Five of Swords

Standard Disclaimer applies – I don't own them.

A/N – Well, here we are on the next step of the journey. This is set in the same series as The Start of Something and not a lot of this will make sense if you're coming to this new. Though, of course, you're more than welcome to give it a go.

Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter of The Road Ahead. I know, traditionally, last chapters are usually ignored on the review-front so I'm really grateful to everyone who dropped me a line and very glad people enjoyed the story. Thank you also to Ash and Angel who I can't thank through a pm – I hope this story doesn't disappoint :-)

Chapter 1

Lightning streaked the dark sky in jagged, angry bolts as the rain lashed down in torrents upon the hills outside the sleeping city of Atlantis. Lightning-Thrower Zeus was in full form, hurling his thunderbolts so that they illuminated the landscape in dazzling blues and whites. It was a night to avoid at all costs, a night to huddle before the warm hearth, swapping stories with friends and family and soothing restless, frightened children to sleep as rich and poor alike, cowered in their beds.

Flocks of sheep huddled under the hill's large ash tree and as the traveller passed them, they paid him little attention, bleating softly to each other. The terrain was treacherous, the rain causing the earth to shift and slip. Digging his boots into the soil, the man found purchase with the studded leather soles and paused a moment, head bowed against the driving rain, hitting him in horizontal slants. He wrapped his woollen cloak tighter around him and pressed onwards towards the city. It looked so peaceful sitting there below, nestled in-between valleys and mountains. The traveller soaked it in, even as the rain soaked his hat, dripping down the back of his neck and running along the scar that in turn, ran the length of his cheek. It had been too long since he had last laid eyes on this city, since he had last felt its stone firm beneath his feet, since he had heard its people's voices crying out as one, since he had spilt its blood and seen the very heart of it ripped in two.

And now, it was time to see him again. It was time to come home.

"When I'm on the House of Re-Atoum, do I have to throw an exact two, or can it be two or higher?"

Jason stared at the different coloured discs on his senet board, a present brought as one amongst many from a recent Egyptian envoy to Atlantis. The game had, of course, been intended for Minos and Pasiphae but Jason had been so taken with it, playing with anyone who would stop long enough to let him twist their arm, that his parents had soon, quite happily, relinquished it to him. It did not matter to Jason that he was currently playing against himself – one of his sets of discs had to be the winner and there were still a few niggily rules that he had trouble remembering.

From across his private Council Chambers, Minos glanced up. The king was seated at his desk, absently sorting through legal disputes and petitions to the court. "An exact two," he informed the young man, briefly.

Jason grinned as his sticks landed in just the right combination, happily moving his black disc off the board. For some reason that game, he was favouring his black discs more than his red ones and was pleased to see that nearly all seven were now safely home. "Thank you," he belatedly called, picking up the four sticks again to throw against the table for his next move. He let out a quietly irritated exclamation as the resulting score of three swapped one of his red pieces for a black, sending his black disc all the way back to square fifteen. "Don't worry, little buddy," he muttered under his breath. "I'll get you off the board soon."

"You do realise, Jason that this does not appear to be the History you are studying for your examination next week?"

Jason's fingers froze, holding the sticks in mid-throw. Safe in the knowledge that his back was to the king, he winced. "Would you believe me, Sire, if I told you it was finished?"

"Would you be offended if I told you, no?" With a reluctant sigh, Jason put down the sticks and turned to face his stepfather. Minos regarded him passively, over steepled fingers. Over time, through unofficial arrangements, Jason often came from his lessons to these chambers to work on his exercises and this usually coincided with the time Minos had set aside to work on civic matters. It was a quiet, productive time spent with the boy – sharing occasional exchanges of conversation, offering an opinion on something that either one or the other of them was working on, or simply working in companionable silence. Or like today, listening to the continual clatter of sticks on a table-top and watching the young prince idle his time away on his latest obsession.

"Would it be alright if I just finished this game, first?" Jason asked. "It's nearly over." He looked sincerely, but hopefully to the king and Minos sighed, shaking his head. How this simple game could hold this boy's attention for so long, was beyond him. Jason was not exactly known for his ability to sit and concentrate indoors. But, Minos considered, with the winter months upon them, it was good that Jason found more ways to occupy his time, out of the more biting temperatures and strong winds. Last night's storms had been a fine example of why his stepson would soon have to spend much less time wandering the Palace grounds whenever his restless nature sprung up.

"Very well," he acquiesced, with fond exasperation. "Though I give you fair warning that if your mother enters and finds you playing this game again, I shall deny ever having granted you permission."

The king was rewarded with a wide grin from his stepson. "Don't worry, Sire: I'll protect you."

Minos had begun to look back to his papers when his eyes widened at the boy's response and then he smiled, in spite of himself. Shaking his head, ruefully, he pointed a stern finger at the lad: "Play your game, little prince, before I change my mind."

"Thank you Sire," Jason called once more, chuckling softly as he went back to his discs. The king shook his head once more, mildly amazed and amused at the lad's impudence and returned his attention to his papers. At that moment, a knock at the door sounded.

"Enter," Minos called, a hint of irritation darkening his voice. This was generally not a time that he liked to be disturbed unless on urgent business and this fact was clearly understood amongst his servants. One of his personal aides entered and bowed.

"Your Majesty," he began, only too aware that this was a time when his master preferred his solitude. Although, he had to concede that the young man sitting by the window was an unusual, enduring addition to the king's quiet ritual. "Minister Seminos requests an audience with you at your earliest convenience." Minos scowled and sighed heavily, noting the way Jason had rolled his eyes when he had heard who it was who petitioned his time. The boy was not the greatest supporter of his chief advisor and Minos had the distinct impression that unless Seminos made a concerted effort with his stepson, then when the time came for Jason to take the throne (and Minos found that he did not like to consider the possibility that Jason would not), Seminos would be one of the first advisors to be shown the door. Or the dungeon, though that really wasn't in Jason's nature.

"I take it this is an urgent matter?" Minos pressed, leaning back in his chair.

The servant nodded. "The minister insists his query is of vital importance and requires Your Majesty's urgent attention."

From where he sat, eyes on his game, Jason snorted very quietly and though it was under his breath, Minos distinctly heard: "Just tell him he needs to put his right arm in the right sleeve hole…" The king smoothly rose to his feet and moved to stand by his stepson, glaring at the back of the boy's head. Jason instinctively scrunched a little lower in his chair as Minos addressed his servant.

"Very well. You may send him in." The man bowed and left to convey the news to the waiting Seminos.

Once the doors had shut and they were alone again, Minos promptly delivered a sharp tap to the back of Jason's head making him emit a quiet hiss. Jason didn't bother to claim ignorance for the rebuke and had the good grace to appear slightly abashed, even if he still maintained that Seminos was a self-important fool. He swivelled to look up at Minos, the hint of contrition on his face and though Minos appeared stern, there was still a distant gleam in his eye. "Jason," Minos announced, briskly. "Give us the room, please. You may work in the parlour and assuming Seminos' matter is relatively brief, rejoin me when the meeting is done." Nodding, Jason rose and carefully gathered up his game, balancing the board between his hands so that the discs did not slide off. However, Minos shook his head.

"Leave the game, Jason and take your work." Jason whined very quietly and looked imploringly to him but this time, Minos was resolute. "You know as well as I do that your work must be finished before you leave to return to your friends and you do not have many hours left before midday." He looked meaningfully at his stepson. "So unless you are intending to remain here into the afternoon you will turn your attention to that work in your bag." He watched as a mild look of alarm crossed the young man's face at the thought of staying behind to finish his work. No matter how steadily – and with some surprise – he was growing to love his family there was never a time when he was not looking forward to returning to his friends. Quickly, yet carefully, Jason did as instructed and lowered the board back down onto the table.

"Alright, I'm going," he relented. He scooped up his leather satchel and slung it over his shoulder. With one last glance to his game, he turned hesitantly to Minos: "You won't have it cleared away, will you?"

Minos rolled his eyes, already placing one hand on his back and ushering him towards the door. "Your game shall remain just as it is. Now be off with you and work hard." And with one last gentle shove, Jason left, with any luck, to work on his schooling. Minos smiled softly to himself as the door clicked shut behind the boy. As he passed the game board, he was very tempted to throw those sticks and move one of the pieces, just to see if the boy noticed. And he imagined that he would. No, Minos thought. He would save that battle for another time. And so with a reluctant sigh, the king re-seated himself at his desk and waited to receive his minister and his ever so urgent business.

Pasiphae marched briskly down the Palace corridor, leading from her chambers. As her blue robes swished about her ankles, servants nodded to her and then scrambled to part ways for the queen. She did not even treat them to a sideways glance, even the ones who dared bid her good day. The queen's mood was dark that day and none could fathom the reason why: none had been foolhardy enough to enquire and Minos, perhaps through careful intention and perhaps through honest circumstance, had not been near his wife to ask. He could not avoid the storm for much longer, however: the midday meal soon approached, the kitchens already bringing sumptuous dishes into the dining room. Soon, Ariadne would return from the Temple, having completed her duties in offering that morning's sacrifices and prayers, Jason would be off to his friends in the city and Minos and Pasiphae would finally meet to say 'Good Morning' around the table.

Pasiphae rounded a corner and pulled up short with an irritated sigh. Balanced on ladders, servants were busy replacing the oil in the wall lamps and trimming the wicks. Their coarse cloths were spread over the intricately tiled floors to avoid spillages and Pasiphae had no intention of either walking over a soiled ground-cloth, nor of sidling her way past workmen who should have done this task before they retired the night before. Or else risen early to have completed it before the family awoke. Immediately, the men paled and hurried down the ladder, muttering apologies that they knew the queen was not interested in hearing and hastily gathered up the cloth and their ladders, pressing themselves back against the wall to allow her room to pass. Pasiphae sighed once more as she watched their efforts with a glare, tapping her foot sharply on the floor. She had no time for incompetent servants that day – the men should have a day's wages docked for such ineptitude though she had neither the time nor inclination to see to it.

Finally, when the obstruction was clear, Pasiphae strode past, leaving the men sighing in relief. Pasiphae herself could not pinpoint the exact cause of her ill mood that day. She had awoken feeling relatively balanced and rested though as the morning had worn on, small almost insignificant worries had occurred one after the other, each one eating away at her patience until finally, her tolerance and good will – such as they were – had been all but obliterated. Suddenly, she heard a very familiar young voice up ahead, just around the corner:

"Alright. Thanks – I'll see you later." A moment later, a door off the corridor opened and shut. Pasiphae narrowed her eyes as she listened to Jason and whoever it was he had been speaking to. He would never dare address Minos in such a casual manner and Ariadne was still at the temple. That meant he had been speaking to either one of the guards or the servants. She stopped and felt the annoyance sweep through her. She had spoken to him time and time again about his over-familiarity with the servants and she was sick of it! The boy just did not listen and seemed unable to understand that it was inappropriate. Even the noble Ariadne knew how to be fair to servants without lowering herself to their status. Why could Jason not learn from his beloved princess – she who could do no wrong - if he refused to believe his parents?

Anger prickled her blood and, though a tiny part of her reasoned that she was being unfair and that she would soon regret her anger once she had calmed down, the more dominant part of Pasiphae began to stew. The boy never listened – he was getting more and more wilful every day and she allowed it! And Minos? He practically indulged her son's every whim, his every moment of defiance with merely a calm shake of the head or worse, an amused expression! No wonder Jason danced to his own tune. They had forgotten the boundaries. Well perhaps the time had come to remind the boy of a few? These rules were there for a reason and maybe some short, sharp punishment would help? Not that Minos could be counted on for help in such matters. He was too weak. But then, punishing Jason may not be as effective as punishing those servants he became too familiar with.

She could still hear Jason slowly milling down the corridor ahead of her, making his way to where she currently stood. He was whistling one of those unfamiliar tunes she had often heard him do: normally she quite enjoyed listening to her son, but today it was yet another thing to darken her mood. Princes should not whistle like common labourers. If Jason wanted to be musical, she would buy him a lyre!

At that moment her son rounded the corner and stopped when he saw his mother, smiling brightly at her. Her black mood was written all over her face and in her tense frame and yet Jason still grinned at her – he was possibly the only one in the Palace who was not put off by her more dangerous moods. Reluctantly, she felt a little of her ire soften in the face of her son's bright innocence and at his willingness to risk her mood. She held back on the verbal lambasting she had been prepared to unleash on the young man for his behaviour as she also did on confining him to his chambers for the duration of the day – a repercussion that she knew for a fact, drove her active son to near distraction. But she did not smile at him either.

Still, Jason approached her. "Hi," he greeted. "I was just getting ready to leave."

Pasiphae's face did not move, not even to arch an eyebrow in her habitual manner. "I see. It is too much to ask that you might have come to say goodbye? Or are manners something else that it is too much trouble for you to remember?"

Jason hesitated. He'd heard rumours going around that morning that his mother was in a bad mood. Apparently, the rumours weren't wrong. "I was just coming to find you," he clarified, hoping to see a crack in his mother's mask: he was usually quite good at wheedling and cajoling her out of her tempers.

"Indeed." Pasiphae's stare did not reduce in its intensity and Jason sighed. Apparently, he would not be successful today. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong but all he could do was ride it out until she dismissed him. It was clear that today, he would not be getting any fond farewells and warm hugs, so Jason simply gave a short bow.

"Goodbye then," he muttered. "See you in a few days." Before he could leave, however, Pasiphae's sharp voice stopped him like a barricade.

"I have spoken to Master Acrion, this morning."

Jason felt his gut tighten. That probably wasn't good news, regardless of the mood his mother was in. Sighing, he turned back around to face her, knowing their conversation was not over.

"He tells me you are failing your examinations – in Politics and Law, in History, in Translation." Jason glanced down to the floor. Acrion had been rapidly losing patience with him for some time now and Jason had wondered how long it would be before the old man spoke to his mother. "Your work," Pasiphae continued, her voice like iron, "is completed either late or to a standard that a ten-year old would blush to achieve."

Jason ground his teeth. "I am trying," he protested but Pasiphae scoffed.

"You began your studies at a higher level than you are working at now. The effort you put in to your work is nearly non-existent." Jason felt his face begin to burn – as much as he hated to admit it, his mother's words were true. He sighed once more.

"Fine," he ground out. "I'll try harder."

"See that you do. You have an examination on your return?"

Jason nodded, tersely.

"Then I shall look forward to seeing a renewed effort and success."

"Is that all, Your Highness?"

A small part of Pasiphae blanched at the formal, distant title Jason addressed her by. He had yet to call her 'Mother' as she longed to hear him say, but Jason at least usually called her by her name, with some measure of affection. You cannot blame the boy, that small part of the queen told herself – your temper is keeping him at arm's length.

But Pasiphae merely gave a short nod, adding as she did so. "Storms are setting in on the horizon. If the skies are heavy in three days' time, you are not to travel to your father. You may remain in the city instead."

At that, Jason bristled, even as he felt his heart sink. "I want to see him," he protested. "I don't care about the storms and I've missed too many days with dad as it is, while I was sick."

Pasiphae rolled her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together. She should have known Jason would argue when presented with common sense – he usually did but she was in no mood for it today. But more than that, it was with some reluctance that she had come to realise, over the last month or so, that Jason had begun to address Aeson by the term for a father that he had told her about, just after the Games: Dad. A silly name really but to Jason, it meant everything. So Aeson had managed to progress from his first name to the familiar title of a father. And she was still Pasiphae, or worse, Your Majesty. Even when her mood was kind and loving, she still could not break through the last of those barriers between them, though she often felt that they were nearly there.

But today, she admitted to herself, would certainly not be that day. "And your loyalty is touching," she almost sneered, "but it does not lessen your stupidity." If she noticed Jason flinch, she made no show of it. "No man, healthy or not, should travel under those conditions, especially not to a mountainous region." For the most part, Jason's strength had returned though there was a lingering reluctance to eat that sometimes worried the queen. Perhaps his constitution was not yet back to what it should be? "Now if you cannot be ruled by your common sense then I shall assign a guard to escort you during your time in the city."

She watched Jason fire up, his burning indignation warring with his understanding that an out and out fight with Pasiphae would never end in his favour. For a moment, his mother watched him, looking at the way his shoulders tensed and his hands clenched by his sides. She wondered, briefly, if they were to travel down that path they had taken on a previous occasion when she and Jason had butted heads in a spectacular fashion: though she had managed to keep a tight control on her own temper, the increasing volume of his voice and the frankly crude language that he hurled at her had only ended when Minos himself had heard the commotion and promptly whisked Jason away to his chambers for some very strong words on how he addressed his mother.

However, it appeared Jason either remembered that particular occasion as well, or he finally admitted some sense because after a moment, he briefly dropped his head and nodded. "Fine," he muttered again. "I won't go if the weather's bad." He paused. "So I can go now?"

For a brief moment, Pasiphae considered softening their parting, placing a hand on his cheek, trying to make her son feel a little better about the restrictions placed on his movements or about the lecture she had given him on his studies. But the last of her anger still left her chilled and she simply gave a short nod and stepped aside. She could not, however, resist watching him as he moved past her and despite her annoyance that, even at this late stage, Pasiphae knew was not really directed at Jason, the queen's eyes softened and looked with tenderness and regret: an apology in its infant stage.

Jason felt something clench in his heart as he hurried past his mother. He hadn't missed the look she had given him as he had passed her – there may have been no words, but he understood what she silently tried to tell him: she would miss him, she was sorry, she still loved him. And even though the space between them saddened him, Jason still took some warm comfort from the gesture. As he hurried up to his room to grab his bag, Jason mulled it over: he knew it was his mother's temper and nothing more. She would be all smiles and hugs again when she saw him next and would probably apologise for her lapse in patience with words this time, rather than just a regretful look. But he still hated leaving her like this. He had become quite used to the loving relationship they shared and was amazed by how he now took that relationship for granted. But every now and then, like a bad habit that she was struggling to break, a glimmer of the old queen still had a way of crushing him.

Jason readjusted the weight of his bag on his shoulder as he darted his way through the agora, dodging the odd rolling apple that fell off one of the fruit stands. He had already stopped to pick up a skein of wine and had checked it was carefully stoppered before stowed it in his bag. There wasn't a lot of room in it this time around – his rolls of History took up a fair amount of space. Jason considered the scrolls with a rueful smile. It had been some time since he had brought his lessons home with him. But it would go some way to mending the odd broken board of a bridge with her if he could at least pass his next exam. Despite what he told himself, it really wasn't beyond his ability to pass but Pasiphae had been right – he really hadn't been putting the effort in lately like he knew he should.

An engaging cry from a market-seller named Thebus suddenly drew Jason's attention to his left. The man had recently set-up shop in the agora a few weeks ago much to the delight of Hercules: he sold all concoctions of meat pies and sweet pastries and his wrestler friend had managed, on returning from the market with both pockets and cheeks bulging, to sing the man's praises, without cessation for nearly an hour. Eventually, Pythagoras had wandered off to the table to do some work on his equations and Jason had begun to sharpen the swords. But they had both been unable to avoid hearing their friend's ongoing accolade. Jason paused, watching the short, wiry man animatedly encouraging passers-by to sample his wares, wondering whether to purchase a couple of pies for Hercules and Pythagoras. For some reason, Pasiphae had now instructed the Palace kitchens to send a hamper of food to their house on the morning of Jason's first day in the city. Jason's wasn't sure why she had suddenly started doing this when he had always fared perfectly well before her gifts. But, she refused to listen to his insistence that they didn't need it and, truth be told, Jason didn't have the heart to insist too earnestly. Not only did it seem to please his mother but Hercules was over the moon with the regular deliveries. Jason wasn't sure whether someone in the kitchen staff still remembered the wrestler from Medusa's time as a kitchen maid or whether Pasiphae herself had given the instruction, but there was always a couple of pies and flasks of wine in the mix.

Thebus caught his hovering eye and gave him a friendly, strategic wave. With a rueful grin, Jason waved back. Thebus was an enterprising salesman, Jason thought to himself but he might as well indulge him– an extra pie in the house would never go to waste. So, wandering over to the stall, he picked out two rather full meat pies, the gravy spilling through the seams of the top-crust and handed over a couple of coins. Once the pies were securely wrapped up for him, he carried on his way, their heat pleasantly warming his hands on that chilly afternoon.

Breaking in to a jog, partly for warmth and partly to get the pies home before they cooled, Jason soon closed the distance between the agora and the house. It wasn't long before he was trotting up the stairs of their house and reached out a hand for the front door. However, before he could push it open, the door had already swung open. Jason stopped short, his hand hovering in mid-air and blinking in surprise as Hercules suddenly stepped through the door, pulling it part-way closed behind him. There wasn't actually much room for them both, perched there on the top step but Jason took a small step back nevertheless and Hercules pressed himself a little further against the door. Grinning, Jason thrust the two pies at his friend.

"Delivery," he announced, cheerfully. "I know the basket from the Palace has probably already come but I was passing Thebus in the market and thought that you and Pythagoras would probably enjoy these."

Hercules' hands accepted the bundle that was being thrust at him, almost automatically, and Jason grinned at his friend's momentary confusion. The man's mouth opened uncertainly for a moment, his heavy brow furrowing. Finally, after silently stammering for a few seconds, Hercules seemed to find his voice.

"Jason?" he asked. Then he seemed to notice the pies in his hands and Jason's earlier greeting filtered through. "Uh, thanks." He nodded to the pies but far from looking pleased or excited as Jason had rather been hoping he would, Hercules simply looked…awkward. And he was still standing on the doorstep, blocking Jason's entrance to the house.

"You're welcome," Jason replied, trying hard not to voice his confusion. "Were you going out?" He eyed the man's attire appraisingly. He wasn't wearing his cloak, or his jerkin and it was decidedly nippy out there. As if following Jason's train of thought, Hercules shook his head.

"No, I uh, I saw you coming down the street." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Jason raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"And you thought you would open the door for me? That's very nice of you but I haven't been in the Palace that long – I can still open my own doors." He had aimed for levity, hoping to see his friend smile back and make a disparaging joke about Palace-life, as he usually did. But instead, Hercules' eyes were almost distant. There must have been a sound from inside the house, although Jason couldn't hear it, because Hercules suddenly half turned back to the crack in the door. His movements were sharp, jumpy.

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Hercules? Is everything alright? You seem…strange." It was also getting rather cold standing on the doorstep and Jason would rather like to get inside where he was sure a nice warm fire was crackling. His friend's peculiar behaviour had him wondering though: was there something wrong with the house? A thought struck him: was there something wrong with Pythagoras that Hercules didn't want him worrying about. "Is Pythagoras okay?" he asked, worry making his voice sharp. But Hercules immediately nodded and, although still distracted, his manner was sincere and there was an attempt there to calm his wild thoughts.

"He's fine," Hercules assured his friend. "Everything's fine."

Jason breathed a sigh of relief. "So can we go inside then? It's freezing out here." He made to step forward, expecting Hercules to either step back, opening the door as he did so, or else to step aside, allowing Jason to walk past him. But the dark-haired lad was forced to abruptly abort the movement when Hercules did not move and Jason almost stepped on his toes instead. Frowning, Jason smiled uncertainly. "So what's going on?"

In front of him, Hercules took a deep breath. "We, uh…we have a visitor," he explained. His voice was guarded and hesitant. Jason raised an eyebrow. Hercules and Pythagoras had several friends though-out Atlantis but they rarely came to call. Trying to imagine who it was, Jason asked:

"Oh right. Who?" One of Hercules' drinking buddies perhaps. But that wouldn't explain why Hercules was being so mysterious. Unless Hercules owed this man money and he had come to collect? A sudden wave of angry protectiveness washed over Jason and he felt his hackles rising. If there was a bully of a man inside their home right now, in the middle of threatening his friend, Jason knew he would do his utmost to tear him to pieces. No-one threatened his friends…even if the likes of Hercules did sometimes deserve it. But, perhaps seeing the darkening of Jason's expression and the dangerous suspicion, Hercules waved away his concern.

"You don't know him. He's…" His voice faltered a moment, his expression almost torn. "He's my brother, Iphicles. He arrived here late last night and I…" Hercules glanced unhappily back towards the house. "I felt I had to give him a place to stay," he finished, awkwardly. On hearing this, Jason grinned, clapping his friend on the arm.

"I didn't know you had a brother!" he exclaimed. Hercules with a brother? Jason shook his head at the thought. Would the man be anything like his burly friend? Jason tried to picture him in his mind. Perhaps he had a few stories he could tell him about when Hercules was younger? Jason smiled at the thought: Hercules had told him and Pythagoras a few but somehow, Jason never quite knew what to believe. He looked squarely at Hercules. "That's great. I can't wait to meet him." Again, thinking the preparation that had kept him on the threshold for so long was now complete, Jason made a show of moving forward again. He was surprised when, once more, Hercules stayed put, shooting him an apologetic look.

"He'd been travelling a long way," Hercules explained, contrition written over his face, "and he was rather cold and wet…" He trailed off a moment but in the space that followed, Jason supplied:

"So you gave him my bed?" He watched Hercules nod but waved away his friend's concern. "That's fine – I figured you would have. Don't worry. I don't mind putting some straw and sacking on the floor and sleeping there for a couple of nights." Curiously, Jason tried to peer around Hercules to the crack in the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of this mysterious Iphicles. But his somewhat bulky companion was rather hard to circumvent, Jason realised with a frown.

"I know you wouldn't, but I couldn't ask you to do that." Something in Jason's stomach began to twist. He looked at Hercules with the first slivers of alarm as the man continued. "Not like you're used to sleeping on the floor any more."

Jason almost recoiled from those words, as if he had been stung. Hercules frequently teased him about such matters but somehow, this felt more weighted. Had he really changed that much? Jason tried to think – he cast his mind back over the last few months, evaluating his behaviour. Had he been acting differently around his friends? Putting on airs? Pretending he was in any way too good for them? The mere thought made him cringe or inexplicably want to weep. God, he if had, he'd never intended to! What must his friends think of him? But then…The more Jason thought about it, the more he felt his indignation and hurt grow: he hadn't changed – he hadn't! Whenever he came back, he was always so grateful to be back home amongst his friends again and it always felt so natural, slipping back into his old habits, becoming the young man they all knew once more.

But Hercules still barred his entrance and now Jason began to feel a different type of chill seep inside him. "The place is rather full," Hercules explained, not quite able to meet Jason's eyes for more than a half-second flicker at a time. "I'm sure you understand. But, you know: I'm sure the Palace will have you back – not like they're going to run out of room." The older man attempted to laugh but he couldn't quite follow through with it so that it ended up sounding like an abrupt cough. Jason simply stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes, trying hard to wrap his head around the events. But before he had a chance to utter a word, Hercules quickly stepped back inside the house, fumbling behind his back to open the door as he did so, not even able to meet Jason's gaze. For a brief moment, warm, golden light flooded out of the opened door, as Hercules sidled inside and Jason caught a quick glimpse of the familiar wooden table and chairs, already set up for the midday meal. An unfamiliar cloak lay draped across one of the chairs.

And then the door shut, closing out his home and the warmth and the light and leaving Jason standing, head reeling, on the step.

That's it for now. If you've decided to give this story a go and actually made it this far, then thank you. If you feel like letting me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you.