Chapter 47: The Weight of Wool and Words
The clearing was quiet again, save for the faint, sickly pop and gurgle of cooling dragon innards. Medea's furious, departing footsteps had faded into the dead woods.
"Lady Athena," Cyd called out, his voice weary but clear. He wasn't looking at the dragon's corpse, but past it. "Are you going to stay hidden all day?"
"Have you grown sensitive enough to perceive my presence?" A smooth, amused voice answered. Athena's head appeared from behind the dragon's massive, slack-jawed snout, as if she'd been admiring the dentition.
"No. I just figured you'd show up around now." Cyd held out the Golden Fleece, its radiance seeming to push back the gloom of the petrified grove. "The Fleece. I assume you'll be delivering it to Lady Artemis?"
"About that~" Athena stepped fully into view, a small, knowing smile on her lips. She brushed a speck of invisible dust from her simple chiton. "Artemis has… reconsidered. She no longer desires the Fleece."
Cyd blinked. "Seriously? After all that?"
"The whims of the gods are as changeable as the wind," Athena said, her tone light. She closed the distance between them with a few graceful steps. "But we are not unfair. You completed the trial I set for you. And beautifully, I might add. Therefore, the Fleece is yours. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
Cyd's shoulders slumped a fraction in relief. He managed a tired, lopsided grin. "Yeah. You saw right through me."
"Now, you simply need to give this to Jason." With a flourish, Athena produced another Golden Fleece from within the folds of her garment. It was identical in every way to the one Cyd held—the same soft glow, the same impossible texture, the same feeling of ancient power humming just beneath the surface.
Cyd stared, then reached out and took it. He ran his fingers through the wool, held it up to the light. "This is… a fake?"
"No. It is quite real. It is simply not the one Jason was meant to have." Athena waggled a finger. "The one you hold is touched by your struggle, by the blood of Ares's guardian. It has… acquired a different resonance. This one," she nodded at the Fleece in his hand, "is pristine. The one from the stories. The one Pelias will recognize."
Cyd looked from one Fleece to the other, his mind spinning. The layers of divine scheming were giving him a headache. "I don't… I don't get it."
"You don't need to. Not yet." Athena's smile softened, becoming almost maternal. She reached up and patted his shoulder. "Go now, Pale Hero. Your trials are far from over."
Her grey eyes held his, and for a moment, the playfulness was gone, replaced by a stark, sobering truth.
"The dragon was merely a beginning. Far greater impossibilities await you."
That… is not encouraging news.
---
Cyd found the Argo riding at anchor in a secluded cove, not at the main docks. He was quietly pleased. At least Jason had enough sense not to parade his impending theft in the city streets where a vengeful king could have him quietly knifed in an alley.
The ship was alive with the raucous noise of a premature victory party. Cyd slipped aboard unnoticed, a shadow among shadows, and pulled a slightly wine-flushed Jason away from a bawdy song.
"Your part is done," Cyd said, his voice low. He was bone-tired. The adrenaline of the fight had long since drained, leaving a deep, pervasive ache and the phantom smell of blood in his nostrils. He pressed the "pristine" Golden Fleece into Jason's hands.
Jason stared down at the glowing wool, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. "How… how did you… in one day?"
"Don't worry about it." Cyd clapped him on the shoulder. "You need to leave. Now. The moment Aeëtes realizes the dragon is dead and the Fleece is gone, this cove won't be safe. He'll send every warship he has."
"You're not coming with us?" Jason asked, picking up on the finality in Cyd's tone.
"I resigned, remember? And someone has to… tidy up." Cyd shrugged. "Besides, I have unfinished business here."
Jason looked from the Fleece to Cyd's weary, resolute face. A complex mix of emotions warred within him—relief, guilt, a strange, newfound respect. He carefully tucked the Fleece inside his tunic, against his chest.
"I… I won't forget this. You are… a true hero." The words sounded inadequate, even to him, but they were sincere.
"Just get your men moving." Cyd offered a final, faint smile. Then he turned, vaulted over the ship's rail, and dropped silently into the dark water below. He surfaced and swam a few strokes to a nearby rock, pulling himself up to watch.
On deck, Jason took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He strode back to the firelight, his expression transforming into one of triumphant command. He pulled the Fleece from his tunic and held it high above his head. The soft gold light painted the faces of the reveling Argonauts.
"Enough celebration! We sail! It's time to bring this voyage to its rightful end!"
A ragged, relieved cheer went up. None of them knew how he'd gotten it, and frankly, none cared. The prize was here. The deadly, uncomfortable part of the adventure was over. Every extra minute in Colchis was a minute Aeëtes could change his mind.
Cyd watched from his perch as the Argo's sails were unfurled, catching the night wind. Oars dipped into the black water, and the ship began to glide away from the shore, shrinking into the distance. He let out a long, slow breath, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.
"Finally," he murmured to the night.
"Do you think he'll be grateful?" a familiar voice asked from directly behind him.
Cyd didn't jump. He just sighed again, deeper this time. "I told you. Lingering around me is going to make your father suspicious. I have no interest in being the cause of a family spat."
He turned. Medea stood there, once again shrouded in a dark travel cloak. But this time, she had a bulging pack slung over one shoulder. It looked heavy. Practical. Not the luggage of a princess popping out for a stroll.
"Then I suppose I'll just have to run away with you," she said, her tone aiming for casual flippancy but landing somewhere closer to defiant hope. She shifted the pack's weight.
"That's not an option," Cyd said, his voice gentle but firm. He held up his left wrist, the bracer gleaming in the starlight. "The road ahead of me… it might only lead to the Underworld. I won't drag anyone else down that path."
"Then why can she go?!" Medea's composure cracked. She pointed an accusing finger at Medusa, who stood a few feet away, a silent, violet-haired shadow.
"Me?" Medusa's voice was calm. She pushed back her hood slightly. "My purpose now is to protect him. It is my choice. My path." She looked pointedly at Medea's cloak. "Also… could you not dress so similarly to me? The aesthetic overlap is… confusing."
Purple hair. Petite frame. Dark cloak. The resemblance was, admittedly, striking.
"This is for discretion!" Medea huffed, pulling the cloak tighter. It had absolutely nothing to do with a sneaky, last-ditch effort to see if Cyd had a 'type'. After all, in a few years, such juvenile tactics would be beneath her. Probably.
"You and us, you're different," Cyd said. He reached out, his hand finding her head through the fabric of the hood. He gave her hair a soft, brotherly ruffle. "You have a family. A father who, for all his faults, clearly dotes on you. Don't talk so lightly about throwing that away. To abandon a lifetime of bonds on a whim… that's a tragedy, Medea. A real one."
"It's not… a whim," she muttered, her defiance crumbling. She looked down, her fingers twisting in the hem of her tunic.
"It wouldn't make Lady Hestia very happy, you know," Cyd said, his tone softening further. He gently pinched her cheek.
"Lady Hestia doesn't care about things like this!" Medea protested, but the fight was gone from her voice.
"Maybe not. But the Fleece is gone. Your father's pride is wounded. Your kingdom's treasure is stolen. Who fixes that? The heroes who sailed away with it?" Cyd asked, his gaze steady.
Medea had no answer.
"Then," Cyd said, reaching into the pouch at his own belt. He pulled out the other Golden Fleece—the one touched by dragon's blood and his own struggle. He held it out to her. "Like you said. I'll fix it."
Medea stared at the glowing wool as if it were a venomous snake. "But… you need this! You went through hell for it!"
"I did. And now is the perfect time to use it." He pressed the Fleece into her reluctant hands. "This way, everyone gets what they need. Jason has his prize and his journey home. Your father hasn't truly lost the Fleece. And the legend will say it was taken, so no more heroes will come knocking. It's… a clean solution." He gave her a tired, earnest look. "All I ask in return is that you keep my involvement quiet. It would complicate things. For everyone."
Medea clutched the Fleece, its warmth seeping into her palms. She looked from it to Cyd's wrist, to the newly lit blood-red crystal. "And what did you get out of this? A near-fatal brawl? Where's your glory? Your wealth? Your…" she trailed off, a blush creeping up her neck. "You could have asked me for anything. I would have given it. But all you want is my silence?"
"I never started this for a reward. Your silence is the payment. Well, that," he pointed to the lion-tooth necklace at his throat, "and this."
"You really are an idiot," she whispered, her eyes suddenly glistening.
"Sometimes idiots have an easier time of it," Cyd said with a wry smile. "And sometimes, without even trying, they stumble into the best rewards. It's a perk of the job." As he spoke, he raised his left hand. On the bracer, one of the empty, transparent crystals quietly filled with a pure, clean white light.
He reached out again, this time pushing back the hood of her cloak entirely. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the beginning of a traitorous tear. "And this gloomy look doesn't suit you. A princess should shine."
"Who says I want to be a princess?" she mumbled, the words barely audible against his palms.
"What was that?"
"NOTHING!" she yelped, pulling back, her face now fully crimson. She clutched the Fleece to her chest like a shield.
Cyd just smiled, the weariness in his eyes momentarily replaced by simple, fond warmth. He had a real Fleece. He had a new blessing, cool and clear like moonlight on snow. And he had, for now, navigated the treacherous waters of gods and kings without causing a war.
For a man who just wanted to be happy, it was a pretty good day's work.