What if Xena and Gabrielle had met, under far difference circumstances, before the events of The Gauntlet? Xena's POV. This was rattling around in my brain, so I wanted to get it out before writing the next chapter of Conquest Hindered.

Maintext: Nothing subtle here, folks. There's a brief scene of mild sexuality between two women, but nothing explicit.

Disclaimer: Xena belongs to Universal, Renaissance Pictures, Rob Tapert, et al. (though I think she'd be offended if you told her so)

Thanks for reading!

Finding the Words

I saw nothing wrong with taking the plunder after a raid. After all, these things were the property of other criminals, who'd filched them in their turn. They were stolen goods from the start, and I was not the worst thief to possess them. So too with the slaves: if my army didn't claim them, they would simply wander around until slavers captured them again. All I did was cut out the money-grubbing middleman.

The slaves marched into camp, dirty and tired. It was the sort of weariness that shows in the eyes: a despondent, colorless expression, reinforced by seasons of labor and waning hope. But for my part, it was of no consequence; the morale of a slave wasn't my concern. I might not have noticed their woeful expressions at all, if not for her.

My gaze passed over her at first, unsurprisingly, for she was a handspan shorter than the women at her flanks. Like the others, her arms and legs were streaked with dirt, her clothing frayed, and her hair limp. But while the rest trudged on like old straw puppets with their heads bowed, her chin was raised and her jaw set firm. She was alive, fighting off the oppression of slavery with the resilience of a late autumn bloom.

"That one," I said to my captain, identifying her with my eyes.

"Should I bring her to your tent, Xena?"

"Yes."

They made her bathe first, and when she arrived she was so clean, so utterly feminine, that for a moment I felt suddenly unsure of myself. I was unused to such gentile companions. She was dressed in a spare soldier's tunic, and I stared appreciatively; I liked the look of her in my colors. I wanted to touch her, so I did; I traced the curve of her cheek with the backs of fingers, and felt her flinch beneath them.

"What's your name?" She gave no response. "Tell me," I urged.

"Gabrielle," she said, her voice barely audible.

I repeated it, and it rolled off my tongue like honey. I caressed her face, and ran my fingers through the red-gold strands of her hair. I bent toward her, until I was near enough to feel the warmth of her breath and then I kissed her, slowly, savoring the soft feeling of her lips.

I hadn't had a bedmate in some time, and I was eager to seek my pleasure. I removed my clothes and then took her in my arms, settling her among the warm furs of my bed. But as my fingers sought the ties of her sash, I made my critical mistake: I fell into the trap of her eyes. It wasn't the fear that surprised me—it was a rare being, man or woman, who could look at me without fear—but the resignation. That autumn flower had wilted, accepting the deadly fate of the frost.

I guess I didn't expect her to be so fragile. As I stared into her eyes, my desire evaporated. I felt something I couldn't put a name to, something unsettling; later I would learn that it was shame.

I rolled away, resting on my back. "Go," I instructed. She didn't hesitate, scrambling from the bed and fairly flying out of the tent. The sense of loss I felt at her flight wasn't sexual, but something else entirely, something I'd never felt before and certainly couldn't recognize. I lay in silence for a few moments, and then I got dressed. It didn't matter anyway. She was just a girl.

-8-

I never called Gabrielle to my bed again, but I couldn't keep myself from watching her. I didn't want her to see me, and there was a sort of thrill in the victory of stealing glances, of catching her at the most menial tasks without her being aware of it. I began to notice the way my men looked at her, too. I saw the animalistic hunger in their eyes, and I wanted to slit their throats for looking at her that way, when in my heart I considered her mine. I couldn't kill half my army just to satisfy my own jealousy, so I chose an alternative: I would send her away.

My men thirsted for war with the Amazons—Darphus argued on their behalf, trying to convince me that it was better to leave the enemy dead at your back, than alive and waiting to stab you. But a man like him could never understand the unconditional honor of those tribes, so I ignored him, and resolved to treat with their Queen. Was that the beginning, the tiny fray that unraveled the whole tapestry? Maybe, but I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't change anything, now.

I left my army on the borders of the Amazon lands, but I didn't set out alone; I saw my opportunity and resolved to take Gabrielle with me, so that I could leave her with the tribe. As I pulled her into the saddle I became aware of how unsubstantial she'd become, and for a moment I was afraid she would slip through my fingers like smoke. But then she was up, her arms wrapped cautiously about my waist, and we set off.

I negotiated with the queen, Melosa, for two days. The treaty was done, and I had only one stipulation: that she take Gabrielle, too.

"The girl?" She asked. "Who is she?"

"No one," I replied, thinking this was the truth. "She's nothing to me. Maybe she'll be something to you."

When I rode away with the signed document in my saddlebag, I felt Gabrielle's eyes upon me. She was standing beside a tall, redheaded warrior, and she looked smaller than ever. I thought, now she'll forget about me, and be happy. But a small part of me wondered, what if she doesn't?

-8-

When Lyceus and I were children, we used to play a game to see who could build the highest tower. The trick was to set a good foundation; if you built too high without one, a single misplaced stone could topple the entire structure. That's what happened with my life, I guess: I let ambition carry me too far, without bothering to line up the pieces.

I lost everything to that traitorous scum, Darphus. I was a fool for thinking that loyalty forged stronger bonds than greed. 'Enjoy your exile,' he'd told me. He thought he'd ruined me, and it's true, my body was damaged beyond anything I'd ever endured. But what he didn't account for was my will, and it was far more difficult to break than my skin.

With nowhere else to go, and in need of healing, I fell back on the one bond I still had confidence in: my contract with Melosa. I dragged myself back to the Amazon lands, and they took me in, however reluctantly. They tended my wounds and gave me a bed to sleep in. That night, under the silence of the waxing moon, I was feverish with hatred. I swore upon every God I could name that I would have my revenge on Darphus, that I'd cause him far more pain than he caused me, and that I wouldn't rest until it was done. It made me feel better to take these vows; anger was something I knew and understood, and I found comfort in its heat. It was the only weapon, the only safety I had left, and it made me feel like I still had a measure of control in my life.

When I awoke next morning, I could hear the crack of chobos in the training yard. Even diminished and deposed, the sound of battle was ever in the background of my life. I washed my face, dressed slowly, and limped out into the village.

I spotted her immediately. She was standing at the far end of the square, and my eyes found hers without effort, as though guided by a will that was not my own. She had changed much since I saw her last; the long golden locks were gone, shorn off at the nape. Her lean flesh had been bolstered by muscle and her skin was darker, kissed by the afternoon sun. She looked older, though in truth no more than two seasons had passed. If not for her eyes, I might have thought myself staring at a stranger. But those irises, mottled green like aging copper, matched my memories flawlessly.

I broke our locked gaze. I'm afraid I might have blushed, an embarrassment I hadn't suffered in years. The clenching of my gut betrayed my dread; I hoped to avoid this reunion. In truth, I didn't want to speak to her. I didn't want to know how happy she'd grown since we parted. I now had less than even the lowest of my slaves, and the thought humiliated me, so I did what I'd done before: I kept my distance.

Despite my efforts to hold her at bay, Gabrielle found me anyway. Apparently, the unfavorable task of tending to my wounds had been forced upon her, and so she was sitting in my hut when I awoke. She changed bandages and applied salve with patience, and I couldn't fathom her gentle touch. Why didn't she delight in my bruises, dig her fingers into my open sores, cause me pain? I kept expecting to feel her grip tighten or her nails drag across my damaged flesh, but it never happened.

"Gabrielle," I said. I hadn't spoken her name since that first night, but I'd thought of it many times. She paused, but didn't look at me.

"I…" My throat felt dry, and I swallowed thickly. "Thank you."

She said nothing.

I saw her again a few days later, when my stamina had returned and I spent fewer hours lying abed. She was watching the drills progress in the training yard. Once I'd determined that avoidance was no longer a viable option, I was filled with the urge to speak to her. Recklessly, I approached, standing beside her and pretending to watch the sparring match. After a few moments had passed, my gaze slid toward her.

"Do they treat you well here, Gabrielle?" She must have thought I'd suffered a few too many blows to the head, to be inquiring about her well being when I myself had treated her as chattel. I wanted to ask, 'are you happy?' But that would have been yet more foolish. As it was, she looked at me strangely.

After a moment, she said, "yes. They are very kind."

I nodded.

"They're teaching me many things," she went on, apparently encouraged. "How to defend myself with a staff. How to read and write. I never thought I'd have so much wealth: all these beautiful words."

I was struck dumb by the simplicity of her desires. I wanted back the command of an army, but all Gabrielle wanted dominion over was a quill. Where would I be now, if I could learn to satiate all of my wants with such simple solutions? There was so much I wanted to say to her. I was desperate to explain, to make her understand why I had treated her so badly and give a reason for everything I'd done. Concurrent to that feeling was the need to understand it all myself, but I couldn't, and so I had no answers to give her. Frustrated and confused, I walked away in silence.

-8-

When I left the Amazons, I no longer had the desire to seek my vengeance. Darphus was gone; he'd taken the army south, to Thessaly, and I decided not to give chase. I was but one woman: strong, perhaps, but not invincible, and I knew that now. Instead, I went home: it was the hardest thing I've ever done. Everyone in Amphipolis remembered how I'd led their sons away to war, never to return. They'd heard the rumors about my army pillaging the countryside. I was a warlord to them, not a daughter, and certainly not a friend. It took time to make amends; my mother and I are both very stubborn women.

Finally, I broke; I confessed everything to her. How the pain of Lyceus's death twisted my judgment; how I thought I was acting in the defense of my home; how the sadness and the anger smoldered inside me, driving everything I did, forcing me further down a path I couldn't seem to turn away from. And then I told her about the gauntlet, and Darphus, and Gabrielle.

"Xena," she said, with the kind of perception that only a mother possesses. "You're in love with her." It wasn't question, but a statement.

"Yes," I whispered, admitting at last that daunting truth.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. Gods, I don't know." It sounded even more stupid when I admitted it aloud. I didn't even know her, not really. I knew her patience, her remarkable capacity for kindness, her softness and her humanity. I knew that with a single look, she had changed my life. But all that meant was that I was indebted to her, and had no right to expect anything else in return.

"She hates me." I sounded like a whimpering child.

"I don't think so," Cyrene disagreed.

"She should. I tried to… I… you don't know! You don't know the things I've done, to her, to others just like her. She should hate me! I want her to hate me. I wish-"

"Xena," my mother interrupted impatiently, "are you going to sit here and lament your misdeeds, or are you going to do something about them?" And just like that, I had a new path to follow.

Over the next few moons, I traveled leisurely. My reputation still preceded me, and inns were hesitant to give me quarter, fearing the purposes for which I had come to their village. But slowly, slowly, I was changing. I picked off marauders along the major roads; I turned slavers over to the local judiciary and freed their captives, thinking of Gabrielle, wishing I could have done the same for her. People began to fear me less, and though the burden on my heart was still great, I found it easier to carry. I forgot about what I'd lost, and focused on what I could prevent others from losing.

I sent Gabrielle a letter. I've never been very good with words, but I feared that I'd only be worse in person. I told her that I was sorry, not just for my treatment of her, but for all of the evil things I'd done. I didn't ask her to forgive me, because I knew I didn't deserve that. But even if she didn't accept it, I wanted her to hear my apology. And then, finally, I wandered back to the lands of the Amazons.

I didn't ask for her right away. Instead I extended my thanks to Melosa for the aid she'd given me, and we talked of my deeds and my goals. When I finally plucked up the courage to search for Gabrielle, I found that she was no longer living there. She had gone south, to Athens, to train as a bard.

I'd come too far to give up now, so I resumed my travels. When at last I reached the Academy, my patience was spent. The schoolmaster protested that the students were busy with some sort of a recitation, but I couldn't stand to wait any longer. I had to see her. I pushed right past him and into the great hall, and it was there that my eyes caught the loveliest vision they have ever beheld. Gabrielle stood upon the stage, plainly dressed, but her eyes were filled with the passion of her tale.

"I sing the song of Xena," she was saying. "It is the story of a woman who became trapped in the cycle of violence and hatred, and who feared that her own goodness would make her weak. It is a tale of sorrow and woe, but ultimately, of hope."

When she finished, the applause was thunderous, but I couldn't even lift my hands. My face was stained with the tears that I hadn't bothered to wipe away, and my tongue felt swollen. When she made her way through the crowd and took my calloused hands hers, I could find no words to express what I felt.

"How?" I managed to croak out. "How can you know so much, when I tried to show you so little?

"Because I can see into your heart. You saved me, Xena. If you hadn't brought me to the Amazons, I would have been sold again. You gave me freedom. Whether you know it or not, it was your first act of kindness. When you left last time, I knew you'd find your way."

"There's so many things I want to tell you," I said hoarsely, "but I don't know how to say them."

"Then don't." She smiled, and tangled her fingers through mine. "Don't say anything, until you're ready. I've got time." With our hands linked, and my heart fairly bursting, we strolled beneath the evening sky.