Title: The Roman Way
Summary: End of Season 5. Xena's death affects Ares more than he means it to. The consequences change everything. AU of the Season 5 arc.
Comments: Starts out during Looking Death in the Eye and goes AU from there, though I will follow the Livia/Eve/Twilight arc and follow some canon dialogue and scenes, perhaps a little bit tweaked.
Chapter Note: The prologue is the beach scene from Looking Death in the Eye told from Ares' point of view, but the next chapter's gonna jump to the beginning of Livia from Xena's perspective. Eventually I hope to work my way back to everything that happened in between ;)
P.S. This is my first attempt at fanfic, so we'll see how this goes...
Prologue
He watched her.
Like a god did. Like they all did.
As the waves gently rolled in, serene, she first crawled over to the burning wreckage, searched desperately through the debris.
"Eve? Eve?! Eve? Eve. Eve? … Oh—oh. Oh!"
Her shriek was frightening, so raw and emotional that it disturbed him far more than he thought it capable. He had heard men screech their last on the battlefield; hell, he, himself, had pulled that final instinctual gurgle many a time. He'd admit the sound was somehow fulfilling. But this, this was deeper. Visceral. For the loss of a child…it sounded like she herself had died.
Was this what it meant to be mortal? Unwittingly, a not-so-long-ago conversation came to his mind…
"Look—you want immortality? A child is immortality—a legacy—a lineage!"
He suddenly felt he was on the verge of something—some secret piece of knowledge previously beyond his reach; it was like rubbing at a foggy window—he felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his body in anticipation…
But the moment was interrupted by her next pronounced cry.
"Gabrielle—Gabrielle? Oh…Gabrielle?!"
As the other gods looked on satisfyingly, he watched her turn the limp body of the blond over; she gave a guttural moan at what she found, rocking back on her heels.
Sure, he felt no love loss for the pesky blond, but he nonetheless experienced a feeling of uneasiness pass through him at the scene. He had never seen Xena look so desperate. So emotionally naked. Her emotions…
It all felt so obscene. Like he shouldn't be watching this. Like he shouldn't be…
Oh damn! She had her sword out—she was shouting something up at his family—she was—
DO SOMETHING! The one thought raced through his mind like Zeus' own lightening bolt. He zapped into being in front of her, catching the sword before she could make the final plunge. He tossed the weapon behind him; far, far away. Okay, he thought, that felt right.
No, no, wrong, so wrong. This whole thing was wrong. Xena was strong. This wasn't his Xena. This was some broken woman in her place.
He approached her cautiously, nervously. He felt his next actions were pivotal. Damn, was that sweat on his palms? Gods didn't sweat.
Calm, be calm, he thought. He felt for her, wrapping his hands on her strong waist, telling himself this was Xena. His Xena. They'd danced this dance for years, he reasoned.
"No, Xena. Don't." Three small words. He felt in that moment he'd give all he owned on Olympus just to know that they were the right ones.
She smiled softly and reached up; glided her hand across his chest, clutched at his studded vest. "Ares…" she said his name softly, oddly, without the usual spite he'd come to expect in her tone. Again, he didn't recognize this passive woman, and gods, he felt sick. So sick. Like he'd already lost something. Something he never had. Her fingertips just barely caressed his skin, and he shivered, briefly wondering just who was doing the comforting here…
"…you can't stop me this time." And with that she was back. Her tone was harsh, bitter. The voice she reserved just for him.
His stomach dropped. He instinctually knew what was in the tiny bottle she held in her hand, watched as she quickly popped the top.
He didn't know what to do.
He did the only thing his wretched mother ever told him a god was never to do.
"No," he begged.
"It's over. It's over," she said simply, as if that explained everything. She pushed him back gently; at his wit's end, he didn't know what to do but follow her lead, backing away several steps.
He knew his "pivotal moment" had passed—that he had done nothing to help...and had he been foolish for even thinking he could? Now he wanted nothing more than to turn away, escape the consequences, eagerly distance himself from what he sensed was her impending doom, that black abyss, something that, as a god, he had no true comprehension of...
Death. He swore he could already smell it on her. It made him feel uneasy just thinking about, knowing how close siding with Xena and welcoming the Twilight could have come to his own unknown end. He also knew the irony of it all—as War, he exacted death every day, but War himself was afraid of his own death.
What would happen to him? Where did gods go when…?
What came next?
Questions perhaps best answered by: Gods weren't meant to die.
Maybe because of that very fact, he couldn't help taking a step forward, watching in horrid fascination as she tossed back the bottle and drank ardently to her own death.
For half a second, he bitterly thought it fitting that Xena would eagerly abandon him in death as she'd done so in life. So he'd never have her. Damn her iron will.
She wobbled unsteadily, the deadly liquid clearly taking its effect. Without a second thought, he caught her, brought her to him. The seconds whirled by and she looked dizzy, seemingly trying to compose her last thoughts. She sucked in a shaky breath.
"Join your family. Tell them it's a packaged deal." She stared hard at him; he knew in that moment she saw him only for what he was—an Olympian God—and looked as if she hated him far worse than she'd ever had before. Hated all of them. Him, them. Him.
"They get me, too."
He'd never have her.
Her limbs gave way and she let out a breath, a final breath, as she slipped backward, death toppling her as no enemy had.
He let her slide from his grasp, too chicken to hold on, sorry for letting go. He was distantly aware of Athena and the others above, having seen an end to an end, materializing away. He, himself, backed away, jittery, horrified. This was close—too close. He needed…hell, he didn't even know what he needed.
He looked at her unresponsive body—at her beautiful, empty body—and was suddenly disgusted by it. And ashamed for feeling so, for a woman he...claimed to love?
Fuck it, he needed to block this…these emotions…he needed familiarity…
Anger—anger was familiar. He latched onto that. He could do anger.
He let the waves of rage wash over him, drown him. Rage at Xena for never honoring him. Rage at Xena for always defeating him. Rage at Xena for never trusting him, never liking him, always abandoning him—heck, even rage at having these pitiful feelings for her in the first place.
You know what? he thought. Screw that bitch. Xena had always thought she was better than him. Well, damn her to Tartarus. She may not have wanted anything to do with him in life, but he'd be damned if he'd let that stop him from abandoning her in death.
Resolutely, he bent down and latched onto her, turning around to zap out of this hellhole. He thought he got sight of that lunkhead Josser right before he left, but didn't waste his time on a second thought.
He traveled through the vapor across thousands of miles, arriving at his destination in seconds.
Mt. Etna.
He was surrounded by a sea of billowing white, a blizzard having its heyday high up in these mountains. He thanked the powers that be that he was a god and couldn't feel the inevitable cold. Briefly he found himself wondering just what the inevitable cold would feel like…
Clutching at Xena's quickly cooling body, he made his way carefully over to a cave, one he knew to be here, and entered the silent shrine.
So here it was: he would do—one. final. good. deed.—for her. He'd give her (and, what the hell?—even the annoying blond) a proper burial. A hero's burial. He knew she'd never believe it of him in life; would think he was up to no good and tell him to get lost. Then properly sock him in the nose when he was busy sniffing her hair. He laughed bitterly. Well, then it was a good thing she'd never know.
Being dead would see to that.