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You Must Remember This Pythia |
(Ever wondered how Iolaus was able to so accurately recall a battle he’d never actually taken part in? In ‘The Maze of the Minotaur’ he describes his encounter with the Amazons in ‘Amazon Women’ - despite the fact that the fight ended in his death. He couldn’t possibly recall it - especially since, at the end of that story, Hercules insisted that Zeus turn back time and the event never even happened.
The clash of steel. The whisper of leather and rope whipping through the air. The grunt of effort and the impact of blows. Bodies whirl around him; too many, from too many directions. Then the one - the one that tips adrenaline into anger, the one that gets too close. He snarls. The enemy backs away ...
Then he’s racing in pursuit, all thought of tactics swallowed by the impulse, the desire to whip this one’s butt and show them what’s what.
"No, Iolaus," the call comes, anxious words delivered in familiar tones. "Stay at my back ..."
Too late. He’s pell mell in the woods, facing the infuriating fighter. They exchange blows, but it’s his skill and speed that gets the upper hand. The enemy pinned. The mask torn away. The startlement of the moment ...
"Hey! Herc – it’s a woman!"
And the blade strikes home, a searing fire in his guts, a twisting, stabbing death that tears his flesh and rips his soul in two ....
"No!!"
Iolaus sat bolt upright, his heart pounding and his breath caught in his throat. The image was so vivid - vivid enough for him to feel the echo of the killing blow. He could still smell the rich mossy scent of the woods, and the hot stink of his own life blood, pouring from the gaping wound.
Gods ...
He fought for oxygen, gasping it in like a landed fish - and then jumped as the gentle hand touched his shoulder, spinning him round with defensive alarm.
"Iolaus," Ania protested, her eyes glittering a little in the moonlight that pierced the shutters of their room. She was staring at him with a mixture of anxiety and alarm. "It’s only me. Remember me? The woman you married? Just a week ago?"
Somewhere he managed to find her a rueful grin. "Yeah? Oh, yeah ... That’s right. My wife." The grin slid into its more normal exuberance as the truth of that statement penetrated the sense of terror left by the nightmare. "My wife," he repeated with relish. "Now why does that sound so - good?"
"Because you love me," she smiled, reaching to slide her arms around him with possessive intimacy. "And because I love you right back ..."
Oh yeah ...
He reached to return the embrace, burying his face in the fall of her hair and breathing in the sweet smell of her, her warmth and her musk. The contact settled the pounding of his heart and drove some of the chill from his soul. That was the reality of his life now, not the images of violence and death that haunted his dreams. He’d put away his sword to become a family man - nothing more than a second rate farmer and a would be smith, aiming to earn just enough to keep his beautiful wife in the manner she deserved. Maybe there’d be the odd occasion - if conflict or menace threatened the life he’d chosen, perhaps, or those times when Hercules really needed his company - but he’d decided, the day that Ania had agreed to become his, that his days of full time daring do and facing danger were over.
That it would be enough to be a hero in her eyes, and to tell his wide eyed children tall stories of past glories. There’d be lots of children. Ania wanted a whole bunch of them. And he had a hundred or more stories to tell.
Still, the dream always seemed so real ...
"You’re shivering," Ania murmured with concern, pulling the soft wool blanket up around them both. "Are you all right?"
Am I?
The images were fading, their sharpness lost as her closeness aroused other immediacies within him. The night air was cool and calming and the terrors of those misted woods slid into half remembered phantasms as her hand caressed his sweated skin.
"Yeah," he dismissed with an almost embarrassed snort. "It was just - a bad dream. Probably something I ate. That last bite of cheese," he added hastily, not wanting to imply that she might be at fault. Ania was wonderful, but she couldn’t cook to save her life - which, considering his skill only ran as far as a campfire barbecue with rabbit or fish, made mealtimes a rather interesting experience to say the least. She looked a little sheepish.
"More likely my lamb stew," she sighed, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I’m sure meat isn’t supposed to go that colour ... But - Iolaus - you haven’t been sleeping well for days. You always look so tired come the morning - and I know what people think, but ..."
"They’re right," he interrupted, nipping at the lobe of her ear with playful teeth. "Nothing like an insatiable woman to wear a man to his own shadow." She squirmed under the assault, laughing as his fingers brushed her naked breast and tracked a line of teasing contact down her stomach. He’d discovered early on just how ticklish she was, and it was always a pleasure to reduce her to a giggling wriggle of wantonness. Ania batted at his hand, not entirely wanting to stop him, but unwilling to be totally distracted from her concerns.
"You always have the energy for that kind of exercise," she accused affectionately. "But I saw you yesterday - cutting the wood for the forge. Every blow of the axe was hard work. You kept stopping to rest - "
"I’ve been saving my strength for you," he interrupted, pushing her back to the bed and pinning her there, his lips savouring the curve of her throat and his legs tangling up with hers. "It was just a dream, that’s all. Nothing to worry about."
"You sure?" she asked, and he silenced her with a kiss, banishing the memory of pain and terror with the warmth she always inspired inside him. It had just been a dream. He had better things to do with the night than worry over a meaningless nightmare.
Much better things.
They kept him busy until sleep once again stole over them both -
- only for him to wake, cold and sweating in the early morning light, a pain like fire stabbing through his guts, along with the memory of the blade that had put it there ...
"Hello? Alcmene? Are you home?"
The voice was tentative, the speaker sounding hesitant as if unsure of her welcome. Alcmene looked up from her sewing and rose to her feet, putting out her hands in delighted greeting. "Ania! Come in, come in. Let me look at you." She hurried across to draw the young woman into her home, catching her wrists and looking her up and down with pleasure. "Well," she decided warmly, "married life looks as if it agrees with you. You look radiant."
Ania coloured prettily - one of the many attributes that Alcmene suspected endeared her to her besotted husband. She wasn’t a classic beauty, but she had a captivating appeal and a generous spirit that more than matched it. Alcmene hadn’t been entirely surprised that she had been the one to ensnare a certain hunter’s wild heart - and she was rather hoping that his decision to settle down might serve as an exceptional example to her somewhat less impulsive son.
Time you were married and giving me grandchildren, she’d teased on the day of the wedding. Hercules, she recalled, had looked a little - haunted by the idea. Perhaps his best friend’s sudden responsibility had given him cause to look at his own life and what he was doing with it. Or perhaps he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea that Iolaus - of all people - might have found someone else to focus his life around.
He’ll work it out, she’d thought at the time. Iolaus was more than just her son’s best friend; he was his brother in everything but blood. Their friendship had been unshakable for years - and while she’d worried a little over one of them getting married before the other, she had complete faith that, in the end, it wouldn’t make one jot of difference to either of them. Especially when Hercules found that certain someone and brought her home to make her part of the family.
Meanwhile, here was Ania, who was now very much a part of that sense of family, and more than welcome, in her heart as well as her home.
"I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon," Alcmene teased, pulling her company across to the lounger and signaling her servant girl to fetch a little cooled wine. "It’s only been - what? A week? No - nine days, I think. Am I right?"
The blush got deeper. Ania shrugged, a little shyly. "Something like that," she admitted as she sat down. "I -uh - lost count."
"No, you haven’t," the older woman smiled knowingly. "But he probably has. What’s he thinking, letting you out of his sight so soon?" Her eyes flicked to the doorway, half expecting a familiarly tousled head to poke through it any second.
"Oh," was the immediate response, the laugh behind it a little nervous, "well, Iolaus has gone on to the village. He’s got some skins for Furius and I hate the smell of the tanning sheds, so I thought - I thought I’d visit you instead. He’ll pick me up on his way back."
Alcmene frowned. While the visit was welcome it was also a little unexpected. Her home was hardly on the direct route between the house that Iolaus had built and the workshops of Thebes. She also knew that Ania was still a little wary about her. The young woman had not lived in Thebes that long and the reputation of the mother of the mighty Hercules was one that had clearly overwhelmed her on their first meeting. Not that Iolaus had noticed. He’d brought her into Alcmene’s domain with confident pride and had expected the two of them to be old friends in an instant. Since Ania’s parents lived on the other side of the village and had two sons and another daughter to worry about, Alcmene had every hope of meeting those expectations - once the young woman had got used to the idea. Now though, it looked as if the need for her support had arrived sooner than she’d expected. The agitation in Ania’s voice held far more anxiety than the older woman liked to hear. A skein of worry began to weave its way through Alcmene's heart. She knew the honeymoon didn't last forever, but she'd rather thought that - where this particular couple were concerned - it was likely to last at least until they'd produced their first child. After which, of course, the love between them would unquestionably change - but that should only be for the better.
"Ania," she asked softly, reaching to lay her hand over the young woman's arm. "There's something wrong, isn't there? You don't think - " She hesitated to ask, but knew she had to. Iolaus was practically her son - almost more so these days than he was to the woman that had birthed him - and she wanted nothing but the best for him, "you've made a mistake, do you?"
Ania's eyes had been darting around the room, seeking distraction from the thoughts that so clearly troubled her. They went wide at the question and she looked at her company in startled alarm. "A mistake?" she puzzled for a moment, then realised what she was being asked; a look of wry amusement chased across her features. "Oh no," she reacted. "It - it isn't that. And he's not beating me, either," she added pertly, her sudden hint of defiance a better indication of her feelings than any number of words. Alcmene smiled, breathing out a silent sigh of relief. It was reassuring, to see how quickly this young woman leapt to her new husband's defence. Not that she would have gone on to make that particular accusation. She knew Iolaus better than that.
"I should hope not," she retorted, accepting the words as the joke they'd been intended to be. "So what is it? The house has burnt down, there's someone after you for money - what?"
They were wild guesses, meant to be wide of the mark. She got the smile she was hoping for, but it was strained and the anxiety crept back into the younger woman's eyes. "Nothing like that," Ania denied, then sighed. "Alcmene?" she asked. "Is it true that - if you dream the same dream more than twice - then it's a true dream, and heralds the future?"
"I've heard that said," Alcmene answered warily. "But only the Fates truly know the future. Why? Have you had such a dream?"
Ania shook her head, staring down at her hands where they rested in her lap. "No," she said softly. "But - " She took a deep breath and then let it out, trying to find a rueful smile as she dismissed the fear that haunted her. "It's - nothing really I guess, just - well, Iolaus has been having these nightmares? The same dream every night. He wakes up in a cold sweat and then tells me it's nothing to worry about. Just something he ate."
Alcmene couldn't help the quirk of a small smile. Ania's lack of cooking skill was almost legendary in Thebes, and more than one of her neighbours had commended Iolaus' bravery at choosing to live such a hazardous life.
"I know," Ania reacted, only too aware of her own limitations. "And we joked about it at first. Was it the lamb stew, or the cheese Bilardius sold us? But it isn't my cooking. I know it isn't. He has the same dream. Every night. He sleeps so restlessly until it comes - and then he doesn't sleep at all, afterwards. I don't know what to do. He looks so drawn and … He tries to tell me it's nothing, but - I can see it in his eyes. In the way he clings to me after we - well - " The colour rose back to her cheeks and, in other circumstances, Alcmene might have had to stifle a giggle. But the tale that was unfolding was painting a cold weight in her heart, and the evidence for Ania's concern was very much linked to that reference to intimacy. "I'm scared, Alcmene. Scared it’s a true dream. He won't tell me what it's about, but - I know it’s bad. I know it scares him. And yesterday? Yesterday I stripped the bed, ready for washing the linen - and I found this, just lying on the mattress."
Her hand dipped down, into the basket she had brought with her. It emerged holding the unmistakable shape of a feather. An iridescent, peacock feather …
Alcmene's blood ran cold.
No one she knew of kept peacocks in Thebes. And unless some mean minded villager had bought the token from a passing merchant and planted it as an ugly practical joke, there was only one person who'd be responsible for its presence.
Hera.
Ania's hand was trembling as she held out the evil thing; Alcmene took it from her with firm fingers, placing it gently on the table amongst her sewing. "Does Iolaus know you found this?" she asked. Ania shook her head.
"No. I - I thought about telling him, but ..." She shrugged, a little helplessly. "I don’t want him to think me foolish, worrying over nothing. He’s not sick or anything ..."
Not yet. Alcmene’s lips narrowed as her eyes flicked back to the colourful feather and what it might imply. Hercules had told her about the monster Hera had sent to attack him, the day he’d arrived home for the wedding. Iolaus had been there to help defend him, just as he’d been on innumerable occasions over the years. She wouldn’t put it past that vain and jealous goddess to seek a little malicious revenge if the opportunity arose.
If only Hercules were home ...
Her son had left six days before, answering yet another call for help. He’d said he’d be back. But she couldn’t be sure when.
"I didn’t know who else to turn to," Ania was saying, fiddling with the beaded leather bracelet that encircled her right wrist. "Maybe I am just worrying over nothing."
"We’ll see," Alcmene promised, wishing she had more reassuring words to offer. Maybe it was nothing. She’d know when Iolaus arrived.
The serving girl brought the wine and Alcmene poured Ania a generous goblet full. "You’d better kill another chicken, Elita," she advised. "We’re going to have company for lunch."
"Oh," Ania reacted. "Please don’t put yourself out. I didn’t mean to intrude ..."
"Ania," Alcmene announced firmly, "You are not intruding. You and Iolaus are family. And if I know anything about that husband of yours, then the last thing he’d ever do is miss an opportunity for a free meal. Especially one cooked at my hearth."
The younger woman looked a little abashed. "Well," she considered, "if you put it that way ..."
It was close to midday when Ania’s husband finally arrived, strolling up to the house with a light hearted whistle and his usual engaging grin. Alcmene had found an effective way to distract her guest from her concerns, entertaining her with stories of the scrapes and wild escapades that two headstrong would be heroes had gotten into over the years. Ania was laughing delightedly at the last one - a somewhat edited version of the time the two of them had arrived triumphantly carrying a huge honeycomb, the plundering of which had covered them both in mud and honey, not to mention numerous bee stings.
"I was hours picking out the barbs," Alcmene was explaining, while Ania smirked at the image of her beloved husband looking like a bedraggled pincushion. "Hercules’s arms were covered. And I won’t tell you where Iolaus had taken the most damage ..."
"Just that it was a good week before I could sit down again," his sweet tenor capped with a warm laugh. "Alcmene, do you have to tell her that story? She’ll only insist on seeing the scars."
"Hello, Iolaus," Alcmene laughed, turning to greet him with a smile. The smile froze, motherly instincts going on instant alert. Ania hadn’t been exaggerating. He looks so drawn ...
It was an understatement. Iolaus looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. Oh, his smile was bright enough, but above it his eyes held distinct shadows. There was a hint of pallor lurking behind his honeyed tan, and his hair was a lank mockery of its usual golden glory. His lips quirked at the expression that chased across her face. "Yeah, I know, I know," he reacted, putting up his hands to forestall any comment. "I look tired. It's been getting me sniggers and knowing looks all morning." He sighed, moving further into the room to gather up his wife and greet her with an affectionate kiss. "Which, " he concluded wearily, "if it was for the reasons they're assuming, I wouldn't mind one little bit …"
Ania smiled at him, reaching to brush back a wayward lock of his hair and plant her own kiss sweetly on his cheek. "Did you get the spices I asked for?" she asked. He grinned.
"Yup."
"And the candles we needed?"
"Mmhuh."
"And you sold all those rabbit skins? Did Furius offer you a good price?"
"Enough," Iolaus countered, "to buy the most beautiful woman in the world a present." He threw a wink at Alcmene as he added, "I got you one as well."
"Oh, Iolaus," Ania reacted, bundling her fist and punching him lightly in the chest. Alcmene smiled quietly to herself, amused, and not a little relieved to witness the affection in the exchange. Whatever it was that afflicted the hunter it had not dulled his wit or dimmed his smile - or in any way diminished his regard for his new wife.
But the weariness that marked his features was a worry - and that worry deepened as the day went on, watching as he picked at the contents of his lunch and pushed the plate away with food still on it. The one thing she'd always been certain of where Iolaus was concerned was his stomach; he was always hungry, a reflection of the constant and eternal energy with which he challenged life. For him to lose his appetite was practically unheard of - and for that loss to include the temptation of her apple honey cake was decided cause for disquiet.
He helped her carry the dishes back into the kitchen and she took the opportunity to feel his cheek for signs of temperature - a ministration he accepted with a patient roll of his eyes and a soft sigh. "I'm okay," he insisted, not at all offended by the motherly attention. "Really."
"You don't look okay," she shot back, frowning at him with affection. There was no sign of fever, but that didn't settle any of the anxiety that now churned inside her. "Ania's worried about you. She says you're not sleeping …"
He snorted, trying to dismiss the issue with a wicked grin. "Some of that's her fault," he tried to joke - and then the grin slowly faded, because Alcmene was giving him her best I know what you're up to look. It had never failed her when trying to get to the bottom of mischief, and it didn't fail her now; his dissemblence was mostly due to stubbornness in any case, and when it came to that, she could more than match him on home ground. She'd had a lot of practice at it. "It's nothing," he protested a little guiltily. "Just a stupid dream, that's all."
"The same dream?" she challenged. "Night after night?" Iolaus grimaced and looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes.
"Ania told you, didn’t she," he breathed, and heaved a heavy sigh. "I wondered why she suggested coming here today ..."
"She’s worried about you," Alcmene repeated, catching his shoulder to turn his gaze back towards her. "I’m worried about you. Iolaus - you look as though you haven’t slept for days. Now," she considered briskly, "I’d expect to find a few shadows lurking round your eyes. I know you’ve been working hard on your house and setting up the forge and everything - and you’ve only had nine days to find out what being married is all about." He smiled at that - a wry, slightly embarrassed tell me about it kind of smile that more than banished the last of those worries. It clearly wasn’t second thoughts or anxieties over his relationship with Ania that were disturbing his dreams and wearying his spirit. "But this is more than that," she continued, the brief sense of relief quickly replaced by a deeper sense of concern. "This is something wrong. I know how stubborn you are," she said, backing the thought with decided affection, "but I don’t think this is something you can face just by digging in your heels and toughing it out. You’ve responsibilities, Iolaus. That lovely young woman through there, for a start."
"I know," he agreed tiredly. "But I don’t know what else I can do. It’s just a dream, Alcmene. A pretty vivid dream," he added, half under his breath. "But nothing more. You know," he tried to laugh, "all that stuff you said - about the house and the forge ... If Herc were around he’d think I’d gone crazy. This past couple of days I’ve been working like a Trojan - and you know why? Because I keeping hoping I can wear myself out enough to sleep the night through. Without the dream."
She frowned at the confession, hearing in it the note of desperation he was trying to hide. "It doesn’t work, does it?" she prompted gently and he sighed a second time, turning away again to stare out of the window at the late afternoon sun.
"Nope," he admitted. The word held more than weariness. It held a hint of despair.
Alcmene’s heart turned over at the sound of it. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, heedless of the fact that he wasn’t just a grown man, but also a seasoned warrior and an honored hero. For the moment - just that moment - he was the child she had always cherished as much as either of her own. He didn’t protest the gesture. He turned into it instead, accepting the comfort with another tired sigh. What can I do? she wondered, remembering the bright peacock feather that Ania had found. If this is Hera’s doing ...
Strengthen his spirit for a start. This was a battle he was facing, not just restless nights and lack of sleep. She’d need Ania’s help in persuading him to stop wasting his strength on hard work, and there were herbs they could gather to aid that strength and help him find a more refreshing sleep. Perhaps that would be enough to banish the nightmares that haunted him. And if not? If not, then she’d get word to Hercules. Somehow.
Because she knew it would be no good appealing to Zeus ...
"You want to talk about this dream of yours?" she asked, giving him an encouraging squeeze before reluctantly releasing him from her hug. He shook his head. A little too quickly for the denial to be reassuring.
A pretty vivid dream, he’d said. Perhaps it wasn’t just stubbornness that had stopped him from sharing the details of his battle with the woman that now shared his life.
If you dream the same dream more than twice then it's a true dream, and heralds the future ...
He knew Ania was worried. Had he kept silent on the content of the dream to keep from adding to her anxiety?
Or was it that he feared that - by describing his nightmares - he might actually make them come true?
Mother worries too much. Hercules was smiling to himself as he strode up the path, heading towards the sturdy house that nestled beneath the beech trees at the crown of the hill. The house wasn't a palace by any manner of means, but it looked both safe and inviting - and worth every dinar that had been spent on it. Iolaus had needed good gold to secure the land that he’d wanted to support his future; he’d paid the Theban Magistrate heavily for the grant of ownership, not to mention the additional cost of lodging the deed with the archive in Corinth. Staking unclaimed land wasn’t just a case of picking your spot and building on it. It took dinars to make sure you could legally keep it, once it was yours. Hercules had his own such nest egg, secreted away in a safe place for when the need arose. He even had eyes for the land it would buy him - the best part of the valley that lay between the lofty perch his best friend had chosen and the quiet spot occupied by his mother’s cottage.
One day, he considered, pausing to take a good look at the building that was his current destination. Three, four weeks ago he’d thought his friend to have gone completely mad; he’d believed that settling down was something other people did - and as for Iolaus doing it just because there was this woman he claimed to be crazy about ...
Three weeks was a long time. Especially when they encompassed several days that had never actually happened. Hercules felt his life had been changed by those non-existent events. By the trauma of living through his friend’s death. By the lessons he had learnt in Gargarenzia. By meeting a woman who - had not only demonstrated how wrong his thinking had been - but had also proved to him that he could, and would, one day find someone to whom he could give his heart.
He’d fought for Hippolyta and lost her. Had lost even the time he’d had with her. But he’d given that up gladly, knowing that it meant that she would live and be free from Hera’s hate. Knowing too that his demand for restitution of event would restore a missing piece of his world - one he’d discovered, far too late, that he did not want to face life without. Hero or farmer, married man or not, Iolaus was a part of his heart, and losing him had cut to the core.
And - because of Hippolyta - I finally understood what it was he’d been trying to tell me ...
He’d gone to the wedding without regrets; had kissed the bride and welcomed her to his family. He’d even found a smile when his mother had started teasing him about when he would find someone as special to share his life with. His heart ached for something that had never been - but it was an ache he could bear, since he knew what it had cost and what it had bought. Watching the way Iolaus had looked at Ania that day, Hercules had found himself thanking his father from the depths of his heart.
He was tempted to thank him again now, seeing a hint of smoke curl lazily up from the chimney that sat at the centre of the house. There was no matching plume from the chimney of the forge, so he assumed - with a grin - that Ania’s undoubted charms had lured Iolaus away from hard work and into the temptations of rewarding idleness.
The grin widened a little as he climbed a little further up the path. It was a warm day, the sun dappling down through the trees and the air sweet with the scents of a late spring. Flowers were bubbling up through the grass on the hillside, ready to be nibbled by the small scattering of sheep and goats that roamed the slope. Higher up on the hill, close to the eaves of the house itself, a pair of stately birch trees thrust silvered leaves up against the skyline. There was a hammock, stretched between the two trunks with one end higher than the other, just the way Iolaus had rigged his hammock on the Argo.
It’s so that, if I fall out in the night, he’d always explained, I’ll land feet first ...
Except that he’d just as often slept in it flat on his stomach and head down, and he’d never fallen out of it - apart from once in that exceptional storm, and the few times Jason, or Hercules himself, had deliberately tipped him onto the decking.
This hammock was hanging in a far less cramped location, and there was only the lightest of breezes to set it swaying, but its occupant lay sprawled in the mesh with much the same languid ease that he’d employed aboard ship. One blue clad arm was dangling over the side and the other was tucked up under the tumble of blond locks that occupied the pillow. Hercules chuckled softly at the sight; the man had to be asleep, because, while his friend was never averse to a little lazy relaxation, sleep was practically the only way his inexhaustible energies would surrender to such indolent stillness. Along with the few times that he’d forgotten to duck during a frenetic tavern brawl, of course ....
I knew mother was worrying over nothing, he decided indulgently.
Just as the figure in the hammock stirred into agitated restlessness and woke, voicing a strangled gasp of distress.
What the ...? Hercules lengthened his pace into a half run, unsure whether he should be alarmed or just burst out laughing. The sleeper had gone from total stillness to galvanised panic in a matter of seconds. He’d jerked awake and sat bolt upright - which had promptly misbalanced the hammock and pitched its occupant out, tangling him in a panicked spin before it dumped him onto the ground below.
That might have been funny - except that, after his ungainly landing, the blond hunter showed no sign of bouncing up with chagrined reaction. He simply lay there, sprawled face down and groaning quietly.
"Iolaus?" Hercules questioned, reaching his friend’s side and crouching down beside him with concern.
"Herc?" The response was doubtful; Iolaus rolled over with a decided effort and blinked up at the shadow that now loomed between him and the sun. "That you, buddy, or - ah, gods," he groaned, collapsing back with a sigh. "Bad enough you’re seeing things, Iolaus. Do you have to start talking to ’em too?"
The son of Zeus caught back a startled breath. The man on the ground was a wreck. His cheeks were sallow hollows, his skin was a haggard gray, his chin sported a rough scattering of blond stubble and his eyes were bleary, bloodshot wells, sunk deep into shadowed pits. He didn't just look ill, he looked deathly, a mere shadow of the man he ought to be. "Iolaus?" Hercules reacted, shock, horror and disbelief wrestling for dominance over the word. This was a joke - a bad joke. It had only been twelve - no, fourteen days - since he'd last seen his friend, and back then he'd been a perfect picture of health, brimming with enthusiasm and practically glowing with happiness. Suddenly Alcmene's anxious concerns made a lot more sense - and a cold hand clenched around a half-immortal heart as the memory of events he'd expunged from history came back with baleful clarity.
Memories of cradling his dying friend, helpless to do anything but watch as the warmth and the life ebbed out of him …
No!
Hercules' expression narrowed as he banished the recollection with determined anger. It hadn't happened. And while Iolaus was clearly ill, he wasn't actually dying. Not yet, at any rate …
The hunter had closed his eyes with a weary sigh; now he cautiously opened one of them to regard his company with wary consideration. "Ermm - ," he breathed suspiciously. "You still here?"
"Uh-huh," Hercules nodded, offering down a hand to help him get up. "I've got a standing invitation to visit, remember? Drop by any time, you said …"
"Oh yeah." The other eye opened and comprehension struck; Iolaus broke into a delighted, if effort filled grin. "Herc!" he exclaimed, grabbing for the outstretched arm and clinging to it with obvious relief. "I didn't know you were home."
"I didn't know you were sick," the son of Zeus countered, pulling his friend to his feet and then catching at his shoulders to stop him falling over again. "Iolaus, you look terrible. What happened?"
"Wish I knew," the hunter sighed. "Listen - you know Morpheus, don't you? Know him - personally, I mean?"
"We're acquainted," Hercules affirmed, frowning as his companion swayed unsteadily in front of him. If he didn't know better he'd think the man was drunk - but he'd been with Iolaus on uncountable occasions when he'd been the worse for drink, and this wasn't anything like any of them. "Why?"
"Because I'd like to know what I've done to make him so mad at me."
The frown dropped into puzzled concern. He's exhausted, he can't sleep, Alcmene had said. Go to him. Talk to him. He's in trouble and he needs you …
Hercules had actually smothered a smile at the idea. The man had been married less than a month, and - knowing the man a lot better than he thought his mother did - his friend felt he would have good reason for looking a little tired. Ania was an attractive, vivacious woman, and Iolaus was very much in love. It didn't take a genius to put those two facts together and come to an obvious and amusing conclusion.
But, however many nights the man might have spent in his wife's arms, exploring her undoubted charms, there was no way it could have reduced him to the bleary eyed, shattered figure that the son of Zeus was currently staring at.
And what's all this about Morpheus?
"Sit down," Hercules suggested, steering Iolaus towards the frontage of his house and the sturdy bench that occupied the space beside the door. "And tell me exactly what's been going on. What makes you think the god of dreams is angry with you?"
"Because he won't let me sleep." Iolaus collapsed onto the bench and tipped his head back so that it rested against the roughened surface of the wall. "Ohhh gods," he groaned, even more wearily than he had the first time. "All I wanna do is sleep …" A sudden grin cracked across his haggard features and he rolled his head sideways so that he could share the joke with his friend’s anxious consideration. "It’s not very often you’ve heard me say that."
"Hardly," Hercules agreed with a grimace of exasperation. It held a little relief too - despite his obvious physical exhaustion, the hunter’s spirit clearly remained undiminished. "There was that time - uh - after that battle at Platea ..."
Iolaus chuckled, somehow managing to make his amusement sound pained. "We’d been in combat for four days, Herc. Outnumbered ten to one at least. And you were the one that volunteered us to act as couriers for that General - what was his name?"
"Difardius," the son of Zeus supplied helpfully.
"Yeah - that was it. Difardius. Ugly character. Great tactician though ... What were we talking about?"
It wasn’t just an idle question; the hunter had genuinely lost his train of thought and his face creased into a puzzled frown as he struggled to find it again.
"You wanting to sleep," Hercules reminded him, still hoping for his explanation. Iolaus fought down a yawn.
"Oh yeah. That’s right. Because I can’t. Not for long anyway. Close my eyes, relax, and wham - I’m in the middle of this crazy dream. Same damn dream," he complained testily. "Night after night, hour after hour, every time I so much as drift ..." His lips tightened into stubborn lines and he glowered out at the landscape with resentful challenge. "You know the worst of it?" he demanded. Hercules shook his head, and Iolaus laughed, an empty sound without any humor in it. "I’m starting to see Amazons with my eyes open. Lurking," he elucidated over-dramatically, "behind every tree, in every shadow. They’re there, just at the edge of vision. I catch glimpses, I turn – and - " His hands went wide in a resigned, dismissive gesture. "- there they are. Gone. One day - maybe pretty soon," he sighed, sinking back against the wall, "they won’t be gone. And then ..." He completed the thought with a shrug. "Who knows?"
Hercules didn’t answer the rhetorical question. He didn’t even hear it. His mind had seized on one word in that effort filled speech and his heart had gone utterly cold. "Amazons?" he queried warily. "Did you say Amazons?"
"Uh - " Iolaus looked a little guilty, as if he’d admitted more than he’d intended to. "Yeah. Not that it matters. It’s just a dream, right?"
"You and I are in the woods," Hercules said slowly, studying the pallor of his friend’s face and the growing puzzlement in his eyes. "They ambush us - not many, just a few at first. We fight them off and they vanish, back into the trees. We walk a little further - and they strike again, stealing your sword and nearly dragging you down into their tunnels with it. We’re jumpy and on edge, expecting another attack. They don’t disappoint us. They swarm in, a dozen or more, striking from every direction. We fight them off again, but this time they’re persistent. One of them gets under your guard and you lose your temper, chasing off after the one responsible. I warn you - try and call you back, but you’re too angry to hear me. Your opponent turns as you catch up. You fight off two - three more before moving in to press your attack. You struggle and think you’ve got the upper hand. You tug away the mask that conceals the face of the enemy ..."
"There’s a woman glaring back at me," Iolaus continued, his voice pitched low and filled with taut horror. "I’m startled. Drop my guard and turn to warn you ..."
"And she puts a knife blade in your guts, twisting as she drives it home," Hercules capped, his own voice ragged with emotion as he re-lived the moment and all the feelings that went with it. It didn’t happen, his heart insisted, all the healing he‘d thought he‘d had found in the passing of time ripped away to leave the memory stark and bleeding. Father turned back time. It didn’t happen ...
But it was there, in the sky blue eyes that were staring at him, in the haggard, haunted face of his friend as they shared the impossible moment of his death.
"Gods," Iolaus whispered, his face a good three shades whiter than it had been before. "How did you know ...? I haven’t told anyone, Herc. Not a soul. At first it was just a dream and then - well, Ania was worried enough already ..."
"I was there," Hercules breathed, a cold shiver running through him. "It's not a dream, Iolaus. It's a memory. A memory you shouldn't have, of something that never happened."
His friend gave him a look of total puzzlement. What? he mouthed, his tired brain clearly wrestling to make sense - any sense - of the bizarre statement. The son of Zeus sighed, leaning back against the wall beside him and stretching out his legs with a sudden weariness of his own. The events of those non-existent days were a burden he knew his heart would carry for a long time to come. He'd been forced to examine the kind of man he was - and given the chance to explore the kind of man he wanted to be. He'd had a piece of his heart torn from his side by a moment’s mischance, and then lost the rest of it to a woman whose determined strength and independent spirit had unlocked a depth of emotion he'd never felt before.
Oh, Hippolyta …
She was lost to him. Lost forever, denied him by the malice of a jealous goddess and the patterns woven by the Fates. Only the experiences remained - and Iolaus, who had died in his arms and whose loss had shattered the armour of his heart. He didn't regret his choices. But it wasn't until now that he realised how raw his wounds still were.
"I didn't think I'd ever share this with anyone," he said softly. "But - maybe I need to." He smiled a little sadly and turned his head to consider the haggard face of his friend. "You already know how the story begins …"
He told it as succinctly as he could; how they'd answered the plea for help and traveled to Garagenzia together. How they'd been ambushed in the woods and how, numb with grief, he'd allowed himself to be taken prisoner by the Amazons. Iolaus's puzzlement slowly gave way to a determined frown of concentration. He didn't interrupt, but his expression betrayed a sympathy of emotions as Hercules unfolded his tale of confrontation, comprehension, love and, finally, loss. It wasn't an easy tale to tell, and the storyteller struggled to convey the true extent of his feelings. He raised a wry laugh explaining his strategy to bring the men of the village and the Amazons together, and a knowing smile when he added a brief reference to his own part in the 'distraction'. But the amusement in those tired blue eyes gave way to anger as the rest of the story emerged; by the time the son of Zeus came to detail his fight with the possessed Hippolyta, Iolaus was fuming with tight lipped fury. Bitch, he muttered softly, just loud enough to register his feelings without interrupting the tale. And his anger slid into sorrowed sympathy as his friend admitted the outcome of that unwanted conflict. Hercules found himself blinking tears from his eyes as he completed his tale.
"I'd already lost you," he confessed slowly. "I couldn't bear that she - that so many had to die because of me. I'd brought the wrath of Hera down on innocent people. I couldn't live with that. I couldn't bear the thought of coming home alone. Of having to tell Ania what had happened - or of having to live with it. With all of it, afterwards.
"But there was the candle, with its power over time. And my father, trying so hard to comfort me. I ordered him to use it. To turn time back on itself and give me a chance to change what had happened. He wasn't too sure - but in the end he did it. I found myself back at the dinner table with you and Ania and - when Pithius arrived to ask my help, I told him what he had to do. But I didn't go with him. I stayed in Thebes to be best man at your wedding - and I never met my Amazon Queen."
"Gods," Iolaus breathed, staring at him with wide eyed astonishment. "That's some story, Herc. How could you - ? You fell in love, right? And yet - "
Hercules shrugged, staring out at the view as if it held all the answers he needed. "I wanted her to live, more than I wanted her," he explained a little forlornly. "And I knew - if I had gone that day - you would have come with me, no matter what I said. I can still remember your blood on my hands. How it felt to lose you. Hippolyta was a dream, something I never had. But you - " He turned to consider his friend with a decidedly embarrassed smile. "You've been a part of me almost as long as I can remember." He shrugged, trying to make out this was no big deal. "I'm - used to having you around, I guess."
An amused look chased across his friend's haggard features. One that said yeah, right, and yet held a warm mixture of self consciousness and impish pleasure. Iolaus knew what he'd really meant - and was clearly touched by the sentiment.
"That'll - probably be the reason," the hunter acknowledged, his face conveying a wry appreciation that would have been hard to put into words.
"Well, I'm grateful, even if he isn't."
The voice spoke practically in Hercules' ear and both men reacted to its unexpected interjection with startlement. Warrior's instincts lifted the son of Zeus to his feet and spun him round defensively, while Iolaus - attempting to do the same - half sprang up, only to be overcome by an attack of giddiness which sank him dizzily back to the bench. "Ania," the hunter gasped, half laugh and half embarrassment, "how long have you been there?"
"Long enough," she answered warmly, throwing Hercules a sweet smile of greeting as she stepped out of the shadows in the doorway. He returned the smile, although his eyes narrowed, seeing in her face echoes of the strain and exhaustion that afflicted his friend.
It can't have been easy on her. These past days. Watching him struggle through this …
"I heard you cry out," Ania was explaining. She dropped onto the bench beside her husband and put her arm around him. "But when I came to the door, Hercules was with you"
Iolaus chuckled, lowering his weary head onto the comforting support of her shoulder. The son of Zeus couldn't help another smile at the sight, even though he was wrestling with the embarrassed comprehension that she must have heard every word of his story. He'd recognised the need to share the tale with his friend, but he hadn't intended anyone else to know about it.
And she'll have heard.
About the dream …
Iolaus had obviously just reached the same conclusion. He lifted his head and frowned at his wife a little worriedly. "Ania - " he began and she silenced him by placing a gentle finger to his lips.
"Ssh," she ordered softly, curling her fingers to stroke his stubbled cheek. "It's okay. I understand why you didn't tell me, but - I wish you had. And Hercules," she added, turning to look at him with sympathy, "thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you."
"Don't thank me just yet," he said, glancing around for a suitable perch since she'd taken his place on the bench. An upturned bucket on the other side of the doorway caught his eye and he reached down with a broad hand, moving it over so that he could use it for a seat. "None of that story happened. My father turned back time and I thought I was the only one to remember it. But - this dream …"
"Memory, you said," Iolaus corrected, sinking his head back to the support of his company's shoulder.
"I know," Hercules sighed. "But there's no way you could remember it. It just doesn’t make any sense."
"Tell me about it," Iolaus muttered, rolling his eyes with decided feeling. He'd been wrestling with the problem for days and, while hearing the story might have given him some insight into the background behind it, it had hardly identified a solution. Hercules reached over and clasped his arm in a gesture of comradely support.
This needs to end. He needs to sleep. Before the lack of it kills him …
"There is a god involved in this," the son of Zeus decided pensively. "But I doubt that it's Morpheus. He'd be luring you into his realm, not driving you out of it. And Mnemosyne could hardly send you a memory you didn't have …"
Ania gave him a wary look. "Didn't Alcmene tell you?" she asked.
"Tell me what?"
"Umm - " She glanced down at her husband's face and flushed, biting at her bottom lip with a sudden attack of guilt. Whatever she was referring to, she hadn't mentioned it to him. Iolaus was looking as puzzled as Hercules. "About the feather? I found - a peacock feather," she explained, her words tumbling out in a mixture of haste and guilt. "Tucked under our pillows. About a week ago."
"What?" Iolaus reacted, sitting up and staring at her. "You never mentioned that to me."
"I didn't want to worry you," she said, a little defensively. He frowned at her.
"You find something in our bed, and you tell Alcmene but you don't tell me - because you don't want to worry me?" His words were tight, his sudden flare of temper probably spurred as much by his physical state as it was by the import of her revelation.
"Well, you were the one saying the dream was nothing to worry about," Ania shot back, equally hotly. "If you weren't so stubborn headed - "
"Whoa!" Hercules ordered, reaching out to grasp a wrist apiece and frown at them both with amused exasperation. "Time out, okay? You were both trying to protect each other. There's no need to get mad over that."
"No," his friend sighed, offering his wife a weary smile of contrition. "I'm sorry. I - " Ania interrupted the sentence by leaning forward to kiss him, delivering a warm apology of her own. "- love you," Iolaus completed as he surfaced from the contact, looking a little dazed. She smiled at him with teasing devotion.
"You mean you didn’t marry me for my dumplings?"
He smirked, a wicked look that brought a rise of colour to her cheeks and rolled Hercules’s eyes briefly skyward. "Not - exactly," the hunter chuckled. "You - ah - really found a feather? A peacock feather?"
"Mmhuh," she affirmed.
"Hera," both men chorused in common comprehension, exchanging a look that spoke volumes.
"She’s the one responsible?" Ania squeaked. Her husband nodded grimly.
"Curse her," Hercules swore quietly. "Always trying to have the last word. Why can’t she leave me and my family alone?"
Iolaus shrugged. "You make her mad just existing," he pointed out. "As for me? Well - maybe she noticed how I helped you kick that monster’s butt. You know - the one she sent just before the wedding? I told you taking that torch from her altar wasn’t a good idea."
The son of Zeus found a wry smile and squeezed his friend’s captive wrist with comradely affection. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "You did, didn’t you ... I don’t think that’s it, though. My father said she’d be mad at him if he interfered the way I wanted. Maybe she remembers - and this is her way of getting back at me."
Ania frowned at him. "How does robbing Iolaus of his sleep get back at you?" she asked puzzledly. "You haven’t even been here."
"I’m here now," Hercules sighed, releasing his hold on his friend’s wrist so that Iolaus could reach for his wife’s cheek and offer it a comforting caress. She leant into the contact with abstracted reaction and kissed his palm, her eyes never leaving their guest’s face. "She’s a malicious bitch, Ania. Don’t let all that stuff about her being the goddess of marriage and fidelity fool you. She hates people to be happy, and she hates me. I’d thought - that my choosing to give up Hippolyta, my having to live with that loss, would be enough to cool her anger. Looks like I was wrong."
It wasn’t enough, that the threat of her actions deny me a piece of my heart.
She wants to cut out the rest of it and taunt me with its bleeding corpse ...
"I don’t understand," Ania protested. Iolaus sighed.
"I do," he said. "I think. Herc chose not to go to Gargarenzia - not to risk a second chance with - umm - Hippolyta, right?" Hercules nodded. "Because," the hunter continued thoughtfully, "he was afraid I’d get killed. Again," he concluded, the bizarreness of the statement twisting his weary expression into a pensive frown.
"So?" his wife asked.
"So," he insisted, looking at her as if he expected the dinar to drop any second, "Hera goes for me because it’s me Herc was trying to protect ..." The dinar dropped on both sides of the coin; Ania went white, and Iolaus froze in startled horror as his own logic penetrated his tired brain. "Herc?" he realised, turning to share his wide eyed comprehension with his best friend. "You think - she’s trying to kill me here?"
Hercules frowned. "I don’t know," he admitted. "I don’t suppose she really cares. As long as I suffer she doesn’t give a damn who else she hurts - although I wouldn’t put it past her to enjoy inflicting a little misery along the way. I just wish I knew how she was doing it." He dropped his head briefly into his hands, scrubbing at his face with despairing frustration. "She has no direct power in either Mnemosyne or Morpheus’s domain," he realised. "There has to be something - a token, a cursed item, something she’s imbued with her power - " He paused to eye his friend suspiciously. "You didn’t - invoke her in any way when you built the house, did you?"
Iolaus snorted. "You think I’m crazy? All I did was ask for Hestia’s blessing on the hearthstone, sacrificed a chicken to Hephaestus when I laid the foundations for the forge, and left out a jug of wine for Zeus so he’d keep lightning away from the roof - oh, and I always dedicate my first kill to the Huntress when I’m hunting. But you know that."
"Mmm," his friend acknowledged abstractedly. Blooding his blade in Artemis’s name, whether that be dagger, arrow or spear, had been a habit Iolaus had never gotten out of, no matter how many times Hercules had pointed out that his sister probably didn’t care one way or another. The old man who had taught Iolaus his best hunter’s tricks had always done it, and the habit had stuck; Iolaus always claimed his grandfather had been the best Tracker and Forester that Attica had ever had, and if it had worked for him then it surely wouldn’t hurt for his grandson to follow suit. But calling on Artemis was hardly going to give Hera power over a man - the Queen of Heaven hated the Huntress almost as much as she hated Hercules.
Nor would any of the other gods he’d mentioned be likely to give her a suitable opportunity for this kind of attack ...
"Hercules?" Ania questioned tentatively. "This - token - you’re talking about ... Might it be - something meant to work magic?"
Hercules lifted his head to stare at her. She was back to biting her lower lip, anxious worry written in her eyes. Iolaus was looking at her with a puzzled frown.
"You have something like that?" the son of Zeus questioned softly. Ania’s face crumpled into lines of distress.
"Yes. I do. It's meant to - well, Mother was only trying to help ... See - when Iolaus paid Father my dowry? One of the goats was killed by a wolf that very night. Remember?"
"Remember?" Iolaus snorted. "I spent three days tracking down that son of a bitch. His skin’s lying in front of our hearth fire."
"Well," Ania continued reluctantly, "Mother said it was a bad omen. A sign that his heart might stray, or that the marriage was ill-starred. I told her she was just being silly, but - " she sighed dejectedly, "she said it was always better to be safe than sorry. And that there were ways. I didn’t think that much about it at the time, but - the day before we were married? Mother took me to see this old woman she’d heard about. A seeress, you know? She gave me this ..." She held out her hand, letting the beaded bracelet that hung at her wrist slide out from under her sleeve. "She told me that - if I never took it off - then my husband would be faithful to me until the day he died."
"Yeah," Hercules breathed, staring at the pattern of gold, blue and green beads that draped her arm. Peacock colours. "Which would be - four, five weeks after the wedding ..."
Iolaus winced. "Some insurance," he muttered. "Ania," he protested softly. "Don’t you trust me?"
"I trust you," she answered, sounding a little hurt. "But - Mother insisted. And it was such a pretty bracelet." She smiled a little wanly. "The blue beads - they’re the same colour as your eyes ..."
"Bingo," Hercules considered grimly. "There’s the culprit. Typical too - malicious evil all wrapped in a seemingly innocent and pretty package. Like sweet deceiving words that beguile a heart in search of guidance - or little girls that turn into monsters when you get too close."
Ania stared down at the intricate bracelet with wide and haunted eyes. "I had no idea," she declared in a shaky voice. "And Mother - "
"Your mother is as innocent in this as you are," the son of Zeus assured her firmly. "But she should put her trust in people, not in magician’s promises - and never the power of the gods."
"Amen to that," Iolaus noted, catching Ania’s hand with one of his own and reaching for the suspect jewelry with the other. "Now let’s just burn this cursed thing ..."
"Whoa," Hercules interrupted, catching at the hunter’s wrist before he could complete the gesture. "I don’t think you should touch it. It’s done you enough harm already. Let me."
"Sure." Iolaus agreed, lifting his wife’s hand and offering it in exchange for his own. "Just be careful, okay?" A warm smile twinkled behind his eyes as he added, "I haven’t finished with her yet ..."
Ania giggled, and Hercules frowned at his friend good naturedly, his own steel blue eyes echoing the smile. "I’ll be careful," he promised. He held the young woman's arm in one hand and carefully slid the beaded bracelet off her wrist with the other. The beads felt cool to the touch and the leather that bound them was deceptively soft. Ania flinched as he pulled it free, and jerked her arm back in reactive pain; something in the intricate jewelry had dug into her hand and drawn blood.
"Ouch," she said, pouting at the offending injury. Iolaus threw his friend an irked look.
"I told you to be careful," he protested, gathering up his wife's hand and examining the damage. Hercules frowned.
"I was." His hand closed over the suspect jewelry, strong fingers compacting the bundle of beads into a tight ball. "This thing doesn't have any sharp edges. And that was too easy," he added, the frown deepening into decided concern.
Hera doesn’t give up that easily.
Maybe this isn't what she's been using …
But if the bracelet was just an innocent piece of jewelry, why had removing it drawn blood?
And why were the beads getting warmer …?
He jerked his hand open as a sudden flare of heat ate into his palm. The leather that had held the beads together had burst into flame - and the reactive gesture tossed the burning bracelet up into the air, where the fire consumed it with hungry speed. All that was left were the half dozen dark gold beads, which rained down like a miniature shower of sparks and immediately sank into the ground.
"Get Ania out of here!" Hercules exclaimed, feeling the ground tremble and the air around him crackle with power. Iolaus didn't need the advice. He was already moving, pulling his wife to her feet and pushing her into the safety of the house.
"Get me my sword - a weapon - something," he ordered tightly, planting himself firmly in the doorway. Ania disappeared into the interior of the building leaving her husband poised to defend it from whatever might arrive. Hercules had leapt backwards, knocking over the bucket and kicking it up into the air where he'd caught it, readying it as a makeshift weapon. He glanced across at his friend's pale but determined face and a cold hand clamped itself around his heart. Iolaus was in no fit state for a fight. He could barely stand upright …
The ground bubbled and broke, giving birth to a heavily built figure, one armoured in the same dark gold as the fallen beads. Another rose up beside him, and then another; their features - if they had any - concealed behind the sinister face plates on their helmets. They were armed with jagged edged two handed swords and they took only a moment to orientate themselves before charging to the attack. Hercules knocked the first one clean off his feet with a sweep of the bucket and then leapt backwards as the other two converged on his position.
Gods, they're fast …
He ducked the sweep of a long blade, and dropped into a roll as another swooshed past his shoulder. The third figure was clambering upright - and behind it another two had emerged from the earth, their armour gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Hercules cursed, springing back to his feet and swinging the bucket round in a wide arc. This was going to be tough. Wood hit solid metal and splintered into a thousand slivers - but not before the impact slammed its intended victim back into one of its companions. Both creatures tangled in a jangle of sound and the third had to leap backwards in order to avoid them.
The fourth charged him, forcing Hercules to duck and sidestep, slamming his elbow into an armoured shoulder and following through with a backward hook from his right foot. A quick step up stamped his weight into the now fallen creature's chest and allowed him a platform from which he could dive at the two still struggling to be free of each other.
Have to make this quick …
The need for haste pounded his heart into overdrive. He'd caught sight of a sixth figure, the last to emerge, closing in on the man who stood in the doorway. Iolaus had snatched up the broom that had been propped against the house and was using it to deflect a series of hacking blows intended to separate his head from his shoulders.
"Hold on!" Hercules called, acutely conscious that his friend had been systematically robbed of his usual strength, speed, and energy by Hera's malicious assault on his well being. "I'll be right there …"
An arm wrapped his throat from behind, pulling him backwards into restraint. Two figures closed in for the kill. An armored glove slammed into his side, followed by the heavy impact of a boot planted in his stomach. He reached up, grabbed his captor’s arm and kicked out with both feet, sending both warriors tumbling. A quick twist flipped him over the creature's shoulder and out of its grip. As it turned in confusion his fist was waiting; the gold clad warrior went flying, landing flat against the side of the house and making the whole building shake.
A rapid spin intercepted the downward slash of another sword. Hercules grabbed the creature's arm and tossed it over his head, sending it slamming into the fifth attacker and sprawling both of them in the grass.
Don't these guys get the hint?
He was fighting at full stretch, not bothering to pull any of his punches. Mortal men would have been staggering by now.
Only these weren't mortal men. They were Hera's dedicated assassins, and they wouldn't stop until they'd achieved their intended goal - or until they'd been destroyed.
Still - at least he'd made himself a breathing space. He turned, only to find the first two he'd knocked over back on their feet and advancing towards him. Over the left-hand warrior's shoulder he caught sight of desperate conflict. The broom handle had been sliced in two and Iolaus was darting this way and that, barely able to avoid the slashing advance of his opponent. He ducked away from the doorway, and spun round, only just managing to ward off the next blow with the remnants of the broken broom. Even as Hercules recognised his difficulty the sword sliced round again. The hunter dodged again - only to take a sideways strike from the heavy hilt as his attacker followed through on his swing. It sent him reeling, staggering him to his knees, and the assassin turned, lifting his weapon in preparation for a killing blow.
"Iolaus …" Hercules cried, just as he had done that day, seeing death descend with heart stopping inevitability. He dived forward, but there were metal clad hands dragging at him, holding him back. He lashed out with desperate fury, struggling to reach his friend and knowing - with anguished certainty - that once again he would be too late …
The air was shattered with a sound; a metallic clang that reverberated through ear and body and bone like the impact of Hephaestus's hammer as it struck his Olympian anvil. The armoured figure suddenly froze, the death strike jerking to a halt less than an inch from its intended target. A crack - a dark flaw - scuttled across its helmet and down the face plate. Another followed, then another, a crackling series of fault lines that ate at the gleam of gold. Within mere seconds the whole of the armour was painted with the devouring damage - after which the thing just collapsed in on itself, shattering into a myriad pieces and leaving nothing behind but a shower of gleaming dust.
Hercules had fought free of restraining warriors by then; he closed the remaining distance to stare - as Iolaus was staring - at Ania's determined face where she stood in the doorway, the dark shape of a heavy iron frying pan firmly gripped in both her hands.
"I couldn't find your sword," she said in a somewhat dazed voice. "Will - this do?"
Will this - ? Hercules broke into a broad grin, kicking back with one foot to discourage the gold clad warrior that was creeping up behind him. Iolaus simply giggled, shaking his head and then clearly regretting the action.
"Ania," he declared a little breathlessly. "I love you …" He staggered back to his feet, planted a hasty kiss on her cheek and - seizing the unlikely weapon that she held out to him - spun round, wielding the pan two handed like a club. Another of those bone shattering notes echoed across the hillside as the blow made contact. The advancing assassin also jerked to a frozen halt, crackled, cracked - and shattered into nothingness.
"All right!" Iolaus declared with relish, flashing a weary but delighted grin in his best friend's direction. A look passed between them - an acknowledgment of something neither of them would have been able to put into words - and then the son of Zeus was striding back into battle, ducking the whirl of sword blades to disarm the attackers and toss them almost casually over his shoulder.
Where they were dispatched with determined enthusiasm, each moment of their dissolution marked by a reverberating clang that echoed and re-echoed across the landscape as if Titans still battled for its possession.
They’ll hear that clear back to Corinth, Hercules found himself thinking with a triumphant smile. Or better yet -
Clear to Olympus!
He reached out for the last warrior, knocking its sword aside with resolute ease. Unstoppable foes were hardly a threat once you’d figured out how to stop them ...
He seized a metal clad arm and doubled its owner over with a roundhouse into his guts. His knee lifted, delivering a satisfying impact that collapsed the figure like a broken marionette - then he stepped aside and simply bowled the last assassin towards the house with a deceptively offhand flip. The armoured warrior tumbled over at least five times and ended up in a dazed heap; it lifted its head unsteadily - in time to take the full impact of solid cast iron straight in its face.
"Ow," Iolaus complained over the clangor of the creature’s demise. The frying pan slipped from his hands and he shook his wrists to disperse the effects of that last vibration. "Am I glad that’s the last one. That was the last one, right?" he asked, looking around for confirmation.
"Yeah," Hercules grinned, then strode back in haste, reaching his friend’s side in time to catch him as his legs gave way. "You okay?"
"Uh - " the hunter struggled for an answer, leaning into the proffered support with decided relief. "I’ll let you know ... Whoa. You - think - you can stop - the world going round?"
The son of Zeus chuckled. "Not without making everyone on it fall off," he said with affable reasonableness. "How in Hades name did you manage to dodge like that when you were seeing double?"
"Triple," Iolaus corrected, assaying a dizzy grin. "Double was yesterday ..."
"Come on," Hercules decided, dipping down to lift the man up and sling him over his shoulder. "Time you got some sleep. Serious sleep." He winked at Ania, who was still standing in the doorway, a wide-eyed look on her face.
"That'd be nice …" her husband muttered, letting his body go limp rather than contesting his sudden abduction. His friend grinned, striding across the short distance to where the abandoned hammock still swung. Once there, he reached out and untwisted the net before depositing his burden into its support - apparently with a casual shrug, but actually with a great deal of care. "Thanks," the hunter murmured, relaxing into the netting and finding a weary smile for his wife as she retrieved the fallen pillow and tucked it tenderly under his head.
"You're welcome," Hercules acknowledged mildly, as if it were no big deal. Iolaus grinned at him - and then succumbed to a huge yawn. With the last of Hera's malicious influence out of the picture the results of his enforced insomnia were catching up with him with a vengeance.
"You do - realise," he pointed out sleepily, "that we just kicked Hera's butt with a bucket, a broom, and a frying pan?"
"Uhuh."
"You think - " Another yawn, more overwhelming than the first. "She'll be mad?"
"Mmhum."
Iolaus closed his eyes and smiled a happy - am I glad of that - kind of smile. "Oh good," he noted, giggled - and promptly fell asleep, the smile still painted across his face.
Hercules' expression echoed the man's pleasure, although a faint skein of worry snaked its way through his heart. He didn't trust his vengeful stepmother; he just had to hope that her anger would be directed at him for thwarting her plans, and not at the man she'd been planning to kill …
Ania had a far more pensive smile on her face. She reached down to gently brush the now sleeping man’s hair away from his face, probably well aware that it would tumble back into disarray at the slightest opportunity, and then followed the gesture with a butterfly kiss to his cheek. "Is it - over?" she asked, her voice pitched low as she straightened up again. Hercules looked up from studying how his friend’s haggard features had finally relaxed into peaceful slumber and found himself looking at decidedly worried eyes.
"It’s over," the son of Zeus assured her.
For now, at least ...
He took the young woman’s arm and led her back towards the house so that they could talk without the need for whispers. Not, he suspected, that any conversation would disturb his friend, who had fallen so swiftly into the arms of Morpheus it was as if the god himself had paid personal attention to the deed.
"You know," Ania considered, looking up at him with thoughtful respect. "I’ve heard a lot of stories - well, you know - about you and what you’ve done. People round here think you’re pretty special." She laughed a little embarassedly. "Iolaus - tells some of them a little differently. Not that he doesn’t think you’re special," she hastily explained. "Just that - when other people tell the stories, most of the time he isn’t in them."
Hercules smiled to himself, bending to pick up the pieces of the shattered broom. "He should be," he said. "Half of our adventures were his fault to begin with. You want me to cut you another handle for this?" He glanced up and around, finally reading reality into what had looked - on the surface - to be an idyllic scene. The forge was dark because its fire had been left to die untended. And the goats and sheep were wandering because nobody had managed to chivvy them back to their pens.
What did he tell me? Animals - run away from her?
Ania had had more important things to worry about than the well being of a handful of goats - but the stock was an important part of their resources, and it couldn’t be left to just wander away ...
"Uh - " Ania frowned at the broom. "I guess. What I’m trying to say - " She struggled with the words while Hercules contemplated his mother’s reaction when she heard he wouldn’t have time to tackle that wall after all. He was going to have other chores to attend to. Like ensuring that his best friend’s hard work and future livelihood didn’t fall apart on him before he was well enough to get back to it.
"I didn’t believe him."
There. It was out. Ania was staring guiltily at the ground, shuffling at a broken shard of bucket with her sandled toe and looking decidedly dejected.
What?
Hercules stopped worrying about domestic matters and stared at her with mild incredulity. "You didn’t - Ania," he asked puzzledly, "if you thought he was a liar, why did you marry him?"
She shrugged, colouring a little. It was, Hercules decided, looking through his friend’s eyes for a moment, a very pretty blush. "Because - I didn’t care. I love him. He’s funny, and he’s gentle, and he’s got this smile ..." She tailed off, looking even more embarrassed than ever. "I just thought - I knew he knew you, and that you were friends, and - that he had sailed on the Argo with Jason, so that bit was – was - " She tailed off a second time, her explanation faltering under the gently amused consideration she was getting.
"You thought he was - exaggerating," Hercules concluded, trying hard not to laugh. "Well, he probably does. A little. I don’t always remember events the way he tells them. But he’s much more than just my friend, Ania. He’s my sword brother. And those stories - the monsters, the warlords, the battles, the voyage on the Argo, and all of that - they all happened. By accident half the time. We’d never go looking for trouble - well," he grinned, "I never did. But it always found us. He’s fought at my back and by my side more times than I care to think about. He’s a part of my life. An important part of it. That’s why Hera - she knew attacking him this way would hurt me. And why I did what I did, in those woods outside Gargarenzia."
"I know," Ania acknowledged in a small voice. "Now. I watched you fight those - things. I saw how he took up a stance against them, even though he was practically dead on his feet. And I saw how hard you fought to reach him when ..." She drew in a shaky breath, trying to cover it with a little laugh. "My husband. A true hero. And I - doubted him ..."
"You saved his life," the son of Zeus pointed out, glancing back towards the hammock and the man it cradled. "Maybe mine too. I think that’s probably apology enough."
She stared up at him, her eyes bright with the threat of tears and her heart clearly wrestling with the trauma of what she saw as her betrayal, along with the anxiety of the days that preceded it.
She doubted him. She agreed to wear Hera’s charm because she didn’t trust him.
And it’s breaking her heart ...
He found her a warm smile, reaching for both her hands and holding them in a strong but gentle grip. "Ania," he told her confidently, "he adores you. He’s chosen to give up those adventures so that he can spend the rest of his life with you. One day, soon I hope, I’m going to find a woman just as special to share my life with. And when I do, I’m going to build a house down there in the valley, and you and she will spend your days telling each other how impossible we both are. Maybe," he added with a modest grin, "he and I’ll sneak off for the odd adventure here and there. Rout a few bandits. Hunt down the occasional monster. But right now," he concluded briskly, "I’m going to cut you a new broom, relight the forge fire, round up those sheep - and generally make this house a fit place for a hero of Greece to be found sleeping in. Want to give me a hand?"
He fixed her with a challenging but friendly eye - and after a moment, she blushed again. Very prettily. And found him a determined smile.
"Sure," she agreed. "As long as you’re the one that chases the sheep. They’re scared of me..."
Hercules laughed, and set to work with a light heart and a sense of warmth in his soul. This time he’d won. The threat was ended and his friend was safe.
And, what’s more, he’d finally been able to share with him memories of those lost events that had opened his eyes and unchained his heart ...
The clash of steel. The whisper of leather and rope whipping through the air. The grunt of effort and the impact of blows. Bodies whirl around him; too many, from too many directions. Then the one - the one that tips adrenaline into anger, the one that gets too close. He snarls. The enemy backs away ...
Then he’s racing in pursuit, all thought of tactics swallowed by the impulse, the desire to whip this one’s butt and show them what’s what.
"No, Iolaus," the call comes, anxious words delivered in familiar tones. "Stay at my back ..."
Too late. He’s pell mell in the woods, facing the infuriating fighter. They exchange blows, but it’s his skill and speed that gets the upper hand. The enemy pinned. The mask torn away. The startlement of the moment ...
"Hey! Herc - it’s a woman!"
Only it’s Ania, and she’s reaching out, pulling him into her arms to kiss him.
Deeply.
Lovingly.
And with a kiss that makes his toes curl ...
Disclaimer: Iolaus’s sleep patterns were not caused any permanent harm by his involuntary insomnia. However, his memories of non-existent events were filed away and were later able to be given in evidence ...
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