[“...Bathed in glorious white Light, Iolaus looked one last time at his most beloved friend, Hercules. With love in his eyes, he gave the Son of Zeus a final wave of farewell, saddened that he could not wipe the shadow of grief from his friend’s careworn features. Iolaus’ gaze was drawn upward toward the heavens, beyond the summit of Mt. Olympus, and he allowed the Light to embrace him fully. In awe and sadness, Hercules watched as Iolaus became the Light, brighter than any star, and vanished forever. Only then, when he was alone in the cavern, could Hercules voice aloud what he knew to be true. “Good-bye, Iolaus,” he said with a broken voice. Dahak was gone, Iolaus redeemed ... and now he must travel on, alone without his dearest friend. So it was written, so it must be. The end.”]
The little golden hair boy looked up at the storyteller with a tragic, unhappy face. “That wasn’t a happy ending!” he said petulantly.
“Iolaus dies!!!” exclaimed his younger sister, and she began to weep.
“Hey, hey, hey!” The storyteller scooped the little girl off of the bed and into his strong, muscular arms. “It’s only a story!” He hugged her close and stroked her strawberry blonde tresses to calm her. He daubed at her eyes with the tail of his purple vest and whispered in her ear, “We know what *really* happened, don’t we?”
“But ... but it was so SAD!!!!” the child wailed.
Even her brother, who always endeavored to put on the bravest of faces, had a glint of tears in his blue eyes and the smallest hint of a trembling lip. No mighty hunter of imaginary Hydras now, he looked merely a small, vulnerable child who had confronted a boogeyman.
“Oh, don’t you start, too, Perdicus,” said their father as he scooped the boy into his free arm. He settled both children on his leather-clad lap and said, “It was only a story! It isn’t real. It didn’t happen that way at all.”
“It was a scary story,” said little golden-haired Ania defensively.
“A very scary story,” agreed her brother Perdicus.
“It even scared me a little,” said a voice from the bedroom doorway.
Iolaus turned and looked at his wife of several years and offered his best, “I was only trying to help” expression. She offered him a gentle smile and came to kneel beside the bed upon which her husband perched. A gentle caress of his bare shoulder, and then she relieved him of Ania.
“Time for good little girls and boys to be asleep,” she said, and carried her daughter to her bed.
Iolaus swung his son over his shoulder and hauled him over to the twin bed on the opposite side of the room. “Down you go!” he exclaimed, and dropped the child (with care) onto the pallet. “Off to sleep with you.”
“But ... the story ...” protested Ania with a sniffle. “It was so sad, and you made it sound so real. I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Shhhhh,” said her mother, and kissed her little one the forehead. “It was only make-believe. Sleep, now.”
“It’s too early to sleep,” protested Perdicus.
Iolaus crossed his arms over his chest and arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Is it?” he asked. “Well, then I guess I’ll be meeting your Uncle Herc alone tomorrow morn --”
“Night, papa!” Perdicus suddenly cried, and rolled over to give his best impression of dutifully sleeping.
“Night, mama!” exclaimed Ania, all thought of the distressing story forgotten. Uncle Herc was coming tomorrow!
Mother and father kissed their little ones good night, lowered the curtain over the bedroom door, and left them to their rest.
In the cottage’s airy common room, the couple stood before the hearth in an easy and comforting embrace. It was the second marriage for them both. While neither had forgotten their first loves, and tragic losses, they had eventually found love anew in the heart of a long, comfortable friendship.
“Was it that bad?” asked Iolaus of his bedtime tale.
“It *was* very scary,” admitted Gabrielle with customary honesty. She kissed him lightly on the nose, and said, “From now on, maybe you should leave the storytelling to me.”
FINI
Carolyn “Cal” Lynn / 26 Jan 1999
DISCLAIMER: Iolaus was advised by the Bardic Guild not to quit his day job after the writing of this story.
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