Fanfic: Time's Wingèd Chariot - Chapter 3 (Part 2)
Title: Time's Wingèd Chariot (Chapter 3 - Part 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 (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 2)
Why is it that strange and mystical temples are always deep in the woods? Jason can’t help wondering this as they creep towards the structure.
They’ve pulled the Argo up onto a beach in a small secluded cove and a small group of them have headed off to search for the Temple of Hera, leaving Diocles in charge.
This is Scythian territory so they need to be careful; want to try to avoid any encounters if they can help it. Hercules is stumping along at the rear of their little group while Icarus scouts ahead. It is a task that the young man has volunteered for. Jason would normally like to do it himself but even he can see the wisdom of letting someone else take the lead at the moment.
Today is quite a good day so far. In the past couple of months since everyone learned the truth, he’s had more bad days than he would have liked - days when he just can’t seem to catch his breath; when it hurts so badly it’s all he can do not to scream; days when everything is just too much effort and exhaustion grips him. He’s lost a lot of weight too (knows it because his clothes and armour are far looser than they used to be) and never seems to have much of an appetite to speak of. Sometimes he catches one of his friends watching him anxiously and wants to reassure them that everything will be alright - but really, how can he?
This morning though, he feels just a little bit tired rather than downright unwell and he’s glad of it because there’s work to be done. He glances around the group, mentally assessing their strengths. Atalanta and Ariadne are both carrying bows (Ariadne is dressed in a man’s tunic and trousers that she’s managed to find from somewhere and damn it all but even dressed like that she’s still the most beautiful thing Jason’s ever seen), and Hercules, Pythagoras, Icarus and Jason himself all have their swords. The weakest link (as far as Jason can see) is Cassandra. To be honest he’s been a bit worried about bringing the (unarmed) Oracle of Poseidon into a potentially dangerous situation.
So far everything seems to be going well (almost too well, the cynical part of his mind thinks) and now they have arrived at the Temple of Hera without ever seeing a Scythian (and Jason thanks whatever Gods might be listening for that small mercy).
The building itself is surprisingly well kept and brightly lit. The priest who greets them at the door shows no surprise at their arrival and directs them straight into the main body of the Temple. Jason is immediately suspicious - his luck is never this good.
“Welcome to the Temple of Hera,” the priest intones.
His voice is very deep and sonorous and reminds Jason of Melas (he wonders if it’s a qualification that all chief priests need). From the look on Cassandra’s face it seems that he isn’t the only one who sees the likeness.
“My name is Brygos and I am the High Priest. Ask what you will of me. I am bound by my duty to the Goddess to answer.”
“You know who we are?” Jason asks suspiciously.
A smile touches Brygos’ lips.
“Indeed,” he says. “Your coming here has long been foretold. You have the favour of Hera.”
Jason tries to keep himself from visibly grimacing; he has been in ancient Greece for long enough to know that to be favoured by the Gods (to even be noticed by them) is a double edged sword.
“My Lady.” Brygos turns to Cassandra reverently and genuflects deeply. “Our Temple is honoured by your presence.”
“You have what we are here for?” Cassandra asks softly.
“Everything is in readiness, My Lady,” the priest answers. “It has long been known that you would one day come to retrieve both the items that are in our care.”
“Forgive me, I think you have made a mistake,” Jason says with some confusion. “We have come in search of a lyre that can see us safely past the sirens. Nothing else.”
Brygos turns and gives him a knowing look.
“What you require is here,” he says. “Come, I will take you to it.”
He ushers them towards a side chamber, moving quickly enough that Jason finds himself growing short of breath once more as he tries to keep up.
“Do you have any trouble with the Scythians?” Pythagoras asks the priest as they walk.
“They usually leave us alone,” Brygos answers. “While they do not worship the Gods, they also do not wish to risk angering them. They have attacked the Temple twice over the past few years but were repelled on both occasions.”
They enter the side chamber and Brygos makes his way to a small altar in the centre of the room. On the altar is a golden lyre, beautifully decorated, and a small, non-descript earthenware kylix - a broad bowl-shaped vessel with a handle on each side and a foot at the base. It is plain and unadorned - peasant ware - yet Ariadne finds her eyes being drawn to it.
“The lyre is yours to take,” Brygos says gently, “but the cup must remain here once the ritual is completed.”
“What ritual?” Jason asks. He looks around the group suddenly realising that he’s the only one in the room who doesn’t seem to know what’s going on (and that is most definitely an uncomfortable feeling).
“The cup belongs to Panacea, daughter of Asclepius,” Pythagoras explains in his ‘school-teacher’ voice.
Jason looks confused.
“Wait… who’s Asclepius?” he asks.
Hercules snorts and shakes his head.
“I will never cease to be amazed by your ignorance and stupidity,” he says.
Jason ignores him and looks back at Pythagoras (on the whole he’s got better at not asking what Hercules deems to be stupid questions over the last year or so and doesn’t often hear the bulky wrestler bemoaning his ignorance these days).
“He is the God of the healing arts,” Pythagoras explains.
“And Panacea is his daughter?” Jason asks.
“Yes,” Pythagoras responds. “Goddess of universal remedy. It is said that she can heal any illness.”
“How?” Jason asks. He can’t help but be interested under the circumstances; can’t help but hope that Pythagoras is right.
“It is said that she uses a poultice or potion, depending upon the illness,” Pythagoras murmurs. “Cassandra has told us that this cup is the vessel for Panacea’s remedy. She foresaw us using it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Jason demands.
“Because hope is a fickle mistress,” Pythagoras replies. “I did not know if we would be able to retrieve the cup or not and it seemed cruel to get your hopes up when it might have come to nothing.”
“So the story about needing the lyre to get past the sirens was a lie then?” Jason asks.
“No,” Pythagoras insists. “It was all true. Cassandra’s gifts make her incapable of lying.”
“Come,” Brygos interrupts them softly. “We must prepare for the ritual.”
“What is this ritual?” Jason enquires.
“The blood of the person who is to be healed must be mingled with the blood of the sacrifice and added to the kykeon within the cup and Panacea called upon to bless it,” Brygos replies. “Then it must be drunk for its healing power to take effect.”
“Sacrifice?” Jason asks suspiciously.
“The Fates demand a price for altering the natural course of events,” Cassandra murmurs quietly, although her voice is heard clearly. “They demand a blood sacrifice. A life for a life.”
Jason stares at her with growing horror, before turning back to his other friends angrily.
“So you are telling me that someone has to die for this to work?” he demands. “Did you actually think I would go along with this?”
“Jason,” Ariadne begins.
“No,” Jason growls, beyond angry. “This is not happening. I am sorry but if the price is someone’s life then I am not paying it!”
“So the rest of us are supposed to just sit around and do nothing?” Hercules responds hotly. “You expect us to watch you die without trying to stop it?”
Before Jason can respond, Icarus bursts into the chamber. He had chosen to keep a lookout at the main door of the Temple but now he has left his post.
“We have company,” he blurts. “There is a hoard of Scythians heading this way.”
Jason glares at his companions briefly. He’s still pretty pissed off at them but there are more pressing concerns right now. He turns back to Icarus.
“Show me,” he says.
They hurry out of the chamber and back across the main Temple to the doors. Jason peers out through the crack in the door to look at the approaching Scythians. It is a raiding party and contains more men than he would like to see. He swears loudly and slams the door.
“Right,” he says, turning back to the room. “It looks like they’re aiming for the Temple all right.” He looks apologetically at Brygos. “They may have stumbled across our tracks and followed us here.”
“It is of no matter,” the priest replies. “No doubt they would have attacked us sooner or later anyway.”
“How many of them are there?” Pythagoras asks.
“More than I would really like to be facing,” Jason admits. “The only advantage we’ve got is that they will only be able to get through the door a few at a time.” He turns to Atalanta and Ariadne. “I know this room is a little small for archery but do what you can. Pick as many as you can off as they come through the doors. You will not get all of them but hopefully it should still whittle them down a bit.”
He moves over to Cassandra and puts a hand on her shoulder.
“We will try to protect you if we can,” he says, “but I do not know how successful we will be.”
“Do not worry,” Brygos says in his deep, mellifluous voice. “The Gods will protect her… as will I.”
Jason isn’t sure how much protection the priest will be but beggars can’t be choosers so he nods his agreement and turns back to face the main doors, taking up a position beside Hercules.
“You shouldn’t be in the forefront of this,” the big man mutters. “You should stay back and protect the Oracle.”
Jason shoots him an irritated look. He knows that Hercules is only speaking out of concern but this really isn’t the time or place.
Then the door bursts open and Scythian warriors burst in, and there isn’t time left to think. The world reduces to the battle that rages around Jason (as it so often does when he is in the middle of a skirmish). As he predicted, the Scythians can only come through the door a few at a time and they are met with a barrage of arrows from Atalanta and Ariadne (and just how does Atalanta manage to fire so fast and so accurately? Her hands are almost a blur). It reduces their numbers significantly - although enough still get through to keep the men in the group busy too.
The Scythians seem to be never-ending. As Jason hacks and stabs and parries, he can feel himself tiring rapidly, his breath coming in short panting gasps that catch in the back of his throat. It feels like he’s caught in a vice; like there’s an ever-tightening band of metal around his chest and no matter how hard he tries he just can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He’s growing increasingly dizzy and off balance, still fighting but losing all finesse and grace. When he looks up though, he can see a light at the end of the tunnel: no more Scythians are pouring in through the door; they have nearly beaten them.
He turns to face another attacker; a burly man with no hair and very few teeth dressed in badly cured animal skins. Jason is flailing a little more than usual but still has more than enough skill to dispatch this Scythian to Hades.
Then it happens. As they both turn, the Scythian manages to catch Jason on the side of the head with the butt of his sword. He stumbles back against a pillar, forcefully driving what is left of his breath from his lungs. His sword tip lowers to the floor and he stares blankly at the Scythian warrior, stunned; trying to draw in a breath that doesn’t want to come. The Scythian gives a feral smirk and raises his sword, preparing to drive it through Jason’s body.
As he strikes, though, Atalanta manages to get there, stepping between Jason and the Scythian. The sword sinks into her stomach even as she drives the arrow she is holding through the Scythian’s throat, killing him. She staggers backwards, hands clutching the wound in her abdomen that is pouring blood, and collapses against a wall. Jason vaguely hears Hercules’ enraged cry as he takes on the last of the Scythians but cannot focus on anything apart from the fallen woman. He crawls across to her and sits at her side, hearing only his own wheezing breathing, his vision blurring alarmingly as he moves.
Atalanta smiles that mysterious, enigmatic smile she sometimes gives.
“I have done what my Goddess requested of me,” she gasps, back arching slightly as she rides out a wave of agony.
The wound in her stomach is clearly fatal and she knows it. Jason can’t bring himself to lie to her - to tell her that everything will be alright - and, even if he wanted to, he simply doesn’t have the breath right now to form a full sentence.
“You… have,” he manages to pant.
Atalanta’s clear eyes meet his and her smile widens slightly. She reaches out with one blood-stained hand and grazes the knuckles down the side of his face in a soft caress, the same way she did the first time she saved his life - when she healed him back in the Forest of Calydon more than a year ago.
“My Goddess Artemis told me that I must protect you from harm,” she says, echoing her words from that first meeting. “I have done all I can. Now you must go on to Colchis and destroy the Fleece.”
Jason nods wordlessly. A solid lump seems to be sitting in his throat and tears are slipping down his cheeks. The world seems to have narrowed down to just the two of them. He knows that the rest of his companions are still nearby (and possibly still fighting Scythians) but all that seems to matter to him right now is the dying woman in front of him.
“I hope you find peace with your Goddess,” he says hoarsely (and it is not lost on him that he has said these words before - only then it was under very different circumstances and to a very different woman).
“She has been at my side all my life. She will not leave me now,” Atalanta assures him.
She looks over Jason’s shoulder at something that he suspects only she can see and her smile grows very bright. Then the light in her eyes dims and slowly flickers out as her breathing stills, head dropping forwards onto her chest, face hidden by the curtain of her long hair.
“Is everyone alright?” Jason can hear Pythagoras in the background, checking on his companions.
Then Ariadne gasps and Hercules gives a strangled cry. Jason can’t seem to summon up the energy to look up to see where they are; can’t take his eyes off Atalanta’s still body. He is exhausted and his breath is coming in short wheezing pants, and it would be all too easy to lie down next to the huntress and let himself drift.
A hand on his shoulder startles him back into some form of reality and he looks up to find Brygos watching him with concern and compassion. The priest is carrying the kylix from the altar, which he uses to gather up some of Atalanta’s blood. Jason watches him dumbly, feeling he should probably protest but not quite being able to form the words.
“Give me your hand,” Brygos instructs, turning back to Jason. “Quickly now.” He looks at Atalanta’s body and then back to the young man. “She gave her life for you… do not let her sacrifice be in vain.”
He takes a knife from Cassandra, who is hovering behind him, and grabs hold of Jason’s wrist with his free hand, turning it so the young man’s hand is palm up and holding it tightly in place. He draws the blade across Jason’s palm, maintaining his grip on Jason’s wrist when the young man flinches, and hands the knife back to Cassandra, closing his now empty hand around Jason’s and forcing it into a fist; applying pressure to Jason’s fingers to force the blood to drain from the cut on his palm into the cup.
Moving swiftly, Brygos hands the cup to Cassandra and stands. As Jason watches, body and mind heavy, the chief priest goes to join the girl. Cassandra places the kylix on the main bomos and stands back with her hands outstretched at her sides, as Brygos comes forwards and stands before the altar, hands raised in supplication, palms upwards, and begins to chant; to pray to Panacea for her blessing.
Ariadne has come to join Jason where he is sitting (half slumping really). She nestles into his side and wraps her arm around his waist. Jason leans into her, resting his head against her shoulder and lets his eyes drift closed, only to open them again at the feel of her hand carding through his hair. He still can’t seem to get enough air and it almost feels like his lungs are full of fluid (wonders idly if this is what drowning feels like).
The chanting finishes and Brygos strides back across the room carrying the cup, coming to a stop before the young couple and dropping down to his knees. Pythagoras hovers near his shoulder.
“Drink,” the priest says firmly, holding the kylix up to Jason’s lips.
Jason swallows a mouthful, gags and tries to turn his head away, only to be thwarted when the priest’s other hand catches the back of his neck and holds him firmly in place.
“You must drink all of it,” Brygos instructs.
Jason frowns but does as he’s told. As the last disgusting mouthful goes down, a wave of burning heat sweeps over him and agony grips him. He stares at the priest desperately, unable to speak. He is on fire and the only sound that he can still hear is his own laboured breathing. The world darkens around him and his vision shuts down as his heart begins to slow, stutter and finally to stop altogether, and he slumps forwards into Brygos’ waiting arms.
“What have you done?” Pythagoras demands, horrified, reaching out to pull the priest away from his friend.
“Wait,” Brygos commands harshly, eyes intently watching the still form in his arms.
He lays Jason gently on the ground, his head in Ariadne’s lap, and straightens, muttering prayers.
“You must trust him,” Cassandra says as the priest continues to chant softly. “He knows what he is doing. It is all in the hands of Panacea now.”
Brygos falls silent, still watching Jason. For a long moment nobody moves, then Jason’s eyes fly open as he draws in a great gasping breath. Ariadne gives a low cry and reaches out to her husband, watching as he rapidly regains the colour he has lost over the past few weeks; his lips and fingertips changing from the slightly blue tint they have had lately into a healthy pink. Jason takes several deep breaths before pushing himself back into a sitting position, legs bent and arms resting on his knees.
“What just happened?” he asks, his voice strong and firm - lacking the breathless quality that it has held too often recently.
“You died,” Ariadne half sobs, her fear still evident.
Jason blinks.
“What?” he asks.
“Panacea consented to help us and blessed the remedy,” Brygos answers. He looks sadly at Atalanta’s body. “The price was high indeed, but the reward was also great.” He turns back to Jason. “Live long and live well,” he says. “You carry Hera’s blessing and favour with you.”
Pythagoras slips up onto the main deck of the Argo in search of his friend. It is late in the evening three days since they laid Atalanta to rest and set sail once more. The stars shine brightly in the heavens and the waves lap gently against the side of the ship.
He finds Jason sitting in the prow, looking up at the stars, his eyes lost in thought, and stops for a moment to watch his friend. Jason looks healthier than he has for a long time. He’s still painfully thin and probably will be for a while yet - his appetite has returned with a vengeance (much to everyone’s pleasure) but regaining lost weight takes time (time that Pythagoras is more than happy to think that his friend now has). Still, he no longer has a drawn look about him; his eyes are bright and he has colour in his cheeks once more. He turns his head and smiles widely as he spots Pythagoras peering at him and waves his friend over to join him.
Pythagoras smiles and moves forwards, settling himself down comfortably alongside Jason.
“Ariadne will be wondering where you have got to,” the mathematician says lightly.
“I was just looking at the stars,” Jason answers. “I’ll be in in a moment.”
They lapse into silence for a few minutes. Presently, Pythagoras looks across at his friend, noting that Jason appears to have lost himself in thought once more.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
Jason looks at him out of the corner of his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. “I was just thinking about Atalanta.”
“She was an incredible woman and a fine warrior,” Pythagoras replies.
“She was,” Jason says. “I hope she has found peace… That her Goddess came for her.”
“I do not think you need to worry about Atalanta,” Pythagoras answers, looking up at the stars. “I was speaking with Cassandra earlier and she told me that Atalanta was destined for the Isles of the Blessed.”
“The Isles of what?” Jason asks with a confused look.
“The Isles of the Blessed,” Pythagoras replies. “When we die,” he continues, “we are taken across the river into Hades.”
“Yes I know,” Jason answers. “I have been there, remember?”
“Within Hades, the worst souls - those destined for eternal torment - go to Tartarus,” Pythagoras goes on.
“Been there too,” Jason mutters.
Pythagoras ignores the interruption.
“The souls of those who have lead a good life go to Elysium,” he says. “It is the part of Hades reserved for those who deserve it.” He looks straight at Jason. “But the greatest souls - the bravest heroes - do not go to Hades at all… they go to the Isles of the Blessed - the Fortunate Isles. They are a winterless earthly paradise where the heroes of legend live forever with all the pleasures they could ever wish. Atalanta will be reunited with her Goddess there.”
Jason smiles softly and nods.
“Good,” he says. “That is good.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments longer, both looking at the stars and thinking.
“So what now?” Pythagoras asks, half turning his head to look at his friend. “Where do we go from here?”
“Colchis,” Jason answers with certainty. “We find the Golden Fleece and we end this.”
“And after that?” Pythagoras says. “What will you do once we have defeated Pasiphae once and for all?”
Jason blinks.
“I… don’t know,” he says slowly. “It has been so long since I actually thought I had a future that I have never let myself think that far ahead.”
Pythagoras grins. He gets up and turns, offering his friend a hand to pull him to his feet.
“Well you had better start thinking about it,” he advises, “because I suspect that sooner or later Ariadne is going to want to start thinking about the next heir to Atlantis.”
He laughs at Jason’s startled expression and claps his friend on the back as they head below decks together.
Jason stands in a window overlooking the city with his new-born daughter in his arms. From up here Atlantis is beautiful and in the distance, beyond the city walls, he can see the sea; the bright moonlight dancing on the crests of the waves.
“This will all be yours one day,” he murmurs softly.
The baby blinks at him sleepily and yawns. Jason looks down at her and smiles, rocking her gently. A soft noise behind him alerts him to someone’s presence.
“I thought we would find you here.” Pythagoras speaks quietly, in deference to the late hour.
“I wanted to show her Atlantis,” Jason replies, tearing his eyes from his daughter to look out at the view again.
“How is Ariadne?” Hercules rumbles from somewhere behind Pythagoras.
“Sleeping,” Jason murmurs, smiling down at his daughter. “She’s been a bit busy today.”
He turns to face his friends with an enormous smile and eyes full of wonder.
“Would you like to meet our daughter?” he asks.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Hercules grumbles, but he still reaches out to take the baby off Jason and turns away, cooing at the child.
“Does she have a name yet?” Pythagoras asks, coming up to Jason and slinging an arm around his shoulders.
“Give us a chance,” Jason answers. “She’s only two hours old.”
“I’d have thought you would have already picked out a name,” Hercules says, rocking the baby. He looks down at the tiny child. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you? Yes you are. Yes you are.”
Jason grimaces.
“We couldn’t agree on one we both liked before she was born,” he admits.
His two closest friends exchange a look.
“What?” Jason asks.
“Jason… it is tradition that the father names a child,” Pythagoras says. “It is his sole prerogative.”
Jason frowns.
“Without even talking to the mother?” he asks incredulously. “I couldn’t do that to Ariadne,” he adds, shaking his head. “She has as much right as I do to pick out a name.”
“It is very nice that you should feel that way but it is not customary,” Pythagoras states.
Hercules snorts - albeit quietly to avoid waking the now sleeping baby in his arms.
“Since when has he ever worried about custom?” he demands. “I’m still amazed that the nobles didn’t have apoplexy the first time they met him properly after Pasiphae was finally defeated.”
“They nearly did when they realised that Ariadne and I share the same bedroom all the time. They thought we should have separate rooms and only share a bedroom when… well… you know,” Jason mutters. “They seemed pretty horrified that we only have one set of chambers between us. Apparently it’s ‘unseemly’.”
“You should try not to antagonise them too much,” Pythagoras advises. “You still need their support.”
“I know that,” Jason answers. “And I do not intend to upset them… but mine and Ariadne’s sleeping arrangements are our business and nobody else’s. How we choose to live in our own home is for us to decide. I will do everything that is required of me in public but my private life is my own affair.”
Pythagoras chooses to let the subject drop. He can see Jason’s point (and privately agrees with him) but his friend still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that as King his life is no longer completely his own.
“Ariadne is in good health then?” he asks. “I can see that the babe is well enough, but the birth itself… it went well?”
“Yeah,” Jason replies. “I don’t think the midwives like me very much at the moment though.”
“What did you do?” Pythagoras says with resignation.
“Nothing,” Jason answers defensively. “It’s just that they were trying to kick me out of the room when she was being born,” he nods at the baby, “and I told them I wasn’t leaving.”
Pythagoras looks momentarily aghast.
“Surely that was inappropriate?” he mutters. “The birthing chamber is no place for a man.”
Jason raises an eyebrow as he takes his daughter back off Hercules, gently rocking her in his arms. The chief midwife has shown him how to hold the baby properly - how to support her head and hold her securely - and he concentrates on getting it just right.
“Why is it inappropriate?” he demands. “It was normal where I come from… Anyway, I told them that I was there at the conception so I was damned well going to be there for the birth.”
Pythagoras sighs and shakes his head. Sometimes he despairs of ever teaching Jason what is acceptable behaviour in Atlantis.
“Where’s Icarus?” Jason asks with a frown. “I thought he would be with you. I haven’t seen much of him lately. Is he alright?”
Pythagoras smiles.
“He is perfectly well,” he responds. “His father needed him. Apparently Daedalus has been working on an improved version of those wings he created and he required Icarus’ help.”
He is surprised when Jason’s frown deepens even further.
“What is it?” he asks. “What is wrong?”
“It is nothing,” Jason replies. “It is just… maybe when it comes time to test the wings, Daedalus should get someone else to do it. Not Icarus I mean. After last time, it might be pushing his luck a bit to try flying again.”
Pythagoras grins.
“Do not worry,” he says. “I have no intention of letting Icarus anywhere near the test flight. Icarus frightened me enough last time and I have no desire to see him fall like that again.”
“Good,” Jason replies.
He looks down at his daughter and can’t keep the smile from forming as a sense of wonderment fills him once more.
“She’s so perfect,” he murmurs, half to himself. “I can’t believe Ariadne and I actually made her.”
“She’s all yours,” Hercules says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle and full of emotion. “Yours and Ariadne’s… and she is going to be the most beautiful and the most precious girl ever… and no man will ever be good enough for her. You’re going to spend half your life wondering how you managed to get lucky enough to have such a lovely daughter and the other half with your sword in your hand, chasing off unsuitable young men who come along to try to steal her away.”
Jason chuckles.
“You sound very sure of that,” he says.
“Oh I am,” Hercules replies, smiling down at the baby. “I am told that’s what all fathers think… especially new ones.” He grins at Jason. “It doesn’t mean it’s not true though.”
“I am sure I will have help chasing away the unsuitable young men though,” Jason states, his eyes dancing. “She is going to have you two keeping an eye on her too, isn’t she?” It is more a statement than a question. “After all, she is going to need someone to teach her about life and love… and triangles… and I cannot think of anyone I would rather have protecting and teaching my daughter.”
“Did you ever think,” Pythagoras begins, “that we would ever be standing here like this? Atlantis at peace; Pasiphae gone forever; you and Ariadne married - King and Queen - with a child of your own; Icarus and I… Sometimes it seems almost too good to be true.”
Jason snorts softly, mindful of the slumbering infant he is holding.
“I didn’t think I’d even be alive by this point,” he points out. “It is good though… It’s perfect.”
The three men lapse into the comfortable silence of old friends; completely relaxed in one another’s company.
Presently, Jason rouses himself.
“I had better get this little one back before Ariadne wakes up and wonders what I’ve done with her baby,” he says.
In the doorway he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at his two closest friends and then behind them to the window and the city beyond. He smiles. From where he is standing the future looks pretty bright indeed.
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 2)
Why is it that strange and mystical temples are always deep in the woods? Jason can’t help wondering this as they creep towards the structure.
They’ve pulled the Argo up onto a beach in a small secluded cove and a small group of them have headed off to search for the Temple of Hera, leaving Diocles in charge.
This is Scythian territory so they need to be careful; want to try to avoid any encounters if they can help it. Hercules is stumping along at the rear of their little group while Icarus scouts ahead. It is a task that the young man has volunteered for. Jason would normally like to do it himself but even he can see the wisdom of letting someone else take the lead at the moment.
Today is quite a good day so far. In the past couple of months since everyone learned the truth, he’s had more bad days than he would have liked - days when he just can’t seem to catch his breath; when it hurts so badly it’s all he can do not to scream; days when everything is just too much effort and exhaustion grips him. He’s lost a lot of weight too (knows it because his clothes and armour are far looser than they used to be) and never seems to have much of an appetite to speak of. Sometimes he catches one of his friends watching him anxiously and wants to reassure them that everything will be alright - but really, how can he?
This morning though, he feels just a little bit tired rather than downright unwell and he’s glad of it because there’s work to be done. He glances around the group, mentally assessing their strengths. Atalanta and Ariadne are both carrying bows (Ariadne is dressed in a man’s tunic and trousers that she’s managed to find from somewhere and damn it all but even dressed like that she’s still the most beautiful thing Jason’s ever seen), and Hercules, Pythagoras, Icarus and Jason himself all have their swords. The weakest link (as far as Jason can see) is Cassandra. To be honest he’s been a bit worried about bringing the (unarmed) Oracle of Poseidon into a potentially dangerous situation.
So far everything seems to be going well (almost too well, the cynical part of his mind thinks) and now they have arrived at the Temple of Hera without ever seeing a Scythian (and Jason thanks whatever Gods might be listening for that small mercy).
The building itself is surprisingly well kept and brightly lit. The priest who greets them at the door shows no surprise at their arrival and directs them straight into the main body of the Temple. Jason is immediately suspicious - his luck is never this good.
“Welcome to the Temple of Hera,” the priest intones.
His voice is very deep and sonorous and reminds Jason of Melas (he wonders if it’s a qualification that all chief priests need). From the look on Cassandra’s face it seems that he isn’t the only one who sees the likeness.
“My name is Brygos and I am the High Priest. Ask what you will of me. I am bound by my duty to the Goddess to answer.”
“You know who we are?” Jason asks suspiciously.
A smile touches Brygos’ lips.
“Indeed,” he says. “Your coming here has long been foretold. You have the favour of Hera.”
Jason tries to keep himself from visibly grimacing; he has been in ancient Greece for long enough to know that to be favoured by the Gods (to even be noticed by them) is a double edged sword.
“My Lady.” Brygos turns to Cassandra reverently and genuflects deeply. “Our Temple is honoured by your presence.”
“You have what we are here for?” Cassandra asks softly.
“Everything is in readiness, My Lady,” the priest answers. “It has long been known that you would one day come to retrieve both the items that are in our care.”
“Forgive me, I think you have made a mistake,” Jason says with some confusion. “We have come in search of a lyre that can see us safely past the sirens. Nothing else.”
Brygos turns and gives him a knowing look.
“What you require is here,” he says. “Come, I will take you to it.”
He ushers them towards a side chamber, moving quickly enough that Jason finds himself growing short of breath once more as he tries to keep up.
“Do you have any trouble with the Scythians?” Pythagoras asks the priest as they walk.
“They usually leave us alone,” Brygos answers. “While they do not worship the Gods, they also do not wish to risk angering them. They have attacked the Temple twice over the past few years but were repelled on both occasions.”
They enter the side chamber and Brygos makes his way to a small altar in the centre of the room. On the altar is a golden lyre, beautifully decorated, and a small, non-descript earthenware kylix - a broad bowl-shaped vessel with a handle on each side and a foot at the base. It is plain and unadorned - peasant ware - yet Ariadne finds her eyes being drawn to it.
“The lyre is yours to take,” Brygos says gently, “but the cup must remain here once the ritual is completed.”
“What ritual?” Jason asks. He looks around the group suddenly realising that he’s the only one in the room who doesn’t seem to know what’s going on (and that is most definitely an uncomfortable feeling).
“The cup belongs to Panacea, daughter of Asclepius,” Pythagoras explains in his ‘school-teacher’ voice.
Jason looks confused.
“Wait… who’s Asclepius?” he asks.
Hercules snorts and shakes his head.
“I will never cease to be amazed by your ignorance and stupidity,” he says.
Jason ignores him and looks back at Pythagoras (on the whole he’s got better at not asking what Hercules deems to be stupid questions over the last year or so and doesn’t often hear the bulky wrestler bemoaning his ignorance these days).
“He is the God of the healing arts,” Pythagoras explains.
“And Panacea is his daughter?” Jason asks.
“Yes,” Pythagoras responds. “Goddess of universal remedy. It is said that she can heal any illness.”
“How?” Jason asks. He can’t help but be interested under the circumstances; can’t help but hope that Pythagoras is right.
“It is said that she uses a poultice or potion, depending upon the illness,” Pythagoras murmurs. “Cassandra has told us that this cup is the vessel for Panacea’s remedy. She foresaw us using it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Jason demands.
“Because hope is a fickle mistress,” Pythagoras replies. “I did not know if we would be able to retrieve the cup or not and it seemed cruel to get your hopes up when it might have come to nothing.”
“So the story about needing the lyre to get past the sirens was a lie then?” Jason asks.
“No,” Pythagoras insists. “It was all true. Cassandra’s gifts make her incapable of lying.”
“Come,” Brygos interrupts them softly. “We must prepare for the ritual.”
“What is this ritual?” Jason enquires.
“The blood of the person who is to be healed must be mingled with the blood of the sacrifice and added to the kykeon within the cup and Panacea called upon to bless it,” Brygos replies. “Then it must be drunk for its healing power to take effect.”
“Sacrifice?” Jason asks suspiciously.
“The Fates demand a price for altering the natural course of events,” Cassandra murmurs quietly, although her voice is heard clearly. “They demand a blood sacrifice. A life for a life.”
Jason stares at her with growing horror, before turning back to his other friends angrily.
“So you are telling me that someone has to die for this to work?” he demands. “Did you actually think I would go along with this?”
“Jason,” Ariadne begins.
“No,” Jason growls, beyond angry. “This is not happening. I am sorry but if the price is someone’s life then I am not paying it!”
“So the rest of us are supposed to just sit around and do nothing?” Hercules responds hotly. “You expect us to watch you die without trying to stop it?”
Before Jason can respond, Icarus bursts into the chamber. He had chosen to keep a lookout at the main door of the Temple but now he has left his post.
“We have company,” he blurts. “There is a hoard of Scythians heading this way.”
Jason glares at his companions briefly. He’s still pretty pissed off at them but there are more pressing concerns right now. He turns back to Icarus.
“Show me,” he says.
They hurry out of the chamber and back across the main Temple to the doors. Jason peers out through the crack in the door to look at the approaching Scythians. It is a raiding party and contains more men than he would like to see. He swears loudly and slams the door.
“Right,” he says, turning back to the room. “It looks like they’re aiming for the Temple all right.” He looks apologetically at Brygos. “They may have stumbled across our tracks and followed us here.”
“It is of no matter,” the priest replies. “No doubt they would have attacked us sooner or later anyway.”
“How many of them are there?” Pythagoras asks.
“More than I would really like to be facing,” Jason admits. “The only advantage we’ve got is that they will only be able to get through the door a few at a time.” He turns to Atalanta and Ariadne. “I know this room is a little small for archery but do what you can. Pick as many as you can off as they come through the doors. You will not get all of them but hopefully it should still whittle them down a bit.”
He moves over to Cassandra and puts a hand on her shoulder.
“We will try to protect you if we can,” he says, “but I do not know how successful we will be.”
“Do not worry,” Brygos says in his deep, mellifluous voice. “The Gods will protect her… as will I.”
Jason isn’t sure how much protection the priest will be but beggars can’t be choosers so he nods his agreement and turns back to face the main doors, taking up a position beside Hercules.
“You shouldn’t be in the forefront of this,” the big man mutters. “You should stay back and protect the Oracle.”
Jason shoots him an irritated look. He knows that Hercules is only speaking out of concern but this really isn’t the time or place.
Then the door bursts open and Scythian warriors burst in, and there isn’t time left to think. The world reduces to the battle that rages around Jason (as it so often does when he is in the middle of a skirmish). As he predicted, the Scythians can only come through the door a few at a time and they are met with a barrage of arrows from Atalanta and Ariadne (and just how does Atalanta manage to fire so fast and so accurately? Her hands are almost a blur). It reduces their numbers significantly - although enough still get through to keep the men in the group busy too.
The Scythians seem to be never-ending. As Jason hacks and stabs and parries, he can feel himself tiring rapidly, his breath coming in short panting gasps that catch in the back of his throat. It feels like he’s caught in a vice; like there’s an ever-tightening band of metal around his chest and no matter how hard he tries he just can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. He’s growing increasingly dizzy and off balance, still fighting but losing all finesse and grace. When he looks up though, he can see a light at the end of the tunnel: no more Scythians are pouring in through the door; they have nearly beaten them.
He turns to face another attacker; a burly man with no hair and very few teeth dressed in badly cured animal skins. Jason is flailing a little more than usual but still has more than enough skill to dispatch this Scythian to Hades.
Then it happens. As they both turn, the Scythian manages to catch Jason on the side of the head with the butt of his sword. He stumbles back against a pillar, forcefully driving what is left of his breath from his lungs. His sword tip lowers to the floor and he stares blankly at the Scythian warrior, stunned; trying to draw in a breath that doesn’t want to come. The Scythian gives a feral smirk and raises his sword, preparing to drive it through Jason’s body.
As he strikes, though, Atalanta manages to get there, stepping between Jason and the Scythian. The sword sinks into her stomach even as she drives the arrow she is holding through the Scythian’s throat, killing him. She staggers backwards, hands clutching the wound in her abdomen that is pouring blood, and collapses against a wall. Jason vaguely hears Hercules’ enraged cry as he takes on the last of the Scythians but cannot focus on anything apart from the fallen woman. He crawls across to her and sits at her side, hearing only his own wheezing breathing, his vision blurring alarmingly as he moves.
Atalanta smiles that mysterious, enigmatic smile she sometimes gives.
“I have done what my Goddess requested of me,” she gasps, back arching slightly as she rides out a wave of agony.
The wound in her stomach is clearly fatal and she knows it. Jason can’t bring himself to lie to her - to tell her that everything will be alright - and, even if he wanted to, he simply doesn’t have the breath right now to form a full sentence.
“You… have,” he manages to pant.
Atalanta’s clear eyes meet his and her smile widens slightly. She reaches out with one blood-stained hand and grazes the knuckles down the side of his face in a soft caress, the same way she did the first time she saved his life - when she healed him back in the Forest of Calydon more than a year ago.
“My Goddess Artemis told me that I must protect you from harm,” she says, echoing her words from that first meeting. “I have done all I can. Now you must go on to Colchis and destroy the Fleece.”
Jason nods wordlessly. A solid lump seems to be sitting in his throat and tears are slipping down his cheeks. The world seems to have narrowed down to just the two of them. He knows that the rest of his companions are still nearby (and possibly still fighting Scythians) but all that seems to matter to him right now is the dying woman in front of him.
“I hope you find peace with your Goddess,” he says hoarsely (and it is not lost on him that he has said these words before - only then it was under very different circumstances and to a very different woman).
“She has been at my side all my life. She will not leave me now,” Atalanta assures him.
She looks over Jason’s shoulder at something that he suspects only she can see and her smile grows very bright. Then the light in her eyes dims and slowly flickers out as her breathing stills, head dropping forwards onto her chest, face hidden by the curtain of her long hair.
“Is everyone alright?” Jason can hear Pythagoras in the background, checking on his companions.
Then Ariadne gasps and Hercules gives a strangled cry. Jason can’t seem to summon up the energy to look up to see where they are; can’t take his eyes off Atalanta’s still body. He is exhausted and his breath is coming in short wheezing pants, and it would be all too easy to lie down next to the huntress and let himself drift.
A hand on his shoulder startles him back into some form of reality and he looks up to find Brygos watching him with concern and compassion. The priest is carrying the kylix from the altar, which he uses to gather up some of Atalanta’s blood. Jason watches him dumbly, feeling he should probably protest but not quite being able to form the words.
“Give me your hand,” Brygos instructs, turning back to Jason. “Quickly now.” He looks at Atalanta’s body and then back to the young man. “She gave her life for you… do not let her sacrifice be in vain.”
He takes a knife from Cassandra, who is hovering behind him, and grabs hold of Jason’s wrist with his free hand, turning it so the young man’s hand is palm up and holding it tightly in place. He draws the blade across Jason’s palm, maintaining his grip on Jason’s wrist when the young man flinches, and hands the knife back to Cassandra, closing his now empty hand around Jason’s and forcing it into a fist; applying pressure to Jason’s fingers to force the blood to drain from the cut on his palm into the cup.
Moving swiftly, Brygos hands the cup to Cassandra and stands. As Jason watches, body and mind heavy, the chief priest goes to join the girl. Cassandra places the kylix on the main bomos and stands back with her hands outstretched at her sides, as Brygos comes forwards and stands before the altar, hands raised in supplication, palms upwards, and begins to chant; to pray to Panacea for her blessing.
Ariadne has come to join Jason where he is sitting (half slumping really). She nestles into his side and wraps her arm around his waist. Jason leans into her, resting his head against her shoulder and lets his eyes drift closed, only to open them again at the feel of her hand carding through his hair. He still can’t seem to get enough air and it almost feels like his lungs are full of fluid (wonders idly if this is what drowning feels like).
The chanting finishes and Brygos strides back across the room carrying the cup, coming to a stop before the young couple and dropping down to his knees. Pythagoras hovers near his shoulder.
“Drink,” the priest says firmly, holding the kylix up to Jason’s lips.
Jason swallows a mouthful, gags and tries to turn his head away, only to be thwarted when the priest’s other hand catches the back of his neck and holds him firmly in place.
“You must drink all of it,” Brygos instructs.
Jason frowns but does as he’s told. As the last disgusting mouthful goes down, a wave of burning heat sweeps over him and agony grips him. He stares at the priest desperately, unable to speak. He is on fire and the only sound that he can still hear is his own laboured breathing. The world darkens around him and his vision shuts down as his heart begins to slow, stutter and finally to stop altogether, and he slumps forwards into Brygos’ waiting arms.
“What have you done?” Pythagoras demands, horrified, reaching out to pull the priest away from his friend.
“Wait,” Brygos commands harshly, eyes intently watching the still form in his arms.
He lays Jason gently on the ground, his head in Ariadne’s lap, and straightens, muttering prayers.
“You must trust him,” Cassandra says as the priest continues to chant softly. “He knows what he is doing. It is all in the hands of Panacea now.”
Brygos falls silent, still watching Jason. For a long moment nobody moves, then Jason’s eyes fly open as he draws in a great gasping breath. Ariadne gives a low cry and reaches out to her husband, watching as he rapidly regains the colour he has lost over the past few weeks; his lips and fingertips changing from the slightly blue tint they have had lately into a healthy pink. Jason takes several deep breaths before pushing himself back into a sitting position, legs bent and arms resting on his knees.
“What just happened?” he asks, his voice strong and firm - lacking the breathless quality that it has held too often recently.
“You died,” Ariadne half sobs, her fear still evident.
Jason blinks.
“What?” he asks.
“Panacea consented to help us and blessed the remedy,” Brygos answers. He looks sadly at Atalanta’s body. “The price was high indeed, but the reward was also great.” He turns back to Jason. “Live long and live well,” he says. “You carry Hera’s blessing and favour with you.”
Pythagoras slips up onto the main deck of the Argo in search of his friend. It is late in the evening three days since they laid Atalanta to rest and set sail once more. The stars shine brightly in the heavens and the waves lap gently against the side of the ship.
He finds Jason sitting in the prow, looking up at the stars, his eyes lost in thought, and stops for a moment to watch his friend. Jason looks healthier than he has for a long time. He’s still painfully thin and probably will be for a while yet - his appetite has returned with a vengeance (much to everyone’s pleasure) but regaining lost weight takes time (time that Pythagoras is more than happy to think that his friend now has). Still, he no longer has a drawn look about him; his eyes are bright and he has colour in his cheeks once more. He turns his head and smiles widely as he spots Pythagoras peering at him and waves his friend over to join him.
Pythagoras smiles and moves forwards, settling himself down comfortably alongside Jason.
“Ariadne will be wondering where you have got to,” the mathematician says lightly.
“I was just looking at the stars,” Jason answers. “I’ll be in in a moment.”
They lapse into silence for a few minutes. Presently, Pythagoras looks across at his friend, noting that Jason appears to have lost himself in thought once more.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
Jason looks at him out of the corner of his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says. “I was just thinking about Atalanta.”
“She was an incredible woman and a fine warrior,” Pythagoras replies.
“She was,” Jason says. “I hope she has found peace… That her Goddess came for her.”
“I do not think you need to worry about Atalanta,” Pythagoras answers, looking up at the stars. “I was speaking with Cassandra earlier and she told me that Atalanta was destined for the Isles of the Blessed.”
“The Isles of what?” Jason asks with a confused look.
“The Isles of the Blessed,” Pythagoras replies. “When we die,” he continues, “we are taken across the river into Hades.”
“Yes I know,” Jason answers. “I have been there, remember?”
“Within Hades, the worst souls - those destined for eternal torment - go to Tartarus,” Pythagoras goes on.
“Been there too,” Jason mutters.
Pythagoras ignores the interruption.
“The souls of those who have lead a good life go to Elysium,” he says. “It is the part of Hades reserved for those who deserve it.” He looks straight at Jason. “But the greatest souls - the bravest heroes - do not go to Hades at all… they go to the Isles of the Blessed - the Fortunate Isles. They are a winterless earthly paradise where the heroes of legend live forever with all the pleasures they could ever wish. Atalanta will be reunited with her Goddess there.”
Jason smiles softly and nods.
“Good,” he says. “That is good.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments longer, both looking at the stars and thinking.
“So what now?” Pythagoras asks, half turning his head to look at his friend. “Where do we go from here?”
“Colchis,” Jason answers with certainty. “We find the Golden Fleece and we end this.”
“And after that?” Pythagoras says. “What will you do once we have defeated Pasiphae once and for all?”
Jason blinks.
“I… don’t know,” he says slowly. “It has been so long since I actually thought I had a future that I have never let myself think that far ahead.”
Pythagoras grins. He gets up and turns, offering his friend a hand to pull him to his feet.
“Well you had better start thinking about it,” he advises, “because I suspect that sooner or later Ariadne is going to want to start thinking about the next heir to Atlantis.”
He laughs at Jason’s startled expression and claps his friend on the back as they head below decks together.
Jason stands in a window overlooking the city with his new-born daughter in his arms. From up here Atlantis is beautiful and in the distance, beyond the city walls, he can see the sea; the bright moonlight dancing on the crests of the waves.
“This will all be yours one day,” he murmurs softly.
The baby blinks at him sleepily and yawns. Jason looks down at her and smiles, rocking her gently. A soft noise behind him alerts him to someone’s presence.
“I thought we would find you here.” Pythagoras speaks quietly, in deference to the late hour.
“I wanted to show her Atlantis,” Jason replies, tearing his eyes from his daughter to look out at the view again.
“How is Ariadne?” Hercules rumbles from somewhere behind Pythagoras.
“Sleeping,” Jason murmurs, smiling down at his daughter. “She’s been a bit busy today.”
He turns to face his friends with an enormous smile and eyes full of wonder.
“Would you like to meet our daughter?” he asks.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Hercules grumbles, but he still reaches out to take the baby off Jason and turns away, cooing at the child.
“Does she have a name yet?” Pythagoras asks, coming up to Jason and slinging an arm around his shoulders.
“Give us a chance,” Jason answers. “She’s only two hours old.”
“I’d have thought you would have already picked out a name,” Hercules says, rocking the baby. He looks down at the tiny child. “You’re a beautiful girl, aren’t you? Yes you are. Yes you are.”
Jason grimaces.
“We couldn’t agree on one we both liked before she was born,” he admits.
His two closest friends exchange a look.
“What?” Jason asks.
“Jason… it is tradition that the father names a child,” Pythagoras says. “It is his sole prerogative.”
Jason frowns.
“Without even talking to the mother?” he asks incredulously. “I couldn’t do that to Ariadne,” he adds, shaking his head. “She has as much right as I do to pick out a name.”
“It is very nice that you should feel that way but it is not customary,” Pythagoras states.
Hercules snorts - albeit quietly to avoid waking the now sleeping baby in his arms.
“Since when has he ever worried about custom?” he demands. “I’m still amazed that the nobles didn’t have apoplexy the first time they met him properly after Pasiphae was finally defeated.”
“They nearly did when they realised that Ariadne and I share the same bedroom all the time. They thought we should have separate rooms and only share a bedroom when… well… you know,” Jason mutters. “They seemed pretty horrified that we only have one set of chambers between us. Apparently it’s ‘unseemly’.”
“You should try not to antagonise them too much,” Pythagoras advises. “You still need their support.”
“I know that,” Jason answers. “And I do not intend to upset them… but mine and Ariadne’s sleeping arrangements are our business and nobody else’s. How we choose to live in our own home is for us to decide. I will do everything that is required of me in public but my private life is my own affair.”
Pythagoras chooses to let the subject drop. He can see Jason’s point (and privately agrees with him) but his friend still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that as King his life is no longer completely his own.
“Ariadne is in good health then?” he asks. “I can see that the babe is well enough, but the birth itself… it went well?”
“Yeah,” Jason replies. “I don’t think the midwives like me very much at the moment though.”
“What did you do?” Pythagoras says with resignation.
“Nothing,” Jason answers defensively. “It’s just that they were trying to kick me out of the room when she was being born,” he nods at the baby, “and I told them I wasn’t leaving.”
Pythagoras looks momentarily aghast.
“Surely that was inappropriate?” he mutters. “The birthing chamber is no place for a man.”
Jason raises an eyebrow as he takes his daughter back off Hercules, gently rocking her in his arms. The chief midwife has shown him how to hold the baby properly - how to support her head and hold her securely - and he concentrates on getting it just right.
“Why is it inappropriate?” he demands. “It was normal where I come from… Anyway, I told them that I was there at the conception so I was damned well going to be there for the birth.”
Pythagoras sighs and shakes his head. Sometimes he despairs of ever teaching Jason what is acceptable behaviour in Atlantis.
“Where’s Icarus?” Jason asks with a frown. “I thought he would be with you. I haven’t seen much of him lately. Is he alright?”
Pythagoras smiles.
“He is perfectly well,” he responds. “His father needed him. Apparently Daedalus has been working on an improved version of those wings he created and he required Icarus’ help.”
He is surprised when Jason’s frown deepens even further.
“What is it?” he asks. “What is wrong?”
“It is nothing,” Jason replies. “It is just… maybe when it comes time to test the wings, Daedalus should get someone else to do it. Not Icarus I mean. After last time, it might be pushing his luck a bit to try flying again.”
Pythagoras grins.
“Do not worry,” he says. “I have no intention of letting Icarus anywhere near the test flight. Icarus frightened me enough last time and I have no desire to see him fall like that again.”
“Good,” Jason replies.
He looks down at his daughter and can’t keep the smile from forming as a sense of wonderment fills him once more.
“She’s so perfect,” he murmurs, half to himself. “I can’t believe Ariadne and I actually made her.”
“She’s all yours,” Hercules says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle and full of emotion. “Yours and Ariadne’s… and she is going to be the most beautiful and the most precious girl ever… and no man will ever be good enough for her. You’re going to spend half your life wondering how you managed to get lucky enough to have such a lovely daughter and the other half with your sword in your hand, chasing off unsuitable young men who come along to try to steal her away.”
Jason chuckles.
“You sound very sure of that,” he says.
“Oh I am,” Hercules replies, smiling down at the baby. “I am told that’s what all fathers think… especially new ones.” He grins at Jason. “It doesn’t mean it’s not true though.”
“I am sure I will have help chasing away the unsuitable young men though,” Jason states, his eyes dancing. “She is going to have you two keeping an eye on her too, isn’t she?” It is more a statement than a question. “After all, she is going to need someone to teach her about life and love… and triangles… and I cannot think of anyone I would rather have protecting and teaching my daughter.”
“Did you ever think,” Pythagoras begins, “that we would ever be standing here like this? Atlantis at peace; Pasiphae gone forever; you and Ariadne married - King and Queen - with a child of your own; Icarus and I… Sometimes it seems almost too good to be true.”
Jason snorts softly, mindful of the slumbering infant he is holding.
“I didn’t think I’d even be alive by this point,” he points out. “It is good though… It’s perfect.”
The three men lapse into the comfortable silence of old friends; completely relaxed in one another’s company.
Presently, Jason rouses himself.
“I had better get this little one back before Ariadne wakes up and wonders what I’ve done with her baby,” he says.
In the doorway he pauses and looks back over his shoulder at his two closest friends and then behind them to the window and the city beyond. He smiles. From where he is standing the future looks pretty bright indeed.