Five of Swords – standard disclaimer applies.
A/N: Yes, it has been *that* long since I last updated this and I am sincerely sorry. Some of you may know that I've recently had a baby (who arrived earlier than expected) and so my plans to finish this chapter (and indeed, make a fair headway into to finishing the whole story) before he arrived, were shot to pieces. But here the chapter is, for all it's worth. I'm sorry it's not quite what I would have liked to produce but finding the time to write has been very difficult lately. I only hope people can still enjoy it. Thank you so much to everyone who has either reviewed or p.m'd me to keep encouraging me to continue. They haven't fallen on deaf ears and I really do appreciate all your comments. Now, on with the show…
Chapter 7
When Jason awoke the next morning it felt as if his head had only just touched the pillow. He had not passed the best night's sleep, only leaving the North Tower when Minos' servant arrived to lock up the room. He had of course offered to return later when Jason was finished but there was no way that Jason intended to delay the poor man from his rest. Besides, time had spun away from him and he truly hadn't intended to remain as late as he had. As he was not officially required to be at the Palace today (or indeed the day before) Jason was under no obligation to remain until midday. That was good, he decided. He had spent a night of soul-searching and of re-evaluating truths he had taken for granted and he was still dancing around his decision, taking one step forwards and two steps back. A quick breakfast with his family would be tolerable and then he would be on his way.
Hercules and Pythagoras, assuming they had reasoned that he had stayed at the Palace yesterday, would not be expecting him back until midday anyway, so he had time to complete his first investigation of Dimitri's farm. It would have to be quick but it would be good to at least get an idea for himself of what was going on. In order to preserve his identity as a Court Advisor, he could not allow Despina to see him in his ordinary clothes. That meant approaching the man's farm from the opposite direction. It would take a little longer but despite his mother's lingering doubts, he really was starting to feel much better and the hike would not harm him. With any luck, he thought to himself with a smile, he would be fit enough to make the journey to Aeson next week.
Jason arrived at the dining hall and noted with some relief that only Ariadne sat at the table. He quickly slid in to his seat beside her and learnt that Pasiphae had begun her duties early that morning and that Minos had been present but had been suddenly called away on a matter of urgent State business. As Jason enjoyed some quiet time with Ariadne, he felt a little guilty knowing he was planning to leave without saying goodbye to his parents. But it would not be long until he saw them again. So, asking Ariadne to make his apologies and his farewells for him, Jason quickly finished his meal, stole a discrete goodbye kiss from Ariadne as the servants had mercifully left the room and slipped out of the Palace.
In the end, Jason had to end up passing through the town anyway and hoped neither of his friends spotted him and asked him what he was doing. He desperately wanted to be able to tell them but he had been strictly instructed not to discuss the case with anyone outside the Palace. Perhaps asking them roundabout questions wouldn't hurt? They probably knew farming better than he did, after all. But certainly bringing them to the farms in question would be a clear violation of his promise. Jason, by now, had a decent lay of the land as far as the immediate area around the city and the surrounding landscape went. There may have been a quicker way to reach Dimitri's farm but Jason achieved it by cutting through the woods on the edge of the city and approaching the hill from the other side. Besides, that led him directly onto the man's fields, which is where he wanted to be. He didn't much fancy walking straight through the farm house and the slaves and servant's quarters. He got the feeling that a man like Dimitri would not take too kindly to strangers. With a rueful frown he realised that in actuality, his status within Minos' court provided him far easier access for entering a stranger's property than he possessed in his current guise. Keeping his two identities clear in his head was starting to become more complicated than he thought it would be.
The fields were empty when he arrived – no workers or animals or any sign of the farmer himself. Given the fields were ploughed and, for the most part, appeared barren he hadn't really expected anyone to be there. But he was grateful to be able to proceed without any hassle. The last thing he wanted to do was encounter a farmer's angry guard dog. There were three large fields in total – most of them looked as though they had been subdivided into different crops. All of them looked desolate. Further in the distance the field of dead vines – presumably too much trouble to clear at the moment – stood as a sombre witness to whatever had happened here. As Jason trudged up and down the muddy rows of the fields, he looked about for any kind of a clue.
Frustratingly, he realised that he really didn't know what sort of signs he was looking for. There were no crops to examine and he didn't know enough about farming to know what else he should be looking out for. He didn't even know about signs of witchcraft. Not that he believed Despina had anything to do with it, but he might have at least assured Minos that he couldn't see any evidence of it being used. Or maybe, if it was there, it had been planted by somebody else? He stopped with a sharp sigh. It was utterly useless to waste his energy concocting different theories when he had no way of knowing what he was looking for anyway.
I suppose I could ask Pasiphae, he thought with a dark chuckle but quickly thought better of the idea.
The hill rose to one side of him and Jason absently began to climb up it, stowing the bottle back into his bag as he went. Perhaps a better view of the land would help? It was steeper than he had first thought and muddy too – the terrain slipped a little under him. But when he felt he was high enough, Jason stopped and looked back over the farm. It all looked very much the same: one bleak landscape. With a sigh Jason sank down onto the ground. This was ridiculous. There were people far better suited to this than him, only he wasn't allowed to ask them!
A gust of wind picked up around him tousling his hair and flapping out the edges of his cloak. His gaze was drawn once more to the rows of dead vines, feebly clinging to their posts. They may be dead but they might be a good starting point. Anything was better than sitting on a hill and staring uselessly out over the barren terrain. The young man stood and began to descend the hill, slipping now and then into a run as the mud shifted and gradient became sharper. Landing neatly at the foot of the hill, Jason trotted across the land and over to the vineyards. Overhead, clouds began to gather – an ominous, swirling blanket of light grey. Once more the wind picked up, rattling the tops of the tall pine trees. Another storm coming in? Jason hoped not. Iphicles would never be able to sail away at this rate if the seas remained as tempestuous as they were. As much as Jason wanted to be hospitable and as much as he found the man to be inoffensive and pleasant enough company, he still longed for his own bed back and to once again enjoy the company of his friends without intrusion. A niggle of guilt hit him: was that really fair? Hercules and Iphicles hadn't seen each other for so many years – who was he to begrudge them their reunion? But then, he wondered, which one of the brothers was actually enjoying their visit? He'd never seen Hercules so tense and distracted and snappy and Iphicles had such an austere aura about him that even when he did crack a joke, it seemed dangerous to laugh at it.
The harsh cawing of crows suddenly made Jason jump. He looked up, sharply. Six large, black birds sat lining the row of vines ahead of him, their shiny eyes watching him intently. One or two shifted from foot to foot but the rest stayed perfectly still only their gleaming eyes tracking him. Jason felt his skin prickle and shivered. The nearest one to him cawed again. Hoping this wasn't to turn in to a scene from the Alfred Hitchcock film he'd seen once, Jason continued on past the birds, trying not to eye them warily as he walked by. Their heads turned as he walked but other than that, the birds stayed mercifully still.
For what seemed like an age, Jason trudged up and down the dead rows until his feet began to ache, occasionally kicking larger chunks of stone out of his path. He absently ran his hands up and down the vine stems and toed the ground around him for anything unusual. The tops of his boots came out a rich, dark colour and when he saw this, Jason frowned a little. Casting a quick glance around the rest of the vineyard the soil was spotted with small darker patches. The ploughed fields however bore no sign of it.
Reaching a hand into his leather bag, Jason withdrew a small ceramic flask that he had temporarily removed that morning from the kitchens. It had contained a few herbs that he had quickly emptied onto the grass outside the kitchen door and hoped they wouldn't be missed. Now, Jason un-stoppered the little cork from the bottle's neck and knelt down to scoop up some of the dark soil. He was no scientist but perhaps Pythagoras could tell him something? A slightly odd aroma hung in the air for a moment as Jason inquisitively sniffed at it.
A far off barking made him pivot. Squinting in to the distance, Jason suddenly spotted several men and a couple of dogs heading down towards the fields from one of the outhouse huts. They had wooden hoes slung over their shoulders and they chatted amiably amongst themselves as they walked. They were still too far away to see their faces clearly but judging by their simple homespun garments, they were either servants, common labourers or slaves. Jason considered his options briefly: the dogs looked more playful than dangerous but that didn't mean they were trained to attack intruders. He might be able to talk his way around being where he shouldn't but if the men wanted trouble, it would either mean a fight, an arrest or convincing them that he was indeed, acting on behalf of the king's court. And in any of those eventualities, Minos would kill him. So would Pasiphae. Not literally, he admitted – not any more, thank the Gods. In fact, his mother would probably ensure that he never saw the inside of a prison cell again if she had any breath left in her. But by God, they would make his life hell.
No. Retreat was his only option. They were far enough away and intent on their conversation that the men had not noticed him. Quickly, Jason retraced his path to the woods, hugging the shadow of the hill line as he went. Once back within the cover of the trees, he hastily made for home. A few strategic, innocent questions to his friends would be called for. Not enough to give away confidential details, but certainly enough to give him a better understanding of things as they stood.
"There you are!" Hercules' booming voice rang out through their modest dwelling as soon as Jason opened the front door. He stopped in the doorway, one eyebrow raised at the impressive greeting as Hercules planted his hands on his hips and stood framing the door to his bedroom.
"Here I am," Jason agreed, holding wide his arms and grinning, impishly. Hercules glowered a little at the less than contrite response.
Coming through from the kitchen, Pythagoras caught Jason's look and they shared an eye-roll in unison. "Welcome home," Pythagoras said quietly, smiling at his friend. "Are you hungry?"
"Hungry enough," Jason agreed mildly, stepping into the house and shutting the door behind him.
"Good, because lunch is almost ready and the food basket that the Palace sent was especially indulgent this week." Jason snorted as dropped his bag just inside the door.
"Doesn't surprise me. This food they're bringing in for Poseideon is ridiculously fancy. I don't even recognise half of what they put on the table."
Hercules, apparently having decided to forgive Jason his lateness, wandered over to the kitchen and lifted the lid of one of the cooking pots, inhaling the aroma with a deep, satisfied sigh. "It's because you don't appreciate quality," he rumbled. "I'm actually far more suited to Palace life than you are." On seeing Hercules absently reach for one of the wooden ladles resting near the pot, Pythagoras quickly swept in to remove it from Hercules' hand before it made an unscheduled expedition into their lunch. Hercules frowned as he was promptly pushed out of the kitchen.
"I like to know what it is that I'm eating," Jason protested. "That's not too much to ask, is it? Honestly," he said, shaking his head. "I just asked for some bread and soup – it was sitting right there on the table. Suddenly everyone in the room looked at me like I'd grown another head, or something. Even the servers and they usually barely even look at you."
"Bread and soup!" Hercules tsked, moving to stand beside Jason. "I thought they were breeding some culture into you." Jason answered that assumption very succinctly by making a face at him. Hercules rolled his eyes. "My point is made." Then he suddenly seemed to notice the mud that encased Jason's boots and shook his head in exasperation. "You've been rolling with the pigs again?"
From where he stood in the kitchen, removing the pot from the fire, Pythagoras shot his older friend a mild look of disbelief. "I would hardly think that you are in a position to comment on personal hygiene. Nor," he added, after a moment's thought, "does it usually seem to bother you." He placed the pot down upon a thick cloth and bent to retrieve four bowls.
Ignoring Pythagoras with an affronted glare, Hercules automatically moved to take the bowls to the table, intercepting Jason's move to do the same with an outstretched arm and a warning look. "No you don't. You leave that be for the moment and go and change. Wash some of that grime off, while you're at it," he called as Jason shook his head with a rueful smile and wandered over to his makeshift bed and the small chest that harboured his spare clothes.
"You sound like my mother," the young man tossed over his shoulder even as he flumped down onto his bed and began to prise his muddy boots off, kicking them a short distance across the floor as he did so. Normally such articles of clothing were routinely shoved under his bed but, at least for the time being, that was no longer an option. Hercules, satisfied to see he was being obeyed on this particular matter, ignored Jason and his quips and addressed Pythagoras instead.
"Is Iphicles around or are we starting without him?"
"I suppose it hasn't occurred to you that we might wait for him if he is not here? It will keep warm on the fire." The young mathematician sighed when he saw Hercules' frown, already knowing the answer. He had hoped, over the last week or so, that Hercules and his brother might reach an easier state of co-habitation. To a certain extent, they had. Hercules no longer looked as though he wanted to bolt from the room whenever his brother entered. The wariness and mistrust that habitually lingered in his expression whenever he looked upon Iphicles had also begun to abate. But there were still moments of awkward, prolonged tension between the two men, where either silence, impatient comments or downright juvenile pettiness made sharing their company an unpleasant affair. Honestly – they were grown men, approaching the wrong side of middle-aged but there were times when it seemed they still needed their mother to knock their heads together!
As it happened, however… "Thankfully there will be no need for drastic action. Your brother will be back any moment. He has left to dispose of the rubbish but that was nearly an hour ago."
Hercules grunted softly in response. The nearest dumping site at which household waste could be buried was a little over a mile outside the city gates and in weather such as this, the journey was always unpleasant. But for room and board, he thought, it was the least his brother could do for them.
A jug of wine sat in the middle of the table, along with a few simple drinking vessels and Hercules busied himself with pouring it out, dividing it between the four cups with more or less equality. A shuffling of footsteps and the creak of his bedroom door told him that Jason, now having divested himself of his more offensive garments, had wandered into his room to find the wash basin and jug of water. Hercules frowned. In weather such as this, he really should wash by the fire but Jason was still not as comfortable around Iphicles as he was around his friends and preferred the privacy that Hercules' room could afford him.
"You should heat that water up first," Hercules pointed out, calling to the closed door. "It'll be like a block of ice."
"It's fine," protested a muffled voice, followed moments later by a startled yelp of surprise. Hercules smiled smugly and shook his head.
"Told you so," he muttered softly to himself. He wandered over to stand nearer to his closed door, wine cup nestled securely in his beefy hand. "So what kept you yesterday?" he called out. The sound of hastily splashing water ended and was followed by a distant flump and an 'Oomph' as Jason presumably fell back onto his bed. For a moment, the wrestler had an image of the boy, tangled up in his own clothes and he smiled to himself. Then another thought occurred to him. Hercules narrowed his eyes. "You'd better not be getting mud on my bed," he warned.
"I'm not," Jason's voice came back to him, mildly affronted. A moment later and the door opened revealing a cleaner, if still mildly windswept Jason, his cheeks still ruddy and his brown curls firmly in disarray. He gave Hercules a lop-sided grin as he ran a hand through his hair.
"What happened to that comb I gave you?" Hercules asked, crossing back to the table and gathering up a second cup of wine from the amphora.
"I think I left it at the Palace," the young man shrugged. He gratefully accepted the cup Hercules offered him, taking a gulp of red wine and allowing the resulting warmth to flood his throat and chest. Pythagoras had obviously added just a touch of spice into the mix and its exotic flavours slightly heady in their nature, made him instantly relax. Hercules smiled softly.
"So what kept you?" the wrestler asked again, relieved to see a little warmth return to the lad's face.
"I had a few things I needed to finish up before I left," Jason answered. Hercules raised a curious, slightly suspicious eyebrow.
"Thought maybe they'd had you locked in the dungeons for bad table manners."
Jason scoffed. "Only if I'd been taking tips from you." Wandering over to the table, Jason sank down onto one of the wooden benches, placing his cup of wine on the table. He was forced to move it a moment later when Pythagoras returned to place the iron pot on the mat. Immediately, the rich smell of meat juices and fresh herbs wafted from beneath the lid, causing Jason's mouth to salivate. "Smells good," he commented with a smile.
Pythagoras shrugged. "It's easy when you have the right ingredients. A lot of these aren't even in season but I suppose the Palace has them shipped in." The young mathematician's words suddenly made Jason recall his earlier intention.
"Do you know much about farming?"
Pythagoras blinked in surprise. "Um, about as much as the next man, I suppose. Why do you ask?"
He watched Jason start to chew his bottom lip – a nervous habit his young friend had. Jason hesitated. "It's just something I'm curious about – a project I'm working on, up at the Palace." His expression fell into a guilty glance, from under his tousled brown curls. "I can't really explain properly – I'm sorry but I promised Minos."
Jason paused and held his breath, watching his friend's expression for any signs of hurt or anger. However, the young man simply smiled and shrugged. "I'm not offended if there are parts of your life that I do not know about. Our friendship does not necessitate knowing every detail of each other's affairs, after all. What do you need to know?"
Jason smiled at him, relieved and suddenly wondering how he could ever have thought Pythagoras could have been so petty about their friendship. In many ways his three lives were starting to find a comfortable convergence where Jason could relay events and experiences that overlapped and that might be shared even amongst absent friends. Ariadne enjoyed listening to some of the more amusing recounts of his time with his friends in the city, though Jason's selection of tales was always carefully chosen to begin with, omitting some of the escapades that were not best suited to the princess' ears (at least, certainly as far as her protective father was concerned). He often shared her reaction with his friends on his return and so it sometimes felt, when he looked back on certain memories, that she had been with them all along.
His mother always asked him how the rest of his week had fared and nowadays, Jason rarely held anything back as Pasiphae appeared to have reached a certain peace regarding her son's other lives. Only details that might earn him a reproach were omitted from his weekly recounts: Pasiphae had proven on more than one occasion that if she strongly objected to his behaviour (usually when it involved some form of recklessness) that it didn't matter where he had been living when the crime was committed, he would still answer to her. And his father? Aside from his life at the Palace which would always, he suspected, be taboo, there wasn't a thing Jason wasn't free to talk about including his life before arriving in Atlantis.
And yet, Jason harboured a strong suspicion that the more time he spent at the Palace, the more integrated he became in the lives of the Royal family, the more he would encounter situations where the divide between what he could share with his friends and what he couldn't became harder and harder to breech. He hated the thought that it might subtly change him, distance him. It made him run cold. His friends meant more to him than any errand that the king might assign him. But as long as Pythagoras and Hercules took no offence, as long as it didn't hurt them, then Jason saw no harm in it.
Jason withdrew the small flask of soil from the pouch on his belt. Pythagoras accepted it with a question in his eyes, un-stoppering it and peering inside. "Soil?" he asked. Jason nodded as Hercules moved over to listen in.
"I just wondered if there was anything you could tell me about it."
Pythagoras raised an eyebrow as Hercules softly snorted.
"Well, I'm assuming we don't need to cover the basics. Can you tell me why you need to know about it?"
Jason hesitated. "Sort of. Is there anything wrong with it? Anything that shouldn't be there? It came from a vineyard but all the vines were dead and withered."
Pythagoras raised an eyebrow and gave the flask's contents a tentative sniff. Hercules snatched the flask away and peered inside, seemingly dividing his attention between his wine and the soil. He was all for helping Jason on the boy's various quests but farming dilemmas hardly seemed worthy of his heroic attentions. Before Pythagoras could answer, however, a deeper voice sounded.
"I don't imagine they were dead," Iphicles remarked casually as he stood in the doorway, newly returned from his chore. A small jug of water stood on a little table by the door with a drying cloth next to it and Iphicles immediately poured some of the water over his hands above a bowl, cleansing them of some of the more offensive results that the burial of the rubbish produced.
"Vines sleep in the winter. They look dead for all the world but they're just resting. You'll see: they'll spring to life again next season. Trust me: I know a fair bit about vines." Jason stepped towards him curiously as the large man crossed the room to join them. Hercules narrowed his eyes, handing the flask back to Pythagoras who tipped a little of the soil out into the palm of his hand, inspecting it closely.
"So you don't think they were dead?" Jason asked.
"I would say not though within inspection of course, I couldn't swear to it. I didn't realise you owned any land."
Quickly, Jason shook his head. "It's not mine. It…belongs to the people I work for: they've been having some problems with their crops. Most of their crops died this season. I thought the grapes had too, but now, maybe not." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "At least, not all of them. Some parts of the ground were darker than others. And come to think of it, she did say not all the crops died."
"Who?" Hercules questioned. Honestly, sometimes the way Jason seemed to speak in distracted starts could be quite irritating. But Jason just ignored him, a light shining in his eyes, losing himself in a thought and blocking out the rest of the room. The wrestler tried not to groan: whatever was happening, Jason was getting invested in something again and that never bode well for them. They'd likely be in the thick of something idiotic before they knew it. But then Hercules stopped and frowned. Whatever this thing was, Jason couldn't or rather wouldn't talk about it. He wouldn't involve them. Something tightened in his gut.
This wasn't right – it was not the way things were meant to be. True, Jason got himself into tight spots more times than he cared to think about, but the one consolation Hercules had, throughout all his sleepless nights and deadly encounters was that the three of them would face these challenges together. Jason was not alone. God knows how the boy, as brilliant as he was, would have fared on past adventures if he had not been there to watch his back.
But now that time has passed. Jason had made it very clear that whatever he was up to, he was doing it without them. Hercules only hoped he had the backing of the Palace, though what use the palace guards were Hercules sometimes questioned. If they were the only support Jason could draw on…
Carefully, Jason took the sample back from Pythagoras. "So what do you think?" he asked.
Pythagoras gave another sniff of the soil in his hand and, very tentatively, touched a tip of his finger to the tip of his tongue, making Hercules grimace. The young blonde looked up to his friend, a question hanging in his explanation. "I think it is some form of poison."
"And you're tasting it?" Hercules exclaimed, incredulously a scowl darkening his features. "Some genius you are!" Honestly, if it wasn't Jason throwing himself headlong into danger then it was Pythagoras willingly tasting poison out of scientific curiosity. There were days when the wrestler just felt like finding a very tall tower, without windows or doors were he could lock those two boys up to prevent any more stupid recklessness on their parts. He'd furnish it comfortably, of course. Of course, getting them in without doors might be a problem but there had to be a way. But sadly, that particular course of action was not open to him.
"Poisonous to plants," the young man clarified. "It smells like a mixture of perhaps sulphur and sea water. I'm not entirely certain. I imagine it could be used to kill weeds."
Jason nodded thoughtfully. "What about other plants and crops?"
"I suppose the principles are the same, given the right quantities."
Turning to Iphicles, Jason fixed him with a curious look. "Do you think someone could use this by mistake?"
Iphicles frowned and shook his head. "The components are common enough though not usually combined together. But no farmer would put them on good crops. Unless he was a fool or else a novice under very poor advice." Iphicles looked at him appraisingly. "If anyone has advised your employers to take such action, they should be reported to the authorities."
For a moment, Jason didn't respond. He seemed lost in thought, staring at the flask. But after a while, he glanced up, feeling the eyes of his friends on him. "Oh, yes. I mean no. I don't think anyone did. I was just curious about it. Thank you." And with that, Jason replaced the small container in his leather satchel and re-joined his friends, determined to put these matters out of his head for the time being and simply enjoy his two remaining days in good company.
Through the casement of the Queen's private drawing room, the sky hung heavy and dark: the wind had recently begun to die down but the temperature had rapidly plunged. In the distance, the mountains framed the skyline and while icy rain threatened the city, snow-laden clouds loomed above the mountain tops.
Neither form of precipitation was welcome but as Pasiphae looked up from her household accounts and over towards the swirling mists of the mountains, she felt an involuntary shiver run through her and glanced over to where her small fire crackled and popped in the room's hearth. Her thoughts tugged away from the fire's warmth and back towards the colder weather that elevated climates would cause. Was Jason warm enough in his cloak? He should be almost at his father's by this point in the morning as midday approached. If only the boy would travel in his thicker, good-quality clothing that was provided for him here. It really did worry her and not, as perhaps had been the case when Jason first came back to her, simply because he was not attired appropriately for a prince. No, Jason's lack of concern over his status was something she had come to realise would not be changed by pressure from her, but by a gradual change that would or would not occur over time spent in their company. But that would have to stem from Jason himself.
Moreover it was the lack of protection against the elements that worried the queen. Assuming Jason was wearing his travelling cloak (and in this weather, she did not believe that even her obstinate son would travel without it: the boy was not, after all, trying to cause himself harm - it was simply an unfortunate fate that seemed to cling to him like moss to a stone) he remained very much exposed, particularly in a mountainous region. But, she knew, the boy would not relent on the matter. But perhaps a compromise could be reached, she wondered. After all, even travellers of the class of society that Jason walked amongst with his friends were surely better equipped for the winter? Longer trousers, thicker material, a long-sleeved tunic? With a resolved determination, Pasiphae made a mental note to speak to a servant and send them to the market for more humble, discrete purchases. She smiled wryly. No doubt such a request, coming from her, would puzzle the servant no end but none were so fool-hardy as to question her motives. With any luck and a little persuasion, Jason would not object to the new garments.
Soft footsteps suddenly sounded from behind her and immediately the itch to find her concealed dagger shot to her fingers. But an assassination attempt in broad daylight and with so many guards around would be highly unlikely. Even so, the movement was suspicious: servants were instructed to come and go without intrusion to the family and their guests but to approach them unawares was equally ill-advised if they wished to keep their positions. Silently, Pasiphae rebuked herself for sitting with her back to the door. Though in this instance she did not sense danger, it was still an amateur mistake to make and one which caused a high turn-over of less hardened, suspicious leaders.
"That looks interesting."
The voice instantly caused Pasiphae to both relax and to smile. She turned in her seat to see her son smiling down, perhaps a little shyly. His complexion was still slightly ruddy and disarrayed indicating that he had recently returned to the Palace.
"Jason," she exclaimed in surprise. "I did not expect to see you today. You were planning on seeing your father when you left us last." Still smiling softly, Pasiphae extended her hand to her son who slipped his own into her waiting hold and allowed his mother to draw him down to the seat next to her. As soon as he was next to her, Pasiphae ran a warm hand down the side of his face, rubbing her thumb gently on his cheek. She leaned in to kiss him lightly on the forehead. It was her warmth, rather than that of the fire, that flooded through Jason and caused him to forget about the seeping cold that had tried to hollow out his bones and turn his lungs inside out on the journey over.
"Tell me," she continued. "What has changed?" For a moment, a look of worry showed in her eyes. "Are you alright?" She cast an appraising look over her son: though his flesh felt a touch of chill and though he could still afford to gain a little weight, the lad did not appear ill. But her fears were soon alleviated.
"I'm fine," Jason assured her, her hand still loosely held in his own as it rested on his knee. "I just have some things I want to finish here…some errands I need to run and I'd like to get them done before the Haloea."
Pasiphae nodded her understanding. "Ah yes: I take it this is about the court case you are working on? With this woman's farm?" She could not understand why this was so pertinent to her son but then Jason often found causes to rally behind in the most unlikely of places. Jason nodded. "I trust you are heeding your stepfather's instructions?" She was fairly certain that he was: when Jason gave his word on a matter, it took a great deal to break it. But she still felt it prudent to check. The impulsiveness of youth could have a way of circumventing the best of intentions after all.
All the same, Jason nodded once again. "Of course," he insisted. "I'm not trying to favour her – just work out the facts." His mother narrowed her eyes.
"I am not certain, Jason, that the king has asked you to investigate the facts," she began carefully. "My understanding was that you were to explain the proceedings of the court to this woman and advise her on her rights." She eyed the young man thoughtfully, noting the way he shifted slightly – a sign of a guilty conscious if ever there was one.
"Jason," she warned, though she could not make herself frown with quite the severity that she strictly should have. But Jason looked to her with wide, honest eyes and Pasiphae realised that despite her best intentions, she was losing what little austerity she had summoned in the first place.
"I promise I'm staying within my bounds," he insisted, earnestly. "I would never break my word." Relenting slightly, the Queen smiled and patted his hand.
"I know," she admitted. "But be careful – I know how trouble seems to follow you like your shadow."
"Good job the sun's gone in then," Jason teased, grinning with that sudden wide, impish grin that had a way of disarming her every time.
"Jason, if there is anyone in Atlantis who does not need to tempt the fate of the Gods, it is you." She watched her son laugh softly in agreement and shook her head fondly. "Very well then. We shall leave this matter alone and hope it does not present itself again under less favourable circumstances. Now," she announced. "Not that it is not a pleasure to see you but is there a reason you have sought me out today?" She watched something ever so discrete pass over the young man's face, quickly filtering through his features, leaving only a hint of mixed emotions in his eyes: hesitancy; bashfulness; love. For a moment, Jason's hazel eyes met hers and then immediately glanced away.
The queen narrowed her eyes. "What is wrong, my love?"
"Nothing," he hastily reassured her. Then, in a stronger tone of voice, he repeated: "Nothing. I passed Ariadne on the way here and she told me that everyone is gathering in the North Tower for preliminary sketching." Pasiphae nodded and absently began gathering up her papers. Time had got away from her as she had been sitting by the window. Absently, she felt herself flush at her poor time-keeping. She was not used to keeping people waiting – not unless her delay had been intended to unnerve an opponent.
"I know," she assured her son, with a pat to his hand. "I have let myself become too absorbed with this mundane chore." She held up her accounts with a rueful smile. "Thank you for coming to remind me: I shall make my way there now." Pasiphae paused and gave her son a conspiratorial look: "My absence shall not be missed for at least an hour. Minos spends a good deal of time ensuring that before any other matter is seen to, he is positioned according to his best aspect."
She smiled as Jason softly laughed. As she rose, Jason rose with her. He quietly slipped her hand into his and she looked up to him in surprise. His nervousness was back: the restless energy tingled through their touch and, despite the fact that he had initiated contact with her, she briefly wondered if there was still something about her that repulsed her son? That made him fear for his life every time he angered her? Or indeed, every time she woke up in the morning with an inclination to cruelty?
She dearly hoped not. The sharp pang that hit her square in the chest at the thought was almost debilitating. Her drift into bitterness and lust for power had been slowly coming but deeply set. Aeson had blamed her blood-line, of course; her 'fall' somehow inevitable. There was never to be any saving of her. She must simply fall and take with it what she could. With a twisted logic, Pasiphae supposed she should feel some measure of comfort in that: her ex-husband had not truly believed that she might have helped herself – that her wickedness was merely her lot in life. Her Fate. Not her fault. Not deliberate – just inescapable. Even then in what could have been described as his weakness, Aeson couldn't bring himself to blame her. But nor to save her. Their son, he would move the stars in the sky for – uproot them from their celestial hold if he felt it would keep the boy on the path to righteousness. At least he knew Jason was not lost from the start.
No, it would take a great deal to prick a hole through her heart of stone. But by the gods, Jason had done it and whatever else may still lie shrivelled and twisted in her heart, her son was not among them. Perhaps, the queen sadly admitted to herself, she was not yet the soft and gentle-hearted mother that her son no doubt longed to have. But surely the boy did not still equate her strictness for a lack of love? Her discipline for cruelty? Surely any mother was meant to have some measure of these qualities without making their children resentful and wary of them? Even her. Even a monster such as her. They could still love their children, could they not?
Bringing her mind back to the present, shaking off the shroud of sadness from her heart, Pasiphae looked again to where the boy still alternated his darting eyes around the room, his cheeks tinged red. She summoned a warm smile and squeezed his fingers. "Do not worry," she assured him. "I am not expecting you to join us. I...understand your feelings. Perhaps not yet the reasons for them, I admit. But I see what it means to you and I would not see you hurting for such a trivial thing. The king understands but if he were to bring the matter up again, do concern yourself: I shall take your part."
Jason swallowed. "Thanks, Mum," he mumbled quietly, eyes downcast. Had he been looking up, he would have seen the flicker of surprise that fleeted across his mother's face as she recalled the usage of that name – something Jason had told her about some time ago now. However, the warmth in her eyes was unmistakable when the young man did glance her way. Silently, she smiled reassuringly, willing her eyes not to well up – not out of a fear of showing weakness but more because she could sense the nervous awkwardness emanating from her son and knew the last thing he would want would be for her to draw attention to it. Pasiphae only prayed that the boy could see her gratitude in her expression, could feel her love in the warmth of her touch.
The young man swallowed again but as he looked into his mother's gentle expression, her eyes bright with emotion, he gave a bashful smile and inclined his head towards the door. "I thought I could accompany you to the sitting," he admitted. He paused a moment: "Since we're going to the same place."
This time, it was Pasiphae who swallowed tightly and ran a gentle hand down the side of her son's face. "Thank you, Jason. I would be delighted."
That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it.