Then the taller of the two, though by far the younger, failed to catch himself when his boot went out from under him. He fell hard to one knee and before he could roll away, the other man's sword was impaled in his chest. His attacker didn't have time to savor his victory, the fallen man's sword went through his belly a moment before death claimed him.

Within minutes they both lay dead, blood still draining from their wounds to further muddy the ground.

Strife stepped over the corpses, not sparing them a single glance as he move on. He stared intently at the battle surrounding him, looking for his next targets.

The town, overrun as it was by armed men, was holding its own surprisingly well. There were enough veterans of various wars living here who could still fight, giving the town a defense most lacked. If the raiders won, it would cost them dearly.

The poor planning and reconnaissance of leaderless bandits wasn't Strife's concern, though. He was just there to be another set of eyes for the God of War. Killing wasn't in his orders but there hadn't been any restrictions on it either, which was the same as giving him permission. Ares knew that, so a few deaths here and there probably weren't important to his overall plans. Just so long as Strife took careful notice of everything that happened, he wouldn't be faulted for indulging himself a bit.

A small zap of power directed at the mortal nearest him, one of the raiders, and the man's feet slid out from under him. He ended up impaled on the short spear of a surprised looking townsman. Strife walked on.

He should've been enjoying this. He was getting a charge out of it, in the literal sense, but there was no real thrill here. Normally he would've been bouncing around the battle scene, creating more havoc than any mortal band of raiders could hope to manage and laughing his head off the entire time. But right now it was nothing more than a job, something to take his mind off...other things. Not that much could do that anymore. Even if it wasn't occupying his every thought, it was taking the enjoyment out of his work just from the concentration he expended trying not to think about it.

It was almost a joke in War now, how completely screwed up he was. Ares wasn't finding it at all amusing but everyone else was getting a good laugh out of it. Ares was being nice enough about it, in his own way. He only yelled at Strife a few times a day and he only hit him every once in a while. And Strife knew he deserved that and more. He had to focus to do his job and he just couldn't do that now. He was seriously fucking things up.

The fact that this job was so insignificant didn't help things. This was the kind of thing Ares had sent him out to do when Strife first came to work for him. But Strife knew he only had himself to blame. If he'd been able to concentrate at all he would've been at Ares' side helping out with the latest war instead of stuck here in this backwater town.

It was some small consolation, knowing that Deimos and Phobos were no better off. It was worse for them, actually, banished as they were to Hermes' service for the next couple months to serve as messenger boys. That was kind of a mixed consolation, though. Sure, they were out from underfoot and unable to harm anyone with the way Hermes was keeping an eye on them, and they'd brought it on themselves through sheer incompetence. But could Strife say he'd done any better? Wasn't watching a bunch of ill-prepared raiders a form of banishment?

He shoved a mortal who'd wandered into his path, sending the man crashing into two other combatants and causing all three to tumble to the ground where their weapons ended up stuck in various parts of each other's bodies. That was nice, but it didn't do anything for his growing frustration.

All of his relatively short life, the one thing he'd been able to count on was his suitability for his job. He was mischief, in all its myriad forms. His nature and instincts were both drawn to trouble and drawn to create it, and whether it was spontaneous or required months of planning, Strife was made for it and he rarely ever failed in his objectives. Not that failure was a foreign concept to him; he'd failed often enough to fully carry out the tasks Ares set for him and he'd paid whatever price Ares set for that. But failure on a more personal level, failure to live up to his godhood or take any enjoyment from what he did, that was something he was very unaccustomed to and it disturbed him on a visceral level.

Ares couldn't count on him to successfully complete a job right now; Strife couldn't count on himself to keep his mind on any given task. The situation was fast becoming intolerable and something would have to give. Strife didn't doubt that, being that it was his fault, he'd soon lose his position as Ares' second in command. He'd deserve it, but damn if the whole thing didn't completely and totally bite.

Catching the movement on his peripheral vision, Strife swatted away an arrow that would've taken him in the head. It'd undoubtedly been aimed at the mortal to the other side of him, a townsman in the process of dispatching a raider. That didn't mean it still couldn't hit him. A flex of power and the arrow was in the air again. Strife stepped out of the way, intending to send the arrow into the mortal's neck where it would likely sever an artery and result in a few moments of hopeless panic on the man's part before he bled to death. A glance at the arrow to check its positioning -- and Strife forgot about the mortal, about what he'd planned for the man.

The arrow was of mortal construction, there were no doubts there. It was too roughly made for any god to have had a part in it. The tip was iron, mass produced in some forge somewhere, the shaft was straight enough if made from the wrong type of wood -- evergreen wasn't always the best choice -- but it was the fletching that shattered Strife's concentration. The raider that had constructed the arrow had found yellow feathers somewhere, a pale enough yellow to be mistaken for gold in the right light. The light provided here came more from the firing of the townspeople's homes than the sun. Smoke from the fires was dimming the sunlight, but the flames cast a golden glow on the yellow feathers, making them look so much like other fletching Strife had become familiar with.

Cupid used arrows with fletching of that shade. They were his True Love arrows, golden for the warmth of the love they brought. They usually sat in his quiver right between the blue-fletched friendship arrows and the silver-fletched passion ones. Strife had used those gold-fletched arrows a time or two when working with Cupid. He knew their feel, the weight of one in his hand, how mortals reacted to being hit with one -- he was intimately familiar with all of it. And with Cupid.

"Fuck!" Strife lashed out with his power, shattering the arrow as surely as his concentration was shattered. Turning on his heel, he strode away from the small battle, temper barely held in check.

He'd been doing well enough, as good as he ever did these days, anyway. Even if he'd taken no joy from the job or the deaths he caused, he'd at least been doing what Ares wanted. But now...now he couldn't get it the fuck out of his mind! Once the subject of Cupid came up these days, Strife just couldn't concentrate on anything else. At first he'd just resented it, but now that it was interfering with his position in War, he despised the weakness in himself.

And it was his fault, he knew that. If he'd tried harder to put a stop to this...whatever it was then he wouldn't be here now. All he'd had to do was refuse to let it continue. It never should've started to begin with but early on he could've put his foot down, walked away from it, something besides just letting it go on. More than once he'd tried, he'd told himself that the next time it happened he'd simply say "no," stop it there and keep it from ever happening again. But then he'd see Cupid and.... How could he possibly refuse anything Cupid wanted, even if it was completely insane? Even if it would end up destroying him.

Three months earlier

Still draped limply against Cupid, held up against the wall by his body, Strife was struggling to maintain some sort of grip on reality. This kind of thing, being taken by the God of Love just did not happen to someone like him. It was the kind of thing he dreamed about, fantasized about, but never expected to occur in any way because why would it? Why would someone as cool, as gorgeous and smart as Cupid, ever take an interest in something like the God of Mischief? Strife couldn't wrap his mind around it, couldn't really even grasp what had just happened and he felt like whatever shred of sanity he still possessed was rapidly vanishing.

He wouldn't allow that. He couldn't.

There wasn't much in his life he took pride in, but his ability to think fast when he had to was one of them. If Strife simply sat back and let himself go around the bend, it would be no one's fault but his own and that he wouldn't permit. He was the God of Mischief and even if he wasn't good enough for Cupid, he was damn well good enough to pull himself together and deal with whatever the fuck had just happened.

Closing his eyes, Strife forced his thoughts to stop racing by, to slow into some semblance of order. He took a deep breath, deliberately slowing his breathing, which had come dangerously near hyperventilation. In moments his body began to relax, and with it, his mind.

A simple orgasm wasn't normally something that could take his mind off-line like this, but then, he'd only come from his own hand before. He'd just had sex with the God of Love, even if it had been with their clothes on, so maybe a bit of brain frying shouldn't be so surprising. Still, it was no excuse to allow himself to fall apart. He was calm now, or at least as much as he could be considering his current position -- aware with every breath of Cupid pressed against him, pressing him back against the wall -- and now his thought processes were starting to kick back in -- and abruptly they were screaming at him.

Little of what Cupid had said made sense to Strife. Soulmates. All right. Cupid had said that and if he was that certain of it, then Strife had no cause to question him. But even after everything that had happened, Cupid grabbing him, claiming him and fucking him up against the wall, Strife couldn't bring himself to accept anything else Cupid had said. Possession was one thing, if Cupid wanted to own him, fine, he had cause enough, but love? With him? That, Strife had no belief in.

Cupid was generally a...nice god, for lack of a better description. Even when he'd displayed the heritage he'd received from War, Strife really hadn't thought that Cupid intended to harm him, he was just intimidating. So maybe that whole "I love you" thing was more Cupid's way of making Strife feel better about this. Maybe he thought that if Strife believed there was actual love involved, he wouldn't fight against Cupid's claim on him. And it wouldn't be a total lie either. Strife didn't doubt that Cupid did love him, as a friend, maybe even as something of a younger brother. But that's as far as it could go, and Strife got that. Cupid, apparently, didn't.

What Cupid didn't seem to understand was that he didn't have to do anything to placate Strife with this. All he'd had to do from the start was explain that being soulmates meant he had some sort of ownership of Strife. He'd been right, that was something anyone raised in War could understand and if he'd just said that in the first place then Strife never would've fought it. He understood being owned, being someone's property. Until Ares had released him, that's what he'd been to the God of War. Ares had never bothered trying to soften him up with a bunch of mushy talk and Cupid didn't need to either. Strife knew he'd have to get that through to his cousin and soon, otherwise the God of Love would look pretty foolish going around talking like that about Strife of all things.

Strife's thoughts were derailed momentarily by the feel of Cupid's lips on his cheek, his hands sliding up from the back of Strife's thighs to his waist. Realizing that the movement was probably a cue for him to quit clinging like some sort of fungus, Strife immediately unlocked his legs from around Cupid's waist and settled his feet back on the floor. His muscles were both loose from the incredible orgasm he'd just experienced and a bit sore from the unfamiliar usage he'd put them through, so he had to hold back a wince as he moved. Before he could remove his arms from around Cupid's neck, he felt the tingle that signaled the use of power from another god, a major one at that. Cupid was about to do something. A moment later what that was became clear.

Strife honestly hadn't noticed how dirty everything was. His mind had been too occupied with what all this meant to register the drying sweat matting his hair and staining his leathers, or the sticky mess in his pants that was quickly cooling, turning clammy and disgusting. But with a small flex of power, Cupid had it all fixed. They were both abruptly as clean as they'd been before all this started.

"Wow, haven't done that in my clothes in like, forever," Cupid said with an amused chuckle. "At least we aren't mortal. Would've had to bathe and wash our clothes and all that stuff and that'd majorly suck. Next time though, why don't we try it without the clothes?"

The sudden panic that shot through Strife surprised him. He yanked his arms back from around Cupid's neck at the same time as he slid out from between him and the wall. He took a few steps away from Cupid, his back to his cousin so the sight of the Cupid wouldn't distract him from what he needed to ask.

"So, what happens now?" His voice was surprisingly steady considering the strange panic that he still felt. Almost unnoticed, his hands hand moved up to grasp his arms in a hugging motion he'd worked hard to break himself of years before. It showed weakness and he couldn't afford that, but at the same time he couldn't seem to make himself let go either.

"What d'you mean?" Cupid sounded a bit confused, so maybe Strife was missing something obvious. There had to be something required of him here, something he was supposed to already know about. Well, it wouldn't be the first time his own ignorance had made him look stupid.

"What're the rules?" That's what it came down to. There were always rules and Strife just had to learn them, learn how to function within in them and how to get around them.

"Rules?"

Strife sighed impatiently. Why was Cupid making him spell it out? "What do you expect from me?"

For a few moments there was nothing but silence and Strife thought Cupid was going to make him say it again -- then fingers were carding slowly through the back of his hair and Strife had to hold back a gasp of mingled surprise and instant arousal. He wanted to lean back into that, Cupid's touch. As light as it was it just felt so good. Closing his eyes, Strife clenched his teeth to distract himself from the seductively wonderful sensations.

"You have to make everything hard, don't you?" There was no reprimand in Cupid's voice, just amusement and affection. "It's pretty simple, you know; I want you here, Strife. I want you. It doesn't have to mess with your job or anything like that, just...be here whenever you can."

The kiss pressed to the skin just below his ear was almost enough to shut down Strife's mind again. Fortunately the slight pain of his fingers digging into his arms through his leather shirt provided some grounding in reality. Cupid's words...there was a lot more there than what his cousin was saying on the surface, Strife was sure of it. He just had to figure out what Cupid was really saying.

"Any certain times you want me here?" he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice steady despite the continued presence of Cupid's hand in his hair.

"Oh, for Bliss and when we're working together? I'll just let you know about those when they come up. For anything else, well, spontaneity is cool so I'll leave that up to you. Of course, I might just come looking for you sometimes." Cupid's tone was teasing but Strife took the words seriously.

He wanted to ask about Psyche, whether or not he should totally avoid her now, but he didn't get the chance.

"Strife! Get your ass over here now!" Ares' disembodied voice echoed throughout the room.

Reacting automatically to the summons and its implied threat, Strife instantly jerked away from Cupid's touch and focused on Ares' Olympian temple. But before he could transport himself there strong hands came down on his shoulders, scattering his concentration.

"I'll talk to Dad, okay?" Cupid said near his ear. "You've acknowledged this so he has to know that he can't just call you away from here anymore."

That inspired worlds of, "Huh?" but Strife didn't have the time. Instead of responding to the strange statement, he refocused on Ares' temple and transported himself there. Maybe it wasn't the best way, leaving in the middle of something like that, but Strife just knew that if he stayed he'd end up doing something incredibly stupid, like having sex with Cupid again.

He had way too much to think about and the instant he appeared in the temple's main room, he knew he wouldn't get the time. And "time" was the issue. He'd made a mistake, a slight miscalculation. Down in the Underworld he'd had the mindset that he had hours until this meeting, but when he'd gone to see Cupid, he must've compressed that time without realizing it. He hadn't wanted to face Cupid and being pressed for time would have -- and did -- give him a good excuse to leave. The problem with that was that now he was running late.

Everyone was already here, or at least Strife could sense them. He couldn't see Discord or the twins but he could feel their power signatures, they were somewhere close. Likely they'd been instructed to avoid him. Strife had to wonder what Ares would do if he had any more "problems" with the other gods in their House. It wasn't like they could have a meeting if everyone was trying to keep away from him. Ares would probably send him away if it went that far, so Strife made a mental note to try to get along with the others. Not that any of them actually got along all that well; it was more along the lines of a mutual tolerance. Strife supposed he could try to be a bit more "tolerant" than normal.

There were a few open seats left around the table, mostly because some of the gods present didn't take well to sitting in one place for long. Strife was amongst those, but he still dropped himself into a chair, between the brothers Kratos and Zelos, Gods of Power and Jealousy.

"What's up, dudes?" he smiled at them each in turn. The two gods, similar with their tanned skin and short, curling black hair, gave him similar looks of disdain before pointedly turning their attention to the head of the table.

"So glad you could join us, Strife." Ares was glaring at him, his voice thick with sarcasm. "This little get-together isn't inconveniencing you in any way, is it?"

Strife immediately held up his hands and gave his best wide-eyed innocent look. "Hey, my time is your time, Unc."

"Good to know." That was a growl -- and it was a bit disturbing how much Cupid sounded like his dad when he made the same sound. Disturbing in that it turned Strife on. When Ares did it, fortunately Strife didn't feel the same effect, but it reminded him of what had just happened with the God of Love and that whole thing was just screwing with his head.

What exactly had Cupid meant with everything he'd said? Accustomed to reading the hidden meaning in whatever someone from War said to him, Strife didn't think something coming from Love should be all that hard to figure out. But Cupid was part of both Houses and he'd just shown that he could tap into his War heritage just fine, so where did that leave Strife?

He got the whole possession thing. Apparently being soulmates gave Cupid a right to Strife and his time. Was that because Cupid was older? Would it have been reversed if Strife had been the elder god? And how far did it go? Right before Strife had left, Cupid had implied that his claim superceded the God of War's, that Ares no longer had a right to summon Strife when Cupid wanted him. That was pretty serious. Strife's first loyalties were to War and Death, anything else should come second -- except that didn't seem to be true anymore.

Strife wanted to ask Ares about that but he'd been told often enough by his uncle that Ares had no interest in Strife's private life and he didn't want to risk annoying Ares anymore than he already had today. Cupid had said he'd talk with Ares so maybe Strife didn't have to do anything, just wait around and see what came of it. Not what he'd prefer, but it sounded like the best solution.

That still left him with the problem of rules. He was pretty sure Cupid had given him some but it had been so vague, like he was expecting Strife to be smart enough to work things out for himself. Strife did have plenty of clues to use, so Cupid was right, he could work through it on his own.

Obviously Cupid was still counting on him to baby-sit Bliss. That much had seemed clear, as had them still working together. The only thing that seemed different there was now it was expected of him instead of those being things he volunteered for. That was fine; hanging with Bliss was always fun and Strife had enjoyed the jobs he did with Cupid. Granted, working with Cupid was going to be a whole different thing now, but hopefully Cupid would keep things on a business level. If not, Strife would have to find a way to make sure they didn't get too personal. It was hard enough to concentrate on a job around Cupid without him getting too friendly.

Of course, if Strife had his way, they'd never get that "friendly" again. It wasn't that he didn't want Cupid -- there weren't words to describe how much Strife did want him -- it was more that he knew how bad this was going to be for Cupid and his family. Being associated with Strife had never done anyone any good; he tended to bring disaster with him. It was only a matter of time before he seriously screwed up Cupid's life if he hung around. Being soulmates was going to do bad enough things to Cupid's reputation; he really didn't need the other kind of troubles Strife would cause just by his nature.

Strife knew he wasn't being completely altruistic here. Something Cupid had said before he left had, well, if he were honest, it'd scared him and he was only just now starting to get why. Cupid had mentioned wanting to have sex with him again -- not surprising, blinded as he seemed to be to what Strife represented -- but he'd wanted to do it with their clothes off. There just weren't enough ways to say "no" to that, to express what a truly horrid idea it was. Again, it wasn't any lack of desire on Strife's part. He wanted Cupid, wanted to feel what it was like to hold him with bare skin touching, but he also had no illusions as what would happen if he gave into that wish.

Saying Strife wasn't the best looking of the gods was kind of like saying Zeus was just a bit of a flirt or Hercules slightly annoyed Hera -- severe understatement. Strife knew that, he knew he was pretty much at the top of the list of "gods you never want to see naked." That was the reason for his outfit, covering him as it did from neck to toe; people paid much more attention to the unusualness of his clothing than they did to what it might hide. That being a given, Strife had absolutely no doubts as to what would happen if he let Cupid talk him out of his clothing. Cupid would see just what he'd managed to get himself stuck with and then he'd do everything he could to get Strife out of his life and Strife wanted to avoid that at all costs. He didn't know if he could pull it off for any amount of time -- Cupid did tend to make his brain melt and his good sense scatter -- but he'd give it his best shot. He wanted as much time as possible with the God of Love and his family.

Which brought him back to Psyche. There was no way she could be anything but upset with this. She'd been nice enough to Strife so far but that would undoubtedly change now that her husband was having sex with him. So far as Strife knew, Cupid had been faithful to Psyche since their marriage. They were totally in love and he hadn't needed to look for anything on the side. Strife had just put a major crimp in that. Not only would Cupid be unfaithful now, he'd try to spend time with Strife that should be spent with Psyche and Bliss.

And what would Bliss think of that? How was Psyche going to explain why Daddy was spending so much time with Cousin Strife? Bliss' mind wasn't nearly as young as his actual age so there was a good chance that no matter what his mother told him, he'd figure out the truth on his own. He'd probably be devastated when he found out, too. He loved his dad and his cousin; he'd feel betrayed and he'd have every right to that and any anger that brought about.

Strife fought the urge to bang his head on the table. This was seriously fucked up. He was going to come between Cupid and his family and that was one of the very last things he wanted. He could deal with Psyche hating him and Bliss being disappointed and maybe even learning to dislike him -- it would hurt more than he could probably comprehend right now but Strife was a survivor, he'd deal. But only if he found a way to keep Cupid from being included in that backlash from his family. If they saw Strife as the villain in this then Cupid would be safe.

That was more of a backup plan though. The better idea was to make sure Psyche and Bliss had nothing to feel betrayed about in the first place. That meant keeping Cupid at a distance until he saw what a mistake he was making. Once he'd regained his sanity, they could go back to being friends and things would be normal again. Well, maybe not normal. They could maybe, just maybe, if they really tried, forget that they'd had sex since it had been in their clothes, but Cupid still knew Strife loved him and being the God of Love he probably couldn't ignore that. Strife would have to be the one to fix that. Not that he could simply stop loving Cupid; he didn't think that was possible, he'd just have to start limiting the time he spent with Cupid. He could manage to pick up Bliss when Cupid wasn't around, and those jobs they did together didn't require Strife to hang around him. Avoiding him, to a certain extent, was doable, and within the rules Cupid had set for him.

Cupid had said that as far as seeing each other went, he'd leave it up to Strife. With something that vague Strife was fairly certain Cupid expected him to show up occasionally, but it also gave Strife the leeway not to show up at all. Wording was tricky like that and being the God of Mischief, Strife had always been adept at finding the loopholes. But that still left the problem of what Cupid had added to that, the fact that he might come looking for Strife on his own. There was no doubt he'd do that as soon as he realized that Strife wasn't going to visit, so Strife would have to make sure to either be working or staying in the Underworld. Well, it wasn't like he ever did anything else, but this time he'd have to make sure his work was official War business, if it was a private project then he might not have an excuse for putting Cupid off. Of course if it turned out that this soulmate thing did have priority over work, then Strife was going to have a problem.

Strife wished he could ask someone how this whole thing worked. He only knew about soulmates in terms of mortals and even then in only the most abstract way. He needed to know more about this in order to work around it. Information was power and at the moment he had precious little of that.

Sighing in frustration, Strife slumped down in his chair a bit -- and blinked in shock when he realized he was the only one at the table. Okay, he apparently already had more problems than he'd thought. He was distracted in a totally major way if he hadn't noticed the meeting concluding and everyone leaving, and that was whole worlds of bad news.

"Is your brain back in residence, or should I wait another hour or two?"

Strife suppressed a wince at the deeply sarcastic tones coming from off to his left. Nope, Ares was definitely not happy with this little lapse.

"Have to say, you were the highlight of the meeting. Discord sitting right across from you and you just staring through her, Deimos poking you and you just sitting there, Mania wanted to dye you purple since you were so oblivious -- she thinks it's your color -- but as fun as that might've been, we had other things to do."

Strife closed his eyes, letting his head falling back against the chair with a groan of disbelief. Just fucking great. He'd made a complete ass out of himself in front of his entire House, and he could guarantee that none of them would let him forget it anytime soon. He really couldn't believe that he'd let either Discord or Deimos that close to him without major violence resulting. His survival instincts had never let him down like that before; it was starting to look like he'd have to put an end to this soulmate thing for his own safety.

Feeling someone close to him, he opened his eyes to see Ares leaning back against the table, studying him.

"I'd be more...disappointed if I didn't think something was very wrong here," the God of War stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

Okay, so how was Strife supposed to explain this? Somehow, "Sorry, Unc, Cupid said I'm his soulmate so I'm gonna be losing my mind periodically," didn't seem like it was going to cut it. This called for something in the way of a good lie.

"I'm good," he said casually, straightening up in his chair. "Just, you know, not having a great day. I won't screw up in the war though," he quickly added.

Ares didn't respond immediately, instead he continued to study Strife. Suddenly, eyes narrowing, he reached out, grabbed Strife's chin and tilted his head up. For a few moments there was utter silence. Strife didn't dare move or speak; he didn't get what Ares was up to and wasn't about to interfere anyway. Then Ares released him with a truly impressive curse. That worried Strife, but not as much as Ares' next words.

"He told you, didn't he?" Not waiting for an answer, Ares pushed away from the table with a snarl. "I'm gonna take that air-for-brains son of mine and pluck him! He won't have enough feathers left to stuff a cushion!"

Strife wanted to object, find someway to turn Ares' anger on himself because the world needed the God of War and Strife just knew that when it came down to it, Cupid would win in an all-out battle between them. But he didn't get a chance to say anything; before he could form the right words he was yanked out of his seat and left dangling from Ares' grip on the front of his shirt.

"You're gonna be useless to me now, aren't you?" Ares shook him, making Strife's teeth clack together painfully. "All that love shit really has fried what little mind he had to begin with. He knew I needed you for this war so he made damn sure I couldn't get any use out of you!"

"It's not his fault!" Strife managed to get the words out, although his voice sounded more like a squeak.

Ares snorted, a thoroughly humorless sound. "Cupid knew what he was doing. It was bad enough with you too in love with him to see straight half the time; you didn't need to know about this soulmate crap on top of it. You're gonna be worse than useless until you get it figured out." He released his grip, shoving Strife away from him.

Stumbling back a few paces, Strife somehow managed to stay on his feet despite the utter shock he felt. "You knew?" It was the first thing out of his mouth and he already knew how stupid it sounded, he didn't need Ares' annoyed eye-roll to confirm that.

"Who doesn't?" Ares replied sarcastically. "It's been amusing enough, watching you trip over your tongue anytime he's in sight." He shook his head and looked away, jaw clenched in something that looked dangerously bordering on anger. "He waited this long without opening his big mouth, would a few more months have killed him?"

"Sorry." Strife knew it probably wouldn't help, but he felt he had to say something. The thought that his love for Cupid was common knowledge in the pantheon wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now. The humiliation would come later, he didn't doubt that, but at the moment he had to worry about getting away from the God of War in one piece.

"For once, I'm not blaming you. You've been too clueless to have brought this on. No, this is definitely Cupid's fault -- and I'm gonna make him pay."

The surprise of not being blamed for something was quickly overridden by alarm at Ares' declaration. He couldn't go after Cupid! Strife was certain Very Bad Things would happen if he tried.

"After this war," Ares suddenly amended, and Strife held back a sigh of relief. At least as the God of War, Ares was keeping his priorities straight. Now Strife had time to figure out a way to stop him from confronting Cupid and making a huge mistake. "A war I can't use you in." The snarl was back and Strife only just managed not to voice an instinctive protest. He was made to be in wars, that's where he belonged! But he also knew Ares was right, he was too out of it to be counted on, and that hurt.

"So what do you want me doing?" he made himself ask. He couldn't just sit around while everyone else was out working on this war, he already knew he was useless here, but at least if he was doing something then it wouldn't feel so obvious.

"You're with me, for now," Ares responded quickly enough, so he must've figured this out while waiting for Strife to come back from his mental vacation. "If I need to send messages to my warlords or some of the other gods, you'll be better for it than Hermes. He always complains when I use him for this, anyway."

Great, more shit work. It wasn't like he didn't deserve it, though, so Strife just nodded his acceptance. Maybe if he did well enough as a messenger service, Ares would give him something more important to do.

Ares didn't wait for any other acknowledgement, he just disappeared. Knowing he was meant to keep up, Strife followed.

-----
TBC