Author’s Note: What happened after Iolaus left Hercules and was taken by the Light? What happened in the hours and days just after? This is the writer’s idea of what went on in that time span, written just after “Redemption” first aired.
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.
Hercules stood before the cenotaph, looking into the face of his friend. He was well pleased with the way it had turned out. It was beautiful, more than he had hoped for. He reached out and touched the face etched in the stone. The laurel wreath crowning the head of full, golden hair. The sword held firmly by the hilt, but pointing downward, a sign of peace.
He sat down with his back against the stone. He had brought it here almost three months earlier, after having it fashioned by a local artisan. He had considered getting a sculptor in Crete to do the visage of his beloved Iolaus but in the end had chosen a local stonecutter who had known Iolaus. He felt someone who had known him would be better able to capture the essence of who he was. He was glad his instincts had proven right. The stone was a fitting memorial to a most loyal friend.
Hercules had brought the cenotaph here because it was where he and Iolaus had played as children. This was where they had spent hours talking and planning, wondering what the future held for them. Their friendship had been forged here, as strong and unbreakable as anything Iolaus had ever created in his own forge.
Hercules thought back to those days, so long ago. How he had met Iolaus in school, a scrappy little boy who snapped at anyone who tried to get near him. He was small, blond, and had a chip on his shoulder bigger than he was. To his amazement, Hercules had found out that this little bulldog was, in fact, older than he by two years. Hercules had been drawn to Iolaus almost from the start, for he sensed that behind the tough exterior was a lonely boy who longed for just one person he could trust enough to call “friend”.
Through trial and error and sheer determination, Hercules had finally worn Iolaus down and had begun the task of winning his trust. He had also won a friend who would stand by him for a lifetime. In the end, the great equalizer, Death, would separate them but that was far in the future and even if they had known, they, neither of them, would have chosen a different path.
Iolaus had always treated Hercules as a friend. He was never impressed with Hercules’ demigod status and rarely spoke of it. In truth, he rarely thought of it and when he did, he had a hard time realizing that this was Hercules he was thinking about. Hercules was his friend. The only true friend he had ever had. He was someone to talk to, play with, spend time with. That was all Iolaus needed or wanted.
Hercules had found someone who treated him as just another person like himself. Iolaus was the first and only friend Hercules ever had who wasn’t impressed with his parentage. All Iolaus wanted was to be his friend. Hercules smiled as he thought of how swiftly Iolaus had become a permanent fixture in his life. It was more than the fact that both boys desperately needed a friend to trust. Hercules realized, much later, that he and Iolaus had been soul-mates, destined to be together for something neither knew or could have stopped if they had.
Because he had lived with his grandparents and had no one at home his own age, Iolaus had started spending time at Hercules’ home after school. At first, he went only when Hercules had invited him but later he had gone, uninvited, because he knew that Hercules and his mother, Alcmene, wanted him there. They considered him a part of their family and their door was open to him at any and all times.
Alcmene was taken with this energetic child from the start. Even at that young age, Iolaus was already growing from a beautiful child to a handsome young man. His features were strong, well-defined, and set his golden hair and sea-blue eyes off to perfection. Alcmene was proud of Hercules because, for all his strength and handsome looks, he was self-effacing and modest. She was equally as proud of Iolaus, for he was totally unaware of his effect on people and went about his business in a single-minded way that she often wished Hercules would learn.
Many times, she had watched this child with the energy of ten children his age and size, play with a ferocity that often left Hercules sitting on the sidelines, just watching. Iolaus never walked but always half-ran everywhere he went. Hercules, almost a foot taller, had to walk at a brisk pace just to keep up. By the end of the day, when Iolaus would sleep over, Hercules would fall exhausted into bed while Iolaus would sit at the kitchen table with Alcmene late into the night, talking about the great adventures he and Hercules would have one day. Looking at the fair-haired boy sitting across from her, Alcmene had never doubted his words would come true.
Hercules opened his eyes and looked around at the meadow, lush green and wonderfully fragrant. His eyes fell on the gravel road leading up and past the cenotaph. He smiled faintly. He could almost see Iolaus coming up the gravel road, excited as usual, about some new plan or scheme or some new girl.
Although exceedingly tall, handsome, and muscular, Hercules was never a ladies man. He had always been almost painfully shy around girls. His tongue developed a mind of its own when he tried to talk to them, so after a while, he had given up trying. Iolaus, on the other hand, was totally at ease with girls. The brashness of his childhood had given way to self-confidence in his youth, coupled with an almost defiant self-reliance and independence.
Girls were taken with him, for even as self-confident as he was, he always retained the innocence of the child he once was, a trait that was totally endearing to any and all who knew him. Iolaus had never known how much the son of Zeus had envied him. Hercules longed for the kind of free-spirit Iolaus possessed. He envied his energy, his break-neck approach to almost everything he did. Hercules treasured this friend as another would treasure a rare and precious jewel.
Through the years, their friendship had grown in depth and mellowed like a fine wine. They had become opposite sides of the same coin. The trust they had in each other was steadfast and core-deep. As they matured, Hercules had become something of a wanderer, going from place to place, helping people. Iolaus, trained as a blacksmith when only a child, had turned to that trade to earn a living. He had a forge in the village and was known for his superior work.
The work was hard, the hours long, but Iolaus enjoyed it and, over time, became as muscular as Hercules, stronger than anyone his size should be, quick and agile. They were young and their lives held promise of a future yet to come.
Iolaus had become a target almost from the start. Hera had vowed, that if she could not strike at Hercules, she would surely strike at all he called friend. Hercules had warned Iolaus from the beginning that friendship with him could cost him dearly. He had made it clear to Iolaus that he was free to end their friendship, that the price that could be exacted on him could be too great to pay. But Iolaus had never run from anything in his life and certainly would not turn his back on Hercules because of Hera.
Hercules’ life and heart had been knit to Iolaus after that. He had known that this jewel who he called friend was, indeed, worth any sacrifice. With Iolaus, Hercules was confident that he had a trusted friend who would never leave him. He knew that, with Iolaus at his side, he could do more good than he could ever do alone.
The sweet trilling of birds brought Hercules back, reluctantly, to the present. A trusted friend who would never leave him. He realized that that thought summed up his whole relationship with Iolaus. He had, subconsciously, believed that somehow, Iolaus was invincible. That he was the only person he could count on never to leave him. In the end, Iolaus had left him but not by choice, only by chance.
He choked back the hot tears as once again he felt the great pain of loss invade his heart. Would it never go away, this hurt that racked his soul? Iolaus had been his strength, his anchor. He felt like a ship in storm-tossed seas, without a rudder. The pain burned white-hot in his chest, still. He let his arms dangle from his updrawn knees, studying his hands pensively.
He was known as the strongest man in the world yet his great strength could not protect the people he loved. He had been powerless to prevent the total destruction of his family, his strength useless in the face of Hera’s wrath. Iolaus had been there, then, a strong and steady presence in a world suddenly turned into blazing turmoil. Iolaus had pulled him back from the brink of madness, had been his light at the end of a long, black tunnel.
Later, when his beloved mother had died, Iolaus had become his family. He had lost so many, that in the end, Iolaus had become the only family he wanted or needed. He still held Iolaus in his heart, with all the others he held there. He realized that he always would.
Iolaus had been married once, long before Hercules, to a beautiful young girl, Ania. He had loved her with a deep, abiding love. She couldn’t cook, couldn’t sew, and his farm animals were scared to death of her but Iolaus had only seen a woman whom he loved and who loved him. He had so loved her, that after her death, he could not even bring himself to speak of her. She lived in his heart, as vital as the day they had wed. Her memory never faded but became stronger as the years went by. His grief for her had lived within him, always just out of reach. He had learned to live with it and had gradually learned to live his life again.
Hercules had only seen Iolaus weep for her once. Iolaus had been at his forge for days, working with no let up. Hercules, worried, had gone to try to talk to him. He had put his hand on Iolaus’ shoulder and when Iolaus turned, Hercules saw the face of a man in such pain he couldn’t even imagine it. His face was swollen and tears still flowed down his cheeks.
“Why?” was all he had said. And for the first time, but not the last, Hercules had held his friend, offering no cloying words but only his strength.
Then, the final blow. Iolaus’ son, Aetos, had become ill and Iolaus hadn’t known what to do for the baby. But Ania had come to him and told him to take the child to the goddess Demeter. Iolaus had taken Aetos to Demeter and she had saved the child. But her price was a high one. His son was to serve in her temple as priest in exchange for his life. Again, Iolaus grieved for a loved one lost not to death, but to life.
After that, Iolaus had abandoned his forge more and more to accompany Hercules on his quests. His heart ached for Aetos. He had missed him more than he had ever thought possible. His only comfort was knowing Aetos was safe with Demeter. Hera couldn’t touch him in the sanctity of Demeter’s temple.
Their adventures became the stuff of legends. Iolaus didn’t even mind that most of the praise was heaped on Hercules. He loved Hercules and their quests gave his life meaning and purpose. Only rarely did he begrudge the adulation Hercules received. Hercules, on the other hand, minded greatly. Being half-god put him at a distinct advantage over any opponent.
Hercules had admired Iolaus more than he would ever know. Iolaus was mortal, albeit not like any mortal Hercules had ever known, but still mortal. Yet, he fought toe to toe with Hercules against odds that were staggering. In many of those battles, the outcome would have been very different if not for Iolaus. Yet he never received the credit he deserved. But to Hercules, he had been and always would be, a hero.
Time slipped by. They grew older, their adventures more far-flung, their victories more hard-won. There had been other loves. For Iolaus, it was the beautiful queen Niobe and the pirate princess Nebula. Hercules loved only once again, Serena. Xena had held them both in her light but, later, though they both had desired her, what they had felt wasn’t the love they had felt for the others. Xena was a force unto herself, better left alone.
Time and circumstance had separated Iolaus from both Niobe and Nebula. Death, once again, had taken the beautiful Serena from Hercules. Again, they had only each other to rely on. After Alcmene’s death, they had, by some unspoken agreement, ceased even the sporadic visits home. There was simply no reason to go back for there was no one there waiting for them. Hercules no longer spoke of the four graves on his old homestead. Iolaus had only spoken of Ania’s resting place once. In what had started out as casual conversation, Iolaus had suddenly fallen quiet. Hercules had stopped immediately.
“Iolaus, what’s wrong?”
His blond companion had hesitated briefly and then looked directly into Hercules’ eyes.
“Hercules, I need a promise from you.”
Hercules had put his hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. For Iolaus, he would do anything.
“Anything, you know that.”
Iolaus smiled. “Yes, I do.”
It was unspoken between them that Iolaus believed Hercules to be immortal. That one day, Hercules would have to go on alone. He turned to his best friend, this son of Zeus.
“Hear me out, Hercules, before you say anything, ok?”
Hercules had shrugged and nodded his head in compliance.
“We both know that I will die first. If not in battle, then of old age. When my time comes, I want to be buried next to Ania, under the oak tree behind my forge. I need you to promise me.”
Hercules had sat down hard on an old tree stump by the roadside. He looked like he had been punched in the stomach, hard. But, as much as he wanted to protest, he knew that Iolaus spoke the truth. He had extended his hand and Iolaus had clasped his wrist in a warrior’s handshake.
“I promise, my friend. You will rest with Ania.”
They had never spoken of it again but both had been content. Iolaus knowing he would be with Ania, Hercules knowing he could do this last thing for his friend.
There had been many journeys after that promise. Life had fallen into a comfortable pattern for both of them. They were content, perhaps for the first time, with the lives fate had dealt them.
Then they had been summoned to Sumaria. Nebula, once again, entered Iolaus’ life and he realized just how much he cared for her. Hercules thought, not for the first time, about Sumaria. About Gilgamesh. How could he have been so wrong, so misjudged anyone the way he had this man? Had he and Iolaus become so complacent with their lives that they had overlooked something so vital? Why had Dahak taken them so completely by surprise? Why had they not been able to meet him on an equal footing as they had all their other opponents?
Hercules realized, now, that it really didn’t matter. Dahak had roared into their lives and destroyed them both. After Sumaria, Hercules had run. For the first time in his life, he had fled from a pain so great he had wanted to die himself to escape it.
He had wandered and, bit by bit, had begun to heal. He had ended up in Ireland and had met Morrigan. He had had fleeting thoughts of a new life, a new love. But Iolaus was always in his thoughts. He dreamed about his death over and over, watching, helpless, as the flung dagger sped toward Nebula. Watching as Iolaus had screamed “No-o-o-o-o” and threw himself between Nebula and the dagger. If only he had been closer, quicker. But he was too far away to do anything but watch.
He would never forget the sound the dagger had made when it struck Iolaus full in the chest, breaking his amulet and sending him flying backward under its force. When Hercules had gotten to Iolaus, Iolaus had the dagger in a death grip, never turning it loose. Hercules had known, as soon as he saw the dagger strike, that Iolaus could not survive the blow. Even as he held him and pleaded with him to hang on, it was futile. But even knowing his beloved friend would not survive, even as the light in his eyes dimmed and he spoke one final word, “Hercules,” even then, Hercules could not believe it.
Hercules had held Iolaus’ body for hours, refusing to surrender it even to the priests. Slowly, he had become aware that it was growing steadily colder, the undeniable truth that Iolaus was gone. Finally, he had lain his friend down on the steps where he had died. He looked at the blue, unseeing eyes, closing them at last. He had pulled the hated dagger from Iolaus’ grip and from his heart. Noticing, for the first time, that Iolaus’ beloved amulet was broken, rage had churned within him like a river, wild.
He had flung the dagger with such force that it had buried itself into the opposite wall, up to the hilt. He had thought, for a while, he would lose his mind under the weight of his grief and his guilt. Even now, after all this time, the guilt flared white-hot. Iolaus had not wanted to go to Sumaria. He’d had a bad feeling about it from the start but had finally relented. Iolaus trusted Hercules and if Hercules said it was a fair journey, it was.
Would it have made a difference if he had taken Iolaus back to Greece, to rest next to Ania? Instead, he had run, trying to escape his grief and his guilt. He had left Iolaus in Sumaria, in a solitary grave of granite, waiting. Dahak had struck then, taking his friend and his body and turning everyone’s life into a waking nightmare.
Why had they been made to suffer so? Had this been their destiny, their fate, all along? To fight and defeat this one great evil only to lose each other? Victory and defeat in one battle? Hercules could not understand how one could win such a victory at such a high price. Perhaps, he never would.
After the final battle with Dahak, when Hercules was left alone in Dahak’s lair, watching the place where Iolaus had been when the Light had claimed him, he realized that this was his fate. He would never again love as he had loved all those he had lost.
Nebula and Jason had removed Iolaus’ ruined body from Dahak’s temple, taking it outside into the dusk, not wanting Hercules to see it when he returned. They had wrapped the shell of the noble warrior in linen and leather strappings. They had both known that Hercules would want, would need, to take him home.
When the Light sent him back, Hercules had only wanted to look upon the face of his dear friend one final time. He had dropped to his knees beside the body and slowly had drawn the linen cover back from the face. It was, again, the face of his beloved Iolaus. The face was, once again, strong yet gentle, the lines sharp, the countenance once more at peace. He hadn’t known what he had expected but to see the face of his friend as it had been before Dahak had twisted it into a mask of hatred and violence, had made his heart soar. He felt, for the first time, that maybe the journey back had really begun.
As night fell, alone, he had built a warrior’s funeral pyre. Iolaus deserved no less than the respect of a warrior’s funeral. This would, finally, put him forever out of the reach of any other gods who would use him. Only when he had tried to place the body atop the pyre had he hesitated. He knew it was only wishful thinking, but as long as he had a body, he might still get Iolaus back. His mind knew what his heart might never accept. Iolaus was gone. He was at peace, his soul in a much better place. Perhaps, this final act of love and respect would bring Hercules the peace he so desperately sought.
Jason had stepped forward and silently taken part of the burden. Together, they placed Iolaus atop the pyre. Jason stood for a moment, his arm across his chest, first clenched. A last salute to a valiant warrior. Nebula had brought Hercules a torch lit from the campfire near the pyre. Together they had stood in silence, each bidding a final farewell to someone they loved.
Hercules had then strode forward and touched the fire to the wood and watched as it caught, burning slowly at first and then more rapidly as it spread. Finally, it began to lick gently at the body, almost a lover’s caress. Then it began to burn brightly, the flames rising high into the night sky.
“Forgive me, my friend.”
He had sat down on the ground, rocking gently back and forth, watching the flames claim what remained of his best friend. He had stayed wit the pyre all night, long after the flames had died out and the night was once again dark, save for the meager light from the half-moon.
He had cried for Iolaus and for himself. For all the years Iolaus had been cheated of, for all the long years ahead he faced alone.
In the morning, he had found an earthen jar and began to put ashes in it from the pyre. He knew all the ashes he collected were not Iolaus, but he felt he had enough that were to fulfill his promise. He had put the jar in a makeshift backpack and slung it over his shoulders.
“I’m leaving,” he had told Jason in answer to his questioning look. “I’m taking Iolaus home, to Ania. I promised him a long time ago.”
Jason had extended his arm and clasped Hercules’ firmly. “I’m going home, too. I’ve been away too long. I’ll travel with you as far as the homestead.”
Hercules had turned to Morrigan and smiled. “You never knew Iolaus. I know its hard for you to separate what you saw from the friend I knew. But Iolaus was a good man. The best friend I ever had.”
She returned his smile. “I know. But I have to go back to Ireland now. I miss Brigid and you need time. Someday, I would like very much to hear about Iolaus. I think I would have liked him.”
Hercules swallowed hard. “You would have. Actually, you’re a lot like him. I know he would have liked you.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. “Sometime, down the road, Morrigan.”
“Sometime, down the road, perhaps, Hercules.” She had set off down the road, then. She turned once and waved. After she was out of sight, Hercules had turned to Nebula. She touched his arm, cutting him off before he could ever say what he wanted to.
“No,” she said. There was great sadness in her voice, that harkened to things lost and things that might have been. “I won’t go with you. I said my goodbyes to Iolaus a long time ago. I owed him my part in giving his soul peace. I need to go back to Sumaria, now. I need to start healing, again. I will not waste any of the time Iolaus gave me. I will do my best for my people. That will be my monument to him.”
They had gone home, then. It had been a quiet journey. Hercules had said little, lost in thoughts of the past. Jason hadn’t pressed him, for he, too, was pondering the past, reluctant to let go. When they reached the homestead, Jason had bid Hercules goodbye.
“I’ll let you go on alone,” he said, clasping Hercules’ arm. “What you do now you do for love. What you do now is in honor of that bond between you and Iolaus. It’s for you to do alone.”
So Hercules had taken Iolaus home. He had gotten to the forge just as the first gray light of dusk was falling. He was shocked by the disrepair he saw but not surprised. They hadn’t been home in over a year, before Iolaus had died. Now it was close to two years.
He had gone around to the back of the forge, to the ancient oak tree with the solitary marker beneath. Iolaus had fashioned the marker in the forge. It had stood the test of time. He stood and looked at the marker and the grave beneath.
“I promised him, Ania, that I would bring him home to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I do this now in honor of the love you each had for the other.”
He paused, drawing in a ragged breath.
Finally, he continued. “He gave my life reason in chaos, he kept my course true and gave me light and laughter. This I do for him. I bring him back to you, to rest. Take him back to the earth with you. May you be together, again.”
He had spread the ashes over Ania’s grave, stood silently for a few minutes and turned, walking slowly back through the forge.
It was getting dark. Hercules knew it was time to leave but he suddenly wanted to stay here forever. Why was it so hard to say goodbye, so hard to let go? Would he never lose the hurt, the guilt? Could he learn to live with it?
Then he heard it. The strong, clear voice floating on the gentle breeze. He turned and saw Xena and Gabrielle some twenty-five yards off. Xena keened a warrior’s farewell to a fallen comrade, her voice beautiful, the melody sweet. She had keened for Serena. Now she keened for Iolaus, his beloved Iolaus.
“Hercules?!” The voice was little more than a whisper; it seemed to be inside his head. He recognized it at once.
“Iolaus?!”
“Yes. It’s time, Hercules. It’s time to let go. You have many great journeys ahead, many adventures. I will be there with you, always. As long as you remember me, I will be there, just a thought away. But it’s time to let your heart heal and you can only do that by letting go. The past is the past, over and done. It can never be changed. Reliving it over and over can only cause you pain.”
“Remember me with love and laughter but let me go in peace. You kept your promise to me. I rest in Ania’s gentle arms, my soul basks in a glorious light. You gave me peace, Hercules. You stormed the gates of death for me. I could do no less for you. I give you peace, my friend.”
“But I am alone,” Hercules answered silently, his thoughts beseeching. “Through all my trials, all my losses, you were always there. You were my strength. My one, true friend.”
“You will never be alone, Hercules. There will be others, I promise. I will never leave you alone. Your monument to me is my talisman. I will never be far from this place. It takes time to heal the soul, Hercules. But to heal, you have to start. Let go of your guilt. I did what I did to save someone I loved. If it had been you, I’d have done the same. No one is responsible for the freely chosen acts of another.”
“Be comforted, Hercules, in the knowledge that this was our destiny, together. We were fated from birth for this final battle. Only together could we win. If I have lived, the battle would have been lost before it ever started. You have other destinies ahead, perhaps alone, perhaps not. But mine was Dahak and to meet that destiny, I had to die.”
“To gain entry into our world, he needed a warrior. But he chose the wrong warrior. I was lead astray but, in the end, was redeemed by the faith of a friend. You gave me back my destiny and my soul. No greater gift can one friend give another. I give you, now, the only gift left that I can. I release you. What happened was destined before we were ever born and could not be changed. Be free to live your life in the knowledge I fulfilled my destiny because of you. Thank you, my friend.”
The voice was, abruptly, gone.
Hercules turned and looked to where Xena and Gabrielle stood in silence. Xena’s song had ended but the sweet, forlorn melody still echoed in Hercules’ head. He looked once again at the face in the stone.
“Thank you, my friend. You will be in my heart as long as I live. Thank you for giving me the courage to continue on. I will never say goodbye to you. That I can never do. But we will meet again, this I know. Until then, be at peace. I will miss you, Iolaus.”
He turned toward Xena and Gabrielle. Gabrielle the bard. He would tell her about Iolaus. Perhaps, she would write about his adventures.
finis
Melinda is not online, but if you would like to give her feedback on this story, send it to me, Quiet Wolf, and I’ll pass it along to her.
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