The Start of Something

Chapter 1 – standard disclaimer applies in that the BBC owns them, not me.

Warning – SPOILER ALERT. This is set after the season 1 finale. Don't read it, if you still want to watch it. This is the first of a series of stories that I have planned. I'm testing the waters with this one so I really hope you enjoy. All characters will get their time but this is mainly looking at Pasiphae/Aeson/Jason and their dynamic.

The midday sun hung high above the streets, swathing all from the lowliest to the loftiest in her suffocating heat. The pediment crowning Poseidon's temple gleamed bright white, its marble relief shining above the city of Atlantis. Temple and palace stood tall, side by side, looking down on their city below: protecting their citizens, warning their enemies.

From the temple's imposing entrance, a trickle of supplicants emerged onto the steps, immediately shading their eyes from the harsh, bright sun. Inside the temple, lofty and airy, the cooler temperatures had almost fooled them in to forgetting that they were all in the grip of the unforgiving season of summer. But the hovering flies, the lingering smell of market-stall vegetables laying too long in the heat and the beads of sweat already forming on their brows soon gave them cause to remember.

Muttering under their breath, the small crowd dispersed and in the silence that followed, a lone woman stepped out of the outer sanctum and onto the broad top step. Beneath her head scarf, gold glinted and threads of silver were suddenly illuminated, entwined in the elaborate tresses of her dark hair. The queen of Atlantis would not allow discomfort to mar her fine features though she gritted her teeth and steeled her resolve as she made her way back down the steps and home towards the palace.

Once more, she felt the burden of her sex as she grimly acknowledged that the Temple of Poseidon was one of the few places that, as a married woman, even as a queen, she could travel to without judgement or restriction. Her moves were monitored more closely now. Minos looked at her through guarded eyes. He was not the first husband to do so. Though the months past had softened his ire considerably, Pasiphae worked relentlessly to rebuild his trust.

A guard nodded and bowed to her as she passed through the palace gates but she paid him no heed. Her mind was rooted elsewhere, as it had been those past two months. Her stomach clenched and for a moment, she paused, resting one hand against a high stone wall. The pain was becoming all too familiar: sharp, wrenching pangs. Be concerned for your own future, the Oracle had warned her. Pasiphae let out a sharp, bitter laugh. When had she not? She drew in a deep breath, alarmed to feel the tremor in it. Composure must be regained before facing either Minos or worse, Ariadne.

Timing her visit to the Oracle had been crucial: facing her step-daughter was a bitter and scathing affair and Ariadne had, of late, taken to devoting much of her time to performing her duties to Poseidon. Minos, ever the doting father, liked to attribute this to his daughter's dedication to Atlantis and the Gods. But Pasiphae knew better. She may not have been the girl's true mother but women understood each other without the need for blood or affection. She pined. She pined for the same boy who had suddenly pierced a pinprick through a place in her own soul – a soul that the queen had all but forgotten existed. For once their purposes were not crossed but combined.

The Oracle, however, had remained stubbornly silent refusing to reveal to her the information she so desperately sought. The gods revealed to her only what they saw fit. Pasiphae did not believe a word of it! Was it so wrong of her? To want to know? To need to understand? She continued to fume. Poseidon's oracle held her tongue on purpose, of that she was certain. The conniving woman was steeped in secrets, even those that did not belong to her. She coveted the happiness of others; guarded another's treasures as if they were her own, lining her nest with stolen jewels and riches. Neither woman trusted the other but, despite her threats, Pasiphae knew she could not harm her. To murder Poseidon's oracle was a sacrilege that not even she dared commit.

The pain subsided and a slow ache took its place. Ah well. An ache had filled her heart for over twenty years. She had forgotten it, pushed it away until it had seeped down into the very core of her. She could do it again. Pasiphae pushed herself away from the wall, drew back her head scarf and swept along the path.

"Bloody sun!"

"You've said that already, Hercules." Pythagoras wiped the sweat from his forehead as he manoeuvred a street vendor's cart.

"Well, blasted flies, then!" The bulky man answered, swatting wildly at his grizzled face. The midday was a stupid time to have ventured out of doors. He should be in his house, sleeping. Or better still, in the tavern, drinking. Together, they rounded the corner that led to the palace, watching with a mixture of awe and dread as the way before them rose to the grandiose gates and gardens within. "Oh what are we even doing here?" he exclaimed, suddenly.

Beside him, his young friend slowed up to a halt. "Your irritability isn't exactly helping matters," he pointed out, as calmly as possible under the stifling conditions. "And I haven't heard you come up with any better suggestions."

"Anything's better than marching in to the palace! A place that, need I remind you, is forbidden for us to even enter."

The young mathematician sighed and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. "The princess may have news by now."

"It was foolhardy to have approached her in the first place. We're not him. We can't flit in and out of that place with the same kind of impunity that he seems to. I don't know what we thought she could do."

"Something! It's been a week, Hercules! Tell me you're not worried about him."

"I don't get worried," the older man protested, gruffly, though the lines on his face belied his words. "He's probably off moping somewhere. You'll see. He'll come marching back through our front door any time now with barely a word of explanation or apology for making you worry. That's the ingratitude of youth for you. And their impetuousness. Present company excepted, I suppose. He needs a clout round the ear, not sympathy!"

"Moping?" Pythagoras replied, incredulously. "Seriously? For a week? I know Jason's taken to his solitude lately but this is extreme, even for him. And anyway, he wasn't moping. He was hunting. Trying to keep food on the table to feed your belly. Mainly."

"Rubbish. Ever since Minos told him to keep away from his daughter, Jason's been pining away like a love-sick fool."

"And I suppose you would know nothing of that, would you?" The days of stress and the prickly heat had taken their toll on the normally placid and mild-mannered genius.

Immediately, Hercules stiffened, his eyes hardening. "That's not fair," he protested, darkly. "The woman I love is cursed by the Gods and banished to a life of misery, danger and solitude. His princess is safe in her palace, separated from him by a few slabs of stone. If they truly wanted to see each other the most perilous feat they'd have to accomplish is to stand either side of an open window and shout. Do not compare the two!"

A moment later and Pythagoras bowed his head "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. "I know it's not the same, it's just…"

"You're worried about him. I know. It's in your nature. You fuss." Then his tone softened and he placed a meaty hand on the young man's shoulder. "We'll find him, Pythagoras, I promise." He gave the bony shoulder a reassuring squeeze and was rewarded by one of his friend's easy smiles.

"I know," he affirmed with a nod of forced confidence. He reached up one hand to gently pat Hercules' hand. "Now let's go and see the princess. I asked her to meet us by the kitchen doors, in my note." He glanced up at the sun overhead, afternoon shadows starting to lengthen against the terracotta walls of the narrow street buildings. "We shouldn't keep her waiting."

"The kitchens?" Hercules repeated, his eyebrows raising. "Well I suppose it can't hurt to ask."

Pythagoras smiled, shook his head and moved on, turning the corner that led to the palace and spurring Hercules to follow. "And I suppose if they happen to have pies, then the plight of your friend will not be for naught."

"If they have pies or some other concoction of pastry delights then Jason would understand, my friend, believe me. And I'd save him one. I am not a heartless man."

A light breeze had caught the silk hangings that adorned the walls of the passage ways and gently billowed them out, ruffling their edges. Shining ivory rippled, like the ocean whose sea breezes, even at this distance, were the cause of such welcome relief from the heat. The movement caught Pasiphae's eye as she stepped from her chambers into the passageway. There were none within the palace walls who dared utter personal remarks about the lives of the royal family – if ever there had been thought of dissention then Ariadne's near fate had quashed any stirrings of it. But still, they noticed – the servants who brought fresh bedclothes, who served refreshments to her and her husband: it had been some time since the king had shared her bedchamber.

It was to be expected after such a gruelling illness, Pasiphae told herself, weaving her lies intricately into their place in her web. Minos needed space to recuperate properly. His strength returned every day but nights could be difficult. Unpleasant. It wasn't fair to expose his queen to such disruption. Far kinder to move to temporary rooms. Not too far from her but nor too close. As if on cue, his doors opened, further down the passage way and Pasiphae almost held her breath so unused to these feelings of uncertainty, of threads unravelling. Her lies hung like diamond dewdrops. Do they acknowledge each other today? Shall their eyes meet and look away? Do they speak?

She will nod, of course, respectfully. Always respectfully. Always humble. Acquiescing. Loving. Lying.

She watched him turn from her direction, as yet, unaware of her presence. Where were his guards, she wondered? He was rarely far from them these days past. His dark blue robes swished the stone-flagged floor as he moved. Taller now, she noted; straighter. It had hurt him at first, maintaining this posture but Minos had not been dissuaded from it. His people needed to see their king strong, capable, ready and able to protect them. His perseverance, that bead of sweat nearly imperceptible on his brow, almost twinged her heart.

Was there ever a time, she found herself wondering, in all the years she had lived with him when she had been tempted, even for a day, to simply be his wife? To let that content her? When the driving passion for power might have been usurped by a passion for something else? He showed surprising moments of strength and blazing passion and it was almost a tragedy, she lamented, that she could not share power with this man. But that would be impossible. He could not be controlled and Atlantis would not let a queen rule in her own right.

Creating an heir with Minos would have been the most logical solution to her problems, especially once the problem of Minos' son, Therus had been dealt with. Their child would have been accepted by all, a child contained and controlled. Heptarian had always been an outside chance but one she had driven to its bitter end. And Minos, however reluctant to jeopardise his children's inheritance, could have been persuaded if she had truly applied herself to the cause.

And yet she had not. Perhaps her heart did not have the capacity to mother another child. Not since the last had been ripped from her bosom while still in swaddling clothes. Ripped from her shrivelling heart. For a moment, she had tried to fill the void with her nephew and, not for the first time, her heart clenched for the young man, cremated with dubious honour as his leading role in Ariadne's plight had been given unfortunate but necessary attention. He would have understood, she told herself, joined as they were in purpose, but the lies still stung. He was blood and though no one spoke his name within these walls, the queen kept a place for him within her own.

This, however, was a day is seemed when her husband either would not or could not acknowledge her as he continued silently on towards the throne room. She paused by the intricately arched windows giving him time to move out of sight. But suddenly, to her surprise, he turned to her as if aware of her presence all along, as if reaching a decision. His eyes found hers and locked in place.

Pasiphae fancied she felt her heart thud a little more prominently against her ribs as the man before her seemed to grow.

"Pasiphae." His voice, low and clear, carried across the distance like a whetstone on a sword's edge.

"My Lord?"

She bowed slightly at the shoulders, lowering her gaze for a moment before raising it once more to meet his. A look fleeted across his face, features worn by time and grief, eyes hardened with something else. She saw it, pinned it into her memory – that flicker of emotion so long absent. With soft but purposeful steps, he approached her until they stood, a breath apart. She could see the new streaks of grey through his beard and, for a second, wanted to comment on them.

Still, she waited, watched as her husband shifted the weight on his feet. It could have been the last vestiges of illness, but to his wife, she saw the moment of nervousness. When he did not speak immediately, Pasiphae swept in. "You seem well, my Lord. Stronger. I am very glad to see it."

"Yes." His voice sounded strangely torn, hesitant. "I am. Stronger, that is." He paused and looked away for a moment. "I no longer…require such separate chambers. It would be…improper, under the circumstances." He met her eyes. "You understand, of course?"

"Of course," the queen agreed, her voice, milk and honey. Minos cleared his throat, sharply.

"If you have no objections then, I shall have my belongings brought back to your...to our chambers."

With a rapid heart beating in her chest, Pasiphae nodded, demurely. "As you say, my Lord, it is the wisest course of action."

Suddenly, his expression turned sharp, mocking. "The cloak of acquiescence lays poorly on your shoulders. Without the fire in your eyes, I have one more reason to not recognise my own wife." And for just a second, that fire flared up before him and the beginnings of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, teasing the lines of his habitual grimace, into something lighter. "Better," he remarked and Pasiphae almost balked at being forced to be the puppet, rather than the master. Instead, she smiled at him.

"Walk with me," Minos commanded. "There are plans I must make and your counsel…has been missed." He admitted this last part very quietly and as he began to walk, the queen fell in step beside him.

"Of course, my Lord. What plans are these?"

"A suitor for Ariadne. She will be a wonderful queen but a city without a king is vulnerable and a queen without a husband will be the focus of much unwanted attention. My illness has brought into focus that which I should have done, long ago. How can I leave this world knowing I have not secured a man to protect and honour my daughter as he protects and honours this kingdom?"

Pasiphae turned cold as she walked. Already? The king already sought a new suitor? Whatever plans she must make must be made soon. "Ariadne does not seem keen on finding a husband. Her heart and mind are devoted to her duty to Poseidon and to Atlantis."

"Precisely," Minos agreed. "And it is her duty to Atlantis that will not fail us. She will do what is right. I have the utmost faith in her."

Of course you do, Pasiphae thought. But will you acknowledge where her heart truly lies? Or is that one truth a father can never admit to himself, no matter how royal the blood that courses through father and daughter?

"There is no-one within Atlantis who serves our purposes. I must admit, despite her refusal, I had harboured hopes that, given time, Ariadne would come to accept Heptarian after all." He ignored his wife's tightening jaw. "Therefore, I must look to the princes of our allies, or perhaps those we wish to build alliances with. Though I…hesitate to risk putting Atlantis under the yolk of another city state, I do not know what else I can do."

They came to the grand double doors of the throne room and paused while the attendants moved swiftly to open them. "Minos," Pasiphae began softly. "You speak the truth and with both the wisdom and grief of a father and a king. But I beg you to wait, just a few months longer. Ariadne needs time to settle, time to adjust to this idea. Neither matters of the land nor matters of the heart do well when rushed and given time, new possibilities are often waiting to present themselves." She placed a hand on his arm and they were both suddenly painfully aware of the first physical contact they had shared in weeks. Her fingers squeezed his forearm gently and sent tiny pricks of heat along his arm.

She could feel his blood pulse beneath her fingers and she could not help her smile.

A moment later and Minos nodded. "You are right," he conceded, entering the throne room as the servants within bowed and moved aside for him. "There is no pressing need right at this time."

A movement to the corner of the room suddenly drew Pasiphae's attention: a man stood, dressed in the uniform of a guard though it lay ill-fitting across his bulky frame. He was hugging the shadows next to the servant's entrance to the room and though he waited patiently, face impassive, the queen felt her pulse quicken and her palms begin to itch. Their eyes met, for a fraction of a second then he turned and silently left the room.

"I am glad to offer you counsel once more," she said. "Now, I can see you have matters of state to attend to, so if you have no further need of me….?"

"No, you may take your leave." She nodded and turned to go. "And, my queen?" Pasiphae turned gracefully on the spot, one eyebrow raised. "Thank you."

And his wife smiled and bowed and somewhere inside of her, felt that she should have been rejoicing at the turn of events. Only she wasn't. She couldn't for something far more important had just taken precedence and she did not yet know if she should be filled with despair or hope.

"Nothing?" Pythagoras' heartbroken plea pierced at Ariadne's already torn heart.

The princess of Atlantis had slipped her guards and moved smoothly through the kitchens to meet her visitors in the little courtyard just outside the doors. If the servants felt it strange to see their future queen standing amongst the hanging pheasants, the baskets of fresh-caught fish, bunches of herbs, drying from the wooden roof beams or the well-cultivated vegetable gardens then they had sense enough to keep their silence.

And now she resisted the urge to place a comforting hand on the young man's arm. It would have been inappropriate and she was already held under tight scrutiny for just such sentiments. It did not help matters that her own failure to uncover Jason's whereabouts had given her night after night of sleepless worry. He would not do this to his friends – to any of them. Not if he had a choice.

"I am sorry, Pythagoras," she consoled. "I have asked the guards that I still trust to be on the look-out for him and sent word with messengers to return with news."

"And no-one's heard anything?"

"Have there been any fights or skirmishes, your highness?" Hercules asked, though the sincerity of the question could not help but be belied at the bulging pockets of pastries and sweetmeats. Ariadne had pointedly refused to comment on the theft. Without the news of hope that they so desperately sought her for, it seemed the least she could offer.

"Some," she answered. "Around the taverns. I do not mean to be indelicate but I would imagine you knew more of those matters than I. But none on the outskirts of the cities. None in the forests or in the paths that track across the desert and into neighbouring lands. Nothing that would indicate he had encountered trouble."

"But trouble encounters him," Pythagoras pointed out. "They're old bed-fellows. So to speak." He trailed off at a pointed look from Hercules and cleared his throat, almost apologetically. "Is there nothing more you can do? No other men you can have looking?" He watched, already suspecting the answer as the princess' face creased in regret.

"I am truly sorry," she said and it was clear that she meant it. "But since…recent events, my father is watching me more closely than ever. My…relationship with Jason is under scrutiny and there are so few in the palace that I trust now." She sighed, regretfully and Pythagoras suddenly noticed how truly worn she looked. "I am not sure who I can count as a friend, who I can hold in my confidence to act with discretion and not to get Jason, or you both or myself into even more danger. Certainly not the majority of the palace guards or the men in my father's employ."

The young man smiled and despite his disappointment, the warmth in his eyes was genuine. "Please do not explain any further. We understand." Ariadne had seen more betrayal in the past few months than most experienced in their lifetimes: Korrina's tragic murder still weighed heavy on her heart and shoulders and Ione's testament against her had robbed the girl of the last friend she thought she knew within the palace. For all her finery and the love of her father, Pythagoras could see how lonely her life had become.

"Yes," Hercules piped up, with perhaps overenthusiastic gusto, "you know Jason. He's always getting himself in and out of these spots. I'm sure he'll be fine and in the meantime, we'll keep looking."

"Of course we will," Pythagoras agreed, wondering whether it would be treacherous to reach out a reassuring hand to place on the young woman's arm.

"I have loyal men about Atlantis, hidden discretely within the walls of the taverns," the large man proclaimed with a confident smile.

"You do?" Pythagoras questioned, trying not to let his surprise show in front of the princess.

"Yes! Cunning spies of stealth and tracking. They will sniff him out in no time, Princess."

Pythagoras half turned to his friend while smiling tightly at Ariadne. "You don't mean Mylos, do you?"

"He's a good man, Pythagoras."

"I've never seen him sober."

"All to help him blend in to the background," Hercules insisted, a little more forcefully, daring his friend to object any further. Wisely, Pythagoras did not. He simply gave a small, embarrassed smile to Ariadne while Hercules swept on. "Don't you worry, Your Highness. All will be well. We will send you news when we find him." Then he stopped a second. "Uh, if you want us to, that is?"

For her part, Ariadne could not help but smile at their banter. She imagined Jason, trading good-natured barbs with his friends, sitting round a table late into the night, sharing a wine skein and laughing with ease. She imagined herself in the picture for a moment, sharing a smile, a joke, a memory and her heart clenched painfully in her chest. And then, in the story in her mind, she gradually heard the raucous laughter of Hercules fade away and the patient stories of Pythagoras melt into nothing, leaving just her and Jason. Alone and together. It was so simple and it hurt so much.

But the two, honest and caring faces in front of her brought her mind back to the present and she couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, both. I am sure, as you say, he will be alright. I will continue to do what I can but yes, news of your success would be most welcome. You may relay it through Melas in the temple. I go there every day so it is probably the safest way."

A sound in the kitchen suddenly made them jump. It was only the innocent thump of a ball of dough being kneaded with relentless vigour on a flour-covered table but it reminded them all that it was not safe to protract the clandestine meeting any longer than necessary. Ariadne cast her gaze about for her guards. They were not so slow that they would not find her eventually.

"Now you had better leave," she told the men, quietly. They nodded their agreement and Ariadne indicated a small, arched wooden doorway, nestled into a red-brick wall at the end of the garden. "That door leads out onto a small stream. There are only some washer women there at this time of day and you need pay them no heed." They followed the line of her finger and could indeed just make out the sounds of splashing and rubbing of clothes and the faint strains of merry conversation. "Just follow the stream to the east," she continued, "and it will lead you back to the city streets."

"Thank you, Princess," Pythagoras said earnestly as he and Hercules backed towards the rear of the garden. "For meeting with us and for all that you've done."

"We'll send word, Your Highness," Hercules promised and with that, he and Pythagoras hastily made their way through the gate, leaving Ariadne to watch them a moment longer, before turning back to the kitchens.

The antechamber was small but served her purpose well. Being situated at the back of the palace, it overlooked nothing more than a small vegetable garden and was on a route rarely travelled by visitors or the palace guard. In fact, she could see no other use for it than for a meeting that should not be taking place.

"Show me," she demanded sharply and the man in the shadows took one step forward, his gloved hand outstretched. Within the man's grasp was a folded piece of parchment and the queen's eyes almost glinted at the sight of it. However, before her fingers could close around it, the man withdrew his hand, ever so slightly.

Pasiphae narrowed her eyes dangerously but her companion appeared un-perturbed. "You understand, Your Majesty, that this is as far as I or my men will go?" The queen almost snarled in contempt but she nodded all the same.

"I have given you nearly a week and it is only now that you come to me with results. Had you and your men," she nearly spat the word, "been the last band of mercenaries alive I would have sought other means before seeking your services again." And with that, she snatched the parchment from his fingers and allowed herself a moment of open eagerness, unfolding it and greedily soaking up its contents. As her eyes roamed the few, short words, Pasiphae felt her heart leap into her throat:

He has been found.

"Where?" she demanded, immediately. "What use is this without instructions? I warn you, if you mean to extract further payment from me in exchange for directions then you will not enjoy my method of reimbursement." Her voice was hard, low and soft and, for a moment, her fingers danced around the gilded hilt of the silver dagger that lay hidden in the folds of her dress. No-one with an ounce of common sense or breath of self-preservation would dare to ignore the warning and to be fair, her scarred companion seemed to have sense enough to rethink what he was about to say. Still, he grinned at her, whether in appreciation or in amusement it was not clear but Pasiphae let it slide. For now.

"My scouts tracked him east through the forests bordering Atlantis and from there, north through desert paths and up to the Mountains of Galena."

The queen's curiosity was piqued. "Why would he take such a path? Who has travelled with him?"

"No-one – it seems he travelled alone. Hunting, by the looks of it," he added, almost with a smirk. "Though it looks as though he was more the hunted than the hunter."

"Why?" The ferocity with which she shot the question at him really did make him retreat a step. She was nose to nose with him now and though he dwarfed her by at least a foot, her presence towered ominously over him as a blackness appeared to enshroud her.

The man tried not to swallow. His adam's apple bobbed fractionally. At her level, she was just the right height to rip it out of his throat and the understanding passed silently between them. "My men tracked his final position to a series of caves in the mountainside. They found dried blood on a rocky scree leading up to the caves though most of it had been worn away. It looked like some kind of animal attack. There were tracks and footprints and a blood trail led up to the caves."

Pasiphae paused for a second to consider his words though she gave him no more breathing room. "How do you know the footprints were his? For that matter, how do you know it was he that was injured and not the animal?"

A rustling sound suddenly drew the queen's hand to her dagger, hackles raised. However, though his hand had gone to the pouch on his belt, it was not a weapon he withdrew. No. It was far more unnerving than that. A small heap of dark leather and gleaming silver sat crumpled in the palm of his hand. Wordlessly, he held it out for her to take, which she did, letting it dangle, tantalisingly before her eyes. She watched the sun from the narrow window catch the silver horns, the symbol of Poseidon's oracle, as it spun gently on the end of its leather strap. "It was found half buried in sand, next to the blood and the signs of a struggle. My guess is he made it up the scree and to the caves for shelter." A pause. "Or he was dragged there."

The man's words seemed to wash over Pasiphae as her attention was transfixed on the tiny trinket. Her breath caught in her throat. How many times had she seen him wear this? The young man with his brazen disrespect for authority, with his selfless courage, with his disarming, almost shy smile and with her eyes. She saw him now, slipping carefree through the streets of Atlantis with those peasants he called his friends, arms loosely draped around one another as they stumbled home from the tavern, happily arguing. The queen saw him as clearly in that moment as she had during all those many nights when she would steal from the palace into the town, cloaked and hidden, to watch her son secretly. To be a part of his life the only way she knew how. The only way she could allow it.

Suddenly her eyes, since misted by memories, turned sharp and pale and bore right in to her subject. "How badly was he injured? Why has he not returned to Atlantis?"

At this, he looked as uncomfortable as she had seen him look since their dealings began. "If you have done anything to…to that boy," she began, smouldering dangerously.

Raising his hands in defence, the man backed up a step or two. "We've done nothing to the boy," he insisted, hotly. "We have pieced together that after he had entered the cave, the ground trembled. We've heard talk of the quakes from people in those parts. The caves," he explained, "they're not stable. When my men saw it they said that the whole bloody roof seemed to have come down – half the mountainside slid down from top to ground!" Pasiphae felt her bones grow cold. "There was nothing we could have done," he continued. "And in any event, you didn't pay us to play nursemaid to foolhardy boys who try hunting so far from home without any help or sense, it would seem."

He took advantage of the queen's internalising to hastily trace a path around her and make it to the door. Queen Pasiphae's temper was renowned in his circles and he wanted a clean exit. Feeling safety, his fingers upon the latch, he threw out one last parting shot: "We're certainly not digging our way through a wall of rock and earth to get to him. It's been five days now. If he's still alive and still worth seeking out, I hope you have men willing to help you. You won't do it alone."

At that, Pasiphae forced herself back to the moment at hand, cursing her temporary weakness. The Mountains of Galena? Something in her chest trembled. Perhaps not men but yes, she knew a man. The only man, as it turns out, who she could possibly have confided in, in the first place. But whether or not he would see her was another matter entirely. But this was not for the ears of a thug such as this. "Get out," she spat, quietly. He deserved no more of her words or time. She turned her back to him, casting her gaze out of the window and down onto the little garden below. A little surprised at being so summarily dismissed, the man lifted the latch and pulled open the door.

"And you may return that guard's uniform from wherever you stole it," the queen said, still with her back to him. "The likes of you are not fit to be seen in it."

Unseen by the queen, a look of surprise and then anger flashed across the man's scarred and hooded face but he only grunted quietly and then slipped outside, shutting the door behind him. Her thoughts were whirling inside her head. Her fingers ran over and over the smooth metal of the necklace. She pressed her thumb hard into the points of the silver horns, hard enough to feel the pain, to relish that connection with the youth. Five days? In this heat? Injured? Trapped. Did he have water? Food? Air to breathe? Was he bleeding still? Could he move? Was it at all possible that her son still lived?

Yes. Because he was her son. And because she had lost him once and would not lose him again. And by the gods, though his father stole him away the first time, this time, he would be the one to give him back to her.

A steely determination gritted her soul and she took a deep, unwavering breath feeling the air swell into her lungs. It breathed new purpose into her and she leaned towards the open window to breathe in deeper. In the distance, disappearing along the path of the stream, the queen looked harder for a moment, sure she had seen the retreating forms of two men that she recognised. But it mattered not. Time was not on her side, nor her son's and she had much to prepare.

Thanks for reading this far. If you'd like to drop me a note, I'd love to hear from you.