The Cauldron of Dreams

"Come on. It must be through here."

Jason moved lightly through the corridors of the long abandoned palace, his companions at his heels.

"We're never going to find it in this maze," Hercules complained. "I always say it's never too late to give up and go back. A man should know when he's beaten."

Jason shot an exasperated look at him.

"Cassandra said that if we wanted to get past the Scylla we need the draught containing Aphrodite's tears," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "It should be just up ahead in the treasury… but remember what she said – don't touch anything else in there!"

At the back of the group, Pythagoras exchanged a look with Icarus, rolling his eyes at Jason's single minded determination and Hercules' complaining; both were expected. Icarus' lips twitched as he suppressed the urge to laugh out loud.

In a way Hercules was right, Pythagoras reflected: the palace they found themselves in was vast and labyrinthine. It would be more than easy to get lost in here. Jason was moving forwards confidently, however, as though he knew exactly where he was going; as though he was being drawn onwards. But then he always did. Perhaps it was another aspect of being touched by the Gods? Pythagoras made the mental note to try to discuss it with his friend at a more opportune moment. If Jason's unnaturally acute sense of direction was a Gods given gift it could come in very handy in the future.

He would have to pick his moment though. Talking about the gifts that Jason had inherited from his mother was always a touchy subject. In fact anything to do with Pasiphae was a touchy subject as far as Jason was concerned. Pythagoras privately suspected it was because, at least in part, Jason was afraid of what he might do; what he might become. He had been lured away into darkness once and the mathematician believed that his friend was afraid of it happening again – however unlikely that seemed to everyone else.

They rounded another corner. Ahead of them the corridor seemed to end in a blank wall.

"What did I tell you!" Hercules whinged. "We're lost."

Fortunately, perhaps, his friends chose to ignore him.

Jason moved into the dead end. He looked at the wall to his left for a long moment and then turned to the right where an apparently new torch still unexpectedly sat in the sconce; a strange sight since everything else in this abandoned palace was rapidly rotting away. Jason's eyes narrowed as he peered at it, before turning back to look at the opposite wall.

"What is it?" Pythagoras asked, coming to stand at his shoulder.

"Don't know," Jason answered thoughtfully. "Something Cassandra said… about shadows showing the way forwards." He looked at the sconce again. "Can I have the torch for a minute?" he asked.

Icarus handed it to him without a word. Jason carefully lit the torch on the wall and handed it back with a half-smile of thanks. He peered at the sconce again then fumbled in a small pouch at his belt, taking out a small metal object. He bit his lip.

"Cassandra gave me this before we left Argo," he said softly. "She said that when there seemed to be no way forwards this would guide us."

"That's the problem with mystic oracles," Hercules grumbled. "Unless you can manage to pin them down, they're so vague that you can't really understand what they're going on about."

Pythagoras glanced at him disapprovingly. Up until now Cassandra had always seemed far more helpful and specific in her advice than the old Oracle had been, although he did have to admit that what she had told Jason this time seemed more than a little random.

"What are you thinking?" he asked his heroic friend, who was still looking between the sconce and the opposite wall.

"That there's a tiny socket at the front of the sconce that this would fit in perfectly," Jason murmured.

He stepped up to the sconce and slotted the little metal object into the socket with an audible click.

Pythagoras peered at it closely. It was a tiny effigy of Aphrodite, the smallest that Pythagoras had ever seen, her arms outstretched by her sides showing off her naked glory.

Jason exchanged a quick look with Pythagoras and turned to face the opposite wall. The light from the torch behind the little effigy cast her shadow large on the wall. Jason moved stepped over to it without speaking and examined the shadow carefully. He placed the palms of his hands flat against the shadow of the Goddess' and gently pushed. There was a grinding noise and then the entire section of wall swung away to reveal a set of steps cut from the rock that the palace was built on and plunging down into darkness.

"I guess we go that way then," Icarus remarked softly. Somehow it seemed almost sacrilegious to raise their voices in such a silent place.

Holding the torch aloft, the inventor's son began the descent down the steps, his companions at his heels.

The stairs opened out into a surprisingly large chamber. Icarus held the torch aloft and stared around in wonder. From somewhere behind him he heard one of his friends' gasp. The contents of the room were incredible. Gold and precious objects littered every surface; everywhere they looked revealed a new wonder.

"We found the treasury then," Icarus remarked dryly.

"Remember… we mustn't touch anything," Jason murmured earnestly. "We need to get the draught and get out of here."

Pythagoras rolled his eyes once more. Jason was stating the obvious again; they all knew why they were here after all. He peered around the chamber.

"How do we find it though?" he asked. "Do we know what the vial actually looks like? In all this treasure we could easily miss it. Hercules, stop that!" he added, spotting his old friend about to touch a golden cup. Perhaps Jason's warning had been needed after all, he reflected.

"I do not think that that is going to be a problem," Icarus murmured, wonder colouring his tone.

Pythagoras looked sharply at him. Icarus was standing still, staring at something in front of him. The mathematician followed his lover's gaze. He drew in a sharp breath.

On a pedestal on its own on the far side of the chamber there was a small, bejewelled bottle, well-sealed with wax. A shaft of light from somewhere above bathed it in luminescence, making the jewels glitter brightly. The pedestal itself was carved with depictions of Aphrodite herself, in many forms. Icarus was right. It was obvious that this was what they had come for. It had clearly been the most highly prized treasure in the chamber for the former occupants of the palace.

"What do you think happened to them?" Icarus asked, echoing Pythagoras' thoughts.

"Who?" Hercules demanded testily, coming to stand beside Pythagoras.

He still hadn't fully forgiven Icarus for his betrayal and generally avoided speaking to the young man wherever possible, so Pythagoras took any attempt to engage in conversation as a good sign.

"The people who lived here," Icarus answered. "They left everything of value behind. I can't see anyone doing that willingly."

"Does it matter?" Hercules demanded. "Let's just do what we came here to do and get back to the boat."

"That may be more difficult than it seems," Pythagoras murmured, staring hard at the pedestal.

In front of it a chasm opened up in the floor. The four men approached carefully and peered down into it. The bottom was out of sight.

"Looks deep," Icarus mumbled.

Pythagoras resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. Sometimes he didn't know whether the award for stating the obvious should go to Jason or Icarus. He turned his attention to the beam that spanned the chasm, stretching from the floor of the main chamber where they stood to the small platform that the pedestal stood on. It looked none to stable; it appeared to have been charred at some point and looked more than a little rotten.

"That does not look safe to use," he stated, "so we must look for another way to cross."

"Maybe we could build a bridge," Icarus said.

"Build a bridge?" Hercules spluttered. "Build a bridge? And I suppose you have all the things we would need to build a bridge in your bag, do you?"

Icarus flushed.

"Hercules!" Pythagoras admonished sharply. "Icarus was only trying to help."

"It was a ridiculous idea," Hercules replied loudly.

Icarus rolled his eyes. He was growing used to the fact that any idea he had would automatically be ridiculed by Hercules. Pythagoras had been quick to tell him that Hercules would forgive him eventually but he couldn't help but wish that the big man would get on with it.

"And do you have any better ideas?" Pythagoras demanded of his older friend. "It may not be such a ridiculous idea as you seem to think. If we were to search upstairs, we might perhaps find some wood that we could use to put a makeshift bridge together."

Hercules snorted.

"I might have known you'd take his side," he growled.

As the two old friends descended into bickering (not an unusual occurrence by any means), Icarus was distracted by a movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye. He turned with a frown to see Jason pulling the strap of his sword up over his head.

"Would you mind holding this?" the young hero asked softly, handing the sword to Icarus.

Icarus blinked in surprise.

"Of course," he muttered, taking it off Jason.

Jason flashed him one of his soft, almost shy smiles and moved to unlace his breastplate, completely ignoring his arguing friends. He slipped the armour over his head and held it out to Icarus too.

"And this?" he asked, before bending and unlacing his sandals and stepping out of them.

"Why are you getting undressed?" Icarus asked in confusion.

"I need to be able to move as freely as possible," Jason responded.

Finally alerted to the fact that his impulsive friend was up to something, Pythagoras turned away from the still spluttering Hercules.

"Jason? What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Going over there to get Aphrodite's tears," Jason answered serenely, moving behind the rest of them and backing up to give himself a good run up. He started to rock from the heel of one foot to the ball of the other, hands swinging loosely at his sides and his eyes intent as he stared at the beam across the chasm.

"Are you mad?" Hercules demanded. "It'll never hold your weight."

"Trust me," Jason replied with a soft smile, never taking his eyes off his target.

"Jason," Pythagoras began, moving towards his friend.

Before he could get there though, Jason took off, racing towards the chasm at full speed. At the last possible moment he jumped and flicked in the air, bringing his hands down in the centre of the beam and pushing back off them into a spectacular somersault. He had landed on the other side before any of his friends had had chance to catch their breath.

"Show off!" Hercules called across the gap.

Jason shot him a bright, lop-sided grin over his shoulder. Then he turned back to the pedestal in front of him. He licked his lips, reached out and carefully lifted up the vial, half expecting to set off some sort of booby trap like in the Indiana Jones films he used to watch as a kid.

Nothing happened.

He turned back to face his friends. Getting back across was going to be much trickier than getting over here, he decided. The platform was decidedly on the small side and the pedestal was in the way, meaning that he couldn't get a decent run up.

Oh well, nothing ventured and all that.

Jason carefully tucked the small vial inside the lacings of his wrist brace, relying in the tight strip of leather to keep it in place. He backed up as far as the pedestal would allow and ran towards the beam, knowing that the lack of run up would mean that he couldn't launch himself as far as he had when he had crossed the first time.

This time he only made it about a third of the way down the beam before his hands came down. He pushed himself off into a handspring, hoping his momentum would carry him far enough along the beam. As his feet came down though, he heard the wood crack and desperately launched himself forwards towards the floor of the chamber where his friends waited even as the beam gave way and fell into the chasm beneath him.

He nearly made it back to safety but the jump was just that bit too far and he found himself scrabbling frantically at the edge of the chasm with his fingers, before Hercules' strong hand caught hold of his wrist and hauled him back to safety.

"Idiot," the bulky wrestler grumbled testily once Jason was back on solid ground.

"That was an unnecessary risk." Pythagoras sounded irritated.

Jason shrugged.

"It worked, didn't it?" he replied nonchalantly.

"Yes," Pythagoras retorted, "but it very easily could have resulted in the loss of the vial… or your death… or both. We could have come up with a far less risky solution if only you had given me the time to think. We are supposed to be working together. You simply cannot keep making unilateral decisions without consulting anyone else… and you really cannot keep taking that sort of risk. How do you think we could have explained it to Ariadne if anything had happened to you then? And how do you think she would have taken the news?"

Jason sighed. This was not an argument he wanted to have now (or at any time if the truth be told). He still felt that what he had done was right (because he had recovered the draught that they needed after all) but knew that Pythagoras would never agree – he recognised the signs of an imminent storm from his usually gentle friend.

"It's done now," he murmured, turning away from the mathematician and towards Icarus (who also looked a bit cross, Jason couldn't help but notice). "Let's get back to the Argo."

Pythagoras glared at his back for a moment, before stalking off, grumbling under his breath.

Jason sighed again and reached inside his wrist brace, pulling out the little bejewelled vial and handing it to Icarus to put into the bag that the inventor's son carried. Icarus took it without comment, one eyebrow raised.

Before Jason could take any of his belongings back from Icarus, Pythagoras' voice rang out through the chamber once more.

"Hercules! No!"

The genius sounded horrified. Both Jason and Icarus turned automatically to look towards him.

Hercules had clearly been examining the treasures on the far side of the chamber. On a gilded plate there were several gold apples, so lifelike that it almost seemed you could take a bite out of one of them. Apparently forgetting Cassandra's admonition not to touch anything, Hercules was reaching out unthinkingly to pick one of them up when Pythagoras called out.

The blonde was not far from Hercules and was moving to try to stop his old friend from making a possibly fatal error. Jason didn't stop to think. Forgetting Icarus for a moment, he darted across the room, intent on helping Pythagoras in stopping Hercules.

Quick as both young men were, they were still too late. Hercules picked up one of the golden apples to have a good look at it before either one of them could get there. The apple started to glow. Hercules dropped it in surprise just as Jason barrelled into him, knocking him flying.

The flare of bright, white light that bathed the room stabbed Icarus' eyes and he flung one arm up over his face to protect them. When the light finally faded enough to allow him to drop his arm, blinking painfully and eyes still watering, his gaze met Hercules' shocked face before turning slightly to look for his lover.

He froze.

Where was Pythagoras?

He turned to look in horror at Hercules. It seemed as though the two of them were alone in the room; as though the other two had completely disappeared from the chamber.

The burly wrestler pushed himself to his feet and purposefully made his way across to where he had been standing before. He peered around a pile of treasure, clearly searching for his friends. Icarus started to move to his side.

"What in the name of the Gods?"

Hercules' horrified exclamation brought Icarus to his side in an instant. He peered around the pile of treasure himself, his heart in his throat at the thought of what he might see; of what might have befallen Pythagoras.

Whatever he had been expecting it was not this.

Standing in a puddle of clothing, with Pythagoras' tunic hanging down past his calves, was a small blonde boy with the bluest eyes Icarus had ever seen.

The child blinked.

"Who are you?" he said, his voice tremulous. "Where is my mother? And where is Arcas?"

Icarus gulped. This was not good. Alongside him, Hercules swore loudly. The child frowned deeply.

"My mother says that only uncouth men swear," he stated, "and that I should not speak to them."

Icarus gulped again.

"Pythagoras?" he asked. "Is that you?"

Why is it that strange and mystical temples are always deep in the woods? Jason can’t help wondering this as they creep towards the structure.

They’ve pulled the Argo up onto a beach in a small secluded cove and a small group of them have headed off to search for the Temple of Hera, leaving Diocles in charge.

This is Scythian territory so they need to be careful; want to try to avoid any encounters if they can help it. Hercules is stumping along at the rear of their little group while Icarus scouts ahead. It is a task that the young man has volunteered for. Jason would normally like to do it himself but even he can see the wisdom of letting someone else take the lead at the moment.

Today is quite a good day so far. In the past couple of months since everyone learned the truth, he’s had more bad days than he would have liked – days when he just can’t seem to catch his breath; when it hurts so badly it’s all he can do not to scream; days when everything is just too much effort and exhaustion grips him. He’s lost a lot of weight too (knows it because his clothes and armour are far looser than they used to be) and never seems to have much of an appetite to speak of. Sometimes he catches one of his friends watching him anxiously and wants to reassure them that everything will be alright – but really, how can he?

This morning though, he feels just a little bit tired rather than downright unwell and he’s glad of it because there’s work to be done. He glances around the group, mentally assessing their strengths. Atalanta and Ariadne are both carrying bows (Ariadne is dressed in a man’s tunic and trousers that she’s managed to find from somewhere and damn it all but even dressed like that she’s still the most beautiful thing Jason’s ever seen), and Hercules, Pythagoras, Icarus and Jason himself all have their swords. The weakest link (as far as Jason can see) is Cassandra. To be honest he’s been a bit worried about bringing the (unarmed) Oracle of Poseidon into a potentially dangerous situation.

So far everything seems to be going well (almost too well, the cynical part of his mind thinks) and now they have arrived at the Temple of Hera without ever seeing a Scythian (and Jason thanks whatever Gods might be listening for that small mercy).

The building itself is surprisingly well kept and brightly lit. The priest who greets them at the door shows no surprise at their arrival and directs them straight into the main body of the Temple. Jason is immediately suspicious – his luck is never this good.

“Welcome to the Temple of Hera,” the priest intones.

His voice is very deep and sonorous and reminds Jason of Melas (he wonders if it’s a qualification that all chief priests need). From the look on Cassandra’s face it seems that he isn’t the only one who sees the likeness.

“My name is Brygos and I am the High Priest. Ask what you will of me. I am bound by my duty to the Goddess to answer.”

“You know who we are?” Jason asks suspiciously.

A smile touches Brygos’ lips.

“Indeed,” he says. “Your coming here has long been foretold. You have the favour of Hera.”

Jason tries to keep himself from visibly grimacing; he has been in ancient Greece for long enough to know that to be favoured by the Gods (to even be noticed by them) is a double edged sword.

“My Lady.” Brygos turns to Cassandra reverently and genuflects deeply. “Our Temple is honoured by your presence.”

“You have what we are here for?” Cassandra asks softly.

“Everything is in readiness, My Lady,” the priest answers. “It has long been known that you would one day come to retrieve both the items that are in our care.”

“Forgive me, I think you have made a mistake,” Jason says with some confusion. “We have come in search of a lyre that can see us safely past the sirens. Nothing else.”

Brygos turns and gives him a knowing look.

“What you require is here,” he says. “Come, I will take you to it.”

He ushers them towards a side chamber, moving quickly enough that Jason finds himself growing short of breath once more as he tries to keep up.

“Do you have any trouble with the Scythians?” Pythagoras asks the priest as they walk.

“They usually leave us alone,” Brygos answers. “While they do not worship the Gods, they also do not wish to risk angering them. They have attacked the Temple twice over the past few years but were repelled on both occasions.”

They enter the side chamber and Brygos makes his way to a small altar in the centre of the room. On the altar is a golden lyre, beautifully decorated, and a small, non-descript earthenware kylix – a broad bowl-shaped vessel with a handle on each side and a foot at the base. It is plain and unadorned – peasant ware – yet Ariadne finds her eyes being drawn to it.

“The lyre is yours to take,” Brygos says gently, “but the cup must remain here once the ritual is completed.”

“What ritual?” Jason asks. He looks around the group suddenly realising that he’s the only one in the room who doesn’t seem to know what’s going on (and that is most definitely an uncomfortable feeling).

“The cup belongs to Panacea, daughter of Asclepius,” Pythagoras explains in his ‘school-teacher’ voice.

Jason looks confused.

“Wait… who’s Asclepius?” he asks.

Hercules snorts and shakes his head.

“I will never cease to be amazed by your ignorance and stupidity,” he says.

Jason ignores him and looks back at Pythagoras (on the whole he’s got better at not asking what Hercules deems to be stupid questions over the last year or so and doesn’t often hear the bulky wrestler bemoaning his ignorance these days).

“He is the God of the healing arts,” Pythagoras explains.

“And Panacea is his daughter?” Jason asks.

“Yes,” Pythagoras responds. “Goddess of universal remedy. It is said that she can heal any illness.”

“How?” Jason asks. He can’t help but be interested under the circumstances; can’t help but hope that Pythagoras is right.

“It is said that she uses a poultice or potion, depending upon the illness,” Pythagoras murmurs. “Cassandra has told us that this cup is the vessel for Panacea’s remedy. She foresaw us using it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Jason demands.

“Because hope is a fickle mistress,” Pythagoras replies. “I did not know if we would be able to retrieve the cup or not and it seemed cruel to get your hopes up when it might have come to nothing.”

“So the story about needing the lyre to get past the sirens was a lie then?” Jason asks.

“No,” Pythagoras insists. “It was all true. Cassandra’s gifts make her incapable of lying.”

“Come,” Brygos interrupts them softly. “We must prepare for the ritual.”

“What is this ritual?” Jason enquires.

“The blood of the person who is to be healed must be mingled with the blood of the sacrifice and added to the kykeon within the cup and Panacea called upon to bless it,” Brygos replies. “Then it must be drunk for its healing power to take effect.”

“Sacrifice?” Jason asks suspiciously.

“The Fates demand a price for altering the natural course of events,” Cassandra murmurs quietly, although her voice is heard clearly. “They demand a blood sacrifice. A life for a life.”

Jason stares at her with growing horror, before turning back to his other friends angrily.

“So you are telling me that someone has to die for this to work?” he demands. “Did you actually think I would go along with this?”

“Jason,” Ariadne begins.

“No,” Jason growls, beyond angry. “This is not happening. I am sorry but if the price is someone’s life then I am not paying it!”

“So the rest of us are supposed to just sit around and do nothing?” Hercules responds hotly. “You expect us to watch you die without trying to stop it?”

Before Jason can respond, Icarus bursts into the chamber. He had chosen to keep a lookout at the main door of the Temple but now he has left his post.

“We have company,” he blurts. “There is a hoard of Scythians heading this way.”

Jason glares at his companions briefly. He’s still pretty pissed off at them but there are more pressing concerns right now. He turns back to Icarus.

“Show me,” he says.

They hurry out of the chamber and back across the main Temple to the doors. Jason peers out through the crack in the door to look at the approaching Scythians. It is a raiding party and contains more men than he would like to see. He swears loudly and slams the door.

“Right,” he says, turning back to the room. “It looks like they’re aiming for the Temple all right.” He looks apologetically at Brygos. “They may have stumbled across our tracks and followed us here.”

“It is of no matter,” the priest replies. “No doubt they would have attacked us sooner or later anyway.”

“How many of them are there?” Pythagoras asks.

“More than I would really like to be facing,” Jason admits. “The only advantage we’ve got is that they will only be able to get through the door a few at a time.” He turns to Atalanta and Ariadne. “I know this room is a little small for archery but do what you can. Pick as many as you can off as they come through the doors. You will not get all of them but hopefully it should still whittle them down a bit.”

He moves over to Cassandra and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“We will try to protect you if we can,” he says, “but I do not know how successful we will be.”

“Do not worry,” Brygos says in his deep, mellifluous voice. “The Gods will protect her… as will I.”

Jason isn’t sure how much protection the priest will be but beggars can’t be choosers so he nods his agreement and turns back to face the main doors, taking up a position beside Hercules.

“You shouldn’t be in the forefront of this,” the big man mutters. “You should stay back and protect the Oracle.”

Jason shoots him an irritated look. He knows that Hercules is only speaking out of concern but this really isn’t the time or place.

Then the door bursts open and Scythian warriors burst in, and there isn’t time left to think. The world reduces to the battle that rages around Jason (as it so often does when he is in the middle of a skirmish). As he predicted, the Scythians can only come through the door a few at a time and they are met with a barrage of arrows from Atalanta and Ariadne (and just how does Atalanta manage to fire so fast and so accurately? Her hands are almost a blur). It reduces their numbers significantly – although enough still get through to keep the men in the group busy too.

The Scythians seem to be never-ending. As Jason hacks and stabs and parries, he can feel himself tiring rapidly, his breath coming in short panting gasps that catch in the back of his throat. It feels like he’s caught in a vice; like there’s an ever-tightening band of metal around his chest and no matter how hard he tries he just can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He’s growing increasingly dizzy and off balance, still fighting but losing all finesse and grace. When he looks up though, he can see a light at the end of the tunnel: no more Scythians are pouring in through the door; they have nearly beaten them.

He turns to face another attacker; a burly man with no hair and very few teeth dressed in badly cured animal skins. Jason is flailing a little more than usual but still has more than enough skill to dispatch this Scythian to Hades.

Then it happens. As they both turn, the Scythian manages to catch Jason on the side of the head with the butt of his sword. He stumbles back against a pillar, forcefully driving what is left of his breath from his lungs. His sword tip lowers to the floor and he stares blankly at the Scythian warrior, stunned; trying to draw in a breath that doesn’t want to come. The Scythian gives a feral smirk and raises his sword, preparing to drive it through Jason’s body.

As he strikes, though, Atalanta manages to get there, stepping between Jason and the Scythian. The sword sinks into her stomach even as she drives the arrow she is holding through the Scythian’s throat, killing him. She staggers backwards, hands clutching the wound in her abdomen that is pouring blood, and collapses against a wall. Jason vaguely hears Hercules’ enraged cry as he takes on the last of the Scythians but cannot focus on anything apart from the fallen woman. He crawls across to her and sits at her side, hearing only his own wheezing breathing, his vision blurring alarmingly as he moves.

Atalanta smiles that mysterious, enigmatic smile she sometimes gives.

“I have done what my Goddess requested of me,” she gasps, back arching slightly as she rides out a wave of agony.

The wound in her stomach is clearly fatal and she knows it. Jason can’t bring himself to lie to her – to tell her that everything will be alright – and, even if he wanted to, he simply doesn’t have the breath right now to form a full sentence.

“You… have,” he manages to pant.

Atalanta’s clear eyes meet his and her smile widens slightly. She reaches out with one blood-stained hand and grazes the knuckles down the side of his face in a soft caress, the same way she did the first time she saved his life – when she healed him back in the Forest of Calydon more than a year ago.

“My Goddess Artemis told me that I must protect you from harm,” she says, echoing her words from that first meeting. “I have done all I can. Now you must go on to Colchis and destroy the Fleece.”

Jason nods wordlessly. A solid lump seems to be sitting in his throat and tears are slipping down his cheeks. The world seems to have narrowed down to just the two of them. He knows that the rest of his companions are still nearby (and possibly still fighting Scythians) but all that seems to matter to him right now is the dying woman in front of him.

“I hope you find peace with your Goddess,” he says hoarsely (and it is not lost on him that he has said these words before – only then it was under very different circumstances and to a very different woman).

“She has been at my side all my life. She will not leave me now,” Atalanta assures him.

She looks over Jason’s shoulder at something that he suspects only she can see and her smile grows very bright. Then the light in her eyes dims and slowly flickers out as her breathing stills, head dropping forwards onto her chest, face hidden by the curtain of her long hair.

“Is everyone alright?” Jason can hear Pythagoras in the background, checking on his companions.

Then Ariadne gasps and Hercules gives a strangled cry. Jason can’t seem to summon up the energy to look up to see where they are; can’t take his eyes off Atalanta’s still body. He is exhausted and his breath is coming in short wheezing pants, and it would be all too easy to lie down next to the huntress and let himself drift.

A hand on his shoulder startles him back into some form of reality and he looks up to find Brygos watching him with concern and compassion. The priest is carrying the kylix from the altar, which he uses to gather up some of Atalanta’s blood. Jason watches him dumbly, feeling he should probably protest but not quite being able to form the words.

“Give me your hand,” Brygos instructs, turning back to Jason. “Quickly now.” He looks at Atalanta’s body and then back to the young man. “She gave her life for you… do not let her sacrifice be in vain.”

He takes a knife from Cassandra, who is hovering behind him, and grabs hold of Jason’s wrist with his free hand, turning it so the young man’s hand is palm up and holding it tightly in place. He draws the blade across Jason’s palm, maintaining his grip on Jason’s wrist when the young man flinches, and hands the knife back to Cassandra, closing his now empty hand around Jason’s and forcing it into a fist; applying pressure to Jason’s fingers to force the blood to drain from the cut on his palm into the cup.

Moving swiftly, Brygos hands the cup to Cassandra and stands. As Jason watches, body and mind heavy, the chief priest goes to join the girl. Cassandra places the kylix on the main bomos and stands back with her hands outstretched at her sides, as Brygos comes forwards and stands before the altar, hands raised in supplication, palms upwards, and begins to chant; to pray to Panacea for her blessing.

Ariadne has come to join Jason where he is sitting (half slumping really). She nestles into his side and wraps her arm around his waist. Jason leans into her, resting his head against her shoulder and lets his eyes drift closed, only to open them again at the feel of her hand carding through his hair. He still can’t seem to get enough air and it almost feels like his lungs are full of fluid (wonders idly if this is what drowning feels like).

The chanting finishes and Brygos strides back across the room carrying the cup, coming to a stop before the young couple and dropping down to his knees. Pythagoras hovers near his shoulder.

“Drink,” the priest says firmly, holding the kylix up to Jason’s lips.

Jason swallows a mouthful, gags and tries to turn his head away, only to be thwarted when the priest’s other hand catches the back of his neck and holds him firmly in place.

“You must drink all of it,” Brygos instructs.

Jason frowns but does as he’s told. As the last disgusting mouthful goes down, a wave of burning heat sweeps over him and agony grips him. He stares at the priest desperately, unable to speak. He is on fire and the only sound that he can still hear is his own laboured breathing. The world darkens around him and his vision shuts down as his heart begins to slow, stutter and finally to stop altogether, and he slumps forwards into Brygos’ waiting arms.

“What have you done?” Pythagoras demands, horrified, reaching out to pull the priest away from his friend.

“Wait,” Brygos commands harshly, eyes intently watching the still form in his arms.

He lays Jason gently on the ground, his head in Ariadne’s lap, and straightens, muttering prayers.

“You must trust him,” Cassandra says as the priest continues to chant softly. “He knows what he is doing. It is all in the hands of Panacea now.”

Brygos falls silent, still watching Jason. For a long moment nobody moves, then Jason’s eyes fly open as he draws in a great gasping breath. Ariadne gives a low cry and reaches out to her husband, watching as he rapidly regains the colour he has lost over the past few weeks; his lips and fingertips changing from the slightly blue tint they have had lately into a healthy pink. Jason takes several deep breaths before pushing himself back into a sitting position, legs bent and arms resting on his knees.

“What just happened?” he asks, his voice strong and firm – lacking the breathless quality that it has held too often recently.

“You died,” Ariadne half sobs, her fear still evident.

Jason blinks.

“What?” he asks.

“Panacea consented to help us and blessed the remedy,” Brygos answers. He looks sadly at Atalanta’s body. “The price was high indeed, but the reward was also great.” He turns back to Jason. “Live long and live well,” he says. “You carry Hera’s blessing and favour with you.”

Pythagoras slips up onto the main deck of the Argo in search of his friend. It is late in the evening three days since they laid Atalanta to rest and set sail once more. The stars shine brightly in the heavens and the waves lap gently against the side of the ship.

He finds Jason sitting in the prow, looking up at the stars, his eyes lost in thought, and stops for a moment to watch his friend. Jason looks healthier than he has for a long time. He’s still painfully thin and probably will be for a while yet – his appetite has returned with a vengeance (much to everyone’s pleasure) but regaining lost weight takes time (time that Pythagoras is more than happy to think that his friend now has). Still, he no longer has a drawn look about him; his eyes are bright and he has colour in his cheeks once more. He turns his head and smiles widely as he spots Pythagoras peering at him and waves his friend over to join him.

Pythagoras smiles and moves forwards, settling himself down comfortably alongside Jason.

“Ariadne will be wondering where you have got to,” the mathematician says lightly.

“I was just looking at the stars,” Jason answers. “I’ll be in in a moment.”

They lapse into silence for a few minutes. Presently, Pythagoras looks across at his friend, noting that Jason appears to have lost himself in thought once more.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Jason looks at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I was just thinking about Atalanta.”

“She was an incredible woman and a fine warrior,” Pythagoras replies.

“She was,” Jason says. “I hope she has found peace… That her Goddess came for her.”

“I do not think you need to worry about Atalanta,” Pythagoras answers, looking up at the stars. “I was speaking with Cassandra earlier and she told me that Atalanta was destined for the Isles of the Blessed.”

“The Isles of what?” Jason asks with a confused look.

“The Isles of the Blessed,” Pythagoras replies. “When we die,” he continues, “we are taken across the river into Hades.”

“Yes I know,” Jason answers. “I have been there, remember?”

“Within Hades, the worst souls – those destined for eternal torment – go to Tartarus,” Pythagoras goes on.

“Been there too,” Jason mutters.

Pythagoras ignores the interruption.

“The souls of those who have lead a good life go to Elysium,” he says. “It is the part of Hades reserved for those who deserve it.” He looks straight at Jason. “But the greatest souls – the bravest heroes – do not go to Hades at all… they go to the Isles of the Blessed – the Fortunate Isles. They are a winterless earthly paradise where the heroes of legend live forever with all the pleasures they could ever wish. Atalanta will be reunited with her Goddess there.”

Jason smiles softly and nods.

“Good,” he says. “That is good.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments longer, both looking at the stars and thinking.

“So what now?” Pythagoras asks, half turning his head to look at his friend. “Where do we go from here?”

“Colchis,” Jason answers with certainty. “We find the Golden Fleece and we end this.”

“And after that?” Pythagoras says. “What will you do once we have defeated Pasiphae once and for all?”

Jason blinks.

“I… don’t know,” he says slowly. “It has been so long since I actually thought I had a future that I have never let myself think that far ahead.”

Pythagoras grins. He gets up and turns, offering his friend a hand to pull him to his feet.

“Well you had better start thinking about it,” he advises, “because I suspect that sooner or later Ariadne is going to want to start thinking about the next heir to Atlantis.”

He laughs at Jason’s startled expression and claps his friend on the back as they head below decks together.

Jason stands in a window overlooking the city with his new-born daughter in his arms. From up here Atlantis is beautiful and in the distance, beyond the city walls, he can see the sea; the bright moonlight dancing on the crests of the waves.

“This will all be yours one day,” he murmurs softly.

The baby blinks at him sleepily and yawns. Jason looks down at her and smiles, rocking her gently. A soft noise behind him alerts him to someone’s presence.

“I thought we would find you here.” Pythagoras speaks quietly, in deference to the late hour.

“I wanted to show her Atlantis,” Jason replies, tearing his eyes from his daughter to look out at the view again.

“How is Ariadne?” Hercules rumbles from somewhere behind Pythagoras.

“Sleeping,” Jason murmurs, smiling down at his daughter. “She’s been a bit busy today.”

He turns to face his friends with an enormous smile and eyes full of wonder.

“Would you like to meet our daughter?” he asks.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hercules grumbles, but he still reaches out to take the baby off Jason and turns away, cooing at the child.

“Does she have a name yet?” Pythagoras asks, coming up to Jason and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Give us a chance,” Jason answers. “She’s only two hours old.”

“I’d have thought you would have already picked out a name,” Hercules says, rocking the baby. He looks down at the tiny child. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you? Yes you are. Yes you are.”

Jason grimaces.

“We couldn’t agree on one we both liked before she was born,” he admits.

His two closest friends exchange a look.

“What?” Jason asks.

“Jason… it is tradition that the father names a child,” Pythagoras says. “It is his sole prerogative.”

Jason frowns.

“Without even talking to the mother?” he asks incredulously. “I couldn’t do that to Ariadne,” he adds, shaking his head. “She has as much right as I do to pick out a name.”

“It is very nice that you should feel that way but it is not customary,” Pythagoras states.

Hercules snorts – albeit quietly to avoid waking the now sleeping baby in his arms.

“Since when has he ever worried about custom?” he demands. “I’m still amazed that the nobles didn’t have apoplexy the first time they met him properly after Pasiphae was finally defeated.”

“They nearly did when they realised that Ariadne and I share the same bedroom all the time. They thought we should have separate rooms and only share a bedroom when… well… you know,” Jason mutters. “They seemed pretty horrified that we only have one set of chambers between us. Apparently it’s ‘unseemly’.”

“You should try not to antagonise them too much,” Pythagoras advises. “You still need their support.”

“I know that,” Jason answers. “And I do not intend to upset them… but mine and Ariadne’s sleeping arrangements are our business and nobody else’s. How we choose to live in our own home is for us to decide. I will do everything that is required of me in public but my private life is my own affair.”

Pythagoras chooses to let the subject drop. He can see Jason’s point (and privately agrees with him) but his friend still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that as King his life is no longer completely his own.

“Ariadne is in good health then?” he asks. “I can see that the babe is well enough, but the birth itself… it went well?”

“Yeah,” Jason replies. “I don’t think the midwives like me very much at the moment though.”

“What did you do?” Pythagoras says with resignation.

“Nothing,” Jason answers defensively. “It’s just that they were trying to kick me out of the room when she was being born,” he nods at the baby, “and I told them I wasn’t leaving.”

Pythagoras looks momentarily aghast.

“Surely that was inappropriate?” he mutters. “The birthing chamber is no place for a man.”

Jason raises an eyebrow as he takes his daughter back off Hercules, gently rocking her in his arms. The chief midwife has shown him how to hold the baby properly – how to support her head and hold her securely – and he concentrates on getting it just right.

“Why is it inappropriate?” he demands. “It was normal where I come from… Anyway, I told them that I was there at the conception so I was damned well going to be there for the birth.”

Pythagoras sighs and shakes his head. Sometimes he despairs of ever teaching Jason what is acceptable behaviour in Atlantis.

“Where’s Icarus?” Jason asks with a frown. “I thought he would be with you. I haven’t seen much of him lately. Is he alright?”

Pythagoras smiles.

“He is perfectly well,” he responds. “His father needed him. Apparently Daedalus has been working on an improved version of those wings he created and he required Icarus’ help.”

He is surprised when Jason’s frown deepens even further.

“What is it?” he asks. “What is wrong?”

“It is nothing,” Jason replies. “It is just… maybe when it comes time to test the wings, Daedalus should get someone else to do it. Not Icarus I mean. After last time, it might be pushing his luck a bit to try flying again.”

Pythagoras grins.

“Do not worry,” he says. “I have no intention of letting Icarus anywhere near the test flight. Icarus frightened me enough last time and I have no desire to see him fall like that again.”

“Good,” Jason replies.

He looks down at his daughter and can’t keep the smile from forming as a sense of wonderment fills him once more.

“She’s so perfect,” he murmurs, half to himself. “I can’t believe Ariadne and I actually made her.”

“She’s all yours,” Hercules says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle and full of emotion. “Yours and Ariadne’s… and she is going to be the most beautiful and the most precious girl ever… and no man will ever be good enough for her. You’re going to spend half your life wondering how you managed to get lucky enough to have such a lovely daughter and the other half with your sword in your hand, chasing off unsuitable young men who come along to try to steal her away.”

Jason chuckles.

“You sound very sure of that,” he says.

“Oh I am,” Hercules replies, smiling down at the baby. “I am told that’s what all fathers think… especially new ones.” He grins at Jason. “It doesn’t mean it’s not true though.”

“I am sure I will have help chasing away the unsuitable young men though,” Jason states, his eyes dancing. “She is going to have you two keeping an eye on her too, isn’t she?” It is more a statement than a question. “After all, she is going to need someone to teach her about life and love… and triangles… and I cannot think of anyone I would rather have protecting and teaching my daughter.”

“Did you ever think,” Pythagoras begins, “that we would ever be standing here like this? Atlantis at peace; Pasiphae gone forever; you and Ariadne married – King and Queen – with a child of your own; Icarus and I… Sometimes it seems almost too good to be true.”

Jason snorts softly, mindful of the slumbering infant he is holding.

“I didn’t think I’d even be alive by this point,” he points out. “It is good though… It’s perfect.”

The three men lapse into the comfortable silence of old friends; completely relaxed in one another’s company.

Presently, Jason rouses himself.

“I had better get this little one back before Ariadne wakes up and wonders what I’ve done with her baby,” he says.

In the doorway he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at his two closest friends and then behind them to the window and the city beyond. He smiles. From where he is standing the future looks pretty bright indeed.

Atlantis has been one hell of an adventure so far.

When he had first arrived, Jason had been at least half convinced that he was already dead (or that this whole scenario was a fantasy conjured up by his dying mind). It hadn’t really taken all that long for him to realise that he wasn’t and that this was real but even so it had really seemed a bit of a no brainer to him to offer himself as a sacrifice in Pythagoras’ place – after all, he was already dying so it wouldn’t matter all that much if he was killed.

As it had turned out, Pythagoras had felt somewhat differently about the matter.

Not that he knew there was anything wrong with Jason of course (beyond thinking he was a bit touched in the head at times) and Jason wanted to keep it that way for now. It wasn’t that he wanted to deceive his friends – it was more that he didn’t think he could bear the pity he would see in their eyes if they knew the truth.

Besides, since he had come to Atlantis, he hadn’t felt particularly unwell. The hot dry climate seemed to agree with him. Most of the time he could almost forget that he had ever been told that he was terminally ill.

There were bad days of course. Days when his chest felt tight and breathing felt more difficult; days when he was in pain. But so far it had been fairly easy to hide it all. He would simply take himself off on those days (would leave the house early before either one of his friends was up) and would find somewhere to hole up until everything passed – usually the Temple to be honest; tucked behind a pillar or statue where no-one would look. He knew that Melas knew he was there (and that the Oracle most likely did too) but no-one ever disturbed him and no-one ever commented on his presence.

One month slipped easily into another and the bad days became fewer and farther between. Jason wondered at that point (still does wonder when he remembers to think about it) whether maybe the doctors where he had come from had got it wrong; or perhaps his illness hadn’t come with him to Atlantis (if that was at all possible) and that the bad days he’d had when he first arrived here had simply been the last vestiges working their way out of his body.

Part of him knows that that’s wishful thinking of course; that nothing is ever that simple. But he throws himself into his life here wholeheartedly, and if he takes more risks than is strictly necessary – is a little more reckless and careless of his own well-being than his friends would like – well, what does it really matter? He’s long since accepted that his life won’t be all that long and if he can stop someone else from being harmed (or, you know, save Atlantis and all its inhabitants from drowning – that would be good too) he’s going to do it no matter what it costs him.

The days slide by until one day, camped in the woods, trying to evade Pasiphae’s soldiers, he realises that he’s been here for two years. It’s a startling thought to be honest – he’s already outlived the estimate that the consultant at the hospital gave him in the outset by at least a year and shows no signs of becoming unwell. He sits on his blankets in the early morning light while his friends and the love of his life are still asleep around him and thinks about it.

When Orpheus had said that Jason’s journey was only just beginning, he hadn’t fully taken the man seriously. After all, he knows that his time here will be short. Ariadne had asked him whether he thought they would ever get to be as old (and as happy) as Orpheus and Eurydice and he had told her that he didn’t know – but as far as he was concerned he thought he did know; thought that there was no way in hell, but couldn’t bring himself to tell Ariadne that.

But now he wonders. Did the hospital get it wrong? Is it possible that he might actually live a full and long life?

There’s no real use in speculating about it here and now though – not when Pasiphae is actively seeking to kill them all. They will have to be on the move soon; can’t afford to stay in one place for too long. Jason pushes himself to his feet and makes quick work of rolling up his blankets and stuffing them into the bag that he carries, before turning to Pythagoras’ bag and rifling through it in search of breakfast (it’s far safer to let Pythagoras look after the food supplies most of the time – Hercules would eat everything in sight given half the chance, so they tend not to trust him with it).

By the time he wakes the others up, Jason has managed to find a hunk of bread and some fruit which he splits between the four of them. It’s not much (and certainly far less than he would like to be able to give to Ariadne) but it will stop them from starving at least.

He’s perhaps a little quieter than normal as they prepare to leave their camp; trying to hide all evidence that they have ever been here. He’s thinking about everything that’s happened ever since he went to the library that day; thinking about his Dad and about where his journey in search of the truth behind his Dad’s disappearance has brought him. He can see his friends exchanging worried looks out of the corner of his eye and supposes that with everything that’s happened in the last few weeks he can understand it.

They haven’t discussed where they’re going this time; haven’t talked about what they’re going to do next. Defeating Pasiphae and reclaiming Atlantis still seems like a distant dream. The wise course of action should surely be to get as far away as they can; put themselves beyond Pasiphae’s reach. Perhaps they could take shelter with Ariadne’s brother Therus (if they can find him); certainly Ariadne would be safer there than wandering the woods endlessly, trying to avoid being captured.

Jason knows without even needing to think about it that Ariadne will never take that course of action; will never abandon her people to his mother’s evil. To a large extent he understands it (agrees with it). So they never stray too far from the city; always keep close by in the hope of finding the opportunity they need to defeat Pasiphae.

The woods are beautiful this morning. If it weren’t for the danger of their situation, Jason would actually be enjoying himself. He forges ahead of the group, feeling their eyes on his back the whole time. He wishes he could reassure them that he really is alright (that he really is himself once more) but somehow he isn’t sure that would actually help.

They crest a rise and the land falls away beneath them into a deep valley. In the far distance Atlantis rises on a hill, the ground in between the city and where they are standing stretching for miles. At this distance Atlantis looks so peaceful – serene even – and Jason stops still, taking in the view before him.

“You are very quiet this morning,” Pythagoras observes from somewhere over Jason’s left shoulder.

Jason turns to look at him and frowns when he realises they are alone. Where are Hercules and Ariadne? It isn’t a good idea for them to split up. Then he sees them, back in the edge of the trees; trying to look as though they are busy. Ah. Pythagoras must have volunteered to be the one to talk to him then (or been volunteered by Hercules, he thinks uncharitably).

“I am fine,” he answers softly. “I was just thinking, that was all.”

“About what?” Pythagoras asks warily – he’s learned the hard way that some of Jason’s ideas are more than a little dangerous after all.

“About my father,” Jason replies.

He watches the worry on Pythagoras’ face morph into understanding and compassion and has to turn away.

“I am sorry,” Pythagoras says genuinely. “With everything that has been happening, you have not even had the chance to grieve.”

“I barely knew my Dad,” Jason protests quietly. “I think if anyone has the right to grieve in this group it’s Hercules.”

“Hercules is grieving for Medusa,” Pythagoras points out, “and we all know it and are trying to help him through it… but the fact that Hercules is grieving does not mean that you are not allowed to feel sad too.”

Jason sighs softly, the sound little more than a gentle exhale, and closes his eyes as the image of his father dying in his arms just a few days ago springs to mind.

“There was so much I wanted to ask him,” he says. “So much I needed to know.” He swallows hard. “In the end I don’t suppose it matters… but I just wish…” he trails off, trying to control himself.

Pythagoras wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulders without even thinking about it.

“Your father loved you,” he states, his voice thicker than usual. “He was so very proud of you. If you know nothing else then believe that.”

“I hope so,” Jason replies. He huffs a faint laugh that somehow doesn’t sound amused. “I came to Atlantis looking for him… looking for what had happened to him… do you remember?”

“Indeed I do,” Pythagoras answers. “How could I forget? Your arrival was somewhat dramatic after all. I do not think I have ever had anyone land on my roof before and have certainly never found anyone else hanging by their fingertips from the balcony and had to rescue them.”

The corners of Jason’s mouth begin to twitch towards a smile (even if it’s not quite there yet) and Pythagoras feels himself relaxing a little.

“I can see that it would be an unusual occurrence,” Jason says.

He looks back at the view and sighs, but it is not an unhappy sound.

“I realised this morning that I’ve been here for two years,” he adds.

“Yes it must be,” Pythagoras agrees, doing a couple of quick calculations in his head. “I am glad that you came to Atlantis… glad it was our roof you landed on... even though I am sorry you did not get to spend more time with your father before he died.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I wish I’d got to spend a bit more time with him too.” He looks sideways at Pythagoras. “But just so you know, on the whole I am glad I came to Atlantis… and I am very glad it was your roof I ended up on.”

Pythagoras is ridiculously touched somehow; Jason is not given to discussing feelings in this way normally; is a bit more closed off than that.

“Anyway,” his brunette friend continues in a much more decided tone of voice (Pythagoras has privately dubbed it his ‘hero’ voice and is always wary when he hears it), “I have been thinking.”

Pythagoras nearly groans – those particular words combined with that tone of voice never bodes well.

“I can’t leave Diocles rotting in the cells,” Jason goes on. “I would have been killed in the arena if it was not for him. I owe him a debt and I mean to honour it.” He pauses for a moment, knowing that Pythagoras is likely to come up with some (probably quite reasonable) objections to what he is about to say. “I am going back to Atlantis. I mean to free Diocles.”

Pythagoras stares at him in consternation (although really he should know better than to be shocked at one of his friend’s mad schemes by now). Jason still isn’t fully healed from his sojourn in the arena; the scabbed over cuts standing out lividly against his tanned skin.

“Jason, that is insanity,” Pythagoras states sharply. “Pasiphae will kill you on sight.”

“Only if she catches me,” Jason replies with a sudden and unexpected grin.

“Be serious,” Pythagoras grumbles.

“I am,” Jason says firmly, the grin sliding away into a look of determination. “Diocles saved my life and I am not going to let him die.” He turns to look at Pythagoras fully, aware that in his peripheral vision Hercules and Ariadne are coming to join them. “We need to find a way into the arena… I was hoping that Icarus could help.”

“Icarus?” Pythagoras says.

“Indeed,” Jason replies. “His help has been invaluable, hasn’t it?”

“You would be asking him to risk his life,” Pythagoras protests.

“He has already done that several times,” Jason says. “I would not ask him lightly, you know that. Besides, he could always say no.”

“And if he does?”

“Then I look for another way,” Jason replies. “But I am going back to Atlantis and I am going to do this.”

He’s got that stubborn look on his face again and Pythagoras knows from experience that that means he won’t be talked out of the decision he’s made – no matter how stupid or reckless that decision might seem to the rest of them.

“Jason,” Pythagoras begins.

“You do not have to come with me,” Jason interrupts earnestly. “I will understand if you do not want to help.”

“Of course we’re coming with you.”

Hercules’ voice is harsh and his two friends turn to face him, startled; they had both known he was approaching but hadn’t realised he had actually joined them. At his shoulder Ariadne watches them grimly, her beautiful face set in a deep frown.

“We’ve only just got you back, so if you think we’re letting you go wandering off on some suicidally insane mission on your own you’ve got another thing coming!” the burly wrestler continues, clearly warming to his subject. “Though why I listen to you and let myself be dragged along, I don’t know. Just planning to enter Atlantis at the moment is madness, let alone trying to break into the cells beneath the arena – under the very noses of the guards – and releasing one specific prisoner.”

Jason turns towards Pythagoras.

“It will be easier if Icarus can help us to find a way to the cells,” he says softly. “He doesn’t actually have to be involved in rescuing Diocles beyond helping us to find a way to get from the streets into the arena without being spotted.”

“He would still be killed if he was caught,” Pythagoras states seriously.

“I know,” Jason admits. “And I will understand if he doesn’t want to help… but will you at least ask him? I presume you have a way of contacting him…”

“I do,” Pythagoras agrees. “When I first asked for his and his father’s help, we arranged that he would leave the city at the same time every seven days and come to the hunting lodge. It is how I have been getting supplies for us.”

“Are you mad?” Hercules demands. “He could be followed at any time and he would lead them right to us.”

“We are both careful,” Pythagoras protests. “The guards think that he is searching for items for his father to study or to use for his inventions. Daedalus is a known eccentric and it has never been unusual for him to send Icarus off looking for odd things. Since most of the gate guards are native to Atlantis and not Colchis, they are used to seeing Icarus on missions for his father. They no longer even bother to question him.”

Hercules frowns. Something seems wrong with that set up but he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. Besides, Pythagoras is a genius, he muses. Surely he would have realised if there was something truly wrong?

“Even if Icarus does by some miracle manage to find a way for us to get to the cells beneath the arena, how in the name of the Gods are you planning on getting into Atlantis without being spotted in the first place? And how exactly were you planning on escaping afterwards?” Hercules demands, glaring at Jason. “This is madness. Complete madness. And you are going to get us all killed!” He points one meaty finger accusingly at his friend.

Jason’s mouth twitches towards a smile again.

“I have a plan,” he says.

The Argo is a nicer boat that Jason was expecting – certainly nicer than anything he expected them to be able to find when they arrived at the harbour. But then, lots have things have happened that he wasn’t expecting since the fateful morning when they entered the Temple to receive the blessing of the Gods (a lot of things have happened since that fateful morning when he took to sub down to look for his father’s wreck, his mind unhelpfully supplies. He’s no longer the same boy he was then; isn’t sure he even recognises himself any more).

For a start he never expected his mother to return as one of the undead (and his mind flashes unbidden to various zombie movies that he watched back in college). He never expected to have to flee Atlantis again and he certainly never expected to be going on a quest to find and destroy the Golden Fleece after all (and, what do you know? It turns out he is that Jason after all – although with his luck he supposes he should really have been expecting it!). He knows that the others have deep misgivings about the journey they are on (and truth be told, he does too, but he can’t let anyone know that) but he has to try; has to at least attempt to stop Pasiphae; cannot give up as long as there is breath left in his body.

Finding a ship to take them to Colchis had been surprisingly easy – almost suspiciously so, as though the Gods had conspired to provide the vessel for them (and if Jason had almost spat out the mouthful of wine he had just taken when he heard the name, he hopes no-one noticed). Diocles and his friend Leon managing to escape Atlantis and joining them at the harbour (with a few of the other men who Jason and his friends had rescued from the arena) had seemed a wonderful coincidence (and gave them the beginnings of a crew) but when Atalanta had appeared at the tavern they were staying in (so far from her home in the Forest of Calydon that there was no way her arrival could be by pure luck alone) Jason had begun to suspect some sort of divine intervention (although he still has mixed feelings and uncertain beliefs where the Gods are concerned).

Atalanta had simply told them that her Goddess had instructed her to join them (and, Jason supposes, where to find them) in a tone that had brooked no argument.

So now they have a crew and they are (finally) almost ready to depart. Jason believes (hopes) that they will all relax a bit once they are at sea; that once they are beyond the reach of Pasiphae and her army they will all be relieved. As it is they have transferred from the rooms they were staying in at the harbour-side tavern to the Argo. The last supplies will be loaded onto the ship tonight and tomorrow at dawn they will set sail.

It can’t come soon enough for Jason. He’s tired – the sort of bone deep weariness that makes you ache inside. He’s been feeling this way for a while to be honest – although it’s been worse for the last few days since they arrived at the port. He supposes it’s the stress of the past few months finally catching up with him.

It’s evening and supper is over. Jason is sitting at the table in the central room alone. He isn’t entirely sure where everyone else has gone. He thinks he heard Pythagoras muttering something about checking on his herbs and he knows that Ariadne and Cassandra went to the bathhouse, but as for everyone else, he doesn’t really have a clue.

Perhaps he should have gone with Ariadne to the bathhouse. Once they set sail there isn’t likely to be much chance of having a relaxing bath for some time – they will have to make do with washing in bowls of water for the foreseeable future. Somehow he hadn’t been able to summon up the energy to move though, so Ariadne had gone off (dragging Cassandra with her to try to get to know the girl a little better) and Jason has been left here alone ever since.

He closes his eyes and reaches up with one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. A light, floral smell wafts towards him and he smiles; Ariadne’s perfume is instantly recognisable.

“Are you alright?”

She appears from somewhere behind him, gliding gracefully into his line of sight and sitting down next to him. The dress she is wearing is darker than the one she was wearing when they escaped from Atlantis and bears some resemblance to the dress she was wearing the day they met. Apparently there is a dressmaker in town who is still loyal to the girl she believes is the true Queen, who had insisted on presenting a dress of Ariadne’s choice as a gift.

“I am fine,” Jason replies with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

Ariadne hesitates for a moment.

“I have been thinking,” she says. “What if we do not try to find this Fleece and destroy it? What if we were to take this ship and sail far away? We could settle somewhere. Have a simple life.”

Jason frowns.

“Then Pasiphae would win,” he replies. “She would be Queen and the people of Atlantis would suffer for it. I cannot let that happen… and I don’t really think you can either.”

“You are right,” Ariadne sighs. “Of course you are right… it is just that I hate to see you looking so worn down.”

Jason draws her into his arms and drops a kiss down onto her head, breathing in the scent of rose petals from her hair.

“I feel the same way about you,” he says softly. “You are everything to me. You do know that, don’t you?”

“And Medea?”

Jason sighs and eases Ariadne back until he can look her in the eyes.

“Medea means nothing to me,” he answers firmly. “It is you that I married. You that I wanted to marry.” He hesitates for a moment before plunging on. “The morning after our wedding… when Medea came to me to tell me that she was returning to Colchis and how she believed Pasiphae could be defeated… she wanted us to be together.”

He reaches down and tilts her face up with his fingers.

“I said no,” he says. “I told her I had married you.”

“Do you regret it?” Ariadne asks, tears in her voice.

“No,” Jason replies. “Never.” He swallows hard. “There is a part of me that was drawn to Medea,” he admits, “and I think there always will be. In a lot of ways we are very alike.”

“You are nothing like that witch,” Ariadne replies angrily, pulling away from Jason.

Jason reaches out to her and pulls her back into his arms.

“Oh I am,” he answers softly. “I am more like her than you know. I know what it is to be rejected… to be different… an outsider.” He sighs. “Medea and I share a bond… because we are both touched by the Gods. It’s not something that I can control. When she is near, I can feel her… I know where she is… but I don’t love her.”

He drops another soft kiss into his wife’s hair, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

“I love you,” he says. “I always have. From the first moment I saw you. I’d never really believed in love at first sight until then. It’s you that I want to spend the rest of my life with. It always has been and it always will be.” He tilts Ariadne’s face again to look deeply into her dark eyes. “I will love you until the last breath leaves my body,” he says. “I promise you that.”

“Then I can ask for nothing more,” Ariadne replies.

She leans in and draws Jason into a deep kiss, before settling back against him, her head nestled comfortably against his shoulder.

“With everything that has happened, I sometimes believe that the world has gone mad,” she says quietly. “Pasiphae feared our union so much that she was willing to do anything to stop it. I sometimes think that our marriage is the only good thing to have come out of the last few months.”

As she speaks, Jason has gently lifted her arm and is dropping tender kisses along the inside of her wrist and up her palm until he reaches the tips of her fingers. Ariadne smiles and rests her palm against the side of his face.

“No-one can say that we shouldn’t be together now,” Jason says. He looks at Ariadne with his heart in his eyes. “I feel more for you than I can ever express.”

“And I love you with all my heart,” Ariadne replies.

She feels Jason sigh faintly against her.

“What is it?” she asks.

“It’s nothing,” Jason answers. “I am just tired.” He huffs a faint laugh. “I think the last few months are finally catching up on me.”

“Then let’s go to bed,” Ariadne murmurs, standing with one graceful movement and reaching down to take her husband’s hand to lead him to their room.

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Jason protests half-heartedly, his eyes dancing. “What happens if the others come back?”

Ariadne laughs lightly.

“We are newly married,” she points out mischievously. “I do not think that anyone would question our need to be alone or that we have chosen to disappear to the bedroom together.”

Jason grins and allows himself to be pulled along into the bedroom he shares with his wife and carefully closes the door behind him, shutting out the rest of the world before he pulls Ariadne into his arms once more and kisses her deeply.

He isn’t entirely sure what wakes him early the next morning. It should be pleasant lying here with his wife in his arms – it is pleasant but his back is aching badly and he generally feels a bit bleurgh. Now they are not fleeing for their lives, trying to avoid Pasiphae’s troops at every turn (and, yes, he does realise that they’re still not completely safe but they’re a lot better off than they were in the woods), his body and mind have relaxed a little more and he suspects that as a result he might be coming down with something.

Jason feels a cough beginning to bubble up in his chest and grimaces. The last thing he really wants is to be ill now – there’s still too much to do, what with trying to find and destroy this Golden Fleece Cassandra has told him about. He carefully extracts himself from under Ariadne, not wanting to wake her if at all possible; she hasn’t had many opportunities to sleep late in the past few months.

He slips out into the main room on silent feet and sits down at the table, pouring himself a cup of water. The cough that was threatening in the bedroom bursts out now, leaving him breathless with his chest burning. It’s a wet hacking that leaves the hand covering his mouth feeling damp and disgusting. Jason grimaces again as the coughing subsides and grabs a cloth from the table, wetting it from the water jug so that he can wash off the residue on his hand. As he goes to wipe the mess away, he glances at his hand and freezes: his palm is smeared in red.

Shit.

They’ve been on the Argo for nearly two months, island hopping from one place to another but never seeming to get any nearer to Colchis (or at least as far as Jason can tell – although he would be the first to admit that his knowledge of the geography of ancient Hellas isn’t all that great). It doesn’t help that the boat has to be beached overnight whenever possible to allow her to dry out. Otherwise, he is told, she could become waterlogged.

The first time it happened Jason had expressed a certain amount of concern, only to be told by Hercules (rolling his eyes at Jason’s apparent ignorance) that this was completely normal given her soft-wood construction. Apparently ships of this period are very light but very prone to waterlogging.

So far, Jason has managed to keep his illness from his friends (well, he thinks Cassandra probably knows – what with her being the Oracle and all). He won’t be able to do it forever and doesn’t really want to to be honest, but he’s not entirely sure how to raise the subject. Saying “by the way guys I forgot to mention it earlier but actually I have a horrible illness that’s going to kill me” over dinner seems like a spectacularly bad idea somehow. The problem is that he knows that the longer he leaves it the harder it will become to say anything – but also, the harder it will become to hide the truth.

He’s already getting tired too easily (is tired most of the time) and has little appetite some days. He forces himself to eat more to stop his friends (his family, because that’s what they’ve really become) from worrying about him and on the whole it seems to be working so far.

The coughing blood is a bit harder to hide – although up until now he’s been able to excuse himself whenever he feels his chest getting tight and a cough building. He gets away with it because there are so many things on this ship that need his attention, so for him to need to be somewhere else urgently is not unusual.

Sooner or later his companions are going to find out that something is wrong. Jason knows that. He’s worried though. Technically he’s the leader of this particular little ‘quest’ and he’s worried how the crew will react if they realise he’s ill. No-one thinks that finding and destroying the Fleece will be easy and Jason knows that most of the crew are afraid. It wouldn’t take much for them to start deserting and he’s worried that this may be the thing that tips them over the edge.

One evening, standing at the rail of the ship looking at the stars, Jason decides that the sea air is actually making things worse. Just as the hot, dry air of Atlantis seemed to help him, the humid atmosphere at sea level is exacerbating his chest.

Today has been a particularly bad day. His shoulders and chest have been aching constantly and he’s felt breathless all day; is tired and in pain. He’s deliberately avoided everyone as much as possible – no mean feat in a confined space, because, although the Argo isn’t small, she isn’t all that large either.

He sighs and tries to rub away the ache currently residing in his left shoulder, futile though he knows the attempt might be.

The sky is pocked with stars, bright and beautiful. Jason tries to relax his shoulders and take as deep breaths as he possibly can. He’s always loved the ocean; found a deep peace in the sound of the waves. The rocking of the ship lulls him gently.

“Why have you not told anyone?”

The speaker is as unexpected as the question and Jason turns to face Icarus, thoroughly startled.

“About what?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.

“That you are not well,” Icarus states flatly.

Jason blinks, caught completely off guard and off balance for once. Icarus doesn’t generally speak all that much. It’s not that he’s unfriendly and he is more than willing to join in the conversation when asked, but as a rule he is one of the quieter members of the group.

“I do not know what you mean,” Jason mutters, less than convincingly.

Icarus comes to join him at the rail and looks out over the sea.

“Yes you do,” he says. “You cough into a piece of cloth when you think no-one is watching and there are times when you are clearly in pain, no matter how much you try to hide it. I have seen the blood on the cloth.”

“It seems you have seen more than I thought anyone had,” Jason answers softly.

Icarus half smiles, although there’s no real joy in it.

“There are both advantages and disadvantages to growing up with a father who is an eccentric genius,” he says. “One of the first things he taught me was to observe. He did not always require my participation in our conversations, but he did always like me to watch and learn.”

Jason wonders idly how you can have a conversation between two people if one of them is not expected to participate. Then he shakes himself, realising that he’s concentrating on the wrong thing.

“So what do you intend to do?” he asks. “Are you going to tell Pythagoras what you’ve seen?”

“I should,” Icarus acknowledges. “Since he acknowledges that he is a medical practitioner it would seem foolish not to tell him. After all, he is likely to have some form of remedy to help you to become well again.”

Jason smiles humourlessly.

“He cannot help,” he replies quietly. “I have already been told by a doctor that there is nothing that can be done.”

“This was a good doctor? A doctor that you trust?”

“Yes,” Jason answers. “He was highly regarded and the illness that I have is something that he specialised in.”

Icarus licks his lips and stares out across the moonlit waves.

“Oh,” he says. “I am truly sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jason responds with a slight sigh. “I am used to it now.”

“I am still sorry,” Icarus says gently. He hesitates for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Jason replies.

“Why have you not told anyone? And why are we doing this?” Icarus gestures around himself at the Argo.

Jason is silent for a long moment. Long enough that Icarus begins to think he won’t answer at all.

“At first… when I first came to Atlantis… for a long time I didn’t feel unwell at all,” he says quietly. “I almost began to believe that the doctors I had seen where I come from had got it wrong… and the longer I left it, the harder it was to say anything… I will tell them. I just want to be as normal as I can for as long as I can be.” He looks around the deck. “As for the rest of it… ever since I came here I’ve been told I have a destiny; a purpose. The Oracle… the last Oracle… told me it was my destiny to save Atlantis… to protect the people. I cannot leave them to suffer under Pasiphae. Ariadne is a good Queen. She does not want power in the way that Pasiphae does. She will devote her life to the city and its people. If I can make sure that she regains the throne – that she is safe and Pasiphae is defeated once and for all – then I will… even if I don’t get to be part of it afterwards.”

“Pythagoras is right,” Icarus murmurs.

“About what? Jason asks.

“You really are the noblest of all of us,” Icarus replies.

“And will you tell him what you have found out?”

Icarus hesitates for a moment.

“As I said before, I should,” he says slowly, “but I will not… for now at least.”

“Why not?” Jason asks.

“Because it is not my secret to tell,” Icarus answers simply. “But I think that he will know soon enough anyway… they all will… you will not be able to hide this forever and I suspect it will be better for everyone if you tell them yourself.”

The Argo is beached at the island of Halonnesus for a day or two to allow them to restock their supplies. The King of this tiny island, Dexicos, has been alerted to their arrival and invited King Jason and Queen Ariadne and their retinue to dine with him. Jason notes the use of the title wryly – he supposes he should try to get used to it (even if it isn’t strictly accurate – he never actually got as far as receiving the blessing of the Gods and being officially declared King after all).

Leaving the ever loyal and helpful Diocles in charge to arrange for the supplies to be loaded, they are planning to set off for the Palace. Ariadne has put on the dress she was wearing when they escaped from Atlantis and has dressed her hair with the jewels she had carefully put away until now. She looks every inch the Queen and Jason feels almost like his heart will burst when he looks at her; she is so very beautiful.

He tells her so as he nuzzles into her neck (one of his favourite things to be honest). Ariadne playfully swats him and tells him not to mess up her hair. It’s all very light and very domestic and Jason is glad of it. There are times when their relationship is still a little rocky; when Ariadne still struggles with the doubts that Pasiphae put into her mind. It isn’t helped by the fact that, more often than not these days, she wakes up in the mornings to find that her husband is not in bed with her.

Jason knows that he should reassure her but he isn’t entirely sure how. He’s still struggling to find a way to tell her the truth; still hasn’t worked out what to say to her – or to any of his friends.

After their conversation of a few weeks ago, he knows that Icarus knows the truth (catches Icarus watching him at times) and the inventor’s son has been amazing actually. Icarus has become adept at diverting the conversation to let Jason slip away when he needs to and he has kept his promise and not told anyone Jason’s secret. He’s also taken to getting up early and coming up on deck to keep Jason company in the early mornings when he’s feeling at his worst.

Because Jason hasn’t told Ariadne what’s going on, he can’t explain why she wakes up alone so often. The truth is that most days he wakes up in the early hours of the morning with sharp and unrelenting pain in his chest (and sometimes his shoulders and back too) that takes his breath away and leaves him feeling like someone has set his lungs on fire. Then the coughing starts – persistent and painful. So he slides out of bed as soon as he wakes up, almost desperate not to disturb Ariadne’s slumber, and stumbles up onto the deck to try to ride out the pain (sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t).

The first time Icarus joined him, he brought with him one of Pythagoras’ painkilling tonics (filched from the mathematician’s stores somehow). Jason doesn’t know how Icarus knew it would be needed but he was incredibly grateful that he did.

Of course, Icarus wouldn’t be able to steal from Pythagoras’ supplies forever – at least not without the mathematician finding out. It had therefore been a surprise (shocking at the time but fortunate with hindsight) when Atalanta had approached Jason early one afternoon a couple of weeks ago now and pressed a small bottle into his hand out of sight of their other friends.

“What is this?” Jason had asked.

Atalanta had smiled enigmatically.

“My Goddess came to me,” she had said. “She told me that I must protect you from harm.”

“You told me that once before.”

“And it is still true,” Atalanta had replied. “She told me that I must join with you on your great journey and that I must help you wherever and however I can.”

She had looked out across the still ocean.

“I am a child of the Earth and I use the gifts that my Goddess Artemis has given me,” she went on, “and those gifts are great indeed… but they are not boundless.”

She had turned to look keenly at Jason.

“When Goddess came to me, she told me you were seeking to destroy the Golden Fleece,” she had said. “She also told me that you will face many trials… but that the greatest of them would come from within yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Jason had asked.

“I know what is wrong with you,” Atalanta had answered directly. “I wish that it was in my power to heal you… but it is not. Artemis has given me such gifts that allow me to heal injuries with her aid, but I cannot heal illnesses like yours. There are few indeed who do have that power.”

Jason had sighed.

“I don’t expect anyone to be able to help me,” he had replied softly. “I have known from the start what was likely to happen in the end. I know there’s nothing anyone can do and it’s alright… I have had enough time to get used to the idea. As long as I can finish what I started – destroy the Fleece, remove Pasiphae from Atlantis once and for all and see Ariadne returned to her rightful position – then that will be enough.”

“That in itself may not be easy,” Atalanta said. “My Goddess told me that you are in pain at times. The contents of the bottle should help.”

“Thank you,” Jason had answered honestly. “And… thank you for not asking why I haven’t told anyone too.”

“That is your business and your decision,” Atalanta replied. “As I told you, my Goddess told me that I must protect you from harm and that I will do to the best of my ability.”

She had wandered off to another part of the ship after that. Jason had watched her go thoughtfully. He was never totally sure what to make of her; Atalanta seemed half shrouded in mysticism at least half of the time – although he was more than willing to acknowledge her skill and ferocity as a warrior.

Ever since that encounter things have been a little easier. Whatever is in the bottle that Atalanta handed Jason, it’s pretty amazing stuff. Yes, he still stumbles out of bed and up onto the deck, breathless and in pain, but the tonic helps him return to as close to normal as possible a lot more quickly than he would have expected. It’s not perfect and he’s still pretty much constantly tired (and definitely lacking in appetite) but it at least allows him to function; to maintain the illusion that everything is alright.

Atalanta has replaced that first bottle twice so far, and so far it’s working.

This evening Jason feels better than he has in weeks. He’d rather be taking advantage of it and spending some quality time with Ariadne than going to some stuffy supper at King Dexicos’ Palace (he’s still not good at diplomacy and small talk). He nuzzles into Ariadne’s neck again, hoping to distract her. Ariadne giggles (a wonderful sound that Jason doesn’t hear nearly enough) and shoves him away.

“Stop it,” she admonishes, but her tone is playful rather than severe. “We do not have time for this. King Dexicos is expecting us.”

“Let’s stay here,” Jason replies.

Ariadne rolls her eyes.

“You know we cannot,” she says. “Dexicos has been kind enough to invite us to dine and we should not keep him waiting. We cannot afford to offend him Jason… not while our ship is beached on his land.”

“You are right,” Jason answers with a wry smile. “As always. You are much better at knowing who not to offend than I am. I am not sure I will ever get the hang of this diplomacy stuff.”

“Then it is lucky that you have me at your side,” Ariadne says playfully.

“I just wish we had a bit more time for us,” Jason murmurs.

“We will find the time,” Ariadne answers, “but not tonight.”

The Palace itself is far smaller than its counterpart in Atlantis; tastefully decorated and appointed. The furniture is of good quality but nowhere near as rich as Jason has seen in Ariadne’s Palace. Their hosts are pleasant people; welcoming and kind. The King is a scholar and is soon deep in conversation with Pythagoras, and the Queen is sweet and very down to earth.

“So how long have you two been married?” she asks over dinner.

Ariadne smiles softly.

“Three months,” she replies.

“Just three months?” Queen Ismene murmurs. “Still in that first flush of young love.” She smiles a little naughtily. “I remember what it was like to be a newlywed,” she goes on. “The pleasure you take in each other’s company… and the desire not to be apart; to have time alone for just the two of you. I do not think that Dexicos and I left the bedroom for the first few months… apart from when he was attending to his other duties of course...”

Ariadne blushes deeply and prettily. Jason finds her captivating, although he would have to admit that his own face is heating up rapidly too.

Queen Ismene laughs brightly.

“Ah to be young again,” she murmurs.

The evening is a lot more pleasant than Jason had feared it would be. So when the disaster strikes it is both sudden and shocking. They are lingering in one of the Palace’s sitting rooms, drinking wine and enjoying good conversation.

Then Pythagoras smells smoke.

Within minutes the whole room is engulfed and a servant is stumbling in to tell the King that an oil lamp has been left unattended too close to a curtain and the Palace is on fire. They hurry towards the entrance only for Queen Ismene to gasp that her daughter is still inside (they were told earlier that the Princess was a little young to join them for supper so she is not with them now). Jason yells to Pythagoras and Hercules to make sure everyone gets to safety and then he’s off, racing back into the burning building with Hercules’ annoyed cry still ringing in his ears.

The corridors are filled with smoke and it’s getting harder to breathe but Jason pushes on, coughing sharply now and again. He senses someone at his shoulder as he runs, their feet pounding in time to his, and turns his head to find Icarus alongside him, his face set in grim determination.

It occurs to Jason as they run that he doesn’t actually know where the Princess is likely to be – or even where the royal chambers are. Running back into a burning building with no clear idea of where he is going is quite possibly one of his more stupid ideas but he’s sort of committed now.

Icarus grabs his arm.

“The royal chambers are to the west,” he grinds out.

“How do you know that?” Jason asks, grimacing at the rasp he hears in his own voice; the wheeze in his breathing.

“Because I asked the King before I followed you in here,” Icarus states grimly. He looks appraisingly at Jason. “You should go back,” he says. “I can find the Princess.

Jason glares at him but doesn’t slow his pace. Icarus is right but he isn’t about to admit it.

In one of the corridors near to where the royal chambers should be they encounter a young girl of about twelve or thirteen. She is beautifully dressed and looks enough like Queen Ismene that there can be no mistake that this is the girl they are looking for.

“Princess?” Icarus says.

“Who are you?” the girl demands. “And what is going on?”

“Your father sent us to fetch you My Lady,” Icarus replies respectfully but hurriedly. “The Palace is on fire.”

“Why should I believe you?” the girl asks. “You could have been sent to kidnap me.”

“If we had wanted to kidnap you we would have already done it,” Jason answers.

Smoke is beginning to drift up the corridor towards them and from somewhere behind them comes a cracking noise that Jason really doesn’t like the sound of. He exchanges a worried look with Icarus.

“Please My Lady,” Icarus says urgently. “We must leave now. Your parents are in the courtyard in front of the Palace awaiting you. You must know that there will be guards at the doors too. Even if you do not trust us, we would hardly be taking you towards the guards if we were intending to kidnap you.”

The Princess stares at him for a moment and then nods her consent. They set off again at as fast a pace as they can (given that the child has shorter legs than either one of her male companions), retracing their steps towards the front of the building.

The smoke is even thicker now, making their eyes sting and stream and their breathing difficult. Icarus eyes Jason with worry. He can see that the other man is struggling much more than he is.

They round a corner and find the corridor ahead of them blocked by flames and burning debris.

“There’s another way,” the Princess yells above the roar of the fire. “Come on. It’s this way.”

She leads them back around the corner and through a door into a large chamber. On the far side is a smaller door and she races towards it confidently, the two men at her heels.

Through that doorway is a quiet corridor; a servant’s passageway, Jason decides. The air is clearer in the corridor (the smoke hasn’t really made it here yet) but he still feels like he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“We are nearly there,” the Princess states confidently (if a little breathlessly). “There is a room up ahead that we must go through which leads out into the entrance hall that leads on to the courtyard.”

They run on.

The corridor turns sharply to the right and they follow it, plunging through a small door in the wall into a dark room beyond. Unlike the corridor, this room is half filled with smoke – evidence that they are near the heart of the fire.

They are halfway across the room when Jason stumbles. Icarus doesn’t hesitate. He grabs hold of the back of his companion’s tunic and pulls him back to his feet, half dragging Jason across the room as he shoves the Princess ahead of him. They need to get out and they need to get out now. They’ve been in this building for far too long with the smoke clogging up their lungs.

The entrance hall outside the room is full of both smoke and people; servants and guards forming chains with buckets to try to douse the flames. Icarus can’t tell if it’s working but at least they are trying. A guard spots the three of them in the doorway to the chamber they have exited and comes hurrying over.

“Your Highness,” he greets the Princess. “Thank the Gods you are safe. We tried to get through to the royal chambers but the corridor is cut off by the fire.”

“Yes,” the girl replies. “I know. These men came to fetch me and we found our way out together.”

She gestures towards Icarus and Jason.

“The King and Queen are awaiting you in the courtyard, Your Highness,” the guard says. “They are most anxious for you.”

“Then I will go to them at once,” the Princess answers, coughing quietly.

Her face is smudged with soot and ashes cling to her hair and clothing. Icarus supposes that neither he nor Jason look any better. Jason starts to cough (a deep tearing sound that makes Icarus’ lungs ache just listening to it) and Icarus ducks his head under his friend’s arm without even thinking about it (because they are friends now – the last couple of months travelling together on the Argo has seen to that).

The three of them stumble out of the burning Palace into the torchlit courtyard. The Princess is immediately descended upon by her worried parents and whisked as far away from the building as possible while still remaining in the enclosure.

Jason drops to his hands and knees, coughing painfully and desperately trying to get more air into his tortured lungs. He senses Icarus sinking down beside him, also breathing hard, but can’t seem to summon up the energy to look; just trying to breathe is taking up his whole world.

He coughs again, feeling Icarus’ hand on his back, spluttering and spitting up more blood than he ever has before; an ever-growing puddle on the ground in front of him. Someone gasps, but Jason neither knows nor cares who it is. If he could just catch his breath he is sure he could ride this out, but he can’t and it hurts – oh God it hurts – more than it ever has before. It feels like he’s tearing apart inside. The lack of oxygen is making him increasingly light headed and his vision greys at the edges; black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

There are hands on his shoulders and a voice (desperation colouring its tone) urgently saying something to him, but Jason can’t focus enough to make sense of the words. Somewhere in his oxygen deprived brain he begins to think he might actually be dying.

With one last effort, Jason forces his head up and stares uncomprehendingly into Pythagoras’ fear filled blue eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is a desperate wheezing that morphs into another tearing cough, bright blood spraying the front of Pythagoras’ tunic.

Jason wants to apologise (he wants to say sorry for so many things) but the blackness closes in on him and he pitches forwards into waiting unconsciousness. As he does, the last sound he hears is Hercules’ strangled cry.

Jason stood at the edge of the balcony looking out over the street as he had done so many times over the last few months. The morning sun was not yet hot enough to be stifling and a soft breeze lightly ruffled his curls. He supposed that after the last few days he really ought to be trying to catch up on a little sleep but he was still just a little too awake to truly rest, although a peaceful lassitude swept over him as he stood watching the world go by; a contentment that sank deeply into him and that came from the knowledge that they had once again survived against the odds and had returned home intact at the end of it. Well, relatively intact, he reminded himself with a slight frown as his side twinged. He supposed he should get Pythagoras to look at the injury above his hip, certainly the mathematician would be cross if he didn’t, but right at this moment Jason just couldn’t be bothered to move. The slight burning ache died down after a minute anyway and he pushed it from his mind.

They had done it! Against all the odds they had saved Ariadne from the brazen bull and restored her to her rightful place in the Palace of Atlantis. Jason smiled softly to himself at the thought of the beautiful Princess – memories of the night he had spent in her bed (completely innocently of course – although he suspected that Minos, if God forbid he ever found out, would never believe that) swirling in his head; the warmth in her dark eyes when he had awoken to find her watching him; the determination on her face as she had insisted on treating his wound; the gentleness of her touch; the softness of her lips against his; the way the early morning sunlight had shone in her hair. She was perfect and so far out of his league that he still found it incredible that she seemed to feel the same way about him that he felt about her.

“Are you alright?”

Pythagoras’ concerned voice startled Jason from his reverie. He considered the question seriously for a moment and then turned with a contented smile to face his friend.

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

Pythagoras scrutinised him with a slightly worried frown.

“I thought that you might be upset,” he ventured.

Jason blinked in confusion.

“Why?” he asked. “For once everything’s gone quite well. Circe and Heptarian are dead, Pasiphae’s defeated, the King has recovered and Ariadne’s safe… and we survived. Why would I be upset?”

“Well Minos did essentially warn you off,” Pythagoras answered gently. “I know he offered you that purse of gold… and I do not think Hercules will forget that you turned it down for some time… but he also made sure that you knew that Ariadne was off limits. I do not think he would be forgiving if you attempt to go near her again.”

Jason chuckled lightly.

“I never exactly expected him to welcome me with open arms,” he said. “Ariadne’s way out of my league… I’ve always known that… and I don’t exactly see her every day. But, whatever her father thinks, it’s how Ariadne feels that’s important to me. If we’re meant to be together then we’ll find a way no matter what the King or anyone else thinks about it.”

“The King’s displeasure is not something to be trifled with,” Pythagoras warned.

“I know,” Jason answered. “All that matters right now though, is that Ariadne is safe. She was willing to give up her life to protect me… I won’t forget that.”

Pythagoras moved across the floor to stand next to his friend, resting his forearms on the edge of the balcony and looking out over the street, his posture mirroring Jason’s.

“I had thought that you might have been resting as I was earlier,” he said at length. “After all it has been a long few days.”

“It has,” Jason acknowledged. “I was a bit too awake to sleep though.”

“Something troubles you?”

“No. For once everything’s good. I just wasn’t ready to sleep.”

“Is Hercules still in bed?” Pythagoras asked.

“No,” Jason answered. “He got up a while ago. He’s gone out. Apparently he had to see a man about a beetle.”

Pythagoras raised one eyebrow.

“A beetle,” he said flatly.

“Yep,” Jason responded.

“Oh Gods! Does that mean that we’re going to have a house that stinks of horse dung again?” Pythagoras protested.

“We live with Hercules,” Jason pointed out. “How would you know the difference?”

He caught Pythagoras’ eye and they both dissolved into laughter for a moment. It felt good to relax after the stress of the recent days, Jason decided. He looked at Pythagoras and grinned broadly, draping an arm easily around his friend’s shoulders.

“Feels good to be home,” he said.

“It does,” Pythagoras agreed. “Although we will soon need to search for work once again. Our funds are a little lower than I would like.”

“I managed to tuck a few coins away after that last job,” Jason responded cheerfully. “I thought we might need them to tide us over at some point. I’ve got them hidden.”

Pythagoras grimaced.

“You had them hidden,” he corrected. “I fear that if you went to look you would find your money is missing.”

Jason frowned.

“Has Hercules been stealing again?” he asked.

“He prefers to think of it as borrowing,” Pythagoras murmured in response.

“It’s the same thing as far as he’s concerned,” Jason said dryly. “He never seems to manage to pay anything he ‘borrows’ back after all.”

“No,” Pythagoras agreed with wry humour. “No he does not.”

Jason rolled his eyes and began to stretch, breaking off as his side twinged again. Pythagoras’ eyes narrowed suspiciously but before he could comment Jason turned to face him fully.

“Changing the subject slightly I think I could probably do with your help,” he said softly.

“Is this the sort of help that will require me to fetch bandages?” Pythagoras responded perceptively, his sharp eyes automatically probing his friend for injuries.

He should have done this sooner, he berated himself. Possibly as soon as they had returned to the city, but at the time Jason had been all fired up about saving Ariadne once more. The head injury he had suffered and the myriad of small cuts, scrapes and bruises that littered his exposed skin had been known quantities – things that Pythagoras felt were not especially worrying and were certainly not slowing Jason down. He was moving as easily and fluidly as ever, and had not seemed to be in any significant pain so the possibility of an unknown hidden injury had not even occurred to Pythagoras. Then, when everything was all over, he had been tired – the strain of the last few days catching up with him – and all he had wanted to do was seek his own bed, believing that both his friends would follow suit and knowing that the rest would do them all good. He pursed his lips. He knew Jason’s tendency to ignore injuries if he felt the situation demanded it. He should have insisted on examining his friend earlier.

Jason started slightly. He really shouldn’t be surprised at Pythagoras’ intuition, he told himself. After all the man was a genius.

“Possibly,” he answered. “I don’t think I’m still bleeding but I could probably do with a clean bandage. I think the one I’ve got is probably going to be a bit grubby.”

Pythagoras’ eyes widened.

“What have you done?” he asked urgently. “How are you injured?”

“Arrow. Left side. Just above my hip,” Jason answered. “It’s not too bad to be honest but I’d like you check it if you don’t mind.”

“You were shot,” Pythagoras said flatly. “How? When? Why did you not tell me sooner?”

“At the time I was a bit busy,” Jason said. “And it really doesn’t feel all that bad. It just aches a bit… and pulls when I stretch too far.”

Pythagoras rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Sit down,” he instructed firmly. “I will go and fetch supplies while you remove your breastplate and tunic.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, why do you still have your breastplate on? We are at home and there are no enemies here.”

Jason rubbed one hand along his jaw, frowning at the rough rasp of stubble – he really needed to shave again. Despite Hercules’ assertion that they should grow beards and flee whenever trouble came, Jason really didn’t fancy full facial hair – it would be too itchy for a start.

“I was enjoying the sunshine,” he answered. “I just couldn’t be bothered to summon up the energy to move and take it off.”

He sat down on the edge of the table (knowing that the stools on the balcony were just a little too low for Pythagoras to be able to treat him without bending and wanting to spare his friend any discomfort because of him) and began to unlace his armour. Pythagoras turned and went back inside to gather bandages, water and several pre-prepared salves (living with Jason and Hercules had taught him the benefit of forward planning where injuries were concerned) and some healing herbs.

By the time he returned, Jason had removed his breastplate and was sitting on the table top, his legs swinging, his eyes closed and his face turned towards the sun with a peaceful expression. He had not, however, removed his tunic as instructed. Pythagoras’ eyes were drawn to the fairly significant blood stain near Jason’s waist on the left side of his tunic – a stain that stretched down towards the bottom hem. How had he not noticed it before?

“Most of it was hidden by my breastplate and the hilt of my sword,” Jason said without opening his eyes. “Plus you had other things to think about. First we were trying to find a way to stop Circe from killing us all and then we were trying to rescue Ariadne and escape from the guards.”

Pythagoras blinked. He hadn’t realised he had spoken out loud. He stepped forwards and set his supplies down on the table next to Jason. Jason lazily opened his eyes to watch his friend.

“How far did the arrow go in?” Pythagoras asked as he laid a couple of strips of bandaging flat on the surface of the table and organised his supplies and equipment.

“Erm… about that far,” Jason answered, holding his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. “I managed to pull it out alright.”

Pythagoras frowned. That was further in than he would have liked although perhaps not as far as he had feared. Still, he reflected, Jason had been lucky that it had clearly not hit anything vital. He gestured impatiently for Jason to remove his top.

“How did you come to be shot?” he asked, beginning to unwind the decidedly grubby bandage from around Jason’s waist.

“I meant to kill Pasiphae,” Jason said softly – reflectively. “I made it into her chambers and stood above her while she slept with my sword in my hand… but I couldn’t do it.” He caught Pythagoras’ eyes with an almost apologetic look. “I’m not a murderer.”

“I know,” Pythagoras responded kindly. “Nobody ever thought you were. I know how heavily Circe’s deal weighed on you but I do not believe that you have it in you to take a life in cold blood… and I mean that as a compliment.”

Jason swallowed and nodded.

“I stepped back into the shadows and prepared to leave but the Queen woke up,” he said. “She saw me… or at least she saw a shape in the darkness lurking near her bed… and she started to scream for the guards. I ran. I was making my way back to the courtyard to re-join you two when one of the guards appeared at the other end of the corridor I was in. He got a lucky shot in.” He flicked a half-smile at Pythagoras. “I hid until he’d gone past, pulled the arrow out and made it to the rendezvous point but you and Hercules had already gone so I had to look for another way to escape. Anyway I ended up in Ariadne’s chambers and she hid me. When she realised I was bleeding she insisted on dressing the wound… but it must have come open again as I escaped the Palace the next morning. I mean I knew it was probably still seeping when I got home – I could see that the stain on my shirt was a bit bigger than it had been under the edge of my breastplate – and it was a bit sore… but I didn’t realise how much it had bled until we all went to bed and I took my breastplate off and found the bandage had soaked through. Only by then you’d gone to bed and I… well… I didn’t want to wake you. I knew what I had to do. I knew I was going to face Circe alone… and I didn’t want to risk that plan by waking you up. It would have made it harder for me to sedate you when the time came. So I just re-bandaged it myself and hoped for the best. I’d actually forgotten all about it until just now.”

Pythagoras pursed his lips and shot Jason an exasperated look.

“Quite apart from the fact that you should not have sedated either Hercules or me and should in fact have woken me up when you discovered the wound was still bleeding, you should have said something while I was seeing to the cut on your arm after you defeated Circe. Any sort of injury can fester if it is not treated properly.”

Jason shrugged as Pythagoras began to unwind the last layer of bandaging, pleased to note that only a little blood seemed to have seeped into the cloth.

“I really did forget about it,” Jason protested mildly. “It wasn’t hurting at the time.”

“Hmm,” Pythagoras murmured noncommittally, grabbing a damp cloth and beginning to carefully wipe away the streaks of dried blood from his friend’s midriff to allow him to see the wound more clearly. “I suspect you were still somewhat excited and emotional following the confrontation with Circe and that this may have masked any pain. Does it hurt now?”

Jason shrugged again.

“A bit,” he admitted. “Like I said before, it sort of aches and there’s a sharp stab if I stretch too far.”

Pythagoras nodded absently, his attention focussed on his friend’s wound. As Jason had said, it was located low on his side, only just above his hip. Pythagoras probed the area carefully, wiping away as much of the dried blood as he could, checking for signs of infection. He was relieved to realise that the wound itself looked clean; the skin around it a normal, healthy colour when all the blood had been wiped away and cool to touch.

“Sorry,” he murmured as Jason flinched, his probing fingers clearly catching an area that was a little more tender.

“It’s fine,” Jason answered.

“It appears clean enough,” Pythagoras said softly, “and there is no sign of infection.” He hesitated for a moment. “Ideally I would like to insert a stitch or two to aid in the closure,” he added.

Jason pulled a face.

“Does it really need it?” he enquired. “Do you really have to?”

The idea of someone sewing him up without any form of anaesthetic was distinctly unappealing.

“No,” Pythagoras answered slowly. “It would help the wound to heal more quickly and decrease the risk of you reopening it, that is all. There would also be less chance of infection.” He paused for a moment, taking note of his friend’s reluctance. “I have a salve that will largely numb the skin,” he said softly. “There would be some discomfort but it would not be painful as such.”

“You do?” Jason asked, blinking in surprise. Although he had learned over the months that Pythagoras’ herbal remedies were surprisingly effective, as far as he knew there was no such thing as anaesthetic in ancient Greece – that was still many centuries away.

“Of course,” Pythagoras answered as though the answer was obvious.

He was wearing his ‘Jason, don’t be such an idiot’ expression again – the one that he got when he clearly thought Jason should know something and didn’t.

“There are many herbs with numbing properties,” the young genius went on. “Do you not have proper medicine where you come from?” He looked genuinely curious.

“Yes of course,” Jason answered a little defensively. “It’s just that I didn’t know you had it here. Everything’s so different here.”

Pythagoras looked down. He had thought over the last few weeks that Jason had seemed more settled; that his friend had finally seemed to be completely comfortable and at ease.

“I am sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“Don’t be,” Jason said, covering Pythagoras’ pale hand with his own tanned one. He smiled. “Different isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I like it here.”

Pythagoras returned his smile.

“I am glad,” he said gently.

“So,” Jason said lightly, “are you going to practice your embroidery on me or not?”

Pythagoras huffed a quick chuckle.

“Perhaps I should embroider my name so that people would know where to return you the next time you do something foolish and get yourself knocked out?” he answered equally lightly, as he scooped some sort of salve out of a small pot and slathered it around the wound. “There,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “We must give that a little time to start working.”

Jason grinned.

“Why your name and not Hercules’?” he asked. “It’s his house after all – as he’s fond of telling us.”

Pythagoras raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Do you really want ‘property of Hercules’ written on you?” he asked. “He would take credit for everything you do.”

“He already does that,” Jason snorted, although the ripple of laughter in his voice and the twinkle in his eyes told Pythagoras that he was only playing.

“Indeed,” Pythagoras responded. “He might take it into his head to gamble you in his next dice game as he does so often with his shirt. There are men all over this city who have tunics that used to belong to Hercules… I would not wish the same fate to befall you.”

Jason giggled. There really was no other word for it, Pythagoras decided as he checked the cuts and scrapes on his friend’s upper arms. It was not the sort of laugh that he would ever have expected to hear from a grown man and yet it suited Jason, he concluded.

“That would be… inconvenient,” Jason agreed. He tried valiantly (and unsuccessfully) to restrain the bubble of laughter that sought to escape. The laugh turned into a faint wince, however, as Pythagoras turned his attention to the contusion at Jason’s left temple, brushing his fingers against the injury.

“Sorry,” the mathematician murmured again, his eyes growing sympathetic.

The bruise that was forming at his friend’s temple, running up into his hairline, was truly spectacular and Pythagoras was in no doubt whatsoever that it was very sore to touch. He was actually more than a little surprised, if the truth be told, that Jason wasn’t exhibiting more signs of a nasty headache. Almost absently Pythagoras scooped up another small dollop of the numbing salve and began to smooth it over the bruising, keeping his touch as light as possible as his fingers did their work.

“I would take it as a kindness, Jason, if you would attempt to refrain from further injury for the next few days at least,” he said with mock sternness.

Jason’s eyes went very wide and innocent looking – the ridiculous puppy dog expression that he got from time to time which always made Pythagoras chuckle. Pythagoras felt his lips twitching automatically in response and tried to school his features into a stern expression.

“I am serious, Jason,” he said.

“I’ll certainly try my hardest,” Jason responded, his eyes dancing.

Pythagoras rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the arrow wound in his friend’s side. He judged that skin would be numb enough now to attempt to stitch it without causing Jason any undue pain. Reaching down to probe the area one last time (to ensure that it really was as numb as he hoped), the mathematician’s fingers accidentally trailed down Jason’s side. Jason jerked slightly beneath his hand. Pythagoras stopped instantly.

“I am sorry,” he apologised. “I thought that the salve would have taken effect by now.”

“You’re not hurting me,” Jason said quickly.

“Then what is it?” Pythagoras asked with concern.

“It just tickled a bit,” Jason answered.

He knew he had made a mistake the instant he saw the look of mischief that came into Pythagoras’ eyes and inwardly groaned.

“You are ticklish?” the mathematician asked, clearly filing the information away for use at a further date.

“A bit,” Jason admitted reluctantly. “Don’t tell Hercules though,” he implored.

“Why not?” Pythagoras asked as he began to ready his needle and thread.

“Well for one thing I don’t think he’d ever let me hear the end of it,” Jason answered, “and for another I have a feeling that he might use it against me the next time he wants something.”

“So what would you agree to, to get someone to stop tickling you? Or to keep this information to themselves?” Pythagoras enquired brightly as he wiped the wound one last time.

“What do you mean?” Jason asked nervously.

“I was thinking that I might trade some household chores in return for not telling Hercules,” Pythagoras answered. “The house could do with a general tidy.”

Jason’s eyes opened very wide.

“That’s blackmail!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Pythagoras responded, eyes dancing with mirth. “It is both mean and unscrupulous.” He chuckled and laid an affectionate hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Do not worry, my friend. Your secret is safe with me,” he said. “Although I could use a hand around the house,” he added.

His face grew serious once more.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Sure,” Jason responded.

He changed his mind though as Pythagoras began the task of stitching the injury closed. The wound might be numb (a fact that Jason was very grateful for right now) but the sight of the needle dipping into and out of his skin made Jason feel distinctly queasy. He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling.

Pythagoras gave Jason a knowing look.

“Do you know this is the second arrow wound of yours that I have treated in a matter of months,” he said lightly, trying to draw his friend’s concentration away from the needle and thread. “If I might be so bold I would suggest that perhaps you and archers do not mix and you should endeavour to avoid them in the future.”

Jason huffed a startled laugh.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

“Please do,” Pythagoras said primly. “I do get so bored of having to try to put you back together again.”

He grinned up at Jason.

Jason smiled back. Then he caught sight of the needle again and gulped, going slightly green. He had never really been all that fond of seeing blood or injuries to be completely honest. He looked away again quickly.

“I’ve been thinking about something the Oracle said,” he said, looking out across the street and keeping his eyes resolutely away from what Pythagoras was doing. The salve the mathematician had used might have numbed his side but the sensation of the needle passing in and out was still disturbing and more than a little uncomfortable.

“And?” Pythagoras said, still concentrating on keeping his stitches small and even. The wound might only need a few stitches to keep it closed but he had no intention of being slapdash where his friend’s health was concerned.

“It was when I went to see her before we rescued Ariadne. I wanted to thank her for everything she’s done for me because I didn’t know if I’d get the chance to again,” Jason murmured. “She already knew that I was planning on rescuing Ariadne though.”

“Well of course,” Pythagoras answered bluntly. “She is the Oracle. She sees the future.”

“Hmm,” Jason said. “When I told her that Ariadne was willing to give up her life to protect me and that I wasn’t going to let that happen… that I was going to rescue her or die trying… the Oracle smiled. She seemed pleased with me. When I asked her why, she said that there was a time when I would go to her to ask her what I should do but that now I was choosing my own path… She’s right.” He paused for a moment. “When I first came here everything felt so familiar and yet I knew so little about this place. I was lost and all I really wanted was someone to tell me what to do… what my purpose was… I still don’t always know what I’m meant to do but you know what? It’s alright because I don’t need to know what the future will hold to know that this is where I belong.”

Pythagoras smiled.

“I am glad you have come to call Atlantis home,” he said softly. He cut the thread he was sewing with and reached into another small pot, slathering the closed wound with a salve to stave off infection. With quick fingers he laid a dressing over the top and wrapped a clean bandage around his friend’s waist. “There,” he said. “You are done. I will prepare a painkilling tonic later.”

Jason frowned.

“It’s not hurting,” he protested.

“Perhaps not now,” Pythagoras answered, “but I suspect it will sting somewhat once the numbness has worn away. The very act of stitching the wound will cause a little discomfort in the coming hours… although I hope that any pain will be short lived.”

Jason slipped his tunic over his head and turned back to Pythagoras with a bright grin, dimples showing. He slid off the table and caught his mathematically inclined friend up in a one-armed hug. Pythagoras gave a startled squeak before responding to Jason’s apparently exuberant affection with a hug of his own.

“There are still things I miss about where I used to live,” Jason admitted, “and there probably always will be.”

“I know,” Pythagoras responded.

“But do you know what? This is home. My home. I never thought I’d say that about anywhere… never thought I’d find a place where I fit in… and it’s good.”

Pythagoras smiled affectionately.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go inside. There are things to be done… after you have caught up on some sleep that is,” he added eyeing the yawn that his friend stifled.

“What sort of things?” Jason asked with a certain amount of suspicion.

“Well for a start the sheets need folding,” Pythagoras answered, “and I believe that the shelves could do with a proper clean and tidy so that I can start making an inventory of our supplies. Oh, and we have washing to be done and the area around your bed is an absolute mess…”

He grinned at Jason’s answering groan and could not resist reaching out to lightly tickle his friend’s uninjured side, laughing as Jason squirmed and tried to put some distance between them.

“That’s mean,” Jason said, although the sparkle in his eyes showed he did not mind the teasing.

“Yes,” Pythagoras answered. “But that is what friends are for.”

“To torment me?”

“To share joys and sorrows,” Pythagoras corrected, “and everything else in between.”

“What’s it like? The place where you come from?”

Jason tensed at Pythagoras’ softly spoken words. He’d got away with it for too long he supposed. Sooner or later one of his friends was bound to start asking questions and he would have put money on it being Pythagoras. His younger friend was inquisitive by nature and the mystery of Jason’s origins was almost bound to set his curiosity alight.

“I am not trying to pry,” Pythagoras murmured. “If your past is something that you truly do not wish to talk about then I will not speak of it again. It is just that sometimes you say such strange things and I wondered if they were words that had meaning in your past that perhaps do not mean so much here.”

He came and stood next to Jason, leaning against the edge of the balcony (the unbroken portion of it at least) and looking out over the street.

Jason knew what he was trying to do and part of him appreciated it. He’d been angry as he’d walked home; angry at the Oracle; at the Gods; at himself. He had known what would happen and should have been able to prevent it. From the first moment he had met her he had known what Medusa’s fate would be and it was one that she had done nothing to deserve. She was innocent and he had failed her.

Kampê had even warned them about the box and he had seen for himself the way that both Pythagoras and Hercules seemed to be drawn to it; wanting to open it no matter what they had been told. Jason supposed he should wonder why he had never felt to urge to open it himself. In fact the box had made him feel cold every time he had looked at it, a deep unease that had only abated when he had put distance between himself and the accursed thing, and so he had retreated to the far side of the room – to the window where he could feel the warmth of the sun and yet still make sure than neither one of his friends ignored Kampê’s warning.

Having a copy of the box made to fool Kyros had seemed a good precaution to take. As had hiding the original in the space beneath the floor. Jason hadn’t counted on Medusa, hearing the siren song of Pandora’s Box calling to her, dragging the table aside, retrieving the box and then opening it, thus activating the curse that now afflicted her.

By the time Jason had reached the front door anger had given way to despair. What good did cursing the Gods do really? This was his fault. The knowledge that he had from his childhood – the legends of Ancient Greece that he had learned over the years – should have helped him. He should have been able to stop this; he should have been able to save Medusa from her fate.

Entering the house as quietly as he could he had made his way over to the balcony almost immediately. The fire that had happened while he and Hercules were in Hades (and Pythagoras still hadn’t said how it had happened) hadn’t been too bad in the end. Only one small section of the house had actually been damaged and Jason supposed he should be grateful that neither the bedrooms nor his own corner alcove had been touched. Still, everything stank of smoke and the charred walls and burnt furniture in that part of the room only served to remind him of their failure to save Medusa whenever he looked at it. The balcony and the fresh air it offered had seemed like a much better option.

Hercules had retreated to his room before Jason had even left the house to visit the Oracle and give her the box for safe-keeping. In his despair he had flung the accursed thing across the room and flung himself into his bedroom, barricading the door behind him. Pythagoras had, of course, immediately followed him (although what he could actually do Jason wasn’t quite sure), throwing the instruction over his shoulder to Jason to make sure Pandora’s Box was gone by the time Hercules came out again.

Jason hadn’t actually seen either one of his friends since his return from the Oracle until now and had assumed that Pythagoras would still be trying to comfort Hercules – which was as it should be. He had hoped to avoid the mathematician until he was in a bit better mood to be honest. Pythagoras had enough to deal with, handling the distraught Hercules without feeling that he needed to look after Jason too. It seemed Pythagoras had other ideas, however, and Jason would put money on the fact that his apparently random question and choice of topic of conversation was more an attempt to distract his dark haired friend from brooding than because he was genuinely interested in the answer (although undoubtedly Pythagoras was curious about Jason’s origins – he was just too polite to be truly nosy).

The clouds still rolled overhead; lightning splitting the night sky. It suited Jason’s mood perfectly.

“How’s Hercules?” he asked, ignoring Pythagoras’ question.

Pythagoras sighed. He turned his back to the street and looked back into the house, his back resting against the edge of the balcony.

“Sleeping,” he answered softly. “I made sure of it.”

“How?”

Pythagoras sighed again.

“He was distraught,” he admitted. “I have never seen him so… I cannot even think of the word to describe his state of mind. He blames himself for everything. I was afraid of what he might do in this state… so I gave him some wine that I had first drugged. I know that sleep will not truly mend anything but I suppose I hoped that it might help him to gain a little perspective – however futile my hope might be – and that by morning we might have come up with a way to give him a little hope.” He looked at Jason, his own despair at the situation they found themselves in written in his eyes. “You have found a safe place for the box?” he asked. “I do not want Hercules to see the damned thing when he awakes.”

Jason blinked in surprise. It was the closest he had ever come to hearing Pythagoras swear.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I took it to the Oracle. She will make sure that no-one can get close enough to open it again.”

“That is good,” Pythagoras said. He hesitated for a moment. “Did she have any answers to offer… any advice on what we should do next?”

Jason snorted.

“No,” he answered shortly. “She told me that I can’t undo what’s been done and that I was warned about the dangers that the box posed.”

Pythagoras drew in a sharp breath.

“I am sure that she did not intend it in the way you have taken it,” he said, although his voice lacked conviction.

“I don’t think so,” Jason retorted. “She told me that the day will come when I will have to kill Medusa.”

He broke off and looked out across the still street, studiously ignoring the newly created statues that had so recently been living and breathing people.

Pythagoras was unable to restrain his horrified gasp as he turned towards his friend, his blue eyes aghast.

“I won’t do it,” Jason went on. “I can’t. I told her so too.”

“Perhaps it would be for the best if we do not inform Hercules of this,” Pythagoras murmured. He looked sharply at Jason. “What did the Oracle say when you told her that?” he enquired.

“We didn’t exactly part on good terms,” Jason answered. “I was angry at what she was suggesting.”

“Jason what did you do?” Pythagoras asked with a certain amount of resignation.

Jason looked down at the street again.

“I cursed her,” he admitted quietly, “and I cursed her Gods.”

“Jason!” Pythagoras had never sounded more shocked.

Jason swallowed hard and turned to face his friend.

Pythagoras was staring at him in horror.

“You cannot challenge the Gods,” he said. “Even you cannot escape their will and their wrath.”

“I cannot submit to this… fate that the Oracle claims has been decided for me,” Jason answered. “This… destiny that I don’t want… and I cannot accept that it is Medusa’s fate to live as a monster… as a gorgon.” He swallowed hard again against the hard lump that seemed to have risen from his chest into his throat. “I can’t follow this path,” he almost whispered. “I can’t kill Medusa.”

“I did not imagine for a moment that you could,” Pythagoras replied comfortingly. “We will find a way around this. We will find a way to save Medusa. I have promised Hercules that I will seek a cure.”

“This is all my fault,” Jason murmured so softly that Pythagoras almost had to strain to hear him. “I should never have come here.”

He dropped his head and looked away.

Pythagoras’ eyes hardened.

“If you had never come here,” he pointed out abruptly, “I would have been dead and in the belly of the Minotaur months ago and Medusa would have become a Maenad. Is that what you would have wanted?”

“You don’t know that you would have drawn the black stone if I hadn’t been there,” Jason answered. “I went before you in the draw. You might have drawn the white one that I took.”

“And you do not know that I would not still have drawn the black stone,” Pythagoras argued. “And even if I had drawn a white one, seven unfortunates would still have been condemned to the labyrinth… and the whole thing would have been repeated the next year and the year after that and so on. Can you guarantee that I would never have drawn a black stone? Or that Hercules would not have drawn one in the future?”

“No,” Jason admitted.

“And what of Medusa?” Pythagoras went on, his voice rising sharply. “Would you have seen her become a Maenad or condemned to be killed by the satyrs?”

“Maybe it would have been better if she had become a Maenad,” Jason answered. “At least she would be happy… and she would never have been cursed.”

“You cannot see all the paths that the Fates lay out,” Pythagoras replied, his voice becoming gentle once more. “Perhaps she would still have been cursed but at a different time and in a different way. At least now she has friends who will do anything to seek a cure for her.”

“Maybe,” Jason said softly, still not looking at Pythagoras.

“Jason this is not your fault... no more than it is mine, or Medusa’s, or Hercules’ or anyone’s. You could not have foreseen Medusa finding Pandora’s Box and opening it… or the terrible curse that it would unleash.”

“I should have foreseen it though.”

“Now you are truly being ridiculous,” Pythagoras said sharply.

“The Oracle was right,” Jason responded distantly. “We were warned what the box could do… Kampê warned us before we escaped from her lair… There’s more too…”

“What?” Pythagoras asked with a troubled frown.

“When we first met Medusa…” Jason faltered for a moment before plunging on. “The Oracle warned me what her fate would be… she said that she would not be able to escape her destiny any more than I can escape mine… I knew what would become of her Pythagoras. I should have been able to stop it. I’ve failed her.”

Pythagoras sucked in a sharp breath.

“So that is how you knew not to look at her,” he murmured. He looked sharply at Jason. “I think perhaps it would be for the best if we do not tell this to Hercules either,” he added.

“Now do you see why this is all my fault?” Jason asked.

Pythagoras was silent for a long moment, trying to come up with the right words to say what he meant. He reached out and grasped Jason’s arm firmly, tugging sharply and forcing his friend to turn to face him.

“If this truly was Medusa’s fate then there was nothing you could have done to prevent it,” he said firmly. “The Fates spin a man’s moira not you or I, and even the Gods submit to them. They spin the thread of life, measure its span and cut it when it comes to an end. The Gods may alter a man’s destiny… may set him on the path of their choosing… but it is a matter for the Fates to decide where that destiny may ultimately lead and when any life must finally end. We must submit to their will and to the will of the Gods.”

“So we should just accept what’s happened to Medusa?”

“I did not say that,” Pythagoras answered primly. “If it was Medusa’s fate to be cursed then it was always going to happen. That does not mean, however, that we should not seek to undo the curse. The Oracle has seen a vision of one possible future… one in which you are forced to do the unthinkable and kill Medusa… but our choices and the choices of those around us affect the future. It is inevitable. The future is not set in stone… even if our fates are. It seems that it was Medusa’s fate to be cursed but perhaps it is ours to undo that curse and restore her.”

Jason didn’t answer. Wearily he turned away from the street and dragged the strap holding his sword in place over his head, allowing it to fall with a clatter to the floor. His breastplate followed the sword to the floor a few short moments later before he slid down to sit with his back against the wall of the window recess, as he had done on so many evenings over the past few months that he and Pythagoras had spent chatting about whatever subject took their fancy or exchanging confidences over a cup of wine.

Pythagoras tutted briefly over his friend’s untidiness before he gathered up the fallen sword and breastplate and moved them to the table that stood on their covered balcony. Turning back, he sat down opposite Jason with his back against a wooden pillar, unconsciously mimicking his friend’s posture, their feet almost touching.

Without saying anything, Jason began to untie his wrist braces, using his teeth on the recalcitrant knot on the right one before turning his attention to the left. As it came loose and dropped away, so too did the soft pad of cloth Pythagoras had given him to cover Circe’s brand (still unhealed in spite of the mathematician’s ministrations) to stop the leather of the brace from rubbing against the damaged skin and injuring it further. Pythagoras sighed and leant forwards, grasping Jason’s left arm with both his own and turning it towards the light.

“If you want evidence for how far you would have gone to save Medusa I think you need look no further than this,” he remarked softly. “The deal you made with Circe was done purely for your friends’ benefit. I am only sorry that I can do nothing to heal this wound.”

Jason swallowed hard.

“It’s alright,” he answered. “I don’t even know it’s there most of the time.”

Pythagoras snorted, clearly not believing him.

Jason looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t be having to sit here with me. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

“What exactly do you think I have to deal with right now?” Pythagoras asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well… Hercules…”

“Is sleeping,” Pythagoras answered. He sighed. “What happened this evening… I would to Gods that it had never happened and I cannot get either the sight of those poor people turned to stone or Hercules’ expression when he realised what had happened out of my head. Believe me when I say that I need the comfort of your company every bit as much as you need mine.” He raised his eyebrows again. “And before you think it, that is not another thing for you to feel guilty about that is not your fault.”

Jason snorted and rested his head back against the wall.

“It just keeps going round in circles in my head,” he said softly. “That maybe if I’d done something differently we wouldn’t be in this position now.” He glanced at Pythagoras and then looked away again. “I think I’d just about make a deal with Hades himself if it meant that things could be different… better. When I was walking back here from the Temple I started praying to your Gods… begging them.”

“What were you asking them?” Pythagoras asked, his eyes intent.

“To make it not real,” Jason answered softly. “To turn back the clock to before all this started so that everyone I care about would be safe. To take me back to where I came from so that none of you could be caught up in my mess.”

“Is that what you really want?” Pythagoras asked, his voice hoarse as though he were trying to reign in his emotions. “To go back to where you came from?”

“Yes,” Jason replied. “No. I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t want to leave you guys. I love Atlantis. I love my life here. I’ve never felt that I belonged anywhere as much as I do here… but life was so much simpler before I came here. Disaster didn’t seem to follow me around. I was ordinary.”

“I cannot imagine you ever being ordinary,” Pythagoras said, quirking his eyebrow. “You are different… special.”

“Not where I came from,” Jason answered. “Here it feels like we lurch from one disaster to another… and it’s my fault. I just want things to be simple again.”

Pythagoras scrambled across the floor without rising until they were sitting alongside one another. He wrapped his long arms around his knees and regarded his friend pensively.

“I understand your desire to go back in time,” he said softly. “For Medusa to be made whole and Hercules happy. If it were possible, I would make my own bargain with the Gods… but I do not think that it is a bargain that they will be willing to make.” He sighed. “If you wish to leave I will not stand in your way… although I will be sad to see you go.”

“I don’t want to leave as such,” Jason denied. “It’s just that there are times when I miss my old life… when I miss getting up in the morning and just going to work and not having to worry about someone I care for being cursed or threatened or forced into a situation they don’t want to be in… when I miss the days when I didn’t have this destiny that the Oracle keeps harping on about hanging over my head… and I really wish she’d just tell me what I’m supposed to do. All she ever says is that one day I’ll understand… that time will make it all clear. There are times when I want to throttle her when she says that.”

“Jason!” Pythagoras admonished.

Jason huffed a sound that was half laugh and half sob.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t really mean it. I wouldn’t really hurt her for the world. I just don’t want to see her again. What she said… I can’t forgive her… but I still wouldn’t see her harmed. From the first moment I arrived in Atlantis she’s been there for me… like you.” He looked at Pythagoras with a half-smile, wrapping an arm around the mathematician’s thin shoulders. “No matter what messes I’ve got us into, you’ve always been there at my side. I don’t think I’d even have made it through the first week without you.”

Pythagoras blushed slightly.

“I have done nothing special,” he murmured.

“Yes you have,” Jason answered. “You took a stranger… a fugitive… into your home and made him welcome. You listen to me without judging whenever I’m complaining and try to cheer me up if I’m sad. You have shared what you have with me and never really complained no matter what I’ve done. You’re the best friend I could have… the best friend I’ve ever had. It’s like I told your brother, you’re the kindest man I’ve ever known. I don’t want to leave. I just wish things had turned out differently.”

“As do I,” Pythagoras replied leaning into Jason’s one-armed hug for a moment. Then he shook himself, seeming to draw strength from the embrace. “We will find a cure though. I have to believe that for Hercules’ sake. He will need us both to be strong now.”

Jason attempted a reassuring smile. Pythagoras was right, he decided. It would do no good to fall apart now.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“What you always do,” Pythagoras answered. “Your best.” He sighed and looked towards the main body of the house. “Hercules will need us to give him hope. Tomorrow I will go to the library and begin to research the means by which Medusa might be cured. We will both need to keep a positive outlook for Hercules’ sake.”

“A positive outlook,” Jason said. “I can do that. Anything else?”

Pythagoras considered it thoughtfully.

“Well,” he said hesitantly. “I have one or two texts on medicine here that might contain some useful pointers… and I believe I have a treatise on the nature and classification of monsters… not that Medusa is a monster of course… that is… I think you know what I mean,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah,” Jason replied. “I know what you mean… probably best not to let Hercules hear you use the words ‘Medusa’ and ‘monster’ in the same sentence though.”

“Yes,” Pythagoras agreed. “If you could help me look over the texts that I already have tonight then I might have a clearer idea of the direction of my studies at the library tomorrow.”

In spite of the horror of the situation, Jason couldn’t help noticing that Pythagoras’ eyes lit up a little at the idea of research. He chuckled softly to himself and pushed himself to his feet, reaching down with one hand to help Pythagoras up.

“Come on then,” he said. “The sooner we get started the sooner you can start looking for this cure.”