DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of Hercules and Iolaus (I wish!). No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. Iolaus does kinda get hurt badly though.

Quote for Iolaus: "Character is what you are in the dark," Earl Mac Rauch, Buckaroo Banzai (cited from 'The Lost King' by Margaret Weiss).


KIDNAPPED

by Ruric

Chapter Three


Hercules trudged through the thick snow from Aphrodite's temple back towards the inn, cradling Iolaus' body carefully in his arms. He didn't look where he was going, he didn't really care anymore, he just couldn't think that far ahead. His mind kept replaying the last hour over and over again. His eyes never left Iolaus' face, barely visible under the covering of the rough blankets, which brushed against his bare arms.

Aphrodite's anguished scream had woken him from his exhausted slumber. In the seconds it took, between hearing her scream and his physical response, his tired gaze had quickly swept the room. For a moment he thought he'd been dreaming. Then as his eyes had reached the bed he noticed the absence of his friend.

A cold horror had crept over his skin as he surveyed the empty bed, his heart lurching downwards as he noted that Iolaus' clothes still remained on the chest. A small part of his mind had struggled to deny the obvious.....the hunter couldn't have gone anywhere, it was impossible.....he'd been out for the count.... he was far too ill. He *had* to be in the room somewhere. He ignored the voice in his mind as his body responded instinctively. He pushed Xena's head roughly from his lap and leapt to his feet, stumbling the few steps to the door to yank it open.

The warrior princess, reflexes as fast as ever, had woken as he started to move. She saw the complete panic in the demi-god's eyes and, pausing only to grab the blankets, had chased out of the room after him. She didn't stop to question how he knew where he was going, as they pounded down the stairs of the inn and out into the cold night air. They ran headlong up the empty thoroughfare of the village, sliding through the snow and ice, until they reached the closed temple doors.

Hercules hadn't even checked in his headlong rush but simply hurled his body against the strong wooden door. Amazingly it had withstood the first impact. The demi-god's body had overruled his mind and he was operating on pure animal instinct. He *knew* Iolaus was in there and he had to get to him, over or through anything that stood in his path. He drew in a ragged breath and charged again, feeling the slight give as whatever was holding the door closed started to break. One final charge and the air echoed with the tearing sound of splintering wood as the door finally shattered inwards.

The scene which he beheld as his eyes adjusted to the subdued temple light was forever engraved on his mind. A picture he would carry to his dying day and one which he knew would haunt him throughout the darkness of many a coming night. Aphrodite, crouched in front of the altar, a small, forlorn body on the floor, white sheet wrapped loosely around its hips, and tousled blond head resting in her lap. Hades, the darkly clad god of the Underworld, standing to the right of her. His only thought had been to stop Hades getting anywhere close to Iolaus. He'd sprinted across the temple planting his body firmly between the god of the Underworld and the hunter. He knew then that *whatever* Hades had asked he would gladly have given to spare the life of his friend and lover.

The relief that swept through him when he realised that *this time* Aphrodite had outfoxed Hades was so intense it was painful. He'd turned then, to thank her, met the blazing blue eyes and involuntarily backed up a step. He'd heard her angry words, at first not understanding, and then .... oh gods.... then his bewildered gaze had fully taken in the sight before him.

His sister crouched protectively over the body she cradled, long blonde hair wild and tangled, leaning slightly forwards, hands wrapped around the hunter's forearms and a pool of reddish-blackness on the floor. It took him several seconds to realise that the viscous pool consisted of the hunter's lifeblood. Aphrodite's hands were spread to cover long deep gashes in his friend's arms and blood pulsed slowly though her
delicate fingers to drip onto her clothes and the floor. Her pink gown was stained a deeper red, as was the sheet wrapped around the hunter.

Hercules' horrified eyes saw the knife and he understood with dismay what the hunter had attempted. The realisation of how desperate Iolaus must have been to even *consider* ending his life struck him with the force of a physical blow. His knees gave slightly under the impact and he'd struggled to stay on his feet. He knew Aphrodite was speaking, he could see her lips moving, could hear the damning tone of her voice, but the only thing he was conscious of was his mind loudly screaming one word.... "Nooooo."

Xena had recovered from the shock first. She heard Aphrodite's accusatory words and, after waiting for a moment to see whether Hercules would respond, decided she *must* speak to the goddess for all their sakes. She was almost grateful for a moment for her experiences with Ares, because at least it gave her the courage to face the wrath of goddess without flinching.

She'd pitched her voice low, tone even, attempting to penetrate Aphrodite's anger, to convince the goddess of the truth of her words. She didn't know whether it was the raw emotion in her voice, or the potential danger to Iolaus, but Hercules' finally seemed to recover his wits.

The demi-god heard Xena try to explain what had happened to his sister and he'd joined his voice with hers. Begging Aphrodite to give Iolaus back to him, to tell him how to heal the other part of his soul. He'd been surprised to see the tears in 'Dite's eyes, but there again she'd always had a soft spot for the hunter. As she'd offered to help heal Iolaus' body Hercules had heaved a sigh of relief. However, the rest of her words rang like a loudly tolling bell in his mind. "But there is something else wrong. Something deeper.... he seem's to have done something to his mind and I wouldn't even know where to start sorting that out. I don't even know what he's done to himself."

As he strode up the street to the inn, Iolaus light in his arms, 'Dite's final words resounded round and round and round in his head, "something else wrong.... something deeper.... to his mind.....something else wrong..... deeper...his mind..."

Hercules felt his own reason was near to shattering. His brain was numb, exhaustion and stress finally having taken their toll. He'd nearly lost the hunter again..... and this time it had all been his fault..... *his fault* ... there was no-one else to blame.

Xena walked quietly at his side, ensuring that the warm blankets didn't slip from the hunter's limp form, and guiding the demi-god as he stumbled through the snow drifts. She was worried that he may drop Iolaus, he was making far too many mis-steps, but sensed that now was not the time to ask him to relinquish his load. He needed the physical contact with his friend's living and breathing body.

The warrior princess was still absorbing the goddess' angry words, no matter that they had been spoken in the heat of the moment. Xena knew that Hercules would blame himself for what happened and she also struggled under the onus of guilt for not having been vigilant and wakeful when Iolaus revived.

She darted ahead as they reached the inn, opening the heavy timber door and helping Hercules manoeuvre carefully inside. They stopped briefly to stamp the snow from their boots, and brush the thick flakes from the blankets covering Iolaus before continuing to the chamber they occupied.

Once inside the sanctuary of the warm room, Hercules lay the hunter gently on the bed. They removed the blankets from around Iolaus' still form, relieved to note the regular rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Hercules knelt by the bed and lifted one of Iolaus' forearms in his larger hands, as Xena grasped the other and examined it carefully. The deep gashes Iolaus had inflicted upon himself at the temple were visible, the scars angry and red, and would obviously need some attention, but the injuries looked days rather than minutes old. The marks that the manacles had left around his wrists were also semi- healed.

Two pairs of slightly incredulous blue eyes met over the supine body between them. They reached together to strip the bandages from Iolaus' chest, gently turning his body to look for the wounds on his back. These too were partly healed, again showing angry red weals, but the wounds were no longer raw and all signs of infection were gone.

Xena laid a hand against Iolaus' forehead, brushing the golden hair out of the way. His skin was cool to the touch but not too chilled. There was no sign of the fever he'd been battling with for the last few days. It would seem that physically, at least, the hunter was out of danger.

Hercules raised his eyes to meet Xena's once again. "Why don't you get some rest. I don't think he's going to wander any further tonight. I'll keep watch over him," he stated quietly.

Xena gazed at the demi-god intently, saw pain and guilt reflected in those dark blue eyes, as well as the darker circles beneath them. No matter what, she knew Hercules would always carry the guilt for the events of tonight. He would never forgive himself, not only for what the hunter had endured in the last hour but also what he'd endured at the hands of Marius and the rest of the bandits.

The warrior princess considered her own feelings and conceded the depth of the guilt she also bore. She'd backed Hercules when he insisted on keeping watch over Iolaus when they both knew they needed sleep. Xena acknowledged the futility of wallowing in orgy of self-recrimination, recognising that it would help neither the hunter nor Hercules. She would deal with this *after* Iolaus had recovered.

"Very well, I'll rest now. In the morning I'll fetch Makis. We'll get him to check Iolaus again, and see whether he has any ideas about how to help him. Then I'll watch over him whilst *you* get some rest."

Hercules had dropped his eyes to stare at Iolaus' face, and looked up. "I'm ......." he trailed off. He'd been about to say 'fine' but that was obviously not the case. The protest died unvoiced on his lips.

"We'll talk about it in the morning." Xena's glance and her tone of voice brooked no argument.

The demi-god's eyes returned to Iolaus, not noting Xena's scowling frown. She was worried. Iolaus seemed out of danger, although obviously a long way from recovery. The demi-god, however, was beginning to concern her more and more with each passing moment. If Iolaus was to recover, he would need Hercules' strength and attention, and the demi-god was teetering on the brink of nervous exhaustion. He knelt by the bed, eyes never leaving his friend's face as if by staring intently at the hunter he could force him to awaken, whilst his hand rhythmically stroked the blond hair off the high forehead. She needed to speak to the healer about Hercules as well as Iolaus tomorrow.

Xena pulled up a chair, positioning it near Hercules but between the bed and the door. "If you're going to watch over him you may as well be comfortable." She left two blankets lying over the back of the chair as she slipped quietly from the room.

Hercules drew the chair as close to the bed as possible and sank down into it. Iolaus looked pale and delicate against the sheets, his vulnerability as always showing when he was at rest. The normally tanned and golden skin looked almost like alabaster or marble in the dancing light of the fire. The wild blond hair seemed to form a halo around the hunter's head. Dark blue circles stained the delicate skin under his eyes, skin drawn tautly over cheekbones. Iolaus' small form, robbed of its natural exuberance and enthusiasm, appeared frail and fragile and all too obviously mortal.

The demi-god clasped Iolaus' right hand in both of his. He needed this contact, to feel the warmth in the skin, to know that the focus of his life was still alive. Now that he was finally alone with Iolaus, Hercules felt as if he could give in to his grief and near loss.

He'd come so close to losing Iolaus *again*. He laid his head down, resting on their joined hands and wept, quietly and silently. Tears flowed from his eyes until they were so swollen he could no longer see, until his head pounded and until he could barely breathe. Bitter tears for so many words left unsaid and deeds left undone. Twice the hunter had died in his arms and this time he'd nearly died because Hercules *hadn't* been there when Iolaus really needed him.

Without conscious thought he slid to his knees, words desperately flowing through his mind. Pleading words that he knew would probably go unheeded, but he had to try.

"Zeus..... father ..... if you hear me.... *please*....... don't take him away. Iolaus has always been there for me, ever since I was a child. He's all I have left. He's the rock at the centre of my world. Iolaus keeps me grounded.....never lets me believe in my own myth. I *can't* do what I do without him. It's not fair that he should suffer simply because Hera hates me."

He doubted that his father would help, or even be able to help. After all, his frantic pleas for Deianeira and the children had fallen on deaf ears. But again, he had to try. He thought about how much he cared for the blond hunter, about all the experiences and adventures they had shared and the problems they had overcome.

'Could you love a woman the way you love Iolaus?' he recalled Hippolyta's words. No, never. He could never love anyone as much as he loved Iolaus. He'd adored Deianeira and the children and cared deeply for Serena. But the love he had for Iolaus was based on thirty years of friendship and a true meeting of souls. He concentrated on the depth of his feelings for the blond hunter and tried to direct these thoughts to wherever his father was.

If Hercules had raised his head for a moment, he would have seen a slight shimmer of gold in the corner of the room as Zeus briefly materialised. The King of the Gods looked haggard and worn, leaning heavily on a staff in his right hand, as his left reached out, stretching towards his son. He loved this child, the last of his half
human offspring, more than any of the others, human or divine.

He admired Hercules' strength, honesty and integrity and regretted deeply the irreconcilable rift that now lay between them. The deaths of Deianeira and the children had hit him hard too, but he'd been unable to intervene. To restore life to those killed by another god was impossible, even for the King of the Gods. Zeus reflected that Hercules had always seen things as black and white. He thought the gods capricious and irresponsible. He never realised the complexity of the tasks they juggled or the effects that could be provoked by changing or reversing one small action. Once already Zeus had saved Iolaus' life, reversing time, after Hercules' encountered the Amazons. That had cost him dearly, nearly causing a revolt on Olympus. Then, it had taken him months to sort out the entangled time lines and consequences of his action.

As for Iolaus, Zeus had just fought a furious battle with Hera over her latest interference in his life. He didn't think he would have been able to make her back down and promise not to meddle for the next few weeks, but he'd received a surprising amount of support from some of the other Olympians. Aphrodite, Hermes, Cupid and surprisingly even Hades and *Ares* had all backed him, which had allowed him to overrule his recidivist wife. He *hoped* he'd bought enough time for his son to help Iolaus, but he could do no more. He listened for a few more moments to the hunter's gentle breathing.... well, it was down to Hercules now, then he disappeared before his presence could be known.

Hercules raised his head, angrily wiping the tears from his face. He should have known his father wouldn't or couldn't help. To make sure that Iolaus wouldn't be able to sneak out of the room, if he revived, he pulled the chair over to the door, resting the back firmly beneath the handle.

Returning once more to the bed he lay down beside his lover. He pulled the smaller man into a tight embrace. One arm sliding beneath Iolaus to encircle his waist as he flung the other over the hunter's chest, hand spread wide over pectoral muscle to feel the reassuringly strong beat of the heart beneath.

He inhaled the lavender scent that still clung to Iolaus' hair and body, overlain by the smell of incense from the temple. Iolaus would be all right, he had to be, he couldn't lose him now.....

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Next morning, just as the innkeeper's wife had delivered a breakfast tray to the room, a gentle knock sounded on the door. Hercules had hardly moved all night and his body was now stiff and cramped as he tried to stretch life back into his tense muscles. He'd lain awake throughout night, Iolaus enfolded in the protective circle of his arms, watching the hunter closely and listening to the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

The demi-god had found that he couldn't sleep. He was scared to move his eyes from Iolaus, or close them, and... every time he did he was assailed by awful visions. Either the hideous scenes from the bandit's stronghold where they had discovered Iolaus, or the hunter slumped on the floor of Aphrodite's temple, blood pulsing from his wrists. More than once his eyes had started to close, only for him to be flung back into agonised wakefulness as the visions started.

He stretched once more, raking his fingers through his tangled hair and tried to marshal his features into a less ravaged expression. Glancing quickly into a mirror he knew he would fool no-one.

"Come in," he called, and the door cracked open to admit Xena and Makis.

Xena had been true to her word and wasted no time in summonsing the healer to the inn. She'd managed to catch him on arrival and had briefed him thoroughly about the events of the previous night, Iolaus' apparent physical recovery and her concerns regarding Hercules.

"I gather that the patient is much improved," stated Makis quietly as he walked to the bed, brushing past the demi-god. The young healer carried out a quick but methodical examination of Iolaus, checking the semi- healed wounds on wrists, back and face before peeling back an eyelid to peer into the blue eyes beneath.

"Well, however or whoever healed him has done a very good job. You were quite right Xena, he does seem to be out of immediate danger. I can leave you some oils and ointments that should held with the remaining healing and certainly limit the amount of scarring that he will bear."

Makis paused and glanced towards Hercules, sitting quietly by the bed. Xena was right, the demi-god was in trouble. His startled glance took in the lank honey brown hair, the bloodshot and swollen eyes with dark circles beneath and the greyish skin stretched tightly across the sculpted cheeks. This man was on the point of collapse.

"But what about the rest," the demi-god inquired. "Aphrodite said he was delirious in the temple...."

"The delirium could just have been the effect of the fever," interrupted Makis.

"Yes, but she also mentioned that he seemed to have done something to his mind, and she didn't know what that was or how to help him." Hercules shrugged helplessly and looked at Makis for guidance.

"What's he been like since you brought him back? Has he shown any sign of moving or waking?"

"No...well, not waking. He moved a few times in his sleep last night."

"I've seen a few cases where the mind has retreated in shock, once the body has been pushed beyond its physical limits or where the patient was unable to deal with the pain." Makis had spent time in Athens studying with some of the finest doctors, but he didn't want to tell the two companions that once a person became so unresponsive the chance of a full recovery was very slim indeed. He closed his eyes, concentrating to recall the details of all the cases which he'd ever seen and heard about.

"From what you've told me about the things he has endured I would guess he's tried to remove himself from his surroundings. To shut himself deep within his mind. The problem *we have* is how to bring him back to the present. My teacher said the best way to recall people was to talk to them. He had some success with cases others had written off as hopeless. I think you should try that to start with. Talk to him about
all the things you've done together in the past and things you were planning to do in the future. Try to get him to remember how much you all mean to one another. Above all talk to him of your feelings and emotions, try to re-establish that link within him."

Hercules nodded, turning once again to Iolaus when he felt a strong hand touch his shoulder.

"Not you, my friend," stated Makis firmly. "Let Xena take over. You need rest if you are to continue to help Iolaus."

"But I..." Hercules protested.

"No, I *insist*," Makis stated, a firmness now very audible in his voice. He didn't like to blackmail people but he knew with sudden clarity the words he had to use to get the demi-god to see reason. "If your friend is to recover, he will need care and attention at all times. As Xena has pointed out, you nearly lost him once already. Let her take over now and you come back later this evening."

Hercules shoulders slumped in defeat and he nodded, allowing Makis to guide him from the chamber.

Xena sat carefully in the chair next to the bed. Taking the hunter's hand in both of hers she looked at him, studying him carefully. He looked peaceful, the face relaxed in sleep, golden hair falling gently over his forehead, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath was his only visible movement. She wondered whether Makis was correct. She didn't really hold out much hope at the moment. Physical damage she could recognise and help to heal, but mental damage ..... all she could do was trust the healer, and trust did not come easily to the warrior princess.

Talk to him! Wonderful! An interesting task Makis had set for both her and Hercules. As Gaby often complained, neither of them were great talkers. Iolaus was the one who had the facility for words and the ability to spin a good tale. Gods, where to start, she couldn't possibly begin at the point when she first met the hunter. That held too many unhappy memories, for Iolaus, for her and for Hercules. She didn't know whether she could do this, and didn't think that it would do much good....finally she made a decision.

"Iolaus, let me tell you a story, of a little girl who grew to be a warrior, and how she met the two men who changed her life," she began calmly and slowly.

Gods!! She sounded like *Gaby*! She'd been spending way too much time around the bard if she was starting to adopt her speech patterns. If only Gaby was here now, she'd know what to do, would instinctively know what sort of things to tell Iolaus. But, Gaby wasn't here, and probably wouldn't be able to get here quickly anyway. So... taking a deep breath and letting it slowly go, Xena cast her mind backwards to more happier times.

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She'd delved deep into her past, looking for happy memories, something to try to persuade the hunter to open his eyes. Therefore, she started her story to Iolaus at the beginning, filling in all the little details of her life that she'd never told him when they first met. Details that not even Hercules or Gaby knew, details in fact that very few people now living knew.

Beginning with her early life she'd struggled to remember all she could of her happy childhood. The simple joys of playing with her three brothers, of belonging to a family that had laughed and loved. Memories gradually surfaced that she thought she'd forgotten, of stupid jokes and pranks played by her three brothers and herself. One time they had stolen apples from one of the village orchards, guzzling the unripe ones until they were sick; another time they had dammed and diverted the spring which fed the village pond. Returning home covered in mud they had tried desperately to convince Cyrene that they had nothing to do with the sudden lack of water! These were memories she'd hidden for many years, and she was shocked to find herself smiling fondly in recollection.

She remembered her mother, always smiling and laughing and, in the background, when not away at war, her father. The tall, dark, handsome warrior who had influenced her early life, who had always treated her with exactly the same respect he gave to her brothers. The man who had insisted she was their equal and who had ensured that she was taught to fight as well as they were. It had caused scandal in their village, that a girl should be trained in the manly arts with the young boys. Several comments were made that it was all very well, but this was not Sparta! But her father had just laughed, and said a soldier for Ares could do as he willed. It was he who had nicknamed her his little 'warrior princess.' The man had moulded her personality into a strong and determined one. Thinking of her father she realised it was no surprise that she'd been attracted to Ares.

She'd lived a charmed existence until, when she was seven, a sad awareness struck. She realised her father was never coming home again. Her bewilderment at having lost the parent she'd admired and loved was total. Life seemed to change from then on. Her brothers became more subdued, her mother never seemed to laugh any more, even the days seemed to become darker. Life became much more difficult. The family had to work harder just to survive. Then the bandit raiders had started to plague her village. At first they hadn't been that much of a problem....

A gentle knock sounded at the door, startling Xena from her deep reverie. Makis' head appeared craning around to make sure he wasn't interrupting. At Xena's nod he came into the room bearing a platter of food. Tantalising smells arose from the tray. He smiled at Xena as he placed the tray on a table next to her.

"I thought you might like some lunch."

"Thanks, I was getting hungry," she was amazed at how husky her voice sounded. She certainly wasn't used to talking so much! Her stomach grumbled in response to the mingled and enticing aroma's from the tray.

"Any change in the patient?," Makis enquired as she let go of Iolaus' hand to peek under the cloth covering the food.

She shook her head. "No. Nothing ..... no response at all. He hasn't even opened his eyes."

"Well, it's still early days. You eat, I'll put some of this oil on those scars of his." Makis unstoppered the clay jar and poured some oil onto his hands before starting to rub it gently into Iolaus' wrists and arms.

"How's Hercules?" Xena asked as she grabbed a hunk of bread dipping it into the bowl of stew.

A slight flush spread up the healer's neck and across his finely chiselled cheeks. He shot a quick look at the warrior princess before dropping his eyes back to his patient.

'Oh, oh' Xena thought. 'That was a guilty look if ever she saw one.'

"Erm... yes, he's..... sleeping .... now."

Xena paused, bread on the way to her lips, and studied the healer. Aware of her unflinching regard he finally raised his eyes to meet hers. She quirked an eyebrow at him as he glanced nervously in her direction. She thought it very unlikely that the demi-god, bearing in mind his current mental state, would be able to 'sleep' unaided. Makis ran one slightly oily hand through his thick, dark hair, pushing it off his face.

"Alright..... Yes, I spiked the tankard of wine I gave him," he admitted somewhat shamefully. Makis wasn't quite sure how she would react to this news, and he didn't want to make an enemy of this woman. "But, you know as well as I do, he couldn't carry on like that. He needed rest. I gave him a heavy dose of poppy juice. It should knock him senseless for most of the day, and I hope will suppress any dreams."

She looked at him for a moment more, before wolfing down the bread. Shrugging her shoulders, she mumbled around the welcome mouthful of food. "Good thinking."

They remained in companionable silence as Xena ate and Makis treated Iolaus. When she'd completed her meal Makis departed, leaving the warrior princess to continue her story.

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As twilight fell Hercules entered the room to relieve Xena of her task. She was sitting quietly by the bed stoking Iolaus' hand, obviously deep in contemplation. Hercules shuffled his feet and coughed gently, he didn't want to startle her too much.

She raised her head, and turned to glance over her shoulder. Hercules was surprised by her appearance. Her normally clear blue eyes were shadowed reflecting a soul deep, haunting pain and she looked tense and drawn. He cursed himself under his breath. Xena's tough exterior sometimes led people to believe that she didn't care and he'd been so wrapped up in his own selfish pain over Iolaus he hadn't thought about how the situation might be affecting her. After all, she'd been close to the hunter once, even if she'd been trying to entrap both of them at the time. Hercules knew, from shared confidences with both Xena and Iolaus, that that period had left deep markings on both their souls. He walked over to her resting one large hand carefully on her shoulder.

"Are you OK?" he asked considerately.

She nodded her head slowly. In fact she was exhausted and emotionally drained. She'd talked continuously since Makis had left after lunch and the memories she'd recounted through the afternoon had not been happy ones. She'd been recalling the time from the first bandit raids on her village, how the raids had increased in frequency and intensity until the villagers had had to defend themselves or starve.

She'd bullied her neighbour and friends into making a stand, against the wishes of her older brother. In the final bandit attack the villagers had stood shoulder to shoulder as their ranks were decimated by the well organised raiders. She'd described to Iolaus how her younger brother had died, standing bravely beside her, cut down whilst trying to defend a wounded friend. She'd gone insane with rage as she saw him fall, but eventually had been knocked unconscious and when she recovered it was all over. Many of her friends and neighbours had been killed or seriously maimed, and most of the survivors blamed her for the massacre.

Her desolation and anger afterwards had driven her away from home and her remaining family. She'd travelled far, until she found a strong mercenary troop, the Wolf Pack, with a leader whose reputation she admired. Challenging Lupus to single combat she'd succeeded in gaining a place within the troop, after impressing him with her skills. They'd fought in various battles, for different kings and merchants, gaining a solid reputation as a reliable and ruthless force.

The worship of Ares had been widespread within the troop, as it was with most mercenary bands. A desire to be strong, to be one of the victors rather than the victims, had ensured that Xena had conformed. Over the next few years she'd worked her way through the ranks, as experience seasoned her becoming second in command. Lupus had finally met the end so common to mercenary leaders, killed whilst storming a city, so she'd taken over, unaware that the God of War had been watching her closely for several years.

Ares had appeared, to lay before her his plans for both her and the troop. She'd been flattered by his assessment of her skills and strengths and also by attention the compelling dark god directed towards her. What had happened between them.....

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle but determined shaking of her shoulder.

"Hey, I really think you ought to take a turn sleeping," the tone was concerned. She looked up into the worry reflected in the demi-god's eyes.

"Yeah, I think you're right."

"How is he?" he enquired.

"No change...... but Makis says it may take days or even weeks before we could expect any response. We shouldn't give up."

"I'd *never* give up on Iolaus," Hercules flared, regretting the harsh tones as soon as he spoke.

"I know you wouldn't," she replied laying a gentle hand on the demi- god's arm. "Just give it time."

"I don't know what to say to him, where to start..." Hercules whispered.

"Why don't you do what I did, start at the beginning," she suggested.

Hercules nodded. As she left the room she heard the deep voice begin.

"Iolaus, do you remember when we first met, as children...."

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He was aware of a dull buzzing sound. What was that? Why wouldn't it stop? He was finally safe.... safe and away from anything that could harm him.

His mind grappled with that idea for a moment. Harm him? Strange, why did he think that? What or who did he need to be safe from? As the thought had entered his head, so it slipped from his grasp. Like ice from hot fingers.

Never mind, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The inky blackness enveloped him. Cocooned, supported and surrounded him. He didn't need to move, to waken, to return to the other world. A formless fog obstructed his thoughts. Stopped him latching onto any idea for more than a moment or two. It was cold here, so cold and he was numb. Felt no pain. No hunger. No distress. If only the noise would leave him alone he could stop thinking. Drift again to that place where he had been. Float on a sea of forgetfulness.

But now that he'd noticed it the buzzing noise intruded on his awareness. He tried to make it go away. Willed it to leave him alone. But it was like an angry bluebottle caught in a room, or the wasps that circled the honey pots in summer. It battered insistently against his consciousness, making him irritatingly mindful of it. It seemed to call out to him ..... listen to me.... listen to me. He fought it as best he could. Go away........please.... leave me alone. I don't want to listen to you. I'm not interested any more. Nothing is that important.

However, it drew his awareness to it. Like a sore tooth that the tongue seeks out and plays with, his mind returned again and again to the noise. There was something underlying that sound. What was it? Unwillingly he found himself drawn to listen.

Gradually the noise intruded more. It wasn't just a formless buzz, a monotone. There, it had a cadence, a certain rhythm. Not an insect then - so *what* was it? He listened more closely, swam through the fog in his mind. There, again, not just a buzz.... he strained, listened more attentively. Yes! A word.... more buzzing, then another word. Someone was speaking to him.

He began to feel a mild curiosity. Why was someone talking to him? Who were they? Why were they so persistent?

He found he'd started to listen more intently - keen to pick out words from the blurring noise. What were they saying? He discovered that he had to concentrate very hard to distinguish the words. The moment he let his attention drift the sound returned to an indistinct buzz.

His natural inquisitiveness asserted itself. He wanted to know what was happening. He tried to push the fog in his mind aside. He *had* to focus.

Gradually he was able to distinguish more words, then broken phrases. A little girl.... someone was telling him the story of a little girl's life? Why? The nagging question lodged somewhere at the back of his mind.

"Iolaus"..... the word burned into him. Who was Iolaus? What did Iolaus have to do with this girl's life.... and who was the girl in the story?

More phrases, "and then we climbed into the orchard......gorged on the unripe green apples........incredibly sick".

A hazy picture floated in front of him. But there was no girl in this picture. Instead he was looking up, past a pair of small, sun-tanned brown hands, into the boughs of a tree, an apple tree. Blond hair flopped in front of his eyes and he pushed it quickly out of the way. Glancing down, he stared into the blue eyes of another boy who was boosting him into the upper branches of the tree.

He scrambled upwards, reached out and grabbed the apples dangling tantalisingly in front of his face. Throwing them down as fast as possible to the friend below. There was an angry shout, he peered through the foliage and across the orchard to see someone coming running towards them. He turned, and grabbing one last apple, jumped from the tree into the waiting arms of his friend. The strong arms caught him safely, lowered him to the ground as they snatched up the apples and
ran.

Having outdistanced the farmer, breathless and giggling, they hurled themselves to the ground and inspected their haul. The boy with the honey brown hair and clear blue gaze clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations. "You were right, Iolaus, that was fun. Here you get first pick." They gorged on the green apples......fading.

Another picture. The brown haired boy and himself(?) doubled over in pain...... a rising tide of illness. His stomach cramped in response.... or was it memory. A voice saying, "Herc, oh gods, Herc, I feel ill." A bitter memory of sickness. That name, shortened in affection, Herc.....stirrings of memory. Something he should know, but what?....fading.

A woman, walking gracefully across a room. A kind, concerned face above him. Something cool placed on his forehead. Soothing words, gentle words..... fading.

The buzzing returned, then a woman's voice, yes, it was a woman speaking to him, "my mother....always laughing,.....father too....... tall, dark and handsome."

Triggering more pictures, another woman, a laughing household, then another warrior. But *this* warrior was not happy. This man had no kind words or kind expression. A face that looked to be carved from granite, a stocky powerful body, a voice that sounded like the very rocks of the earth tearing apart. Pain......fading.

"Then I knew he was never coming back......"

Deep, abiding sadness obvious in the voice that spoke to him.... but no echoing feeling within himself. Instead ....a shout of joy. The certain knowledge that the dark warrior would *never* return, a feeling of safety and contentment .... fading.

A moment of true awareness.... words spoken so clearly they seemed to be almost pushed straight into his mind. "We were standing shoulder to shoulder, Iolaus. He was defending a fallen friend. I saw them cut him down..." The voice paused, trembled, continued, agony obvious in every word. "The sword cut took him cleanly. I couldn't reach him in time and he didn't stand a chance. I saw him go down, hands clutching at his stomach. I'll always remember the stunned surprise in his eyes. He was so very young, and he hadn't really believed he could die. There was so much blood....."

Again that name.... Iolaus... him(?), maybe, he just wasn't sure. More memories, of vicious and desperate battles, howling war cries, long lines of advancing warriors, the turmoil and confusion as lines of defence broke. Standing shoulder to shoulder with others, screaming defiance as they fought the oncoming attackers. The hot surge of blood that enabled him to fight like a demon against overwhelming odds. More visions, a well built man with long black-hair, another, tall, lithe and with tangled red curls that flowed down his back. Names floated through his mind Lucius, Diomedes.

The pain of sword, knife and arrow wounds taken attempting to protect others. Of succeeding and sometimes of failing. The overpowering smell of a battlefield, metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat, sickly sweet and cloying scent of decaying flesh. And the sounds. The unearthly moments of true silence just before a battle commenced, followed by the defiant war cries and the screams of the injured and dying. Finally the hushed, whispered sounds afterwards as warriors prayed to whichever god they believed in, thanking them for one more victory and one more battle survived.

Comrades dying in his arms, faces awash with pain. The occasions where the lucky ones seemed to attain a degree of peace before they passed to the Underworld. Blood everywhere some of it on his hands, clothes, in his mattered and tangled hair. But always the certain knowledge that somewhere was a brown haired companion, waiting for him....... fading.

"Lupus was a fine warrior and leader, he taught me..."

This woman had trained as a warrior! Knowledge of what she had gone through, faint memories of learning how to handle a sword and staff, shoot a bow, an awareness of how difficult and demanding such training could be...... but how did he know?

"He suffered the end of many mercenaries, we were attacking a fort........he died in my arms."

A vision of a tall woman with long, dark hair cradling a body..... fog arising again to claim him.

"Then Ares appeared...."

A final, crystal clear picture.

A tall, well muscled man, clad in supple, black leathers. Danger radiating from his body, evidenced by every small gesture. Saturnine appearance, broodingly dark eyes, curly black hair, strongly chiselled cheekbones, small black beard and full, sensual lips. An eyebrow that quirked upwards, apparently of its own accord, producing a sceptical look on that oh so superior face. A voice that sounded like honey over gravel. A subtle, sexual threat. The glint of silver at his left ear.....

The fog swirled deeper, arose, grey tendrils reaching out to him. Pulling him away from the woman's voice, down, deeper, back to oblivion. The words receded, became a simple buzz once more. He couldn't hold on any longer, darkness, blackness, peace.

************************************************************************

Hercules heard Xena close the door quietly as she left, and he began, "Iolaus, do you remember when we first met, as children...."

His voice broke. For a moment he couldn't carry on. He raised his eyes to look at the small form, lying in the large bed. Iolaus looked at peace. His breathing was slow and even, no frown marred the forehead, he didn't even twitch in his sleep. He lay still, arms resting by his sides, above the blankets, angry red marks the only evidence of the punishment inflicted by the bandits and the damage he had tried to cause himself in Aphrodite's temple.

Hercules jumped to his feet, paced angrily up and down the room. Then stood at the window for a few moments, trying to control his breathing and calm his thoughts. He couldn't think about what Marius and the gang had done to the hunter. That.....well, they would deal with *that* later. When he had Iolaus back and safe again, then, if necessary, they could discuss what had happened. For the moment he had to concentrate on getting Iolaus back from this deep sleep.

It was unnatural. His friend was never this still. When awake he was a bundle of energy, always mobile, often running circles around Hercules in his enthusiasm. Even asleep he wasn't this unresponsive. Hercules had never seen Iolaus sleep like this. Usually he sprawled inelegantly across whatever surface he was resting on, arms and legs flung wide, as if attempting to occupy as much space as humanly possible. And... if it was too cold to sleep in such a fashion then he would snuggle close to the nearest warmth, curl in on himself, like a cat. But this stillness and order.... it wasn't Iolaus.

He'd snapped at Xena earlier, "I'd *never* give up on Iolaus." He never would, that much was true. Just as the hunter would never abandon him, but it was tearing him apart to see him like this.

And Makis' solution to their dilemma. Talk to him! He recalled the look of dismay on Xena's face at those words. Remembered Gaby complaining on their quest to free Prometheus about how he wasn't much of a talker, and how he'd directed her to Iolaus. "Iolaus is the one to ask. He knows all the facts and he *loves* to hear himself talk."

Well, that was true enough. Iolaus could have had a career as a bard if he'd wanted. He had a natural storyteller's ability to spin a tale, even including exaggerations, that ensured his listeners were totally enraptured. He acted out any story with sweeping gestures, playing all the roles, and Hercules loved to watch as his audience were captivated.

They became involved in the tale unfolding before them, their eyes never leaving Iolaus, as he spun fantasies that removed them from the mundane world to one where larger than life heroes battled vicious monsters or fought against overwhelming odds - and, of course, the good guys always won. He'd tackled the hunter about that once, asked why he never told the truth in some of the tales. He'd won a pitying look for his question. "Come on, Herc, life is hard enough for most of these people. The bards and the priests are there to tell them the true tales with the moral punch. I just want to entertain them."

Makis wanted him to speak of his feelings and emotions. He'd barely spoken of his feelings to Iolaus since he was an adolescent. There was a time when they had confided in one another, but as they grew older, such discussions became less frequent. For so many years they had successfully hidden their feelings for one another. He had watched with envy as his wayward friend had cut a swathe of sexual conquests through their village, capturing male and female hearts alike, never realising that he was compensating for the one love he thought he could never obtain.

Then Iolaus had married Ania and Hercules met Deianeira. Family life had taken over for a while. After Ania's death Iolaus had travelled to the East and on his return he took lovers as and when he pleased, but always avoided anyone who was looking for a long term commitment. The exception had been Niobe and Hercules knew he still hadn't heard the full story there. After Deianeira's death Hercules had started travelling again, and Iolaus had eventually joined him. They reverted to the old ways, as they had before they were married.

However, it seemed to Hercules that in every town they visited there was a willing woman (or man) who fell head over heels for Iolaus. He gradually became tired of having to drag his partner away from whichever person had caught his eye this time. He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was jealous. Not of the fact that Iolaus always seemed to have a partner, but of the fact that they took Iolaus away from him. Deprived him of the hunter's company.

Then Xena had struck. She'd picked her time carefully, found the hunter when he felt vulnerable. Taken Iolaus away from him completely and nearly ruined their friendship. Hercules hadn't understood the attraction until he spent some time alone with Xena, then he'd seen it too. And fallen for her, refusing to admit to himself that just *maybe* jumping into the sack with the woman who had almost broken their partnership and damn near broken his best friend's heart wasn't exactly a good idea. He'd been too intent on his own gratification. He could still recall the pain in Iolaus' voice and eyes when he'd come back to the clearing and discovered them. The nervous laugh that cracked under the strain. It had taken them a long time to recover from that double edged blow.

After that there had been Serena. Another mistake. Yes, he had loved her in a way, and he'd been attracted by the obvious adoration she had for him. That however, was the point. She had *adored* him, not loved him. There *was* a difference. She was a mythical creature, someone he'd thought would be safe from interference by the gods. Stupid idea. He also admitted he wanted to take her away from Ares, anything to thwart his half-brother. Iolaus had tried to warn him, tried to talk him out of the marriage, but he'd ignored him. Again. And that had ultimately cost Serena her life.

It had been another blow to their friendship, but they had recovered, sort of. Hercules had mourned Serena for a long time and tended to shun female involvement. Iolaus hadn't changed. He never would. He still flirted wildly with anyone who caught his eye and crossed his path. Hercules had felt the familiar, irritating stirrings of jealousy and tried to ignore it, but he had become more and more edgy around the hunter as time progressed.

Memories surfaced to haunt him, so fresh and clear as if they had happened yesterday, not nearly two years ago.

One night Iolaus had got him drunk. Not completely incapacitated, but just drunk enough to be careless and dangerous. Finally, the truth had come tumbling into the open. They'd left the village where they had just helped subdue a warlord and were camped out in the countryside, having enjoyed a fine meal provided by Iolaus' hunting skills. They were lying side by side, next to the small camp fire, idly passing a wine skin back and forth between them.

Iolaus was one of those people who tended to be a merry drunk, the demi- god mused. The more he drank the happier he got. Whereas he, on the other hand, either tended to get morose and grumpy or aggressive. It was one of the reasons he often avoided alcohol.

He reflected that the hunter had obviously decided it was time to tease him out of his bad mood. Iolaus had been making pointed comments all night about how one of the women in the village had obviously been attracted to Hercules, and wasn't it time he stopped living like a priest and indulged his 'baser' instincts again.

He'd got grumpier and grumpier under the gently teasing tone, finally turning sullenly from Iolaus to curl up with his back to the fire and the hunter.

"Just drop it Iolaus. I'm *not* interested," he'd stated shortly, hoping to put and end to the conversation once and for all.

"Aw, c'mon Herc, thish, ooops, this isn't healthy. You're like an over- fermented bottle of wine about to explode." The riposte had been fast and the hunter had giggled infectiously at his own joke.

Hercules tried to count slowly to ten. Deep breaths. That remark was way too close to the truth. A nudge in the middle of his back. The wine skin pushed over his shoulder to dangle temptingly in front of his nose. He knew Iolaus too well, he wasn't going to drop this subject, not now. Like a horse in a race with the bit firmly beneath his teeth he was going to push and push until he got an answer he could accept.

Hercules flopped over onto his back, pillowed his right arm under his head and took a wickedly deep draught of the strong red wine, almost choking as it hit the back of his throat. It seemed to pass straight into his blood stream, without bothering to go via his stomach. His mind reeled under the assault for a moment and his muscles started to relax. From the slight pounding in his temples he *knew* he was going to regret this tomorrow. Badly.

The hunter lay on his left side, propped on his left arm, hand cradling his chin as he looked down into the face of his friend. Grabbing the wine back he took long pull, before wiping his hand across the back of his mouth.

"'kay, now, we're two intelligent guys." The wine skin, clutched in Iolaus' right hand, wiggled in front of his nose to emphasise this point. He looked consideringly down at Hercules. "Well, maybe one and a half. We can sort this out. Wha' sort of a woman are you looking for?"

Hercules snatched the skin back again, took another deep draught and muttered something around a half full mouth of wine.

"Wha's that? Didn't quite catch what you said?" Blue eyes, slightly crossed, looked down at him in puzzlement.

"I said......I'm...... not......interested.....in......a.......*woman*," he paused between each word, enunciating clearly, with the precision of a man who knew he'd had waaaay too much to drink. Stressing the last word for full effect. He looked down his body, concentrating on the toes of his boots, not daring to meet Iolaus' eyes. Small men wielding very large, heavy mallets had taken up residence in his temples. He realised he was holding his breath, waiting for a reply. The soothing effects of the wine disappeared as every muscle in his body tensed.

Silence. A hand relieved him of the wine skin. He heard it slosh as Iolaus took another slug.

Gods, what had he done! He shouldn't drink, it loosened the tongue, inspired recklessness and now look what he'd said. What would Iolaus think of him.....

"Oh.... I *see*. Okaaay, wha' sort of a guy are you looking for then?"

That had caught him. His gaze had jerked upwards, as his head turned to look up at Iolaus. Golden hair forming a slight halo in the light of the fire, his eyes sought and met blue eyes dancing with a mixture of laughter and lust. Hercules' breath had caught in his throat and his heart hammered painfully against his ribs. Please gods, don't let him be mistaken in what he saw in those eyes. Risking everything, he'd murmured one word.

"You."

As he spoke he knew this had all been an elaborate set up. He'd been royally had, manoeuvred into a position where he couldn't deny what he felt anymore. And he didn't care.

Iolaus leaned down over him, thumb gently tracing the curve of Hercules' full lips, until their mouths met. A gentle, tentative caress at first. Iolaus' tongue danced over his lips, slipped into his mouth, spicy with the metallic taste of the strong, red wine. Teasing and tantalising.

This kiss was a catalyst, igniting the raging inferno of Hercules' desire. To this day he couldn't remember exactly what had happened then. The next clear memory he'd had they had both been naked. He was lying between Iolaus' legs, pounding into the golden body, as the hunter hooked his legs round Hercules' hips.

His hands had been knotted into Iolaus' blond hair, dragging his head backwards, exposing the strong arch of his throat. His lips and teeth had ravaged the neck beneath. Some primitive instinct urging him to mark his territory, brand the hunter as belonging to him and him alone as his mind screamed, 'MINE!' in a mindless howl of victory.

Iolaus' hips had arched upwards against the invasion, his breath coming in gasps in time with Hercules' rough thrusts, one hand tangled in Hercules' hair, holding him close, the other locked around his shoulders in a vice like grip. The hunter's own teeth had done a fair amount of damage to Hercules' shoulders and neck, but he didn't care, didn't even feel it.

Hercules had always fondly imagined that their first time together would be gentle and tender, the culmination of a lifetime's love. Instead it was hot, dirty, fast, violent and crazed. The friction between their wildly rubbing bodies had pushed Iolaus over the edge first, his seed splattering wetly between them. The muscles clamping tightly around him had propelled Hercules forward seconds after the hunter. He wasn't sure whether the yelling sound he could hear was Iolaus, himself or the victorious scream in his mind.

He'd collapsed forward over the smaller form beneath him sucking gulping breaths into lungs which seemed to have been denied air for too long, realising from the soreness of his throat that the yelling he'd been doing hadn't been mental. He'd lain still for a moment, resting his head against Iolaus' shoulder, listening to the hunter's harsh breathing. He was trying to work out whether the pounding in his temples was the result of the alcohol he'd drunk earlier or the final fulfilment of twenty-five years of desire denied. He'd finally had to assume the latter. Any excess alcohol had been burnt from his body by their searing passion.

It was a damn good job they had nowhere to rush off to afterwards. The swollen lips, and bruised bodies made them look as if they'd fought a battle with some thrice cursed monster from Tartarus. But anyone who'd looked closely enough to see the teeth marks would have guessed what they'd been up to straight away. Still, the week's respite whilst the bruises of their initial coupling faded had given them plenty of time to leisurely explore one another's bodies and to talk.

They'd spoken for a long time that first night, the experience of sharing their long buried feelings had been cathartic. Since that first week, he was conscious that he had rarely told Iolaus how he felt. But it hadn't seemed important. The hunter had always been able to read his emotions and didn't seem to need to hear the words. Foolish, stupid, he berated himself mentally. If Iolaus,..... no *when* Iolaus recovered, he resolved to tell him on a daily basis how much he meant to him. But this brooding wasn't helping Iolaus now.

Turning from the window he returned to sit beside the bed. Pulling the chair as close as possible he took one of the smaller, limp hands in both of his. He closed his eyes, turning his thoughts inwards, trying to push his roiling emotions out of the way. Casting his thoughts back to the very first time they had met....

The buzzing noise had returned. He fought his way back through the swirling fog towards it. There was something different about it this time. The noise was deeper, had a different rhythm. He listened carefully...... yes it *was* different. It was a man's voice this time. Why couldn't they leave him alone..... but as before, now he was aware of it he began to listen to pick out the odd words and phrases.

"They were all piling in on top of you, anxious to get in a punch....."

Memory? A smaller, vulnerable child.... a stranger in a new village. They had moved from.... he couldn't remember to.....Thebes, that was it. The family had moved to Thebes. He'd been young, six, maybe seven. No friends in this new place. Children avoiding him..... why? He couldn't remember..... but one day a gang of ten of them had caught him, outside the town. Circled him, taunting him. "Shorty, weakling." The same words his father used, the same words that tried to flatten his self-worth.

What they didn't know was that he was used to that sort of abuse. They had rushed him, thinking he'd panic, collapse and beg for mercy. The last thing any of them had expected was for him to fight back. He knew he didn't stand a chance, but then again, he never did at home. But that had never stopped him. As they closed in he disappeared beneath a hail of punches and kicks, but he turned into a small demon at the last minute. Kicking, biting, pulling hair, scratching.

And then, he was conscious of the bodies being roughly pulled away from him, and chased off. He'd crouched in the dirt, on all fours, head drooping between shoulders until a pair of feet had appeared in his line of vision. He'd followed the feet, up long legs, ever upwards, to the face of one of the tallest people he'd ever seen. A hand held out to help him to his feet, a ready smile, honey brown hair and laughing blue
eyes as he was hauled to his feet. "You were doing really well there, but there were too many of them for it to be a fair fight. C'mon home with me, my mom will help get you cleaned up."

Him again - but who? Fog swirling around him, trying to pull him downwards. No... not yet. He fought it - pushed against the greyness. He needed to know more.

"Don't you remember, all those years ago, I promised you 'You and me Iolaus, we'll fight back to back, die together, battlefield heroes'. It was when we finished school, before you ran away and before we went to Chiron's academy? It was our motto for so many years."

Iolaus? Me! Finally, recognition - that *was* his name. A brown haired boy of about twelve, standing in front of him, blue eyes full of laughter and hope, grinning as he made the promise. Reaching to take his arm, to seal the pact. Such naivete - if only they had known then. A death on a battle field is not something to aspire to. Life was far more precious. But lessons like that were only learned with experience. The
fog swirled up again, pulling him down, drowning out that familiar voice.....fading.

A muttering, "Your father came home........ knew you were upset.........went fishing.......you disappeared that night....."

Colour, light, memories, painful memories that still made him cringe. The stern warrior, grey haired, granite featured, expression angry. Furious words, directed at him. "Runt, weakling, no suitable son for a general, an extra useless mouth for your mother to feed."

His mother, trying to interpose, to calm the man. "Look at him. Just look at him. Pretty as a girl, all that golden hair. Looks good enough to be one of Apollo's little catamites but he'll never make a warrior or soldier. Suitable only for one thing if you ask me. I doubt if he's even mine." The pain in his mother's clear blue eyes, the realisation of the insult the man had just directed at her, and the implication of how little he thought of his son.

The man advanced on him, his mother stepped between them. The warrior turned, shoving her roughly out of the way, causing her to stumble against a table. His sudden anger, a desire to cause the man pain. He'd launched himself at the warrior, berserker rage taking over, catching him unawares with a quick blow to the face, his small fist connecting painfully with the older man's nose.

The retaliatory blow, with the full strength of a seasoned warrior behind it that had knocked him across the room, his head hitting the wall with a sickening crunch. Stumbling to his feet, assaulted by dizziness, mopping at the hot blood running down his face, struggling with double vision. Seeing his mother's horrified expression as he fled the house, into the blackness, safety and anonymity of the night.

Pain in the voice that battered at him. "That was the first time I thought I'd lost you, when all the time you were on the streets in Livadia..."

No money, no food, no way to eat. Disorientation.....how had he got there? Lean and agile, taken in by a gang of pickpockets and thieves. He discovered a new skill picking pockets, with delicate hands and small fingers it was easy for him to accomplish. Sneaking into buildings through tiny windows at the top of high walls was no obstacle either. He had a head for heights and an ability to twist his lithe form through the small openings. Deep down he knew it was wrong, but he still got a rush of pleasure at accomplishing things that other's couldn't. He'd not been caught, but had some close escapes.

He'd also discovered the *other* ways people made a living on the streets. Pretty and with white blond hair he'd attracted all sorts of unwanted attention. The leader of the gang, a well built, brown haired youth several years older than him had offered him a degree of protection. Thanassis had grown up on the streets, knew how bad a place they could be, and didn't want to see the blond hurt. He'd known the older boy had cared for him, so had given him what he could, the only thing he had to trade. Partly out of loneliness, partly out of gratitude and partly because he reminded him of someone else... somewhere else.

"Do you remember when I found you....."

Knocking over a fruit stall with the gang just for fun (their pickings were usually much richer), the owner chasing them. The realisation that they were in trouble, the cold clawing of fear in his guts. Thanassis shoving him in one direction down an alley when they were hidden from view. Yelling at him to run as he took off in the opposite direction. Colliding with an immovable object standing in front of him. Arms
enclosing him in a tight grip, squeezing the breath from him.

Struggling to get free, get away, get back to Thanassis, to safety. Looking up, seeing the honey brown hair and the concern and worry in those blue eyes, and being lost. Bullying the owner of the blue eyes to pay Thanassis' fine, getting him out of jail. Trying desperately to explain to Thanassis why he couldn't stay, why he had to go away. For the first time in his life realising how difficult it was to make the cut clean......seeing the pain and betrayal reflected in the brown eyes that watched him leaving Livadia.

"Then when we were sixteen we went to Chiron's academy.....all those endless drills..."

Hazy pictures, working on unarmed hand to hand combat with his sandy haired companion. Practising with swords, knives, bows and quarterstaffs.

"Cocky and overconfident, that's what he called me that day. Do you remember? He was right too. Gods I even told him his training was boring.... I was so self-important and egotistical."

Memories again, walking down a hill, joking and fooling around together on a sunny day. A holiday?

"The fight with Dageth's gang....."

An attack, outnumbered. Fighting - realisation that the endless drills had been worthwhile, that they had achieved their objective as everything fell into place. No panic, just an eerie calmness which had overtaken him and an awareness of where danger was, of the right kicks and blocks to use against the attackers.

The sandy haired companion being overly confident, almost arrogantly sure of his skills and abilities. The boastful line tossed to the black clad gang members, "You know I do have a tougher workout every day before breakfast...."

".....the first time I killed someone. Gods, poor Bartok......" pain and obvious regret evident in the voice that invaded his consciousness.

A youth coming at his friend with a knife, the others pausing in their attack, everyone stopping to watch the one on one fight. The encounter had developed as his companion continued to confound the assault and his obvious intention to humiliate the adolescent, until, finally, he had used a little more of his strength in a defensive move that slammed the knife wielder into a post. Kneeling over the boy, the shocked realisation that he was dead, raising his eyes to look into his friend's blue gaze. The look of disbelief and horror that spread over the finely chiselled features when his companion realised he had killed for the first time.

His friend walking away from a castle, shoulders hunched, with the body slung over a horse. The first rejection, not being allowed to accompany him, words echoing in his mind, "This is something I have to do by myself." Understanding, but not liking seeing him walk away.

Movement, in the bushes beside the track. Going to investigate and surprising a scout. His attention focused on the boy before him, not noticing the other sneaking behind, ambushed, blackness.

Dragged to an abandoned building, smart words to Dageth, beaten, scrambling out from under the attackers, conscious only of the fact that he had to alert his friend to the danger.......fading.

"Then you arrived, just after we'd buried Bartok...."

Running, a feeling of urgency, he had to get to his friend. Danger, hot on his heels. Arriving at the farm... battered from his encounter with the gang. The look of concern in his friend's eyes at his appearance. Dissembling as he realised with horror that the family had not been told the truth. Words...his own, reverberating in his mind. "You didn't tell them did you? You *didn't* tell them?" A feeling of disbelief. "Do you want me to tell them? I'll tell them." An argument, only just avoided. A fight by night, by torchlight and fire, joining in real combat, heavily outnumbered for the second time. True fear as his companion took on Dageth single-handedly, having to stand by and watch...... fading

The grey fog returned, obscuring thoughts and visions. He struggled to hold on, knowing that it was important that he listen to this voice, the voice that somehow held onto a corner of his soul, and knew so much about him and his life. Wanting and needing to know what came next in this story, but he simply didn't have the strength left to push the roiling clouds away from his mind.

Hercules sat and looked at Iolaus. The sky had brightened outside, dawn was breaking and the birds singing happily. A shaft of strong winter sunlight entered through the window and edged its way across the floor. Hercules' throat was painfully dry and sore with talking for so long, his back and shoulders ached with tension from the way he had been sitting hunched over the bed and his eyes were gritty with exhaustion.

Another night had passed and the hunter was still with them, but there was no change. So sign of recognition, no sign that he would awaken. Hercules knew that they had only a limited amount of time and could guess at what Makis was not telling them. Iolaus had had nothing substantial to eat for days. They could still get him to drink, but in his current state his body was receiving little nourishment. The longer he remained like this the less likely he would be able to fight his way free of whatever held him in its death grip and return to them.

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