A Heart Which Burns Like Fire
The two male figures lay by the stream, arms entwined, eyes closed. The smaller of the two was still large, with brawny muscles and a Mediterranean complexion, skin criss-crossed with a warrior's scars. The larger had pale, smooth skin marred only by a single, jagged scar along his side, and flowing black hair; his fingers traced one of the marks on the smaller figure's chest.
"...and this?"
"Mmm? Hydra- shouldn't have taken me so long to think of using flame."
White teeth flashed. "My clever warrior. And this one?"
"Cerberus. Foul beast- I should've snapped one of its necks."
A chuckle. "Such petty, vengeful talk from the mighty Heracles," in a teasing tone, as his fingers tweaked the other’s chest hair, before sliding lower. "And this one...?" The demigod lay back, then suddenly sat up. "I should go."
"Your father." No teasing in the tone now.
"...yes."
"Well do I know it does not pay to upset the king of the gods," said the titan, as he looked away. "You’d best hurry home, before you wind up imprisoned like my brothers." There was an uncomfortable silence; a splash, as a fish leaped for a fly. Then, from Heracles, softly: "...if I could stay, I would. He’s with his latest mortal woman now, but you know his temper..."
"I know it well." The titan’s black eyes glanced down at the scar on his side. "Very well."
The smaller figure bit his lower lip, as his fingers hesitantly brushed the mark, then pulled back. "I don’t know; perhaps his anger toward you will cool..."
A bitter laugh. "You betray your youth, godling, and your lack of memory." He looked at Heracles for a moment, then stared away at the horizon, before finally speaking again. "You deal with your father’s punishing you as a son and heir for some foolish, drunken revel, and you think that you have known his wrath. You think that he feels as you feel- that he has a mortal’s anger, which feeds itself like a flame, then blows out again- for mortals cannot carry that flame in their heart for long. You know nothing of anger, child.
"You did not have to deal with his merciless, endless rage when we titans refused to become slaves to his whim- to hear my family’s screams as he dove among us, shattering with his thunderbolts those who dared fling themselves at his feet to plea for mercy. You did not have to flee in the night as the son of Cronus, who slew his own father, screamed his rage at me, taking out his anger upon my family before imprisoning them in the pits of Tartarus. You have never had to skulk in dark corners, hiding from a vengeance that could find you at any moment, living only for the moments when he forgets himself with some mortal, and I can dare risk contact with the one..." He broke off, and stared into Heracles’ eyes until the demigod looked away. "No- even by the standards of your race, you are a child, who understands nothing. His anger is a flame undying; it is the anger of a god."
Heracles’ eyes jerked back to his, shame turning to anger. "A child, am I?" he said, scowling. "Have a care- this is the child who..."
Atlas smirked. "I have piqued the ire of the son of Zeus." Suddenly, he lunged, pinning Heracles’ hands over his head. "How now, son of Zeus? Will you slay me with a thunderbolt?" Heracles’ face darkened with rage; muscles that could twist steel tensed and flexed... but the titan’s grip remained firm, as he sat astride the other. Time passed, as Heracles struggled, before finally falling back, exhausted. The titan stared down at him, then finally bent, and kissed his cheek. "What are you thinking...?"
When Heracles’ answer came, it was in a whisper. "The first... the first thing I remember is the snakes, sent by Hera. Thinking they were toys- strangling them without meaning to, and the awe on my mother’s face when she saw what I had done. From that moment, it seemed that nothing could stand before me. Rock, iron- I went where I pleased, and did as I pleased, and the stuff of the earth itself could not bar my way. I knew that there was nothing that could stop me, could contain me.
"...I knew nothing."
"Perhaps I may help you to learn," whispered Atlas, as they came together.
*
"I could make Hephasteus build us a chariot," over the noise of the stream, as the two lay side-by-side in the grass.
"And when your father finds us...?"
A pause; then, quietly: "I would face him for you. I would."
"Perhaps you would at that," in an amused tone, as Atlas rolled over to chart the sun’s progression across the sky, "...but not today. In fact..." His tone suddenly turned to one of urgency, and fear. "Heracles..." Heracles began to turn, to look, as the world exploded in thunder and flame.
*
Faint clink of chains, the only sound. Darkness. How long had he waited here, for the mercy of the slayer of Cronus? No way of knowing. New lines of pain, as eternal as he, traced his flesh- the mad god’s mark. Suddenly, footsteps in the silence; the door creaked open, and was pulled to. A spark in the darkness; he had to look away from the lantern’s dim light.
"I had to see you."
"Behold your father’s mercy."
Silence, as the demigod’s eyes traced the lines that marked the titan’s white flesh. "You yet live," he finally said. "There is hope..."
A bitter laugh. "Tell that to my brothers in Tartarus- even from here, I can feel your father’s rage. How he means to make an example of me. The only hope- with your strength, and mine..." He held forth one shackled arm; Heracles’ fingers brushed the chains, then fell away, as he stared at the floor. "I see. That for hope, then."
A choked sound from the other, as he turned away, displaying bruises and scars on his own flesh. "I’d never seen him so enraged- he attacked me without mercy, until I thought he meant to slay me..."
"You’re mortal- the scars will fade." For a moment, their eyes met, and Atlas’ mouth quirked, as he made a hopeless gesture of reaching for the other. "Ahh, forgive me, child, that I have no more comforting words for you."
"Is that all you have to say to me...?"
"No. When he does... whatever he does to me, be there. I want you to remember, as much as a mortal can."
*
He did not speak, as they led him from the place of judgement, where Zeus’ words still hung in the air. Although his step faltered when he reached the mountain peak, he set his jaw, and stood firm, as they prepared to lower the sky. The gods of Olympus surrounded him; even the Titans, guarded, had been brought up for this. No one would meet his eyes, or the eyes of the towering figure who stood, arms crossed, thunderbolts at the ready should he run. Finally, the god spoke, his words rumbling through the air. "You shall sully my son with your filthy titan’s touch no more."
Atlas met his gaze, looking into eyes that contained only endless fire. "I taught him love- a lesson he never learned from you." he said, his voice surprisingly firm. After all, what was there left to fear? It was Zeus who looked away, turning his head to where Heracles stood, forced to watch by his guards. "Now you will teach him a different lesson, titan."
Zeus nodded, and the bowl of the sky was lowered. In the last moment before its pressing weight forced him to bow his head, Atlas lifted his head, searching for Heracles’ gaze. Even as Heracles dropped his eyes, Atlas spoke: "Remember."
*
What happened next is known to all: how Heracles came to visit the titan, straining beneath the crushing burden of the sky. How Heracles offered to hold the burden aloft- then, when even his demigod’s strength proved unequal to the task, he got the titan to reshoulder the burden, saying that he merely needed a moment to pad his shoulders with his cloak. How, once the sky was back on the titan’s shoulders, he turned, and walked away, and looked upon Atlas no more.
The legends speak freely of this, but they do not mention the look of crushing grief upon Heracles’ face when he looked upon Atlas for the first time since the trial. They do not mention coppery fingers tracing an old scar against pale skin for a moment, or a gentle kiss. Nor do they mention that Atlas’ reshouldering the burden of the sky was his own idea, eyes sad with ancient grief as he looked upon his lover, attempting to bear this impossible burden. Perhaps the ancient storytellers have forgotten how the titan’s last, whispered words as he settled back into his crouch, or the shattered look upon Heracles' face as he turned, and trudged back into a world which could not contain him. Perhaps they have forgotten, or perhaps they still fear an ancient rage, as hot and undying as fire.