This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by MCA, Universal Studios, or Renaissance Pictures concerning Hercules: The Legendary Journeys. This story is for fun and no money was made from it.
He was running down a long, dark corridor. He knew he had to run, to escape a terrible fate from the one he both hated and loved.
He heard the beast behind him, as he ranted his name. He heard the vases and pottery that adorned the corridor as they were knocked off their stands or thrown against the wall, to shatter with a resounding crack.
He felt, more than heard, as the heavy tapestries were torn from the walls, to land with a muffled thud on the floor.
Not daring to look back, he could feel his enemy catching up. While he ran, his enemy was walking at an almost easy lope, but still the runner knew he was catching up.
Then he saw it. A small alcove in the wall, just big enough for him to squeeze into. He pushed as far back into the alcove as he could, willing himself invisible.
Then he heard the loping footfalls of his enemy. The ranting had stopped. He was listening for any sounds, any whimper or breath.
The enemy knew he was near. He had always been able to feel the poor runner, find him even in the most dark places.
The runner held his breath, his hands clamped tightly over his mouth to stifle the sob sitting there. His heart thudded so hard, he could hear it in his head.
The enemy stopped.
“I know you’re here. I can hear your heart, you little runt. Come out, and maybe I’ll go easy on you.”
He lies, HE LIES, the runner’s mind screamed.
Then it was over. The enemy reached into the alcove with such speed the runner didn’t even have time to try to resist, even if he had tried. Grabbing the collar of the runner’s costume, he hauled the unprotesting man out of the alcove.
“There you are, my little Jester. I’ve got a new game for us tonight.”
He dragged the Jester toward his bedroom, hauling him forward and pushing him onto the bed.
The Jester finally found his voice.
“Don’t, please don’t do this. I have so little left, don’t take my last shred of dignity. I beg you.”
The Sovereign sat down beside the Jester, putting his hand on the small back.
“You lost your dignity when you became my court jester. You belong to me, body and soul. I’ve always had your soul. After tonight, I’ll have your body.”
Hercules awoke from a sound sleep to the sounds of his companion thrashing about wildly. By the faint moonlight and the light from the campfire, he saw that the Jester was in the throes of a terrible nightmare. He looked like someone fighting for his very life.
Rising, he put a log on the fire and moved quietly over to where the Jester slept. The man was covered in sweat, his face contorted in pain.
“No!” The one word screamed from the depths of his very soul.
Alarmed, Hercules knelt beside Iolaus and gently touched his shoulder. Instantly, the Jester sat straight up, a look of startled puzzlement on his face.
“Easy, my friend. You were having a bad dream.”
Iolaus ran his hand over his face, aware that tears were running hotly down his cheeks.
“Here,” Hercules said, reaching for the nearby waterskin. “Drink.”
Reaching a shaky hand out, Iolaus took the offered water and drank deeply. He was awake now, aware of where he was. He only waited for the questions he feared would follow.
Hercules tilted his head slightly, not daring to touch the frightened man.
“Are you all right?”
The Jester looked up at Hercules, seeing the concern etched in his face.
“I was dreaming about the Sovereign. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Gently and slowly, Hercules lay his hand on Iolaus’ shoulder. The smaller man stiffened slightly, then seemed to relax. Hercules realized he was waiting for something to happen. The Jester still saw the Sovereign in him and was waiting for the Sovereign to strike.
“Iolaus, I’m not him. I would never hurt you or betray your trust. I know things happened to you at his hand, things you can’t talk about. I respect that. But don’t let it put walls between us that neither of us can climb.”
Suddenly, the Jester fell forward against Hercules’ chest, great soul-wrenching sobs tearing from the depths of his very being. He put his arms around Hercules’ chest, as if he were drowning and Hercules was his lifeline.
Taken off guard, Hercules dared to embrace the gentle soul, his heart breaking for the anguish he heard in each sob.
“He hurt me, Hercules. I can’t bring myself to say the words, but he used me as more than his Jester and every time, my soul withered a little more until I felt dead inside. It was the only way I could survive the assaults. If I had fought, I would have been lucky if he only killed me.”
Pulling away, Iolaus dared not look at Hercules. He was terrified of what he would see in his eyes, his face.
“I wanted to die, but I was too much of a coward to end it. Then, I realized one day, I wanted to live. I had things I could offer that would make my world a better place.”
Hercules sat back, his hand still on Iolaus’ shoulder.
“I thank the gods you survived. I need you, Iolaus. You’ve given my life focus again and you saved my sanity. I’m not alone any more. You did what you had to do to survive and sometimes that takes more courage than it would to die.”
Hercules waited, before he said what he knew Iolaus had to hear, even if his heart knew it.
“I would never, never hurt you. I have too much respect for you. You are one of the most courageous, brave people I’ve ever known. You are a survivor and you ARE my friend.”
Iolaus had finally fallen asleep, too exhausted to fight it any longer.
Hercules sat beside the smaller man, as if to guard against the dreams, to protect him as he had failed to protect Iolaus in Sumaria.
And, for one of the few times in his life, Hercules felt murderous rage. If the Sovereign were not already dead, Hercules would have taken pleasure in tearing him limb from limb.
Looking down, he pulled Iolaus’ blanket up around his shoulders and touched the blond hair. The gentle, sweet Jester who considered himself a coward. Someday, Hercules hoped, he would realize just how strong he really was.
finis
Melinda is not online at this time, but if you would like to give her feedback on this story, email it to me, Quiet Wolf, and I will pass it on to her.
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