Hercules in Submission (Patreon)

Hercules hated the power the gods had over him, but he understood the world well enough to know his strength would never equal theirs. If they ordered him into slavery, he would go and hope that his willingness to endure would prevent the gods from taking even more drastic actions.

However, Hera is not done playing games with him. While the oracle demanded he perform great labors to clear his sins, Hera whispered in certain ears and encouraged men to indulge in depravities that would bring Hercules to his knees. However, that cagey old goddess didn’t know that Hercules enjoyed perversions. The thick skin that was a gift from his father left Hercules feeling too little, so a whip or a torment was more foreplay. Hercules held that information close to his heart, and with it, he planned to outsmart the goddess herself.

Chapter One

Hercules stood outside the oracle, his knees weak with shock. A slave. The oracle expected him, the son of Zeus himself, to slave himself out to Eurystheus. Eurystheus was a fine man and great king, but Hercules had sacrificed too much because of Hera’s feud with his father. He and Megara had lain together, had four children together when neither of them felt any heat for the other, and if it weren’t for the fact that Hercules absented himself from their home more than not, the madness Hera had sent could have caused him to harm his family. Instead Zeus had whisked them away and left Hercules standing in the bloody carnage caused when he’d torn apart a dozen swine Zeus had left in their place.

It would have been a kindness if his father had told him the shredded bodies were those of swine immediately. Instead Zeus had allowing him to believe he had killed his children. A lesson, he had called it. But a necessary one, given Hera’s interest in punishing Hercules. Hera watched his suffering too closely. If Hercules had not torn his hair and cursed the gods at the sight of his children dead, she would have known to search for them in the land of the living.  So Zeus had allowed Hercules to suffer.

And the children had survived, spirited away by their grandfather. Hercules’ journey to the oracle was little more than a ruse designed to ensure that Hera didn’t try to make another attempt. At least Hercules assumed that was Zeus’s reason for sending him on this fool’s errand. When the gods were involved, very little was sure.

However what he did know was that if he presented himself to Eurystheus, the king would take great advantage of the situation. And if Hercules pledged himself to the king, his word more than any chains would hold him.

That would not prevent Eurystheus from using chains as well. The choices set before him were enough to make any man ill. 

“What did it say?” Therimachus asked. He was a beautiful boy, and Hercules was so proud of his son, but he didn’t know how to tell him the oracle’s message. Therimachus pulled the cloak tighter around his body, clearly not trusting the disguise his grandfather had provided. Hercules could see no flaw in it. Therimachus’ youth had vanished under a magical illusion of maturity. He was full-faced with a dark beard and a scar down one cheek. He looked nothing like the smooth-faced boy with his mother’s delicate features. Sometimes Hercules wondered if Megara had managed to birth Therimachus without the help of Hercules’s seed. The boy favored her in looks.

Hercules draped his arm over his son’s shoulder the way one soldier might embrace another. “Nothing good.”

Therimachus frowned. “But you aren’t to blame.”

“And the gods see it differently,” Hercules said. “When the beliefs of the gods come in conflict with man, man will never win,” he warned. He didn’t add that Therimachus had better not trust his grandfather too far. The boy should know that already. If not, the coming news would make it clear that Zeus helped his human offspring only when it suited him. “I am to slave myself to Eurystheus.”

“What?!” Therimachus stopped in the dusty path, shoving his father’s arm away. “That’s madness.”

“The gods are mad,” Hercules pointed out. He also suspected this served some purpose in their schemes.

“What if he is unkind?”

Hercules snorted. Eurystheus knew full well that he was king only because Hera had cheated Hercules out of that very throne. Unkind would be the least of it. Hercules suspected that rape and torture were likely to feature heavily in this servitude. If Eurystheus himself administered such punishments, Hercules might even enjoy it, not that he planned to tell his son as much. Being half god meant that he felt much less than other humans. A thicker skin was a great benefit in battle, but in bed it meant that Hercules required more stimulation, and a whip was pleasant foreplay for him. Of course if Eurystheus realized that, Hercules would never see leather again. 

“You believe he will be unkind.” Therimachus swallowed and fisted his hands. It warmed Hercules to see that someone cared for him so much, but he would not have his son get in the middle of this fight.

A cart trundled past, and Hercules caught Therimachus by the shoulder and pulled him back to safety. “I believe that we are all straw before the wind when it comes to the gods. If it were not for Zeus….” Hercules tightened his hold on Therimachus’ shoulder. Hera’s schemes would have cost him his children. While he cared little for Megara other than respecting her abilities as a mother, he adored their children. If he tried to escape this fate, the gods would likely have another plan. Hercules would not risk that.

Therimachus caught his hand. “Your life is worth more than this.”

“Yes, but the gods do not care,” Hercules said. “Take word of this back to your family, for I must go to Eurystheus in Tiryns.”

“No.” 

Hercules grabbed his son by both shoulders. “You will listen to me in this. If the gods wish to force me into slavery, then they shall have their way.”

“But—”

“No,” Hercules said firmly. He had nearly lost his children once, and the horror of waking to the mistaken belief that he had killed them had nearly undone him. He would not see his children in danger again. “Go back to your family.”

Therimachus leaned closer. “They are your family as well. They do not want you in chains.”

Hercules suspected the Megara would be less concerned than Therimachus assumed. Neither of them had wanted this marriage, but she had borne the weight of it far more than he had. She could not go out on adventures or find other lovers when Hercules proved himself less than accommodating. She was a good woman, but she had cause to dislike him. Perhaps she would take up with Iolaus. He was much younger, but he had the passion Megara desired. “Tell your cousin Iolaus to watch over the house. He has my blessing to take anything within,” Hercules said. Hopefully Therimachus would be young enough to misunderstand the meaning of that message. Iolaus would not be.

Therimachus’s eyes filled with tears. “You can’t speak as though you’ll never return.”

Hercules wished that he was as young and confident, but he was no more. Waking to the carnage he’d caused while under Hera’s spell had been the last in a long line of events which had served to remind him that he had no power. His actions were little more than moves and countermoves in a great game played by his betters. He hoped his children fared better. To be an ordinary mortal forgotten by the gods was preferable to having the life Hercules had endured

Hercules rested his palm on Therimachus’ cheek. “My strength is not enough to overcome the malice of the gods. I will endure if I can. I will return if I am permitted. If not, know that I love you, and my absence is my way of ensuring that you are safe. Those who stand too near me tend to catch the attention of the gods. And their interest is capricious.”

“Father.” The word sounded strangled coming from Therimachus’ throat.

“You are my son. I live as long as you do.” Hercules had no other words to offer, so he turned his back and began to walk down the dusty trail. His cloak slipped from his shoulder, and he pulled it up to protect him from the sun. He wondered if Hera watched him now. That venomous bitch had stolen his life from him, but he had no way to strike back at her. He did know that if he endured and survived that Zeus or Athena would give him some opportunity for revenge. He had only to suffer the indignity of slavery and wait.

Behind him, Therimachus called out, and Hercules continued to walk, refusing to give in to the temptation to see his son once again. Besides, even if he turned, he would see the disguise, not his smooth-cheeked boy with dark eyes and a strong, hawk’s nose. Hercules remembered Therimachus standing on a board he’d hung between two trees by rope. He and Klonus had balanced on the board, wildly swinging as each attempted to throw the other off into the grass. The boys had laughed, and when Klonus had finally tumbled off, Therimachus had cheered with such enthusiasm that he had fallen off, nearly landing on his brother. That was how Hercules would remember his children.