A/N This is the sequel to Invictus. It could be read as a stand alone story but will probably make a lot more sense if you have read Invictus first!

As before this is not a slash story.

I still don't own anything - that pleasure belongs solely to the BBC.

Please be kind to me and review :-)

Where The Wind Blows

"There's an east wind coming, Watson."

"I think not, Holmes. It is very warm."

"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared."

(Arthur Conan Doyle – His Last Bow)

"Did I tell you about when I wrestled the Nemean Lion?" Hercules boomed as the three of them set off down the dusty street towards home.

Feeling more benevolent towards the big man's tall tales than he usually did – largely it had to be said as a result of the danger they had all been in recently and the disaster they had narrowly averted – Pythagoras chose not to say that, yes, Hercules had told him the story of his victory over the Nemean Lion on many occasions and that it got wilder with each retelling. Really, Pythagoras wouldn't be at all surprised if the lion had actually been a very small, very docile kitten and if Hercules, far from wrestling it, had actually stolen its lunch – although the tale of how Hercules stole lunch from the Nemean Kitten had less of a ring to it than how Hercules wrestled the Nemean Lion. Smiling brightly the young genius clapped his older friend on the shoulder.

"No," he said indulgently. "I don't think I've heard that one."

Needing no further prompting Hercules launched into his story.

Trotting alongside his friends, Jason did try to keep up with Hercules' tale. The big man could be an entertaining storyteller and although his narrations were clearly massively embellished they were nearly always amusing. The problem was that Jason's energy was severely waning and he found himself struggling to concentrate. After he had visited the temple yesterday evening and been spoken to by the King, the young man had spent the rest of the night wandering the streets almost aimlessly, mind too full to let him rest. Added to that was the simple fact that he had not really slept or eaten properly in days – had been surviving on pure adrenaline and now that adrenaline surge was fading rapidly. It was all he could do to keep walking in the right direction and to remember how to put one foot in front of the other – he certainly had no concentration left for Hercules' tale. He wasn't that far off dropping where he stood, and the feeling that the fatigue gave him was almost like being drunk – the inability to concentrate or walk in a straight line accompanied by a feeling of light-headedness that was almost euphoric. Jason grinned to himself brightly and tried to focus his bleary eyes.

As Hercules' tale continued, Pythagoras glanced across at his other friend and frowned. Jason clearly wasn't watching where he was going and several people had already had to dive out of his way before he walked right into them. As he lurched towards a fruit stall, stumbling over his own feet, the mathematician reached out and grabbed him, more than a little concerned – it was not like Jason to trip over his own feet, that was more the sort of thing that Pythagoras would do. As the young genius slipped an arm firmly around his friend's waist he felt Jason stiffen and try to pull away, hissing slightly. Pythagoras' frown deepened.

"What is wrong?" he asked, clutching Jason's shoulders and turning the young man to face him.

"It's nothing," Jason answered vaguely, squinting as he tried to focus on Pythagoras. "It's just a bit tender that's all."

Pythagoras instantly dropped his hand down from Jason's shoulder and started trying to probe his side for injuries. Jason yelped and pulled back out of the way, narrowly avoiding tripping over a man selling watermelons.

"I'm fine," he said firmly, batting away the mathematician's hands, a little more awake thanks to his friend.

Hercules' story had trailed off and the large man had stopped, turning to look between his two companions with concern.

"Is he alright?" he asked the young genius.

Pythagoras ignored his older friend as he concentrated on his younger one. He knew only too well that Jason was not always forthcoming with information when it pertained to his own health and had no intention of missing anything important because of the brunette's reticence. He pursed his lips.

"When we get home I want to check your wounds," he stated.

Jason rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine," he insisted once again, trying to stifle a yawn.

"You received a head injury less than two days ago, Jason," Pythagoras pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "I would worry less if you would allow me to make sure you are alright." He looked at his dark haired friend appealingly.

Jason sighed in defeat. The one thing he would never want to do was worry his friends. After he had recovered from that bad bout of flu a few months ago, Hercules had impressed upon him in no uncertain terms that keeping secrets about his health from his friends was unacceptable. Apparently pushing himself so hard that he collapsed was something that was not to be repeated under any circumstances – even if they had been successful in taking down the merchant, Dakos, as a result. Hercules had made sure that the boy had known just how much he had worried the mathematician and that he would not be allowed to do that again – Pythagoras worried about life enough as it was. The lecture he had received from the large man had been one of the most awkward and embarrassing experiences of Jason's young life and he had no wish to repeat it any time soon. Seeing the big wrestler looking at him speculatively now, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, Jason nearly groaned, suddenly absolutely certain that he was going to be on the receiving end of one of Hercules' periodic well-meaning lectures in the near future.

"Well you can't do anything in the street," Hercules said to Pythagoras, reaching out and gently but firmly grasping Jason's arm. "Let's go home and you can check him over."

Jason wanted to protest that they really shouldn't be talking about him as if he wasn't there, but he was far too busy trying to avoid tripping over his own feet as the big man all but dragged him down the street, never relaxing his grasp on the boy's arm. Exhaustion washed over him once again and he struggled both to stay on his feet and just to stay awake as they made the short journey towards their home.

By the time they reached the front door of the house, Jason had most definitely entered the cranky stage of tiredness, which his friends noted with both amusement and exasperation. For a usually easy-going young man, he had the tendency to turn into a grumpy toddler when he was overtired. Irritated by the stream of snarky comments coming from the boy, Hercules almost hauled him in through the door and deposited him on a bench with the instruction to stay there until told otherwise. Jason folded his arms and pouted at the floor. He knew he was behaving like a brat but his sleep deprived brain was unable to focus enough to tell him how he should be acting and he was cross that his friends seemed determined not to let him go to bed. It wasn't helping that he had a headache too – the result of both his own extreme fatigue and what was in all likelihood a slight concussion from the blow to the head he had received. He looked up at Pythagoras' tired sigh, immediately contrite at having once again apparently upset his friend.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just really tired."

Pythagoras smiled softly.

"I know," he answered. "Let me check your wounds and then you can get to bed."

With trembling fingers Jason fumbled awkwardly with the lacings on his breastplate. Noticing that he was seriously struggling to make his fingers work properly, Pythagoras came forward and batted the brunette's hands out of the way.

"Let me," he said, deftly untying the cords and slipping the leather armour over his friend's head. He repeated the action with Jason's wrist cuffs, knowing that the young man didn't like to sleep in them. Then he stood back and looked hard at his friend, checking for any obvious visible injuries. The bruise on his temple was already turning an impressive array of colours and Pythagoras was in no doubt that Jason in all probability had a fairly bad headache as a result. Aside from some cuts and scrapes to his arms that were the result of his fight with Circe, there was nothing else that Pythagoras could immediately see and he started to relax. As Jason fidgeted on the bench, however, the blonde's quick eyes caught the glimpse of a patch of dried blood near the hem of his tunic. In an instant he was there, gentle and confident hands raising the edge of the garment to see what lay beneath before Jason could stop him. On seeing the inexpertly tied bandage around his friend's waist, spots of dried blood showing through it, Pythagoras frowned deeply.

"Jason?" he asked. "What is this?"

Jason looked down at himself in apparent confusion.

"Oh that," he said sleepily on seeing the bandage. "I got shot when I was trying to get away from the Palace the other night after I failed to kill the Queen." He blinked owlishly at Pythagoras, taking in the mathematician's worried frown blearily.

"You were shot?" Hercules growled from the other side of the room. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

Jason bit his lip, more than a little embarrassed.

"I forgot," he confessed.

"Forgot being shot?" Pythagoras could not help the disbelieving note that came into his voice.

"There was so much going on," Jason defended himself. "First I was trying to get away from the Palace. Then I ended up spending the night in Ariadne's room. Then there was the business with Circe when we were all trying to think of a way to defeat her. And then Ariadne's life was in danger and we had to rescue her from the brazen bull... with all that going on I forgot I'd been shot. I would have told you when I remembered, honestly." He was almost pleading with his friends to understand that he had not on this occasion intended to keep anything from them. "Besides, it was alright," he added, brightening noticeably, "Ariadne bandaged it for me."

Pythagoras narrowly resisted the urge to roll his eyes and perhaps smack Jason around the head.

"And did she clean it?" he asked patiently.

"I think so," Jason frowned trying to force his fuzzy brain into action. "She had some water and cloths and stuff."

Pythagoras sighed as he started to unwrap the bandage. Clearly getting sense out of Jason when he was this sleepy was going to be a serious challenge. He frowned again. The blood which had seeped through the bandage at some point had dried, sticking the cloth firmly to Jason's skin. Pythagoras was loathe to pull at it in case he reopened the wound beneath but knew that he needed to remove it. Before he could move any further a bowl of water and a cloth appeared at his elbow and he looked up to see the knowing face of Hercules nodding at him. The mathematician nearly smiled. He had lived with the big man for so long now that they knew each other's moves without even needing to think about it and could anticipate each others needs when the situation demanded. He nodded his thanks to Hercules and picked up the cloth, using it to soak the blood-stained dressing around his other friend's waist before carefully peeling back the bandage. The wound was low on Jason's side, only just above his hip. Pythagoras was pleased to note that it looked clean. Still it would not hurt to be cautious so he gently cleaned it again, wiping a fresh damp cloth over the site, being careful not to reopen the wound and make it bleed again. Jason flinched slightly at the touch and bit his lip. Satisfied that the wound was as clean as it could be and was likely to heal well, Pythagoras stepped away from the table and moved over to the shelves, gathering medicinal herbs to aid healing and soft bandages. As he turned back he noted that Jason had folded his arms on the table top and had dropped his head onto them slumbering where he sat. Pythagoras smiled. All three of them had gone short on sleep lately but at least he and Hercules had managed a full night's sleep last night – it was clear that Jason hadn't and was now just about ready to drop. The mathematician almost hated to wake his friend but Jason would be a lot more comfortable sleeping in his bed – if he stayed where he was he was likely to end up with a stiff back. Besides which Pythagoras really needed him to be sitting upright to re-bandage the arrow wound. Feeling more than a little guilty, he stepped forward and placed his hand on the brunette's shoulder.

"Jason," he said softly. "You can not sleep there. Sit up for me."

His dark haired friend raised his head with an irritated groan, blinking at Pythagoras in sleepy confusion. He gave an unintelligible grumble which the blonde suspected might contain more than a few curse words, but did as he was asked and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Pythagoras grinned and shook his head as he packed the small gash in his friend's side with medicinal herbs, placing a small pad of cloth over the wound and finishing off by winding a soft bandage around Jason's waist.

"Are you finished?" Jason asked a little grumpily.

"Yes," Pythagoras answered.

"Good," Jason responded. "Because I don't think I can stay awake much longer. I'm very tired."

Hercules rolled his eyes.

"Go to bed then you fool," Hercules said without any rancour.

Jason blinked sleepily.

"Goodnight then," he said as he stood up, smiling vaguely at his two friends.

"Sleep well my friend," Pythagoras responded with a smile as Jason wandered off towards the alcove that contained his bed. He dropped face first onto his bed with a soft flump, asleep almost as soon as he dropped.

Dinner at the Palace was an awkward affair. The Queen sat in silence alongside her husband, still as regal and elegant as ever but far more subdued than any of the servants had ever seen her. The Princess Ariadne, seated on the other side of her father, was no less quiet and the two women avoided looking at each other wherever possible. It was well known within the Palace that Pasiphae and Ariadne hated one another and that the only person who had seemed unaware of the fact was the King. In the wake of all that had happened in the last few days however it seemed unlikely that Minos was still oblivious to their mutual dislike.

The King himself still looked pale and haggard, his obvious fatigue mute testament to the sudden illness that had so recently nearly claimed his life. His speedy recovery had been viewed as nothing short of miraculous and Minos had ordered that offerings be made to the gods in thanks. He turned periodically to smile softly at his daughter or to look with anger at his wife. It was clear to all present that the Queen was currently out of favour with her husband and many of the servants present silently gloated, while storing every little move and word away for gossiping with their colleagues later.

Immediately after dinner Pasiphae excused herself and returned to her rooms. It would not pay her to be any less than the dutiful subservient wife at present; her position was a precarious one – at least until she could convince Minos of her affection and loyalty once more, and could persuade him that the recent events had been a simple mistake – that she had been mislead by others. It seemed that her nephew would be able to perform one last service for her even after death – Heptarian could at least be made a convenient scapegoat. Ariadne's faithless servant, Ione, was already languishing in the cells and the Queen was sure that she could make the girl's stay there a short one. It might take a little arranging but Pasiphae was certain that Ione's death could be made to look like a suicide or an accident and would occur before Minos could attempt to question her. She almost smiled to herself. What had happened here over the last few days was no more than a temporary set back. Slowly, however, her mind turned to her son. Her son! Part of the Queen could not believe that the boy was alive after all these years – and yet she knew without doubt that Aeson had spoken the truth. Jason was hers. But at the same time he could never actually be hers – she could never acknowledge him. Her heart clenched with a long forgotten pain. She had loved the child almost beyond reason. Had cried for days when she had been told he was dead. And now here he was young, strong, beautiful... and forever just beyond her reach. She had watched him from the shadows earlier today – had watched him walking away with the peasants he called friends, so happy and so full of life. Pasiphae closed her eyes as the pain and sorrow briefly flared. She had lost more than the King's favour in the last two days.

In the Palace gardens, Ariadne sat pensively looking out over a small pool. The setting sun cast long shadows across the rippling water and she shivered a little at the slight chill that came as the light faded.

"Ariadne?"

The girl turned to face her father, still a little worried by how tired and drawn he looked. Minos took in his daughter's wistful expression and came to sit on the small marble bench alongside her, placing his arm around her shoulders gently.

"The boy who saved you," he began, "he has feelings for you." It was not a question.

Ariadne tensed almost imperceptibly. Her father turned to look at her with wonder, suddenly realising something that had eluded him earlier.

"You have feelings for him as well," he said softly.

"Father," Ariadne started.

Minos frowned.

"I am sorry, my child," he said, "but you must know that this can never be."

"I know," Ariadne said sadly.

"Ariadne. You are of royal blood. A princess of Atlantis. The boy is a peasant. A brave one I will grant you, but still not an acceptable match for you."

"What will you do to him?" the girl asked, suddenly afraid.

"Nothing," Minos sought to reassure his daughter. "The boy has done me a great service in rescuing you. I will not harm him." He sighed. "But you must put him from your mind. You must forget him. It will grow easier with time I promise. You can never see the boy again."

It was mid-afternoon the following day when Jason finally resurfaced, wandering across the kitchen barefoot, rubbing sleepily at one eye with his hair still rumpled from sleep. Hercules couldn't help but smile to himself at the sight. No matter how old Jason actually was (and to be honest neither he nor Pythagoras really knew the answer to that one) he somehow always managed to look frighteningly young when he first got up.

"Better now?" the big man grinned.

Jason dropped heavily onto the bench next to the kitchen table and rested his head in his hand, blinking at his older friend still a little sleepily.

"Hmm," he agreed. "Sorry. I wasn't exactly at my best yesterday."

"You should not let yourself get that tired," Pythagoras admonished, coming to join them from his room with a scroll tucked under his arm. "I know that this time it was because of the situation but I have noticed in the past that there are occasions when you do not engage in settled sleep for any reasonable period of time."

Jason smiled wryly.

"I don't do it on purpose," he said. "Insomnia and I are old friends."

"Why?" Pythagoras asked.

"I don't really know," Jason responded a little evasively. "It's always been like that." He reached for a cup of water, trying to think of a way to distract the mathematician – he had never been particularly comfortable with talking about himself.

Pythagoras frowned. He was burning to know more about his friend – to ask more questions – yet he knew that Jason was likely to shy away if he pushed too far. It was something he had learned over the months that he had known Jason – and right now the boy looked about ready to bolt. Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye he saw that Hercules was watching them both shrewdly – eyes knowing as he looked at their dark haired friend.

"We never did celebrate surviving Circe," the big man said suddenly.

Jason looked up, grateful for the change of subject.

"We could celebrate tonight," he suggested.

"We could," Pythagoras said slowly. "Unfortunately someone ate the last of the pies this morning." He looked severely at Hercules who tried very hard to look innocent.

"I didn't know we were saving them for a special occasion," he remarked.

"We're out of milk too," Jason added, shaking the flagon. "I'll go. It's probably my turn anyway." He stood up and padded back across the room on bare feet, looking for his sandals, raking a hand through his hair to try and tame the curls into some semblance of order as he went.

Pythagoras turned to Hercules with a frown.

"Why did you change the subject like that?" he asked.

"You were making him uncomfortable," the big man replied bluntly.

Pythagoras blinked. It was easy in the face of Hercules' often drunken and sometimes buffoonish behaviour to forget that the man was actually far from stupid. He was stopped from further conversation by the re-arrival of Jason, wandering back across the room tying his belt in place. He stopped at the table and grabbed the milk jug.

"I won't be long," he said as he slipped out through the door.

The agora was busy even in the heat of the afternoon sun, the raucous calls of the merchants vying with one another for business raising loudly above the general hubbub. Everywhere you looked there was light and life and colour – the bustling heart of Atlantis on display. Here a workman in his plain, simple clothing joked with his mates as he pushed his way through the crowd in search of a friendly tavern at the end of the working day; there a foreigner in a bright varicoloured robe searched the marketplace for local treasures to take back home – wares that were commonplace in Atlantis but rarities in the foreigner's country of origin; and through the centre of the market a rich lady swept, her serving girl at her side, looking for the latest fashionable fabrics to arrive by sea or by land. It was noisy and dirty and overcrowded. But somehow over the last few months it had also become home. Jason looked around with a genuine feeling of contentment. This sometimes smelly, definitely dusty city was so very different from the sleepy, green English backwater where he had grown up and yet he felt a sense of belonging that he had never felt anywhere else. He smiled as he wandered down the street, milk jug in hand.

In a side alley a rail thin man watched the dark haired lad pass by with interest. His eyes hardened as he looked at the boy. In the last few months since Hercules had threatened and humiliated him in the tavern where he did business, Alektryon had pondered ways in which he could get back at the big man – could utterly destroy him. And now the answer almost seemed to have fallen into his lap. He smiled his oily reptilian smile. He would really have liked to reap his vengeance against the blonde lad that Hercules lived with; would have liked to hear the boy beg for mercy as tears rolled down his face from those big blue eyes; dreamed of returning the lad to Hercules broken beyond all repair. Unfortunately he also knew that Pythagoras knew of his reputation and would avoid him at all costs. The dark haired lad though was essentially still a stranger – would not know of Alektryon or his predilections – and he looked so strong; so vital. It would be a great pleasure to dominate this particular boy – to bring him to his knees. He smiled again, rubbing his hands together. All it would take was a little planning and he would have everything he wanted.