Something Different
by Amorette

The warlord strode into his dungeon, a couple of lackeys groveling at his heels and prepared to gloat over his captive. He crossed the filthy cobbles to stare into the cell where his prisoner waited.

Snoring.

The warlord was surprised. He expected his prisoner to be cowering in a corner or trembling in fear or even snarling in useless defiance. He didn't expect the prisoner to be lying on the pile of straw that served as a bed, arms folded across his chest, feet crossed at the ankles, snoring softly.

"Hey!" one of the lackeys cried, quickly realizing his master was angry. "You! Wake up!"

The prisoner opened one eye. "Why?"

"WHY?" The lackey turned to his master, dumbfounded.

"Because I'm here," roared the warlord.

The prisoner sat up, stretching and yawning. "Big deal. I've seen your type before. Why should I care?"

"Because I'm going to kill you, you miserable little sod!"

The prisoner frowned. "I'd watch your language if I were you." He stood up, rolling his shoulders to work out any kinks. "I can be very sensitive you know."

"Sensitive!" The warlord was livid. "You'll be dead is what you'll be!"

The prisoner shrugged. "Big deal. Been dead before. Probably will be again. So what? Dead's not so bad. Kind of peaceful, actually. Boring but peaceful."

The lackeys' mouths had dropped open and the warlord was sputtering. One of the prison guards nudged another and whispered, "So it's true."

The prisoner turned to look at the guard and gave the startled man a blinding smile. "Yeah. It's true. Four times, depending on how you count the first one. Oh, and some people aren't sure about the second, either, but the third and fourth times definitely count." The prisoner turned back to his captor. "So kill away."

"OH, HO!" The warlord pointed a fat finger at the prisoner in the cell. "So death doesn't strike any fear into your heart. How about torture? How about agony beyond your imagining?"

The prisoner rolled his eyes. "I've been dead, you lout! What do you think, I died in my sleep? I've been beaten to death by a minion of Hera. You think that didn't hurt? I had my heart split in half by an evil god's enchanted dagger. You think that wasn't painful? Been there, done that and it doesn't scare me."

The warlord stammered, obviously stunned by his prisoner's reaction. "Look," said the warlord, pointing to some nasty looking equipment in the corner. "I can cut off body parts and gouge out eyes and. . . ." His voice trailed off. The prisoner was yawning again and scratching himself indelicately.

"All right, one more time. Been done."

"But. . .if you've had body parts cut off. . ."

The prisoner shrugged. "I've got friends in high places. They're real good about putting me back together." The prisoner smiled again, only this time the smile was feral and had an edge to it. "And while I'm getting put back together, a friend of mine is usually tearing apart the person who did it to me."

"But. . .but. . ."

The prisoner leaned on the bars in an almost friendly manner. "Look. It's all been done before. Done and done and overdone. Killing me. Torturing me. Messing with my mind. Think about it. I'm standing here, in one piece, healthy and cheerful, in spite of being on the top of the list of people Hera Would Most Like To See Chopped Up and Served as Shish Kabob. Doesn't tell that tell you something?"

One of the lackeys cleared his throat. "I know it's not my place, my lord, but I've worked for other warlords and, well, frankly, I've personally seen this guy tortured before. It really doesn't seem to bother him but it does bother, um. . ."

"Hercules." The prisoner said the name with another big grin. "Ever met him? Big guy? Bad temper when it comes to people removing my body parts."

The warlord sagged. His shoulders slumped, his face fell, he looked generally defeated.

"I thought. . ." He gestured hopelessly at his lackeys, his guards, his torture equipment.

"I know," said the prisoner. "I know. It's a tough business but you have to remember, going after me has been done before and it never succeeds. There are lots of other ways to impress your followers, you know. And Ares. Lots of other ways to impress Ares besides going after me. In fact," Iolaus gestured to the warlord to move closer. "He actually kind of likes me. I'm one of the greatest warriors in Greece, you know, and even if we have our disagreements, I'm still a damn fine warrior."

The warlord sighed. "I know. I was really impressed with how many of my guards and lackeys it took to capture you."

"You know, the best way to impress Ares is to have a really first class army." The prisoner gestured at the men gathered in the prison. "He likes discipline, organization. Spend more time training these guys, upgrade their weapons, that sort of thing impresses Ares a whole lot more than disemboweling me again. Plus it's a whole lot tidier."

The warlord thought it over. "Could you teach my guys some of those moves of yours? They were really impressive."

"It depends. What are you going to do with your army? Attack innocent villagers? Pillage and rape and all that?"

The warlord actually looked startled. "No, not really. I was building up a power base to protect this area from Persian raiders."

"Oh. In that case." The prisoner leaned on the door and it opened.

"Hey!" The captain of the guards came over to look at the door. "That was locked! How did you do that?"

"Old hunter's trick," said the prisoner. "So, how about we have some lunch and I can teach your guys a few moves before Hercules arrives to rescue me. I know he had to stop and fix a broken dam so he won't be here before late afternoon."

"Oh, all right," said the warlord. "You!" He gestured at a lackey. "Go tell the kitchen to get us some lunch."

"So," said the prisoner cheerfully, throwing an arm around the warlord's shoulders, "My name is Iolaus, but you probably knew that. Who are you exactly?"

"Pelops. My brother-in-law is the king but with the floods the last couple of years, he hasn't been able to fund the army properly to fight off the Persian raiders so we thought I could try this warlord thing, get some followers, maybe raise funds from the sort of people who fund warlords. I wasn't really going to kill you. Just do a little damage. See if King Iphicles would ransom you, maybe."

"You know, you might get in touch with Iphicles for some financial assistance. You can just ask, you know. You don't have to threaten."

"Oh." The warlord thought about it. "I suppose I could."

Iolaus and the warlord went upstairs, the lackeys and guards following, and left the prison empty.

December 2002