“Thank me when you begin to learn. Thank me when you can kill a man with this weapon with little to no effort. This is but your first of many swords, and it will only be as powerful and as useful as you make it.” War’s pride is clear, however, when she takes the sword, the glimmer in her eyes that was the powerful spark of adoration for her father and this most recent gift of hers she had been given. She would be an unstoppable force in combat, another force of fury and violence to ride his chariot into combat alongside her father and siblings. Fury, to ride alongside, fear, terror, and chaos.
“This sword, is nothing, this sword is not the gift. This rusted, unkempt, nicked, and notched blade is garbage. The gift is the promise of greater things to come. Swords are disposable, weapons that while extensions of ourselves are replaceable. What your real gift is, is you learning how to use it against your’s and my enemies.” He was not like his consort, he wielded no love, he was not like Eros, he could cast no love upon his daughter in the sense a parent should be able to. “We are the weapons, not these tools of death.”
She shakes her head gently as she still allowed her hands to trace over the sword-- those bright eyes looking up into the battle worn face of her father as the smile never leaves her face. “No, papa. I understand what the gift is-- I knew as soon as you took it out. It is symbolic-- you believe that I’m finally ready to take the next step in our lessons. --I understand that this is the true gift you bring me- and this symbolism is not lost. It may not be a beautiful or great weapon-- but the very thing it stands for and means? It will hold a moment that will always mean everything to me.”
No, he could not show love-- not even in the way that she showed it to him with her great loyalty. She would be proud to fight at his side- she would be proud to ride into battle with ferocity unending. The call to battle for her was strong- even at this young age. Something that she was certain her father saw within her-- the desire to bloody a blade in his name and the scouring blood that screamed within her veins.
Her features grow bright, though there’s a darkness there within her eyes. Oh, she was her father’s daughter, wasn’t she? -- “When do we begin, papa? Now? Can we begin right away?” Her smile seems off, perhaps, to anyone who had not given in to that blood lust before. But Ares would know that look, wouldn’t he? He’d recognize it instantly.
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