Heracles maimed your father within your own lands, the son of Zeus held little pity for the man. He’d been starved, slaughtering a bull to eat was perhaps an insult to a king but his stomach was eating itself within.

He took you from your home kingdom of Dryopes, your mother, deceased father, siblings and any friends you may have garnered. Gone, lost as he began to partially raise you alongside his other sons. Teach you to use the bow and arrow, the sword and shield, club and how to fight among battlefields.

Unlike his sons, Heracles cared for you more than a child he raised upon his own. Constantly at banquets were you upon the man’s lap, with a hand underneath your garments or perhaps a hand upon your waist as it traveled wherever it pleased.

You accompanied him wherever he wanted, your official title was an ‘arms-bearer’ to constantly carry his weapons as he traveled which you supposed was not a terrible job. The son of Zeus was kind in some aspects, tempered in others and many ways you’d learned to have avoided over the years.

Now, as it came to be, once again were you forcibly dragged from your home by the hand of Heracles to bring you along to Argos. A journey, you heard whispers told, about Jason and his quest that Heracles and many other heroes alike would join.

“Do not be so afraid, my boy,” The son of Zeus said, ruffling your hair as men began to board the boat. “You have I to protect you, there’s nothing to be afraid of besides that of Lord Poseidon, and we’ve done nothing to upset him.”