Disclaimers: The NG3 (new goddess trilogy) of Xena, Gabrielle and Callisto belong to RenPics and Universal/MCA, all copyrights and applicable legal stuff is theirs. This is a piece that is not meant to infringe on any area of copyright/intellectual property. They also have rights to any other characters whose name is recognizable from the broadcast airing of said show from 1995 to the present 1998. However, all other characters are mine to lay claim to and I do so. No copies of this story may be posted at any site without the express consent of myself or the web-owner where this story is posted or without the disclaimer listed in full. Please pay attention to the following disclaimers as they apply to the story as a whole and NOT just for specific chapters.
Additional disclaimers courtesy of Wildcat (wildcat .au), (c) Wildcat, 1997.
LOVE/SEX WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This story depicts a love/sexual relationship between consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story. VIOLENCE/EXTREME VIOLENCE WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This story depicts scenes of extreme violence and/or their aftermath. Readers who are disturbed by or sensitive to this type of depiction may wish to read something other than this story.
Prologue:
In the darkness, three figures stir: Sky blue eyes startle open at the sound of a voice screaming "I hate you." Beside her, the smaller figure of her lover trembles at a nightmare that has her tossed about in the wake of her warrior lover's fury.
Father away - alone - eyes the color of polished steel whip open and see only black.
Struggling for breath - in the cool glade, the warrior shakes her head of the dream memory. She looks down at the shaking figure beside her and gently wraps herself around the tense, muscular form. She begins to murmur softly, brushing wispy tendrils of the strawberry blonde hair back. She feels the tension slowly ebb as she gazes at the moonlit profile - watching the jaw unclench beneath her murmured whispers and soft touch, and wishes that the anxiety that twists her muscles into knots were as easily dismissed.
In the pitch black, the sound of hands struggling to move before realizing that they are shackled. A sharp intake of breath and muttering. Chains clank against more tugging only to discover the shackles still hold. The soft sound of fingers dancing like moths wings beating matches the rhythm of the whispered voice. The chains clank once again. Nothing has changed. In the shadowed chill, a stillness settles in the figure's body.
Finally, sleep comes once again to the troubled warrior as she curls around the body of her lover. Looking, by all appearances, to be offering shelter and protection.
Appearances that belie the trepidation she feels. A bare flickering of approaching torch light illuminates the darkened cell where the third figure, a woman, is shackled. Eyes close for a moment; small ripples undulate along the neck as she swallows several times. The stillness, the darkness...The muscles along her jaw tighten into a corded ridge as teeth clench together, forcing lips into a tight thin line. She is trying to deny the feeling that was unfurling in her chest. Something she had not felt in many years, the beginning of fear. Leagues away, the stuttering of frantic heartbeats, the catch in the breath of the sleeping lovers and the same billowing emotion catches a breeze and opens. She shakes her head and slows down her breathing. She tries to trap the shrieking sound of fear she feels scrabbling its way up her spine, digging into her heart and clawing at her throat. Tears slip silently from her eyes and the sound breaks free, ripping from her throat like a banshee's wail. The scream fills the air, reverberating through the darkness, pouring back like molasses to smother her.
This time - forest green eyes open in alarm with the gasp caught in her throat that becomes a cry "No." Immediately, the arm slung over her whips away and she feels both abandoned and strangely secure. The two figures sit up - not quite looking at the other.
There is a shadow moving towards her, leaning over her. Soft silken hair brushes against her cheeks and the cloying spicy scent she thought she would never smell again assails her senses. Her screaming stops as abruptly as it had started. "Welcome my sweet. I am so glad that you could make it on such short notice." Velvet soft lips brush against her ear, the voice soft and low.
Nightmares?" The warrior asks, knowing what the answer was. "Uhm, yea, and you?" Comes the soft reply."Yea..."
"Aillia!" The woman chokes out turning her head away from the searching lips.
"You know, I am the only one who can hear you scream. I like that thought, don't you? Gives us more privacy. And as I remember, I could make you scream." Aillia nuzzles the warmth of her captive's neck. The woman yanks her head away and then turns to glare into the mirror image of her own face. The details a little sharper, a little colder, luminescent eyes cold and flat as ore. "Gee, no birthday cards, no holiday greetings, I didn't know you still cared." The woman snarls at the smiling mask. "Of course I care." Aillia said softly, leaning over and pressing her lips forcefully against the prone woman's.
"Want some water?" The warrior asks, handing the skin to the figure who sits with her arms wrapped around her knees, gazing into the last glowing embers of the fire. "No, thanks." A weak smile. This is not a new ritual for them, even since their return from the land of strange riddles and song. It was during the night, when they slept, that the images that led them to their plunge over the waterfall came back.
The woman struggles, jerking her head away, she spits into the darkness.
"Unh unh unh, little sister." Aillia wraps long fingers around the other's jaw and she yanks her head back so that it is facing her again. "You...with your noble heart- Your honor" Aillia's lips curled into another sneer around that word. "fighting the good fight, for the greater good, and doing the 'right' thing. You would not. No. Could not kill me." Aillia pulled back slightly, her fingers now lightly tracing the contours of the face below her. "And after all that, after you defeated me, humiliated me, nearly crippled me, you left me in the care of those imbecilic cows from the village who had hired you to begin with. Made sure I would always be well taken care of. And I was...I could think about it and thank you and your stupid friends every waking moment." Aillia's voice drops to a whisper, her nails digging into the woman's malleable flesh.
"Enslavement and torture have never been the preferred methods of benevolent leaders. Aside from those details, you're right, they all loved you. As for the rest, I know, I was there." The woman laughs beneath the nails tearing her flesh. Aillia yanks back as though she's been slapped, raking her nails across the woman's cheeks and jaw. She looks at the prone woman for a moment, and then begins to smile at the sight of blood rising up through scarlet lines.
"Ohhh, I'm sorry, you're bleeding. Let me clean that up." Aillia leans back down and begins the lick the bleeding scratches. "You still taste delicious." She murmurs, letting her hands dance once more across the other's collarbone, down towards her chest. "Don't miss me or this, too much." Aillia said, pressing her lips tightly against the other woman's, forcing her tongue and the taste of blood into the others mouth before standing abruptly. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand and laughs before disappearing back towards the light. In an instant, the room plunges back into the darkness, although the captive figures it had to be lighter than Aillia's heart. She tries to calm her pounding heart and not taste her own blood. She swallows hard, trying to push down the bile that was rising in her gullet.
The pre-dawn light found the three figures each, finally, stilled by the sleep of those too tired to grapple any longer with demons, either physical or ethereal. Stealing instead to the blissful unconsciousness of sheer exhaustion.