Rating: PG-13 for a fratricide.

Summery: The story of Jason's quest for the Golden Fleece from Medea's point of view. She's telling this after everything is all over, and it's a kind of stream of consciousness looking back at what happened to make her end up where she is. This chapter, Medea elopes with Jason.

Disclaimer: I do not own any myths, Greek or otherwise. I do not own Jason, I do not own Medea.

-------Chapter 4-------

Of course, my father did not just hand over the fleece, just like that. Oh no.

Of course, to be fair, he could not have handed it over right there and then, even if he wanted to, as it was some ways distant, in the safe keeping of a serpent he had placed over it. But he did not want to. And having seen his triumph over first the bulls and then the dragon warriors my father did not wish to leave anything to chance either, would not risk his triumphing over the serpent and thereby claiming the fleece without a shadow of a doubt. Oh no.

I could have guessed what was in your mind, Father – would have easily guessed, and acted the exact same as I did in any case, not being one to leave things to chance myself. So I suppose it does not greatly matter that I overheard something of what you said on the way back from the fields to the palace, your quiet commands to your personal guard to make sure that not one man from his ship would ever see another morning. I would have done the same in any case. It was already too late to turn back.

So. Hearing my father's plans for you and those who looked to you, I betrayed him a second time. Chose a just-met stranger over my own kin, my own father to whom I owed all obedience.

Obedience was never something I was good at.

So I packed. I packed and fled, leaving the palace for the last time, leaving my home for the first time. I fled to the docks, to where he was staying on his ship, celebrating with his crew over the victory I had obtained for him, believing they had won. I came to warn him that he had not.

I threw myself down in front of him, not caring what the men thought; neither heeding nor hearing the taunts, the jibes they threw at me, the jokes they made to each other over my back. What they thought was not important, they were not important. Only he was, only his safety.

I told him my father's plot. I begged him to flee. Told him where the fleece was, how it was guarded. Begged him to take me with him at least as far as the serpent, promised I could tame it for him. Begged them to leave now, the morning would be too late. Begged with tears in my eyes. Promised I'd do anything for him, help however I could. Promised wildly he could throw me off the ship after he had the fleece if he just let me help him get it.

Betrayed my family.

He stood and listened to all I said, my wild ramblings, until I could say no more, choked on emotion. Then he lifted me to my feet and embraced me. Promised me that once we - we! - were in Greece he would marry me. Promised me in front of witnesses.

Betrayed me.

In that moment, that promise of love consummated, I was the happiest being alive. If I had died, right then, I would have gone to Hades happy, content in my belief of his love.

It would have been better so.

The crew had grown silent during my ravings, listening to the truth of their danger that came through despite my incoherence. When he raised me and promised me marriage they knew what they had to do, and without a single word being spoken the ship was readied and we set out, silent except for the dip of oars in the water and the occasional soft creak of wood.

The men kept their silence the entire journey to where the serpent lived with it's treasure. I do not know how long it took – time does strange things when you're terrified for your life and that of your love's. They would never have even found the place if not for me. The tributary that leads to where my father's serpent once kept watch is well-hidden, and hard to find even in daylight. But I lead them right to the fleece and its guardian – compounding my betrayal of my father, by a second greater one.

After all, I could have just warned him of my father's intentions, told him to flee. No one would have lost: he and his men would still have their lives, my father would still have their fleece. But then I stole for him what my father did not want him to steal above all things, the greatest treasure of our house.

I sang the serpent to sleep for them. It was a secret tune, one supposedly only my father and my eldest brother knew so that the owner and the heir of the fleece would be able to reach it if need be. (Most often, the need was simply a possessor's greedy need to look at their prized possession.) But I knew the song, and neither father nor brother knew I'd been in a corner, listening and learning, the day the former taught it to the latter. So I sang the serpent to sleep, and he stole the fleece from between its massive coils, from under its poisonous fangs, without the monster even twitching.

Later, I was to hear people speak of his great bravery and daring in snatching the fleece from the guardianship of such a beast. But what is there brave or daring in taking from something you know will not wake? That is no more than simple theft, of the most amateurish kind.

Nor is sticking a sword in the neck of something that cannot fight back just because you can bravery, either.

In fact, it is downright cowardly.

Of course, that is not what people will tell you. The story goes he bravely defeated it in valiant combat. His men will all swear to that version of events, despite seeing his pettiness with their own eyes. I suppose they do not wish to have a sword stuck in the backs of their own necks while they're sleeping. It makes me sick, now, to hear the story of his courage against the snake. It used to make me laugh, feel special that I was the woman walking next to the man everyone else was telling the stories about.

I've learned since then that a nice story does not mean a nice person. It's common sense to tell nice stories about a man with a sword.

So we fled with the fleece, but by now my father had received word of my absence and his flight, and men were sent after us in the swiftest ship in the fleet to bring back the fleece.

And so came my greatest betrayal. For when he saw the ship coming after us, he turned to me and begged me to do something, anything to stop them. I'd been so helpful until now, he said. So clever and crafty, he said. I'd saved his life, and his men's lives, and won them the fleece when otherwise they would not have succeeded, surely I would not desert them now, he said. And kissed me. Called me "my love" and kissed me again and then looked at me and simply said "Please?"

What could I do? In the face of that, what else could I do?

So as my father's ship came alongside us, and the men called for our surrender, in cold blood I killed their captain. My mind reached out, and I stoped his heart, and he had time only for one final, surprised look at me before his eyes clouded over and he tumbled into the water forever. I killed him.

In full knowledge that he was my dearest brother.

And his men became silent. They started at me for a good long while before the first mate, now the captain, ordered them to turn back. So they headed for home to report their failure and my treachery while his men cheered around me, and congratulated both him and me, and sang victory songs as they rowed for home. And he just stood there, looking at me with a faint smile on his face as I watched the spot where I had seen my brother for the final time, my tears forming but not falling.

Yes, I should have noticed something then, when he said nothing, did nothing, to comfort me; just stood and watched with that smile on his face. I suppose I did feel the first faint stirring of doubt, but I ignored and squashed it.

It was far too late to turn back.