By Aramis

DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to MCA/Universal and were used without permission. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made

Dedicated to Nemetona, who asked to see Bedridden from Hercules' point of view.

I just looked in on Iolaus. I was worried because he had gone so quiet after all the bedlam he has been creating but, to my relief, he was busily writing on the parchment I gave him. It occurred to me that I could do some writing of my own while he is behaving himself. I don't know what he is writing, but I think doing some myself it might help me to put things in perspective.

I really expected he might throw the parchment back at me because he isn't too pleased with me at present. I know I've been hard on him, but he has been asking for it.

He must be the worst patient I've ever met. Patient is an absolute misnomer. Impatient would be a more apt description. He wants me at his beck and call all the time and hates it if I'm too busy with something else to be in the sickroom with him. The trouble is he's not good company when I am there. All he does is complain about how bored he is and he expects me to think of something entertaining to do. The trouble is, with two broken legs, his possible activities are limited and I am, according to him anyway, completely lacking in good ideas for fun things to do. 'Boring' is one of his politer adjectives for me.

I know I should be more tolerant, but when he's so snappy it is hard, indeed impossible, not to snap back or to scold him for his ingratitude and ill-humour. I wish I had more self-control. I should be more understanding of his frustration and rejoice that he is going to be okay.

When he didn't return from what was to be merely a day's hunting trip, I was so worried. I set out to look for him at first light. All sorts of horrible images of bandits, slavers and wild animals were going through my head. By the time I located him, after two long days of searching, I was almost sick with worry. To find the explanation was merely two broken legs was quite a relief.

Of course, in my joy at finding him alive, I did not consider the implications of having an immobile hunter. I know he *was* relieved to see me too as he was hungry and thirsty and in quite a bit of pain, having stubbornly tried to drag himself towards home.

I splinted his legs as best I could and then gathered him into my arms. Carrying him was awkward, but he's not very heavy and, at least, there was no point in him making his usual complaints about being carried as there was no way to avoid it. I brought him to this village, as the nearest place where there would be a healer, and luckily managed to borrow this house as the owner was just leaving on a family visit.

The villagers have been very kind to us, many calling in to ask after Iolaus and several women have even provided meals for us. However, I've had to try to keep them away from Iolaus. He is so sulky and short-tempered, and I don't want him saying anything to upset them.

The healer, Vatienus, and I have both felt the rough side of his tongue, but we can take it. It's just as well we can, as the air was almost blue when poor Vatienus had to set his legs properly.

Iolaus always has quite a tongue on him at the best of times and when he's sick it's worse.

One thing about my friend is that one always knows where one stands. Actually, that's not quite right. One knows when he's mad about something as he always 'calls figs figs and a spade a spade' (1) or if he is particularly happy because then one gets the embarrassingly bawdy songs, but if something upsets him he tends to clam up.

He tends to hide injuries too. I'll never forget when we, along with Xena and Gabrielle, were trying to free Prometheus, who had been chained on a mountain top by Hera. We had a fight with some of Hera's men and Iolaus was wounded in the chest. Given that Prometheus' imprisonment had meant mankind had lost the ability to heal, his only chance was to lie still and conserve energy and blood. However, the stubborn, little ratbag is too brave for his own good and never said a word about being hurt. He climbed that mountain with us, intending to somehow be the one to strike the blow to free Prometheus because the one that did that would die. Okay, things worked out in the end, but Iolaus nearly didn't make it and to have lost him would have made the whole enterprise a disaster for me.

Nobody likes a fight as much as he does. If there's no enemy available he'll try to entice me to fight with him for fun. I don't like doing that, as I'm always scared that I might accidentally hurt him. It's difficult to constantly rein in one's strength, especially if one has been provoked beyond endurance and he's a master at doing that to me. He's also the master of some very tricky fighting techniques that he learnt in the East. I've managed to pick up most of these now, but he can still catch me off-guard at times and what joy that gives him.

I had fair warning about this love of fighting. The day I met him he was scrapping. I came across about six of our local boys beating up a little, golden-haired boy, who looked only about six years old. Perhaps 'beating up' isn't the right expression because the kid was giving as good as he got in spite of the odds. However, I intervened and soon the pair of us had them running.

"I'm Iolaus," he said, offering his hand, and trying to smile in spite of a black eye and numerous cuts and bruises. He was such a little boy that, when he offered his hand, I automatically pulled him into a hug to comfort him after his hurt just as my mother would have done. He immediately stiffened and pulled away.

Fortunately, although confused my odd behaviour, he did not run away and the ensuing conversation revealed that not only was he not a six year old, he was actually a bit older than I was.

Ten years old and so small! It was hard to believe. However, in a very short time, I ceased to think of him in terms of size. Indeed, I was envious of his speed and agility. If anything I came to feel overgrown and clumsy.

He was always on the go, always full of mischief and plans and I was his willing follower and admirer. Sure at times I could see the drawbacks or dangers in his latest enterprise, but I would be carried along on the wave of his enthusiasm and confidence and would forget my reservations. Even when I still entertained serious doubts about the wisdom of his current plan, I always tagged along just to see that he was okay.

After all, somebody had to. Although he was central to my existence, he was regrettably of no importance to most other people. I knew his father was rarely home and when he was he and Iolaus did not get on. On one occasion, I even overheard Skouros telling him he was a worthless runt and saw him backhand Iolaus across the face. Neither knew that I had observed this though and, in my innocence, I decided it might have been a once only occurrence.

I guess I accepted Iolaus' lies about accidents that led to cuts and bruises partly because I wanted them to be true as the alternative was too horrible to contemplate. Also, having no experience of any physical mistreatment myself, I found it difficult to believe that a parent would act so. My mother knew differently though and has since told me she dressed Iolaus' back for him on more than one occasion. She wished she could have done more, but the law allowed a father to discipline his son.

It's hard to believe that after such a childhood, he could emerge as the loving, caring man he is today.

However, his childhood *has* scarred him, and not just physically. He presents a sunny, confident face to the world, but he is emotionally vulnerable. He can be easily upset and often I forget that and say things that hurt him. Like that time that Demetrius kidnapped my mother. He had one of the two people most important in my life and was likely to kill her. I felt I could not risk the other one. I was too worried to stop to consider my words and, when Iolaus wanted to accompany me, I told him it was a family matter. The hurt in his eyes tore my heart apart. Instead of seeing it as concern for his safety, he saw it as rejection. Of course, I relented and let him go with me, and might well have been defeated by Echidna, without his help. I know he has forgiven, and can only hope he has also forgotten, my hasty words.

The trouble is his father has conditioned him to expect rejection even, perhaps especially, from those to whom he is closest. As a warlord, Xena would never have managed to draw him into her web of deceit, had it not been for this. She managed to turn him against me by playing on his insecurities.

Of course, she was helped unknowingly by Syreena. I remember the stricken look on his face when she told him she had married. He prised his knife out of the wall of her house, turned to me and said, "Maybe I'll just use this on my wrists and end my misery." Of course, he did not mean that, but he was really upset and I didn't make things better by trying to jolly him out of it by saying "It would be a lot less painful to end your misery with a meal fit for a king." I tried to brush his upset away as unimportant because *I* felt uncomfortable with it and my callous behaviour, along with Syreena's rejection which had reconfirmed his father's attitude towards him, opened the way for Xena.

When I wrote Syreena, I couldn't help, because of the similarity in name, being reminded of Serena, the Golden Hind. Just as Iolaus and I fell out over Xena so our partnership nearly collapsed over Serena.

When I saw her it was love at first sight, but Iolaus neither liked nor trusted her, even when she saved his life he suspected her motives. Perhaps she did save him for my sake, but I'll never believe that her love for me was false.

Gods, I was torn when Iolaus so clearly disliked her and when he walked out on me I didn't know whether to do the right thing or the honourable thing.

A lot of people might say that one must be the other, but that wasn't the case. I decided to do the honourable thing. I had offered Serena marriage and I would go through with it and would love and cherish her.

However, the right thing would have been to go after Iolaus because when it came to the crunch I had learnt something: I loved them both, but I loved him more.

Then when he came back to be my best man, I thought for a few hours I was going to be able to have the best of both worlds: my adorable wife *and* my best friend. I gave no real thought to what his return had cost Iolaus, how he was suppressing all his upset, doubts and fears in an attempt to make me happy. He understood something that I did not, that if you really love someone you should put his happiness before your own.

Then came that dreadful awakening the next morning, when I found Serena dead and did not know whether I had killed her in my sleep. There was Iolaus, looking after me as usual, even offering to confess to the murder to protect me and my reputation.

To protect me! How much Iolaus has suffered to do that. I remember the terrible beating he took at the hands of the Water Enforcer. Then there was that occasion when Marceus tortured him to try to find out my whereabouts. Even when Marceus broke his arm, Iolaus was still determined to lead him and his men away from me if he could. However, to allow the Fire Enforcer to beat him to death to protect me makes the other two dreadful incidents pale into insignificance. Not only did he give his life, he traversed several miles in search of me so that he could warn me about her. He was literally dead on his feet, but somehow he ignored his own pain in his concern for me.

He has shown me again and again, how much he loves me. In that slight frame beats the largest and bravest heart in the world. I am honoured that such a man should call me friend and he who could be a famous warrior in his own right should choose to live within my shadow.

I wish people would recognize his part in what we do. Often I'm aware that I'm getting all the praise and he's forgotten. People don't seem to appreciate that here I am with all the advantages of semi-divine blood and there he is a mere mortal taking exactly the same risks. Indeed, he's taking more because I may yet turn out to be immortal and he's certainly not that. Even though I've managed to reclaim him from Hades more than once there's no guarantee that I can do that again and every chance that I can not.

I do worry about him. There's no one I'd rather have at my back, but I can't help being concerned. He tells me I'm like a mother hen with one chick. Perhaps I am, but I can't help it. Besides my 'chick' must be one of the most obstreperous there is so I have good reason for my solicitude.

I like the quiet life, but it drives him round the twist. If there's no trouble to be found he'll create it. He is too quick with his fists and his tongue and, as I have already indicated, positively revels in a fight. He has the nerve to tell me a good scrap "gets the blood flowing". I don't know about flowing, but it certainly trickles down his fool face far too often. I'd hate to think how often I've had to patch him up after a fight.

It is always surprising to me that he loves fishing. The quiet patience that sport need seems so alien to his character. By contrast, I am the one who finds it boring and I end up in the stream literally taking matters into my own hands. He *hates* that. He thinks it's taking an unfair advantage over both him and the fish.

Of course, he loves to hunt as well and would not be in his current predicament were it not for that. He's really got an uncanny sense of direction and an ability to follow tracks that are completely invisible to me and probably to everyone else. Actually he gets a real kick out of my lack of bushcraft and greatly enjoys teasing me about it.

In fact, he delights in plaguing me about anything. Of course, I answer back and we get the banter flying back and forth. It can be quite childish at times, but I love it. It is great to have a friend who treats me just like anyone else, who isn't trying to suck up to me because I'm a demigod or because of who my father is. I can relax completely in his company and just be me.

I know I have a bad habit of trying to keep problems to myself, but he's skilled in worming them out of me and then helping me solve them. He's good at bringing me back to earth if I get too self-righteous, which my mother candidly and accurately tells me is one of my worse faults.

Just as important, he can always be relied upon to lighten a difficult or dangerous situation or just make the day brighter, making me laugh by his words or actions. I mean, only Iolaus would manage to get dyed purple by being completely submerged in a vat of grapes.

Yet the man who could take over his cousin Orestes' kingdom, at a day's notice, and rule it more successfully than the legitimate heir, trained all his life to fill the role, is anything, but a buffoon.

Nobody should underestimate my hunter. General Archias, who plotted against Orestes, was a master swordsman, who thought Iolaus would be easy meat, and ended as carrion himself. Karkis, the Butcher of Thessaly, in his guise of Kamaros, supposedly benign leader of a religious cult, might have gained control of a whole city full of people, but he met his match in Iolaus. Few men would have had the strength of mind to successfully resist his brainwashing techniques, but Iolaus did.

Indeed, he has a special spiritual quality too. Why else was he chosen to make that strange trip to the North in mid-winter? Neither of us can claim to understand the significance of what he was privileged to witness but, somehow, we both know the birth of that child will be vital to the future of mankind.

Perhaps one of his best attributes is that he can always find something amusing or interesting in every event. He seems to have retained a childlike wonder in the way he looks at the world and in his reaction to new things and situations. After all, who but Iolaus could become fixated on the reproductive habits of centaurs or would wonder if anyone is sad when a pigeon dies? (2)

It is refreshing to have him around. When I'm rushing from one crisis to another and feeling the world is a sad place, he'll make some apparently chance remark that brings me back to reality, back to real life, to an awareness of the beauty of nature and the basic goodness of most people.

That's not to say he doesn't indulge in flights of fancy. He's a master at those. The way he recounts some of our adventures I hardly recognize them. He calls it poetic license and says people enjoy the stories the way he tells them. They certainly seem spellbound by them. He'd rival Gabrielle as a bard any day. He often pokes fun at himself in his stories though as well as making me too heroic and I don't agree with him doing either of those things.

Of course, there's no use me trying to remonstrate with him. He just gives me a bit of cheek and carries on spinning his yarns. If anything it makes him worse. It's like when I complain about his singing, it suddenly gets louder, more off key and definitely more off colour.

He would definitely have to be the most contumacious person I know!

Indeed, if I had to describe him in a few words I would definitely have to use terms like disobedient, impetuous, impudent and wilful, but perhaps surprisingly these are not terms of abuse. To me they parts of a fascinating character that also merits word like brave, kind, caring, loyal, generous, energetic, enthusiastic and above all loving.

When he shouts out his next request or piece of cheek from his sickroom I need to remember that list and be more tolerant and understanding.

However, while I've been writing I've been aware that I have been skirting around the truth. It relates to one of the words I've just written, or at least a variation of it, namely love.

I did come close to saying what I meant when I wrote about Serena and said that I realized I loved him more than her. Of course I then covered myself by immediately referring to him as my best friend. That was prevarication. If I'd been honest, and surely I should be truthful when writing to myself, I should have left out the later reference.

Sure he is my best friend but, for a long time now, he has been more than that in my heart. I love him and would like to be able to do that in all the senses of the word.

Indeed, it is the strength of my love for him that is creating many of our present difficulties. I am having to do so much for him physically and, even when I'm not legitimately touching him, he's lying there in all his glorious, golden naked beauty and the temptation to caress him is almost overwhelming. The trouble is there's no way he can get those tight leather trousers on over his splints and anyway he says, correctly, that the temperature is too hot for clothes or covers. He's certainly raising it several degrees as far as I am concerned.

It would be so easy to take advantage of him. I mean he's been demanding cooling bed baths, because of the summer's heat, and massages, as he is getting sore from lying basically in one position, and is giving me all sorts of opportunities to touch him more or less intimately. It's been absolute torture at times and, I've taken refuge in harshness to try to maintain some semblance of control.

The trouble is the healer told me today he could be in bed like this for another month and we are going to drive each other mad the way we are going.

Giving him the parchment was an inspired idea. At least it has kept him quiet for quite a while, but it has also helped me put things in some perspective too.

I now know that we will have to reach a new modus vivendi before we go any further. Somehow I've got to get the nerve to tell him how I feel. If he rejects me it won't matter, well it will matter and an awful lot, but at least I'll know how I stand and perhaps he will decide to modify his behaviour and demands to make things easier on me. I'm hoping he will be his usual understanding self when he hears my confession even if he can't return my love in the way I want.

Gods, I don't know what I'll do though if he gets upset or angry. I wouldn't be able to keep caring for him and he probably wouldn't want me to do so.

I wish I knew what is best to do.

THE END

(1) Greek Proverb from Apostolius, XV,95b (back)

(2) I trust Val, Ruric and Marti will not object to these references to their great stories ("The Conversation", "Spying" and "Who Mourns the Passing of a Pigeon") (back)

E-mail the author c/o Nephele at nephele@hotmail.com