#unfinished request

“Gods do not meddle in the affairs of mortals,” Arkus hissed as Foestus donned his armour with a smile. Arkus scoffed and turned his head to Canis who stood with a smirk on his face and shrugged when his green eyes met the stormy grey of his friend. “And you’re just going to let him go through with this?!”

“I can stop Foe about as well as you can. Plus,” the god of the wild said, his gaze sliding to Foe. “I’m intrigued by this mortal’s claims as well.”

Foe laughed while he tightened the buckle on his pauldron. Arkus turned and threw his head back, glaring at the sky and shaking his head.

“You worry too much, Ark,” Foe said, his voice smooth and filled with mirth. “Besides, you know the reason why I cannot deny his invitation.”

Arkus turned, fury contorting his features. “Yes! I do. Because you have already interfered in the affairs of mortals before! Don’t you see? If you had listened to me then, your favoured mortal wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with!”

Foe shook his head as he sheathed his broadsword across his back. “I’ll listen to you when you become the god of wisdom, how’s that?”

“Did someone call me?”

Canis whirled on his heels, all three gods turning to see the goddess of wisdom approaching, a small, knowing smile on her lips. Foe’s blood heated at the sight of his wife, his passion igniting every time she caught his gaze or entered a room. Or breathed.

“You’re, as the humans would say, fucked,” Canis said with a rich chuckle, slapping Foe on the back.

Foe stepped away from his friends, walking towards the love of his life who simply raised a perfectly arched brow at him.

“Skar, my beloved, have I told you yet this hour of your radiance?” He asked, taking her face in his hands and leaning down to brush his lips against hers. Skar placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away, amusement colouring her features.

She tilted her head at him. “Why does Arkus look two seconds away from igniting the world, darling?”

Foe’s smile didn’t falter. “He’s the birthplace of anxiety, my love,” he replied, going in for another kiss. Skar brushed past him into the room and smiled pleasantly at both gods. Skar’s pleasant smile somehow had the power to suck all the air from the room and the gods’ lungs as her bright, onyx eyes studied them both.

“Is it about that mortal?” She asked Arkus who, to his credit, didn’t give anything away. In her way, Skar somehow knew the answer to her question before she asked. It was an eerie thing to witness. Foe adjusted himself at the door, wanting nothing more than to take his wife to bed as she sighed and walked towards the weapons laid out on the table. “I should have killed that child at birth.”

“That child is a wonder,” Foe countered, following his wife into the room. “And no longer a child by mortal standards. They are almost fully grown.”

Skar picked a dagger from the table, turning it over in her hands. “Almost fully grown means almost dead, Foestus. They don’t live as long as us. Getting attached will only lead to heartbreak.”

Canis cleared his throat, raising his brows at Arkus. “I think this is where we leave.”

Arkus rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree. “Just make sure he doesn’t get himself killed, Skar.” The gods left husband and wife to themselves, and Foe grinned at Skar as she turned on her heel, her features twisted with concern.

“I sense something, Foestus,” she tells him. “This is foolish. Senseless. Why are you returning to the mortals after already meddling before? Don’t you see? That is what put into motion these events.”

“No god nor man is above fate, my love.”

“Oh to the pits with fate,” she snapped, brushing her hand through the air dismissing the idea. “There is something wrong, Foestus, some ill tiding in the winds and guess what idiot god is preparing for battle with a mortal?!”

Foe sauntered towards his wife and rested his palms on her hips. “Your idiot god?”

“Not everything is a joke!” She cried, grabbing him by the straps of his chest plate and twisting them, slamming his back against a wall. “Listen to me, heed me! I am telling you—”

“This mortal,” Foe interrupted softly, to his wife’s chagrin. “This puny mortal has threatened the child I vowed to protect upon her birth, Skar.”

He reached a hand up and cupped his wife’s cheek. She leaned into the touch with a pained sigh. “You know what her father was like. And she is just as strong minded, as brash and brave and clever.”

Skar closed her eyes. “I told you not to give that child your blessing.”

“And I told you that I had to. Her father was a good man, Skar, a great man—”

“A mortal man!” Skar bellowed, slapping Foe’s hand away. “And now he is dead! Let your vow die with him.”

Foe shook his head sadly, and Skar scoffed, backing up a step. “It is either the vow dies, or I fear something worse will happen to you, Foestus, please! Your place in the cosmos, your balance of the world… no human child is worth the disruption it will cause if something happens to you!”

“My story has already been written my love, as has yours, as has this child’s, and I fear we are all entwined in our destiny.”

“What if you get stuck down there?” Skar asked with a trembling lip. “What if— what if I can never see you again? What if— Foestus, please, tell me you’ll stay. Let me be enough. Stay with me. You don’t need to honour your vow to mortals, please. They are not as honourable as you.”

Foe inclined his chin. Skar threw her hands up helplessly and turned so her husband wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. He stepped close to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

“We will see each other again, my love. I can guarantee that.”

“You cannot.”

“I know it, deep in my soul.” He told her and he meant it. Nothing in any of the worlds, not the sky, nor Earth, nor Sea could keep them apart and they would be reunited one day. He knew that to be true, which is why he had to go. The ill tidings on the winds, he felt them too— metallic and bitter tasting, almost choking with the stench of copper but Foestus made a vow. And if he was to live that time over again, he would always make the vow, and somehow he would always end up here. Such is the nature of destiny. “I will love you forever, Skar, and I know you will guide my hand and my thoughts, and rule my heart forever.”

“You’re a fool,” she whispered, leaning back against his chest. “You’re a wretched fool, and I should have never—” her breath hitched as she turned her head to his, nuzzling her head against his as she turned in his arms. “Astarious was right about you.”

Foestus smiled. “Astarious is right about a lot of things.”

Skar sighed, then grabbed him tighter and crushed her lips against his. He could feel the desperation in her kiss, the pain in her grip as she tightened her fingers around him, one hand moving to his hair and the other pressing flat against his chest and slamming him back into the wall. The kiss turned ravaging, ungraceful and wild and Foe took the opportunity to lay with his wife one last time before his ill-fated fight with the mortal.

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet, and she turned with him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he drove her back towards the table of his armour and weapons. She swiped her hands across the surface and they all clattered to the ground as Foestus kissed down her neck and she got to work on grabbing the belt of his britches.

Thunder and lightning cracked and boomed through the room as Foestus and Skar made sure to imprint their memory on every part of each other’s body, on every inch of skin, acting as its own armour for them both. And by the time dusk fell, Foestus stood from the ground and Skar sighed as his warmth left her. She got to her feet and helped him with his armour in silence. There was nothing more to say.

Foestus couldn’t be swayed by reason, and sometimes, reason was all Skar had to offer. Her body, her mind, her anger, her love… it wasn’t enough today. Perhaps the fates were testing Skar, perhaps this was punishment for her cold approach to most issues; perhaps they were trying to show her that despite her posturing the heart still aches, and she has a heart, no matter how much she wishes to deny it.

“I love you.” He said.

“I know,” she replied. He kissed her again, grabbed his shield, and then he was gone.

He appeared in his temple on earth. A giant structure that housed the greatest courts of justice below it on the mortal plane. The temple was situated above the courthouse, towering high in the sky, an appeasement so that Foestus could always oversee the mortal justice system at work. At least, on Foestus’s side of the world.

Foestus settled his eyes on his mortal and he smiled kindly at her. She was bleeding, her left eye swollen shut and her face covered in a torrent of red, black and blue bruises. A slowly healing bruise in the shape of fingerprints made a circlet around her throat where a length of rope was looped around now.

“No,” she whimpered. She inched forward slightly on her knees, but froze quickly, the rope around her throat pulled taut. “No, Foestus… you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t have come. It’s what he wants,” she rasped through broken vocal cords.

Foestus’ smile didn’t fade as he walked towards her. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was slumped in front of the throne of justice that was reserved for Foestus, in front of which sat offerings and prayers scrawled asking for Foe’s favour.

“Fret not, little Maeve. There is no blame I assign to you,” he told her. His smooth voice echoing around the giant stone building. “I am here because of your captor.”

And he swivelled his glass-like eyes to the mortal who was the reason for this pageantry. He stopped six feet away from the stone throne and bowed low and deep to the white haired boy who grinned like an imp at the god of justice bowing to him. He was a strange human to look at, as if he was godly himself; his skin the colour of the bone moon and as smooth as marble, his hair like the coat of a grey fox in the snow, and his eyes the darkest obsidian, lined with red around his eyelids, as if he hadn't slept in years.

Foe frowned. A little too perfect, the boy was, a little too godly, and suddenly Foe wished he had listened to his wife. But he stood from his bow and narrowed his eyes at the boy who looked to be no older that two and twenty.

"I am Foestus, god of justice, fairness-"

"Close quartered combat," the boy finished, his voice sweet and lilting, as if he weren't from Foestus's homeland. He tilted his head, propping his chin up on his rope wound fist. "Minor god of honour, thunder and balance."

"A devotee?"

The boy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Absolutely. It is all you gods expect, is it not? To be worshipped."

"Only if we deserve to be," Foe replied, winking at Maeve. Her split lip trembled as she watched him helplessly. "But you'll find some gods are devoted to humans."

"A flaw, especially for you Foestus," the boy said and stood from his throne. "Why else would we be speaking if not for your so-called devotion to this human."

"Now that I have answered your call, you will let her go, yes?" Foestus asked softly, advancing towards them again.

"Ah, ah, ah, Foe. There are some more terms to be negotiated before I free your bless-ed human."

Foe stopped. His eyes flicking to Maeve and back to the boy. It was his turn to tilt his head. "Do I at least deserve the honour of your name?"

"Of course. It is Scipio."

"Scipio. Well met. Now, your terms?"

"Remove your armour."

"No!" Maeve cried, pushing herself to her knees. Scipio walked two steps and crouched beside her. "No, Foestus, you can't! He's- AGH!"

"Now, now, little Maeve," Scipio cooed, putting his other hand on her throat. Foe darted forward eyes blazing as his favoured mortal was in peril, but Scipio stopped him again. His black eyes taunting as his gaze swept lazily towards the god. "Doesn't she look darling with my handprints on her throat?"

Foe held his hand out. "There is no need to hurt her anymore, and should you continue, I must warn you, I will be forced to act."

Scipio smirked at him as he tightened his fingers on Maeve's neck. Her eyes widened as she grimaced and struggled away from him, but he held her firm, his eyes never leaving the god. "Then act. Remove your armour."

"I need you word that you will release her if I comply."

"You have my word that I will release her throat as soon as you comply."

Maeve released a startled breathless gasp and Foestus grabbed undid the straps of his vambrace, letting the metal clatter to the ground. Scipio removed his hand and pet Maeve's hair as she gasped for breath. He pressed a kiss to her temple before standing and facing Foe as he continued removing his armour.

"Your summons and your threats has caused quite a stir on the immortal plane, Scipio. You have caught our attention."

"It's a lot easier than other mortals might think. Turns out you're all as weak as us where it counts."

Scipio's smile was wide but not true, his black eyes dead and hungry as Foe stripped down until just his chest plate and pauldron remained. Foe stared at Maeve as he started on his pauldron strap.

"You look well, Maeve," he said kindly. "You have the mind of your father, and your mother's beauty."

Maeve's spring green eyes burned. She swallowed thickly as she shook her head in shame. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realise it was a trap until it was sprung."

"Give me some credit," Scipio admonished, glancing at her over his shoulder and tugging the rope. Maeve jerked forward and without her hands to catch herself would've fallen on her face had Foe not caught her, crossing the distance in the blink of an eye. Scipio smiled at him as if expecting him to catch her. "I'm very good at setting traps."

“Exceptional,” Foe said, helping Maeve to sit up again. She stared at him with wide eyes, tears filling the back of them before she fought them back. He pressed his knuckles to her swollen eye and bruised cheek and watched as the skin healed itself, the puffiness vanishing back into her skin and the bruises fading to a garish green yellow. “But as I’m here now there is no need to threaten her.”

*****

"Exceptional," Foe said, helping Maeve to sit up again. He slipped a dagger between his fingers and cut at the ropes binding her hands behind her back. She bit back a small whimper as her wrists were finally freed. Foe frowned at the bruises and ragged cuts from the fibres encircling them like twin bracelets of briars. He raised his eyes to Scipio. “And as I am here now, there is no need to threaten Maeve any longer is there?”

Scipio scoffed. With unnatural strength he tugged the rope and Maeve was yanked out of Foe’s arms, though this time at least her hands were free.

“If I give up my leverage, then you disappear Foestus. That is not what I want,” he snarled, walking down the steps to Maeve and grabbing her by her black hair. He wrapped the strands around his fingers and yanked until Maeve was forced to her knees, the rope digging into her neck and a blade now at her throat.