Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me, and nor do any of the various other references to non-Xena pop culture.
Author's note: This story started out as a parody of the various clichés and tropes in shipperfic, inspired by a binge that came from me rewatching the whole show. It gradually took on a life of its own, and now I'd describe it as a tribute to a fandom I've loved for many years. It's been three years in the making because I am an extremely sporadic writer. I've shamelessly ripped off/paid homage to an extensive and random assortment of in-jokes, fanfic (other people's and one of my own first efforts), pop culture and no doubt some other things I've forgotten. Nevertheless, it's done with love and I hope you enjoy it.
For Tango – who started as my "Xena friend" but is now a real-life source of inspiration, friendship and warmth.
True Blue
Prologue
Greba paced angrily around her gloomy kitchen.
Her pot of stew was steaming away merrily over the fire, her house was spotless, and despite the fact that it was raining outside, her roof wasn't leaking (on this final point she was undeniably smug). She'd been all set for a cosy evening with her handsome new neighbour, but even though she'd batted her eyelashes at him in a very obvious way – and then done it again for good measure – he hadn't accepted her dinner invitation.
A bubble in the stew popped. Greba stirred it, a little more forcefully than necessary, and the fire hissed as stray droplets of liquid splashed out of the pot. Those slave girls really were out of line, bossing a good man like that around. She was convinced the pair of them had vetoed him coming over. The worst part was, he'd barely bothered to feign disappointment.
She made the fire hiss again. Why he preferred those half-dressed city slickers to a good girl like her was a mystery. If only she could find a way to get rid of them. They couldn't even milk cows, for Zeus' sake, and she still wasn't sure quite what had caused their chickens to cluck so worriedly earlier.
Don't even talk to me about chickens.
Greba stopped stirring abruptly. She paused. Then she stirred again even more violently than before.
Stop that!
She frowned. That hissing noise was definitely words, and it was definitely…
Yes, I'm in your stew. Not so much salt next time, by the way. I'm starting to shrivel up.
…coming from her dinner.
Greba peered down into the pot and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw the image of a black-haired, pale-skinned woman on the surface of her stew.
Don't worry, you're not crazy. I can't appear in human form anymore after my unfortunate decapitation, but luckily, my head is just as devious as it ever was.
"That's—not very reassuring." Greba lowered her spoon but kept it ready, just in case some emergency stirring was required to banish the unknown head. "I have no idea who you are."
Oh, right. I'm Discord, Goddess of Retribution. I'm here to get some revenge for both of us. I've lost my head, you've lost your date, and we can both point the blame finger at the same people for our problems – well, you can, since I no longer have fingers. Now, here's what I have in mind. You might want to get a quill…
A few days later, Xena approached the farmhouse after a very enjoyable trip into town with Gabrielle. In addition to picking up various food and household supplies together, they'd briefly split up so Gabrielle could check out the new additions to the local scroll library.
She opened the door.
"Hey, Ares, are you in here?"
No answer. She entered the house, surprised at the lack of response. Then she heard an unmistakeable snort of derision coming from the kitchen, so she followed the sound.
Ares was sitting at the rickety table (which he still hadn't fixed, despite his promise to do so three days ago) with his feet up, a mug in front of him, a scroll in his hand, and a faintly horrified look on his face. Horace, lying at his feet, wagged his tail to acknowledge Xena's arrival but otherwise didn't move. When Ares saw her, he shook his head, his mouth still hanging slightly open.
"What in Hades is the matter?"
She saw him take a breath and try to speak, but his breath caught in his throat (and her own breath caught a little too, despite her best efforts to ignore his bare chest). He frowned, then tried again, more successfully.
"Gabrielle – she – the horror—"
"Gabrielle what? Where is she, Ares?" Urgently.
"—Gave me this scroll. Just now. Then left. It's all about us – the horror—" Words failing him again, Ares thrust the scroll at Xena. She took it, skimmed the first words, and looked at him incredulously.
"You aren't serious?"
He nodded silently.
"The horror…"