Fanfic: A Beautiful Impact (Part 2)
“What do you believe happens to us after we have died?”
They are sitting on the floor of the balcony facing each other the way they used to in the early days of their friendship, a flagon of wine half drunk sitting near Pythagoras. Jason looks at his friend quizzically.
“I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask,” he replies. “Cassandra might be a better choice.”
He has never quite been able to bring himself to call Cassandra the Oracle (even if that’s what she is). The Oracle (as far as Jason is concerned) will always be the graceful, older (and, at least as far as he was concerned, motherly) lady who was so kind to him and tried to guide him when he first arrived in Atlantis. Cassandra, on the other hand, will always be the innocent young girl who travelled with them on the Argo.
“No,” Pythagoras says. “I do not believe this is a question which I wish to discuss with either the priests or the Oracle. I suspect they would simply tell me the generally accepted version.”
“And you don’t believe it?” Jason asks. “I should probably remind you that Hercules and I travelled to Hades once upon a time… and to Tartarus.”
“Oh, I know that both Hades and Tartarus exist,” Pythagoras responds. “But I cannot help thinking that there must be more than that.”
Jason frowns.
“What do you mean?” he says.
“I cannot see how Hades can be large enough to contain every soul that has ever lived,” Pythagoras answers. “There must be thousands of them… millions probably.”
“Probably,” Jason agrees, sounding amused.
“When you visited Hades, did you see thousands of people?”
“Well, no,” Jason replies. “But we did only see a little bit of it.”
“Indeed,” Pythagoras murmurs. “The kingdom of the dead seems to me to be a pretty meaningless place.” He pauses, marshalling his thoughts. “Everything we are told about the afterlife… the dead have no purpose; they merely continue. Their existence is simply a mockery of their lives. They are frozen in the moment of death and can take no pleasure in their continued existence.”
He is gesturing with his cup as he speaks, using it to emphasise what he is saying.
“I simply cannot believe that there is no more purpose to the soul’s continued existence than that,” he continues forcefully.
“So what do you think happens?” Jason asks with a faint half-knowing smile.
“I believe… I hope… that Hades is simply somewhere where we wait,” Pythagoras answers.
“Wait for what?”
“For our next life,” Pythagoras replies. “I believe that when we die, we are reborn. That every soul is immortal and that it transmigrates into a new form after death.”
“You believe in reincarnation,” Jason murmurs.
Pythagoras looks at him in frowning confusion; reincarnation is not a word he is familiar with. He opens his mouth to question what Jason means but does not actually get that far when his friend continues.
“Reincarnation is just another word for what you were describing,” Jason says. “And you’re definitely not the only person ever to have come up with the idea or to believe in it.” He pauses and smiles. “So do you think our souls are just reborn over and over again forever? Or do we eventually achieve some sort of mystical enlightenment in the end and stop being reborn at that point?”
“You are laughing at me,” Pythagoras accuses sharply.
“I promise I’m not,” Jason answers earnestly. “I’m actually really interested in what you believe.” He hesitates. “Do you think that, if we have a strong connection with someone in this life, we get to see them again in the next? I mean… do you believe that souls can be linked? So if there’s someone who’s important to you - who you love - whether it’s as a lover or a friend or family, you get to meet them again after you’re both reborn?”
“I do not know,” Pythagoras admits. “That is something that will require greater thought and greater study… but I do hope so.”
“And my other question?” Jason asks softly. “Do you think we carry on being reborn forever or is there some sort of purpose to all this?” He gestures around himself. “Do we ever reach a point where our souls are at peace?”
“I do not know the answer to that either,” Pythagoras replies. “It is also an aspect which I believe will require greater thought and greater study.”
Jason grins.
“Well if it’s studying we’re talking about then there’s no man more suited to the task than you,” he says. “You’re by far the cleverest man I know.”
“Daedalus is cleverer than I am,” Pythagoras protests.
“No,” Jason responds, “I don’t think he is. I think you are just as clever as he is - perhaps more so - but in a different way. Most of what he comes up with is so impractical that it’s pretty much useless.”
“That is not completely true,” Pythagoras says with a smile. “But I thank you for thinking it.”
“Well I think it is true,” Jason replies. He pauses for a moment and then looks at Pythagoras out of the corner of his eyes. “What’s brought this on anyway?”
“Sorry?” Pythagoras asks, confused.
“This… conversation about the afterlife,” Jason says gently. “You’re not trying to tell me something are you?”
Pythagoras stares at him for a moment.
“No!” he exclaims with a startled laugh. “No, not at all!”
Jason looks relieved.
Pythagoras supposes he can understand it (both the question and the relief); it’s nearing the second anniversary of Icarus’ death and he has been a little more temperamental than usual over the past few days (Hercules has been disappearing to the tavern more and more - although that’s nothing unusual anymore; there is no curbing his drinking these days (not since… well, not since everything happened - and it’s been years now) and it shows - the yellowed skin, bloodshot eyes and trembling hands whenever he is not drinking show that Hercules is no longer a casual drunk).
“Good,” Jason says. “That’s… well, that’s a bit of a relief to be honest.” He looks at Pythagoras quizzically. “So why the sudden interest then?” he asks.
“Oh, it is not sudden,” Pythagoras replies. “I have been thinking about this for many years… It was a thought that first occurred to me as a child on Samos and I have theorised over it on and off ever since I grew into manhood. It is, however, not a commonly held opinion and I suspect there are those who would say that it is an offence to the Gods to even think such things… As a consequence, it is not something that I have ever spoken of before.” He hesitated for a moment. “You, however, have never seemed as bound by tradition and belief as many of our fellow citizens…”
“Mainly because I didn’t know what the traditions were when I came here,” Jason responds.
“Somehow I doubt you would have been overly concerned even if you had understood the beliefs of society,” Pythagoras murmurs. “You have never seemed worried about the beliefs of others.”
He smiles at his friend.
“I do not mean that as a criticism,” he adds. “The fact that you think for yourself and always try to do the right thing even if it is not what convention says you should do is to your credit.”
“Thanks… I think,” Jason answers with a wry little smile.
He looks down towards the floor and then glances back up at Pythagoras, peering at his friend from under his eyelashes.
“I think what people believe is up to them,” he adds softly. “When it comes to what you believe, the only opinion that really counts is your own.” He nudges Pythagoras gently with his foot. “What other people believe is fine for them… but what you believe is right for you.”
“Thank you,” Pythagoras says sincerely.
“For what?” Jason asks.
“For not laughing at me,” Pythagoras replies. “Many others would.”
He closes his eyes and allows his head to rest back against the post he is sitting against, mind drifting.
Jason reaches across the space between them and covers Pythagoras’ hand with his own; his touch is warm, solid and somehow very comfortable.
“I might joke about the unimportant things,” he says earnestly, “but I would never really laugh at you… especially about something that is so important to you.”
Pythagoras swallows past the sudden lump in his throat; he has never known what he has done to deserve the absolute faith and friendship of both Jason and Hercules.
“I know,” he says quietly. “Anyway,” he adds, determined to change the direction of the conversation, “did I tell you what happened when I went to buy bread from Rhesus? He is the son of Rodas… do you remember Rodas?”
Jason frowns.
“I would be lying if I said I did,” he replies honestly.
“He was the blind baker Hercules used to steal bread from,” Pythagoras answers.
Jason snorts a laugh.
“God, that’s going back a few years,” he states.
“More than a few,” Pythagoras acknowledges. “And definitely more than I like to think about.” He pauses for a moment. “There are times when I miss those days,” he admits. “When we all lived here together and most of the time the most serious thing to think of was where we were going to get our next meal from.”
“Life was simpler then,” Jason agrees. “They were good days… the risk of starvation notwithstanding.” His eyes are distant, showing that his thoughts are lost in their shared past. “Do you remember the time when Hercules got drunk and we had to get him down off that roof?” he asks, grinning.
“Which time?” Pythagoras responds, with an amused smile and a raised eyebrow.
“It happened more than once?” Jason blurts, taken by surprise.
Pythagoras laughs. Jason still looks so young whenever he is startled (he looks younger than he is most of the time but it’s more noticeable when he is surprised).
“Oh yes,” the mathematician replies. “At least three times to my knowledge. The first time that I know of must have been two years or so before you arrived in Atlantis. Let me tell you about it. It was the first night of Poseidonia and Hercules had been out celebrating for most of the day.”
He settles down to tell his story, pouring himself another cup of wine and preparing to spend a pleasant evening sharing reminiscences of the past with an old friend.
It’s winter when Hercules’ health starts failing. Or maybe it happened before that but has been so gradual that Pythagoras is only just noticing. Years of heavy drinking (almost constant for the last few years) have finally taken their toll. It shouldn’t be a surprise, of course - the burly former wrestler was far from being a young man back when Jason had arrived in Atlantis and he’s an old man now - and yet somehow it is; somehow he had almost managed to convince himself that his larger-than-life friend was immortal.
By spring, Hercules is a shadow of his former self; he’s lost weight rapidly (not good for a man who was always large - or to use his own phrase ‘big boned’), his once booming voice has become querulous and he barely eats (the thing that worries Pythagoras the most given that Hercules’ appetite was infamous). He’s growing increasingly forgetful too; some days he forgets that Medusa has been dead for nearly twenty years - he demands to see her and grows angry when Pythagoras can’t immediately produce her; seems to believe that his old friend is deliberately keeping them apart and throws bile filled words at the mathematician (which he won’t remember saying later).
He’s tired all the time too and, despite the weight he has clearly lost, his stomach and lower legs are swollen. He’s jaundiced and weak, has regular nose bleeds and his gums bleed constantly, and it hurts Pythagoras to see him like this more than he can say.
The day he starts vomiting blood is also the day that Pythagoras starts praying for the end to come quickly and painlessly. It makes him feel guilty, because what sort of friend hopes for their best friend to die quickly? But the sad truth is that he knows that Hercules will not recover and does not wish his old friend to suffer. He has seen this before and knows now that the end is inevitable; there is little he can do to help Hercules - he is simply too far gone.
As time goes on, Pythagoras finds himself increasingly giving up his usual everyday activities to care for his old friend. It is a self-imposed duty that he does not (cannot) begrudge or regret (isn’t entirely sure he would trust anyone else to look after Hercules properly. No-one else loves the old man like he does; no-one else has the same history with him - the same bonds forged over many years). Ariadne comes to help him when she can (and more often than not sends someone to help him when she can’t get there herself) - even if all she can really do is sit and talk with their old friend while Pythagoras goes to the market, or tidies the house, or cooks something to try to tempt Hercules into eating (futile though that may be most days). At other times she chases Pythagoras out of the house “to get some fresh air and have a break” even though he has no reason to be out and ends up wandering the streets aimlessly until he can sneak back in without rousing the Queen’s ire.
When the end comes though, it’s still a shock. Pythagoras gets up (as he usually does) in the still cool time before the dawn and goes into Hercules’ room to check on his friend (Hercules’ sleep is often restless and about the only thing Pythagoras can really do for him these days is to provide painkilling tonics to help him to be as comfortable as possible), only to find that his prayers have been granted; Hercules has passed peacefully - slipping away in his sleep. He suspects that his old friend’s heart has finally given out and in many ways it’s a relief; Hercules has not been himself for a long time and Pythagoras has hated to see him suffering in this way.
Pythagoras pauses for a long moment at the former wrestler’s side, his hand covering Hercules’, and murmurs a quick prayer to the Gods. He cannot allow himself to feel yet (to feel the loss of his oldest friend would cripple him and he has too much to do) so he throws himself into doing all the little tasks that will need to be done; moving automatically - almost mechanically.
He goes back to his own room and finds a coin (a silver dekadrachm saved for a rainy day but no less than his friend deserves to pay his way) to place in Hercules’ mouth. On his way back to Hercules’ room, he stops and pens a quick note to the Palace. Ariadne deserves to know what has happened.
Outside he spots one of the urchins that run wild in the streets and gives him a coin to take the note to the Palace; promising the child a larger reward on his return to ensure he will actually deliver the message. It is a trick he learned from Hercules in those long-lost days when Ariadne was newly Queen and Telemon (Gods, how many years is it since he thought of that bastard?) was plotting against her while playing the loving husband-to-be to her face.
Back inside, he collects a bowl of water and a cloth and wanders back into Hercules’ room. Placing them down on the chest at the end of his old friend’s bed, he moves purposefully back into the other room and grabs a large bowl, several bunches of sweet smelling herbs and as many candles as he can carry in one go.
With gentle hands he washes and dries Hercules’ hands and face, placing his hands across his chest when he is done. He lays out the candles on every available surface around the bed and lights them, making ritual prayers to the Gods. The feeling of deja-vu is really quite incredible (but possibly understandable - he has been here before after all, when Hercules and Jason travelled to the underworld; only that time Hercules was an active participant in the rituals to allow him to cross the river into Hades and this time there will be no coming back). The bundles of herbs he lays in the large bowl and sets alight. They serve a dual purpose of an offering to the Gods and at the same time give the room a far more pleasant scent - taking away the smell of sickness and death.
It is still not quite dawn and the city has not yet awoken. With great care, Pythagoras places the dekadrachm between his old friend’s lips and, hands outstretched, murmurs one last prayer (for now at least). He isn’t quite sure what to do now to be honest. The city is not yet awake so he will not be able to contact the corpse bearers until later. In a way he’s rather grateful for that; grateful for these last few hours with someone who has been a big part of his life for almost as long as he can remember (he was little more than a boy when he had arrived in Atlantis and met Hercules after all).
Ariadne arrives with the Sun. It isn’t really a surprise; she is still fiercely loyal towards those who travelled with her on the Argo and helped to overthrow Pasiphae (and especially loyal and caring towards Pythagoras and Hercules since they are the two who (along with Jason of course) shared her exile in the forest when Pasiphae first stole the throne from her and who volunteered to protect her with their lives when no-one else would). She brings her children with her.
Athene, eighteen now and remarkably beautiful (she looks like Ariadne as Pythagoras remembers her being at that sort of age), is utterly inconsolable. Of the three children she is the one who has always been closest to Hercules. As a young child she had followed the big man around like a little puppy, listening to his tall tales (carefully censored for young ears) with wonder, laughing at his jokes and liking nothing more than to snuggle up to him when she was tired (or really at any time to be honest). Hercules had revelled in it; Athene had had him wrapped around her little finger almost from the moment she was born.
Somehow the twins never became as close to the big man as their sister. Pythagoras privately suspects that it is because they reminded Hercules too much of their father. Niobe might be a cross between her parents in looks, but in personality she is startlingly like Jason. She is stubborn, can be wilful, has very strong opinions on things (at fourteen she still has a very black and white view of the world; categorises people and things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and cannot imagine that they might be both. Then again, Pythagoras still believes that Jason used to do the same thing - at least when they first met) and will always follow her heart and stand up for what she believes to be right - even when she is wrong. She is also very caring, has a mischievous sense of humour and is deeply loyal to those she cares about.
Alexis, on the other hand, has a little more of his mother’s personality but is the living image of his father. He looks very much how Pythagoras imagines Jason would have looked at fourteen. There are times when Pythagoras catches sight of the boy out of the corner of his eye and nearly calls him by his father’s name - especially now that Alexis is growing taller (he turned around the other day and was surprised to see that the boy is now at his shoulder). Pythagoras suspects that it will only get worse as Alexis grows older; he can easily imagine that the boy will be able to pass for Jason in just a few short years.
Pythagoras knows that Hercules tried not to hold it against the twins that they were more like their father than their mother (either in looks or character) but the simple (and sad) truth is that he never managed to be close to either of them because of his memories. He had loved Jason almost as much as he had loved Pythagoras (saw both men as more than friends; as family - perhaps even as the sons he had never actually had) and what had happened had hurt him deeply.
It hadn’t always been like that though. Pythagoras remembered the twins being born. Those had been dreadful days if he were being honest with himself (much as he would like to remember them fondly). Any birth was risky and those involving more than one infant were even more so. The twins had been born early and very small and (despite Pythagoras and the Oracle’s best efforts) both they and Ariadne had seemed likely to die.
The children had rallied reasonably quickly once they had been persuaded to suckle from hastily obtained wet nurses but Ariadne had hovered between life and death for days. Jason had been inconsolable, desperate, despairing, and (since Pythagoras’ whole attention had been focussed on saving the life of the Queen and her infant children) it had fallen to Hercules to try to look after their friend; trying to persuade Jason to eat and sleep - to take care of himself in any way - had been a difficult task on its own and Hercules had resorted to a mixture of cajoling and threats to keep the young King alive and relatively healthy.
They had been close back then, Pythagoras remembers with a sigh; back before disaster had struck (and, really, he should have known that something was bound to go wrong; all three of them seemed to be plagued with the worst luck).
“It will be alright,” Ariadne says softly. “I know it seems hard now… it is hard now… how could it not be? Hercules has always been so larger than life that it seems impossible to imagine life without him… and you are his oldest friend… I cannot imagine how you must be feeling… but he would not want you to be unhappy.”
She is floundering for words and Pythagoras realises with a start that she is trying to comfort him. The truth is though that he is not sad - not yet anyway. Oh he knows only too well that a time will come when he will feel Hercules’ loss keenly (when a yawning pit of emptiness will open up in his gut and the enormity of his old friend’s death will hit him) but for now he is dry eyed; too grateful that the former wrestler is no longer suffering to be truly sad.
He will grieve in his own time and in his own way but he is not insensible to the fact that Ariadne may be finding comfort and consolation in attempting to comfort him, so he hugs her close (once upon a time he would never have dared to touch her for propriety’s sake but they are both long past the point where they worry about that; have been almost-brother-and-sister for too many years) and rests his head against her shoulder, allowing her to stroke his back and pet his hair, murmuring soft words into his ears. She will miss Hercules too - Pythagoras knows that only too well. Her close friendship with Hercules was forged in those long-ago days in the forest when they were on the run from Pasiphae’s forces.
Having released Pythagoras from her embrace, Ariadne goes into Hercules’ room to offer her own prayers, leaving him to try to console the children (Athene in particular). When she comes out, she sits down at the table and takes the mathematician’s hand in her own before asking delicately about the funeral. It will follow the accepted form, of course, but Ariadne wants the formal proceedings to take place in the Temple of Poseidon (an unheard of honour for someone not of royal birth or blood); wants to be allowed to publicly honour a man who did so much for both her and Jason in those early days and who has continued to be a friend to her in all the years since. Pythagoras finds that he does not have the energy or inclination to object and so Ariadne gets her own way (which isn’t really unexpected - she is Queen after all and her word is law).
As the sun rises higher in the sky, other visitors come and go; officials from the Palace to ask the Queen to return (Ariadne sends them away with sharp words); friends both old and new come to pay their respects (several of the wine merchants seem almost inconsolable - but that may be just because they can foresee a steep decline in their profits, Pythagoras thinks uncharitably); and Poseidon’s Oracle - a surprise to those who do not know the history between the Seeress and these people; she rarely leaves the sanctuary of the Temple these days after all.
Cassandra has grown more beautiful with the years; she is a middle aged woman at the height of her powers, graceful and elegant, and not the innocent, frightened young girl who fled with them from Atlantis and was a companion on the Argo. Her once shaved head now has flowing, dark hair, intricately woven and bound about with ribbons and strings of pearls (a symbol of her position as Oracle; only the lower priestesses and acolytes of Poseidon shave their heads). She is kind, gentle and enigmatic and offers her sympathy and support in any way she can, although her words (as usual) are loaded with hidden meanings too obscure for most to fathom. She doesn’t stay long (cannot - her duties at the Temple call to her) but it is enough that she came.
Finally, Ariadne admits that she has to return to the Palace. There are some duties which she cannot postpone and which cannot be undertaken by anyone else, although she promises to return as soon as they are complete. With her children surrounding her, she makes her way into the street to join the guards who have been waiting for her there and to return to the Citadel.
“I wish she wouldn’t wear black so often. It always makes her look so sad.”
Jason’s voice startles Pythagoras and he turns to see his friend watching his wife out of the window. He hadn’t noticed Jason arrive with his family, but he supposes it’s more than possible that he’s been here all along, just staying in the background out of the way; Jason has never been wonderfully good with feelings after all and it’s quite possible that he would have allowed Ariadne to step forward and take the lead. It’s equally possible (probably more likely in fact) that he was unable to come earlier and arrived later than his wife and children, letting himself into the little house he had once shared with his two friends quietly and unobtrusively. Whichever it is, Pythagoras is glad he’s here now.
“She is showing honour for Hercules,” Pythagoras replies softly. “Besides, she has suffered many losses over the years - some greater than others.”
“I know,” Jason says with a sigh, crossing the room to sit opposite Pythagoras at the table. “I just wish…”
He breaks off, leaving whatever it is he wishes left unsaid. He looks weary, defeated, in a way that Pythagoras has very rarely seen. It makes the mathematician’s heart clench.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get here more often in the last couple of months,” Jason adds. “I would have been here if I could. You know how it is.”
“Yes,” Pythagoras agrees, because he does know how it is; he knows Jason’s time is rarely his own to do with as he wants.
“In the end… was it peaceful?” Jason asks, glancing towards Hercules’ room.
“He went to sleep and did not wake up,” Pythagoras replies. “I think that that is as peaceful as anyone could wish.” He hesitates for a moment. “I wish you had been here,” he adds.
“Me too,” Jason responds hoarsely, swallowing hard. “But I don’t think Hercules would have wanted me here.” He glances towards the other room again. “You know he wouldn’t see me.”
“I know,” Pythagoras says. “I just wish things could have been different.”
“So do I,” Jason says earnestly. He huffs a laugh that contains no humour. “I’m going to miss the old bugger,” he adds.
“Yes,” Pythagoras answers. “I will too.”
And just like that the enormity of what’s happened hits him - Hercules, his oldest friend and companion, his chief support in the early days of his life in Atlantis, is gone. Tears burn his eyes and run down his face as he grasps and pulls at his own hair, sobbing as quietly as he can manage - not wanting to make a fuss but not quite able to contain himself either.
In an instant, he’s wrapped in an embrace, his head resting on his friend’s shoulder. Jason has come around the table and crouched down next to him as fast as he can. As the shoulder of his own tunic becomes wet, Pythagoras becomes aware that Jason is also crying (albeit silently - for as long as he can remember Pythagoras has never actually heard Jason sob audibly even when he has known that his friend has been crying). Somehow it feels right that there is no-one else here now; that it is just the two of them sharing their sorrow. They were Hercules’ closest friends for years after all.
The days that come next pass swiftly; so swiftly that he loses track. It isn’t like when he lost Icarus - his whole world doesn’t stop, but he does throw himself into his work to get through these early days of grief as easily as he can. It isn’t until he turns around one day and counts them up in his head that he realises an entire month has passed without him realising.
One month turns into two, and two into six, and before he really knows it summer is here again. Pythagoras finds he is growing restless, an idea taking root that he tries to dispel but cannot quite manage it; that it is finally time to move on and leave Atlantis (leave the home he has created and cherished) behind. It isn’t the same here without Hercules; it no longer feels like his home.
Still, he holds off saying anything for some time; holds off thinking about it as much as possible. He doesn’t want to hurt the few friends he has left after all.
“What’s troubling you?”
Pythagoras smiles softly at Jason’s question. He and his friend have always been uncannily in tune with one another - right from the early days of their friendship.
It’s the middle of the day and the mathematician has broken off from his work to eat something (in years gone by he might have ignored his own bodily needs while he was studying until one of his friends reminded him to eat or sleep; now he is acutely aware that, more often than not, there is no-one here to remind him). Jason has turned up unexpectedly but he is not unwelcome.
“It is nothing,” Pythagoras answers, reaching out to take an olive.
“Pythagoras, I know you,” Jason retorts, “and I know when something is bothering you.”
Pythagoras sighs.
“It really is unimportant,” he says. “It is merely something I have been pondering. No doubt I will soon forget.”
Jason raises an eyebrow and Pythagoras sighs again.
“Since Hercules died, Atlantis no longer feels like home,” he admits. “I still expect to see him everywhere. I still expect to see Icarus…”
“You are thinking of leaving,” Jason murmurs softly. It is not a question.
“Perhaps,” Pythagoras replies. “I am not certain what I want at present.”
Jason’s smile is as sad as it is knowing.
“Yes you do,” he says. “You just haven’t accepted it yet. You’re doing what you always do and trying to think about everyone else before yourself. For once in your life, Pythagoras, put yourself first.”
“I do not wish to upset anyone,” Pythagoras protests. “You are my friends - my family. I would miss you all.”
“And we will miss you,” Jason replies. “But I know I speak for Ariadne too when I say that we would just want you to be happy… and if that means leaving Atlantis then so be it. We would visit.”
Pythagoras raises an eyebrow and gives Jason a long, hard look.
“You are all busy people,” he points out. “Atlantis needs to be governed. I could hardly expect anyone to drop everything for me.”
“I will never be too busy for you,” Jason answers earnestly. “I though you’d know that by now… and Ariadne would relish the chance to get away from the city occasionally. She loves Atlantis and is proud to be Queen but sometimes… well, sometimes I think a break would do her good.” He pauses for a second and reaches out to cover Pythagoras’ hand with his own. “Both of us want what’s best for you,” he adds softly.
“Thank you,” Pythagoras says. “It does mean a lot to me that you would not attempt to stand in my way.” He smiles gently. “It has been a privilege to tutor your children,” he says quietly. “Especially as I have no formal background in pedagogy… and I know there were those at court who opposed my appointment.”
“There’s no-one else I would ever have chosen,” Jason replies seriously, “and I know that Ariadne feels the same way about it.”
Pythagoras’ smile widens and he nods his head in acknowledgement.
“The point I was about to make is that the children are nearly grown now,” he says. “They will not need me for much longer.”
“They’ll always need you,” Jason murmurs. “But I take your point that perhaps they won’t actually need a tutor for much longer.”
“Athene is grown into a very lovely and graceful young woman,” Pythagoras replies. “She is more than ready to take on her adult duties and responsibilities… and it will not be long until Alexis leaves my tutelage to begin his military training - which will just leave Niobe…”
Jason chuckles.
“Niobe is still trying to persuade her mother to let her start weapons and tactics training with her brother,” he says. “I don’t think Ariadne’s very keen on that idea though. I mean, she wants all the children to know how to defend themselves if they need too, but she also wants Niobe to learn to be a bit more diplomatic and a bit more ladylike.”
“She will have her work cut out,” Pythagoras answers, trying not to laugh. “Niobe is as stubborn as you.”
“I know,” Jason responds. “But she’s a good girl too. She likes to make her mother happy… and Ariadne ultimately wants Niobe to be happy too. They’ll compromise in the end.” He looks away for a moment before refocussing his gaze on his friend. “Where will you go?” he asks, as though Pythagoras has already decided to leave.
“I do not know,” Pythagoras replies. “Perhaps nowhere… but I do feel the urge to see the world again. I might travel for a time. I have always wanted to see Athens… and the opportunities for study there are immense… and, who knows? Even if I do decide to leave Atlantis for a time, I might find that I do not enjoy travel and wish to return home. But I do think I need to see a little of the world again - and not when I am running for my life this time.”
Jason offers him a small half-smile; a shadow of his usual grin.
“I think it is a good plan,” he says softly. “There is nothing to really tie you down to Atlantis anymore. Go out and enjoy yourself - it’s what Hercules would have wanted… as long as I will still be welcome to visit you wherever you end up that is…”
“You know I will never turn you away,” Pythagoras objects. He looks out of the window for a moment, deep in thought. “You were right,” he admitted. “I do know what I want. I will not hurry to leave but I will begin the preparations. It is time to go out and see what the world still has to offer.”