Ever since gaining his freedom -- and the less said about that, the better --, Loki had made a point to avoid his old stomping grounds. Though there really was something to be said about inciting Romans to go cause a ruckus on the old home place...and he had to hardly expend any extra effort on that count, himself
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Had it been only a thousand years? It felt like tens of thousands. Millions. It felt like forever.
Somewhere near Rome's northern borders, Eros landed in the forest. It was getting more difficult to, well, maintain, but he did. Of course he did. He was fine. He just...needed a few minutes out here. To get his breath back. That was all. Then he'd return to his discipline.
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He'd chosen this time to ride out with a legion on their way to the front though...well...he had no plans of going all the way with them lest any of his once-brethren take notice. That would completely ruin the game, now wouldn't it?
But then he'd felt...
...someone, anyway. Not the Aesir. Something worth investigating, though, so Loki peels off from the soldiers with a comment that they should continue on without him. It doesn't take too very long of riding through the trees toward that feeling before he comes upon Eros.
Of course, Eros might be more likely to see a Roman centurion riding toward him than, well, a Norse god in Roman armor.
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Which is strangely impervious to being calmed. Perhaps he's more tired than he'd believed.
"Centurion," he greets the man, calm and cold. He has no desire at all to speak at length with any Roman carrying with him this new Christian god. There's a trace of divine resonant suggestion in his voice - Ride on, Roman - as he continues, "Your legion outpaces you."
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The idea that he obviously hadn't recognized who he was faced with and was trying to influence his mind was even more interesting. "So it does. You have the look of a man who wouldn't care to have a legionnaire's attention." Yes, this is Loki keeping up the pretense of suspicious centurion.
"Explain yourself."
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As he drew power to his voice, he thought with longing of the days when there had been so much more to draw from, but this would be enough. "I will explain nothing to you," he snapped. "Go. Catch up with your warriors, and thank your new god every day that I've spared your life, Roman."
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So instead of riding away, he swung off his horse and raised his eyebrows at the other god. "You, spare my life?" He stalked toward Eros, hand on his gladius, ready to draw. "I should think it rather the other way around. Now...do as you're told."
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He let the thoughts of Ares simmer away in the anger and wondered what had happened to him. Was he really so weak that he could no longer turn a single mortal's mind? That couldn't be; he'd been working so hard.
"Strike, then, mortal," he said with a calm he didn't feel and dropped the illusion of mortality. His wings were unmistakeable even held tight against his back, and his bow was in his hand in the blink of an eye. "Strike, and see what the Fates have in store for you," he continued in a low, dangerous hiss. The dull glint of lead tipped the arrow he strung and aimed; no mercy here. "Give me a reason."
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Oh wait, didn't Hermes talk about this one? Possibly...
He dropped the arrogant Roman pretense and smiled casually, flame dancing on his fingertips. He twiddled his fingers in greeting to Eros, "you seem to be somehow under the misconception that I am mortal, dear boy."
"So really...there's no need for threats."
Though seeing Eros all angry and dangerous was rather appealing.
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"I was," he admitted, keeping hold of the weapon for now. "You've concealed yourself well, stranger. For what purpose?"
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"And we're hardly strangers, are we? At least we've a friend in common."
Well, assuming this god and Hermes were friends but Loki had noted that the messenger somehow managed to avoid too much in the way of long-lasting enmity with his relatives. Which was more than Loki could say for himself.
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"Do we?" he asked, relaxing his wings into a more comfortable, looser position. "And who is it that counts us both among his friends?" Fire, disguise, trickery, and a trace of an accent to his Greek...but Eros couldn't quite place his name.
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"Hermes? Unless, of course, you aren't friends...I really wouldn't know but it seems to me he's spoken of you before."
Assuming Loki's assumption was correct, after all.
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"I'm quite attached to that particular uncle. But we have not been introduced," he added, raising his brows with an amused look. This seemed a roundabout way to make his acquaintance, if indeed that was the other god's goal.
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"You're absolutely correct in that we haven't. And alas for him, Hermes is not here to do the honors." Which was just as well, Hermes would probably talk sense into him.
"My name is Loki." Among the many, many things he's called.
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He'd heard tell of Loki, whispers of Loki, but Hermes' own mentions had been brief and casual. Now, Eros wondered why. Later, he would realize he had perhaps not wondered enough.
"My name is Eros," he answered with a faint, slow smile, knowing the introduction was an unnecessary courtesy. "Welcome to what was once proud Greece."
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Would Eros believe Loki was undermining them from the inside for his own purposes? Well...he didn't have to actually explain precisely what he was doing among them.
"Though, perhaps you might accept the hospitality of a faux-Roman?"
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