FIC: Body & Soul, Chapter 1
Title: Body & Soul, Chapter 1
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 overall
Chapter 1:
Restless, is my heart.
Long ago, Father Sky gazed down upon Mother Earth. So taken was he, by the sight of her, and his love reflected back upon him, that he spilled a drop of his seed into the ocean.
The Goddess of Love sprang forth from that, and floated to shore on a bed of foam. For nigh an eternity she wandered the Earth and the heavens, spreading love throughout mankind simply by her presence. Eventually, she was found and adopted by the Olympian gods and made one of their own. They dressed her, taught her their ways, their languages. Though unlike the rest, she was descended of primordial elements.
***
Mary Aphrodite turns her head and sighs. Zephyrus, the West Wind, blows comforting gusts of cool air over her body, but it isn't enough too soothe her. Her heart is weary.
Mary finds herself walking through the sacred forest of her future sister-in-law, Artemis. She clutches her arms to her sides, unable to enjoy the gorgeous, moonlit pastoral scene that lies before her. Tomorrow morning, she will be married.
When she had first appeared to the gods of Olympus, all had wanted her. Zeus quickly betrothed her to his favorite son, the hairy boorish Hephaestus-Singer. She was not one bit stirred by him, and would rather have had the hand of his handsome, yellow-eyed war-god brother, Ares.
The leaves rustle in the distance, and her godly hearing senses an arrow flying through the air. Curious, she follows the noise into a clearing. There, she moves through the leafy brush noiselessly, trailing her spider-silk robe on the ground.
In the glen, filled with moonlight, she spies the man. A young disciple of the goddess, he hunts with her blessings. He stands over his kill, a stag three times his size, pierced and felled by a single arrow. The man is handsome, rugged and yet with a kind of gentleness in his face. He's barely clad in his robes, she drinks in the sight of his body. He pulls the arrow clean out of the animal, smiles to himself. He looks to the sky and says a prayer to Artemis for his skill in archery, and begins sectioning off a flank to sacrifice to his patron.
Mary has known of the lust mortals can incite in a god or goddess. There is something fascinating about these creatures. She's taken many to bed, ones that wet her appetite, fill her with raw desire.
Tonight, she will bed him out of love.
Mary quickly disguises herself as a mortal girl, and walks out from her hiding spot in the brush, clears her throat slightly.
The hunter whips around brandishing his knife at her, ready to strike. His eyes widen and his throat goes dry at the sight of the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
"You shouldn't be in these woods. The goddess Artemis only allows her worshippers within."
"I have lost my way."
The man holds out his hand. "My name is Ioannis, please call me John."
Mary had never shaken another's hand before. The other gods and demigods would greet her with open arms, with kisses, but never a hand. She takes it. "Mary…"
"Like the goddess?"
"Yes." she smirks.
"She must hate you, first you take her name, and then you dare to be as beautiful as she." John can't believe what is coming out of his mouth. How he feels he can just pour his heart out to this stranger.
Mary has that effect on people.
John shakes it off. "Where are you from?"
"I live on a farm, just north of Athens."
"I will take you there." And John leads her out of the woods, on that well-worn path. The farm in question belongs to another goddess, Demeter, who uses it as an escape from Olympus, and a chance to reconnect with the earth she loves.
With every step and every word exchanged, their hearts beat faster. The goddess needs no love magicks that night. John has fallen deeply in love with her, and she him.
By the time they reach the farm, she pulls him into fields of flowers and they tumble into each other's arms. They make love past sunrise, and John begs her to return to Athens with him, so they can marry. Mary strokes his cheek and blows sleep into his eyes. She returns to Olympus and marries Hephaestus.
John wakes up alone and heartbroken. Mary wakes up next to her husband and weeps.
Though the pain of their separation is not to last. Mary gives birth to a cherubic, winged baby boy. The god of love, Eros Dean. Hephaestus holds him, and smells the human blood in his veins. He hands him back to Mary with a hard look in his eyes, and limps to his workshop.
Mary holds little Dean, strokes his downy-soft baby wings, and knows he's John's son. She smiles at the gift of the child, the keepsake she can always look upon.
Still, with Hephaestus miserable and sullen, she does not stay on Olympus for long. She leaves Dean with her sisters-in-law who coo and spoil him. She returns to Athens and finds John, falling right back into his arms.
It's over three years of love and bliss, before Mary's belly swells with his child again. Time moves slower for her, and she knows she cannot stay for very much longer. She plans to have the baby, and then run back to Olympus, giving little Dean a brother or sister to play with.
All does not go according to plan when her second son is born human. Mixing blood between humans and the gods has always been a funny business. Sometimes you get a Dionysus, sometimes a Heracles.
She stays, until she can no longer stand to. Her knees tremble, pain shoots throughout her body. She needs ambrosia, she needs Olympus, she misses Hephaestus and Dean and the rest of her family.
He's six months old, they haven't yet named the child, though John has been pushing for another name from the land of Judah to match his. Mary avoids the topic, knowing it will be harder in the end to let go.
Mary wraps the baby in a soft blanket, and hands him to John one night. John sits in his favorite chair, the baby boy in his arms, and Mary sings them both to sleep. She blows soma in their eyes, and places silver coins in John's pocket. She kisses them goodbye.
As she walks away, the hearth explodes in flames, burning the house to the ground. Mary does not shed a tear, she knows in the underworld John and her son will be safe. Her husband may not be the jealous type, but Hera's distaste for mortal-born children is legendary. If she ever learned about Dean's true parentage, there was no telling what she would do.
It must be fatigue, because as she ascends back to Olympus, she doesn't notice the dark figure running out of the flames. Doesn't hear John scream for her, clutching his child tightly.
***
Mary enters the palace, and Dean flies into her arms. He hugs her tightly, she smiles and ruffles soot out of his hair.
"Where have you been, my darling child?"
"Father's workshop," Dean answers, bright green eyes lit with joy. Hephaestus is standing in the corner of the room, and nods.
It seems in the interim, Dean and Hephaestus had forged a bond within his workshop. Hephaestus delighted in making toys and crowns for little Dean. And in Hephaestus, Dean had discovered a gruff, but caring father.
Hephaestus may just have been happy to realize that Dean wasn't his brother Ares' bastard child, like the muses sang in their gossip.
"Mother! Let me show you, I shot the arrows Father made me!" She then notices the tiny quiver on his back and bow in his hand. He leads her over to his playroom and demonstrates his skill with the tiny golden arrows on the targets Hephaestus made him.
"You are your father's son," Mary whispers.
***
Dean grows into his role as the god of love. Mary enchants his arrows with powerful love spells. Some are for instant bursts of love or lust, others of a more drawn-out release of feelings. Dean is careless with them, often delighting in playing pranks on mortals.
Mary loves him so, and does not scold him for the chaos he brings. But one day, she pulls her adolescent son aside and gives him a mission. She tells him to go to Athens, and find a young worshipper of hers. She has prayed for the love of her neighbor, a childhood playmate, and it should be granted.
Dean zooms down to earth and searches the girl out first. She's fairly easy to find, Jessica. She stands at the door to her neighbor's house, waiting for the boy to return. Dean flits about impatiently in the trees while they both wait.
Jessica's face lights up when she sees him. He's too far in the distance to see, but Dean shoots an arrow of everlasting love into her heart. Then reloads and takes aim at the boy.
"Sam!" Jessica sighs and waves her arms as he comes running towards her.
Dean lowers his arrow.
Sam is the most beautiful person Dean has ever seen, and his heart swells. He's a mortal, but Dean finds himself inexorably drawn to him, to his almost unnatural beauty. The shaggy haired boy smiles brighter then the sun, and Dean sighs.
He lifts his arrow again, but still cannot fire. Instead, he puts the golden arrow of love away. Out from his quiver, he produces the owl-feathered arrow of indifference.
"Whoops," he whispers as the shaft hits Sam. "Wrong arrow. Terribly sorry. Nothing to be done…"
When he returns to Olympus, his mother asks about the young lovers. Dean replies he struck them both in the heart and goes to sleep.
Years later, after being politely rebuffed by Sam one too many times, Jessica will fall into a deep depression. She will pray day and night at the temple of Aphrodite. Upon advice from the Fates, the love-goddess will change her into a willow tree.
Dean gets sent to his room without nectar for a month.
***
Dean grows out of his cherubic body, the plump and rose drops from his cheeks in place of an older, handsome face. He's taller now, shoulders cut like marble, muscular and the tips of the wings fall just slightly below his torso. Pale porcelain skin, though dotted with freckles, green eyes like his mother's. He's just slightly bow-legged, from spending most of his time flying instead of walking.
Mary wonders if others will notice the almost human-like imperfections to his beauty, but they embrace them. Every god and goddess in the pantheon wants him. And for a time, he indulges his lust. He revels in the thrill of bedding both mortals and demigods alike.
But when he goes to work, and sees lovers unite in embraces, in intimate gestures and whispered vows of fidelity, his heart pangs.
He sees Sam's smile when he closes his eyes.
He flies to Athens on a whim, and sees an older Sam exiting the Academy. A student now, taller and just as gorgeous as when he was young. Dean's eyes widen and he forgets all about the couple he was supposed to fix up. Instead, he watches Sam. Now that he has also grown out of an awkward, gangly adolescence, Dean finds himself awestruck with his beauty. Long, powerful legs and arms, his body filled out with muscles and softness at the same time. Soft brown hair that makes Dean want to his curl fingers within, and then tug that mouth down closer to his. A smile that could launch a thousand ships.
Sam is surrounded by friends and colleagues, and a squat, satyr-like old man, whom the others listen to with wide eyes and nodding heads. He questions them all, and Sam's answers are the only ones he smiles at.
Soon, it becomes a habit, he flies to Athens every afternoon and hides himself in ceiling-statues that line the academy. He can peer over the shoulders of the statue of his aunt, Athena.
Dean learns as much as he can about Sam, knows he studies physics, ethics and rhetoric. His teachers think he would be well suited as a statesman or rhetorician, but Sam tends to be more of a sophist. He is calm, clever and kind. Yet he seems to rebuff most of the advances of his peers, both male and female.
It's so easy to fall in love with him.
Dean sighs into his dinner at the weekly Olympian feast. The family dinners are usually more exciting, he loves hearing the stories of his aunts and uncles and their latest schemes. Hermes is the biggest gossip, next to the muses. He's got some good dirt on the King of Thrace and an incident involving an angry stable boy and one of his man-eating horses.
Dean loses his appetite and stands up, pushing his plate away. Mary smiles politely and excuses herself. She follows Dean to the hallway, through to the balcony. He looks over the ledge, down at Athens.
Mary turns her son around and hugs him. Pulls back and rubs his shoulders.
Dean sighs.
"I see Thalia is looking lovely this evening."
"No, mother. Don't."
"That mortal will break your heart, my darling boy."
"I don't care."
"Dean-"
"I don't care if he rejects me, if he hates me. I just want to meet him, to touch him, to speak with him, to make him smile. I just want one chance-"
Mary grabs her son's face with both hands. Looks him directly in the eyes and thinks of John, of his stubbornness…
"Then I forbid it."
***
Mary's words only encourage Dean to finally take a chance. He visits Arachne at her loom, and promises her a bevy of moths in exchange for her to weave him clothes to disguise himself with. She complies, and he dons his human disguise and the robes of a peasant farmer.
His arms are shaking, and he has to pull them into the sash of his tunic in order to hide it. He's watched Sam for weeks, months even. And now, he has an attack of nerves.
Maybe what the naiads whisper is true, maybe he really is part-mortal. Then again, gods and goddesses and nymphs alike have been telling him he's actually this son of Ares for years.
If that's true, he'll eat his quiver. There's no God in Olympus he despises more. What his mother ever saw in those horrid yellow eyes-
Dean snaps out of his reverie. Sam is filing out of the building with his friends and satyr-faced teacher. They all pass him by without a second glance.
Except Sam.
Dean feels caught when Sam's gaze travels to him. He knows, he must know. He stares at him and Dean looks at his feet, clad in beaten sandals. He looks back up and Sam is closer now, no longer walking with the group. Standing before him, Dean aches to touch him, just once.
"Hello," Sam says.
"H-hello," Dean replies.
In that moment, a panic comes upon Dean. What if this was a mistake? What if Sam will reject him like he has countless other suitors? He could get his quiver, shoot Sam with the right arrows and bed him quickly. Relieve him of the desire that has nearly driven him mad.
"Are you a student here?" Sam asks.
"No." Dean looks to the ground again.
"Oh," Sam pauses, feeling a little sad. He wanted something to talk about, to break the tension. The young man is just staring at him, with his gorgeous green eyes and Sam wants to know why.
He wants to know more.
Sam's father is not a common man. One of the greatest hunters in all of Greece, if not the world. Blessed by the goddess Artemis herself, they say.
Sam knows it's a little much, to claim that the hunting goddess chose his father. He's a scholar, and a skeptic. While he loved hearing the stories growing up, there's a part of him that finds it difficult to believe it all. His mentors seem to question the same ideas in the Academy, in quiet voices, with double-speak and hidden meaning in their words.
Sam was raised in foreign lands, traveling with his father from hunt to hunt. Finally they've come back to Athens for a respite, and he can attend the Academy for however long he can convince his father to stay.
So with all his wit, and worldly experience, what could he possibly think to ask a poor, peasant farmer? Without sounding condescending.
"My name is Lysias," Dean blurts out.
Sam smiles. "I'm Samuel, but everyone calls me Sam."
"That's such a strange name, for a Greek," Dean remarks.
"My father said he heard it when he was in Judah, Sh'muel. I guess he wanted something that wouldn't be very common in Greece, like his." Sam kicks the dirt with his foot, he's babbling.
Dean nods, lost in the moment and the movement of Sam's mouth. Sam worries he's boring him.
"So what brings you here today, Lysias?"
"You."
Sam swallows.
***
It starts out awkwardly, tight-lipped sentences from Dean, long winding stories from Sam. Eventually, they acclimate to one another's presence. Dean as Lysias takes to walking with Sam from the Academy to his home. Then when he and Sam part, Dean spreads his wings and soars beyond the clouds.
They talk of history, of the Grecian people, of nature and natural law. When Sam speaks of the Gods, Dean has to smother a laugh at his doubts. Sam claims that all the stories cannot be true, and they've become folktales used to impart lessons in children, not a true oral history of the people. Sam speaks of his satyr-faced mentor's crazy theories about a singular God.
The old fool knows nothing. Dean bites his tongue.
One day as Lysias greets him, Sam is carrying a satchel over his shoulder and a bow. He beams at the sight of him, but then his face drops.
"Hello Sammy." Sam still blushes at the nickname, that's probably why Lysias uses it.
"Lysias! Oh Lysias, I'm sorry, I'm not going home today. My father is preparing to join the hunt for the Calydonian Boar. We leave for Aetolia at the end of the week. I have fallen behind in my bow-hunting practice, I really need to catch up."
Dean fumes at the thought of Sam going on that wild goose chase his crazy aunt Artemis came up with when she was drunk on hibiscus and wine. But archery? He can work with that.
"You know, I'm a pretty good shot, maybe I could show you a trick or two?"
Sam holds back a laugh, he's not really that full of himself, it's just that he's been trained by his father and the priests at the temples in the art of hunting since he was a boy. Maybe he's not as good as his father, but he's definitely better then his peasant friend.
"That would be wonderful, Lysias. Why don't you get your stuff and meet me in the south field? Right by the willow tree?"
Dean smirks and ignores Sam's condescending tone, a plan already formulating in his head. "Sure thing, be there soon."
When Dean arrives at the field with his bow, and quiver of plain arrows, Sam's out in the filed, setting targets. Planks of wood with target marks, sacks of grain with red X's.
Sam steps back, and nods to Lysias, "You first?"
"Nah, you go ahead, I wanna see what I'm working with."
Sam cocks an eyebrow. He steps into position and aims, shooting each target. He hits 5 of the 7 targets, two hits right on the mark. Lysias looks at him and pats his shoulder.
"Nice try there, Sammy."
"You think you can do better?" Sam scoffs.
Lysias smirks, takes his first aim for the target Sam hit dead-on. He easily knocks Sam's arrow out with one shot, sinks his own into the target with the other.
Sam's mouth drops. Lysias steps forward and pulls all the arrows, resetting the target. "Thing is Sam, you're hitting them but not deep enough to kill, only to wound. The hide of the Calydonian boar is thicker than leather, tougher then wrought-iron. You have to shoot with more force, more precision," Lysias draws his bow, and kneels close to the ground, "Knees bent-"
"-always," Sam finishes. "My father tells me that."
"You should listen," Lysias says, releasing his arrows, one after the other.
He hits all the targets, dead center, five inches deep.
"Okay, you've got to show me how to do that!" Sam has never met an archer who could match his father's skill, if not better. Lysias smiles, and puts his bow aside.
"Sure." Lysias walks behind Sam, and he gets the idea, steps closer to his target and lets Lysias position his arms. "Bend your knees, like that," Lysias nudges Sam's legs with his own, covers his arms with his, hands on top of hands. "You're gripping too tight, hold it like you would hold a bird. Strong enough to keep it in your hand, but not tight enough to hurt it. Pull back farther than that, it's not going to snap you."
Lysias gets closer to Sam's face, adjusting his aim, and Sam feels a colder cheek against his. Lysias' skin is cool, like porcelain, he's never felt anything like it. Or maybe it's the fact that Lysias is practically embracing him, sending chills throughout his body.
"And when you're ready, let go!"
Sam does, and his arrow sails straight ahead, embedding itself in the target, about three inches deep.
"Better," Lysias says, "but not quite a kill-shot yet."
Sam turns to face Lysias, and sighs. "Maybe I don't want to learn a kill-shot."
"Sam?"
"Maybe, maybe you could just-" Sam bites his lip, "Show me how to make it look like I'm trying to kill, but only wounding. Show me how to shoot an animal without killing it."
"What are you asking me, Sam?"
"Nevermind," Sam turns and walks to the targets, yanking the arrows out.
"Hey!" Lysias calls out. "Let's make a wager!"
Sam picks up his head, Lysias has his bow and quiver, and is motioning him towards a tree. Sam approaches him, apprehensively. "What are you talking about?"
Lysias points at the tree branch, hanging low to the ground. "Pick a leaf on that branch. If I can shoot it off from across the field, I win. If I can't, then you do."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want."
"So, you'll teach me, like I asked you to? No questions?"
Lysias nods, "It's a deal."
"And what if you win?"
"Then I get something I want from you."
"Like what?"
Lysias rolls his eyes. "It's no fun if I tell you, Sammy." He bounces on his heels. "C'mon, what d'ya say? Is it a bet?"
Sam worries his lip, and then points to a particular green leaf, hanging on the branch. "That one." Lysias smiles and runs to the edge of the clearing, Sam steps back just far enough to see the leaf, but away from harm.
"Okay!" He shouts to Lysias, "Whenever you're-"
The arrow flies through the air, the leaf stirs, and then floats gently to the ground, the stem having been severed from the branch.
"-ready." Sam finishes. Lysias is already jogging back to him. Sam crouches on the ground and picks up the leaf, hand trembling. Lysias, poor peasant farmer, has skills of a hunter twice his years.
Sam stands to face Lysias, wearing his sly smirk. "You win," he says, dazed. "What is it you want?"
Lysias crooks his head to one side, brushes an errant lock of hair out of Sam's eyes, then leans in close to whisper in his ear. "What I've always wanted, Sam."
Lysias kisses him, gently, sweetly, like a promise.
"Your heart," he says as he pulls back.
Sam flushes and ducks his head. "You… You've always had it," he mumbles, hoping that sounded as good as it did in his head. He's never been one for romance, always felt awkward and indifferent in matters of love and affection.
But not with Lysias.
The man before him seems to let some invisible weight lift off his shoulders before pressing forward, wrapping Sam in his arms. Sam follows suit, winding his arms around Lysias' neck and shoulders. They sink into each other's mouths.
For a moment, Sam feels his feet lift off the ground.
***
Mercurial Hermes is the first to discover Eros Dean, wearing a human skin and peasant clothes, walking hand in hand with another human. His eyes widen as he witnesses them moments later, deep in the forest, bodies moving against one another, Dean then naked in the young man's lap, not caring that his precious golden hair has been marred with tiny twigs and leaves. He watches as an intimate caress on the cheek, leads into promises of love and devotion.
Hermes stares at the mortal and wonders why he smells so strange.
***
John is the next to discover them.
His son had been raving about his new friend and archery teacher, how skillful and wonderful he is. John scoffed at the idea that they could match each other. But he decided to surprise his son on one of their lessons. They leave for Aetolia in a day and a half, he wants to see how much his son has improved.
He finds them in Sam's favorite clearing, beneath the willow tree. Sam is sitting under the tree, his back to the trunk. In one hand he holds one of his scrolls from the Academy, in the other his cradles his friend. The young man is wrapped in Sam's left arm, sitting in-between his legs, back pressed against Sam's chest. His head is drooped to one side, apparently peacefully resting. Though upon closer examination John realizes the man is simultaneously cutting a nock into an arrow. With his eyes shut.
John's first instinct is to shout, "Samuel Ventuscastra!"
Sam jumps up in the air and knocks Lysias to the ground. John keeps yelling, and Lysias scrambles to his feet. When he finally takes a breath, Sam attempts to speak.
"Father, I-" he looks to Lysias, who nods him on. "I've decided I'm not going to Aetolia with you. I wish to stay in Athens, at the Academy, and with Lysias."
"Samuel, you are a hunter. Anointed at the temple of Artemis, destined to-"
"I'm not a hunter! I never asked for that! I am as I was made, not what you tried to force me to be!"
"We have a duty to our fellow patrons, our followers, our goddess. You would dishonor her like this?"
Dean tries, very, very hard not to say anything about how his aunt probably doesn't know him from Cadmus. Artemis had many scions anointed in her name, and each seemed to think they were the chosen one, like the second coming of Theseus.
Sam bows his head in shame, and reaches for Lysias' hand. The moment their fingers touch, he has a brilliant idea. He picks his head up suddenly. "A wager!"
"What?!" John exclaims, Lysias gives him an odd look as well.
"A wager, Father, if Lysias can out-match you in a contest of archery, then you will release me from my filial duty, and I can stay in Athens. If you win, then I will go, no questions asked, and bring you the hide of the beast myself."
John appraises the peasant boy, dirt on his knees and a bramble in his hair. Plain dusty robes, worn leather belt. He stands at an awkward angle, like his legs are bent wrong. There's nothing remarkable about the boy except his green eyes.
They remind him of his late wife, the color of her favorite dress.
"I accept." John shakes his son's nervous hand, and raises an eyebrow at Lysias' cold grip. John steps forward, "I'll go set the targets, you do what you need to prepare."
Sam bends to him and whispers, "Think you can do it?"
Lysias squeezes his arm. "I'd plan on unpacking when you get home." And then walks towards John.
Sam hopes he's right about Lysias.
The targets they draw on the trees range in size, from large crosses to small pin-sized dots. Sam moderates, and swears by Artemis (and at Lysias' request, Hephaestus) that he will judge fairly. They start by matching each other shot for shot. Hitting the marks and squeezing both their arrows into the same hit on the target, miraculously. They make it harder, moving further away, hitting smaller targets. Both still evenly matched.
It goes on for a good two hours, adding in time to re-set and re-draw the targets. The trees are beginning to look diseased, all full of holes. Dean says a silent apology to the dryads of the forest on his break, and promises them a tribute of pomegranates and nectar for their trouble.
They move further into the forest, shooting leaves off of trees, apples by their stems, moving targets that Sam then tosses into the air. They vie for who can shoot the deepest, both tying by sinking their arrows into a poplar tree up to the fletchings. They move to a creek and shoot a drop of water dripping off a plateau of rock.
It's late at night and Sam's lying against his willow-tree, re-reading Pindar. He's grown bored of playing judge, and neither of them seem to be off the honor system. It's almost like they're having fun, finally able to compete against someone worthy of their skill. Sam nods as they approach.
"Anything?"
John beams. "Lysias shot a pebble in the creek, and bounced it onto the shore!"
"Well, so did you." Lysias says.
John shakes his head. "I couldn't have done it if I hadn't seen you do it first."
"Don't be so modest, it would have taken another man years to perfect-"
"Well," Sam interrupts Lysias, "I'm glad you're having fun."
John scowls. "Watch the attitude, Samuel." He turns to set the next target. Lysias sees Sam huff, notices the despondent look in his eyes.
"Sam?"
"I'm tired," Sam says closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tree.
Lysias turns to John, his mind racing. John's set two acorns on the ground, and explains the next task: "Pierce the acorn, and plant the arrow in the ground, vertically. I'll go first."
John kneels on the ground, and fires the arrow upwards. It arcs over and lands perpendicular to the ground, splitting the acorn open. Lysias easily does the same, realizing that this could go on for quite a while.
Unless he plays his trump card.
John brings the two arrows and acorns back, they're both split evenly, "Your turn."
Lysias sighs, and points eastward. "See those flowers over there, in the distance?"
"The blue ones, yes."
Lysias reached into the pocket of his robes. "I'm going to shoot, knock all the petals off of one, without the arrow touching the flower."
John nods, "Using the force of the wind, yes, it's possible-"
"Blind." Lysias adds. He feels horrible about making this an unfair fight. But it's for Sam.
"…What?"
Lysias takes another look at the flowers, pretending he needs to memorize their position, to make it look real. Then he ties the cloth from his pocket around his eyes. "Check it," he asks John.
"Uh, how many?" John holds up two fingers.
"Four?"
"You're good."
Lysias drops to one knee and pulls back his bow. "I know."
The arrow cuts through the air, soars past the flower, just barely touching it before embedding itself in the grass. The flower shakes, and the blue petals drift to the ground. John stares, stares and swallows and trembles. Lysias takes off his blindfold, not even needing to check, and hands it to John. "Here."
John shakes his head. "You… win,” he says, dazed.
Lysias smiles, and grabs Johns hand for a firm shake. "You are a very, very worthy opponent!" He says quickly, John's still kind of staring into space. He runs to the willow, "Sam! Hey, Sammy!"
Sam is sleeping peacefully beneath the tree.
***
John leaves for Aetolia, but not before trying to coerce Lysias into joining the hunt (and the church of Artemis). Lysias politely refuses, citing he prefers target shooting to hunting.
Sam hugs his father, and hands him a blank scroll. "Write what happens while you're there, so I can read it when you return." John smiles, then turns to Lysias.
They shake hands, but John pulls it into a hug as well. "Take care of Sam,” he whispers. Lysias nods.
With John away, Lysias seems to take up permanent residence in the Ventuscastra home. When Sam is at the Academy, Dean flies back to Olympus. He makes an appearance at the meetings, the family dinners, most of the time he just goes to his father's workshop, fills his quiver with arrows, re-strings his bow. They don't speak of where Dean's been all this time, even though Hephaestus suspects something or someone is drawing him to stay in Athens.
Dean proclaims he's famished and they raid the palace kitchens. Hephaestus nibbles on a pomegranate seed and watches Dean voraciously fill himself with ambrosia and nectar like a starving man. His father makes him his favorite: toasted manna sandwiches with amrita cream spread.
Dean sits alone at the great table while his father limps back to the workshop, saying he wants to fetch the new arrows for him. Dean munches happily and sips sweet nectar.
"Earth food not so pleasing on the stomach, is it son?" Ares says from the shadows.
"Fuck off," Dean says through his food, he swallows. "Don't call me son."
"Oh, and you think you're what? Really the son of Hephaestus?"
Dean's wings flutter, annoyed. "Hephaestus-Singer raised me, I am either his son by blood or by choice. And if you don't get the fuck away from me, I'll tell aunt Athena who really started that riot in downtown Athens last week. How'd you like to be stuffed in a jar again?"
Ares scowls, and storms off muttering curses to himself. Dean shivers at the thought that there may be a sliver of a chance they're father and son.
Mary is the next to find him, walking back to his chambers, licking his fingers and holding his stomach. "Dean! Where have you been?"
"Nowhere," Dean answers.
Mary frowns and gives him an assignment in Asia Minor to make a cold-hearted King fall in love with a kind handmaiden. He calls it cliché, and she tells him to go or she'll box his ears. She doesn't see him again for a week.
***
The Maenads talk and giggle amongst themselves, at the thought of the God of Love terribly smitten by a mortal. Hermes has a big mouth when he's drunk. They of course share their discovery with their benefactor, Dionysus. Who tells Ganymede, the cupbearer, who tells Zeus. And Zeus chuckles to himself and tells Hera. Who goes nuts and tells everyone.
Except Mary.
The muses prick up their ears and are inspired to compose a song of their love, one that transcends the limitations of divinity and mortality. A song of lovers twining in each other's arms, beneath a willow tree. How beautiful feathers and soft leaves fall upon them while a mortal boy holds the God of Love in his arms. How blood and ichor mix in their bodies. Apollo comes to watch them perform, and claps his hands, taking out his lyre to compose a tune to accompany the lyric.
He's sitting in the palace hallway, practicing the bridge when Mary passes by, hears her son's name in the song.
"What was that? About Eros Dean?"
Apollo stutters, not knowing how to answer, and yellow-eyed Ares swoops in to aide his brother. "He's talking about Dean and his little mortal boy-toy."
Mary turns to gape at him, while Apollo uses the moment to dash away in a flash of light.
"Well, not so much boy-toy as, lover, dear sister-in-law. It seems the God of meaningless sex has found himself in a deep, caring relationship. They've built a cozy little home for themselves in Athens. I believe they've recently acquired a pet cat, named it Volupta." Ares grins at her.
Mary can't believe she ever used to like him, let alone screw around with him.
She storms away from Ares without a word and heads towards Dean's bedchambers, just in time to catch him opening the window, a leather bag on his back. He stares like he's been caught stealing the silverware.
"What did I tell you?!"
"Mother…" Dean begins.
"What did I tell you about falling in love with mortals, Dean? They will break your heart! You can't keep them forever, like Eos and her little cricket. He is beneath you, a mortal man with a fragile life, and minimal knowledge that pales in comparison with yours. You are a god, omnipotent and immortal, you shape the world to your whims. His place is on Earth, and your place is here. With your family, your godly duties, and with me."
"My place is wherever I choose to be! With whomever I love!" Dean snaps back. "And as you have so kindly reminded me, mother, I am a god. And I can do whatever I want, including being with him!"
"If you leave," Mary says quietly, closing her eyes, not wanting to see Dean's face. "If you leave, you can never come back."
Dean steps back, thinks of his palace, his home, his family. "You don't mean that."
"If you leave, you can never come back. Even after the mortal dies. You're banished, for the rest of your immortal life. The boy won't live past 80 if he's lucky, that means you've got maybe a half-century out of eternity to spend with him. And then you'll have nothing."
Dean blinks a few times and squeezes his fist.
"Can I at least say goodbye?"
"Yes," Mary smiles, her son finally seeing reason. Dean picks up his quiver and bow and brushes past her. "What are you doing? Dean!"
"I'm going to father's workshop, to say goodbye."
Mary has a horrible feeling in her stomach as Dean shuffles down the hallway. She watches him disappear around the corner, wonders if that may be the last time she sees her son.
"Kids, today," Ares comments from the shadows. Mary scowls.
Mary tells Athena that it was Ares who started the riot in downtown Athens, and she stuffs him in a jar. Again.
***
Part 2
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17 overall
Chapter 1:
Restless, is my heart.
Long ago, Father Sky gazed down upon Mother Earth. So taken was he, by the sight of her, and his love reflected back upon him, that he spilled a drop of his seed into the ocean.
The Goddess of Love sprang forth from that, and floated to shore on a bed of foam. For nigh an eternity she wandered the Earth and the heavens, spreading love throughout mankind simply by her presence. Eventually, she was found and adopted by the Olympian gods and made one of their own. They dressed her, taught her their ways, their languages. Though unlike the rest, she was descended of primordial elements.
***
Mary Aphrodite turns her head and sighs. Zephyrus, the West Wind, blows comforting gusts of cool air over her body, but it isn't enough too soothe her. Her heart is weary.
Mary finds herself walking through the sacred forest of her future sister-in-law, Artemis. She clutches her arms to her sides, unable to enjoy the gorgeous, moonlit pastoral scene that lies before her. Tomorrow morning, she will be married.
When she had first appeared to the gods of Olympus, all had wanted her. Zeus quickly betrothed her to his favorite son, the hairy boorish Hephaestus-Singer. She was not one bit stirred by him, and would rather have had the hand of his handsome, yellow-eyed war-god brother, Ares.
The leaves rustle in the distance, and her godly hearing senses an arrow flying through the air. Curious, she follows the noise into a clearing. There, she moves through the leafy brush noiselessly, trailing her spider-silk robe on the ground.
In the glen, filled with moonlight, she spies the man. A young disciple of the goddess, he hunts with her blessings. He stands over his kill, a stag three times his size, pierced and felled by a single arrow. The man is handsome, rugged and yet with a kind of gentleness in his face. He's barely clad in his robes, she drinks in the sight of his body. He pulls the arrow clean out of the animal, smiles to himself. He looks to the sky and says a prayer to Artemis for his skill in archery, and begins sectioning off a flank to sacrifice to his patron.
Mary has known of the lust mortals can incite in a god or goddess. There is something fascinating about these creatures. She's taken many to bed, ones that wet her appetite, fill her with raw desire.
Tonight, she will bed him out of love.
Mary quickly disguises herself as a mortal girl, and walks out from her hiding spot in the brush, clears her throat slightly.
The hunter whips around brandishing his knife at her, ready to strike. His eyes widen and his throat goes dry at the sight of the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.
"You shouldn't be in these woods. The goddess Artemis only allows her worshippers within."
"I have lost my way."
The man holds out his hand. "My name is Ioannis, please call me John."
Mary had never shaken another's hand before. The other gods and demigods would greet her with open arms, with kisses, but never a hand. She takes it. "Mary…"
"Like the goddess?"
"Yes." she smirks.
"She must hate you, first you take her name, and then you dare to be as beautiful as she." John can't believe what is coming out of his mouth. How he feels he can just pour his heart out to this stranger.
Mary has that effect on people.
John shakes it off. "Where are you from?"
"I live on a farm, just north of Athens."
"I will take you there." And John leads her out of the woods, on that well-worn path. The farm in question belongs to another goddess, Demeter, who uses it as an escape from Olympus, and a chance to reconnect with the earth she loves.
With every step and every word exchanged, their hearts beat faster. The goddess needs no love magicks that night. John has fallen deeply in love with her, and she him.
By the time they reach the farm, she pulls him into fields of flowers and they tumble into each other's arms. They make love past sunrise, and John begs her to return to Athens with him, so they can marry. Mary strokes his cheek and blows sleep into his eyes. She returns to Olympus and marries Hephaestus.
John wakes up alone and heartbroken. Mary wakes up next to her husband and weeps.
Though the pain of their separation is not to last. Mary gives birth to a cherubic, winged baby boy. The god of love, Eros Dean. Hephaestus holds him, and smells the human blood in his veins. He hands him back to Mary with a hard look in his eyes, and limps to his workshop.
Mary holds little Dean, strokes his downy-soft baby wings, and knows he's John's son. She smiles at the gift of the child, the keepsake she can always look upon.
Still, with Hephaestus miserable and sullen, she does not stay on Olympus for long. She leaves Dean with her sisters-in-law who coo and spoil him. She returns to Athens and finds John, falling right back into his arms.
It's over three years of love and bliss, before Mary's belly swells with his child again. Time moves slower for her, and she knows she cannot stay for very much longer. She plans to have the baby, and then run back to Olympus, giving little Dean a brother or sister to play with.
All does not go according to plan when her second son is born human. Mixing blood between humans and the gods has always been a funny business. Sometimes you get a Dionysus, sometimes a Heracles.
She stays, until she can no longer stand to. Her knees tremble, pain shoots throughout her body. She needs ambrosia, she needs Olympus, she misses Hephaestus and Dean and the rest of her family.
He's six months old, they haven't yet named the child, though John has been pushing for another name from the land of Judah to match his. Mary avoids the topic, knowing it will be harder in the end to let go.
Mary wraps the baby in a soft blanket, and hands him to John one night. John sits in his favorite chair, the baby boy in his arms, and Mary sings them both to sleep. She blows soma in their eyes, and places silver coins in John's pocket. She kisses them goodbye.
As she walks away, the hearth explodes in flames, burning the house to the ground. Mary does not shed a tear, she knows in the underworld John and her son will be safe. Her husband may not be the jealous type, but Hera's distaste for mortal-born children is legendary. If she ever learned about Dean's true parentage, there was no telling what she would do.
It must be fatigue, because as she ascends back to Olympus, she doesn't notice the dark figure running out of the flames. Doesn't hear John scream for her, clutching his child tightly.
***
Mary enters the palace, and Dean flies into her arms. He hugs her tightly, she smiles and ruffles soot out of his hair.
"Where have you been, my darling child?"
"Father's workshop," Dean answers, bright green eyes lit with joy. Hephaestus is standing in the corner of the room, and nods.
It seems in the interim, Dean and Hephaestus had forged a bond within his workshop. Hephaestus delighted in making toys and crowns for little Dean. And in Hephaestus, Dean had discovered a gruff, but caring father.
Hephaestus may just have been happy to realize that Dean wasn't his brother Ares' bastard child, like the muses sang in their gossip.
"Mother! Let me show you, I shot the arrows Father made me!" She then notices the tiny quiver on his back and bow in his hand. He leads her over to his playroom and demonstrates his skill with the tiny golden arrows on the targets Hephaestus made him.
"You are your father's son," Mary whispers.
***
Dean grows into his role as the god of love. Mary enchants his arrows with powerful love spells. Some are for instant bursts of love or lust, others of a more drawn-out release of feelings. Dean is careless with them, often delighting in playing pranks on mortals.
Mary loves him so, and does not scold him for the chaos he brings. But one day, she pulls her adolescent son aside and gives him a mission. She tells him to go to Athens, and find a young worshipper of hers. She has prayed for the love of her neighbor, a childhood playmate, and it should be granted.
Dean zooms down to earth and searches the girl out first. She's fairly easy to find, Jessica. She stands at the door to her neighbor's house, waiting for the boy to return. Dean flits about impatiently in the trees while they both wait.
Jessica's face lights up when she sees him. He's too far in the distance to see, but Dean shoots an arrow of everlasting love into her heart. Then reloads and takes aim at the boy.
"Sam!" Jessica sighs and waves her arms as he comes running towards her.
Dean lowers his arrow.
Sam is the most beautiful person Dean has ever seen, and his heart swells. He's a mortal, but Dean finds himself inexorably drawn to him, to his almost unnatural beauty. The shaggy haired boy smiles brighter then the sun, and Dean sighs.
He lifts his arrow again, but still cannot fire. Instead, he puts the golden arrow of love away. Out from his quiver, he produces the owl-feathered arrow of indifference.
"Whoops," he whispers as the shaft hits Sam. "Wrong arrow. Terribly sorry. Nothing to be done…"
When he returns to Olympus, his mother asks about the young lovers. Dean replies he struck them both in the heart and goes to sleep.
Years later, after being politely rebuffed by Sam one too many times, Jessica will fall into a deep depression. She will pray day and night at the temple of Aphrodite. Upon advice from the Fates, the love-goddess will change her into a willow tree.
Dean gets sent to his room without nectar for a month.
***
Dean grows out of his cherubic body, the plump and rose drops from his cheeks in place of an older, handsome face. He's taller now, shoulders cut like marble, muscular and the tips of the wings fall just slightly below his torso. Pale porcelain skin, though dotted with freckles, green eyes like his mother's. He's just slightly bow-legged, from spending most of his time flying instead of walking.
Mary wonders if others will notice the almost human-like imperfections to his beauty, but they embrace them. Every god and goddess in the pantheon wants him. And for a time, he indulges his lust. He revels in the thrill of bedding both mortals and demigods alike.
But when he goes to work, and sees lovers unite in embraces, in intimate gestures and whispered vows of fidelity, his heart pangs.
He sees Sam's smile when he closes his eyes.
He flies to Athens on a whim, and sees an older Sam exiting the Academy. A student now, taller and just as gorgeous as when he was young. Dean's eyes widen and he forgets all about the couple he was supposed to fix up. Instead, he watches Sam. Now that he has also grown out of an awkward, gangly adolescence, Dean finds himself awestruck with his beauty. Long, powerful legs and arms, his body filled out with muscles and softness at the same time. Soft brown hair that makes Dean want to his curl fingers within, and then tug that mouth down closer to his. A smile that could launch a thousand ships.
Sam is surrounded by friends and colleagues, and a squat, satyr-like old man, whom the others listen to with wide eyes and nodding heads. He questions them all, and Sam's answers are the only ones he smiles at.
Soon, it becomes a habit, he flies to Athens every afternoon and hides himself in ceiling-statues that line the academy. He can peer over the shoulders of the statue of his aunt, Athena.
Dean learns as much as he can about Sam, knows he studies physics, ethics and rhetoric. His teachers think he would be well suited as a statesman or rhetorician, but Sam tends to be more of a sophist. He is calm, clever and kind. Yet he seems to rebuff most of the advances of his peers, both male and female.
It's so easy to fall in love with him.
Dean sighs into his dinner at the weekly Olympian feast. The family dinners are usually more exciting, he loves hearing the stories of his aunts and uncles and their latest schemes. Hermes is the biggest gossip, next to the muses. He's got some good dirt on the King of Thrace and an incident involving an angry stable boy and one of his man-eating horses.
Dean loses his appetite and stands up, pushing his plate away. Mary smiles politely and excuses herself. She follows Dean to the hallway, through to the balcony. He looks over the ledge, down at Athens.
Mary turns her son around and hugs him. Pulls back and rubs his shoulders.
Dean sighs.
"I see Thalia is looking lovely this evening."
"No, mother. Don't."
"That mortal will break your heart, my darling boy."
"I don't care."
"Dean-"
"I don't care if he rejects me, if he hates me. I just want to meet him, to touch him, to speak with him, to make him smile. I just want one chance-"
Mary grabs her son's face with both hands. Looks him directly in the eyes and thinks of John, of his stubbornness…
"Then I forbid it."
***
Mary's words only encourage Dean to finally take a chance. He visits Arachne at her loom, and promises her a bevy of moths in exchange for her to weave him clothes to disguise himself with. She complies, and he dons his human disguise and the robes of a peasant farmer.
His arms are shaking, and he has to pull them into the sash of his tunic in order to hide it. He's watched Sam for weeks, months even. And now, he has an attack of nerves.
Maybe what the naiads whisper is true, maybe he really is part-mortal. Then again, gods and goddesses and nymphs alike have been telling him he's actually this son of Ares for years.
If that's true, he'll eat his quiver. There's no God in Olympus he despises more. What his mother ever saw in those horrid yellow eyes-
Dean snaps out of his reverie. Sam is filing out of the building with his friends and satyr-faced teacher. They all pass him by without a second glance.
Except Sam.
Dean feels caught when Sam's gaze travels to him. He knows, he must know. He stares at him and Dean looks at his feet, clad in beaten sandals. He looks back up and Sam is closer now, no longer walking with the group. Standing before him, Dean aches to touch him, just once.
"Hello," Sam says.
"H-hello," Dean replies.
In that moment, a panic comes upon Dean. What if this was a mistake? What if Sam will reject him like he has countless other suitors? He could get his quiver, shoot Sam with the right arrows and bed him quickly. Relieve him of the desire that has nearly driven him mad.
"Are you a student here?" Sam asks.
"No." Dean looks to the ground again.
"Oh," Sam pauses, feeling a little sad. He wanted something to talk about, to break the tension. The young man is just staring at him, with his gorgeous green eyes and Sam wants to know why.
He wants to know more.
Sam's father is not a common man. One of the greatest hunters in all of Greece, if not the world. Blessed by the goddess Artemis herself, they say.
Sam knows it's a little much, to claim that the hunting goddess chose his father. He's a scholar, and a skeptic. While he loved hearing the stories growing up, there's a part of him that finds it difficult to believe it all. His mentors seem to question the same ideas in the Academy, in quiet voices, with double-speak and hidden meaning in their words.
Sam was raised in foreign lands, traveling with his father from hunt to hunt. Finally they've come back to Athens for a respite, and he can attend the Academy for however long he can convince his father to stay.
So with all his wit, and worldly experience, what could he possibly think to ask a poor, peasant farmer? Without sounding condescending.
"My name is Lysias," Dean blurts out.
Sam smiles. "I'm Samuel, but everyone calls me Sam."
"That's such a strange name, for a Greek," Dean remarks.
"My father said he heard it when he was in Judah, Sh'muel. I guess he wanted something that wouldn't be very common in Greece, like his." Sam kicks the dirt with his foot, he's babbling.
Dean nods, lost in the moment and the movement of Sam's mouth. Sam worries he's boring him.
"So what brings you here today, Lysias?"
"You."
Sam swallows.
***
It starts out awkwardly, tight-lipped sentences from Dean, long winding stories from Sam. Eventually, they acclimate to one another's presence. Dean as Lysias takes to walking with Sam from the Academy to his home. Then when he and Sam part, Dean spreads his wings and soars beyond the clouds.
They talk of history, of the Grecian people, of nature and natural law. When Sam speaks of the Gods, Dean has to smother a laugh at his doubts. Sam claims that all the stories cannot be true, and they've become folktales used to impart lessons in children, not a true oral history of the people. Sam speaks of his satyr-faced mentor's crazy theories about a singular God.
The old fool knows nothing. Dean bites his tongue.
One day as Lysias greets him, Sam is carrying a satchel over his shoulder and a bow. He beams at the sight of him, but then his face drops.
"Hello Sammy." Sam still blushes at the nickname, that's probably why Lysias uses it.
"Lysias! Oh Lysias, I'm sorry, I'm not going home today. My father is preparing to join the hunt for the Calydonian Boar. We leave for Aetolia at the end of the week. I have fallen behind in my bow-hunting practice, I really need to catch up."
Dean fumes at the thought of Sam going on that wild goose chase his crazy aunt Artemis came up with when she was drunk on hibiscus and wine. But archery? He can work with that.
"You know, I'm a pretty good shot, maybe I could show you a trick or two?"
Sam holds back a laugh, he's not really that full of himself, it's just that he's been trained by his father and the priests at the temples in the art of hunting since he was a boy. Maybe he's not as good as his father, but he's definitely better then his peasant friend.
"That would be wonderful, Lysias. Why don't you get your stuff and meet me in the south field? Right by the willow tree?"
Dean smirks and ignores Sam's condescending tone, a plan already formulating in his head. "Sure thing, be there soon."
When Dean arrives at the field with his bow, and quiver of plain arrows, Sam's out in the filed, setting targets. Planks of wood with target marks, sacks of grain with red X's.
Sam steps back, and nods to Lysias, "You first?"
"Nah, you go ahead, I wanna see what I'm working with."
Sam cocks an eyebrow. He steps into position and aims, shooting each target. He hits 5 of the 7 targets, two hits right on the mark. Lysias looks at him and pats his shoulder.
"Nice try there, Sammy."
"You think you can do better?" Sam scoffs.
Lysias smirks, takes his first aim for the target Sam hit dead-on. He easily knocks Sam's arrow out with one shot, sinks his own into the target with the other.
Sam's mouth drops. Lysias steps forward and pulls all the arrows, resetting the target. "Thing is Sam, you're hitting them but not deep enough to kill, only to wound. The hide of the Calydonian boar is thicker than leather, tougher then wrought-iron. You have to shoot with more force, more precision," Lysias draws his bow, and kneels close to the ground, "Knees bent-"
"-always," Sam finishes. "My father tells me that."
"You should listen," Lysias says, releasing his arrows, one after the other.
He hits all the targets, dead center, five inches deep.
"Okay, you've got to show me how to do that!" Sam has never met an archer who could match his father's skill, if not better. Lysias smiles, and puts his bow aside.
"Sure." Lysias walks behind Sam, and he gets the idea, steps closer to his target and lets Lysias position his arms. "Bend your knees, like that," Lysias nudges Sam's legs with his own, covers his arms with his, hands on top of hands. "You're gripping too tight, hold it like you would hold a bird. Strong enough to keep it in your hand, but not tight enough to hurt it. Pull back farther than that, it's not going to snap you."
Lysias gets closer to Sam's face, adjusting his aim, and Sam feels a colder cheek against his. Lysias' skin is cool, like porcelain, he's never felt anything like it. Or maybe it's the fact that Lysias is practically embracing him, sending chills throughout his body.
"And when you're ready, let go!"
Sam does, and his arrow sails straight ahead, embedding itself in the target, about three inches deep.
"Better," Lysias says, "but not quite a kill-shot yet."
Sam turns to face Lysias, and sighs. "Maybe I don't want to learn a kill-shot."
"Sam?"
"Maybe, maybe you could just-" Sam bites his lip, "Show me how to make it look like I'm trying to kill, but only wounding. Show me how to shoot an animal without killing it."
"What are you asking me, Sam?"
"Nevermind," Sam turns and walks to the targets, yanking the arrows out.
"Hey!" Lysias calls out. "Let's make a wager!"
Sam picks up his head, Lysias has his bow and quiver, and is motioning him towards a tree. Sam approaches him, apprehensively. "What are you talking about?"
Lysias points at the tree branch, hanging low to the ground. "Pick a leaf on that branch. If I can shoot it off from across the field, I win. If I can't, then you do."
"What do I get if I win?"
"Whatever you want."
"So, you'll teach me, like I asked you to? No questions?"
Lysias nods, "It's a deal."
"And what if you win?"
"Then I get something I want from you."
"Like what?"
Lysias rolls his eyes. "It's no fun if I tell you, Sammy." He bounces on his heels. "C'mon, what d'ya say? Is it a bet?"
Sam worries his lip, and then points to a particular green leaf, hanging on the branch. "That one." Lysias smiles and runs to the edge of the clearing, Sam steps back just far enough to see the leaf, but away from harm.
"Okay!" He shouts to Lysias, "Whenever you're-"
The arrow flies through the air, the leaf stirs, and then floats gently to the ground, the stem having been severed from the branch.
"-ready." Sam finishes. Lysias is already jogging back to him. Sam crouches on the ground and picks up the leaf, hand trembling. Lysias, poor peasant farmer, has skills of a hunter twice his years.
Sam stands to face Lysias, wearing his sly smirk. "You win," he says, dazed. "What is it you want?"
Lysias crooks his head to one side, brushes an errant lock of hair out of Sam's eyes, then leans in close to whisper in his ear. "What I've always wanted, Sam."
Lysias kisses him, gently, sweetly, like a promise.
"Your heart," he says as he pulls back.
Sam flushes and ducks his head. "You… You've always had it," he mumbles, hoping that sounded as good as it did in his head. He's never been one for romance, always felt awkward and indifferent in matters of love and affection.
But not with Lysias.
The man before him seems to let some invisible weight lift off his shoulders before pressing forward, wrapping Sam in his arms. Sam follows suit, winding his arms around Lysias' neck and shoulders. They sink into each other's mouths.
For a moment, Sam feels his feet lift off the ground.
***
Mercurial Hermes is the first to discover Eros Dean, wearing a human skin and peasant clothes, walking hand in hand with another human. His eyes widen as he witnesses them moments later, deep in the forest, bodies moving against one another, Dean then naked in the young man's lap, not caring that his precious golden hair has been marred with tiny twigs and leaves. He watches as an intimate caress on the cheek, leads into promises of love and devotion.
Hermes stares at the mortal and wonders why he smells so strange.
***
John is the next to discover them.
His son had been raving about his new friend and archery teacher, how skillful and wonderful he is. John scoffed at the idea that they could match each other. But he decided to surprise his son on one of their lessons. They leave for Aetolia in a day and a half, he wants to see how much his son has improved.
He finds them in Sam's favorite clearing, beneath the willow tree. Sam is sitting under the tree, his back to the trunk. In one hand he holds one of his scrolls from the Academy, in the other his cradles his friend. The young man is wrapped in Sam's left arm, sitting in-between his legs, back pressed against Sam's chest. His head is drooped to one side, apparently peacefully resting. Though upon closer examination John realizes the man is simultaneously cutting a nock into an arrow. With his eyes shut.
John's first instinct is to shout, "Samuel Ventuscastra!"
Sam jumps up in the air and knocks Lysias to the ground. John keeps yelling, and Lysias scrambles to his feet. When he finally takes a breath, Sam attempts to speak.
"Father, I-" he looks to Lysias, who nods him on. "I've decided I'm not going to Aetolia with you. I wish to stay in Athens, at the Academy, and with Lysias."
"Samuel, you are a hunter. Anointed at the temple of Artemis, destined to-"
"I'm not a hunter! I never asked for that! I am as I was made, not what you tried to force me to be!"
"We have a duty to our fellow patrons, our followers, our goddess. You would dishonor her like this?"
Dean tries, very, very hard not to say anything about how his aunt probably doesn't know him from Cadmus. Artemis had many scions anointed in her name, and each seemed to think they were the chosen one, like the second coming of Theseus.
Sam bows his head in shame, and reaches for Lysias' hand. The moment their fingers touch, he has a brilliant idea. He picks his head up suddenly. "A wager!"
"What?!" John exclaims, Lysias gives him an odd look as well.
"A wager, Father, if Lysias can out-match you in a contest of archery, then you will release me from my filial duty, and I can stay in Athens. If you win, then I will go, no questions asked, and bring you the hide of the beast myself."
John appraises the peasant boy, dirt on his knees and a bramble in his hair. Plain dusty robes, worn leather belt. He stands at an awkward angle, like his legs are bent wrong. There's nothing remarkable about the boy except his green eyes.
They remind him of his late wife, the color of her favorite dress.
"I accept." John shakes his son's nervous hand, and raises an eyebrow at Lysias' cold grip. John steps forward, "I'll go set the targets, you do what you need to prepare."
Sam bends to him and whispers, "Think you can do it?"
Lysias squeezes his arm. "I'd plan on unpacking when you get home." And then walks towards John.
Sam hopes he's right about Lysias.
The targets they draw on the trees range in size, from large crosses to small pin-sized dots. Sam moderates, and swears by Artemis (and at Lysias' request, Hephaestus) that he will judge fairly. They start by matching each other shot for shot. Hitting the marks and squeezing both their arrows into the same hit on the target, miraculously. They make it harder, moving further away, hitting smaller targets. Both still evenly matched.
It goes on for a good two hours, adding in time to re-set and re-draw the targets. The trees are beginning to look diseased, all full of holes. Dean says a silent apology to the dryads of the forest on his break, and promises them a tribute of pomegranates and nectar for their trouble.
They move further into the forest, shooting leaves off of trees, apples by their stems, moving targets that Sam then tosses into the air. They vie for who can shoot the deepest, both tying by sinking their arrows into a poplar tree up to the fletchings. They move to a creek and shoot a drop of water dripping off a plateau of rock.
It's late at night and Sam's lying against his willow-tree, re-reading Pindar. He's grown bored of playing judge, and neither of them seem to be off the honor system. It's almost like they're having fun, finally able to compete against someone worthy of their skill. Sam nods as they approach.
"Anything?"
John beams. "Lysias shot a pebble in the creek, and bounced it onto the shore!"
"Well, so did you." Lysias says.
John shakes his head. "I couldn't have done it if I hadn't seen you do it first."
"Don't be so modest, it would have taken another man years to perfect-"
"Well," Sam interrupts Lysias, "I'm glad you're having fun."
John scowls. "Watch the attitude, Samuel." He turns to set the next target. Lysias sees Sam huff, notices the despondent look in his eyes.
"Sam?"
"I'm tired," Sam says closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tree.
Lysias turns to John, his mind racing. John's set two acorns on the ground, and explains the next task: "Pierce the acorn, and plant the arrow in the ground, vertically. I'll go first."
John kneels on the ground, and fires the arrow upwards. It arcs over and lands perpendicular to the ground, splitting the acorn open. Lysias easily does the same, realizing that this could go on for quite a while.
Unless he plays his trump card.
John brings the two arrows and acorns back, they're both split evenly, "Your turn."
Lysias sighs, and points eastward. "See those flowers over there, in the distance?"
"The blue ones, yes."
Lysias reached into the pocket of his robes. "I'm going to shoot, knock all the petals off of one, without the arrow touching the flower."
John nods, "Using the force of the wind, yes, it's possible-"
"Blind." Lysias adds. He feels horrible about making this an unfair fight. But it's for Sam.
"…What?"
Lysias takes another look at the flowers, pretending he needs to memorize their position, to make it look real. Then he ties the cloth from his pocket around his eyes. "Check it," he asks John.
"Uh, how many?" John holds up two fingers.
"Four?"
"You're good."
Lysias drops to one knee and pulls back his bow. "I know."
The arrow cuts through the air, soars past the flower, just barely touching it before embedding itself in the grass. The flower shakes, and the blue petals drift to the ground. John stares, stares and swallows and trembles. Lysias takes off his blindfold, not even needing to check, and hands it to John. "Here."
John shakes his head. "You… win,” he says, dazed.
Lysias smiles, and grabs Johns hand for a firm shake. "You are a very, very worthy opponent!" He says quickly, John's still kind of staring into space. He runs to the willow, "Sam! Hey, Sammy!"
Sam is sleeping peacefully beneath the tree.
***
John leaves for Aetolia, but not before trying to coerce Lysias into joining the hunt (and the church of Artemis). Lysias politely refuses, citing he prefers target shooting to hunting.
Sam hugs his father, and hands him a blank scroll. "Write what happens while you're there, so I can read it when you return." John smiles, then turns to Lysias.
They shake hands, but John pulls it into a hug as well. "Take care of Sam,” he whispers. Lysias nods.
With John away, Lysias seems to take up permanent residence in the Ventuscastra home. When Sam is at the Academy, Dean flies back to Olympus. He makes an appearance at the meetings, the family dinners, most of the time he just goes to his father's workshop, fills his quiver with arrows, re-strings his bow. They don't speak of where Dean's been all this time, even though Hephaestus suspects something or someone is drawing him to stay in Athens.
Dean proclaims he's famished and they raid the palace kitchens. Hephaestus nibbles on a pomegranate seed and watches Dean voraciously fill himself with ambrosia and nectar like a starving man. His father makes him his favorite: toasted manna sandwiches with amrita cream spread.
Dean sits alone at the great table while his father limps back to the workshop, saying he wants to fetch the new arrows for him. Dean munches happily and sips sweet nectar.
"Earth food not so pleasing on the stomach, is it son?" Ares says from the shadows.
"Fuck off," Dean says through his food, he swallows. "Don't call me son."
"Oh, and you think you're what? Really the son of Hephaestus?"
Dean's wings flutter, annoyed. "Hephaestus-Singer raised me, I am either his son by blood or by choice. And if you don't get the fuck away from me, I'll tell aunt Athena who really started that riot in downtown Athens last week. How'd you like to be stuffed in a jar again?"
Ares scowls, and storms off muttering curses to himself. Dean shivers at the thought that there may be a sliver of a chance they're father and son.
Mary is the next to find him, walking back to his chambers, licking his fingers and holding his stomach. "Dean! Where have you been?"
"Nowhere," Dean answers.
Mary frowns and gives him an assignment in Asia Minor to make a cold-hearted King fall in love with a kind handmaiden. He calls it cliché, and she tells him to go or she'll box his ears. She doesn't see him again for a week.
***
The Maenads talk and giggle amongst themselves, at the thought of the God of Love terribly smitten by a mortal. Hermes has a big mouth when he's drunk. They of course share their discovery with their benefactor, Dionysus. Who tells Ganymede, the cupbearer, who tells Zeus. And Zeus chuckles to himself and tells Hera. Who goes nuts and tells everyone.
Except Mary.
The muses prick up their ears and are inspired to compose a song of their love, one that transcends the limitations of divinity and mortality. A song of lovers twining in each other's arms, beneath a willow tree. How beautiful feathers and soft leaves fall upon them while a mortal boy holds the God of Love in his arms. How blood and ichor mix in their bodies. Apollo comes to watch them perform, and claps his hands, taking out his lyre to compose a tune to accompany the lyric.
He's sitting in the palace hallway, practicing the bridge when Mary passes by, hears her son's name in the song.
"What was that? About Eros Dean?"
Apollo stutters, not knowing how to answer, and yellow-eyed Ares swoops in to aide his brother. "He's talking about Dean and his little mortal boy-toy."
Mary turns to gape at him, while Apollo uses the moment to dash away in a flash of light.
"Well, not so much boy-toy as, lover, dear sister-in-law. It seems the God of meaningless sex has found himself in a deep, caring relationship. They've built a cozy little home for themselves in Athens. I believe they've recently acquired a pet cat, named it Volupta." Ares grins at her.
Mary can't believe she ever used to like him, let alone screw around with him.
She storms away from Ares without a word and heads towards Dean's bedchambers, just in time to catch him opening the window, a leather bag on his back. He stares like he's been caught stealing the silverware.
"What did I tell you?!"
"Mother…" Dean begins.
"What did I tell you about falling in love with mortals, Dean? They will break your heart! You can't keep them forever, like Eos and her little cricket. He is beneath you, a mortal man with a fragile life, and minimal knowledge that pales in comparison with yours. You are a god, omnipotent and immortal, you shape the world to your whims. His place is on Earth, and your place is here. With your family, your godly duties, and with me."
"My place is wherever I choose to be! With whomever I love!" Dean snaps back. "And as you have so kindly reminded me, mother, I am a god. And I can do whatever I want, including being with him!"
"If you leave," Mary says quietly, closing her eyes, not wanting to see Dean's face. "If you leave, you can never come back."
Dean steps back, thinks of his palace, his home, his family. "You don't mean that."
"If you leave, you can never come back. Even after the mortal dies. You're banished, for the rest of your immortal life. The boy won't live past 80 if he's lucky, that means you've got maybe a half-century out of eternity to spend with him. And then you'll have nothing."
Dean blinks a few times and squeezes his fist.
"Can I at least say goodbye?"
"Yes," Mary smiles, her son finally seeing reason. Dean picks up his quiver and bow and brushes past her. "What are you doing? Dean!"
"I'm going to father's workshop, to say goodbye."
Mary has a horrible feeling in her stomach as Dean shuffles down the hallway. She watches him disappear around the corner, wonders if that may be the last time she sees her son.
"Kids, today," Ares comments from the shadows. Mary scowls.
Mary tells Athena that it was Ares who started the riot in downtown Athens, and she stuffs him in a jar. Again.
***
Part 2