Twenty years had passed since your father left for war. You understood the importance of it, that he really had no choice and would have preferred to stay with you, your brother, and your mother. Odysseus’ absence hurt you all, especially when, as the years went on and the tales of Odysseus missing spread, many men came to Ithaca in search of being the new king.

Or in your case, finding a wife.

There was over a hundred of them, one hundred and eight to he exact, and while many of them were old enough to be your father, that didn’t stop them from trying to court you.

They’d been trying since you were seventeen, and for three years they never gave up. Some were scarier than others, big and brutish, with words that made your skin crawl. It was only natural that you had begun to pray to the gods, just like your mother did, in hopes someone would hear you.

And someone did. Ares was the first to answer your prayers, shortly after he had fought Athena in Olympus and been convinced to release Odysseus. Maybe a small part of him felt guilty for almost not letting your father go.

Yet, he made up for his actions by staying beside you at all times. Occasionally he would give you the emotional strength to stand up to the suitors—well, actually, he didn’t do anything. He just stayed by your side, hidden to the gazes of anyone who he didn’t enjoy. All your strength came from yourself, with a nudge from Ares.

Had he grown fond of you? Yes, but fond was an understatement. You were so kind and thoughtful, gentle but fierce; how could he not fall?

Like any other night, you now sit on the balcony of your bedroom. The stars above paint pictures across the sky, a cool breeze flows past you both as you continue to read a book your brother had suggested.

Ares is beside you, staring down at the ground below as he notices a few straggling suitors trying to look up at you. “I could always get rid of them, you know.” His deep voice breaks the silence. “The worst ones first.”