Cold

by Swiss

Title: Cold Author: Swiss (dragonswissarmyknife@hotmail.com) Character/relationship: Iolaus, Hercules Challenge: #2 - Cold Summary: Hercules and Iolaus revisit Norseland.

"It's not enough that you have to drag me over and across a forsaken tundra, but why in Hades do we have to climb a mountain too?"

Hercules benevolently ignored him, more intent on finding hand and foot holds along the icy precipice. The cold always made Iolaus cranky. And though this was their most adventurous climb so far, it certainly wasn't the first. Norseland was a rocky country, once you got past the coast. And though he and Iolaus - born and breed in he Peloponnesus - could climb like mountain goats, sixty-two degrees north latitude admittedly made necessary a whole different kind of fortitude.

They were making their way up the side of a steep incline, hand over foot, in the early hours of the pre-dawn. The land extended beneath and beyond them much as it had, a dreary grey expanse that stretched from eternity to eternity, a world seeming empty of anything but rock and snow - ethereal, but dark and dead. And cold.

The layer of frost, snow, and ancient ice that lay over every surface had burned Iolaus' fingers, worn them red, raw, and painful. Hercules had sewn him a pair of crude gloves out of the last hare Iolaus had managed to snare, turned inside out so that the fur lining would provide some limited protection. Iolaus' current garb was mostly a patchwork of sewn, borrowed, or bought garments from different stages along their journey. But all the fur and heavy wool in the world couldn't completely warm him.

He hadn't believed Hercules about how cold Norseland was. His experience was the snowy yet comparatively mild Grecian winters. True, he had lived through the capture of Prometheus, but a few days of fireless storm did not compare to the ageless, bitter cold of the deep north. The barren, frozen immenseness of it had shocked him, and there were times when he had stopped, stiff, shivering and miserable, and scowled at his bemused partner while cursing the landscape through teeth too cold and frozen to even chatter.

"I can't believe you talked me into coming here," he would usually say during these times. The venomous tone he used was akin to the way he spoke about distressingly slimy monsters or going without food.

Hercules' protests were purely philosophical, full of the certainty of a man who knew that Iolaus would never have been left behind. "When I mentioned it, you were excited. I thought you wanted to see where I went last year."

Such remarks were usually greeted by a stomping of ice coated feet as he started off again, trailing a number of low-throated grumblings that followed the line of, "you really must have been crazy."

These lines of discourse, oft repeated, shouldn't have been immediately comforting. But it was just so much more cheerful a journey then the last time he had been here that usually he just grinned. Behind his hand. Where Iolaus might not see.

"Heads up," Iolaus called, his voice seeming soft on the edge of the open air. He was pulling himself over the rim of the world, over the lip of the peak they had finally climbed. Hercules heaved himself the last few feet, and then he too was standing beside his partner at what seemed like the perimeter of heaven.

Iolaus was bent over, catching his breath. The air was thin here, sharp. He watched the vapor from his own mouth curl in front of him, and wiped his brow. The day was almost here. Perfect.

"Okay, Hercules. We climbed the mountain," his partner seemed to have gathered what air he could manage and joined him. Though his words were a bit snippy, there was very real question in his eyes. "So, what are we here for?"

The demi-god smiled. It was what he had been waiting for. "It's a surprise."

Azure eyes took on an amused cast. "Surprise?" He put his hands on his hips and looked around. Everything looked the same. Ice. Snow. Rock. Dark. The only difference was that it was higher. "Where?"

He grinned. And put an arm around his friend's shoulder, turning him to guide him carefully to the very edge of the precipice. The first tip of dawn was just beginning. Hercules said, "Look."

Eternity began to change colors. The sun rose slowly, lifting the darkness like a bright, rose colored child shaking off a blanket of night. On a snowy white canvas the dawn drew pure colors - deep purple, rich crimson, and liquid gold. It shifted with the light as it made its slow progression, like a toy - a kaleidoscope full of painted glass. The finale was grand too, when soon it became a macrocosm of unending brilliant whiteness with the full light of day, so dazzling that to stare at it too long would blind a man. The sunlight sparkled from every surface, even out of the shadow, like a thousand diamonds on a sea of velvet.

Hercules felt the deep inhale from the man beside him. He whispered, "Oh."

Stifling a soft chuckle, the taller man grinned down at his companion, "Yeah." Then, "What do you think."

Iolaus let out a delighted sound, wonder in his expression. He seemed transformed. The irritated stiffness that had inhabited him for much of their trip had drained away, and the mischief in his eye when he looked up at his partner spoke of the wild-hearted apparition that the demi-god so loved.

"Well," he said, as though he were conceding something only begrudgingly, "I guess there is something to this wretched wasteland after all."

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