Fanfic: Time's Wingèd Chariot - Chapter 2
Title: Time's Wingèd Chariot (Chapter 2)
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason/Ariadne, Pythagoras/Icarus, Hercules, Atalanta, Cassandra, Mac
Rating: T
Warnings: Major Illness, Main Character Death, Some Swearing
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: 25793 (This chapter - 9069)
Summary: Jason knew he was ill before he ever arrived in Atlantis - knew that he was dying - but since arriving there he hasn't really felt ill. When things start to go wrong though and he suddenly finds himself getting much worse, how will the people that know and love him best react to the news? And just how far will they all go to save his life - whether Jason wants it or not?
A/N Written for round six of the Small Fandoms Big Bang, and also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo for the 'sacrifice' prompt. It also fills the following prompt on the Atlantis Bucket List: "The reason Jason keeps risking his life (taking the sub down, taking the black stone…) is that he’s already dying (of cancer or something)".
Please go and check out the lovely artwork by
knowmefirst here on Dreamwidth and give the artist some appreciation too :-)
Chapter 2 - Life (or something like it)
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.
Author: Yassandra
Fandom: Atlantis
Pairing/characters: Jason/Ariadne, Pythagoras/Icarus, Hercules, Atalanta, Cassandra, Mac
Rating: T
Warnings: Major Illness, Main Character Death, Some Swearing
Disclaimer: Not mine. BBC and Urban Myth Films own them.
Word count: 25793 (This chapter - 9069)
Summary: Jason knew he was ill before he ever arrived in Atlantis - knew that he was dying - but since arriving there he hasn't really felt ill. When things start to go wrong though and he suddenly finds himself getting much worse, how will the people that know and love him best react to the news? And just how far will they all go to save his life - whether Jason wants it or not?
A/N Written for round six of the Small Fandoms Big Bang, and also for Hurt/Comfort Bingo for the 'sacrifice' prompt. It also fills the following prompt on the Atlantis Bucket List: "The reason Jason keeps risking his life (taking the sub down, taking the black stone…) is that he’s already dying (of cancer or something)".
Please go and check out the lovely artwork by
knowmefirst here on Dreamwidth and give the artist some appreciation too :-)
Chapter 2 - Life (or something like it)
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.