A/N: I know I should be finishing off The Coup, but I started messing around with a different style of writing, a kind of vignette style, a sweeping story told in short, minimal snatches. I've seen it done well (read Five by Deinonychus on AO3) and thought I would give it a try. Turns out it's hard, lol.

As always the story is quite bleak. I don't know why it always seems to work out that way, I need to make an effort to write something light.

The End of Something

Jason thought it was the end, and it wasn't a big surprise. After years of plunging into danger, flashing steel and battling odds, he kind of figured it had to be coming.

With chaos all around, hard to tell who was friend or foe, he felt cold, deep inside, sharp pain, as a thick blade emerged through his stomach. It was disorienting. Unexpected. And he knew immediately that the injury was grave. His legs folded, his shocked mind struggled to comprehend as it became hard to draw in breath.

With swiftly fading strength he reconciled to his fate, a sinking begrudging acceptance that he always pushed his luck too far and this time there would be no return, this time the price would be paid. And found small comfort in the thought that he would rather meet God on the battlefield than after wasting away to a disease that should be curable.

The world became dull and meaningless. His brain couldn't follow a straight line. Hercules yelling. Pythagoras' hand on his cheek. Feet all around. The sky was so blue. The earth was so damp. Ariadne was waiting for him. He couldn't see the city walls.

He thought it was the end, but it wasn't.

It was something worse.

He felt royal by marriage not blood. He didn't feel any entitlement to Atlantis from being Pasiphae's son. What a mess it had been, removing his mother (undead mother) from the throne. Years of struggle and eventually a hollow victory when they reclaimed a ravaged city, a fragile husk of what had been thriving and impressive and Jason wondered if Atlantis could ever be great again. It didn't seem possible. There was so much work.

When a neighboring king knocked at their gate with an army at his back, Jason urged violence. They weren't strong, the rebuilding in its infancy, but the city couldn't fall into uncaring hands again, it couldn't survive more mistreatment, they had to meet the threat decisively to prevent being threatened again. With Ariadne's approval, and misgivings, Jason treated with the hostile king, took a small group into the middle of the man's forces, hinted at submission and then thrust his sword through the king's throat. It was brutal and underhanded and didn't feel noble but they had to find advantage where they could.

The Atlantean army poured through the gate, surprised the rudderless invaders and a melee ensued, rough and unchoreographed.

Jason's eyes were closed when the rivals finally fled.

"I hate this," Jason whispered, wishing he could put more force into the words. Anger just sounded like weariness. "Stop trying so hard. If you hadn't tried so hard we wouldn't be in this sorry situation."

"I will always try too hard when it comes to you and Hercules," Pythagoras returned evenly. "Having part of you alive is better than having none of you alive."

"It really isn't."

Pythagoras slumped a little. "You can talk Jason. You can laugh. We can discuss philosophy and triangles. There is still life worth living."

Jason rolled his head away, the only movement left to him, and in his mind curled his fist and punched Pythagoras in the jaw.

Hercules didn't visit. It pissed Jason off because he was pretty sure he could convince his friend to smother him and be done with it. Which is probably why Hercules didn't visit. The coward.

Ariadne stayed close, anxious and devoted, and it was excruciating. He didn't want her to see him broken and helpless. Death on the battlefield would have been so much better than unending incapacity. When the reality of his condition became apparent Jason became taciturn and uncivil, mostly to his wife. He pushed her away with his words and it hurt to see his blows land but their marriage was over, he just needed to convince her of it. She got the message. Before the first month was through their conversations had become stilted and formal and never included words of love. She returned to the business of ruling and visited him less and less.

It turned out Jason and Medea could speak telepathically. He had no idea. He would have long conversations with her in his head and thought it was just his overactive imagination offering a distraction from his useless body. The things he revealed… his innermost thoughts, his deepest fears, all his vulnerabilities, things he would never share and didn't realize he had until Medea showed up. She appeared one night at his window, hooked her hands under his shoulders and dragged him out of bed. It was agony, which didn't seem fair. He couldn't feel anything when he was still but he could sure as hell feel something when he was moved. She hauled him to the window like a heavy sack of flour and threw them both off the second floor to land on a hovering dragon below. The jolting landing did Jason in, he missed most of the journey to Colchis.

"That is as much as I can do," Medea declared. She gazed at Jason with innocent eyes and he suspected she was lying. He suspected she had healed him just enough to be functional but not enough to leave. Even so, he was deeply grateful. Feeling was returned if not movement. It was a pretty good start.

They lived the life that he used to live with Ariadne, domestic and intimate, although not with the same pressures because Medea was a princess not a queen and he had no interest in aspiring to be King. He spent the days training his limbs. His arms remembered their purpose quickly, he never entirely lost feeling in them but his legs were like hams attached to his body, they didn't know what they were supposed to be doing. He wasn't a patient man but he really had no choice, perseverance was the only way to make progress. Slow, slow progress. Medea would smile when he yelled at his feet like they were disobedient children. Do as I ask! Listen to what I'm telling you! She would sit on his lap, run fingers through his hair and kiss him until his anger subsided.

He was surprisingly content in Colchis, despite the physical frustrations and the cool reception from his mother's kin. He enjoyed Medea's company, he felt no shame or embarrassment with her, didn't mind sharing his weakness because she knew him too well. There had always been a spark between them, even when they were bitter enemies.

He believed her when she held him at night and said it would get better. She would catalogue the improvements, noticing the smallest changes and gave him hope enough to get through another day.

But Medea loved him too much. At first it was flattering, a balm to his crippled pride but as Jason became competent, started to get mobile, Medea became possessive. She cried over perceived flirtations with servants, clung to him when he wanted to foray beyond the palace gates, her lack of confidence and lack of trust were smothering. She couldn't accept that he loved her, and in trying to force something that she already had, she created a breach that grew.

He started thinking about Ariadne. Absence made his heart swell for her. But he had been so cruel, treated her so badly that he knew he couldn't return to Atlantis.

A year in Colchis and Jason could walk with a cane. He felt like Frankenstein, his legs were stiff and clumsy, his movements ungraceful as he tried to remember how he used to do it, when it had been so easy. But there was exhilaration in covering ground unaided, a spark of independence that warmed him.

At the market one morning Jason was startled by a pair of burly arms wrapping around his chest from behind.

"I knew it," Hercules breathed in his ear. "I knew it was the witch that took you and not the gods. I am going to rub this in Pythagoras' face so hard."

Jason tottered in the embrace, his balance up to shit, and a million thoughts shuffled through his head leaving him momentarily mute. "What?" he finally managed. "How?"

"We have to find Pythagoras." Hercules' ruddy face was flushed with joy. "He is going to fall over when he sees you." He kept a strong arm around Jason's middle and moved them through the crowd. "Pythagoras!" He shouted impatiently, scanning the faces. "Where is that scrawny man?"

Pythagoras hyperventilated a little when he spotted Jason, staggered to the left and sagged against a wall. "It is impossible," he muttered. "It just is not possible." With a glare at Hercules he straightened and accused, "What did you do? You put something in my drink to make me hallucinate, didn't you?"

Jason chuckled, finding comfort in his friend's disbelief, because he felt the same way. He hobbled over to Pythagoras and wrapped arms around his neck. "You look good. How are the triangles?"

"Forget about the triangles," Pythagoras returned, gently pushing Jason to arms length. "How are you walking?"

"Medea." He flicked his brows, kept it simple, they all knew Medea could heal, and didn't mention the infinite hours of effort.

"Remarkable," Pythagoras marveled, his eyes scientific, assessing Jason like he was making mental notes. "I would not have thought even Medea was capable of this."

"The gang is back together," Hercules declared, rounding an arm around the neck of both men. "And all is right in the world. Let us stock up on food and return to Atlantis."

Jason felt like he was being kidnapped again. He hadn't seen his friends in over a year and they seemed to expect him to fall in and follow. It was a bit presumptuous. "I can't leave," he protested.

"Why not?" Hercules asked with honest confusion.

Yeah, why not, his mind traitorously echoed. Because of his Colchean heritage? Because he was indebted to Medea? Because he could barely keep himself upright? None of those reasons were very compelling. And it felt like time for a change.

"I won't return to Atlantis," he said flatly and Hercules expelled an irritated breath.

They wandered aimlessly for months looking for some permanence, for a new place to settle but there was always a reason to keep moving. Jason's heart was incomplete without Ariadne or Medea. It was an embarrassing weakness. Hercules and Pythagoras should have been enough, they had been in the past but now his heart ached for more.

He spoke to Medea once, in the middle of the night a few days after leaving, tried to convince her she wasn't abandoned, that they just needed space. She spat and cursed and telepathically tore him a new one. The passion made him smile and almost turned him around.

They heard about Atlantis from a traveling merchant who tried to sell them urns. The city was under siege from Colchean forces. History was repeating.

Jason reached out his mind to Medea, sure that it was her behind the aggression and tried to reason with her, tried to settle the unbalance he knew that he had caused. She told him he could end the threat easily by returning to her arms. He promised that he would and pretended to his friends that it was a sacrifice.

Colchis was not a welcoming place, it treated strangers with disdain. After six months of trying to get comfortable in a hostile environment, Hercules stated, "I cannot do this anymore. I can't live in this terrible city."

Pythagoras nodded his head in despairing agreement.

"Come with us," Hercules implored Jason. "Come back to Atlantis. You don't belong here either."

Jason hugged his friends tightly, slipped gold into their packs and wished them well. He wasn't the man that Atlantis remembered, he couldn't rise to the city's expectation. Ariadne deserved better. And Medea was going to make him a father.

His chest was tight as he waved his friends goodbye. His life in ancient time had been inextricably linked to these two men. He wasn't sure he would ever see them again and it took his breath away.

The sky was bright, unseasonably warm, or maybe Jason was getting accustomed to the cold. He strolled the city streets with his child in his arms, the sun on his face twitching fond memories of Atlantis and a flutter of regret that his son was growing up here, where it was harsh, and not there, where it was always mild.

He had to be mistaken when he saw Ariadne in the crowd.

"Jason," she uttered, emotion in her voice.

"Ariadne?" he returned, uncertain it could be her deep in enemy territory. But his eyes insisted it was true. She was tall and elegant and flawless, breathtakingly beautiful, just as he remembered.

Her gaze rested on the little boy he carried, curly haired and angel faced, with light distrustful eyes. Definitely Medea's child. "It suits you well," she said wistfully. "Fatherhood. I always knew that it would. I wish that I had got there first, it may have made you stay."

He lowered his eyes contritely and tried to swallow his guilt. "Ariadne..." So many things he wanted to say, mostly words of apology.

"Don't," she cut him short. "I did not come to speak of the past. I just wanted to see you one more time. It was hard to believe your friends when they said that you were well." She reached out a tentative hand, ran fingers across his cheek, and the touch was soft and familiar, made him smile as he remembered their love.

Babble from the baby capped his wandering thoughts.

As her hand inched away he wrapped quick fingers around her wrist and pressed her palm against his lips, releasing it immediately, trying to express that he loved her but it wouldn't lead to more, their time was in the past.

They walked the streets unhurriedly toward the dock, two Atlantean guards trailing discreetly behind. They talked and laughed and reminisced, a bittersweet edge to every word. As he held her hand for the last time, got his fill of her dark intelligent eyes, he smiled gently and said, "Find someone better than me."

"There is no one better," she answered, and kissed him sweetly on the lips, reminding him that they were still married. "But I will do what the city requires and seek another match if I must."

Jason nodded reluctantly, hoping she didn't take offence that he no longer coveted the role.

She brushed a tender hand across the silken hair of the baby. "Your son is beautiful," she cooed. "I hope he doesn't make a claim to Atlantis because I may just give it to him."

Jason blanched at the thought, of rivalry and discontent being passed down through his blood. He watched as Ariadne was rowed to her ship offshore, saw her climb on board, and felt some peace, some closure about a stage of life that had ended and a new stage that had begun.

The End