The Day After

by Arianna18

If you've ever wondered when and how Jason fell hard for Alcmene, this is the story (set during the Academy days; a YH story)

THE DAY AFTER
by Arianna

I remember what happened very clearly, as well I might-it was a pivotal time in my life, a defining experience that ultimately led to where I am, who I am, today. Perhaps if I hadn't been so much a coward, if I had acted then on what I felt, what I knew I needed in my life, the years since would have been very different. But we can never go back. We can only, ever, go forward.

It was the day after the annual Parents' Day at the Academy, when most of the cadets had taken a couple of days off to spend time with their families and no one expected any trouble. Why would we? There'd never been any trouble before, though in retrospect, that was perhaps felicitous rather than any lack of previous potential threat. Parents' Day was, after all, the day when tuition was paid for the second half of the year and also for the first half of the following year for those cadets who would likely be staying another year in the famous, much sought after institution. Given the long waiting lists of hopeful parents who dreamed of sending a son, and more recently perhaps even a daughter, to Cheiron's Academy, those who already had a foot in the door, so to speak, more like a bunk in the barracks, didn't wait to offer up the tuition for the following year but rather hastened to lay out the dinars so little Demetrius or Andromache would be assured a first class education.

In any case, with the Academy virtually empty of all cadets and tutors but for ourselves, we'd expected a quiet day with no classes or exercises in the gymnasium, a day to kick back and maybe do a little hunting. I'd foregone the opportunity to head back to Corinth for the few days of R&R as I'd be going soon enough at the end of the year when I graduated. I was jealous of these last few weeks with my friends, knowing that once I took up my formal duties as the Crown Prince, I'd have little time for the more ordinary and pleasurable pursuits of my adolescence and young manhood. Needless to say, my father had not been one of the parents to attend the open house…the King of Corinth had no need to jockey for Cheiron's approbation or to curry favour and privilege by hastening forward with bags of gold and silver. Cheiron and my Dad went way back, and held a healthy mutual respect for one another, not to say a warm friendship…neither was particularly known for their warmth or a 'hail fellow well met' philosophy of being, but they were old comrades who trusted and valued one another.

I didn't mind that Dad hadn't come. A king has little discretion in how his time is used, as odd as that may seem. The best kings are servants to their people, available to them and present to deal with whatever issue may arise with the dawn. I was proud to know my father was a very good king indeed, one I could only hope to emulate with some degree of competence on that, hopefully distant, day when the crown was my own burden to bear.

What? You think being a king is all fun and games, fancy dress balls and elaborate hunts? Not hardly. Mostly, it's long, dreary days of endless mundane petitions varied by moments of heart-stopping anxiety about the threats to one's kingdom. It might simply be a drought that erodes the grain stores so that your people face privation, or it might be something more dramatic, like pirates who threaten your shipping and hence your economic foundation. Or, most dreaded of all, it might be a war looming on the horizon as other kings gazed with envy upon your wealth and that of your people, and coveted it for their own. A king's schedule is dictated by others, by events beyond his control. A king's choices can't be an indulgence of personal whim or even of a will driven by passion or anger or affront…one must at all times be balanced and thoughtful, a model of decorum and sagacity. The best kings are guided by their values and ethics as they nudge their people toward a better, more stable and fulfilling future. It's not about wars or glory, not about adventures or romance-it's about predictability and calm, stability and security-being a king can be a pretty boring life.

To be honest? I was terrified of the responsibilities and resented my birthright. I had no choice on what I would become, only how well I would play the role once the duties were mine. I had no choice, frankly, even on whom I would wed. It would be a matter of diplomacy and treaty, of mutual support and benefit…and of course, to further the lineage in my turn. Would you truly want such a life for yourself?

Oh, I don't mean to complain. Kings eat well, after all, and we have no need to wonder where we'll sleep. People defer to us and let us believe they consider our views erudite and even inspiring…it can be flattering, dangerously so, for the unwary. We wear fine clothing and our mounts are always the best, the fastest and most noble. And, yes, there is the occasional ball and hunt for diversions, pleasant interludes to be sure. But one must guard, always, against the sins of arrogance and pride-it's too easy to begin to believe your own hype, to accept with unthinking complacency that simply because people defer that they agree, worse that they support you. One must demand loyalty and exact obedience, but one must also be open to challenge and be willing to reconsider even strongly held perspectives and beliefs. Otherwise, one becomes overbearing and dependent upon intimidation as a means of ensuring compliance. And that never works in the long run. Never. Duty, responsibility, love of one's people and a desire to serve them must ever guide the wise king. But in serving them, the man who bears the crown can get lost and can be very lonely and personally unfulfilled.

So you think I'm digressing and wish me to return to my story? Well, bear with me. For this story, at the heart of it, is indeed about how little choice I had about my life in the future, at least until…but I'm getting ahead of myself.

As I was saying, it was the day after Parents' Day…

My best friends, then as now, were Hercules and Iolaus, and they were both remaining at the Academy during the short break. Iolaus, for his part, didn't really have a home and there was nothing to draw him back to Thebes. His parents hadn't attended Parents' Day-essentially, he was estranged from his family and he was responsible for paying his own tuition, a burden no other cadet bore. So, he was staying because he had a job at Kora's and he needed to keep working his evening and weekend shifts as waiter and chief bottle washer. Hercules was still there because his mother, Alcmene, had elected to stay and visit with Cheiron rather than hurry back to Thebes. They had known one another for years and if I ever saw Cheiron actually warm up to anyone, seem genuinely glad to see them, it was Alcmene who brought that warmth into his eyes and a sincere smile to his lips. You could actually see him relax his rigid posture as if the cares slipped from his shoulders when she walked through the gate. Alcmene has always had the gift of putting people at ease in her presence.

I could understand Cheiron's reaction to Hercules' mother. Alcmene was a remarkable woman, strong yet not overbearing, resilient yet steady in her values and principles; both intelligent and intuitive, she had a wisdom that was uncommon in those who had not yet attained great age. Though she'd not had an easy life, she seemed always easy in her manner, even grateful for what she had. Her smile was gentle and affirming, as if she was smiling only for the person she gazed upon. She listened well, sincerely interested in the mundane cares and triumphs of the other person's life. And, well, for all that she was my best friend's mother, I couldn't really help noticing that she was an exceedingly attractive, slender but sturdy woman with a red-gold mane of softly curling hair, a flawless complexion, generous lips predisposed to smiles and laughter and sparkling eyes full of life. Though, I have to tell you, it embarrassed me to acknowledge that awareness of my best friend's mother as a woman, so I strove to hide it, even from myself.

At any rate, Alcmene and Cheiron were sequestered away in his office, catching up on old times or whatever it was that they discussed and we were lounging on the steps of the administration building, basking in the warmth of the sun and debating whether to go hunting or fishing. Perhaps it was because we were laughing and teasing one another, ragging on Iolaus that if we went fishing, we could work in another swimming lesson for him, perhaps it was because we were so relaxed and secure in our illusion of safety-whatever it was, we didn't hear the pounding of the horses' hooves until they were almost at the gate, and then there was no time to prepare.

Only time to react, to fight back as best we could.

It was a gang of outlaws, mercenaries gone bad and down on their luck, who had decided to invade the Academy to rob the coffers of the silver and gold while the students and teaching staff were away. They rode in fast, weapons in hand, ruthless in their demeanor and intent.

As one, without conscious thought, we rose to meet them, and though unarmed, moved forward to take the battle to them. Iolaus, fearless as he has always been, raced ahead, yelling at the top of his lungs and waving his arms to startle and unsettle the horses. It worked-the animals broke stride, rearing and plunging in alarm, milling about in confusion, which served to put their riders off-balance. Ducking the slashing swords, the three of us moved in on them, grabbing arms and bodies to haul them out of their saddles and to the ground, punching and using elbow jabs to disable our first targets and quickly render them unconscious while we relieved them of their weapons-to arm ourselves.

There might have been a dozen of them, I'm not really sure-there was so much confusion, chaos. Dust rose up from the stamping hooves, and men yelled as combat was joined. The ringing clang of swords clashing, and the grunts of the injured, sometimes a sharp yell of shock or pain, resounded in the square courtyard. The panicked milling of the horses continued to help us-we used them as barriers and guards for our backs while the outlaws became frustrated, breaking ranks to try to get at us. I remember catching a glimpse of Hercules grabbing one guy and using him as a human club, spinning him around to knock others out and then releasing his hold to let the bandit sail high in the air before plowing hard into the stone building. Iolaus was a whirlwind of motion, kicking and leaping, dropping and rolling to knock his adversaries off their feet, using the horses as supports as he launched up and over them to drop down on the bad guys from above.

Against all odds, we were winning! The superior training of the Academy gave us a decided advantage, and our discipline in fighting as a unit, always aware of where the other two were, unconsciously watching one another's backs, served us well. But, the dirt of the courtyard became muddy with blood, making our footing unsteady, making us slip, and though Hercules was still going strong, Iolaus and I were beginning to tire. I saw Iolaus go down, his adversary lifting a sword to skewer him, but then an arrow came out of nowhere to take the guy out, and I knew Cheiron was now a part of the battle, though he was behind me and I hadn't yet seen him.

It was that brief moment of distraction, I guess, that sudden sharp gut-wrenching awareness that Iolaus was about to be killed and neither Hercules nor I were close enough to help, followed by the rush of relief when the arrow impaled the outlaw's chest and drove him back, dead before he hit the dirt, that left me open for assault. I felt cold steel cut into my side and the sick sense of sudden shock, sweat bursting out on my brow as my gut heaved with nausea. I lurched back, bringing my own sword around while pressing my left hand against my wound, and I fought until another arrow took out my assailant. I remember darkness encroaching on every side, black spots dancing before my eyes and I felt overwhelmingly dizzy and weak as my knees buckled.

I don't remember hitting the ground.

Whenever I was aware, for the longest time, the world seemed only a red haze filled with pain and heat. Barely conscious, I was drifting, uncertain of where I was or of what was happening. All I knew was that steady, gentle hands soothed me, bathing away the fire of my skin with cool water, brushing my hair back from my brow, while a soft voice crooned to me that I would be fine, that all I needed to do was rest. The confusion and the pain were so overwhelming that I felt I'd always been lost in that blistering netherworld, and would never find my way home-but the voice and the hands were my anchor and my guide, holding me to life, drawing me closer, ever closer, to awareness.

It was dark but for a single candle that flickered on the table by the bed when I finally woke sufficiently to know who I was, though I still didn't remember what had happened. Blinking against the light, warily silent until I could get my bearings, I was assailed by the pungent scents of a sickroom-and then of a light, sweet fragrance that made me think of sunlit meadows and spring. Someone was touching my body and I squinted to see better-and saw an angel of mercy tending my wound. The flickering candle made a nimbus, a golden halo, around her head and cast light on her face, dusting her long lashes, emphasizing the alabaster and peach hues and illuminating the clean lines of jaw and throat. Did I move or mutter? I don't know, but something made her look up from the sutured and healing wound. Blue eyes, warm with concern and alight with relief, met mine and I felt suddenly breathless-and then she smiled and I felt almost dizzy with wonder. She was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.

"Ah, good," she sighed as if thankful. "You're awake." Moving with unhurried but sure movements, she shifted to lift a pewter cup from the table and then supported my head as she held it to my dry, parched lips. Her fragrant scent surrounded me as she leaned close and I could feel the warmth of her body, the strength of her hand and arm. When I'd had a few sips, she drew the cup away and settled me gently upon the pillow, brushing her fingers across my brow and down my cheek, a feather-light touch, but somehow loving and reassuring. "You had us all very worried, Jason."

When she said my name, it was as if I'd never heard it before and my throat tightened with longing and need. Unaware of the impact she was having upon me, she turned back to finish dressing my wound and I watched her hands, her fingers, so delicate yet so sure and capable, ministering to me. Once the bandage was again in place, she shifted again, her movements unconsciously graceful and mesmerizing as she dipped a cloth in the basin of water next to the pewter mug, just in front of the candle, and then, after wringing it out, she began to bathe my face and body, cooling my fever.

"Thank you," I sighed as I closed my eyes, inhaling the fragrance that was hers alone, losing myself in the sensations of her comforting touch.

"Shhh," she murmured back. "You've been unconscious for three days and your wound became infected, but it's looking better tonight-your fever should break soon." Calmly, she reassured me and told me what was happening to me, why I was so weak. Matter of fact, yet compassionate, and her hands, her hands were so soothing, her touch alone seemed to ease away the pain.

Gradually, my memories of the battle returned. Blinking again, suddenly anxious, I asked, "Hercules? Iolaus?"

"They're both fine, just fine," she told me with a smile and gratitude that I was concerned for their well being. "When the fight was over, Cheiron carried you in here while Hercules and Iolaus secured the outlaws who still lived in the locked storeroom of the stables. Our first priority was treating your wound, so it was more than a day before Cheiron was prepared to leave you to go with the boys when they took those thieving murderers to the magistrate in Corinth. They've not yet returned but I expect them back in the morning. The rest of the cadets and the tutors should also return tomorrow."

Relieved, I relaxed into the bed, allowing all the tension to flow from my body and simply enjoyed the touch of her hands and the music of her voice. She told me of how she and Cheiron had heard the sounds of battle and of how terrified she'd been when she first saw the three of us fighting such brutal, well-armed and dangerous men, but also how proud she'd felt of all of us, that we'd stood against the odds and prevailed. She also told me, with a hitch in her voice, of how frightened they'd all been for me when I fell and they found the deep sword wound in my side. She told me of how Hercules and Iolaus had haunted my bedside until it was time to take the felons to Corinth and of the stories they'd told her about me. She said they loved me very much, and that I was a good man, one she was proud to know. Her words, the tone of her voice and the touch of her hands…I felt something deep inside, an ache and my throat was so tight, I was afraid I might weep.

She was proud to know me-thought I was a good man. In that moment, I knew I never wanted to ever let her down, only ever wanted her to be proud of me.

Gradually, she soothed me back to sleep.

When next I woke, my first thought was to look for her and I smiled with relief to see her sitting by my bed, and then I flushed a little at the pleasure of knowing she was holding my hand. Again, she greeted me with a soft smile and then rose to first help me sip some cool water, and then to feed me a nourishing broth.

"I made this a while ago," she grinned. "Chicken soup, good for all that ails a man. It will restore your strength."

I couldn't help but grin back at her, but I felt a surge of surprise and then warm happiness to think she'd prepared the broth for me. I remember thinking the nectar of the gods couldn't be so flavourful or satisfying. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter that I felt as weak as a kitten-she made me feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

As she fed me with steady patience, she told me my fever had broken and that I'd soon be good as new. I was still too weak to carry on much of a conversation, my voice thin and raspy when I tried, so she filled the empty spaces with amusing stories until she saw I was tiring. Resuming her seat and again taking my hand, she allowed a comfortable silence between us, and me? Well, I found I couldn't take my eyes off her, and I was thinking about how she'd referred to Hercules and Iolaus as boys, but she had called me a man. I honestly felt as I gazed into her eyes that she could see all that I was, and that she did, indeed, see me as a man, the man I could be, the man I suddenly wanted to be to please her and make her proud.

Finally, my lids grew too heavy to hold open and I again drifted into sleep.

I woke to find Hercules, Iolaus and Cheiron all crowded around the foot of the bed, and my father standing beside me, worry in his eyes that faded to warm affection when he realized I was awake. He was gripping my hand, his other palm upon my brow and he smiled into my eyes. I was glad to see them, all of them, but I found myself searching for her, only smiling myself when I found her standing back, out of the way of the others, in a patch of light from the window. Again, it was as if she was glowing, a halo of warm illumination surrounding her, and then she smiled back.

I got steadily stronger after that, and it seemed there were always others present, but she remained close and it was she who tended my wound and saw to my nourishment. Who bathed me when I was still too weak to care for myself. We talked about, oh, so many things, getting to know one another better. I found a peace in her presence-and a hunger for her touch.

She stayed five more days, until I was able to sit up and even stand by myself, though I was still weak and unsteady, needing support to walk even a few feet. It seemed the guys were always there, unconsciously pushing her aside as they moved to support me, anxious and eager to help. I was grateful, but I also wished they would just go away and leave the two of us alone. It was her voice I wanted to hear, her touch I wanted to feel on my skin-her scent that I found intoxicating.

And, to be perfectly honest, I was increasingly uncomfortable with Hercules and even Iolaus. Something had changed, something fundamental and irreversible. They were still my friends, yes, my best friends and I hope they always will be-but-but I'd become aware that I had fallen in love with my best friend's mother.

I was in love with Alcmene.

An awkward situation at best.

And a hopeless disaster at worst.

I honestly didn't know what to do. I wanted her, wanted to spend my life with her, but that was out of the question. I was the Crown Prince of Corinth and would one day be King. I did not have the right to choose whom I would love or take as my wife. It was bad enough that she was a commoner, but I might have prevailed over that. The real problem was that she was also much older than I, too old to be considered a proper consort, capable of giving a King many sons. Never have I felt so helpless, or cursed so vehemently my birthright. Though I might be a prince, she was beyond my reach. I could not love her. I didn't have the right. It was impossible.

But it was equally impossible to deny my feelings for her, to pretend to myself that they did not exist. I tried telling myself that it was simply the weakness and helplessness, a misplaced kind of gratitude for her care and concern, but I knew I was telling myself lies. This wasn't gratitude, this immensity of emotion that filled my chest and twisted in my heart, that left me aching for her presence, her scent, her smile…her touch. Left me wanting her-needing her.

The day came for her to go home and, miraculously, we were alone when she appeared to take her leave of me. I remember she came close to the bed to lay her hand upon my shoulder, and she leaned in to kiss my cheek. But I turned my head and captured her lips with my own as my hand lifted to cradle her head.

I will always be grateful that she didn't seem startled by my action-but accepted it, even seemed glad of it. When she lifted her head away, she took my hand in her own as she smiled her gentle smile, but her eyes were damp with tears.

"I love you," I whispered, my throat tight as I gripped her hand. "You know I love you."

She nodded and took a breath. "Yes," she murmured. "But your path and mine have been fashioned by the Fates to go in different directions."

I knew she was right, as much as I wanted to protest. "I'm sorry," I choked out.

But she shook her head. "Please, never be sorry for how you feel," she chided me gently. "I'm honoured by your love…"

She began to pull her hand away, but I wouldn't relinquish it. "And you?" I demanded, needing to know. "What do you feel? Do you love me? Could you love me?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "All too easily and with a full heart, but I am not meant for you. There is a young, beautiful princess somewhere who will be your Queen, and that's as it should be."

I shook my head, made mute by her strength and wisdom, her capacity to accept what was but could never be. She smiled at me with infinite compassion, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. "Wherever your path takes you, Jason," she murmured, "whatever the Fates have in store for you, always know there is one in the world who loves you and will always love you. Always know there is a safe harbour from the storm should you ever need it."

And then she quickly bent forward to kiss my brow as she caressed my cheek. Before I could say another word, she had whirled away and was gone.

Staring at the empty doorway, I felt a crushing sorrow, and wished so bitterly that I might have been born a simple warrior, or craftsman, or even peasant, that I might have had the right to love who I would, to spend my life with the woman who made me whole.

My father was murdered not long after that, and I found myself a King long before I felt ready to wear the crown. I did my best for my people and I did what was necessary. I married and had children, but if I felt loyalty for my wife, I felt no love. And then, after having done my duty, I distanced myself from her-and deluded myself into believing I might actually be able to love another. But my wife was jealous, insane really with anger and possessiveness-and she killed the woman in the most brutal of ways. Inadvertently, I need to believe unintentionally, she killed our children, too.

For all of those years, I'm ashamed to say I avoided Alcmene, certain I was too weak to resist my desire for her and too well aware of how unfair it would be to ask for a love and a commitment I could not honour. Oh, I saw her, at formal occasions, weddings, where I even dared dance with her and savour the feel of her in my arms, and funerals, where I would do my best to comfort her knowing that she was giving all she had to comfort others. And when I looked into her eyes, I could see my own safe harbour was still there, still mine should I ever need it.

I was a fool to turn away from her. I did need that safe harbour-I needed her. But I could see no way forward or around the obstacle of my crown, my duties and responsibilities. I cringe to think of the man I eventually became-weak, a drunk who tried to drown his sorrows and regrets and emptiness with rivers of wine. I could see no hope, no possibility for happiness, only duty…only responsibilities. A slave could not feel the fetters of their life any more harshly, nor a prisoner feel any more confined than I felt in the barrenness of my existence.

It was Hercules and Iolaus who saved me from myself, who lifted me up and told me they believed in the man I had been, the man I was still capable of being. It was hard, harder than it should have been, to put away the wine and to feel something other than self-pity, but for them if not for myself, I had to try.

I did pretty well so long as they stayed with me, but the time came for them to move on again-another crisis, another monster, another city or village to rescue from certain disaster, I don't remember now what took them away, I only knew they were gone and I was once again alone. I spent a sleepless night after watching them walk out of the gates of my city.

The day after they left, my hands trembling with need, I was reaching for a flask of wine when I froze in place and my memory played out her words once more. "Wherever your path takes you, Jason," she had told me, "whatever the Fates have in store for you, always know there is one in the world who loves you and will always love you. Always know there is a safe harbour from the storm should you ever need it."

Dear gods, how I needed a safe harbour from the storm that my life had become. I was literally drowning in the maelstrom of my life; worse, I wanted to drown if this was all my life would ever be. Taking a deep breath, I stepped back and away from the wine and called to my servants to pack clothing for a week away from the palace. There was a friend, an old and very good friend, who I desperately needed to see.

She seemed surprised to see me when she opened the door to my knock and I found myself helplessly mute, with too much to say and too much emotion clogging my throat to speak the words I wanted her to hear. I don't know how she does it, but she seems to only need to look into my eyes to understand me. Wordlessly, her arms opened wide and I stepped into her embrace, hugging her close as I inhaled her fragrant scent and felt her warmth envelop me, felt her sure strength and certain love, even for the wreck of a man that I had become. I wept then as I held her and murmured her name, my lips in her hair. Wept for the years that might have been, wept with gratitude that there were yet still, the Fates and Fortune willing, more years ahead.

I never stopped loving Alcmene, never in all the years since the Academy. I did my duty and fulfilled my responsibilities, but this King needed to simply be a man. A man who loves a woman passionately with everything that he is and who wants to cherish and protect her, be with her, for all the days and nights of the rest of his life.

The day after she agreed to wed me, we set off together to find her son, to tell Hercules that the man he considered a close friend, a man so recently a drunk, had wooed and won his mother's heart and was about to become his step-father.

Alcmene laughed at me when I quavered at how I believed Hercules would react to what would no doubt be an astonishing revelation. She assured me everything would work out just fine-and even if her son had difficulty with the news, she had confidence that Iolaus would help him accept me as his mother's lover.

"Iolaus?" I echoed. "Why would Iolaus accept this any better than Hercules will? Surely, he'll be just as shocked and, frankly, concerned that you could do much better."

Smiling, she shook her head. "Iolaus, has known my feelings, and I suspect yours, my love, for a very long time. You'll see, he'll be happy for us, delighted that we've finally found the path to one another."

"But how?" I stammered. "How could he have known?"

A distant look of memory came into her eyes then, and a soft smile graced her lips, as she replied, "The day I left you at the Academy, he was outside and saw the tears drying on my face. I-I tried to simply smile and tease as I do with him, but he just looked at me and then back toward the infirmary. He nodded once, as if to himself, and then pulled me into a hug as he kissed my cheek. 'Whatever you need,' he told me quietly with fervent sincerity, 'whatever makes you happy, you do, you hear me?' I knew he knew, just as simply as that. Iolaus watches people and misses nothing. Years later, he watched when we danced at his wedding and at Hercules' marriage to Deianeara. He saw when you held me at Ania's funeral. He knew then, that we both still felt the same way. Not long after that, he told me that if the day ever came when I could grab happiness, that I was to hold onto it with both hands and that he'd be there, always, to support whatever choices I made. He said life was too short to deny love, too brief and yet too important to refuse whatever happiness or joy we might be granted by the Fates."

I blew out a long breath and found myself blinking against the stinging in my eyes. Drawing Alcmene into my arms and holding her close, I thanked the Fates for finally weaving my life into the pattern of hers, and for having blessed me with a friend who would understand and support us-not ridicule or think we were crazy, but would sincerely rejoice in our happiness together. And I vowed to myself I would never give her son reason to think she'd made a mistake. Henceforth and forever more, I would devote myself to Alcmene, to loving her as she should be loved, to cherishing her and being grateful for having her in my life. However long it took, I would prove to Hercules that he need not fear for her happiness or well being and that while he might not ever accept me as a step-father, we would be family, family who would love one another for all of our days on this earth.

The day after we broke the news to Hercules and Iolaus, my future stepson gave us his blessing. I could see it made his mother happy, very happy, to know he'd accepted me as her mate. I'm grateful to him for that, and I always will be.

Iolaus, of course and as predicted by the love of my life, simply beamed at us, evidently unsurprised and sincerely joyful that we had found our path and were now walking it together. We didn't know then that I would be forced to relinquish my crown if I persisted in my desire to marry her. I had thought to make her my Queen, but that was not to be. My dear beloved Alcmene wanted to withdraw in the face of the cold and implacable opposition of my advisers. She told me she understood that even now after so many years had passed that I still could not wed her, that I had a responsibility to find a younger wife to bear me sons. The hurt in her eyes, the grief at what she believed could not be, tore at my heart and shredded what was left of my soul. Still, she tried to make it easy for me to disavow her, as if I could-as if I would ever want to live any more hours without her in my life.

I'm no longer the King of Corinth and for that, I have no regrets. I was as good a King as I knew how to be for more years than I care to remember. I did my duty, fulfilled my obligations, acted on all my lawful responsibilities including naming an able successor who would love my people and give them a son who will, in the fullness of time, assume the crown in his turn. It pleases me that my successor is my wife's son, Iphicles, and I believe it pleases her as well. More, it seems right to me that Alcmene, who after all is the mother of a son of Zeus, should also be the matriarch of a new line of kings. And so, my tenure as the King of Corinth, and all that that role entailed, is done now, and I am glad of it. For I am happier than I've ever been in my life, fulfilled and content, living as I'd longed to live all of those many, lonely, years-as Alcmene's husband.

I love her more than life itself…and I always will.

Finis