When he woke - an effort filled process through which he struggled with blurred and disjointed perceptions - it was to find himself lying in an oddly comfortable cradle, the warmth of several blankets tucked around him and his damaged arm and shoulder strapped tightly into place. Everything seemed distorted. There was a murmur of voices in the distance, sounding as if they came from underwater. Colours and blurred surfaces danced in front of his eyes and they were refusing to coalesce into sensible images.

He blinked, forced a couple of deep breaths and fought for focus, wincing as the flicker of something bright speared through his skull.

Which was throbbing.

Mercilessly.

"Ohhh," he groaned, packing the sound with decided feeling - then jerked upright in panic, a sudden tightness clenching in his guts. "Oh - "

Strong hands caught at his shoulders, holding him steady while he heaved up the remnants of his last meal - along with what felt like a stomach full of acid and an ocean of sour wine. "He's awake," he heard Hercules remark with what sounded like amusement. If he hadn't been quite so occupied Iolaus would probably have hit him.

This isn't funny, Herc, he grimaced, reacting to yet another spasm of gut wrenching queasiness. He coughed out the last of it and was lowered, weak and shaking, back into the warmth of the bundled blankets. A cool cloth wiped at his lips and his friend's face swam into view, staring down at him with a wary frown.

"Better?" Hercules asked. There was no laughter in his eyes. Just taut disquiet, backed by anxious concern.

"No," Iolaus croaked pointedly and the frown cracked into the bare glimmer of a relieved smile.

"Well, you will be. Here - " The son of Zeus produced a battered wineskin and helped his patient drink a little of its unexpectedly fresh contents. "It's just water," he apologised. "Polontius said you shouldn't have wine just yet. But it's clean. There's a spring at the back of the cave here. You look terrible."

"I feel terrible." He did too - he was shivering with weakness and there were a whole troop of centaurs conducting galloping drills inside his skull. He didn't like the look that had settled on his friend's face either - it was the 'this is all my fault' look that he'd been wearing all too often in the past weeks. Iolaus understood how the son of Zeus saw his responsibilities, but after all their angry words it rankled to see that look being worn on his behalf. You didn't order me to be there, he fretted inwardly, irritated that none of his hot accusations appeared to have made an impact on the half immortal's stubborn view of things. "Is the battle over?"

Hercules nodded. "For now. The storm split the advance; Jodaran thinks it'll take a good day for them to regroup. We're actually behind enemy lines right now, but hopefully we'll be out of here before they notice."

"No dishonour in a tactical retreat," a warm velvet voice noted with amusement. "How's our little fish?" The Spartan's commander loomed into Iolaus' field of vision, his eyes twinkling in the firelit gloom. He'd doffed his helmet; beneath it had been lurking a mass of short dark curls tainted with only the barest hint of gray.

"Dented but undaunted," Hercules announced, no doubt catching sight of the irked look that chased across the young hunter's face.

Little fish, Iolaus huffed to himself. Huh!

"So I see." The older man grinned as he hunkered down to join them both. "Don't glare at me, kid. You and your friend here helped save a lot of good men today. The least I could do was return some of the favour. How ya feeling?"

"I'll be okay," Iolaus muttered a little sullenly. The man reminded him of his father - uncomfortably so - and he'd reacted as he would have done had Skouros asked that question. With a sense of stubborn defiance and a determination not to inspire the expected look of stern displeasure. He'd never quite succeeded where his father was concerned. Skorous had always been disappointed with him, constantly failing to measure the headstrong, determined soul that inhabited his son's scrawny and undersized frame. But the dark eyed warrior laughed at his response, reaching out to encircle his undamaged arm with a curl of strong fingers.

"That's the idea," he encouraged, sharing his amusement with the young man that crouched beside him. "You got real potential, kid. Stubborn spirit and a hard head to match. Dangerous mixture, right?"

Hercules' answering smile was a little haunted. "Yeah," he agreed pensively. "Guess so."

"Oh-oh," the warrior noted, his eyes flicking from one face to the other. His lips curled into a knowing smile. "I forgot. You two -ah - got issues, right? Well, you'd better talk 'em out - cos wasting the kind of teamwork I saw out there today would be a damn shame. And," he went on, fixing Hercules with a challenging eye, "it’s one big mistake taking bad blood into battle. The kid here came that close to buying it today. It's too late to say sorry when you're having to say goodbye."

"Amen to that," a third voice acknowledged with feeling. It was the man who'd been carrying the figure of eight shield; he appeared out of the gloom to lay a comradely hand on his partner's shoulder. "Jo - I don't think Cassion should take watch tonight. That wound of his is still bleeding. And Mortan wants to speak to you. Can you spare a minute?"

The older man's eyes rolled with expressive reaction. "No rest for the wicked - or a troop commander. Yeah, okay. I'll talk to him. Put Cassion on soup duty, willya? And Pol - " he added as the taller man began to move away, "make sure these kids get full ration. They've earned it."

"Sure." The answer was a warm one; the hand that rested on the armoured shoulder tightened with affectionate pressure before it released its hold.

"Catch you later, kids," the commander smiled, tapped Hercules lightly on the arm and winked at Iolaus as he rose to his feet and strode away.

"Kids," the indignant hunter reacted once the man was safely out of earshot. "How old does he think we are?"

"He's right," Hercules sighed, moving to sit cross legged in the place that the older man had just vacated. "To him we are just kids. Fresh out of school."

"Good school," Iolaus reminded him, and earned a wry snort in response.

"Yeah … Iolaus - Jodaran's right about other things too. You and I - "

"Ah gee, Herc," the recumbent warrior complained, huddling down into the cocoon of warmth that surrounded him. "Do we have to? Didn't we say enough yesterday?"

"Yesterday - " Hercules began, then sighed. "That was yesterday." He quirked a humourless smile and shook his head, wrestling with thoughts he clearly didn't like very much. "You know, I half expected you to have packed your sword and be halfway home by now."

"I thought about it," Iolaus admitted a little grudgingly. His head hurt and all he wanted to really do was sleep, but he got the feeling that Hercules wasn't going to let him or the matter rest until they'd dealt with it. He wondered what his friend had told the Commander while he was out cold. "You didn't give me many reasons to stay."

"I didn’t give you any reason. I said things - well - " Broad shoulders shrugged uncomfortably. "You said some things too."

"Yeah. I know. I meant some of them."

Hercules winced, then threw his company a puzzled frown. "Only some? Iolaus - " The frown became a determined one. "Neither of us can take back what we said, but - I can tell you this. Not one of those things cut as deep as the moment I lived through today. I saw you go down - and I knew I couldn't reach you. Not in time. I felt that spear go right through me."

Yeah? Iolaus struggled to keep his friend's feature in focus as he studied the expression on his face. Me too …

He quirked an involuntary smile at his own reaction. He had pictured that spear thrusting home; had even braced himself for it. There'd been nothing he could do but face death with a defiant glare. He certainly hadn't expected anyone to save him.

He had no chance to reach me.

I knew that.

He also knew - even without being able to focus on his companion's expression - that had that spear found its target, then Hercules would never have forgiven himself. Facing his own mortality had put a different perspective on things somehow. His thoughts at that moment had concerned his friend - and they'd been thoughts of regret, not anger or resentment.

The day before had held hot words and heated accusations. Anger voiced from frustration, guilt and misery.

But long before that they had made a vow - one offered in innocence, and with bold determination.

Let's be friends forever. Fight back to back. Heroes.

And today there'd been a dark eyed warrior- a man to whom he owed his life - offering them both sage advice. It's too late to say sorry when you're having to say goodbye.

Steel blue eyes were watching him with haunted intensity. Three whirling pairs of them …

If I'd walked away last night, I'd have never got to see that look.

And I'd have regretted it for the rest of my life …

He'd been angry with Hercules because the son of Zeus had begun to doubt his own decisions, his judgement of right and wrong. That doubt still lurked in those anxious eyes, the weight of it increased by the events of the day. And Iolaus suddenly realised that - if he let this anger drive a wedge between them, if he walked away over a few heated words - that doubt would never go away, would never allow the young man beside him the chance to fulfill his destiny.

The world needed Hercules. And Hercules needed somebody to watch his back. To keep faith, even when his convictions faltered. To believe in him. Not to mention occasionally reminding him that he was half mortal, and that even the gods make mistakes sometimes.

Doubt yourself, Chiron had always advised, teaching them the intricate Spartan dance of shield and sword work. But never your partner. Your life will depend on that trust.

He'd seen it work today. Two men, moving as one …

The son of Zeus had stood by him, believed in him, when the rest of the world had looked at him as little more than street trash. When everything he'd done had just seemed to lead to more trouble and further rebellion. What sort of hero would the son of Skouros be if he turned away from him now?

A pretty lousy one, I guess.

So he let his wry smile curl into a friendly grin, and giggled a little at the oh so serious expression on his sword brother's face. "It wasn't that close," he insisted, packing the denial with dismissive bravado. "Was it?"

Hercules nodded, the tightness in his eyes softening as he recognised that - somehow - he'd been offered absolution for his sins. Talk it out, the man had suggested, but it wasn't words that had been needed. Just understanding. And a little forgiveness on the side.

"You know - that guy - Jodaran? - " Iolaus muttered, giving up his fight for focus and closing his eyes instead. "I thought he was Hades, come to fetch me."

"Yeah?" Hercules's voice sounded amused. "Hades is taller. Not by much though …"

"Herc?" Iolaus asked, breathing in and out with each throbbing note of his headache, "if he had been? Would you still have come charging to my rescue?"

There was a beat of silence in which the young hunter held his breath. Then he felt his friend's hand curl around his wrist with gentle strength. "Probably," the son of Zeus decided with a hint of warmth. Iolaus grinned.

"Cool," he decided and was rewarded by the sound of a soft chuckle that came right from the heart. "I'm still mad at you, you know," he mentioned, several moments of companionable silence later.

"I know," Hercules acknowledged softly.

"And I really am capable of taking care of myself in a fight."

"I know that, too."

"So - you gonna stop carrying the whole world on your shoulders?"

"No."

I thought not …

"Herc - "

"Go to sleep, Iolaus." There was a soft pause, and then Hercules added, almost under his breath. "I'll be right here when you wake up …"

He was too - stretched out on a blanket on the cold ground and deep in slumber when Iolaus woke again. It was late into the night, and a much easier awakening, although the young hunter's head still pounded quietly, and his shoulder ached like crazy. It was urgent need that had disturbed his rest and he gingerly pushed aside his coverings and eased himself to his feet, moving as quietly as he could. It was only then that he realised that the bed he occupied was actually a shield - that sheild, its leather interior padded with the woollen blankets and its length just the right size to contain his compact frame.

Hey, he grinned, amused by the discovery. A quick glance around brought sense to the rest of his surroundings; he was standing on one side of a rough cut cave, the rock wall curving over his head before being swallowed by darkness. There was a small fire, barely three paces away, which had burnt down into a pile of ash and glowing embers. Another conflagration occupied the centre of the uneven space, that one still burning bright and strong. One man was sat beside it, feeding it with handfuls of tinder. Two more stood guard at the narrow entrance, and the rest were simply strewn across the rock floor, curled into cloaks and blankets and wrapped in an exhausted sleep.

He glanced down at Hercules, relieved to see that he'd found refuge in just as deep a sleep, and then gingerly stepped over him, trying not to wake him - or anyone else for that matter. The first step was easy - if a little bit of a reach - and he made his way to the cave entrance in a careful tiptoed dance that weaved its way in and out of the sleeping troop and earned him an amused smile from the man at the fire. The atmosphere inside the cave was a warm fug, generated by the fire and too many bodies packed in a confined space; it didn't really register until he reached the low entrance and stepped out into the chill of the outside world. He shivered and half wished he'd thought to bring a blanket with him; there was a fine drizzle of rain falling across the night and the cold in it struck right down to the bone. If need hadn't been quite so pressing, and his headache a little less insistent he might have turned back to find one, but, as it was, all he wanted to do was complete his business as quickly as possible. The comfort of that makeshift bed had become more and more of a siren song with each step that he'd taken away from it, the pounding in his skull seemed to have taken serious objections to his standing upright, and his arm and shoulder were both throbbing in sympathy.

Once he'd explained his errand, the men on guard at the cave entrance waved him through with understanding nods and whispered advice to be quick about it. Outside the world was little more than an inky darkness interspersed with even darker shadows. The weight of clouds obscured all sign of moon and stars. Somewhere - too distant to make out any details - there were hints of campfires burning on the other side of the valley, but this side seemed to be bereft of any signs of occupancy. He sighed a little and used his free hand to help guide him along the rock wall and down the side of the hill until he found a suitable clump of bushes. Actually, the bushes found him; he stumbled right into them and had to bite back the curse that sprang to his lips. Not so much because of the spiky twigs that poked into his shins, but because of the icy shower that had descended from the upper branches and soaked him from head to foot.

Oh great, he grumped, resting his good arm against the roughness of bark and his throbbing head against his gauntlet. Then he swore under his breath and levered himself upright; he'd briefly forgotten that his other arm was strapped in place and that he only had the one hand with which to undo his lacings. His clothing was still filthy, and the combination of drizzled rain and unexpected soaking had softened the layers of caked earth back into a slick coating of mud. It was a little bit of a struggle, but he eventually managed, repaying the heartless bush with a shower of his own. Then he had to struggle to do everything up again.

"We should never have come on this cursed campaign," a voice considered with a soft growl, the sound of it drifting across from a spot nearer the cave but lower on the hillside. "I don't know what's worse - the bad weather or the bad generals."

That's Jodaran …

"Right now," a second voice laughed warmly, "I'd vote for your bad mood. We're alive, Jo. We got out of that mess and we only lost three men doing it. It could have been a lot worse."

And that's his partner …

"Yeah, right," Jordaran snorted. "You and I got our butts saved by a pair of wet behind the ears kids - one of which is barely big enough to hold a sword, let alone use it in anger."

Hey, Iolaus reacted, pausing in his fumbled efforts with muddy lacings to lift his head and glare in the direction the voice came from. He knew that Hercules had put on a spurt of growth after his seventeenth birthday, and he was beginning to get used to looking up those extra inches; he also knew that, since he was two years older than his friend, this was probably as tall as he was going to get. Which, he had reluctantly had to accept, was not going be that tall as warriors go. But that amused assessment didn't just exaggerate the facts. It practically insulted them. The man he knew only as Pol laughed a second time.

"Don't let him hear you say that," he advised. "That kid's got potential. And as for the other one …"

Another snort; this one held more amusment than irritation. "I know. I saw. What do we do with them, Pol? There's nothing more dangerous than would be heroes - especially when one has more strength than strategy and the other more enthusiasm than sense … Still," he sighed, "they're young. They'll learn."

"Sure," Pol chuckled. "If they live that long. Were we ever that young?"

"Well, I was," Jodaran decided. "Still am, at heart. You were born old, Pol."

"I hope that was meant as a compliment - old man."

"Do I ever give you anything else?"

There was a moments pause in the conversation, followed by a low laugh from Jodaran and a softer chuckle from Pol. "Apart from that?" the younger man remarked. "I can think of a few things … Listen, Jo, those kids - "

Iolaus had quickly realised that he was eavesdropping on a private conversation, but there was no way he could sneak past the two men without drawing attention to his presence - and since they seemed to be talking about him and his partner, he was desperately curious to hear what they had to say.

You've no shame, Hercules would undoubtedly accuse, but he'd spent most of his life benefiting from information gleaned in just such a fashion, and he wasn't about to give up on the habit. There were, after all, certain advantages to being small - and being hard to spot was one of them.

"You suggesting we add 'babysitter' to our résumés?" Jodaran sounded amused. Iolaus bristled a little.

"Hardly." Pol was being serious about the matter. "But we could keep an eye on them for a while. Give them a few pointers, show them the benefit of Spartan discipline - you know the kind of thing. Look - they saved the entire troop today. We owe them. Besides - the men need something to inspire them besides cold rain and thick mud. There's something about those two …"

"I can't disagree with that," Jodaran sighed, then laughed softly.

"What?" his partner asked.

"Oh - just wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"What our little fish actually looks like under all that mud."

Pol laughed, while Iolaus frowned with irritated embarrassment there in the safety of the dark. Little fish. Huh, he snorted to himself, using his good hand to break some of the caked dirt out of his hair and scrub at his face. The fine drizzle that filled the air helped a little, but he suspected he was just moving the mud around rather than getting rid of it.

"With those eyes of his?" Pol was observing warmly. "Probably cute as a kitten. But don't tell him I said so."

"No," Jodaran chuckled. "I'd rather you kept all your body parts intact. At least while I've still got a use for them."

Iolaus, who'd straightened up with further indignant reaction at that assessment of his qualities, bit back a reactive gasp of outrage and contented himself with a wry grimace instead. He should be used to men being disparaging about his size and his youthful looks by now - and he'd taught more than a few of them a painful lesson about making false assumptions. But these two had seen him fight - and he was beginning to realise that their quiet joking held hints of admiration rather than ridicule.

Besides, he frowned, recalling the earlier remark, Jodaran's not exactly a giant himself …

"Hold that thought, old man," Pol suggested warmly. "You and I should get some sleep. We've a long way to march tomorrow."

"Yeah," his partner agreed around a yawn. "At least half of it through enemy territory. Gods," he complained, his voice fading as he headed back up the hill. "Is it never going to stop raining?"

Iolaus waited until the two men were halfway back to the cave before he felt confident enough to move. Maybe Herc and I should stick around for a while, he thought, starting to ease himself along the rock face in the direction of the cave. These two might hammer a little sense into his stubborn head …

Jodaran clearly had that quiet strength and confidence that Jason always strived for; a natural cloak of command that inspired respect. And Pol - what is his full name? - had to possess an equal measure of wit and wisdom, if only because without it they'd never have forged the kind of partnership they so clearly shared.

Will we still be like that? Iolaus wondered, pausing to rest his pounding head against the cold rock. Herc and me, he grinned, savouring the image that had come to mind. Still fighting back to back in twenty years time. Still sharing a joke the way we do.

He wondered why he was shivering quite so badly. Sure it was cold , but …

"Iolaus? Hey, little fish, wake up, will ya?"

There was a figure leaning over him, the man's eyes a glimmer of anxious concern in the dark. Iolaus tried to remember when he'd sat down. Why he'd sat down, when the ground beneath him was as hard as stone and cold as ice.

"Don't call me little," he murmured in automatic protest, blinking as he tried to get the shadowed features in focus. "Pol?"

"That's Polontius to you, young man. Ah, hades," the Spartan decided almost immediately, "I guess Pol will do. I might not be here to have a name if it wasn't for you and that friend of yours." He reached down to offer his hand in support and Iolaus grabbed hold of it, using the man's strength to lever himself back upright.

"Whoa," he reacted, watching the night spin around him and feeling the ground tilt and sway beneath his feet. Polontius caught at his shoulders and steadied him.

"Easy," the man laughed. "Take it slow, huh? You know - you shouldn't even be on your feet, let alone wandering about out here."

"Had too," Iolaus muttered distractedly, concentrating on keeping the contents of his stomach down and himself upright. "Needed to go."

"So I heard," the Spartan chuckled softly. "You've got a pretty hard head, you know? I've seen men, battle hardened veterans even, take far lighter blows to their skulls than you did - and be out of things for days."

"Just - lucky, I guess. Look - I'm okay. I can make it." The young hunter took a shaky step forward, only to find his legs refusing to support his weight; he would have stumbled, but Polontius was there, wrapping a long arm around him and lifting him up.

"Lean on me, little fish," he advised warmly.

"Don't call me that," Iolaus reacted with reflexive irritation and elicited another chuckle from his company. The warrior was a rangy figure, blessed with a lanky height and long limbs that ended in broad strong hands. He could have easily picked the wounded youth up and carried him back that way, but he didn't. He let Iolaus hook his undamaged arm around his shoulders and supported his unsteady pace instead, guiding him back up the hill towards the sanctuary of the firelit cave.

"You sort things out with that friend of yours?" Polontius asked after a few moments - casually, as if he were just making conversation.

"Herc?" Iolaus frowned a little over the question, then grinned to himself in the darkness. "Oh yeah. That. Ah, Herc and me are tight. He's just - stubborn, you know?"

The Spartan laughed softly. "Tell me about it. Once Jo gets an idea in his head … Then," he added, "I'm just as bad."

The young hunter giggled at the rueful note in the man's voice. He knew exactly what he meant, since he was just as guilty of it himself. "Pol?" he asked after a moment's companionable silence and a few more stumbling steps up the hill.

"Mmhuh?"

"When I saw you today - in the retreat - you had a sword, but you didn't use it. Why was that?"

The older man drew to a halt and looked down at his company, his hazel green eyes reflecting the faint gleam of firelight that emerged from the cave. "Wasn't my sword," he considered wryly. "It was yours. I didn't think you'd want to lose it."

"Uh - no, I wouldn't. Thanks." That wasn't the answer Iolaus expected, although he was grateful for the consideration. "What happened to yours?"

Polontius smiled in the darkness. "Jodaran is my sword," he said. "On the battle field we're one warrior, not two."

"Oh." That wasn't the expected answer either. "But what if - "

"Little fish," the Spartan interrupted softly, "There's no but about it. I have sworn an oath to defend my partner, no matter what, no matter where. I'm Jodaran's shieldbearer and in battle I am his shield, just as he is my sword arm. I've no need of a weapon while he stands at my side, and -" A wry smile tugged at his lips. "If it came to it," he confessed softly, "I'd gladly put myself between his life and the blade."

The sheildbearer's gift …

Iolaus stared up at him with open mouthed awe. Chiron had explained the tradition along with his instructions about using the shield, but most of the young warriors had openly scoffed at the idea of anyone actually making such a selfless sacrifice. What sort of man would you have to be to do a thing like that? one of them had asked. It had been Hercules who'd answered, his face creased into a thoughtful frown.

A true hero, he'd suggested.

And Iolaus - who'd been busy looking at the idea from several uncomfortable angles - had blurted out his own conclusion, almost without thinking.

Uhuh, he'd denied. A true friend …

The suggestion had silenced the scoffing, earned him a smile of acknowledgement from Chiron, and a look of startled respect from his sparring partner. A look, in fact, which had made the young hunter feel so embarrassed that he rather regretted even opening his mouth in the first place.

But he'd not forgotten the implications - and the quiet confidence with which Polontius had made his confession had sent a startled shiver down Iolaus's spine.

He meant that.

He really meant it.

And he wondered, standing there in the dark and the rain, wounded from battle and only too aware of just how close he'd been to losing the best thing that had ever happened to him, whether he would ever develop such a deep and certain commitment about anything.

Let alone anyone …

"Come on," Polontius decided briskly, resuming his forward pace, "Let's get you back to your sick bed, and then I might get some sleep before morning comes."