It might be said that - for once - it was all Alcmene’s fault. Of course, she hadn’t intended her son to take her request seriously, nor had she given much thought to the consequences of making it - because if she had, she probably wouldn’t have said anything at all. But she did, and he did, and both of them were to decidedly regret the results of doing so; for one thing, it taught the son of Zeus that tempting the Fates simply to indulge in idle mischief is never a good idea - and for another, it nearly cost them both a price neither was prepared to pay.

That wasn’t the worst of it though. Oh no. Not by a long shot. The worst thing about the whole incident was the way it attracted the attention of far too many gods. Fortunately Ares wasn’t one of them, although he spent the rest of the year chuckling about the exploits of his mortal born brother after he heard the tale. Apollo thought it was hilarious - although Artemis wasn’t laughing and neither was Demeter. Heaphastus, it has to be said, kept his opinion to himself for once - although that might have been because he’d been the one to offer the good advice to begin with. Hermes, on the other hand, told absolutely everybody he could about it. Several times in fact.

Hercules suspected that it would be a long time before any of his immortal relatives let him forget about it - which wasn’t really a problem, since he was never going shake the memory, no matter what he did. It wasn’t just the humiliation, or the fact that he ended up begging for divine aid despite his life time vow to avoid asking his relatives for anything. No, the thing which had etched that day indelibly into his memory was the look on his best friend’s face - the one which had dawned there right at the moment when everything went horribly wrong.

He’d never seen that look before, and he never wanted to see it again.

A look of sheer, panic stricken terror.

One that had very nearly been his last …

"So what do you want for your birthday, Mother?"

Alcmene looked up at the question, smiling at the tentative way it had been phrased, at the hesitancy in her son’s voice. Hercules had sailed halfway round the world to retrieve the Golden Fleece, harnessed fire breathing, man eating horses, killed Ghidra, Dragons, and a Chimera or two - and he still couldn’t face the thorny issue of her birthday without a tremble of doubt in his voice. She’d tried all sorts of things. Like telling him that she didn’t really care for fancy presents and that his love was more than enough. Or suggesting that they forget about birthdays altogether, since he was never home for his own, and her’s wasn’t something she really wanted fussing over.

None of them had worked. For Hercules, his mother’s birthday was an occasion that had to be completely and utterly special - and he’d be willing to go to the ends of the Earth and back again, if it meant getting her the one thing she really wanted.

What she really wanted was her son - home, safe, well, out of harm’s reach and out of trouble - a gift that was becoming more and more precious and less and less certain every year. But she couldn’t tell him that, because saying so would keep him at home, when all his heart wanted to do was wander far and wide, helping those who needed it. She knew how important that was to him, as well as how important it was to the world, who needed a hero far more than a mother needed her son - however much she’d like to think otherwise.

So she hid behind her smile and tried to think of something that wouldn’t cost the earth but would still be special enough to fulfill his need to make it something important and noteworthy. She knew that Hercules never had any money, and had long since given up trying to instill some sense of financial acumen into him; give him so much as a dinar and he’d inevitably end up handing it to the first needy person he ran across. Iolaus, of course, knew how to measure the value of every obol (which was why she always gave him the smattering of journey money whenever the two of them rushed off on yet another adventure) but he had just as generous a heart - especially where his sword brother was concerned. If she asked for something expensive, Hercules would undoubtedly end up going to his partner for a loan - and then they’d both be out of pocket.

Hercules never paid any of his friends back, no matter how often he said he would. Not in coin, anyway. Since Iolaus - bless his hunter’s heart - had probably already got her present nicely organised (she’d made a point of saying how badly worn and moth eaten her old bedcover had become last time he’d called round - she was rather hoping for something warm, like rabbit, or fox fur) she didn’t think it would be fair to make him pay for a second gift.

"I don’t know, dear," she hedged, while desperately searching for a suitable answer. "I’ll be happy with anything you give me, really I will."

Jason had promised to shower her with diamonds and rubies, which was far too extravagant an idea, even if he was a King and had a royal treasury at his command; she’d asked him to gift her with rose bushes instead. Damascus ones; the kind which bloomed wild in the desert and filled the night air with their rich and heady perfume.

"Mother," Hercules protested softly, "that’s not a lot of help. I want to get something you need. At least something you’ll want and use, rather than just putting it away on a shelf somewhere."

Alcmene dipped her head back to her needlework, colouring a little behind her reactive smile. It was nice to have - trophies - of her son’s life and work, but there really wasn’t much you could do with a Titan’s hammer, or a Dragon’s horn. Other than put it on a shelf or hang it on a wall. Oh - and tell the neighbours about what it was and why you had it. Every time they came to call …

"How about a new set of cooking pans?" he suggested. "Or even a new stove? No," he denied almost immediately afterwards. "That would just be silly. I could give you those anytime. Birthday presents should be special. Like a delicate perfume, or incense oils. Scented woods from Africa. Or imported wine …"

"Hercules," she sighed, putting down her needle and giving him her full attention. Those ideas all sounded expensive - far more expensive than Iolaus’ meager purse would ever run to. And she wasn’t about to encourage her son to take up piracy just to get her a suitable birthday present. "This is just getting to be pure fantasy. I mean - if you wanted to give me something that special … why, you could just as well bring me - I don’t know - a single rose from Aphrodite’s garden, a vine seedling from one of Dionysus’ vineyards, or - or a comb of honey from the bees that make the nectar they drink on Olympus. Actually," she continued thoughtfully, "that’s not such a silly idea. Honey, I mean. It keeps for ever and I could make some of those sweet cakes than you and Iolaus like so much … Yes," she concluded, favouring him with a motherly smile. "A jar or two of honey will be fine."

"Honey?" Hercules gave that some serious thought, pursing his lips and weighing up the possibilities. After a moment - too long a moment, if Alcmene had only realised - he nodded with determination. "Very well," he decided, giving her a warm smile. "If you want honey, Mother, honey you shall have."

"You have got to be kidding!"

Iolaus halted in his tracks, staring at his company with decided astonishment. Hercules went on walking; just casually striding along the overgrown and long deserted road as though he’d merely been discussing the weather, and wasn’t it turning out to be a fine day - although it looked as if it might rain later, don’t you think? It had been just over a year since the two of them had left the Academy to venture into the wide world and the son of Zeus’ once gawky stride was turning into a confident, easy step; his shoulders had broadened out to balance his burgeoning height and the rest of his muscled frame was busy putting on well muscled weight to match. He’d spent years trying to live up to his divine heritage and earn himself a reputation worth hanging on to; even a casual observer would have to admit that he was finally beginning to look the part.

"You are kidding? Right?" There was decided note of doubt in the question, and the questioner went on staring, watching his partner widen the space between them without even bothering to look back. "Right?"

That year on the road had added a little muscle to the young hunter’s build as well, although it was hard to see where, exactly. He’d neither grown up, or out - but what had once been lean and scrawny adolescence was rapidly turning into sleekly compact self-assurance. Time was adding a slightly rugged edge to his naturally impish charm, and it clearly suited him. Where Hercules’ flaxen youth was blossoming into handsome lines and heroic stature, his best friend was beginning to mature like a rare spirit or a fine wine; developing hidden depths and deceptive strength beneath a surface of mellowed gold.

"Okay. So he’s not kidding." Iolaus heaved a heavy sigh, shook his head in complete disbelief - and then took off after his friend, who - by now - was halfway to the curve in the road and the bridge that lay beyond it. "Hey Herc - wait up!"

Hercules didn’t wait exactly, but he did slow down a little, allowing his companion to catch up with him by the time he reached the bridge. It was one of those rope, plank and ‘wrong move and you’re a hundred feet further down’ affairs, stretched over a rock filled ravine and looking as if nobody had crossed it in years. Which - if this was the bridge it was supposed to be - they hadn’t.

"This is it," the son of Zeus announced with confidence. "Heaphestus said this would be the safest way if we wanted to sneak in without being seen."

Iolaus gave him a doubtful look, eyeing the rickety construction with decided distrust. "He say anything about sneaking out again?"

"Not as such, no … Look - if you want to sit this one out - "

"Did I say that?" the hunter bristled instantly. "I didn’t say that. You wanna do this thing, we do it. I just - I just wanna know what I’m getting into, that’s all."

"Oh. Ah …" Hercules hesitated for a second, then took the start of a deep breath, readying himself to explain. By the time he’d completed it, Iolaus was already in full flow, the words tumbling out of him like water released from an underground spring.

"See - you walk me all the way to the feet of Mount Olympus, with no real explanation, except for something about Alcmene’s birthday, and that you asked Heaphestus where to get this stuff you wanted, and he sent you here, and then you tell me that here is actually the backway into one of Demeter’s sacred gardens, and that the bridge leads to a vineyard that Dionysus planted, so we’re sneaking into sacred ground, and you still haven’t said why we have to sneak, or what it is we’re here for - " He paused for a much needed breath and then carried blithely on before his friend could get so much as a word in edgeways. "Only, if I’m going to risk the wrath of the gods, or find myself in the middle of a bunch of Bacchae, I’d really like to know before it happens, so that I can be prepared, you know? Especially as it’s the month leading up to the Harvest Festival, and the shrine is going to be packed with offerings - and is that what it’s about? Because if we’ve come to petition Demeter to bless your mother’s garden, then why are we sneaking in the back way, and shouldn’t we have brought something as a gift or something - "

"Iolaus." Hercules tried to interrupt, lifting his hands to halt the relentless stream of words. "Iolaus! Iolaus!"

The final emphasis broke through the litany. The hunter gave him a puzzled look, distracted enough to lose his train of thought. "What?" he queried innocently, and his friend sighed.

"We aren’t here to get Demeter’s blessing. Although that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea … No - Mother said she wanted some - honey for her birthday."

"Honey."

Hercules nodded, trying to look as if this was no big deal and failing miserably.

"Herc, you can pick up jars of honey in almost any market in Greece. And if they catch you they’ll make you pay for it too - " Iolaus’ joking expression froze. His eyes narrowed and he stared at his company with disconcerted suspicion. "This isn’t just any honey, is it."

"Uhuh."

"And we’re not here to just - pick it up, are we."

"Mmuh."

The hunter’s frown deepened. He took a step forward, reaching up to feel his friend’s forehead with the back of his hand. Hercules stepped back from the contact with an embarrassed grimace.

"What’s that about?" he asked, unsure if he should be amused or worried by the look in his partner’s eye.

"Just checking," Iolaus retorted, continuing to consider him with intense scrutiny. "You are still Hercules, aren’t you?"

"Of course I’m still Hercules." The response was indignant. "Who else would I be?" Memories of past events caught up with the demand as soon as he made it. His expression softened a little. "Oh, well, yeah, okay … But - I’m not Ares in disguise. Or Discord. Or anyone else for that matter. This is me. Really. Why would you think it wasn’t?"

"Because," the hunter announced, "you are sounding far too much like me for comfort. I’m the one that comes up with these convoluted schemes and you’re the one that talks me out of them, right? Now, you’re not running a fever, and nobody’s in trouble here, so - hey! Is this one of those ‘I do this and dad takes notice of me’ things? You promised Chiron you’d give those up. Especially the ones that nearly get me killed."

Hercules rolled his eyes skywards, his expression clearly demonstrating what he thought of that idea. "No," he said firmly. "This is not one of those things. I’m not doing this to get Zeus’ attention. In fact, I don’t want any god’s attention over this. I just want to get mother what she asked for."

"By sneaking into one of Demeter’s sacred gardens the back way … we’re stealing this stuff, aren’t we?"

"Well," the son of Zeus hedged, "not stealing exactly …"

"Hello," Iolaus interrupted pointedly, "ex-thief in the audience. Stealing thing? I know about the stealing thing. And I gave it up. Because you thought it was a bad idea. Remember?"

"Yeah, I - I know." Hercules stared at the ground, discomfortedly poking at a tussock of grass with the toe of his boot. "But this is for mother. And taking things from the gods isn’t the same as - well, it isn’t. Nobody’s hurt by it." That sounded hollow, even to own his ears; he wasn’t going to convince anyone with that argument - including himself. "Besides," he went on hastily, offering the words which had kept his doubts at bay all the way from Heaphestus’ forge, "it’s no big deal. Just a jar or two of honey."

"Right," the hunter snorted. "And I can introduce you to half a dozen guys who lack a right hand because they helped themselves to an apple when they thought no-one was looking. Stealing’s stealing, Herc. No matter what it is, or who it’s from."

His friend sighed, knowing he was right. "I kinda - promised," he admitted reluctantly. "I’ll understand if you - "

"No, no. I’m in," Iolaus grinned. "What?" he reacted at the look this earned him. "You think I’m going to leave an amateur to tackle a challenge like this? You’re going to need my help. Besides - we pull this off? It’s gonna be way cool."

Hercules chuckled, relieved and not a little amused by his partner’s assessment of the situation. He’d held off telling him where they were heading and why, precisely because he couldn’t be certain he’d get support for his plan. Truth was, he hadn’t entirely convinced himself of the wisdom of his scheme - but he had promised, and besides, it wasn’t as if they were about to steal anything important.

"It’s not that much of a challenge," he remonstrated warmly, dismissing the misgivings that were lurking at the back of his mind and beginning a careful crossing of the rickety bridge. "All we’re going to take is some honey."

"All, he says." Iolaus hung back, watching the creak and sway of the bridge as it protested his friend’s weight. "Herc - this is a place the gods hang out in, right?"

"Sometimes. I suppose."

"So - you’re going to tell me it isn’t guarded? Or didn’t Heph mention details like that?"

"Oh, it’s guarded." The next plank broke as soon as boot leather touched it; Hercules swayed back to regain his balance, and glanced down as the pieces spiraled away into the depths. "But there’s only one caretaker. His name’s Cydrus."

"And?" The hunter tested the tautness of the nearest support rope, shrugged and began to inch after his partner. The first gap he reached was almost too wide for him to step over, and he gritted his teeth and made it with a wary jump. Someway ahead, the son of Zeus had to grab for support as the shifting structure rippled under him.

"And - ah - he’s a giant with two heads."

"Uhuh. Anything else I should know about?"

"Well," Hercules hesitated. "He has a couple of dogs - that breath fire," he added with a small wince, making a hasty jump for the far side of the gorge. It felt a lot safer standing on solid ground. Iolaus paused to stare at him in disbelief, still in the middle of the swaying, unstable construction.

"Hades hounds? This guy has hades hounds?"

There was a sudden and ominous creaking sound from the bridge; the hunter’s head whipped round in time to catch the supporting ropes behind him beginning to snap and unravel a strand at a time. Hercules cursed and grabbed hold of the nearest stone pillar, anchoring himself with one hand while stretching out and encouraging haste with the other. Iolaus broke into a run - one that became a desperate leap as the planks dropped out from under his feet. The bridge fell away, and the young hunter sailed wildly across the remaining gap, reaching out at full stretch. Hands made contact. Fingers closed - and dust cracked from the stone under Hercules’ other hand as he took the full weight of his best friend on one arm. A moment later and the two of them were standing side by side, the hunter lifted up and out of the abyss as if he were no more than a sack of feathers.

Way, way down, the broken bridge hit bottom with a resounding crash. Two pairs of eyes swiveled downwards - then back up to meet in mutual relief and acknowledgement of gratitude. Hercules clapped his partner warmly on the shoulder and briefly squeezed before releasing his determined grip on a leather clad wrist. Iolaus squeezed back as he did the same - then spent the next few moments massaging and rotating his shoulder and arm until he got the feeling back in his fingers.

"The hounds won’t be a problem if we’re careful," Hercules decided, leading the way into the overgrown vineyard. "They won’t even see us. No - I’m more worried about the bees. They’ll be far more of a danger than the dogs."

Iolaus snorted. "Bees? Come on, Herc. What harm can a few itty bitty bees do?"

His partner paused, throwing his partner a calculating look. "You ever been stung?" he asked pointedly. The hunter giggled.

"Course I have," he retorted. "You were there - remember? We were getting honey for your mother that day, too … Look," he said, "I’m not worried about a couple of bee stings. They may hurt a little but - I’m a big boy now. I can handle that kind of thing. Bee stings," he muttered, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as he headed deeper into the tangle of vines. Hercules heaved a small sigh and strode after him.

"Iolaus," he murmured softly, as soon as he’d caught up again. "These bees are special. They feed off the flowers up on the mountain. They make the nectar of the gods. And they’re sacred to Artemis."

"All bees are sacred to Artemis," the hunter muttered back, glancing around warily to get a feel for their surroundings. They’d both dropped their voices to a near whisper; this was now enemy territory and they had to be on their guard. "But I take your point. Okay. We treat the bees very carefully. Try not to hurt them." He threw a glance at his company, accompanying it with a wry grin. "If we’re caught, this was your idea, right?"

Hercules grinned back. "Right," he said, then added after a beat: "Let’s not get caught."

The far end of the vineyard had been completely abandoned, which wasn’t surprising since while Dionysus had planted it, Bacchus had subsequently laid claim to it. The resulting orgy of death and debauchery had, reputedly, so angered the younger god of the vine that he’d dispatched a screaming horde of meneads to deal with the unwelcome intruders. Bacchus had been driven out, but so had everybody else; the once thriving vineyard had apparently been left to fend for itself ever since. The vines were overgrown, tangled and heavy with burgeoning fruit. Sour grapes mostly; it was still a little too early in the season to harvest this kind of crop, which was probably just as well. Another month and this was likely to be a beacon for Bacchae, even if their dark god no longer visited his old hunting grounds.

The two young men sneaked through the riot of undergrowth with admirable ability. Iolaus led the way, scouting a path that followed the pattern of the original planting and skirted the tumbled stones of the old wine lodge that lurked in the middle of it all. He ducked under arching vines and scrambled through the rotted supporting lattices, moving as quietly as a fox - or a wary deer with hunters on its tail. Hercules followed behind; his step was a little heavier and he had to pause from time to time to widen a gap that his partner had slipped through with ease, but even so a casual observer would have been hard put to spot either of them.

And there were observers; colourful peacocks pecked among the vines and thistles, strutting down the middle of the now weed filled paths which separated plot from plot. Untended, the vines had intermingled with complete disregard for planning, but the place had once boasted careful design, with its white grapes segregated from the darker reds and the sweet, golden varieties planted close to its heart. There was no way of knowing if the creatures that rooted along the remains of the ancient gravel paths were merely birds or something more sinister, but since even a mortal peacocks can raise a desperate clamour of alarm, the trespassers avoided them as if they were the eyes of Hera herself.

Past the ruined lodge the planting showed signs of more recent care. Waist high weeds gave way to a scattering of ragged grass, and the mass of snarled vines was reduced to a more negotiable drape, cascading down from their support lattices to carpet the space between the once ordered rows. Beyond that lay open space, a hint of white marble buildings and the soft murmur of running water. Iolaus picked up his pace a little, racing ahead with an anticipatory grin on his face. Hercules hesitated for a moment or two, looking back at the overgrown building with suspicion, then he moved on, following in his friend’s wake and leaving the wilderness behind. The hunter paused at the edge of the final plot to assess what lay ahead, and that was where his partner caught up with him, the two of them lurking in the concealing greenery while they considered their next move.

The garden was mostly a pastoral affair, laid out with winding paths, curved flower beds, elegant trees, and a narrow stream which tumbled over a small waterfall, pooled out into a small lake and finally vanished somewhere at the far end of the rolling landscape. There was what seemed to be a small orchard on one side, and a slope which led down to tended fields of grain on the other. In the middle of everything stood a formal construction; carved pillars marked the corners of a large paved area, with a raised marble building at one end and an ornate sunken pond at the other. The building was one of those classic shrines with open sides, its roof supported on slender stone columns and a series of shallow steps leading into it. There was a stone couch, and what looked like a statue taking up most of the interior.

It was hardly a gleaming temple though. It - and the columns that marked the corners of the plaza - were festooned with ivy and other climbing plants, their flowers and leaves adding a dappling of colour to the otherwise plain white of the architecture. The stone in front of it was painted with moss and the steps had little cascades of low growing flowers tumbling down on either side. The paved area had the same aged and rustic air about it; moss and lichen clung to cracked stones, while the marble tables which formed an angled U at its centre were clearly well weathered with age. They were surrounded by and piled high with offerings; sacks stuffed to the seams, barrels, baskets, bowls and indistinct bundles jostled to find space next to each other.

Iolaus dug Hercules in the ribs with his elbow and pointed at the far side of the square. The son of Zeus nodded, having caught sight of the same thing. A row of trestles had been set up along the furthest edge of the paving, each pair supporting the weight of a solid slab of weathered wood. Poking up from behind the pyramid of offerings, and clearly resting on the wood, were the arched peaks of three enormous beehives.

"Easy as pi-" Iolaus began to hiss, only to have his final word abruptly silenced as Hercules hastily clamped a hand over his mouth. "Mmm-mm?" the hunter inquired with a questioning look. His partner tilted his head and pointed at the pillared building with his free hand. Blue eyes rolled in that direction, and then went wide in comprehension. A blond head nodded understandingly; lying on the shallow steps, sprawled out in the afternoon sun, were two huge hounds, each the size of a small pony. They appeared to be asleep - as was their master, whose colossal form was occupying the couch beneath the marble roof.

An elaborate pantomime ensued, the two trespassers discussing options and agreeing on a plan without uttering a single word. It required Hercules to roll his eyes several times, and Iolaus to wave his arms expansively, but the conversation was perfectly clear, and by the end of it they’d settled on a course of action. They split up, the hunter skirting round in one direction, his partner in the other, both of them moving as carefully and silently as they could.

Hercules’ chosen route took him past one of the ivy covered corner pillars, in front of which stood a tall stone plinth supporting an ornate pottery jar, the kind that come with pictures of poets and dancing girls painted on them. The son of Zeus paused there, carefully reaching up to lift the jar from its perch, then sidled on, warily tiptoeing around the nearest of the sleeping hounds and suppressing a wince each time his carefully lowered boot touched the stone.

Iolaus made faster progress, scurrying around the far end of the groaning altars and making his way to the end of the furthest trestle. The hives had been placed at a height suitable for a giant to tend; when the hunter arrived at his goal, he found the edge of the thick wooden table was a good foot over his head. He stared up at the arrangement for a moment, then shrugged, put up his hands and hauled himself up onto the surface of the wood. A moments scrabble got him safely onto the upper level, where he stood up, took a wary look around - and immediately broke into a delighted grin.

They’d been expecting to have to steal the honey from the hives - which was why Hercules had snaffled the jar, so that they had something to put it in - but the Fates had decided otherwise. Stack on the middle trestle top in front of the middle hive were half a dozen large pottery jugs, each with a broken honey comb standing in it to drain. Bees drifted around both the hives and the jugs, the air vibrating with their soft buzz as they went about their business. They were slightly bigger than honey bees he’d seen before, and their wings and bodies both sparkled slightly, as if they were coated in light.

Confident in the ease of his task - and not a little relieved at finding there was no real need to disturb the bees at all - Iolaus strolled down the length of the weather beaten wood and hunkered down beside the roughly glazed jugs. He poked at the nearest honey comb with a cautious finger and then just as cautiously tasted the result. His eyes lit up, his grin widened into mischief and he happily helped himself to a second scoop of the rich golden syrup, licking - first his finger, and then his lips with relish.

"Psst," Hercules hissed from the ground below, glancing back with alarm in case even that soft noise had alerted the sleeping hounds. When you’re quite finished, he mouthed, glaring up at his partner with anxious irritation. Iolaus grinned down at him, utterly unrepentant, and - unthinkingly - slapped away a curious bee which had drifted close enough to buzz in his ear. The bee took umbrage, and the hunter had to swallow a yelp of pain as a sharp jab lanced into his palm.

Ow, he complained in his friend’s direction, shaking the now dead bee off his wounded hand before bringing it to his mouth to suck out the embedded sting. It was Hercules’ turn to grin. Serves you right, he noted silently, earning himself a martyred glare.

Somewhere off to his left, one of the huge dogs grunted and kicked out in its sleep, dreaming, no doubt, of chasing would be thieves and unwanted intruders. Hercules glanced in its direction, then back up at his partner, still sucking at his wounded hand. Come on, he mouthed, carefully placing the now unneeded pot on the ground and reaching up with both hands to receive the gift of a honey jar. One will do.

Iolaus looked a little puzzled for a moment, then remembered what they were there to do; he grinned and nodded, putting out both hands to lift the nearest jar off the bench. It rose about three inches and then he quickly put it down again, wincing as it hit the weathered wood. Hercules heaved a silent sigh of impatience. His sense of uneasiness was creeping back and he wanted this to be over and done with as soon as possible. Before he changed his mind about the whole thing.

Hurry up, he requested, nervously glancing, once again, towards the sleeping animals. Neither of them had moved.

Up on the table top, Iolaus had more immediate things to worry about. The jar had been heavier than he’d been expecting, but that hadn’t been the reason for nearly dropping it. There’d been another bee lurking under the rim and the throbbing point of pain in his right palm had just been joined by a second, even more painful sting, jammed in between the middle and third finger on his left hand. Oh, great, he muttered to himself, sucking out the second barb with an annoyed grimace. He’d forgotten how much bee stings hurt.

Hercules was waving at him impatiently, so he pushed his discomfort aside for a moment and reached for the jar a second time, taking less than a moment to check that it was free of black and gold passengers. It seemed even heavier than before, its weight pressing into his wounded hands so that the pain came back like skewers of fire. His fingers prickled and went numb. So - for some reason - did his lips. A wave of nausea shivered through him; the world seemed to shimmer in front of his eyes and he blinked, fighting for focus. Whoa, he tried to gasp - and couldn’t; his throat constricted instead, turning the exclamation into strangled gulp. His lungs heaved, fighting for a supply of air that somehow just wasn’t there anymore. His skin felt like it was on fire. Everything started spinning. He couldn’t breath.

By the gods - he needed to breath …

The jar slipped through his fingers, unnoticed in his desperate struggle to draw breath. It plummeted back to the table top, rocked on its base for a moment, then tipped over, spilling liquid gold across the wood and over the edge. Hercules was waiting there, gazing upwards and both hands upraised in anticipation.

The honey hit him straight in the face.

Gods, he reacted, hastily stepping backwards - although not quickly enough to avoid the worst of the flood. The sweet, gooey cascade drenched his face and spattered his hair. It painted its way down the front of his shirt and began to ooze under the fabric, clinging to his skin with sticky persistance - and it clung to his fingers as he reached to wipe the worst of it from his eyes. That, he began to mouth angrily, taking another step back so that he could see what his friend was up to, wasn’t fu - He froze, anger and irritation forgotten as he registered the struggle which was going on over his head. Iolaus was down on his knees, supporting himself on one hand while the other clutched at his chest. He was wrestling for breath, dragging much needed oxygen into his lungs with long wheezing gasps, each one more desperate than the last.

"Iolaus?" Hercules kept his demand to a whisper, but even so it was filled with anxious horror. "Iolaus!"

The hunter reacted to the call, turning panic filled eyes towards his friend. His mouth was open, gulping at the air as he struggled to draw in each strangled breath. There were red angry marks erupting on his skin, his lips were turning blue - and there was a look of total terror on his puffed and swollen face.

"Herc - " he managed to croak, lifting himself up onto his knees. "Help me …"

It was his last coherent gasp. He collapsed completely, flopping down like a freshly landed fish and hitting the honey streaked table top with a soft thud. Three of the remaining jars went flying, and Hercules took an involuntary step backwards as they plummeted to the stone beside him - where they shattered with a resounding crash.

Honey splattered everywhere.

And the hades hounds woke up.

There are some moments of crisis when time slows to an agonising halt - and some where everything just happens all at once, with no space between events for thought, just action. This was one such occasion; one second Hercules was standing there in stunned horror, and the next he was in motion, diving desperately to one side as two three hundred pound plus of solid muscle, teeth and savagery hurtled in his direction.

Snorting angry puffs of smoke and flame.

He dived rather than dodged, throwing himself into the tumble of offerings stacked around Demeter’s altar. Grain spilled out as he landed, the bulging seams of over stuffed sacks collapsing under the impact of his weight, and he scrambled away across the avalanche, seeking the suspect shelter of the stone. One of the hounds collided with a stack of baskets, sending them flying. The second skidded to a halt - and spat out a fireball which filled the whole of the space under the tables with searing flame.

Gods, Hercules cursed, hastily pressing back between a crate of oranges and a crock of olive oil. I don’t have time for this …

Heat washed over his honey drenched skin, searing the sugar and adding a layer of hot caramel to his unwanted decoration. The grains of wheat which had clung to the spattering of honey began to puff up like little cushions. The oranges shrivelled into blackened balls and the wood of the crate began to burn. He choked down a cough, desperately weighing options; if he stayed still and didn’t move, the dogs were likely to root around for awhile and then give up. The crash would have undoubtedly woken Cydrus, but without evidence to the contrary, he’d probably just assume that Iolaus had sneaked in on his own. In normal circumstances that would have given him a chance to lie low, wait until all the hoo-ha had died down and let him rescue his best friend from whatever fate the two headed gardener might have planned for him.

Only - his friend was in trouble now. Desperate trouble at that. He wasn’t the sort to just up and faint for no reason, and it had been clear, from that panic stricken look on his face that he’d had no idea of what might be happening to him. One moment he’d been fine, and the next he’d been struggling for breath, practically fighting for his life. Whatever the problem was, it had happened fast - and every second that passed might be the one that marked the point of no return.

Suffice it to say, staying still was not one of the options Hercules was considering.

The dogs were digging at the tumbled sacks of grain, whining and barking as they tried to unearth the intruder they knew had taken refuge behind them. The heat from their breath was fierce and the wheat was bursting under its assault, filling the air with a whole series of staccato of snaps, crackles and pops. The son of Zeus hastily squirmed deeper into his suspect sanctuary, pushing back the pile of offerings stacked on the opposite side of the altar. He had to get out and he had to get out *soon. If he timed it right, he could force himself an exit on the other side, wriggle free and be up onto the stone before the dogs realised what was happening. From there he could make a leap for the trestles, fending the hounds off if he had to.

Of course, he’d still have the giant to deal with, but he’d face that problem when it actually became one. Right now, the only need that pounded though his soul was to reach his partner’s side, to answer that desperate plea for help.

Before it turned out to be too late.

"Hold on, buddy," he muttered, bracing his shoulders and gritting his teeth for a determined shove at the barrier behind him. "I’m coming. I’ll be right with you …"

He heaved with all his might. Boxes and sacks and barrels surged outwards, scattering their contents to the wind. The precariously stacked offerings collapsed in an avalanche of wickerwork, sacking, and shattered wood, spilling a concoction of fruit, nuts and mixed grains across the paving stones. Hercules clambered out of the cascade, trailing smoke and puffed wheat; it took less than a second for him to grab the edge of the stone altar and then he was somersaulting onto its upper surface, kicking obstacles out of his way and ignoring the chaos he left behind him.

"Primrose! Buttercup!" The voice was deep; it also sounded irritated. "What in the name of the harvest are you two up to!"

"Raising Tarterus," a second voice growled, just as deep as the first. "It’s probably just a mouse."

Some mouse, Hercules grimaced, already running forward, ready to make a leap for the trestle top. Now that he was at the right height, he could see the limp form sprawled across the weathered wood, a cloud of bees buzzing around the spill of honey that oozed out from under an equal spill of golden curls. Iolaus was lying ominously still.

The dogs had leapt away from the collapse of the offerings with startle yelps; now they bounded back, in time to make a snap at flying boots as the son of Zeus sailed over their heads. Flames seared his soles and scorched the leather of his pants, but nothing actually caught fire; the heat cooked the mix of honey and grains, glazing him to an even golden brown all over.

Fortunately, it also drove away most of the bees. He landed barely a foot from the central hive, the whole construction shuddering under the impact of his weight on the wood. The hounds yammered in frustration, reaching up to put massive paws against the edge of the tables and breathing out huge clouds of smoke, which wreathed him in choking fumes.

"Gods," he cursed, coughing and spluttering as he raced to reach his fallen comrade. "Iolaus? Iolaus!"

The hunter didn’t move.

No …

Hercules skidded to a halt beside his partner, reaching to roll him over, oblivious to everything but the blotched and angry weals which covered otherwise pallid skin. He didn’t hear the voices command the dogs to get down, or notice when they did so; his attention was fixed on the limp and unresponsive figure of his best friend.

"Iolaus?" he whispered, trembling fingers groping to find a pulse in the distended throat. The young hunter’s eyes weren’t just closed, they were swollen shut; his half open lips were tinged with blue. "Iolaus!"

There was no answer. No pulse either.

"No," Hercules denied, pushing the honey stained vest aside and dipping his head to catch the heartbeat that had to be there.

And wasn’t.

"No!" he half screamed, a cry of angry protest and desperate denial. It had been only a minute or two. Iolaus couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t.

His fist clenched without thinking; he slammed it down onto a tanned chest; once, twice, three times, pounding at his friend in a mixture of frantic disbelief and angry denial. "Come on, Iolaus! Don’t do this too me! Don’t you dare die, you hear me? Not over this! Not over - " his hand thumped down again, "a stupid thing like this!" Flesh met flesh a fifth time; the limp form jerked in sudden response - and drew in strangled, wheezing gasp.

It was barely a breath - but it was a sign of life, and Hercules heaved a gasp of his own, almost sick with relief. "Oh gods," he breathed, dropping back to find a faint heartbeat struggling inside the hunter’s chest. "That’s it, Iolaus. You can make it. Stick with me here. Fight for it."

"He’s trying, lad. But he can’t breath. You can see that, can’t you?"

"Aye," a second voice chimed in. "His throat’s all close up. Happens that way sometimes."

Hercules looked up. There was a figure looming over him, waist high to the table and head and shoulders above his own height had he been standing up. One figure - but two grizzled faces, both of which were staring down at him with anxious concern.

"You know what’s happening to him?" he asked, his hand splayed protectively over his comrade’s chest. The heart beneath it was now beating far too fast for comfort, and the ribs were heaving spasmodically, occasionally managing to drag a strangled, wheezing gasp through distended lips.

"For sure," the first head nodded. "Seen it before. Bees got to him. Nasty way to die."

"He’s not going to die," Hercules retorted, then glanced down at his friend with a sense of helpless horror. They were brave words - but they couldn’t deny the truth of the matter. Iolaus was dying. Each drawn out, painful breath reinforced the fact.

"Maybe not," the second head countered matter of factly. "But most of them do. When it’s as bad as this."

Cydrus was actually quite handsome as giants go; his torso was well proportioned and rippled with muscle, his skin was tanned and weathered, and his hands, both of which were currently resting on the edge of the table, were strong and perfectly formed. His two heads sat solidly on a wide neck; the right was fair, with blue eyes and a scattering of sparse blond hair that was beginning to turn gray. The left was a completely different individual, with close cropped black hair and eyes that were a warm hazel brown. Both heads demonstrated matching signs of age, with grizzled features and a crinkling of fine wrinkles that suggested smiles sat more easily among them than frowns. Right was frowning. Left was giving him a far more sympathetic look.

"I don’t understand," Hercules said anxiously. "It was one sting - maybe two, I don‘t know. But - he’s been stung before. It wasn’t like this."

Cydrus Right nodded, his lips pursing with comprehension. "That’s how it happens," he said. The giant’s hands reached out and - before Hercules could so much as protest - scooped the unconscious hunter up off the surface of the wood. "First time, it’s not a problem. But once the poison’s in ya blood, well - second time round can kill ya. And these are sacred bees. Their stings are pretty potent."

"We’ll make him comfortable," Left smiled, nodding towards the pillared building where he’d been sleeping earlier. "You coming?"

"Sure," Hercules replied, hastily scrabbling down from the table top and racing after the giant’s long legged strides. The dogs were back at their places on the steps and they stared at the son of Zeus as he scrambled past them in their master’s wake.

Inside the building was cool, its interior shaded from the sun. Cydrus strode past the massive couch which he’d vacated and crossed to the feet of the statue - which turned out to be a stylised image of Demeter, nursing a cornucopia. A set of normal, human sized steps led up to the carved feet and there was a second, opulently draped couch nestled in the folds of the carved robe.

"We get a few visitors," Cydrus Left observed as he laid the hunter on the tumble of silk and cushions.

"Only - ah ," Right added a little pointedly, "usually they have an invitation."

"Ah - yeah," Hercules grimaced uncomfortably. "About that - "

"No time, lad," Left interjected. A broad hand caught the young demi-god’s shoulder and pulled him up to the side of the bed. "Ya friend needs ya. He can’t breath, see? Ya gonna have to do it for him."

"Me?"

"Uhuh." Left pushed him down so that he was sitting on Demeter’s big toe. "You pinch up his nose, you clamp your lips over his - and you breath out, so that he breathes in. Simple."

"Oh, that ain’t gonna work," Right protested with a knowing grimace. "The kid’s lungs are working fine. He just can’t get the air into ‘em. Takes a lotta strength to force a breath down a throat that swollen. Now maybe you or me …"

"I have plenty of strength," Hercules interjected, dipping out from under the giant’s hand and leaning anxiously over his unconscious partner. The hunter’s heart still raced inside his chest, but it held a faltering note - and the painful, wheezing gasps for air had faded with slow, strangled groans into practically nothing at all. His skin was clammy to the touch and the blue tint to his lips had become the only colour they possessed. "But I could hurt him …"

"He’s dying," Left snorted. "It’s your choice."

"Get him breathing and the shock could still kill him," Right added matter of factly. "We’d better get a blanket or two. Keep him warm - "

"- or bury him in it," Left concluded, the shoulder on the giant’s right side shrugging dismissively.

The suggestion sent a shudder through the son of Zeus. He reached up, using hands sticky with honey to push back the fall of his hair; pieces of puffed wheat showered down onto the cushions and the hair stayed where it was put, sticking up like sculptured spikes. "Oh gods, Iolaus," he breathed, staring down at his friend with a decided sense of helplessness. "Just - don’t read this wrong, okay? I gotta do this. I have too."

Cydrus had turned away, stomping across to his own couch to collect the promised blankets. Hercules took a determined breath and reached to tilt his friend’s head up and back, the way the giant had indicated. He really wasn’t sure that this was a good idea, but there didn’t seem to be anything else he could do.

"Slow and steady, I guess," he muttered, gently closing his fingers to pinch flared nostrils shut. "Here goes." He hesitated for a moment, feeling decidedly uncomfortable about what he was about to do. If Iolaus woke up, what he was going to think ..? Horrified comprehension followed the thought. If he didn’t do this, then there was a good chance Iolaus might not wake up at all. That settled the matter. He took another, deeper gulp of air, held it - and bent forward, clamping his mouth over those blue tinged lips, his free hand cupped gently beneath the hunter’s chin.

Honey.

Iolaus tasted of honey.

For a long time afterwards, Hercules would associate that taste with this moment. With the need to breath out in a slow and measured pace, forcing much needed air back into his best friend’s lungs. It didn’t matter that his fingers left bruised marks on a swollen throat; what mattered was the pace and the pressure, delivering just enough to matter, and not enough to harm. What mattered were the moments in between, catching in his own breath while gently pressing down on a raised chest to expel the one he’d just transferred.

His world narrowed down to the rhythm of his task, to the way warmth slowly returned to clammy lips, to the taste of honey and the beautiful sound of ragged, painful breath as it escaped from a distended throat. He barely noticed when Cydrus came back to tuck a layer of soft spun wool around the hunter’s shivering frame.

Two hearts, two heads - one set of lungs, sharing the sweetness of the air, and the precious gift of life itself.

"That’s enough, lad." The giant’s voice was soft and sympathetic, the hand that brushed on his shoulder doing so with the gentleness of thistledown. "He’s through the worst of it. Give him space to breath on his own."

Hercules blinked, leaning back to stare down at the ashen face cradled in his hands. The hint of blue was gone, replaced by the palest tinge of pink. Iolaus’ eyes were still puffed shut, but the swelling was beginning to go down a little - and he was breathing on his own, albeit in a slow, strangled way, each intake of air rattling in his throat with heart breaking effort.

"Is he - have I - do I need - " The son of Zeus didn’t know how to express the fear he felt. He’d been willing his friend to live with each determined breath - but his heart didn’t understand what had happened to him, and he had no way of knowing if the crisis had really passed.

"You’ve done everything you can." Left was smiling at him sympathetically. Right was frowning down at Iolaus with a look that sent a shiver down Hercules’ spine.

"Everything?"

"Everything," Left reiterated firmly. "You’ve given him a chance lad. He’s not going to suffocate on us, but - he’s in shock and his heart might not take it. He’s not out of the woods yet."

Hercules swallowed, his own throat closing for a second as he contemplated what that might mean. "Isn’t there anything you - ?"

Cydrus shook both his heads. "I'm sorry, there's nothing more I can do. It's up to the gods now."

Up to the gods …

Hercules looked down at his friend, his hand sliding down the line of a bruised and pale face to close, gently, on a wool covered shoulder. "Why would they care?" he asked, as much of himself as of the giant beside him. "We came here to steal from them. It was only honey," he protested, turning towards Cydrus with anxious guilt. "No-one deserves to die for the sake of one lousy pot of honey. Do they?"

Burly shoulders shrugged.

"Don’t ask me, lad. I’m just the gardener."

"Yeah. The one that’s going to have to clean up the mess you made out there," Right added, half under his breath. "Dunno how I’m going to explain that. Seeing as how you should never have snuck past me in the first place."

The son of Zeus glanced back at his unconscious partner, his heart turning over at each ragged, desperate breath. This wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair - and this time it was all his fault. For thinking he could get one over on his family - just to please his mother on her birthday …

His lips tightened with sudden determination, angry resolve blossoming in his eyes. He was going to put this right. No matter what it cost him.

"You won’t have to explain," he announced, climbing to his feet and giving one last encouraging squeeze to his sword brother’s shoulder. "Because I’m going to."

"You what?" Right looked at Left, who looked back with mutual puzzlement. "Lad - what makes you think the gods will even hear you, let alone listen to you?"

"Because," Hercules declared, heading down the steps and towards the open air with a resolute stride. "I’m know of at least two of them who’ll be more than happy to watch me grovel. You know who I am?" he asked, turning on his heel and walking backwards for a few paces, watching Cydrus for his reaction. The giant shrugged.

"Should I?"

"I’m Hercules," the demi-god snapped. "Son of Zeus, so called hero, and thorn in the side of the gods. Well - some of them, anyway."

"Oh," Right registered, glancing at Left, whose eyes had gone very wide. "We thought you were some kind of honey monster."

Yeah. Right …

Hercules strode out into the sunlight, grimacing at the remark, which he knew had been made at his expense. He was, he suspected, about to get a lot more like that - but Iolaus’ life was on the line, and no amount of pride was worth losing that.

Especially as - on this occasion - he actually deserved to be taken to task for what he’d done.

''A Taste of Honey- Chapter One. Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Universal, Pacific Rennaisance, or any other holders of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys trademarks or copyrights.
©2002. Written by Pythia. Reproduced by Penelope Hill