The Also Ran

By Sandman

To SF, list sister with an editor's eye. Thank you.

I just can't take it any more. 

I'm lying under the stars listening to Herc snore softly and feeling his bulk curled up next to me.  The night air is so cool I can see my breath, the way it rises in smoky trails and twists tightly with his, two pale thin vapors morphing into a single larger one and I think that's the way it always has been for us.  Our lives are so intertwined that if the Fates were to cut his thread surely mine would fray to the point of snapping, and the same for him.   In the woods beyond our clearing an owl hoots, a lonely call as it searches for its mate.  Somewhere under the carpet of leaves small feet shuffle tiny bursts of energy or fear, then cautious silence as they recede, seeking shelter and sustenance.

I shift away from Herc, letting the coolness of the night breeze envelope me fully. He knows I'm troubled, I could see it in his face as we walked the wooded path in silence this evening. He also realized that I can't talk about it yet.  That's the way it is for us.  We've known each other for so long, gone through so much together, that we just understand when silence is the best answer.

And I feel guilty.

I should talk about it with him, let him reason with me as he has done so many time over the years, but this time the hurt is deeper, raw and powerful as a bully's taunt.  Herc is always afraid to hurt other people's feelings, but sometimes in doing this he hurts mine.  He takes for granted that when people flock around him thanking him for killing the Hydra, or slaying the giant or saving the city that I understand I'm included.  But that's where he's wrong.  I know people better than he does, and I'm NOT included, not even seen sometimes.

He'd trade places with me if he could I know that.  He'd be more than happy to keep to his circle of friends, but he's driven to fight for people, act as a balance against the whims of the gods.  And I admire that, I truly do, but deep down it hurts that I, a mortal, offer the ultimate sacrifice when I fight at his side yet rarely get so much as a friendly clap on the back or handshake, or even a simple thank you. Hercules can do no wrong, yet I come under scrutiny. 

I don't want to think these thoughts. 

I inch away further, facing the forest and trying to take comfort in the night sounds.  It's too cold for crickets, whose musical trilling I find soothing, but on the other hand that makes it too cold for mosquitoes as well.  Sleep eludes me, while Herc snores on, arms crossed over his mighty chest and biceps bulging while I toss and turn on the hard cold earth, feeling every irritating pebble press into my flesh like shards of glass.   He reaches out and I feel his hand connect with my shoulder, drawing me back, another arm firmly curling around me.  His skin is cold, stretched tight across his well honed body and I know he wants my warmth. I won't deny him, I never do.

Even so I feel trapped. 

The woods beckon, full of life that demands nothing of me.  The rustle of the tree branches, the eye of the moon watching solemnly through the canopy of leaves, and even the soft musty smell of the damp soil fills me with longing.  I know that tonight I will slip away when I can into the comfort of the wilderness where survival is the only judgment, where killing is for a need only, where through understanding and reverence we can thank our surroundings and all the life it contains.

Sure, I like a good party, a festival, jovial companionship and intimacy.  And I love being with Herc too.  But there are times I crave solitude more than anything else, and this is one of those times.  His arm feels heavy on my shoulder, his hand cool on my chest, but his skin is warming.  I'll take my leave soon, when the moon has risen to its zenith and let the soft feeling of the wooded night cleanse my soul.

It's time.

I slip out from under his arm and pull my own fur cloak over him to warm him.  He needs his sleep.  I don't want him to wake and worry, so I move with stealth, rolling part of the cloak up and slipping his arm around that.  The call of the forest beckons.  I glance back to make sure Herc is okay, and step soundlessly to its Siren call. 

The woods at night are not the soft laughing lush greenery that they were when the sun shone brightly, dappling the path through the leaves.  Now the tall trees stand as stoic soldiers shoulder to shoulder, the rough bark like torn uniforms on mercenaries.  Everything is the same color, dark, and nothing looks familiar anymore.  The path is gone, camophlaged by the shadows cast in the soft light of the suspicious eye, a mere sliver of a moon.  I pick my way between the trees, knowing by the gap where I can step safely.

The forest has become silent as I trace my way through it with care, leaving the clearing and the sleeping form of my best friend behind.  Further and further I walk and gradually the forest life becomes used to me.  The scattered footsteps of mice, the flap of the winged hunters, the rustle of leaves and the sound of the chill breeze rattling the branches like an old priest trying to call down the gods accompany me as I trace the way to my goal.

I can hear the bubbling of a swiftly flowing wide river long before I can actually see it.  Slowing my steps and picking my way carefully through the abundant growth that the waters here have spawned I peer watchfully through the grass, grown waist high.  A doe stands sipping peacefully at the edge of the stream, her head down, and then she raises it as I hold my breath.  She stands upwind of me so I know she won't catch my scent.  She tips her head down once more, and then when her thirst is satisfied, moves slowly off along the edge of the river to where it bends and the woods pick it up again.  I watch her disappear and think that there are times that I wish I could disappear as well.

I take her place at the river's edge, settling myself into the soft wet dirt and studying her tracks.  She had stepped unhesitatingly to the water, seeing her way clear.  I drop my head, wishing I could see my way as surely as this simple doe has done. 

I won't leave Hercules' side, at least not for long, or unless he insists and really means it.  But walking next to him is the hardest thing I've ever done.  It means a life of travel, never settling.  Hera wouldn't allow that anyway.  And it means constant danger.  As a mortal I wear a giant bull's eye on my back, my front, everywhere.  Not that it matters, I'd give my life for him anyway.

It's just that when the fighting is done, and the bruises are rising, the bones ache and cuts need tending to, once in a while a thank you would be nice.  It's hard to believe that I can become invisible so quickly, but it's true.  I disappear faster than the losing racehorse.  Next to Herc, demigod, legend and all around hero I'm simply an also ran.

I turn my face to where the doe disappeared around the bend not wanting to think these thoughts.  The water flows faster there, its voice the hurried whisper of rumors.  I see a fish jump, breaking the surface, then silently slipping away under the surface, sucked along with the current, unseen now and struggling.  The moonlight glints off of something resting at the river's edge, white, irregular and it piques my curiosity.   I push up against the damp riverbank and stand, opening my eyes wider and take soft silent steps over to see what it is.

Antlers.

A buck has lost its antlers, the annual winter shed before the new growth of bigger and better weapons.  Self protection lost for a short while, and then regained and improved, I wish I could do that, but then maybe I already am.

The antlers are fresh, the ends still snowy white where they dropped off, not yet weathered.  I pick them up, one in each hand and see that they each have four points, a young buck, maybe only a couple of years old lost them.  Etched onto the bony beige are the scratches and scars of many fights, the marring of the trees branches as he passed through the rough head down and using his protection to blaze the way.  I let my calloused palms slip along the smoothness as my eyes search the woods to my side where the doe disappeared.   I finger the scar over my eye and trace its path up my forehead from a fight when I also was the young buck.

I toss the antlers into the river, listening to the plop as they hit the rushing water and draw my arms around myself to fend off the cold, watching the mist of my breath wend its way solo in a dizzying spiral.  Leaning back against a tree I slide down its smooth bark until I'm sitting cross legged on the cool of the ground and I try to meditate.  I let the rush of the river slip away, nothing but a soft lullaby.  I let the coarse rustle of the fallen leaves grow silenced as if covered in a blanket of insulating snow.  I ignore the persistent terrier-like nipping of the wind and let the warmth inside me reign.  The ground is no longer cold or damp, simply a support for my being.  I do not smell the dampness in the air, or the decay of the mulching forest floor or the scat.   My eyes are closed, seeing only the sparkle of my own soul, the tendrils of fire that sear my conscience.

I am one with the world around me, separate, yet enclosed in the oneness that is all life.  I slow my breathing and feel my heart rate respond in like manner.  Everything slowing, finding a common rhythm.  I am no longer separate, needing justification or praise.  I am part of the whole, the doe, the buck, the river, the leaves, the breath of frozen air.  I am part of the cycle of life, a single beat in the world's heart.

These are the moments when things become clear.  I've heard people speak with derision about meditation as emptying oneself, but to me it is quite the opposite.  This is when the part of me that is lost finds its way back, when I become filled once again.  I see things with the clarity of the great sparking sun on the blizzard's fallen snow.  Time falls away and everything crawls along on its own timetable, mindless of the rise and slow descent of the crescent moon.

I don't know how long I've been meditating, I know only that the time passed and I feel a hand on my shoulder, a small squeeze that pulls me back.  The chill of the night follows and the dampness of the riverbank beneath me stirs me to shivering.  The hand that gripped me is followed by an arm, and then I feel the warmth of my fur cloak as Hercules settles next to me, enveloping us both like twins in one womb.

"I woke up and you were gone," he states simply as he stares out at the river.

I watch the moonlight reflect off the swells, glisten across the large rocks thrusting through the smooth surface and breaking to pieces with the movement of the water as it journeys onward.  I don't speak right away, instead noting the deceptive nature of the river.  The surface is so smooth, yet just below lie powerful currents.

An owl hoots and Hercules shifts a bit, perhaps uncomfortable with my silence.

"I'm not mad at you Herc," I finally say.  I pick up a pebble and toss it into the water, which barely ripples it flows so quickly. 

"You've been quiet since we left the village."

I sigh.  I feel mellower now, the anger leached out with the meditation.  But some of the sadness remains.  Hercules has a wisdom and strength that is beyond simple muscles.  He draws people to share things they would normally not.  He's like a priest, waiting silently for the worshippers to confess and receive their cleansing.  He's been my friend for almost forever and doesn't deserve to be given the silent treatment.

"It's just hard when you get the recognition and I'm totally ignored," I start, not wanting to sound whiny, but he cuts me off.

"I couldn't have done it without you!" Hercules affirms.  He stares at me in surprise, as if the thought had never even occurred to him. 

"You were the one that killed the monster."  He continues to stare at me.  "I have the tooth marks in my arm where it held me."  He absently rubs the raw wound that has been bothering him.  I've watched him try to pretend that it didn't hurt and that he was unimpaired, but I could see that he was favoring it.  In truth the monster had him pretty good.  In fact the pain in his eyes at that moment was alarming.

I feel childish, but it needs to be said.  "No one ever bothered to say "thank you, Iolaus."  I stop and pull the blanket tighter across my shoulders, feeling him lean in supportively against me.  "It seems they never do."

Hercules shifts his whole body toward me.  "Then thank you," he speaks softly.   I see a quiet understanding on his face as he lets his eyes sit non-judgmentally on me.

"Herc, you don't have to thank me.  I'd gladly die for you," I assert.  "My job is to fight at your side, protect you so that you can do what needs to be done."

"You do so much more than that."  His eyes bore into me and the words he doesn't say reach deep.

I shake my head and sigh, trying to find the words to say exactly what I feel. "The villagers made me feel like- - - like an also ran."  It's seems the only appropriate description, for truly to them I finished the race, but wasn't not good enough to receive a medal.

"Iolaus!" 

I hear the pain in his whispered voice.  I didn't want to hurt him, only to make him understand.  Traveling at his side isn't easy.  The monsters are cool, the fights keep me sharp and he's my best friend, always with me.  But the people - - -

"The people don't count," he states emphatically, then changes that.  "Well, they do, but they don't get to see what you do."  He's speaking earnestly now.  "They only see us return and their problems end.  Their minds process only that big problems must be handled by the big guy." I see that he swallows these words as if they are bitter medicine and I take to heart that he does in fact understand.

I nod silently and turn away.

It's not just about the villagers, this I know, but lose sight of sometimes.  It's about us, Herc and me.  Sometimes it's hard to keep that in focus.  It shouldn't be, but when Herc is pinned down, with jaws clamped on his right arm and he's hollering for me to help, and when I behead the monster and he gets feted I let my ego get in the way.

I should be enjoying the celebration.  The monster is dead.  Herc is alive.  We're safe.  But even HE didn't acknowledge my contribution when the people cried out his name. 

"Herc," I finally say, knowing this is what I held back, the reason I couldn't talk before and the part that started me thinking this way.  I didn't want to say it.  But it is the crux of the matter.  I rub my hand across the stubble of my chin staring first into myself and then up at him.  His steely blue eyes bore into me, encouraging the confession to be completed.

"It hurts when you take all the credit."  I feel ashamed as soon as it's out and I silently chastise myself.

I can feel his silence, or maybe it's my own drawing inward, but the comfort of the woods suddenly slips away and I feel like a child again, seeing a parent's weak point and blurting an unexpected criticism out of turn.

"I'm sorry," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"No Iolaus.  I was wrong.  I assumed that everyone knew."

"Herc," I start, wiping my hand across my face as if to shut my own mouth, but he cuts me off.

"You're right.  Don't apologize.  It won't happen again."

I nod.  We don't need to argue.  The point has been made.  I feel restless and foolish. Tossing the cloak off my shoulders I stand, moving forward to the very edge of the river, staring down into the blackness.

Herc rises, letting my fur cloak slip to the ground.  With two big steps he's at my side, staring down into the rush of the water.  It's deeper than I thought, and close now, I can see the currents glistening in the moon light, lifting clutching fingers that curl and beckon. 

I hear it before I see anything, a shuffle in the forest that grows to a pounding and I spin around.  A buck is hurtling at us, defending his watering spot and perhaps the doe I spotted earlier. 

"Herc!" I call as I jump to push him out of the way, but instead I see him step forward, facing the buck with a surprised look on his face, and in a split second he feels the brunt of the big stag's horns right across his belly, knocking the air out of him with a whoosh. It seems like slow motion as he falls, off balance and propelled by the force the stag generated.  There's a splash as he enters the water and the stag stands pawing at the wet river bank as Hercules goes under, pulled by the current.  I watch as the stag's antlers fall to the ground at my feet.

The stag turns to me bare headed, but I'm ready.  I growl as fiercely as a wolf and advance on it.  Deer are not predators, they merely take advantage of the moment and this one's no different.  He took advantage of Herc, but I'm not a pushover.  The stag backs up at my voice and turns, trotting back to the dark cover of the woods. 

I spin back to the river, fully expecting to see Herc pulling himself out drenched and cold, but the water flows roughly, its current stronger even than Herc's fist while the riverbank is silent and empty except for my self.

He's fooling with me, I think as I scan the surface.  He's hiding and waiting until I panic.  But my heart keeps pounding and my mind races as I scan the glistening surface and he doesn't appear.

Down the river I see a hand raise and maybe part of his face, but the water washes over him and he doesn't come back up.  Herc is a good swimmer, but the force this swollen river exerts is mighty as it rushes to the sharp descent of a waterfall not an half hour walk away.  The surface of the water is unbroken once again.  I know in my soul that this is wrong, that he's not all right.  He jokes with me, but not like this.

I pull off my vest, tossing it onto the fur cloak, then kick off my boots and shimmy out of my pants so fast that anyone would think it was my wedding night.  I can't afford to be weighed down by wet clothes and it would take longer to swim to him in leather pants and boots than it does to remove them.  I see his hand again up and then pulled back into the current, but at least no further downstream.  He's caught on something and the wet clothing, especially the leather pants and boots, is heavy, acting as an anchor.

I dive in and the coldness of the water hits me like an anvil, heavy and numbing and for a second or two I find that I can't catch my breath.  The current catches me and I kick, waiting for it, refusing to let it drag me down, instead harnessing its power to push me more quickly downstream.

I stroke hard, ignoring the knifelike pain of the frigid water swirling around me, focusing on the small prominence of wood that ripples the surface where I last saw Herc. It comes up on me fast as I'm propelled forward and I need to grab for it to keep from being pushed past as I feel myself pulled down in the swirling eddy.   I kick hard and resurface, my flesh now colder out of the water than in was in it.  My hand scrapes on the sharp edge where the branch broke off when it fell from the ancient gnarled tree that extends over the river, old enough to be Hera's mother. I feel the wood dig deep into the flesh of my palm and cutting deeply, but don't let go.  My legs, carried by the forces beneath the surface, brush against him.  I can feel the familiar musculature of his chest and an arm floating free brushes against my thigh, then away.  His hand isn't rising any more.

I fight away a wave of panic and with one hand holding on the outcropping of broken wood, let myself sink under the cold rushing water voluntarily.  The darkness is complete.  No sliver of moon or twinkle of stars to light my way, I'm blind.  I pull myself further down the submerged trunk, hoping I haven't knocked him free, letting him slip away, floating down stream where I'll never find him.

I hold my breath, using the eastern technique that I learned those many years ago, slowing my heart rate and clearing my mind.  This is simply another form of meditation, one I tried to teach Hercules to no avail.  I feel along the branch, kicking out my feet and twisting my legs to locate his body in the blackness.  He has been submerged too long, even for a demi god.  I sweep with my arm twisting my body as I keep my grip on the log, feeling the current's path and letting myself use it.  He would have moved on the path of least resistance.

My throat feels thick from the pressure in my lungs and I know that my body is cooling too fast.  My hands are clubs and I force my fingers to move, to stay limber.   My legs cramp from the icy chill of the water. But I'm rewarded for my persistence by the feel of a limp arm being pulled by the current, slapping against my leg.  I reach down and feel along his body, my lungs hurting as I try to find where the stump holds him caught in its grip.

I fight the urge to pull at his arm.  If a tug could have set him free, he'd have been able to do it himself.   I can see nothing, but as long as I cling to Herc I will be fine I keep telling myself.  The water is stronger and fiercer than any monster, and I worry about the waterfall not too far ahead, causing this turbulence.  I'll have to keep a strong grip on Herc when I release him or he'll be carried over.

My hands sweep over the limp coldness of his body, letting him dangle as I search for a way to release him.  I slip an arm through his belt so he can't float free and with the other finally find his point of attachment.  A heavy branch has slipped through the back of his codpiece up near the belt.  Alcemene has woven his leather pants so tight there was no give.  Given the strength of the current and Alcemene's weaving ability, even a demigod couldn't rip those pants.  Unfortunately, it was going to take the longer to free him.

My lungs were beginning to burn, the only part or me not cold, as I started to loosen his codpiece.  My fingers fumbled as useless as stones, so I let myself sink lower.  I opened my mouth, ripping at his belt with my teeth as my hands paw at the clasp that holds the cod piece tight.  My teeth hurt and air escapes from between my lips, no longer sealed.  No matter.  I will gladly die to save him.

The belt wriggles free and I tug at the codpiece, feeling it fall loose and I frantically grab at his arm.  My hand clasps his wrist and I hold tight as I surface, pulling him along.  I find a strength I didn't know I had as I haul him up and hold his head above water.  He isn't breathing and his face is bluish, skin icy.  I cradle his head against my chest and crook an elbow around his neck to keep his head above water as I try to make my way against the current back to shore.  I can hear a roar behind me as the water tumbles over a steep fall and put the last bit of effort into plunging ahead, angling for shore.

I think that if I was alone, I would surely wash over the falls, but the world needs Hercules and it's up to me to save him.  I push onward, through the ache of muscles strained beyond normal endurance and the coldness that leaves me feeling as if I am moving in slow motion.  The shore looms ever closer, but my muscles are rebelling.  My cloak would feel so good right now.  I focus on the discarded fur at the river bank and use it as my point of reference, hauling Herc's bulk along as quickly as I can.  I need to get him to shore and out of the water as soon as possible.  His clothing weighs him down, negating any buoyancy the water could provide.

I strain to keep my grip and fight the onslaught of the current.  The fur cloak lies twisted, its form more like a beckoning arm.  I heed its plaintive gesture and inch ever closer to the river bank.  Herc isn't breathing, and his color is so blue it makes me think of the evening sky.  I'm pretty sure I'm blue too from simply the cold, but this isn't about me, it's about Herc.  Suddenly I realize how very foolish I'd been earlier.  The acknowledgement of others is unimportant.  What I'm holding now is the most important part of my life, and I may already have lost it.

What if I'd made a course deeper into the woods instead of to the river?  What if I'd made sure he was in a deeper sleep?  What if I'd simply swallowed my pride and not let it get to me?  I was the also ran began I didn't look at my options, because I didn't see that I was already a winner and especially because I allowed myself to be placed into that position.

I feel the current's waning strength and slip from its grasp, dragging Herc up onto the river bank.  He is dead weight and my muscles are already tired, but never the less I put my back into it and make sure we are both clear of the water. Every muscle fiber screams that I need to rest, but instead I kneel and drag him prone across my folded thighs so that his head dangles, the wet hair dangles like icicles across my naked skin.  And then I do something I never thought I'd do.  I pound him.

Not just a light tap on the back, or a playful manly slap, but an out and out hit.  I raise my arm up high and let my fist fall against his back, intent on jogging out every drop of water that has stopped his breathing.  I know that his heart has stopped as well, but I learned in the east that the cold water slows the heart to an almost imperceptible rate, the colder the slower and that as the body warms the heart beat returns.  That's the case with the Koi the people of Chin kept as pets in the little ponds, it was how the fish lived through the winter, a lesson that the monks made me learn, and the reason that gave me hope that I'd be able to save Herc.

Water streams out of his mouth as I pound him. His jaw is flaccid.  The water is warmer than my skin and I feel like Herc's life blood is running out of him.  I keep pounding and the gash on my palm streams red, streaking his back.  The tears streaming from my eyes warm my cheeks and drip onto his back mingling with the dirt and river water, tracing a path alone.  When his mouth no longer leaks and he is simply limp and cold, I hold him cradled in my arms and wrap the fur cloak around us.

His body is stiff and still and cold in my arms as I wait to see if he will breath, if I can warm him up enough for a heart beat to carry him back to life.  In my ear I hear the voice of Aesclepius whisper and wonder if I'm imagining or simply remember a lesson I was taught.

"Breathe for him."

I pull him closer and grab a hunk of his wet hair, tipping his head back and stabilizing it.   I put my mouth close to his, exhale close to his mouth.  I can see his closed eyes, blue lips.  I feel uncomfortable doing this but know I'll feel worse if I don't.

"Closer!" the voice in my head commands.

I listen and act.  My lips lock onto his mouth, sealing it and I breathe out with force enough to move his chest.

"Good!"

I pull away and breathe in again, deeper.  My mouth finds his and creates the seal once again, pushing out the little warmth that my body stores in its core as I send my life force deep into him.  I wonder if the will to live can also be passed to him.  I WILL make it happen!

Again and again I make the seal, alternately gasping for air and offering it to him.  My head is dizzy and I am holding onto him like a lifeline.  The world around slows, the tree branches stop rustling in the wind, the cool breeze strokes me silently, but I don't feel its icy tendrils.  I neither hear the rush nor smell the dank river water.  I exist in a bubble that encloses Hercules and me.  Puff and blow, puff and blow.  I feel as cold as a winter stone, but suddenly realize that this means that Herc is actually warmer.  I hug him tighter.

A Heartbeat!  I feel it against my chest and pull my face away from his.  The cloak had slid off my shoulders but still covers him.  I won't let go to pull it back up.  He's of far more importance.

"Herc!"

I feel a small warm breath against my neck and squeeze him tighter.  He coughs and more water comes out, but I hear him gurgle my name.

"Iolaus." 

His voice is soft and hoarse and he is shivering uncontrollably in my arms.  I know I should be trying to get a fire started, finding a dry spot, not too open with shelter against the wind.  I should strip off his soaking clothes and turn the cloak so that the dry fur side is against his skin.  But instead I sit there holding him and savoring the still small word.  Hercules is alive!

Suddenly the woods seem alive as well.  The breeze swirls around me in a joyous dance.  Tree branches clap their appreciation of the demigod's return.  A night bird swoops low, inspecting to see who is frightening away the prey. 

Herc's eyes are glazed and unfocused, but not the dull flat slate blue with dilated pupils he'd had only moments before.  I pull him closer, willing any warmth that remains in my body onto him.  I can feel myself shivering along with him, our bodies synchronous. 

"Herc," I whisper back, like a prayer.

He closes his eyes.  His heart is fluttering hard against my chest, like the wings of a dove outracing the hunter's arrow, soaring free.  He is coughing and in between, his teeth chatter.

"What happened?" he finally gasps.

"You drowned," I answer simply. 

He tries to sit on his own and I let him wobble free of my arms, wrap the cloak around him and provide support.

"I saw them, Dei and the kids, but before they saw me I was gone."

"I'm sorry," I answer moving apart as I strip off his shirts and start unlacing the leather ties of his boots, yanking them off as well.

He sits in silence, his focus far away and I wonder if I've done the wrong thing, if he'd rather be with them.  I toss the wet clothes and order him.  "Take off your pants.

He stands, his legs are shaky and I steer him to a tree which he holds while I peel the frozen trousers away from his pale icy flesh.  I turn the cloak fur side in and wrap him as he slides back down to a sitting position.

"Iolaus, you're wet," he croaks, finally looking at me fully and I see the light dawn in his eyes.  "And almost naked."  He pauses and I think I must truly look like a sight.

"Iolaus, you saved me."

I nod and turn away, unaccustomed to the admiration in his voice.  He pulls the cloak tight and I gather dry old wood as quickly as possible.  The air is so cold and I haven't yet put my clothes on.  My clout is stiff with the cold, but I can ignore my discomfort for a few more moments.  Getting Herc warm first is the priority.  I stack the wood with kindling over larger pieces and light it with a piece of flint, then usher him close.

"You saved me," he says again.

I pull off the frozen clout and reach for my pants, shimmying into the cold but dry leather of the trousers and the tug on my ragged vest.  I notice with satisfaction that the fire has caught and is roaring.  Hercules is sitting so close I wonder if he will also catch aflame.  I sit down next to him, watching the color start to come back to his face.  His hard shiver has subsided to a tremble.  His soaking hair clings to his neck.  I pull it away from his face and neck, running my fingers through it, loosening so that it will dry more quickly. 

He turns away from the fire, setting his eyes on me.

I find myself squirming under the intensity of his stare.  "What?" I finally say.

He shakes his head.  "That's just it.  I don't know what to say except thank you."

"There's nothing to say," I answer through the lump in my throat.  "You would have done the same for me."

He nods, but I feel him inch closer so I lean against the cloak, even though the wet side is out. 

The fire crackles warm and inviting, almost drowning out the gurgle of the swollen river that almost swallowed Herc.  I think how stupid and self centered I was earlier in the day, how I let my own pride get in the way of our friendship.  We are about more than who gets the credit or adoration for fighting monsters.  We are friends, understanding and accepting each other's foibles.  It is these moments alone that make our personality as much as the fighting and trials.

I was an also ran only because I let myself be one.

We sit in silence as Herc warms up and lets that Demigodly blood course through his system, healing and strengthening him.  If there are monsters to fight tomorrow, I will take the lead, but he'll be at my back until he is up to his full strength.  I feel him lean into me, his muscles sagging and tired and I let him rest his head against mine.  I'll sit up like this all night if that's what it takes to heal him.

Before long I hear his soft breathing grow heavier and lay him down close to the fire. 

"Good night Herc." I whisper and curl up close to him.

"Good night," he whispers back.

Fini