Fanfic: Time's Wingèd Chariot - Chapter 3 (Part 1)
Title: Time's Wingèd Chariot (Chapter 3 - Part 1)
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 (both parts) - 10430)
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 3 - The End of the Beginning (Part 1)
Consciousness returns slowly and painfully. As Jason becomes more aware, sheer agony lances through his chest and he arches back on the bed, eyes still tightly closed.
A gentle hand appears behind his head, tilting it forwards firmly, as a cup is pressed to his lips.
“Drink,” a voice says kindly. “It will help.”
Jason parts his lips and the other person tilts the cup, a slow but steady flow of fluid pouring into his mouth, and swallows obediently when prompted; allowing himself to be fed the tonic like a baby bird or perhaps a small child.
When he has drunk what is deemed to be a suitable amount, the hand gently lowers him back onto a pillow, propped up to be almost sitting, and the voice admonishes him to rest.
Jason lies there for a few moments, allowing whatever was in the cup to begin to take effect, before trying to open his sleep encrusted eyes. He struggles with it until he hears his companion give a long suffering sigh.
“You really cannot do what you are told, can you,” the voice says with both exasperation and underlying fondness.
The bed moves slightly beneath Jason, as though someone is reaching for something, and then a damp cloth is wiped gently across his eyes, removing the gummy sleep and allowing him to open them.
He is lying in the bed he shares with Ariadne aboard the Argo. Pythagoras is perched on the edge, his face grave and his eyes worried.
The pain has receded into a dull ache and Jason opens his mouth to speak but finds himself dissolving into helpless coughing once more; his mouth filling with the copper tang of blood.
Pythagoras’ eyes narrow with concern, as he grabs a cloth from the side of the bed and holds it to his friend’s mouth.
“Do not try to speak,” he admonishes. “I am afraid the smoke has affected you quite badly.” He hesitates for a moment. “We need to talk,” he continues. “But you need rest first.”
As the coughing fit passes, Jason drops back against the pillows and watches his friend wearily.
Pythagoras busies himself with disposing of the bloodstained cloth and reaching for a cup of water, which he raises to Jason’s lips.
The water is cool and soothing as it slips down Jason’s throat and he blinks gratefully at his blonde friend.
“Pythagoras,” he tries.
His voice is little more than a breathless raspy whisper and the sheer effort it takes just to get out that one word is shocking.
“You really should not try to speak,” Pythagoras replies.
Jason licks his lips and tries again.
“You… know… don’t you?” he manages through heavy breaths.
Pythagoras looks back at him steadily, his eyes suspiciously bright and damp.
“I think so, yes,” he says softly, his voice sad. “We will talk later… I believe that we have to… but for now just rest.”
Jason sighs but does lie back, too tired to do much else. He closes his eyes and drifts away, knowing that the conversation he has been dreading for weeks must happen once he is awake again.
“So what exactly is wrong with him?” Hercules growls grumpily.
Pythagoras takes no offence at his old friend’s tone; he knows from long experience that Hercules is at his gruffest when he is worried.
The central room tends to be the place where they gather and they are all there now: Pythagoras and Hercules, Icarus, Ariadne, Cassandra and Atalanta (although Pythagoras does wonder why the strange, half-wild huntress is there - she isn’t usually part of their inner group; their family). The only one missing is Jason.
They are back at sea again; the supplies have been loaded and King Dexicos and Queen Ismene have been left to rebuild their home. The fire gutted about a quarter of their Palace but, thanks to the work of the servants and guards, the royal chambers have remained untouched - and thanks to Icarus and Jason the Princess is safe.
Hours have passed since Jason first regained consciousness and he has been sleeping peacefully ever since Pythagoras spoke with him. The young genius is grateful for that fact but cannot help worrying about the state his friend is in. He knows - or thinks he knows - deep down that this is something serious (has suspicions about what it might be); now that he thinks about it the signs have been there for weeks and he wonders now how he never noticed them before. He had known that Jason seemed more tired than usual (of course he had known) - had put it down to the stress of leading this expedition - but he doesn’t know how he managed to miss the weight loss or the pain lurking in his friend’s hazel eyes; how he managed to miss Jason’s gradual deterioration.
“As I told you, Jason has been badly affected by the smoke he inhaled,” he says patiently, silently hoping that none of his friends will press for any more details until he has had a chance to speak to Jason properly.
“Why do I think that there is something you are keeping from me?” Ariadne questions suspiciously. “Pythagoras, if there is something I need to know then I must insist you tell me.”
Pythagoras silently curses Jason for putting him in this position. It seems distinctly unfair that he should have to be the one to talk to Jason’s wife in his friend’s place.
“Ariadne,” he begins (all titles have long since been forgotten between them - Ariadne insists that her given name is used when she is amongst friends).
“But Icarus was in there too,” Hercules protests loudly, interrupting. “Why hasn’t he been affected in the same way?”
“Perhaps… Icarus was… just… lucky.”
Pythagoras looks up sharply towards the doorway. Jason looks more than a little unsteady on his feet and his voice is quiet and breathless, but he is clearly determined to be here.
“Should you even be out of bed?” Icarus enquires mildly.
Jason shoots him an exasperated look.
“I am fine,” he mutters, although the fact that he has to stop to catch his breath makes his words less than convincing.
Pythagoras raises an eyebrow.
“Define ‘fine’,” he says with asperity.
“You are angry with me,” Jason states, still struggling for breath.
Pythagoras slams the cup he is holding down onto the table and turns back to glare at his friend.
“I think I have a right to be,” he says sharply. “After all you have been keeping a fairly major secret from me for how long?”
Jason bites his lip.
“I knew before I came to Atlantis,” he answers quietly, knowing that Pythagoras will not like his response.
Pythagoras sucks in an incredulous breath.
“The whole time you have been here,” he says disbelievingly. “All that time and you never said a word… you did not think to tell us.” He looks back at Jason with eyes that are full of sorrow. “Does my friendship mean so little to you?” he asks in a small voice.
Jason crosses the room and catches hold of the mathematician’s arm. He is as pale as a ghost and so short of breath that it is a moment before he can speak, but his grip on Pythagoras’ arm is certain; his hand warm and comforting.
“Your friendship means the world to me,” he says earnestly. He swallows hard before continuing. “When I first came here, I was still in denial. I didn’t want to believe that it was true… I mean I knew it was… but if I did not acknowledge it, then I could almost forget about it… and I felt so good that I began to think that they might have got it wrong.”
“But you did not really believe that,” Pythagoras replies softly. “Which is why you have always been so reckless… so disregarding of your own well-being.”
“Maybe,” Jason acknowledges. “It started getting worse just after we found Argo… the night before we set sail actually… although maybe it had been getting a bit worse for a while and I just didn’t notice… I mean I just thought that I was tired before that… that everything was catching up with me…”
“Why did you not tell me then?” Pythagoras asks.
“Because I did not know how… Besides, I know how nervous everyone is about this journey… I was worried that the crew would start leaving if they thought that something wasn’t right… And I never wanted to see pity in your eyes… I never wanted you to see me as someone who was…”
Jason breaks off and looks away.
The room is silent for a moment. Ariadne looks around the room. Atalanta is watching the scene impassively yet knowingly, while Icarus is biting his lip. They clearly both know what’s going on (as does Cassandra but really that’s no surprise). The Queen’s eyes narrow.
“You never wanted Pythagoras to see you as someone who was what?” she demands. “Why do I get the feeling that I am the only one here who does not know what is going on?”
“You’re not the only one,” Hercules growls. “And I for one want to know what you are talking about.”
Jason swallows and crosses to his wife’s side. He reaches out and takes both her hands in his.
“You are so very beautiful,” he murmurs. “I don’t tell you that enough.”
“You tell me every day,” Ariadne points out. “And you are avoiding the question.”
“No I am not,” Jason replies softly. “I just want you to know that I love you,” he pauses for a moment, looking into Ariadne’s dark eyes with a wistful smile. “And that I am sorry,” he adds.
“Sorry for what?” Ariadne asks in confusion. “Jason, what is going on? You are scaring me.”
“I have never wanted to scare you,” Jason answers. “Or to hurt you for that matter.” He sways slightly on his feet and closes his eyes against the wave of light-headedness, still wheezing as he breathes. “Actually, would you mind if we sat down?” he asks.
“Of course not,” Ariadne replies, leading him to a bench and sitting down next to him.
She looks at her husband searchingly.
“We do not need to do this now,” she declares. “You are not well.”
“I am alright,” Jason protests.
“No you are not,” Ariadne states firmly. “I saw the blood Jason… I saw you collapse. I have never been so frightened.”
“I am sorry,” Jason murmurs. He reaches out with one hand to caress the side of her face. “This is all my fault.”
“What is wrong?” Ariadne asks. “Please… I need to know.”
Jason sighs.
“I have been selfish,” he replies quietly. “So very selfish.” He pauses and swallows hard. “I should never have married you.”
Ariadne’s blood runs cold. She recoils from her husband.
“This is about her, isn’t it?” she demands. “You regret marrying me because of how you feel about her.”
“No!” Jason retorts sharply. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not in love with Medea… I am in love with you.” He stops for a moment, panting slightly. “And I could never regret marrying you… but that doesn’t alter the fact that it was selfish of me to do so.”
“Then what are you talking about?” Ariadne asks crossly.
“I am going to make you a widow before you have really had the chance to be a wife,” Jason answers quietly. “I have an illness… a disease. It started in my lungs but before anyone realised that I had it, it had spread. It is in both my lungs and has spread to the muscle beneath - the diaphragm - and into my chest wall… it may have spread further than that by now… I don’t really know to be honest. Anyway, by the time it was diagnosed it was already too late… there was nothing anyone could do.”
Ariadne stares at him in horror, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“It is karkinos then,” Pythagoras murmurs in the background. “I suspected as much when I saw how much blood you were coughing.”
Jason frowns for a moment, working out what his friend has said.
“I think that is what you would call it,” he says. “Where I come from we have a slightly different name.”
“So what are you saying?” Hercules demands. It’s clear to everyone that he knows the answer to his own question already but does not want to believe it.
Jason goes to speak but breaks off into a deep cough once again. He throws his hand up over his mouth, knowing that what is going to come out will not be pleasant to see. Icarus steps forwards and hands him a cloth - something that Jason is grateful for as it will hide the worst of what he is likely to cough up. He can feel Ariadne rubbing his back gently (almost too gently, as though she is afraid he will break if she rubs any harder) and wants to reassure her that he is alright but he really doesn’t have the breath.
Once the coughing fit subsides, he sits up properly and tries to hide the bloodstained cloth in his lap, aware that both Ariadne and Hercules’ eyes are on it.
“Sorry,” he gasps breathlessly.
“The smoke has irritated your lungs,” Pythagoras says bluntly as he pushes a cup of water across the table to Jason. “It will take several days for the irritation to subside - especially with your underlying condition.” He looks searchingly at Jason. “You should not really be out of bed yet,” he adds.
Jason nods. He turns to look at Hercules. The burly wrestler’s expression is stricken.
“Jason,” he begins.
“It’s alright,” Jason replies.
“How?” Hercules demands. “How is anything alright?” He turns to glare at Pythagoras. “There must be something you can do. You’ll think of something… you always do. There’s no man cleverer than you. You’ll think of something. I know you will. You have to.” There is desperation in his tone and Pythagoras exchanges a look with Jason, neither of them wanting to be the one to destroy their friend’s hope.
“There really is nothing that I can do,” Pythagoras says sorrowfully. “If there was anything - anything at all - I would do it... but there are no real effective treatments for this. There are many things that have been tried but nothing that I know of that has worked. From what I have read, it is believed that karkinos is caused by an excess of black bile in the body which causes growths to develop… but neither bloodletting nor balancing the humours in any other way has proved effective.” He glances at Jason. “The best that any practitioner of medicine can do is to provide pain relief and try to control and minimise the symptoms.”
“But…” Hercules begins.
“Hercules I am dying,” Jason says bluntly. He pauses for a moment as what he has just said hits him. “I’m dying,” he repeats more slowly. He swallows hard. “I’ve never said those words out loud before,” he admits. “I’ve always skirted around the issue.”
Pythagoras sits down opposite him and tries to smile, although it is not convincing.
“So,” the mathematician says. “Where do we go from here?”
Jason frowns.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Speaking as a physician, being on a ship on a long voyage is not the most comfortable place for someone to spend their last…” His voice falters.
“You mean you don’t think it is a comfortable place to die,” Jason clarifies with a half-smile. “I don’t see why not.” He looks around the room. “Seems fitting somehow,” he says. “I’ve spent a fair bit of my life at sea. The man who raised me owned his own ship. He taught me to love the ocean... And everyone that I really care about is here. Why would I want to be anywhere else? Besides… we still have a job to do - Pasiphae still needs to be defeated.”
“You can’t still be intending to go to Colchis now,” Hercules explodes. “You must be insane.”
“Probably,” Jason agrees. “But if we do not go to Colchis and we do not destroy the Golden Fleece, then Pasiphae will win.”
“So let her!” Hercules yells. “I say we take this ship and go and find somewhere comfortable and quiet, far from Atlantis, and settle there.”
He is angry at the situation (at the world) rather than at his friend and the explosion was inevitable. Jason takes no offence.
“Perhaps Hercules is right,” Ariadne murmurs. “This is a battle we cannot win and at least we will be together when…” She breaks off as she breaks down.
Jason throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, resting her head on his shoulder and murmuring something that only she can hear into her hair.
He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, it is with the look of grim determination that his friends have become used to (and come to dread). He looks at the until now silent Cassandra.
“What will happen if we do not destroy the Golden Fleece and do not defeat Pasiphae?” he asks, in the tone of one who already knows the answer to his question.
Cassandra looks at him with her clear, wide eyes.
“Atlantis will be destroyed and thousands will perish,” she states. “The Gods are angry. They threaten vengeance and desolation. Their voices are raging. They say that until the witch Queen is vanquished and the true heir is restored, the people of Atlantis will never know peace. They threaten to fall on the city and their revenge will be terrible.”
“So we go on,” Jason says firmly.
“But does it have to be us that destroy the Fleece?” Icarus asks seriously. “I understand why you want to do this,” he continues, looking at Jason. “I know what you are trying to do… but does it have to be us... have to be you that does it?”
“The Gods have spoken,” Cassandra says. “Only the combined power of the son of Poseidon and the daughter of Hekate will see the source of Pasiphae’s power destroyed. For neither can succeed without the help of the other.”
“Then we really do have no choice,” Jason replies. “Or at least I do not.” He breaks off again with a brief but painful sounding cough.
“It would seem not,” Pythagoras murmurs. He looks sharply at his younger friend, taking in the weary slump to the shoulders and the little lines of pain that have deepened around Jason’s eyes.
“If we are to do this… if we are to go to Colchis,” he continues firmly, “then you must rest and regain your strength now. Your lungs will have been weakened further by the fire. Allow yourself a few days to recover… and I will do all I can to help.”
“Pythagoras is right,” Ariadne chimes in before Jason can respond. “We are at sea with nothing immediately pressing. We should all take the opportunity to rest for a day or two.”
“You are both right,” Jason acknowledges. “And I am not even going to try to fight you.”
He catches an anxious look that Pythagoras throws to Hercules.
“What?” he asks.
“It always concerns me when you give in without a fight,” Pythagoras admits.
Jason chuckles, but once again it turns into a brief wracking cough.
“Let’s just say that I am learning when to pick my battles,” he says.
Pythagoras stares at him for a moment and then snorts with laughter. He catches Icarus’ confused look and tries to sober up.
“I am sorry,” he says, “but I am sure that I can recall an occasion when you attacked an entire patrol single handed.”
Jason gives Ariadne an awkward glance.
“To be fair, I wasn’t entirely myself at the time,” he mutters.
“We do not need to talk about that now,” Ariadne says firmly, almost daring the others to argue with her.
Jason nods.
“If that’s decided, then I think I am going to go and lie down for a bit,” he says. “I am quite tired.”
He pushes himself up from the table. His breathing is still shallower than it should be and the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy, making him sway unsteadily. Hercules is there immediately, dragging Jason’s arm across his shoulders and wrapping an arm securely around his friend’s waist.
“Come on,” he growls. “Back to bed with you.”
Jason tries to smile at him, although it lacks its usual brilliance, and heads off to the room he shares with his wife with Hercules supporting him and Ariadne following, leaving his other friends lost in silent thought.
Ariadne enters the central room with a heavy heart, silently closing the door to her room behind her. At the table Atalanta is making arrows; sharpening the points with her knife. Ariadne sits down and watches her for a moment before reaching out and grabbing an arrow shaft and a second knife off the table. She is glad to be doing something - especially something that doesn’t require a great deal of thought. Atalanta stops and watches her for a moment, her expression (unseen by Ariadne) both knowing and sad.
“You are tired,” the huntress observes at length.
Ariadne looks up, startled.
“Yes,” she agrees. “I am.”
“You are not sleeping?”
“Jason had a bad night,” Ariadne answers. “He was in pain and breathless. He feels guilty for keeping me awake but I would far rather that than to wake up alone and not knowing where he is.” She glances at the door she entered through. “He is sleeping now.”
“You love him very much,” Atalanta says.
“With all my heart,” Ariadne replies.
“And it hurts you to see him suffer… yet you try not to let anyone see it. You are very brave.”
“Not really,” Ariadne says. She sighs. “My life has taught me that the future is so very uncertain. All we have is the here and now, because we do not know what will come tomorrow. Every day is precious and must be enjoyed… I do not know what the future may bring but we are here together now… and that is enough… There will be time enough for tears later.”
Atalanta reaches out and takes another arrow shaft from the table.
“There is more, is there not?” she says.
Ariadne closes her eyes for a moment and turns her head away. When she looks back she finds that Atalanta is directing a clear-eyed unblinking gaze in her direction.
“I tried to deny my feelings for Jason for so long,” Ariadne murmurs, her voice full of emotion. “I pushed him away because I was scared of how people might judge me. I believed that our love would weaken my position because the nobility would never accept Jason; that I would not be able to protect my people properly because of it… but Eurydice was right…” she is speaking more to herself than Atalanta now and doesn’t bother to explain who Eurydice was. “She said that love was as destructive as it was harmonious and that it would not be denied… I wasted so much time… and now I begrudge every moment when we should have been together and were not.” She swallows hard. “It is hard,” she admits, “watching the person you love most in the world slipping away piece by piece… watching him grow weaker with every day that passes. I had thought it was difficult when my father was ill but this is so much harder.”
“And what would you do if there was a chance to save him? To cure him?” Atalanta asks softly, her eyes intent.
Ariadne stifles a cry and brings her hand up over her mouth.
“I would give anything to save Jason,” she gasps. “You know of a way, don’t you?” She reaches out and grabs Atalanta’s arm.
“Ever since I was abandoned in the forest as a child my Goddess Artemis has walked at my side,” the huntress replies obliquely. “She talks to me… she came to me and told me that if I wish to cure Jason I must speak with Poseidon’s Oracle… that I must ask her about the Temple of Hera.”
Ariadne feels the first surging of hope in her heart, although she tries to clamp down on it before is overcomes her. She gets up from the table. As she does, Icarus wanders in.
“The helmsman says we are not far from an island,” he says. “He wants to know if we should make landfall here or carry on.”
Ariadne hurries over to him and clasps his hand.
“Icarus I need you to find the Oracle for me and bring her in here,” she says urgently.
Icarus frowns.
“What is wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Ariadne assures him. “But I must speak with her urgently. I have a question that only she can answer.”
The young man looks at her searchingly, nods and rushes back out of the room. He returns in incredibly quick time with Cassandra in tow. Both Pythagoras and Hercules hurry in with them.
“What is wrong?” Pythagoras asks quickly. “Icarus said that it was urgent.”
Atalanta gives a faint and mysterious smile. She looks straight at Cassandra.
“My Goddess told me to ask you about the Temple of Hera,” she says.
“The Temple of Hera,” Cassandra echoes. “It is far from here and will require all our courage to reach… but we must journey there. Only there will we find the means to pass the sirens.”
“The sirens!” Hercules exclaims. “We want to avoid them. Going near the sirens is suicide! It’s worse than suicide… whatever that might be.”
“But we must pass them if we are to journey to Colchis and then return to Atlantis,” Cassandra says. “In the Temple of Hera, we will find a lyre that can silence the sirens.”
“My Goddess Artemis told me that there is a cup in the Temple of Hera that I must ask you about,” Atalanta says softly.
“The cup of Panacea,” Cassandra replies, her voice mysterious. “Daughter of Asclepius and Goddess of the remedy to cure all ills. It is in the Temple of Hera.”
“What does this cup do?” Ariadne demands.
“It can heal even mortal illness,” Cassandra responds.
A ripple of surprise (and hope) runs around the room
“Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Hercules demands. “What are we waiting for?”
“The Gods choose when to reveal things to me,” Cassandra answers. “I must obey their will and listen to their instructions. They did not choose to allow me to see the cup before. My vision has been clouded of late. I must warn you now, though. There is a price to pay for using the cup of Panacea… and the price is high indeed. It will require great sacrifice.”
“And what is this price?” Ariadne asks.
“In return for allowing someone to be healed with the cup, the Fates demand an exchange,” Cassandra says. “A life for a life… and it must be the life of someone who cares for the person being healed. That is the price of using Panacea’s remedy.”
Ariadne swallows hard and closes her eyes for a moment.
“Very well,” she says.
“Jason will never agree to that,” Pythagoras points out. “He will never allow anyone to sacrifice themselves for him.”
“Then we do not tell him,” Ariadne answers simply. She looks at Cassandra. “You say that we must go to this Temple anyway.”
Cassandra’s smile is otherworldly.
“Yes,” she replies. “For only there will you find the means to continue. We will not be able to pass the sirens without the lyre from the Temple.”
“Where is this Temple?” Hercules asks.
“To the north,” Cassandra answers. “On the borders of the lands of the barbarians.”
“You can guide us there?” Ariadne asks.
Cassandra nods in response.
“We go north then,” the Queen decides. She turns towards Icarus. “Tell the helmsman that we will make landfall to re-provision… and tell him that he needs to prepare to set a course to the north once we are ready to set off again.”
Icarus offers her a smile and nods. He sweeps out of the room taking Cassandra with him to make sure the course they are plotting is correct. Atalanta gathers up her arrows, gives Ariadne an enigmatic smile and leaves with them.
Ariadne turns back to find Pythagoras and Hercules both watching her intently.
“Are you alright?” the young genius asks her.
“Yes,” Ariadne answers. “As well as I can be… I have hope now, which is more than I had when I got up this morning…”
“What are we going to tell Jason?” Hercules asks. He looks around. “And where is Jason anyway?”
“Sleeping I hope,” Ariadne responds.
Pythagoras looks at her shrewdly.
“He did not have a good night?” he asks.
“No,” Ariadne replies. “It was the worst night we have had in weeks… probably the worst since that fire. He was in a great deal of pain.”
Pythagoras frowns, mind clearly already in healer mode.
“I will look at strengthening the tonics,” he says.
“As for what we tell Jason,” Ariadne murmurs. “We will tell him about the Temple and the lyre… but we will not tell him about the cup of Panacea.” She glances at the door of the room she shares with her husband. “I do not want to raise his hopes until we are certain that we can use the cup and I do not want to give him the chance to object,” she continues. “You have said often enough that Jason has always been stubbornly ruled by his heart and I do not believe that he will ever accept any of us choosing to risk our lives for him.”
Hercules rests his hands on the table and leans on them. He blows out a long breath.
“So we do what we’ve always done,” he rumbles. “We protect Jason… even if that means protecting him from his own idiotic sense of honour… We protect him from himself.”
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 (both parts) - 10430)
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 3 - The End of the Beginning (Part 1)
Consciousness returns slowly and painfully. As Jason becomes more aware, sheer agony lances through his chest and he arches back on the bed, eyes still tightly closed.
A gentle hand appears behind his head, tilting it forwards firmly, as a cup is pressed to his lips.
“Drink,” a voice says kindly. “It will help.”
Jason parts his lips and the other person tilts the cup, a slow but steady flow of fluid pouring into his mouth, and swallows obediently when prompted; allowing himself to be fed the tonic like a baby bird or perhaps a small child.
When he has drunk what is deemed to be a suitable amount, the hand gently lowers him back onto a pillow, propped up to be almost sitting, and the voice admonishes him to rest.
Jason lies there for a few moments, allowing whatever was in the cup to begin to take effect, before trying to open his sleep encrusted eyes. He struggles with it until he hears his companion give a long suffering sigh.
“You really cannot do what you are told, can you,” the voice says with both exasperation and underlying fondness.
The bed moves slightly beneath Jason, as though someone is reaching for something, and then a damp cloth is wiped gently across his eyes, removing the gummy sleep and allowing him to open them.
He is lying in the bed he shares with Ariadne aboard the Argo. Pythagoras is perched on the edge, his face grave and his eyes worried.
The pain has receded into a dull ache and Jason opens his mouth to speak but finds himself dissolving into helpless coughing once more; his mouth filling with the copper tang of blood.
Pythagoras’ eyes narrow with concern, as he grabs a cloth from the side of the bed and holds it to his friend’s mouth.
“Do not try to speak,” he admonishes. “I am afraid the smoke has affected you quite badly.” He hesitates for a moment. “We need to talk,” he continues. “But you need rest first.”
As the coughing fit passes, Jason drops back against the pillows and watches his friend wearily.
Pythagoras busies himself with disposing of the bloodstained cloth and reaching for a cup of water, which he raises to Jason’s lips.
The water is cool and soothing as it slips down Jason’s throat and he blinks gratefully at his blonde friend.
“Pythagoras,” he tries.
His voice is little more than a breathless raspy whisper and the sheer effort it takes just to get out that one word is shocking.
“You really should not try to speak,” Pythagoras replies.
Jason licks his lips and tries again.
“You… know… don’t you?” he manages through heavy breaths.
Pythagoras looks back at him steadily, his eyes suspiciously bright and damp.
“I think so, yes,” he says softly, his voice sad. “We will talk later… I believe that we have to… but for now just rest.”
Jason sighs but does lie back, too tired to do much else. He closes his eyes and drifts away, knowing that the conversation he has been dreading for weeks must happen once he is awake again.
“So what exactly is wrong with him?” Hercules growls grumpily.
Pythagoras takes no offence at his old friend’s tone; he knows from long experience that Hercules is at his gruffest when he is worried.
The central room tends to be the place where they gather and they are all there now: Pythagoras and Hercules, Icarus, Ariadne, Cassandra and Atalanta (although Pythagoras does wonder why the strange, half-wild huntress is there - she isn’t usually part of their inner group; their family). The only one missing is Jason.
They are back at sea again; the supplies have been loaded and King Dexicos and Queen Ismene have been left to rebuild their home. The fire gutted about a quarter of their Palace but, thanks to the work of the servants and guards, the royal chambers have remained untouched - and thanks to Icarus and Jason the Princess is safe.
Hours have passed since Jason first regained consciousness and he has been sleeping peacefully ever since Pythagoras spoke with him. The young genius is grateful for that fact but cannot help worrying about the state his friend is in. He knows - or thinks he knows - deep down that this is something serious (has suspicions about what it might be); now that he thinks about it the signs have been there for weeks and he wonders now how he never noticed them before. He had known that Jason seemed more tired than usual (of course he had known) - had put it down to the stress of leading this expedition - but he doesn’t know how he managed to miss the weight loss or the pain lurking in his friend’s hazel eyes; how he managed to miss Jason’s gradual deterioration.
“As I told you, Jason has been badly affected by the smoke he inhaled,” he says patiently, silently hoping that none of his friends will press for any more details until he has had a chance to speak to Jason properly.
“Why do I think that there is something you are keeping from me?” Ariadne questions suspiciously. “Pythagoras, if there is something I need to know then I must insist you tell me.”
Pythagoras silently curses Jason for putting him in this position. It seems distinctly unfair that he should have to be the one to talk to Jason’s wife in his friend’s place.
“Ariadne,” he begins (all titles have long since been forgotten between them - Ariadne insists that her given name is used when she is amongst friends).
“But Icarus was in there too,” Hercules protests loudly, interrupting. “Why hasn’t he been affected in the same way?”
“Perhaps… Icarus was… just… lucky.”
Pythagoras looks up sharply towards the doorway. Jason looks more than a little unsteady on his feet and his voice is quiet and breathless, but he is clearly determined to be here.
“Should you even be out of bed?” Icarus enquires mildly.
Jason shoots him an exasperated look.
“I am fine,” he mutters, although the fact that he has to stop to catch his breath makes his words less than convincing.
Pythagoras raises an eyebrow.
“Define ‘fine’,” he says with asperity.
“You are angry with me,” Jason states, still struggling for breath.
Pythagoras slams the cup he is holding down onto the table and turns back to glare at his friend.
“I think I have a right to be,” he says sharply. “After all you have been keeping a fairly major secret from me for how long?”
Jason bites his lip.
“I knew before I came to Atlantis,” he answers quietly, knowing that Pythagoras will not like his response.
Pythagoras sucks in an incredulous breath.
“The whole time you have been here,” he says disbelievingly. “All that time and you never said a word… you did not think to tell us.” He looks back at Jason with eyes that are full of sorrow. “Does my friendship mean so little to you?” he asks in a small voice.
Jason crosses the room and catches hold of the mathematician’s arm. He is as pale as a ghost and so short of breath that it is a moment before he can speak, but his grip on Pythagoras’ arm is certain; his hand warm and comforting.
“Your friendship means the world to me,” he says earnestly. He swallows hard before continuing. “When I first came here, I was still in denial. I didn’t want to believe that it was true… I mean I knew it was… but if I did not acknowledge it, then I could almost forget about it… and I felt so good that I began to think that they might have got it wrong.”
“But you did not really believe that,” Pythagoras replies softly. “Which is why you have always been so reckless… so disregarding of your own well-being.”
“Maybe,” Jason acknowledges. “It started getting worse just after we found Argo… the night before we set sail actually… although maybe it had been getting a bit worse for a while and I just didn’t notice… I mean I just thought that I was tired before that… that everything was catching up with me…”
“Why did you not tell me then?” Pythagoras asks.
“Because I did not know how… Besides, I know how nervous everyone is about this journey… I was worried that the crew would start leaving if they thought that something wasn’t right… And I never wanted to see pity in your eyes… I never wanted you to see me as someone who was…”
Jason breaks off and looks away.
The room is silent for a moment. Ariadne looks around the room. Atalanta is watching the scene impassively yet knowingly, while Icarus is biting his lip. They clearly both know what’s going on (as does Cassandra but really that’s no surprise). The Queen’s eyes narrow.
“You never wanted Pythagoras to see you as someone who was what?” she demands. “Why do I get the feeling that I am the only one here who does not know what is going on?”
“You’re not the only one,” Hercules growls. “And I for one want to know what you are talking about.”
Jason swallows and crosses to his wife’s side. He reaches out and takes both her hands in his.
“You are so very beautiful,” he murmurs. “I don’t tell you that enough.”
“You tell me every day,” Ariadne points out. “And you are avoiding the question.”
“No I am not,” Jason replies softly. “I just want you to know that I love you,” he pauses for a moment, looking into Ariadne’s dark eyes with a wistful smile. “And that I am sorry,” he adds.
“Sorry for what?” Ariadne asks in confusion. “Jason, what is going on? You are scaring me.”
“I have never wanted to scare you,” Jason answers. “Or to hurt you for that matter.” He sways slightly on his feet and closes his eyes against the wave of light-headedness, still wheezing as he breathes. “Actually, would you mind if we sat down?” he asks.
“Of course not,” Ariadne replies, leading him to a bench and sitting down next to him.
She looks at her husband searchingly.
“We do not need to do this now,” she declares. “You are not well.”
“I am alright,” Jason protests.
“No you are not,” Ariadne states firmly. “I saw the blood Jason… I saw you collapse. I have never been so frightened.”
“I am sorry,” Jason murmurs. He reaches out with one hand to caress the side of her face. “This is all my fault.”
“What is wrong?” Ariadne asks. “Please… I need to know.”
Jason sighs.
“I have been selfish,” he replies quietly. “So very selfish.” He pauses and swallows hard. “I should never have married you.”
Ariadne’s blood runs cold. She recoils from her husband.
“This is about her, isn’t it?” she demands. “You regret marrying me because of how you feel about her.”
“No!” Jason retorts sharply. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not in love with Medea… I am in love with you.” He stops for a moment, panting slightly. “And I could never regret marrying you… but that doesn’t alter the fact that it was selfish of me to do so.”
“Then what are you talking about?” Ariadne asks crossly.
“I am going to make you a widow before you have really had the chance to be a wife,” Jason answers quietly. “I have an illness… a disease. It started in my lungs but before anyone realised that I had it, it had spread. It is in both my lungs and has spread to the muscle beneath - the diaphragm - and into my chest wall… it may have spread further than that by now… I don’t really know to be honest. Anyway, by the time it was diagnosed it was already too late… there was nothing anyone could do.”
Ariadne stares at him in horror, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.
“It is karkinos then,” Pythagoras murmurs in the background. “I suspected as much when I saw how much blood you were coughing.”
Jason frowns for a moment, working out what his friend has said.
“I think that is what you would call it,” he says. “Where I come from we have a slightly different name.”
“So what are you saying?” Hercules demands. It’s clear to everyone that he knows the answer to his own question already but does not want to believe it.
Jason goes to speak but breaks off into a deep cough once again. He throws his hand up over his mouth, knowing that what is going to come out will not be pleasant to see. Icarus steps forwards and hands him a cloth - something that Jason is grateful for as it will hide the worst of what he is likely to cough up. He can feel Ariadne rubbing his back gently (almost too gently, as though she is afraid he will break if she rubs any harder) and wants to reassure her that he is alright but he really doesn’t have the breath.
Once the coughing fit subsides, he sits up properly and tries to hide the bloodstained cloth in his lap, aware that both Ariadne and Hercules’ eyes are on it.
“Sorry,” he gasps breathlessly.
“The smoke has irritated your lungs,” Pythagoras says bluntly as he pushes a cup of water across the table to Jason. “It will take several days for the irritation to subside - especially with your underlying condition.” He looks searchingly at Jason. “You should not really be out of bed yet,” he adds.
Jason nods. He turns to look at Hercules. The burly wrestler’s expression is stricken.
“Jason,” he begins.
“It’s alright,” Jason replies.
“How?” Hercules demands. “How is anything alright?” He turns to glare at Pythagoras. “There must be something you can do. You’ll think of something… you always do. There’s no man cleverer than you. You’ll think of something. I know you will. You have to.” There is desperation in his tone and Pythagoras exchanges a look with Jason, neither of them wanting to be the one to destroy their friend’s hope.
“There really is nothing that I can do,” Pythagoras says sorrowfully. “If there was anything - anything at all - I would do it... but there are no real effective treatments for this. There are many things that have been tried but nothing that I know of that has worked. From what I have read, it is believed that karkinos is caused by an excess of black bile in the body which causes growths to develop… but neither bloodletting nor balancing the humours in any other way has proved effective.” He glances at Jason. “The best that any practitioner of medicine can do is to provide pain relief and try to control and minimise the symptoms.”
“But…” Hercules begins.
“Hercules I am dying,” Jason says bluntly. He pauses for a moment as what he has just said hits him. “I’m dying,” he repeats more slowly. He swallows hard. “I’ve never said those words out loud before,” he admits. “I’ve always skirted around the issue.”
Pythagoras sits down opposite him and tries to smile, although it is not convincing.
“So,” the mathematician says. “Where do we go from here?”
Jason frowns.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Speaking as a physician, being on a ship on a long voyage is not the most comfortable place for someone to spend their last…” His voice falters.
“You mean you don’t think it is a comfortable place to die,” Jason clarifies with a half-smile. “I don’t see why not.” He looks around the room. “Seems fitting somehow,” he says. “I’ve spent a fair bit of my life at sea. The man who raised me owned his own ship. He taught me to love the ocean... And everyone that I really care about is here. Why would I want to be anywhere else? Besides… we still have a job to do - Pasiphae still needs to be defeated.”
“You can’t still be intending to go to Colchis now,” Hercules explodes. “You must be insane.”
“Probably,” Jason agrees. “But if we do not go to Colchis and we do not destroy the Golden Fleece, then Pasiphae will win.”
“So let her!” Hercules yells. “I say we take this ship and go and find somewhere comfortable and quiet, far from Atlantis, and settle there.”
He is angry at the situation (at the world) rather than at his friend and the explosion was inevitable. Jason takes no offence.
“Perhaps Hercules is right,” Ariadne murmurs. “This is a battle we cannot win and at least we will be together when…” She breaks off as she breaks down.
Jason throws his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, resting her head on his shoulder and murmuring something that only she can hear into her hair.
He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, it is with the look of grim determination that his friends have become used to (and come to dread). He looks at the until now silent Cassandra.
“What will happen if we do not destroy the Golden Fleece and do not defeat Pasiphae?” he asks, in the tone of one who already knows the answer to his question.
Cassandra looks at him with her clear, wide eyes.
“Atlantis will be destroyed and thousands will perish,” she states. “The Gods are angry. They threaten vengeance and desolation. Their voices are raging. They say that until the witch Queen is vanquished and the true heir is restored, the people of Atlantis will never know peace. They threaten to fall on the city and their revenge will be terrible.”
“So we go on,” Jason says firmly.
“But does it have to be us that destroy the Fleece?” Icarus asks seriously. “I understand why you want to do this,” he continues, looking at Jason. “I know what you are trying to do… but does it have to be us... have to be you that does it?”
“The Gods have spoken,” Cassandra says. “Only the combined power of the son of Poseidon and the daughter of Hekate will see the source of Pasiphae’s power destroyed. For neither can succeed without the help of the other.”
“Then we really do have no choice,” Jason replies. “Or at least I do not.” He breaks off again with a brief but painful sounding cough.
“It would seem not,” Pythagoras murmurs. He looks sharply at his younger friend, taking in the weary slump to the shoulders and the little lines of pain that have deepened around Jason’s eyes.
“If we are to do this… if we are to go to Colchis,” he continues firmly, “then you must rest and regain your strength now. Your lungs will have been weakened further by the fire. Allow yourself a few days to recover… and I will do all I can to help.”
“Pythagoras is right,” Ariadne chimes in before Jason can respond. “We are at sea with nothing immediately pressing. We should all take the opportunity to rest for a day or two.”
“You are both right,” Jason acknowledges. “And I am not even going to try to fight you.”
He catches an anxious look that Pythagoras throws to Hercules.
“What?” he asks.
“It always concerns me when you give in without a fight,” Pythagoras admits.
Jason chuckles, but once again it turns into a brief wracking cough.
“Let’s just say that I am learning when to pick my battles,” he says.
Pythagoras stares at him for a moment and then snorts with laughter. He catches Icarus’ confused look and tries to sober up.
“I am sorry,” he says, “but I am sure that I can recall an occasion when you attacked an entire patrol single handed.”
Jason gives Ariadne an awkward glance.
“To be fair, I wasn’t entirely myself at the time,” he mutters.
“We do not need to talk about that now,” Ariadne says firmly, almost daring the others to argue with her.
Jason nods.
“If that’s decided, then I think I am going to go and lie down for a bit,” he says. “I am quite tired.”
He pushes himself up from the table. His breathing is still shallower than it should be and the lack of oxygen makes him dizzy, making him sway unsteadily. Hercules is there immediately, dragging Jason’s arm across his shoulders and wrapping an arm securely around his friend’s waist.
“Come on,” he growls. “Back to bed with you.”
Jason tries to smile at him, although it lacks its usual brilliance, and heads off to the room he shares with his wife with Hercules supporting him and Ariadne following, leaving his other friends lost in silent thought.
Ariadne enters the central room with a heavy heart, silently closing the door to her room behind her. At the table Atalanta is making arrows; sharpening the points with her knife. Ariadne sits down and watches her for a moment before reaching out and grabbing an arrow shaft and a second knife off the table. She is glad to be doing something - especially something that doesn’t require a great deal of thought. Atalanta stops and watches her for a moment, her expression (unseen by Ariadne) both knowing and sad.
“You are tired,” the huntress observes at length.
Ariadne looks up, startled.
“Yes,” she agrees. “I am.”
“You are not sleeping?”
“Jason had a bad night,” Ariadne answers. “He was in pain and breathless. He feels guilty for keeping me awake but I would far rather that than to wake up alone and not knowing where he is.” She glances at the door she entered through. “He is sleeping now.”
“You love him very much,” Atalanta says.
“With all my heart,” Ariadne replies.
“And it hurts you to see him suffer… yet you try not to let anyone see it. You are very brave.”
“Not really,” Ariadne says. She sighs. “My life has taught me that the future is so very uncertain. All we have is the here and now, because we do not know what will come tomorrow. Every day is precious and must be enjoyed… I do not know what the future may bring but we are here together now… and that is enough… There will be time enough for tears later.”
Atalanta reaches out and takes another arrow shaft from the table.
“There is more, is there not?” she says.
Ariadne closes her eyes for a moment and turns her head away. When she looks back she finds that Atalanta is directing a clear-eyed unblinking gaze in her direction.
“I tried to deny my feelings for Jason for so long,” Ariadne murmurs, her voice full of emotion. “I pushed him away because I was scared of how people might judge me. I believed that our love would weaken my position because the nobility would never accept Jason; that I would not be able to protect my people properly because of it… but Eurydice was right…” she is speaking more to herself than Atalanta now and doesn’t bother to explain who Eurydice was. “She said that love was as destructive as it was harmonious and that it would not be denied… I wasted so much time… and now I begrudge every moment when we should have been together and were not.” She swallows hard. “It is hard,” she admits, “watching the person you love most in the world slipping away piece by piece… watching him grow weaker with every day that passes. I had thought it was difficult when my father was ill but this is so much harder.”
“And what would you do if there was a chance to save him? To cure him?” Atalanta asks softly, her eyes intent.
Ariadne stifles a cry and brings her hand up over her mouth.
“I would give anything to save Jason,” she gasps. “You know of a way, don’t you?” She reaches out and grabs Atalanta’s arm.
“Ever since I was abandoned in the forest as a child my Goddess Artemis has walked at my side,” the huntress replies obliquely. “She talks to me… she came to me and told me that if I wish to cure Jason I must speak with Poseidon’s Oracle… that I must ask her about the Temple of Hera.”
Ariadne feels the first surging of hope in her heart, although she tries to clamp down on it before is overcomes her. She gets up from the table. As she does, Icarus wanders in.
“The helmsman says we are not far from an island,” he says. “He wants to know if we should make landfall here or carry on.”
Ariadne hurries over to him and clasps his hand.
“Icarus I need you to find the Oracle for me and bring her in here,” she says urgently.
Icarus frowns.
“What is wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Ariadne assures him. “But I must speak with her urgently. I have a question that only she can answer.”
The young man looks at her searchingly, nods and rushes back out of the room. He returns in incredibly quick time with Cassandra in tow. Both Pythagoras and Hercules hurry in with them.
“What is wrong?” Pythagoras asks quickly. “Icarus said that it was urgent.”
Atalanta gives a faint and mysterious smile. She looks straight at Cassandra.
“My Goddess told me to ask you about the Temple of Hera,” she says.
“The Temple of Hera,” Cassandra echoes. “It is far from here and will require all our courage to reach… but we must journey there. Only there will we find the means to pass the sirens.”
“The sirens!” Hercules exclaims. “We want to avoid them. Going near the sirens is suicide! It’s worse than suicide… whatever that might be.”
“But we must pass them if we are to journey to Colchis and then return to Atlantis,” Cassandra says. “In the Temple of Hera, we will find a lyre that can silence the sirens.”
“My Goddess Artemis told me that there is a cup in the Temple of Hera that I must ask you about,” Atalanta says softly.
“The cup of Panacea,” Cassandra replies, her voice mysterious. “Daughter of Asclepius and Goddess of the remedy to cure all ills. It is in the Temple of Hera.”
“What does this cup do?” Ariadne demands.
“It can heal even mortal illness,” Cassandra responds.
A ripple of surprise (and hope) runs around the room
“Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Hercules demands. “What are we waiting for?”
“The Gods choose when to reveal things to me,” Cassandra answers. “I must obey their will and listen to their instructions. They did not choose to allow me to see the cup before. My vision has been clouded of late. I must warn you now, though. There is a price to pay for using the cup of Panacea… and the price is high indeed. It will require great sacrifice.”
“And what is this price?” Ariadne asks.
“In return for allowing someone to be healed with the cup, the Fates demand an exchange,” Cassandra says. “A life for a life… and it must be the life of someone who cares for the person being healed. That is the price of using Panacea’s remedy.”
Ariadne swallows hard and closes her eyes for a moment.
“Very well,” she says.
“Jason will never agree to that,” Pythagoras points out. “He will never allow anyone to sacrifice themselves for him.”
“Then we do not tell him,” Ariadne answers simply. She looks at Cassandra. “You say that we must go to this Temple anyway.”
Cassandra’s smile is otherworldly.
“Yes,” she replies. “For only there will you find the means to continue. We will not be able to pass the sirens without the lyre from the Temple.”
“Where is this Temple?” Hercules asks.
“To the north,” Cassandra answers. “On the borders of the lands of the barbarians.”
“You can guide us there?” Ariadne asks.
Cassandra nods in response.
“We go north then,” the Queen decides. She turns towards Icarus. “Tell the helmsman that we will make landfall to re-provision… and tell him that he needs to prepare to set a course to the north once we are ready to set off again.”
Icarus offers her a smile and nods. He sweeps out of the room taking Cassandra with him to make sure the course they are plotting is correct. Atalanta gathers up her arrows, gives Ariadne an enigmatic smile and leaves with them.
Ariadne turns back to find Pythagoras and Hercules both watching her intently.
“Are you alright?” the young genius asks her.
“Yes,” Ariadne answers. “As well as I can be… I have hope now, which is more than I had when I got up this morning…”
“What are we going to tell Jason?” Hercules asks. He looks around. “And where is Jason anyway?”
“Sleeping I hope,” Ariadne responds.
Pythagoras looks at her shrewdly.
“He did not have a good night?” he asks.
“No,” Ariadne replies. “It was the worst night we have had in weeks… probably the worst since that fire. He was in a great deal of pain.”
Pythagoras frowns, mind clearly already in healer mode.
“I will look at strengthening the tonics,” he says.
“As for what we tell Jason,” Ariadne murmurs. “We will tell him about the Temple and the lyre… but we will not tell him about the cup of Panacea.” She glances at the door of the room she shares with her husband. “I do not want to raise his hopes until we are certain that we can use the cup and I do not want to give him the chance to object,” she continues. “You have said often enough that Jason has always been stubbornly ruled by his heart and I do not believe that he will ever accept any of us choosing to risk our lives for him.”
Hercules rests his hands on the table and leans on them. He blows out a long breath.
“So we do what we’ve always done,” he rumbles. “We protect Jason… even if that means protecting him from his own idiotic sense of honour… We protect him from himself.”