The characters of Iolaus and Hercules belong to Renaissance and Universal and I'm only borrowing them temporarily for the purpose of this story. I will return them unharmed at the end. All other characters belong to me and remain my property.

RESCUED (part 2)

By Cass



Remember? Iolaus tried to dredge up a sardonic smile, failing miserably as his lips refused to co-operate. He could barely remember his own name and that of his companion, let alone anything else. He tried to speak again, stopped when no sound issued, and swallowed convulsively, trying to moisten a painfully dry throat. The next instant his head was lifted from the straw and cool liquid was forced into his mouth. He gulped it greedily, only slowing down when he was threatened with removal of the source of the precious liquid if he didn't.

"M ... morning?" he finally managed, as the flagon was finally removed and he could speak again, albeit in a voice he didn't recognise as his own.

Anaxibia smiled reassuringly. "It's late," she said. "You need to eat something. We move tomorrow. You haven't missed anything."

He was strangely relieved about this. He could not have explained why. After all, morning was when these people were relying upon him to help them fight for their freedom, and right now he didn't think he was capable of fighting his way out of the blanket with which he was covered, let alone standing and using a weapon against the guards who kept them all here against their will.

But fight he must. His resolve was renewed as the mental promise he had made to Hercules and these enslaved villagers returned to haunt him. If it was the last thing he did, he would fight for them and beside them. He could do no less if he was to remain true to his own scruples and the principles by which he and his dearest friend had always lived. And should he die in the attempt, then at least Hercules would know, one day, that it had been for a just and worthy cause; for something in which they both passionately believed.

Just for a moment, he allowed his thoughts to linger on his best friend. Hercules. What would he think when he arrived here - as Iolaus sensed somehow that he would? Could he himself remain alive long enough to greet the man who was like a brother to him? There was no choice. He would not allow the demigod to reach the keep only to discover that he was too late. He couldn't put his friend through that pain. He had to fight his injuries, the insidious sickness and fever which had begun to assault him of late and also the guards. It was a tall order, but this was not only for these people here. It was for Hercules. He would survive. For his friend's sake. For Hercules.

"Bring on ... the food," he rasped, at length. A cough reflex rose in his throat and was ruthlessly suppressed. "Gotta maintain my .... strength for ... tomorrow ..."

Was that a look of elation on her face? He decided not to tell her that he wasn't at all sure that he would be able to move the next morning. It didn't seem fair to scare her - not when she seemed so happy. He would just have to manage somehow. It was a challenge - but then, challenges were what he enjoyed best. He thrived on them, welcoming each and every one as a new friend.

This one just happened to be the hardest yet.

He had dozed fitfully during the night. He didn't dare allow himself the luxury of too deep a sleep lest he couldn't awaken or was too disoriented when he finally did so. Therefore he was already astir when the rest of the occupants of the large cell began to ready themselves for the forthcoming battle. He flexed his muscles experimentally, rather wishing he hadn't bothered as each and every nerve ending protested violently at the movement. He really didn't want to move. He knew that, when he did so, what he felt at the moment would intensify tenfold and he wasn't at all convinced that his body could endure much more. He certainly had no particular desire to find out. However, the time had come for preparation and he would have to get up at some stage. Better now than to delay it further and be less equipped to face the forthcoming battle. He wished he had his sword with him. Even though he was not entirely convinced that he would be able to wield it, he would have felt much more comfortable and ready for the fray with his own weapon in his hands. There was a comfortable, familiar feel to it, almost as though it was an extension of himself, even though he had endeavoured to use it sparingly and then only to wound and not to kill. He normally preferred physical combat - there was as much challenge to it as brandishing a sword - more, sometimes. But physical combat was definitely out of the question. He couldn't swat a fly right now, let alone fight someone hand to hand. But he needed a weapon and right now, even a stick would suffice. Anything, so long as he could help defend the people he had sworn to help.

Untangling himself from his blanket and getting to his feet was an adventure in and of itself. He was both astonished and quite proud of himself when he actually found himself standing, even though the room was swaying from side to side quite alarmingly. 'Breathe deeply', he told himself. He tried this. It was a mistake as his lungs protested quite vehemently and he found himself engulfed by his worst coughing attack yet. He would have collapsed beneath the assault had it not been for Tectamus and Memnon rushing to his side and holding him up. The seizure lasted for some considerable time, and left him gasping painfully for breath which seemed reluctant to come. The two men steadied him as his knees buckled and he swayed. One of them was speaking but the roaring in his ears made it impossible for him to understand the words. At length, the deafening sound abated and his breathing began to ease somewhat although the rattle in his chest which accompanied each intake did not sound good. He decided it was best to ignore this. Acknowledging it may just allow it to overwhelm him and he really didn't have the time for any further debilitating attacks such as the most recent.

"Are you all right, Iolaus?" asked Tectamus, nervously. Their whole plan hinged on Iolaus - he was their centre, their focus. Without him, the others would be too apprehensive to take part in the battle.

The blond warrior lifted his head and smiled. It was a remarkable sight on a face which was creased in pain, and in which there was absolutely no colour whatsoever. "Yeah ..." he gasped. The word was uttered on an exhalation and was barely discernible as speech. "I .. let's ... get ready."

The two slaves exchanged astonished glances over the blond head. They could both see how hard this entire situation had been on the famous warrior, yet even now, as ridden with pain and suffering as he was, he would not submit to his injuries, to his own physical inabilities. He was ready to fight alongside them and seemingly ready to die for them if the need arose. Both men felt a renewed respect and admiration for the hunter and his amazing fortitude. And if he would not abandon them or the fight, then for his sake, neither would they.

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

The guards arrived on time as always. The slaves had been briefed by their leaders and were ready. Some were eager and anticipatory, others scared and holding so fast to their meagre weapons that their fingers were turning white. But everyone was prepared to fight - to the death if necessary. For Iolaus had made them see that death and the Elysian Fields was far preferable to the slow, torturous demise of this particular life.

As the doors opened, the slaves at either side of it, picked because of their brawn and their relative fitness, jumped the first few guards. Taken by surprise by people they had believed fully cowed, the guards stood no chance against the initial attack and were quickly disarmed, their swords being wrested from their grasp and the chains they held being thrown to one side. This was the signal for the first phalanx to rush forward and overcome the remaining guards outside the doors before they had the opportunity to issue a warning to the rest who were ensconced somewhere within the keep. Tectamus grabbed one of the swords and handed it almost reverently to Iolaus, correctly surmising that the blond would wish to have such a weapon in his hands, and recognising that there was no way that he would be able to engage in a physical fight. Iolaus' grateful grin was like the sun as he gripped the weapon tightly in his right hand and seemed to grow stronger as adrenalin rushed through him, renewing his flagging energy and giving the illusion of fitness to his abused body.

The fighting spilled outside the cell, as the slaves rushed forward. Men and women, once subjugated and repressed, ran into the fracas eagerly, brandishing hastily constructed weapons comprising of sticks, clubs and slingshots. A couple of the more enterprising men, darting forward, bent and picked up the chains which had been used to restrain them and started swinging them, the heavy metal effectively knocking unconscious the guards who rushed forward to attack them.

With a final glance of grim satisfaction back at the fallen men, Tectamus and Memnon, with Iolaus beside them, led the slaves out into the hazy sunlight of the new day. The guards outside were as unprepared for the attack as had been their comrades. Some were standing around engaged in conversation, one or two were propped up against the keep walls, yawning, whilst still others were wandering aimlessly around, awaiting the slaves' arrival for their day's work. Therefore when the people came spilling out of the keep, armed with their clubs and swords taken from the guards inside, it was all the others could do to put up a fight. It was a longer, more difficult skirmish than had been the previous one, but in the end, the slaves won it, by virtue of sheer numbers and the ferocity of their fighting. It was not without some casualties, however and a number of the men and women lay amongst the guards, injured or dead.

The revolt was not over yet, however. The noise of the melee had awoken the rest of the guards inside the keep and as soon as they discovered what was happening in the grounds, they rushed down to aid their comrades. A pitched battle now ensued, with the clashing of swords and the cries of the injured and dying echoing around the keep. It was difficult to keep track of who was fighting whom and which side was winning. The guards were being overcome, but not without losses on the other side and the slaves were losing heart as their friends and families fell beneath the sharpened steel of their opponents.

Tectamus and Memnon were waging individual struggles to the death with two or three of the guards. Tectamus had already sustained several cuts and gashes along his arms during the fray, but was defending himself admirably, his swordplay fortunately far superior to that of his opponent's. Memnon had disarmed one of the men against whom he was fighting and was delivering several bruising body blows; meanwhile the other man, behind him, was preparing to plunge his sword into Memnon's back. He never got the chance to deliver the final lunge, however as a small blond whirlwind arrived out of nowhere and parried the thrust with his own sword.

The man turned, fury in his grey eyes, his face distorted with frustration and rage. "You'll pay for that, little man!" he screamed, freeing his weapon from beneath Iolaus' and stepping back in preparation to fight.

Blue eyes sparked with defiance and anger. "Yeah? C'mon then!" the blond haired warrior taunted him. "Let's ... see what you can do!"

The man couldn't fail to notice the hesitance in Iolaus' speech, nor his pallor and he grinned maliciously. "It'll be my pleasure, little man," he sneered. "You and your little friends will curse the day you took on my forces. I'll make you all pay for what you've done - starting with you!"

Belatedly, Iolaus realised that this was the leader of the slaving gang, even whilst he wondered to himself why all bad guys used the same tired old threats and even the same lines. He was forced to stop pondering this as the man launched a frenzied attack against him, forcing him back against the wall with a few well placed strokes, which the blond was forced to counter. His own speed and agility severely hampered by his deteriorating physical condition, the small warrior had to bite back a cry as his lacerated and infected back hit the cold stone and he found himself with no place to go. The man lashed out again, driving his sword through the air with blistering speed, aiming for Iolaus' unprotected neck. He almost succeeded in his quest to behead the hunter as Iolaus failed to swing his sword upward in time, but an anguished 'No-o-o-o!!!!!" distracted him and Iolaus threw himself to one side. He regretted the movement almost immediately as new scrapes and cuts added to the myriad of wounds on his freshly bleeding body. Despite the agony, however, his heart lightened considerably and utter joy coursed through him as he recognised the cry which had inadvertently saved his life. Hercules!

The demigod and Phaedro had made good time. Now that Hercules was close to his friend, and the link between them had re-established its strength, his pace had quickened and Phaedro was forced to keep up despite his growing fatigue. He uttered no complaints, however, and Hercules dimly acknowledged and was grateful to him for this.

The clamour of the fighting had reached them as they rounded a corner in the mountain road which they had been climbing. The path itself was steep and treacherous and even Hercules had been forced to moderate his gait in order to get them both safely up the arduous incline. One side was mountain face, black and forbidding looking rock with few handholds. The other side was a sheer drop onto the valley floor. The mountain was swathed in low cloud and they could not see the bottom. Consequently, they had been extremely circumspect in their struggle up the road.

When they finally came upon the scene of the conflict, the first person Hercules had laid eyes on had been the blond warrior. Instinctively, he had been scanning the battlefield for Iolaus, ignoring every other face in favour of the one he cherished most in the world. His anxious eyes had landed upon the small blond at the same time as the slave gang leader had been about to deliver the death blow. His cry had been at once involuntary and a warning. It had also been the salvation of his best friend. Now he rushed forward, intent on joining in the conflict and determined to aid his stricken partner, who was bleeding freely from countless wounds and whose smile, bestowed on him as he rushed up the hill, was tempered by his greying countenance.

"Iolaus ..."

"Herc ..." The exhausted and ailing hunter felt relief flood through him at the blessed sight of his best friend, but as Hercules neared him, held up a restraining hand. "No!" he yelled, though it emerged as more of a whisper. "I ... have to finish this ..."

Hercules, now he was closer to Iolaus, was utterly appalled at his injuries, realising that none of them had been sustained during combat, for these were the marks of a whip. But so many marks! And they were still raw and seeping blood. "Iolaus, please!" he begged, but the expression of resolve in the glittering blue eyes stopped him in his tracks and, reluctantly, he nodded acceptance of Iolaus' mute demand.

All around them, the fighting was coming to an end as the guards, overwhelmed by sheer numbers and the ferocious fighting which had ensued as soon as the people had witnessed Iolaus' own desperate but determined struggle, either fell or surrendered. Now there was only one focus on the field of combat. Only two combatants on the battleground. And all eyes trained on those two, including Phaedro and the fearful, loving azure eyes of Iolaus' best friend.

The blond warrior struggled up from the ground, flinching as the agony from the older wounds merged with the burning pain from his most recent abrasions. The gang leader was twirling his sword in his hand cockily, grinning from ear to ear. Obviously he considered that he had the advantage. The only trouble was, Iolaus conceded, as his sight began to dim inch by insidious inch that, at this point in time, he was right. He did. However, the hunter could not allow his opponent the satisfaction of knowing that he himself had recognised this. He had to make a good show of it - for the slaves and for Hercules. And he had something to prove to himself, too. Even as debilitated as he was, with blurring vision and a head which seemed as though it were going to rent asunder at any moment, he was more than a match for this goon. Now he only had to make himself believe that.

Backing up, he found himself against the wall again. 'This is not good, Iolaus', he told himself. The man advanced upon him, wielding his heavy sword as though it were constructed of paper, whilst Iolaus' own felt like lead in his hands. He lifted it anyway, and parried the first thrust. The clang of metal upon metal rang throughout the courtyard and several people in the crowd held their breath, Hercules in particular. He was staring fixedly at his friend and could see that Iolaus' eyes were clouded with pain. More, he was blinking rapidly, as though he were trying to clear his sight. The demigod waited in an agony of impatience. At the first sign that Iolaus was about to black out, he would be there - before the other man could do any harm to his best friend.

"You're going to die, now, you pig," snarled the gang leader as he swung his weapon again, only to have the cut blocked by Iolaus.

"Hey!" The hunter chided him, "There's nothing ... wrong with ... pigs! Course," he continued, relentlessly, "you'd know ... wouldn't you?"

'Careful, Iolaus,' Hercules warned him mentally. 'Don't provoke him.'

The man curled his lip and uttered an inarticulate cry, launching himself forward, his sword held high and about to swing it in a wide arc. Iolaus' eyes widened in sudden alarm. There was no way he was going to get out of the way of this in time and he flashed a quick, apologetic glance toward Hercules. The demigod was standing in horrified disbelief, as he realised that he would be unable to get to his friend in time. Suddenly, a distant rumble reverberated throughout the courtyard and without warning, the ground started moving. Screams of panic ensued as the people fell. More screams followed, then were cut off abruptly as debris started to fall from the keep, which was being shaken like a child's toy. Iolaus staggered backward and to one side, and found himself plunging down the steps which led back down into the cell. Frantically, he grabbed hold of the doorway, clinging to it with all his remaining strength as chunks of wood and huge blocks of stone rained down around him. His opponent fell to his knees, still clutching his sword and Iolaus watched in utter horror and revulsion as a piece of masonry toppled straight onto him, crushing life and blood from his broken body. Then there was a loud crash from behind him and the steps gave way. The blond warrior held on for grim life as he dangled precariously over the edge of the newly created precipice and let out a yelp as a stone block glanced across his leg and he felt rather than heard the snap of the bone.

Then it was all over. The shaking gradually died away, the low rumble ceased and people began to rise shakily from where they had fallen, dusting themselves off and moving to help injured comrades. Remarkably, very few of the slaves had been killed in the earthquake although a number of them had been injured. The casualties had been mainly amongst the contingent of guards, many of whom now lay buried beneath tons of rubble. Hercules and Phaedro, too, were unhurt - untouched, even and the demigod fleetingly wondered if this had been an act by one of his more benevolent relations, then dismissed the thought as he looked around for and was unable to locate his small blond friend.

"Iolaus!" he cried, terror stricken when no answering cry came forth. "Iolaus!!!"

"H ... Herc ...!" It was very faint but he heard it, and his knees weakened in utter relief. He glanced around, but was still unable to find any trace of the other man.

"Iolaus, where are you!" he yelled.

"Down ... down here .." The words ended with an abrasive, virulent cough, and he followed the terrible sound to its source, discovering his partner lying half in, half out of the doorway to the keep, clinging on for dear life to the wooden surround.

"Iolaus!" he exclaimed, and sank to his knees beside the doorway, grasping his friend's arms and pulling. This wrenched an agonised cry from the hunter, and he paused, watching Iolaus agitatedly as the smaller man gasped for breath which wouldn't come. "What's wrong, buddy?" he asked, gently. "Are you trapped?"

A slight shake of the golden head, which was dusted with a fine powder from the debris. When he had regained sufficient breath to speak, Iolaus looked up at him and managed a smile. "No, no ..." he gasped. "Just ... hurts, is all. Go ... easy, willya?"

Hercules returned the smile although he felt very much like crying at the condition which his friend was in. "Okay," he replied, softly. "When you're ready."

The look which he received was part gratitude, part exasperation. He wasn't entirely sure how Iolaus had managed that one, but didn't have time to think about it any further. "I'm ... ready now!" Iolaus rasped. "Go ... go ahead. Pull!"

Hercules did just that. He winced at the strangled moan which the action elicited, but eventually had the hunter free from the wreckage of the doorway and seated against the wall, where he gave his friend a cursory examination. Finally ... "Your leg's broken," he announced, trying to hide his outrage at the other, more serious wounds on his friend's terribly abused body.

The warrior grinned. The smile made it all the way to his eyes, although they were glazed and febrile. "That's a relief," he replied. "I'd ... hate to be in this much ... pain for no good ... reason."

He was trying to detract Hercules' attention away from his other injuries, particularly the vicious lash marks on his back, some of which had suppurated despite Anaxibia's best ministrations. Reddened and angry looking, they had become infected and the demigod grimaced at the yellow pus which was seeping from them. The son of Zeus smiled gently down at his friend, unable to quite hide the horror he felt at what had been done to him.

"Iolaus," he began, but was cut off before he could get any further.

"Took you ... long enough," Iolaus admonished him, the smile playing about his lips belying the censure in his tone.

"I was busy running," Hercules replied. He laid a hand on the soft golden hair, tenderly brushing his fingers through it. The other hand he laid upon one bruised shoulder. "Then I realised what I was running from and stopped. I should never have left you in the first place. I'm sorry, my friend. So very sorry."

Iolaus was battered, bruised, exhausted and in immense pain. The familiar touch on his head and the heartfelt apology was like a balm to his ailing spirit and he relished it for a moment or two. Hercules had always had the ability to make him feel safe, he reflected. Even though he was normally so self-sufficient and independent he had always relied on the demigod to be at his back and, more, to be there whenever he was ill or injured, although he would never have openly admitted it. His friend was a great comfort to him, as he knew as was he to Hercules. Unfortunately, he was usually the one on the receiving end of injuries and any stray illnesses which happened to be going around so it was always left to the demigod to take care of him. He had had very few opportunities to reciprocate. Not that he wanted his friend hurt or ill, just that it seemed a little unfair. No wonder the demigod was so protective of him, he mused; and no wonder he had developed this annoying habit of leaving Iolaus behind every now and again, fearful for his safety. That was something they should definitely discuss, he decided. Although that would have to wait until later. Now, he was merely grateful for Hercules' presence beside him and content to give himself over to his best friend's care. And now he could also relinquish responsibility for these people into the hands of the only other person on Earth whom he would entrust with their safety. Gods, he was so, so tired and he hurt so much. He was fading fast, his overtaxed body finally succumbing to its grievous injuries and the annoying cold he seemed to have contracted. "Herc .." 'Gods, I'm glad you're here,' was his last coherent thought as he toppled over the edge of the abyss straight into the infinite safety of the demigod's loving embrace ...

"Iolaus??" Hercules swallowed convulsively as Iolaus' ill-treated body fell forward into his arms, the blond head resting against his chest. Desperately, he moved his hand from the flaxen curls to the corded neck and found the hunter's pulse. It was faint and thready and he was already aware that his friend's breathing was ragged and shallow. There was also a frightening rattling sound every time he inhaled which, coupled with the terrible cough he had heard, scared the demigod half to death. Removing his hand from the smaller man's throat, he tightened his hold on his beloved friend. "Don't worry, Iolaus," he crooned, although he realised that the hunter could neither hear him, nor would he respond. "You're going to be all right. I'm here now. I'm going to take care of you. You're going to get well, my friend. I promise. I'm going to make sure of it." He was so intent on comforting his unconscious partner that he never heard the approaching footsteps, and therefore was startled when a voice intruded on his reverie.

"He needs to be somewhere warm," a female voice told him, softly. He glanced upward in surprise. A young woman was kneeling beside him, her face wreathed in concern. "I'm Anaxibia," she said, by way of introduction. "I've been taking care of Iolaus since he arrived here and they started their mistreatment of him."

"Mistreatment?" he echoed. By the expression on her face he wasn't sure he wanted to know what she meant but for Iolaus' sake, he needed to know.

She gazed at him sorrowfully. "They starved him for two days and made sure he was completely dehydrated, then they secured him to the whipping beam and gave him twenty lashes. He was always the target for the guards' whips during working hours - they were very zealous. And the wounds never had the chance to heal properly despite all I tried to do for him. I have healing salves, but they only work if given the opportunity. We were never given the chance to really help him. The guards worked him remorselessly. They seemed to take great pleasure in his suffering. I don't know how people can behave like that," she finished, a note of deep disgust colouring her soft voice.

Hercules slid his eyes away from her face and back to the limp form in his arms, his blood running cold at her gruesome descriptions of the torture which his dearest friend had endured whilst imprisoned in this awful place. Iolaus was deeply unconscious, his head lolling to one side. The grubby, blood-stained face was blanched of all colour and his eyes were ringed with dark shadows. He looked like he'd been to Tartarus and back, and really, Hercules considered, that was not so far from the truth, for if ever such a place existed, then this would be it.

"How is he?"

Hercules was rudely torn from his sorrowful scrutiny of the oblivious hunter by a very familiar voice. Phaedro! Great Zeus, he had forgotten about the boy in the heat of the battle, in that initial joyous moment when he had first spied his friend and found him alive. Bruised, battered and injured beyond a normal mortal's endurance, but very much alive and kicking. "Phaedro," he said, flatly. He glanced upward to find the boy who had helped him find Iolaus squatting beside him, gazing worriedly at the terribly injured body which he held so tightly.

"He's not so good, is he?" It was more a statement than a question and, as such, did not really require an answer.

Hercules gave one anyway. "He's very sick," he whispered, fearfully. "We need to get him somewhere warm, somewhere where he can be treated. Anaxibia," he swung round to address her, his tone becoming urgent as the enormity of the situation swamped him with all of its horror. "You said you'd been treating him. Are you - are you a healer?"

The careworn woman smiled, sadly. "I'm all these people have," she admitted. "I do my best and I know a bit about healing from my mother but, Hercules, he needs more than my potions and my medicines can give him. He needs skilled hands, a more trained mind. I - I am just someone who knows something of herbs and a little of the body's requirements. Do you not know of anyone else who can help him?"

Hercules thinned lips and greying countenance told her that he did not. Not in the near vicinity, anyway. His next words confirmed her fears. "My brother's royal healer, Iasus, is the most skilled man I know," he told her, grimly. "But Corinth, where the castle is situated, is many days from here. Iolaus would never survive the journey. We need to treat him now. Please, Anaxibia, you're all we've got. Please - help him!"

The anguished tone and sheer desperation in his gaunt face melted her tender heart. But her abilities in this area were limited and she was not at all convinced that she could do anything to help this brave man who had risked everything, even his own life, to save them. But for his sake, and for the sake of the man who even now tightened his hold convulsively on his precious burden, she would try. She could do no less. Unfortunately, she could also do no more. "I'll try," she said, at length. "But first we need to set his leg. It's broken below the knee and needs to be splinted."

"I'll find something for that," offered Phaedro and got to his feet eagerly, pleased to be able to do something to help the young woman and his hero, who looked so small and forlorn, lying so still, enfolded protectively in the circle of the demigod's arms.

Hercules smiled faintly at the young man's bounce and undimmed enthusiasm as he sped away on his quest. Phaedro was so like Iolaus. So full of life, so spirited, so full of good humour and never still for one moment. Iolaus had been that way ever since the demigod had known him. They were only some of the many traits that he found endearing about his friend and his smile grew fond as he freed one hand to place it tenderly on the waxen cheek. The skin beneath his fingers was warm, achingly familiar and pulsing with life. He stroked it lovingly, totally oblivious to the tear which was tracing a path down his own face. Almost without volition, he hugged the oblivious hunter closer to his heart, glad beyond reason to have the living, breathing form of the man he willingly called 'brother' back where he belonged.

The quiet communion which he had been enjoying with the silent figure in his arms came to an end as Phaedro returned, with Anaxibia, who had gone to help one of the other men, in tow. Almost reluctantly, Hercules loosened his grip of the blond warrior, propping him up against his own broad chest as the woman and the boy worked quickly to splint and bind the blond's broken limb. He watched the entire procedure detachedly, propping his chin on the golden hair, luxuriating in the comforting, if totally oblivious presence. At length, they were finished, and, with Iolaus' leg now treated, Hercules gently wound one lax, bruised and bloodied arm around his own neck and, gathering his friend into powerful arms, rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Anaxibia demanded in alarm as he strode forward before she could recover herself.

He paused and half turned. "There's a village down there," he said, indicating the direction with a slight nod of his chestnut haired head. "It looks deserted and doesn't seem to have sustained any damage during the earthquake. I suggest we all make camp down there for the night."

"That's where we had planned on going," stated a middle-aged, greying man, whose time as a slave did not seem to have diminished his obvious musculature, nor his quiet dignity, which shone from him like a beacon. Almost as bright as Iolaus, Hercules contemplated, privately. "It was Iolaus' idea, actually. And he was right. Better gather in one place than scatter throughout the land, forced to fend for ourselves."

"Iolaus has always been a brilliant strategist," Hercules said, fondly, with a hint of pride in his weary voice.

"He's a good man to have alongside you in battle," the other man mused.

"Yes," agreed Hercules, heartily. "The best!" He regarded the other man curiously for a moment or two, then, "You say you were alongside him in battle?"

The older man nodded. "I've never seen anyone fight so well despite such grievous wounds," he told the demigod almost reverently. "Your friend, Iolaus, has impressed us all with his fortitude during his days here, Hercules. A lesser man would surely have succumbed to his wounds before now. But he refused to give in, or give up. He was determined to fight for us, determined to fight alongside us. And he did. He saved the life of my friend, Memnon, and would have managed to despatch the leader of these slavers had it not been for his failing strength."

Hercules felt tears spring to his eyes at the man's depiction of his friend. He had always been aware of Iolaus' inner strength, his courage, his loyalty and his tenacity, but had never heard anyone else speak of him so highly. It was a revelation. It also had the effect of making his heart swell with immense pride. That Iolaus would fight to the death to defend these people despite his own shocking injuries was no surprise to the warrior's best friend. Iolaus was noble and proud and would have died rather than admit that he was not strong enough to take part in a battle such as this. That it had almost cost him his life did not diminish his accomplishments, but rather enhanced them. He gazed down in rapt wonder at the still figure and felt his heart lurch as pride was displaced and fear once more held sway. "He's always been a hero to me," he heard himself utter, in a broken voice. Then, "We have to tend to his injuries, before they grow any worse."

The older man slapped his head in self-reproach. "Yes, yes," he said, impatiently. "Of course, What was I thinking? Come on, Hercules, Anaxibia, and you too, boy. Memnon will take care of the rest of our people. He's a good man and he's alive thanks to Iolaus."

He seemed intent on reiterating this point, and Hercules was at once both puzzled and grateful, for it helped to re-focus his spinning mind on exploits of his friend rather than his current grave condition.

As they hurried down the slight incline toward the deserted village, the older man introduced himself as Tectamus and informed Hercules that Anaxibia was his daughter. Her mother - his wife - had died some years previously, before the raiders had attacked their village and taken them all as slaves. He had always been thankful, he told the demigod, that his wife had not been alive to watch their daily struggle against the inhumanities of the slavery which they had been forced to endure. But he still missed her every day of his life.

Hercules could sympathise. He still missed Dieanera and the children so much that sometimes it hurt physically. But whereas Tectamus had his daughter, Hercules had always had Iolaus beside him to keep him from sinking into melancholy and to remind him that life was worth living if only for the sake of the friend whom you loved more than life itself.

If Tectamus noticed the fleeting emotions crossing Hercules' expressive features, he didn't comment, but led the small party straight to the largest house in the village, which they found to be large enough for several people to share. There was a big room off to the right of the main room which transpired to be a bedroom, containing a large double bed and some comfortable looking chairs. Hercules immediately claimed this as the best place to put Iolaus and Tectamus easily concurred. Meanwhile, Anaxibia had found some cloths and was dusting off the bed itself whilst Tectamus and Phaedro went on a search for clean blankets and sheets, the young man finally locating several items in a large box underneath the window.

They soon had Iolaus settled into the bed. As Tectamus and his daughter, accompanied by Phaedro, left the house temporarily in search of herbs and a well, Hercules tended to his friend.

Now that he could survey the blond warrior properly without distractions, he was aghast at the damage which his beloved friend had sustained. There did not seem to be one piece of skin on Iolaus' finely hewn torso which had not been flayed and infection had set in some of the cuts with a vengeance. Gingerly, he removed his partner's boots and pants, sliding the one leg down past the splint and felt his blood chill in his veins as he saw for the first time how far down the lacerations extended. They covered not only the hunter's shoulders, back and sides, but there were red marks on his stomach and down past his upper thighs. Hercules suddenly felt nauseous as he realised that Iolaus must have been stripped of every last shred of clothing in order to receive his vicious lashing. Not only had those monsters tried to take his best friend's resolve and courage, they had also attempted to wrest his dignity away from him as well.

Hercules felt his legs give way as this realisation sank in and he sat down heavily in one of the chairs, unable for the moment to comprehend the evil which would compel men to do this to others. He took several deep, gulping breaths in order to control himself then resumed his examination of the blond haired warrior, thankful to discover that this was where the marks ended. But it was already as bad as it could be, and he was at a loss to understand how his friend could have endured this with his pride intact. He had no doubt, however, that Iolaus not only could. He had done so.

For the third time that afternoon, so it seemed, tears came to his eyes as he contemplated this man who was the entire world to him. That he should suffer so cruelly, so unjustly was bad enough. That he should do so in such humiliation was almost more than Hercules could bear. But bear it he would, he determined. He could do no less than this valiant, unflinching, irrepressible man he called his 'brother'. And he made a silent promise that nothing like this was ever going to befall this man again.

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

By the time Tectamus, Phaedro and Anaxibia returned, Hercules had himself back under some semblance of control, although his newly regained composure, tenuous at best, had been threatened once again when he had covered the blond warrior and felt the heat radiating off him. Iolaus was extremely sick, and getting sicker, he knew. And Anaxibia had not been confident of her abilities to heal him. For a moment, he considered what he would do if Iolaus should die then dismissed the thought. Iolaus was not going to die. He was too stubborn and ornery to die. And besides, Hercules wasn't going to allow it. That was all there was to it.

The female healer and her father had found an old apothecary's and had retrieved some potions and herbs from the shelves there. They had also brought some water from the village well, which was well-stocked, and had been taken advantage of by the ever-willing Phaedro, who had located several containers and had filled them to the brim. Whilst Tectamus put some water on to heat, Anaxibia re-examined the deep gashes and gouges cut out by the whip, and shook her head grimly at what she found.

For all her protests otherwise, Anaxibia seemed to know what she was doing as she cleaned the wounds, with Hercules' help. After ensuring that each one was as free from dirt as it could be, she anointed them with a herbal mixture and then wound a large bandage cut from some old sheets around the warrior's torso.

"That should take care of them," she said, quietly, placing the herbal mixture on the nightstand and leaning over the unconscious hunter. She checked his eyes and laid her hand upon his chest and her mouth thinned into a worried line. "He has a fever from the infection, I think," she diagnosed. "But his breathing is laboured and I don't like the sounds in his chest. I believe he may have contracted pneumonia. He's also suffering from a concussion - his pupils are dilated, and he seems completely unresponsive to any outside stimuli."

Hercules' sharp intake of breath echoed throughout the room. First a broken leg, then festering wounds, pneumonia and now concussion? How much more was his dearest friend supposed to take? "Will he ...?" His voice tailed off as he found himself unable to ask the question which was uppermost on his mind.

She lifted her head and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I can't tell you, Hercules. He's been starved, severely dehydrated, whipped and almost worked to death. That's a lot for anyone to endure, even you and you're half god. Iolaus is only mortal. I can't see how he could have survived as long as he did. Others haven't. Maybe it's his strength of spirit or perhaps we just inspired him. I only know that all I can give him is potions to help clear his chest and herbal remedies for his outward infection. The rest is up to him - and he's very weak. Hercules," her voice softened as she walked round the bed to place a gentle hand on his arm, which was resting on the bed, his hand clamped tightly around Iolaus' left bicep. "Maybe all he needs is a bit of encouragement. You're here. You can give him that. I wish there was something more I could do or even that I could tell you that he would be all right, but I can't. he's very brave, very stubborn - he refused to give in even when he was almost out on his feet. I had to practically carry him to the meeting yet he stood on his own two feet to greet everyone. I would like to know him better ... and I hope he gets well so that I can."

The demigod nodded, appreciative of her comments, if driven to almost despair by her gloomy prognosis. "He won't give in," he said, firmly, although the expression on his drawn face seemed to give a lie to his own statement. "Iolaus isn't a quitter. He'll fight this with every bit of strength he has and then some. He won't give in, or give up, and neither will I. I'll be here to help him through. I can't be anywhere else."

"You're staying here with him?" As frightened as Anaxibia was for her unconscious patient, the man seated beside the bed concerned her too. He looked ready to drop and the dark shadows under his own eyes - whilst not as pronounced as those beneath Iolaus', nevertheless managed to tell their own story.

Deep, azure eyes glanced up and regarded her levelly. The determination in them was intense and the arguments with which she had been arming herself suddenly dissipated under the unwavering scrutiny. "Yes," he replied, in a calm, even tone laced with steel. "I'm not going anywhere. Not whilst Iolaus needs me. And he does. He's always gotten better faster when I'm with him - that's not a boast; it just happens to be true."

"Probably because he trusts you," she said, easily, having observed the way that Iolaus had simply let go his dogged hold on consciousness once he was in his friend's arms.

Hercules smiled. This one almost made it all the way to those piercing blue eyes. "Yes, he does," he agreed. "We trust each other. At times, he and I have been the only ones we could trust and neither of us has ever betrayed it. You have to understand, neither of us likes to admit our own mortal fragilities - which in my case happen to be few, in the physical sense, anyway. I'm afraid that we're both very bad patients. First there's the refusal to admit to any physical pain or disability and once either of us has partly recovered from illness or injury then we don't enjoy the rest of the recuperation period."

"Yes, I sort of suspected that would be the case," she said, dryly. "So what you're saying is ..."

"That Iolaus hardly ever relinquishes responsibility for himself to anyone," the demigod finished off for her. "And then only ever to me, as I have done on very rare occasions to him. The trouble is, my stubborn, indefatigable friend here has to be on the verge of real collapse before he'll admit there's a problem, but once he does, then he knows that I'll look after him, and he can leave all the decision making to me, whilst all he has to do is get better."

Anaxibia shook her head in resignation and sighed. "Well," she said, at length, "I'm afraid that this time Iolaus allowed himself to go past the point of collapse before he let you start making decisions for him. And if you don't mind me saying so, you look pretty tired yourself. Are you sure that I can't watch him for you whilst you go and get some rest? I promise to wake you if there's any change." The look he gave her was eloquent enough. Hercules wasn't about to budge from that bedside, no matter what kind of arguments she used. It would take another earthquake to remove him, and she wasn't entirely convinced that would do the trick, either. "Well," she said, "if you need anything, let me know. My father is making a stew with some game Phaedro caught for us all, and I'll bring some in in a while. We should try to force some liquid down Iolaus as well. He needs as much as he can take."

Hercules nodded and tracked her as she left, then returned his attention to his desperately ill friend. Iolaus was completely still and quiescent in the bed. He looked awful. The long lashes fluttered occasionally on the pale cheeks, flushed now with rising fever, and the shadows under his eyes seemed to have deepened since their departure from the keep. The hand which was clutched so tightly in Hercules' own was hot and dry, and his breathing sounded forced and laboured. At least now he was bandaged, Hercules no longer had to look at those dreadful injuries, although the horror was still fresh in his mind and he found it almost impossible to banish the terrible, nightmarish images which were running in increasingly smaller circles therein. What his friend had suffered - and how much! It was inconceivable that human beings could inflict such damage on another - and Iolaus was not the only victim, for each and every one of the people he had helped rescue bore similar marks and carried similar memories.

Now, however, as much as he wanted to help those other people, his entire attention was focused on this one man; this friend, this brother - the other half of his soul. The thread which wove between them was being re-weaved, strand by delicate strand and the candle in his soul was lit with a radiance with which only one person in his life had ever been capable of burning. "I won't leave you, Iolaus," he whispered to his comatose friend. "I won't leave you now and I swear, by everything I hold dear, that I will never leave you again. I have made some mistakes in my life, buddy," he went on, reaching out to touch that burning forehead, and brushing a stray tendril of golden hair out of the way. "But leaving you behind like that has to rank as the biggest. And you deserve to be mad - but I was only doing it to protect you, you know. You do know that, right? Yes, of course you do. You probably knew that before I did. Iolaus, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry than words could ever hope to say. I really hope you can forgive me this time. I know I don't deserve it, but I know that your great heart will allow you to overlook what I've done. I know that because I know that you love me - as I love you, my brave, loyal, incredibly reckless friend. Iolaus, please don't die. Please get well. I don't know what I'd do without you. I only know that I can't face even thinking about the possibility ..."

If Iolaus heard these words, spoken with simple eloquence from Hercules' heart and soul, he gave no sign, as he began to toss and turn restlessly whilst the fever built, his head turning to and fro on the soft pillow. The demigod, having been prepared for this development, nonetheless fought to curb his billowing fear even whilst he gently bathed what parts of the burning body were not swathed in bandages and laid cool cloths on the searing forehead.

Anaxibia had been called away to help some of the others, whose injuries, whilst not severe or life-threatening, still required a healer's ministrations. Thus she missed the drama going on in the back bedroom. Tectamus had prepared the broth as his daughter had instructed and had gotten as far as the door when he had heard some of the impassioned words uttered by the demigod. Not wishing to intrude on what he looked upon as a private moment between the two friends, even though one of them was oblivious, he had crept away. He would keep the broth heated, he decided, and take it in later. Phaedro, meanwhile, was also out, helping some of those who had been hit by the flying debris at the keep to the makeshift hospital which Anaxibia was setting up in the village. Thus no-one was on hand to help Hercules through the first part this night, and he bore his terror for Iolaus alone, hoping that his friend had heard some of his words, and that he would make it through the night and come back where he was wanted and loved and needed - so very badly.

********************
Hour after endless hour passed and Iolaus' condition worsened as the fever took a hold of his body and mind. And even whilst his small form was ravaged by the heat radiating from every pore, he mumbled endlessly, deliriously, snatches of words which Hercules tried and failed to understand, except for the few names he could decipher from amongst them, including his own, uttered frequently and with rising panic. The fever and delirium were bad enough, but his heart broke at what his beloved friend was seeing in his sickness-induced dreams, and why occasionally Iolaus would cry out the demigod's name with an anguished vehemence. What was he dreaming? Whatever it was, it obviously terrified the courageous warrior - and Hercules had a dreadful suspicion that it involved danger to him, danger which perhaps his best friend did not believe he could prevent. After all, did he not have nightmares where he was unable to keep Iolaus safe, and thus prevent him from being harmed? It stood to reason, then, that the hunter would have similar nightmares about him, nightmares which perhaps he suffered from on other occasions but which never came to light because the demigod could not keep watch over him every minute of the night and day, although he felt very much as though he should - particularly after what this amazingly courageous man had been through of late. But there was nothing he could do or say to diminish these particular dreams, generated as they were by the fever which raged through the increasingly fragile hunter and he fought back tears of impotence at the knowledge that this time, his nightmare was all too real - for he was living it right now. And all he could do was try to diminish the heat with cooling cloths, meanwhile whispering loving, reassuring words to his friend, knowing that it would be a miracle if the blond warrior could hear him.

And it was not enough.

He didn't want to be here, waiting and watching whilst this most cherished of companions was racked with pain and searing with a heat which seemed to know no boundaries as his temperature climbed inexorably higher and higher.

But he knew of no other place he would rather be. This was where he belonged, even though he raged against what Iolaus was enduring, what he had yet to endure. He had witnessed pneumonia before. A particularly virulent form of it had devastated a couple of small villages a good many years ago. Iolaus had been elsewhere at the time and Hercules had been grateful for that one small mercy. For sure as the Aegean sea was blue, had he been there at the time, Iolaus would have fallen victim to it, too. The fates seemed determined to make the compact warrior suffer, and as he endured, so did Hercules, right alongside him, as he was doing now. Willingly. With all his heart. And wishing with all his heart that he could take his friend's place just so he would not have to witness the torment and the pain which seemed to be assaulting Iolaus from all sides.

More hours went by. Anaxibia returned, and, with Hercules' assistance, dosed Iolaus with a potion which she hoped would help ease his symptoms. It seemed to have no effect. The hunter's temperature continued to rise, peaking at a dangerous level just after dawn. It stayed at that plateau for some considerable time, during which Hercules and Anaxibia between them continued to tend to the fearfully ill warrior. The heat which blasted from his poor abused body was terrifying. Neither Hercules nor Anaxibia even wanted to consider the unseen pain which Iolaus was going through, although that didn't stop their imaginations from running riot anyway.

The sun rose, and his temperature accompanied it. Then, just as Anaxibia was seriously considering the last, heroic resort of immersing the suffering hunter in icy water - the only known preventative treatment for a fever which had gone out of control, it spiked and began to decline. It was a slow process, though and it was still dangerously high by the time noon came around. Tectamus had forced food and liquids on both of them and they had also tried to get something into Iolaus. Their task had been made difficult by his increasingly restless movements then, he had suddenly stopped thrashing around and his mumbled words had gradually ceased. Now he lay still and silent, his hollow cheekbones flushed with the twin high spots of fever, a stark contrast to the deathly paleness surrounding them.

The fever was not all that terrified the two watchers, however. The ragged breathing had also worsened, together with the terrible rattling sound in his chest. Every so often, amidst the delirious utterances, he would expel a terrible, hacking series of coughs, which further depleted what little energy he had remaining. These seizures horrified the already panic-stricken demigod as each attack was followed by a succession of gasps as Iolaus fought to take in sufficient air to draw his next breath. Each time it happened, Hercules feared it would be the last and he fought a constant urge to scream in frightened outrage.

'Please don't die, Iolaus,' he begged the hunter silently instead, unable to put his thoughts into words for fear it would hasten what Anaxibia was so obviously coming to believe to be inevitable. "Please live. I can't do this without you. I can't. I don't know how. I need you. Gods, please, please don't die!'

As day changed slowly into night with little or no change in the hunter's grave condition, Anaxibia's expression grew more and more concerned, and Hercules eventually refused to look in her direction, too afraid of what he would see in her face. Both of them were utterly exhausted, their spirits low. Iolaus still lay as motionless as a corpse, the only sign of life those all-too-frequent ghastly coughing spells, which robbed the hunter of the ability to breathe, and his desperate attempts to draw air into his tortured lungs sliced through Hercules' heart, hacking away at it piece by piece as he watched his friend's agonising struggle for life.

The second day ran the same relentless course. Iolaus' fever would abate slightly, then, within a few hours, would increase once more; each hour marked by at least one or more of those unremitting coughing spells. The fever and the cough, brought about by both the pneumonia and the infected lacerations on his tortured frame, seemed intent on robbing the hunter of his very life, but he clung on grimly, his indomitable spirit seemingly all that was keeping him anchored to this plane of existence. He was unaware of anything outside of his fever-ridden dreams and the pain which followed him even into oblivion, although she kept him blessedly shielded from the worst of it, but Hercules kept up his endless stream of encouraging words anyway, begging his friend not to give in, pleading with him to fight, to come back to him. Anaxibia felt her heart contract at the raw power of their connection, the love which prompted the demigod to make such passionate demands and the force which kept Iolaus alive despite the war which was being waged within his frail and exhausted form. If anyone could win this battle with death, she realised, it was these two and her hopes, crushed beneath the sheer weight of Iolaus' fast worsening state began to recover.

The third day was heralded by a fierce thunderstorm. And whilst this was raging outside, so was a battle continuing to rage within the bedroom which had become, for the time being, Hercules' entire world.
Iolaus had become delirious again overnight. His ravings were, for the most part, unintelligable, but Hercules' heart contracted at the anguish within the words, and gripped his friend's hand ever tighter. During the night, he had climbed onto the bed and taken the suffering warrior into his arms, holding him close, enfolding Iolaus in an embrace which was at once loving and fiercely protective. Anaxibia had practically burst into tears at this point and had made some excuse to leave the room. Outside she had encountered Tectamus, who had been unable to sleep, worried as he was about both the warrior who had helped save them all and his own daughter. She had looked so forlorn, so heartbroken that he had gathered her into a hug, trying to comfort her, begging her to tell him what was wrong.

"Oh, father," she had sobbed, "Iolaus is so desperately ill. I don't know how he's hanging on - but he is. And Hercules - Hercules is so determined not to let him go. He's on the bed now, holding him so tight - almost as though he's trying to prevent Celesta from coming to take Iolaus away. And I don't know what he's going to do if we lose Iolaus. I think - oh, father, I think it might kill him!"

Tectamus had been stunned. He had heard of the strong friendship which existed between the demigod and the warrior, of course. Their partnership was already legend in Greece. And he had witnessed for himself their reunion in the keep. But a friendship so powerful that the death of one would mean the demise of another - and that being the mighty Hercules? Surely that was not possible? "Daughter, you exaggerate, surely," he had ventured. "I think perhaps you are tired and need to rest ..."

"No, no," she had protested and had drawn him in the direction of the bedroom from which she had emerged scant moments before, opening the door slightly to allow him a clear view of the two figures on the bed, the one smaller golden-haired, frailer form gathered into the powerful arms of the strongest man in Greece. It looked for all the world like Hercules was shielding his friend from harm, in whatever form it chose to take, and Tectamus had been forced to revise his opinion of his daughter's observation.

"You're right," he had whispered, awe-stricken at the sight, turning away himself to quickly dab at his eyes as she closed the door. "Anaxibia, is there nothing you can do for Iolaus?"

"The fever must run its course," she had told him, hopelessly. "It's been three days and it doesn't seem to have diminished any further, and his coughing is as bad as I've ever heard. If he doesn't rally soon, then I'm afraid ... " She had left her sentence unfinished, unwilling to put into words her greatest fear, unwilling to condemn Iolaus in the face of what she had witnessed in the bedroom.

"He'll pull through," her father had stated. His words had been intended to comfort, for he had not believed them himself. She had nodded, however, perfectly willing to allow him to reassure her, even though she had not believed him either, and they had stayed by the fire in the outer room for the remainder of the night, content for the moment just to be together; to be free, yet even that thought brought with it a reminder of the man who had saved them, who even now waged a war with death; one they feared he was destined to lose.

By the time Anaxibia returned to the sickroom, morning had dawned and Hercules had returned to his seat beside the bed, still clutching Iolaus hand within his own, wiping the burning brow with a cloth, trying to contain the fever. Iolaus was still again, his breathing little more than ragged gasps for air, and the healer feared the worst. The demigod was staring at his friend with an intensity which was frightening, and Anaxibia dreaded the coming hours and the tragedy which they would inevitably bring.

Late in the evening came a sudden movement from the bed and a soft mumble which startled the two carers. Hercules, whose eyes had been closing despite his constant fear and despair, started awake and focused immediately on the blond warrior, only to widen his eyes in mute astonishment and utter joy combined. "Anaxibia!" he exclaimed. "Anaxibia! Come here! It's Iolaus!"

'Iolaus!' Her first thought was that what she had been long suspecting had come to pass and she fought back the tears of anguish which suddenly blurred her vision as she made her way over to the bed from the window beside which she had been standing for the last few moments. As she moved past Hercules, however and her eyes alighted on the supine hunter, her tears fell anyway, as relief and sheer delight banished the pain from her heart. Iolaus was muttering drowsily, his arms and legs moving restlessly beneath the rumpled sheets. However, the flush was slowly fading from his hollow cheeks and drops of sweat beaded his face and body. The fever had broken! "Oh gods!" she cried, resting her hand atop Hercules' broad shoulder, as though steadying herself. Indeed, her knees had threatened to buckle underneath her. "Hercules, he's ..."

"I know." He looked up at her, his own eyes suspiciously moist, a wide grin illuminating his gaunt face. "He's going to be okay - his fever's finally gone."

She stood for a moment or two longer then forced herself to recover her composure and stepped past the seated demigod, who was surreptitiously wiping his eyes, in order to examine the sick warrior. Hercules watched as she checked his pulse and laid a gentle hand across his forehead, then bent and listened at his chest. Finally, she straightened again.

"Well?" he demanded, impatiently.

"His temperature is down, his pulse is steadier and his breathing seems to have eased somewhat," she pronounced, with a smile. "His heartrate is a little fast but I don't think that's too much to worry about. He's going to be pretty weak for a while, and he'll need a lot of care over the next few weeks but he should be back on his feet soon."

Hercules' grin widened - if that were possible and he rose from his chair and hugged her. "Thank you," he said, in a low voice which shook with emotion.

"For what?" she asked, startled at the reaction. "I didn't do anything!"

"Yes, you did," he insisted. "You helped him when he first came here. You treated his wounds. You hardly left his side through all of this and you've been here for me all this time. Anaxibia, I'm more grateful to you than I can say. You've helped save the life of the person dearest to me in the whole world. How can I say 'thank you' for that? It seems so inadequate."

Freeing herself from his grip, she regarded him seriously for a long moment. Then, "Hercules, I merely treated his wounds. I did nothing to help him live. I have known people with injuries much less severe than were inflicted on Iolaus die - and he had the pneumonia as well. No, what saved him was his own stubborn will and you. I believe that if it had not been for your presence here, he might well have given up."

"Iolaus? Give up?" he proclaimed. "Never!" He turned back to regard his long-time friend lovingly. "There's no-one with a stronger will than Iolaus. I was just reminding him what he had to live for, that's all. But he already knew. That's what brought him back." He fell silent again as he leaned over and moved a wisp of blond hair away from the damp forehead, and fell to stroking the soft, moist skin of his friend with slow deliberation.

The gentle touch was all that was required to bring Iolaus closer to consciousness, and a few moments later, they watched as he blinked several times, then forced open eyelids which felt like they had been stuck down. "Mmfff..." he managed, focusing his bleary gaze on the face of the demigod.

"It's all right, Iolaus," Hercules reassured him, never halting in the motion of his hand on the warrior's brow. "You're getting well. You need sleep and nourishment now, my friend. Don't worry. I'm here. Now just rest and let me take care of everything, okay?"

Iolaus was far too exhausted and far too groggy to put up any kind of argument. He merely inclined his head slightly in lieu of a nod and, closing his eyes again, drifted into an easier sleep.

Hercules felt his heart lighten and the pieces which had been hacked away by fear begin to reassemble themselves as he watched his beloved friend, and Anaxibia chose this moment to slip away. There was still much to be done, not the least being getting some food into the ailing hunter and building up his strength again. Then perhaps she could get back to the other duties which had been neglected for so long. There were the other ex-slaves to see and plans for their travels home to be made.

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

Iolaus slept for the remainder of the night. Now that he was out of danger, Hercules, too, felt able to catch a light doze and woke early the next morning to find that someone had covered him with a blanket whilst he had slept in the chair. Anaxibia was seated across the other side of the bed, grinning at him, and he smiled gratefully as he realised that she was the guilty party.

"Thanks," he said, then, "How is he?"

"Sleeping naturally," she replied. "I've brought some broth. He should start to eat again. He has a lot of ground to make up. I've also brought some more water. He should drink as much as he can. Maybe you should get him to take the food. I really have to go and see my other patients."

"Other patients?" he echoed, with a confused expression.

"The other slaves," she reminded him, almost sharply.

He winced. "Oh. Yes."

"Phaedro has been looking after them for me," she went on. "Luckily there were no serious injuries, just bruises and some lash marks and lack of food. Your young friend seems to be very good at applying salves and giving potions to recalcitrant patients. He also seems to be very proficient at getting them to eat - although I don't think they took too much persuading. I was very impressed with his hunting skills, though. He seems to be a veritable one boy army in the woods."

"I wondered where he'd gone," mused Hercules. "I just assumed he'd been with your father."

"My father has been helping him - but Phaedro has done most of it," she told him. "And now I had best go - see if I am actually needed!"

"Anaxibia?" He stopped her before she could actually get out of the room. She turned and regarded him questioningly. "Thank you again," the demigod said in a low voice. "You don't know how much ..."

"I know how much," she interjected, hurriedly, with an enigmatic smile. "I know exactly how much, Hercules." And with that, she was gone, leaving Hercules to try to rouse the slumbering warrior.

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

"Iolaus?"

There was a voice. It was intruding on his nice, peaceful, pain-free world. He crouched further down in the foliage which decorated the area.

"Iolaus, wake up."

The voice persisted. He tried to conceal himself further amidst the bushes but it sought him out, echoing in his mind. It sounded familiar, and he paused for a moment trying to recall where he had heard it before.

"Come on, Iolaus."

Worry there now. He felt sudden guilt overwhelm him but for the life of him he wasn't sure why. He started forward, seeking the sound, walking toward the voice.

"Come on, Iolaus, open your eyes," begged Hercules. "All the way now. Come on." He was seated on the bed, one arm supporting his slumbering friend, the blond head lolling against his broad chest. Gazing intently at the pallid face, he was filled with relief as he saw his friend's eyelids blink several times then slowly force their way open, the blue eyes glazed and unfocused.

Iolaus gazed up at him, barely recognising the blurred figure, and slowly realising that he was leaning against something warm and soft and yielding, and could hear a strong heartbeat hammering against his ear. "Wha ...?"

"It's breakfast time," Hercules informed him, softly. "Anaxibia brought us some food."

Food? Iolaus decided that food was the last thing he wanted right now. He knew that this should have worried him, but decided not to concern himself about that at the moment. He snuggled back down into the comforting warmth and started to close his eyes.

"Iolaus!"

The voice woke him again. He shifted within the strong arms and made a sleepy protest. "No ... hungry..."

But Hercules was not about to give up. When pressed he could be as stubborn as his strong-willed partner. "Come on, Iolaus," he urged. "You have to eat. You have to regain your strength." He decided to play his ace. "Do it for me."

That got him. Iolaus opened one eye and stared up at him, rather belligerently. "No ... fair," he protested. "Know I'd do ... anything for ... you."

The demigod smiled wickedly. "I know," he conceded. "So will you eat? For me? Please?"

The hunter sighed dramatically and opened the other eye as well. "Okay."

Propped up in the crook of Hercules' arm, blanket wrapped firmly around his upper torso, Iolaus felt more than saw Hercules lift the dish from the nightstand and then a spoon full of liquid was placed to his lips. "It's good broth," coaxed the demigod. "Come on, buddy, just a sip, okay?"

Iolaus complied, allowing the spoon to slide into his mouth and feeling the warm mixture slip easily down his bruised throat. It did taste good. He smiled up at the expectant face of his friend. "More?" asked Hercules. The nod he received in return was almost eager and he dipped the spoon back into the broth, repeating the gesture a few more times until Iolaus finally shook his head and refused to take any more. He had barely eaten enough to keep a cricket alive. Although Hercules did his best to convince his friend to "just take another sip, Iolaus," the blond warrior couldn't comply, although he tried very hard. In the end, the demigod had to replace the bowl on the night-stand as the smaller man turned his head into the strong shoulder in an effort to avoid both the food and the expression of anguish on Hercules' face. The demigod's throat constricted as he held the ailing hunter close, feeling a new fragility in the once robust form. Iolaus needed more nourishment than this in order to recover and Hercules could not suppress the dismay and worry he felt at his friend's lack of enthusiasm for food. He tried to quell those feelings by telling himself that perhaps it was a little too early for the blond warrior to show much interest. After all, he had literally just woken up after a four-day bout with death. His appetite was bound to be suppressed. This did not help, however, and
he gazed down at the sleeping man in his arms with renewed anxiety.

The same procedure was repeated at lunch and again at dinnertime. Each time, Iolaus took more and more of the broth although not once did he manage to finish it off completely. It was a hopeful sign, however, and thus encouraged, Hercules watched him sleep that night with a growing feeling of optimism.

The next few days were more of the same. And inbetween the food were the potions which Anaxibia forced on the hapless warrior. His cough had still not retreated entirely and she was concerned that, given the opportunity, it would take a firmer hold and return with a vengeance, thus the doses were frequent and extremely potent.

After about a week of this, Iolaus was finally rid of the persistent cough, although he still got short of breath at times and still occasionally managed to scare Hercules to death when that happened. However, these attacks occurred less and less frequently as time wore on and his gradually returning appetite offset his friend's obvious concerns.

The first day he was left alone for a short while, the warrior decided that it was about time he got out of bed. He hadn't seen much of Tectamus and Anaxibia since his return to some semblance of health and besides, he was beginning to feel like an invalid - which was not something with which he was comfortable. Thus, as soon as Hercules disappeared from the room one afternoon, he threw back the covers and, with a tremendous effort, managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as a shock of pain lanced through the heavily splinted one. 'So far, so good', he thought, then tried to stand.

The crash brought Hercules charging through the door, practically throwing it off its hinges as he ran full pelt into the room. What he found when he entered brought him to a shocked standstill, before reason intervened and he strode forward to crouch alongside the warrior, who lay sprawled on the floor, the jug from the night stand in pieces alongside of him. "Iolaus!" he thundered, as he picked up the small warrior effortlessly and placed him back on the bed, "What in Hades name did you think you were doing?"

Iolaus tried his best innocent look. "I ..."

"Don't answer that!" snapped the demigod, interrupting his friend before he could get going. He ignored the totally innocent 'who, me?' look which was directed his way in favour of an angry diatribe. "You're barely recovered from a severe beating, you have infected lash marks all over your body, you've just gotten over a bout with pneumonia and you think you can just jump out of bed within a few days and start to lead a normal life right away? Who do you think you are? You're not invincible, you know!"

"I know, I ..."

But Hercules was not to be stopped. "I don't know when you're going to get it through that stubborn head of yours that recovery time is in direct proportion to the injuries you've sustained and what you usually sustain is always very serious. It's about time you realised that it takes time for you to get better. You'll end up having a relapse, and I really couldn't go through that all over again!"

"Well, I'm sorry, I .."


"You know, you're always doing this. You get sick, or you're seriously hurt and then when you finally regain consciousness you think that's the signal for you to get out of bed and start living a normal life again." The demigod was in full flow now and hadn't even noticed that Iolaus had given up trying to interrupt him, instead turning over and drifting back to sleep. By the time he did so, the warrior was snoring gently, and he ground to a halt, smiling ruefully. "You always did know how to get the best of me in an argument," he commented fondly, and pulled the blankets up over his friend. "Sleep well, buddy. You deserve it."
Iolaus and Phaedro met a few days later. The ex-slaves had started to drift away from the village over the few days since Iolaus' recovery process had started. Until they had known that he was all right, they had been reluctant to depart. They all regarded him as a hero for all that he had endured and done on their behalf. However, as his health began to return to normal, they felt that they could now leave, although each and every one of them came to pay their respects and thank him before doing so. Hercules had watched them express their gratitude with an expression of such pride on his face that Iolaus had been almost embarrassed by it, but the demigod had said nothing, merely continued to regard him with deep affection.

Phaedro had been desperate to meet his hero, and Hercules had formally introduced them, telling Iolaus how Phaedro had helped him in locating the slaver's keep and therefore in rescuing him.

"Looks like I have a lot to be grateful to you for," said Iolaus, taking Phaedro's arm in a warrior's grip, much to that young man's delight. "So you're the one who was following me, huh?" he continued, regarding the teen with admiration. "You're good. Very good. You have a natural ability. I never heard you."

"Well, I - um - had a good example to follow," stuttered Phaedro, overcome with a bout of shyness now he was finally meeting up close the man he had admired for so long and had witnessed in battle. He had been truly impressed with the warrior's determination and valour in the face of overwhelming odds, and had watched in awe as Iolaus had at first been gladdened to see Hercules then had waved him away so that he could fight the final battle on his own. Then there had been that awful moment when everyone had believed that Iolaus was about to lose his courageous fight, until the intervention of the mysterious earthquake. This man was more than a great hunter and tracker, Phaedro had admitted to himself then. He was truly amazing, and Hercules was his best friend.

Iolaus was unaccustomed to hero-worship and didn't really know how to deal with it. This was usually Hercules' forte, and he had always handled it well. With a slightly panicking expression, he looked to the demigod for help. His friend smiled, and, walking over to Phaedro, touched his arm. "Iolaus needs rest, Phaedro," he said, kindly, pulling the young man away from the bed. Actually, his diagnosis wasn't far wrong, he realised, as he scrutinised the wan face. "You can come and see him again tomorrow."

"Phaedro." Iolaus' voice halted the young man in his tracks as he made toward the door. He half-turned to find the warrior smiling wearily at him. "Thanks," said the blond, in a soft voice. "Thanks for being there when I was taken and for letting Hercules know. Thanks for helping him find the keep. You saved my life. I'll always be grateful to you for that. Always." Phaedro left without his feet ever touching the ground.

As the door closed behind the young man, Hercules turned to his friend. "I think you've just made one young boy very happy," he said, gently. "That was very well put, my friend."

"Well, it was true, although I lied about never hearing him. I was just too distracted to pay much attention at the time," Iolaus replied around a yawn. He settled down more comfortably in the bed and watched sleepily as Hercules fussed around him, tucking in the blankets and straightening out the pillows. "I don't know how you do it, though, Herc."

"Do what?"

"Deal with all the hero-worship." He grimaced. "As nice as it may be, I'd rather do without it."

"And that's why you're so special, my friend," whispered Hercules as Iolaus fell asleep.

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

Whilst Iolaus was resting, Hercules went to talk to Tectamus, who gave him the details of how he had first met the blond warrior and what he had been forced to overcome in order to fight with them. He told the demigod that once the people in the cell had known that the new slave was Iolaus, the famous warrior, they had rallied and determined to fight. He didn't mention to the son of Zeus about the many times that Iolaus had collapsed, nor how concerned he had been about the man's health at the time. Iolaus was recovering now and would soon be on his feet. Hercules didn't need the added burden of knowing what had happened during their days mining, nor of the night that he had collapsed in Tectamus' lap.

Hercules left Tectamus even more appreciative of his best friend and the qualities he had exhibited during his imprisonment. He had always valued the blond warrior's abilities and characteristics, and was delighted that other people were now beginning to feel the same, although no-one could ever cherish him as he did.

This was brought home to him again when they were visited by another departing slave; Memnon's wife, who had watched in horror as her husband was almost killed until the hunter had suddenly arrived on the scene and saved his life.

"Your friend is a real hero," stated the woman. "Despite his injuries, he freed us all and led us all to safety, and he was willing to fight for us when we could not fight ourselves. He is a very good warrior - even as badly hurt as he was."

Hercules again felt a huge surge of pride at her words. "You're right," he affirmed. "Iolaus is good - not just good, he's a great warrior. Not only that, but he's the most courageous, honest and noblest man I have ever known and I'm very proud to be his friend." A muffled noise from behind him prevented him from saying more, particularly when he saw who it was. Iolaus was leaning against the door, a blanket wrapped toga style around his body. His broken leg was propped out in front of him, he looked grey and ill and he was swaying dangerously. Hercules turned back to the woman with an agitated expression. "Um .."

"He looks like he needs help," she pointed out, mildly. "I have to be going anyway. Thanks for your help, Iolaus," she said to the warrior. "We will never forget you. And if you ever need anything, then please - come and see us. Memnon and I come from Alope. There'll always be a welcome in our home for you." With that, she was gone, and Hercules was free to cross the room in two long strides, sweeping his friend up in his arms and carrying him back into the bedroom.

Iolaus regarded him solemnly as Hercules deposited him on the bed. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he grumbled. "It's bad for my image."

"Well, your image was about to fall flat on its pigheaded face," Hercules pointed out wryly, then, as his friend made to protest further despite his increasing pallor and the glazed expression which was appearing in his eyes, continued, "Look, Iolaus, I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and anyone else under your protection," he added, "but sometimes, like now, I like that you're dependant on me. I know you hate me being protective of you, but I can't help it. And sometimes, like now," he repeated, wagging a stern finger in the other man's astonished face, "I have to be protective for your own good. It kind of compensates for how dependent I am on you for so many things - chief of which is your unstinting loyalty and unconditional friendship. There's no other way I can repay what you've given me over the years, my friend, other than look out for you, especially when you're hurt and refuse to allow yourself the time to recover."

Iolaus had the grace to look slightly abashed. Besides, he really wasn't feeling very well and certainly wasn't up to an argument with his best friend. Instead, "I'm sorry, Herc," he said, plaintively. "I wasn't thinking ... it's just- well, I heard that woman and - look, I'm not really a hero ..."

"Not a hero?" echoed Hercules in astonishment. "Iolaus, you helped these people escape, at great risk to yourself, then fought for them again at great risk to yourself, and you almost got killed in the process. You are a hero!"

"I was only doing what anyone would have done ..."

Hercules sighed dramatically. "Perhaps so," he replied. "Perhaps not. But that's another reason I'm so overprotective. Someone has to look out for you whilst you're busy looking out for everyone else."

"You had to rescue me - again!" Iolaus pointed out, ruefully.

"I don't know about that." Hercules frowned. "Seems to me that when I got here you didn't need that much rescuing. If you hadn't been so hurt you'd have been able to take that guy with one hand tied behind your back. No, I'd say that if anyone needed rescuing around here, it was me."

An expression of total bewilderment crossed the warrior's face. "Huh? How'd you figure that?"

Hercules didn't respond straight away. Instead he placed a gentle hand on the hunter's shoulder, revelling in the feel of the cool, firm skin beneath his, feeling the steady pulse of life beating through it, secure in the knowledge that, once again, they had beaten the odds. "Iolaus, my brave, noble, completely irreplaceable friend," he said, affectionately, "if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be the man that I am. Don't you know that by now? You're my conscience, the other part of my heart and soul. You're the one who keeps me grounded. Without you I'm not sure that I would ever have found my way out of the self-destruction I embarked on when Hera destroyed my family and I shall never forgive myself for leaving you, my remaining family, my brother, behind. Your being here is my fault. If you hadn't been following me, you would never have been in that place. I'm so sorry; sorrier than I could ever express. I ..."

"It wasn't your fault, Herc," interjected Iolaus, placing his hand over the one which remained on his shoulder. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It would have happened or it wouldn't. It doesn't matter now. All that matters is that our friendship is intact and that you're never going to do it again. You never will - will you?" This last question was more a statement than anything else and it was uttered in a voice of steel such as Hercules had rarely heard from his friend before. Nevertheless, he smiled.

"No," he replied. "I never will leave you behind again. I've learned my lesson. Oh, before I forget, there's something I have to give you." He reached down into his pack, which had been thrown carelessly by the bed upon their arrival here and had remained there ever since and pulled out a very familiar object. "I thought you should have this back," he said, letting it fall into Iolaus' outstretched hand.

"My amulet," breathed Iolaus gratefully. "Where did you find it?"

"It was on a tree branch by your camp," the demigod told him. "I saved it for you. I knew you'd want it back."

The blond warrior heaved a sigh of relief as he studied the pendant and then slanted a glance up at his friend. "Thanks," he said. "I should've known you'd keep it safe."

'Like I should have kept its owner safe', thought Hercules, but aloud, he said, "Well, I'm glad you're happy. Now, are you going to go to sleep? I'll come and wake you later with some food."

Iolaus smiled happily up at him. "Promise?" he said, his blue eyes sparkling.

Hercules was more glad to see that sparkle back than words could say. Right now he would have promised his friend anything. "Yeah," he said, affectionately. "I promise."

"Good," replied Iolaus, and turned over, falling asleep almost immediately.

Hercules stood watching him for a few moments, feeling utter contentment run through him. Iolaus was safe and well and back beside him where he belonged. All was right with the world again.



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