Ares? What did Dad do?"
Loyalty to his favorite Uncle and his training to keep all
of Ares secrets battled with the desire to stop the
painful and destructive cycle they were both trapped
in. Locked in indecision, Hades finally took the choice
away from him by explaining.
"Cupid... your father is... well, he's going insane. He
simply cannot deal with Strife's death. He feels guilty
because it was his plan to set himself up as a double
agent to learn Dahok's weaknesses and because he
couldn't prevent Callisto from getting to Strife with the
Hind's Blood Dagger. He also feels anger at Strife for not
being there. See, without Strife, Ares literally has NO
ONE. He simply doesn't trust Discord and Demios is too
young to understand the finer details of his... plans. The
influx of mortals being sent here from him has *tripled*
since Strife died."
Strife watched the expressions chase themselves across
Cupid's beautiful face as the Love God considered the
Lord of Asphodel's words and compared them to the
recent actions of his sire. The dead God felt him
shudder.
"Let me guess. All of those negative thoughts... the
anger, the guilt and the loneliness are all being
directed right at you?"
Strife flashed a weak grin at the one being he loved as
much as Ares.
"Don't forget all the demented raving."
Cupid let loose with a sarcastic snort, but it held little
humor in it.
"Cupie. I really don't know what to do about it. Every
time that Ares goes off around the bend over my
death, he takes me with him. I *can't* block him out of
my head, he's too strong. And I... well, I get hurt when
he thinks about me. I feel his pain and anger... fuck, I
*share* it with him."
Cupid raised one elegant eyebrow up in confusion and
Strife tried to explain.
"I know I'm dead and all, but I'm *also* a God. A mortal
couldn't share Ares pain, but *I* can. A mortal would
probably have their soul blasted into the void by the
force of Ares suffering, but not me. *I'm* too strong for
that. I can take some of the pain and hold back the
madness a bit... but it's wearing me out. Ares pain is
growing and he doesn't give me enough time to
recover before it all starts up again. Uncle Hades here
helps me out a lot, but..."
Strife didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
Everyone there knew what he didn't say. Eventually,
Strife's ability to withstand Ares chaotic thoughts would
reach an end. Then the soul of the Mischief God would
be blasted into the void and the God of War would
succumb to his madness and the mortal world would
be drowned in blood.
It was a sobering thought that felt like a kick in the balls.
While Strife generally tried to push the very idea to the
back of his mind, it had grabbed hold of the Love God
with both hands. He could feel the edges of the
convoluted logic of his ex-lover as he worked through
the problem.
Suddenly, the God of Love got a delightfully wicked
smirk on his handsome face. It was an expression that
never failed to get Strife's juices flowing and his divine
sense for mischief revved up to full power. It was a
facet of his ex-lovers personality that he had missed
and still remembered fondly.
"I got it! What Dad needs is to fall in love!"
A cold lump of disappointment settled in his belly and
he sighed. It was only with great restraint that he didn't
roll his eyes in exasperation.
"Cupie? That's *always* your solution to *any* problem.
Just *how* would Unc' Ares fallin' in gooey sticky love
help?"
Cupid just shot him a 'duh' look that was eerily
reminiscent of his mother Aphrodite.
"Didn't you two just tell me that he is lonely? That he no
longer has a confidant? No one who is close to him,
who understands him, and that he feels he can trust?"
Twin nods answered his questions.
"Well, if Dad *had* someone who loved him. Someone
he could love in return, then things would change. I
mean, he'd be able to vent in a *positive* way. It would
give him a focus to the present and the future, instead
of him dwelling in the past and mourning what he's lost.
It'll give him a chance to *heal*."
Strife could understand the God of Loves logic... but
this was *Ares* he was talking about. The God of War
for Zeus sakes! Yes, Ares *did* have the ability to love,
but it wasn't a priority to him... and there were very few
that he would be willing to let close enough to him to
allow love to grow. And even fewer still that would be
willing to get that close to the War God. He was about
to shoot down Cupid's plan when for some
unexplainable reason, great-Uncle Hades agreed with
the featherhead.
"Yeah... that *could* work. But it would have to be
someone... special. Someone strong... yet with a soft
side. Someone who Ares could... respect, but not
someone so blood thirsty that it would sidetrack the
main goal of love. And it would have to be someone
who could understand his grief and pain without
feeling pity."
Throwing his hands up in surrender, Strife knew that the
idea had taken a firm root in the minds of the other two
Gods and he figured that he might as well jump in the
boat before it set sail without him.
"Fine. But just *where* will we find someone who fits the
bill? And just *how* do we convince this special
someone to go to Ares?"
He turned to glare at Cupid.
"You can *not* just shoot the person full of your arrows.
Ares would smell the geas in a second and he'd just get
pissed."
Thankfully Hades agreed with him so all Cupid could do
was pout. Granted, it was a sexy and alluring pout, so
Strife didn't mind. Then, with a perverse need to
reassure the God of Love, he turned around and
demanded that he take part in the whole scheme.
"So Cupid? Let's see this list of compatible mates for
Ares... Once we know what we have to work with, we
can choose one."
Cupid blinked in surprise at the obvious agreement to
his hasty plan and then put the full force of his devious
mind and compassionate heart into the problem of
compiling this desperately needed list. His brow
furrowed in deep concentration and he began to
pace the length of the Great Hall. Silently, the dead
God of Mischief and the Lord of Asphodel watched the
bronze skinned beauty with the fluttering wings of white
feathers as he muttered to himself.
The minutes ticked by and Strife began to fear that
even the God of Love would be unable to come up
with someone who could learn to love the dark and
cruel War God. He was beginning to feel a sense of
despair that came with the lessening of hope, which
was odd, since he didn't even realize that he had *felt*
hope to begin with. He was just about ready to call the
whole thing quits when Cupid stopped pacing and
turned back to face them.
"I got it. There's not too many people who meet *all* of
our specifics. I mean, there are *hordes* of people,
mortal and immortal alike that are willing, even eager
to *fuck* him... but being able to *love* him. That's a
cat of a whole different color."
Strife and Hades graced the Love God with identical
'spit it the fuck out' looks. While Hades *was* known to
be patient, he was not known to tolerate babbling.
And Strife... well... he *could* wait a whole second if
forced to by physical restraints. Cupid merely rolled his
eyes at his over eager relatives and co-conspirators
and got to the meat of the whole deal.
"Well... first, there's Celivious. She's the youngest
daughter of one of Dad's warlords. She's a pretty skilled
fighter in her own right, but she specializes in treating
battlefield wounds. She's intelligent, compassionate
and she doesn't spook easily.
Second... there's Hanelle. She's a breeder and trainer
of horses that are used in light cavalry brigades. She's a
decent marksman with a bow as well. Any army that
uses horses for their troops would kill to get her skills.
Third... well, it's not so much a single person... rather
than triplets. Individually, they each have something
that would spark interest... I'd say to go with the
youngest of the three, except that I'm not so certain
Dad would be able to respect the man much. The
other one that would work doesn't seem to have the
depth of compassion we're looking for. It's almost a pity
that we can't just melt Joxer and Jace into one person.
That way, he'd be perfect."
Strife stopped Cupid's recitation of the list of eligible
people by holding one hand up in the air. The other's
looked at him in mild confusion. He didn't care... he
wanted to confirm to his mind that his ears *did* in fact
hear what he *thought* they heard.
"Jox?... You mean, Joxer the Mighty? And Jett? The
King of Assassins?"
Cupid blushed at Strife's scrutiny and then scowled at
the fact that he had blushed. Strife thought he looked
absolutely adorable all flustered like that, but he
pushed that aside for later. He was too busy having an
epiphany. His shock turned quickly into absolute
delight.
"Cupid! You're a genius!"
A confused look crossed his handsome face at the
unexpected compliment, but it soon shifted into a
beaming smile. Strife didn't even try to restrain his giggle
as he turned to face his great-Uncle Hades.
"Uncle Hades? Can you ask Morpheus to come here
and help? I want him to help me send a dream to
Joxer. I'll use the dream to explain the situation to Joxer
and then tell him what we want him to do. *He'll* be
relieved to have someone to talk to as well. This'll kill
two birds with one stone."
The Lord of Asphodel looked at him with an unreadable
expression on his face and for a moment, Strife thought
that he wouldn't agree to have Morpheus help out. But
then, Hades nodded his head and his dark eyes
became unfocused as he mentally commanded his
servant to appear before him. In a mortal heartbeat,
the shape-shifting God of Dreams appeared in a roll of
hazy white smoke.
"You summoned me, my King?"
Strife could barely contain himself he was so excited. If
this plan worked, so many problems could be solved at
once. His lover would be thrilled to have committed
another act of love and gooiness and his Unc' Ares
would stop pulling him down into a madness that
wasn't even his own. With a grin full of mischief and his
head full of ideas, the dead God bounced over to the
mysterious God of Dreams in the midnight blue robes.
"Morpheus... I need you to help me send a special
dream to an old friend of mine..."
END: Where the River Goes
TITLE: Wicked Garden
SERIES: Mourning Duet (story two)
AUTHOR: Scorpio
EMAIL: scorpiofic@aol.com
ARCHIVE: AJCS
PAIRING: A/J
NOTES: This story was written years ago, but I pulled it out and dusted it off for the AJCS listsibs. Enjoy.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. No money. Don't sue.
WARNING: Darkfic. Strife is dead in this.
SUMMARY: Joxer is being sent some nightmares that prompt him to go and visit an old enemy. Secrets are revealed and a wake is held.
WICKED GARDEN
by Scorpio
the second story in the Mourning Duet...
Slowly, languidly, the luminescent fog parted to reveal
a few details about his location. The full moon
drenched the place, reflecting off of the swirling mist
and sparkling on the clinging dewdrops, lending to the
sense of unreality in this... garden?
Jox looked around as the glowing fog receded a bit
more. It was indeed a garden. A dark and overgrown
garden filled with unusual plants. Large thorn bushes
grew in profusion, their jagged barbs long, sharp and
cruel. When he tried to move, those thorns snagged at
his clothing and scratched his pale skin. He yelped and
pulled back onto the center of the narrow path once
more.
Turning to look in the opposite direction, he was faced
with a dying tree. It's skeletal branches raked the
uncaring sky as a clinging red-green vine slowly choked
the life from it. A raven perched on a limb above him
cawed. The chilling sound shivered down his spine and
sweat broke out across his forehead.
//...wicked garden...//
Jox's head whipped around to stare intently down the
path before him. He could have sworn he heard the
voice of... but that was impossible. He was dead. Still,
he wasn't really sure where *here* was or how he'd
even gotten there, so perhaps?... Jox clamped down
on the tiny sliver of hope that had risen within him and
decided to find out where he was.
The path was narrow and winding through the tangled
and overgrown garden beds. The ground he walked
over was crushed black marble and clinging vines
seemed to reach out across it to clutch at his ankles
and legs. Nightshade and Poison Ivy grew in profusion
in amongst the brambles and jagged thorns. A sliver of
fear wended its way around his heart and began to
squeeze.
Trembling, he forced himself to follow the path, even as
the sharp thorns of the bushes tore at his clothes and
scratched his skin. He fervently hoped that they were
not poisonous to humans.
In a matter of minutes... or was that centuries?... he
came to a fork in the path. One fork led to the edge of
the garden and the bright sunlight beyond. It promised
salvation and hope. The other path led deeper into the
dark and the despair at the very heart of the garden.
Jox wanted to turn towards the sunlight so badly that
he could taste it. He was just about to step onto the
lighter path when he heard *that* voice again.
//...his wicked garden to the ground...//
He couldn't *not* follow that voice. It was the same
voice he had been listening to his entire life. Fighting a
conflicting desire to both run away from the garden
and to go to the voice at the same time, Jox
compromised by walking slowly and carefully into the
center of the darkness.
Somehow, it was impossibly worse in this part of the
garden. The thorns were thicker and longer and the
vines writhed upon the path. A carnivorous plant
snatched a giant beetle out of the very air and Jox was
certain he could hear the thing cry out in agony.
A breeze picked up along the pathway and the
deadened trees creaked and groaned as they swayed
alarmingly. Dead leaves, twigs and small pebbles
swirled in mini whirlwinds at different points along the
path and the putrid scent of decay began to form. Mist
and fog grew thicker and more clinging, yet it did little
to spread the moonlight this deep in the grove.
The disheartening screech of a large bird grabbed his
attention from the thorn bush he was trying to get passed
and Jox glanced up quickly. There, in the tops of a
dead white tree, was the midnight raven once more, its
beady black eye trained on him with great interest. A
shiver washed over him, leaving his skin a rash of goose
bumps.
Pulling away from the dagger-like thorns, Jox moved a
ways down the dark and gloomy path until it came to
a sudden and sharp bend. Even though he had never
been to this place before, Jox somehow *knew* that
the turn in the path lead to the very heart of this...
wicked garden. He was certain that he'd find the
source of all this... evil.
//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//
That voice. That much loved and greatly missed voice.
He didn't want to... but he had no choice, he had to
follow that voice.
Taking his courage in both hands, Jox turned the corner
and walked the short distance to the heart of the
garden. There, at the end of the path, the garden
opened up to form a small area free of plants
surrounding what appeared at first to be a black
marble birdbath. The moonlight overhead reflected
from the mist that swirled freely through this area. Jox
could see that there was a man standing at the
birdbath in the very center of the garden grove, but
the ever changing light and the clinging fog obscured
his face.
Hoping against hope that the owner of the voice he
had followed was that man in question, Jox stepped off
of the path and into the heart of the wicked garden. A
horrendous and overwhelming wave of grief and pain
slammed into him in a sudden and frightening rush. He
swayed on his feet and almost crashed to his knees at
the onslaught of emotion. Battling to keep himself
together, Jox moved forwards once again.
As he got closer, he still couldn't see the man's face. He
could feel his anger and his pain and suffering, but he
couldn't identify him. However, he did see the birdbath
more clearly. The black marble basin held stagnant
and brackish water that was swimming with dead bugs
and crumpling leaves. The man was standing beside it,
peering into it as if it held the answers to all his
questions.
//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//
Determined to help this grieving and desolate man, Jox
listened to the voice that had guided him throughout
his life and walked towards the bent figure by the
birdbath. He reached out with one pale and trembling
hand and touched the stranger's shoulder. The stranger
turned to face him and they both gasped in surprise.
Then Ares, the mad God of War let loose a howl of
unutterable anguish and grief before collapsing at Jox's
feet.
**********
Jox sat straight up from a sound sleep and screamed
his throat raw.
**********
It hadn't taken long to convince Xena that he wanted
to go off on his own. She was a little worried because of
the nightmare he had been suffering every night for the
past week or so, but the chance to be alone to try and
sort out her own grief for Gabrielle had been too much
of a temptation for the Warrior Princess.
Now, here he was, outside the Temple of War, ready to
face his nightmare in the flesh. It had taken a little while
to figure out the meaning behind his nightmare, but
once he did, he felt compelled to go to the War God in
person. How Ares himself would feel about that, he
didn't know.
Taking a deep breath and settling his helmet more
firmly on his head, Jox walked up the few stone steps
and pushed open the door. A few torches lighted the
Temple and as such, the room was smoky. Trying to
control the trembling in his limbs, he walked across the
floor of the throne room and placed his hand upon the
chill surface of the alter.
"Ares... Can we talk? It's... ah, important."
In a flash of violent red energy and a sudden
displacement of air, the God of War appeared on his
throne. His dark eyes glittered with anger and his aura
washed over Jox as a wave of grief and sorrow. He
watched as Ares glanced at him incuriously and then
did a classic double take. This time the War God stared
at him in annoyed anger and indignation.
"You're Xena's annoying little friend... Um, Joxer right?
What in Tartarus do *you* want?"
Jox swallowed nervously and reminded himself that this
was important and it was most likely the last assignment
he'd ever receive, so it was imperative that he
complete it. It *must* be dreadfully important if he had
been given orders from the underworld, right? Jox
cleared his throat and swallowed again, trying to
loosen the suddenly tight muscles so that he could
speak without squeaking.
"Um... I'm here to talk about... well... about Strife. See, I
miss him and I figured that you'd be about the only one
who'd... well, understand."
The aura of sadness morphed instantly into anger and
indignation. Jox fought the urge to turn tail and run for
the hills. Trembling, he watched as the War God sat
forward on his throne, a ball of blazing energy slowly
forming in his outstretched right hand.
"And just who are *you* little man, that you think you
know the Mischief God well enough to miss him, to wish
he was still alive and well? Xena's pulled some low
tricks, but this one is below the belt... even for her."
Jox couldn't help it. He snorted in sarcastic amusement.
"Xena didn't send me here to torment you. I came here
on my own. The Warrior Princess doesn't know half as
much as she thinks she does. I don't belong to *her*...
no matter *what* she thinks. I belonged to Strife... I
always did."
Ares looked startled for a quick moment, but then he
covered it with a derisive scowl. The War God waved
his left hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture at Jox.
"What... let me guess? You met him once or twice and
he gave you a piece of jewelry with either his name or
his symbol on it as a sign of his favor? Well... sorry to
disappoint, but my nephew did that with a *lot* of
mortals. It meant he liked you... it didn't make you one
of *his*..."
Jox grinned. This was the easy part... well, if he survived
it, it would be. Quickly, before he could loose his nerve,
Jox began to undress. He pulled the helmet from his
head and tossed it to the floor. Then he began to work
on the myriad of straps and buckles that held his armor
together. This was enough of a shock that the War God
didn't blast him on the spot. He didn't want to push his
luck, so he tried to talk and possibly explain.
"Yeah... I know all about the jewelry. I don't have any
of that stuff. I gave a few pieces out to some people a
couple of times, but *I* myself don't wear any. I don't
need it."
Finally, Jox was able to get his shirt off to expose the
skin of his chest and arms, leaving him with only his
pants and his boots. Taking a deep breath, he turned
around to put his bare unprotected back towards the
God of War.
"I've got *this* instead."
He heard the startled gasp and the low murmur of
"Strife" pass Ares' lips. Then the sound of creaking leather
and a few footsteps that drew up behind him. He
flinched slightly as a warm fingertip gently began to
trace the lines of the intricate tattoo etched
permanently into his living flesh.
It was a complicated and oddly delicate background
of swirls and angles that fit into a continuous pattern
from the base of his neck to the base of his spine. It
traveled from one edge of his shoulders to the other.
Not an inch of skin was spared. Right in the center, in
big bold black lines, was the symbol of Strife, God of
Mischief.
It was a tattoo that only the highest-ranking Priests of
Strife were allowed to wear. Rumor had it that only
those mortals that had divine blood running through
their veins could achieve this level, but Strife himself
had denied it. And it had been painstakingly etched
into Jox's skin by the hands of the Mischief God himself.
"I never knew..."
Jox nodded his head and looked over his shoulder to
see the open pain and grief shinning from the War
God's dark eyes. He could feel the fingertip begin to
trace the thick lines of Strife's symbol and shivered at
the light feathery touch.
"You *know* it's a secret sect. No one is supposed to
know..."
He felt more than saw Ares nod his head in silent
agreement.
"If you're one of Strife's High Priests... then *why* do you
always follow Xena around? I don't get it. And do your
brothers know about this?"
Jox grinned. It was a sneaky grin and it made his eyes
sparkle with mischief. He turned to face the still stunned
God of War and gently led him over to sit back down
on his throne. Then, with his smirk firmly in place, he tried
to explain everything.
"Okay. First question. The reason I follow Xena around is
because she totally annoys you. See, Strife wanted to
do something nice for you, so he sent for me. We talked
it over for a bit and then we created Joxer the Mighty.
We wrote a silly theme song for him and made the
armor and sent him off to irritate and annoy Xena and
her friends."
"But *you're* Joxer."
Jox nodded in agreement and giggled.
"Sometimes... yeah. I like him. Joxer's a lot of fun,
although it took Strife forever to teach me how to fall
down without automatically catching myself. He
wanted Joxer to be a bit of a klutz and I just had the
*worst* time making myself fall on my own face!"
Jox laughed at the memories that ran through his mind
about the time he'd spent with Strife inventing Joxer the
Mighty. He felt a light touch flutter against his mind and
then saw a small half smile flicker on Ares' lips as he
shared a few moments of that time period.
"Second question. Do my brothers know about my
service to Strife? No. But that's only because I'm an only
child. I don't *have* any brothers."
Confusion washed over the War God's face, forcing his
full bottom lip into a pout. Jox stared at the beguiling
sight and forced his eyes and his thoughts away from
the arousing expression on Ares' handsome face.
"But... Jace and Jett?"
Jox grinned again. His smile was very wicked and he
pointed a finger at his own bare chest.
"Me and... me. They're both "parts" I have played for
Strife over the years for one reason or another. Jett's by
far my most famous persona, but Joxer runs a close
second. Strife thought it would be a hoot to have them
be "brothers", so that's what Joxer started telling
people. Whenever they would get together, for
whatever reason, Strife always played the parts that I
wasn't doing at the time. That way, people could see
us interact and reinforce the idea that we were, in fact,
brothers."
Ares gazed down at him with a mix of pride and
amusement etched on his darkly handsome face. A
half smile twisted his full lips and he snorted in wry
amusement.
"Yeah... my nephew was a sneaky little pain in the ass.
He loved to be able to get a job done well, but if he
could pull a fast one on everyone at the same time? It
was icing on the cake. He got such a wild kick out of
messing with people... even if they didn't realize that
he was doing it."
Jox nodded with enthusiasm.
"Yeah... and he had such a morbid sense of humor too.
His jokes were sometimes deadly... but they were
*always* funny. Well... unless *you* were the punch-line
that is..."
Ares chuckled. It was a dark and warm sound that
reverberated throughout the stone temple.
"Oh yes. He *did* pull some good ones, didn't he? Hey!
Did Strife ever tell you about the time that he..."
**********
Jox stood in the beautiful moonlight and glanced up at
the shining stars that glittered overhead. He breathed
a deep sigh of unutterable relief to be free of the
wicked garden at last. Turning slightly, he pulled the
ragged and weary God of War around to his side and
gently forced the larger hand to unclench from the
back of his torn and bloody shirt. The trembling God fell
into his arms and buried his grief-ravaged face into the
side of his long pale neck.
Jox rubbed Ares' leather covered back and made
soothing cooing noises into his ear and gently pushed
the tangled black curls away from his scratched
cheeks.
//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//
Jox turned to look back at the twisted and gnarled
plants that made up the garden grove they had just
escaped from. Even now that they were free, it
seemed as if the vines and branches tried to reach out
and pull them back in. He shivered.
Suddenly, a chill sound screeched, breaking the eerie
silence of the night. Jox looked up in time to see the
dark winged raven fly overhead. The bird dropped a
sparkling stone from its beak and the object tumbled
through the air into Jox's outstretched hand. It was a
glittering jewel, like likes of which Jox had never seen
before. It seemed to pulse with a subtle energy all it's
own.
//...burn his wicked garden to the ground...//
Not knowing *how* he knew what to do, but doing it
anyway, Jox turned to face the dark and overgrown
garden. He hefted the jewel in his hand once and then
threw it with all his might at the evil place of despair. He
could hear it crash through the leaves and bang off of
a tree trunk before landing with a muffled thump on
the ground.
He waited half a moment and then there was a huge
explosion that sent violent concussion waves outward.
He and Ares clung to each other and shivered as a
wave of madness and pain washed over them before
dissipating. Then, a giant tongue of flame poured up
into the night sky from the very heart of the wicked
garden.
Silently, Jox and Ares watched as it burned to the
ground.
**********
Jox woke up from a sound sleep and gasped for air. He
looked around startled and disoriented. This was the first
time in over a week that he hadn't woken himself up
with his own screams. He struggled against a weight
that held him down and was beginning to panic when
his memories began to sort themselves out. The dream
about the garden began to fade away as reality set in
once again.
The weight holding him down was not some bizarre
dream monster trying to drag him back to the garden
grove, it was instead, the arm of the sleeping War God
wrapped tightly around his waist. He glanced blurrily
around and saw that they were in a darkened
bedroom and curled around each other in sleep.
Well... one of them was still asleep.
It was hard to see due to the lack of lighting, but Jox
wasn't too interested in the decor. He was more
interested in how he'd ended up in the War God's
bed... with the War God himself. He knew it hadn't
been sex. He himself still wore his pants, even if his boots
and shirts were missing. And Ares?... well, he was still
dressed in his full black leather armor.
Slowly, Jox tried to focus his mind and figure out what
had happened to bring them here, to this point. His
memories were a bit disjointed and foggy and to top it
all off, his head felt thick and his stomach a bit woozy.
He remembered that they had been talking about
Strife and all of the misadventures the Mischief God
had gotten into. That had been in the main throne
room of the temple. He had gotten hungry and so Ares
had conjured up a delicious dinner and some... *honey
wine*! Jox knew better than to drink mead, it always
made him very open and silly and it loosened his
tongue dangerously. Yet, for some reason, probably
not wanting to offend Ares, he had drunk a lot of the
sweet brew last night.
He had vague memories of breaking into song. He
wasn't sure, but he had the sinking feeling that he'd
graced, or cursed depending on your point of view,
Ares with the naughtier and steamier version of the
"missing" verses of Joxer the Mighty's theme song. The
version that Gabby and Xena never got to hear.
He also had disjointed recollections of the evening
turning maudlin towards the end. They had both been
deep in their cups and Strife's wake had taken on a
decidedly morbid and sad tone to it. He remembered,
with a sharp pain of embarrassment, that his grief and
loneliness for his dead God and friend had eventually
overwhelmed him. He had begun to cry into his cup.
Surprisingly enough, Ares hadn't blasted him into atoms,
instead, he had gathered Jox into his thick strong arms
and tried to comfort him. Jox recalled how he had
buried his face in the War God's shoulder and howled
out his rage and grief with tears streaming from his
eyes. He could even remember the sensation of Ares
beginning to tremble as well and the feel of hot tears
rolling silently down the side of his neck as they dripped
from the grieving God's eyes.
His last true memory of the night before was of falling
into a troubled sleep on Ares' strong shoulder. The War
God must have simply moved them here after he had
passed out. And then he had dreamed.
If he understood the meaning of his dream, then the
worst of it was over. The both of them could now heal
and move on. Jox wasn't sure *why* they needed each
other to do so, but Strife's voice had been insistent, and
he couldn't disobey.
Jox looked down at the sleeping God that was
clutching him as if he were a lifeline and smiled gently.
He raised up one finger to lightly trace those soft
kissable lips and had to push down a wave of arousal.
There would be time enough for that later. But not now.
Careful not to wake Ares, Jox snuggled back down into
his warm embrace and closed his eyes once more. The
War God shifted slightly and then pulled him in tight to
his chest, but didn't wake. Slowly, Jox's mind began to
drift back towards sleep, but before he succumbed
once again, he had a vow to make.
"Rest easy Strife. I'll take care of him for you. He won't
be lonely any more. I promise..."
END: Wicked Garden