"Hope is the worst of Evils, for it prolongs the torments of man." (Frederick Nietzche)

The candles lining the shrine flickered in the thin breeze, and the stilled loom rattled in time.

"You seek the impossible."

The youngest of the Three Sisters watched her with cool grey eyes.

Xena ignored her, approaching the great loom slowly, deliberately.

"Chaining us accomplishes nothing." The Middle Sister informed her icily, "What has been woven cannot be undone."

"Nothing's impossible…" The Warrior Princess stumbled slightly on her ragged robes, as her hand found the smooth shuttle, "Is it?"

The empty air she'd spoken to crackled blue, as The God of War stepped out of the Aether, shaking his head mockingly, "You ladies are just pessimists at heart. Cut a seam or two here…tie a few loose ends up…change fate. Easy as-" Ares produced a dagger, "a simple snip in the right place."

The Oldest Fate laughed dryly, "Even the gods are subject to our designs, Ares. And just because you are a simpleton, does not mean what you intend will be simple."

"Don't listen to the old hag, Xena. She knows there's nothing she can do to stop us."

Xena turned to look at him with bleary exhausted eyes. Three weeks of mourning had taken their toll, and Ares shuddered inwardly at her hollow, gaunt expression.

"Trust me Xena."

She closed her eyes, fingers twisted in the ragged grey cloak she wore, "Let's just do this."

The return banter died on his lips, and for the first time since he'd discovered her lying on the floor of the Amazon temple bereaved beyond coherence at the death of her son, he was beginning to doubt his plans. Change the loom of fate, return Xena back to the days when she held the position of a powerful, albeit pregnant warlord, and get a second chance to turn her into everything she could have been. No irritating blond to interfere this time, and she was desperate for any opportunity to get a second chance to save her son.

"Ares." Her voice strained and she coughed, "Show me where to cut."

Indecisiveness wasn't in the nature of the gods, and Ares stepped forward and placed the blade in her hands. In no hurry, he spared a gloating look at the three bound Fates, sliding his hands along Xena's shoulders, guiding her along the loom, tracing the pattern to just the right spot.

"This is it?" she whispered.

"All you have to do is cut, and…," he smoothed his hands over her shoulders, trailing them down to rest on her hips, enjoying the fact that she didn't draw away, though it likely had more to do with a desperate need to maintain the exact position of her blade, than anything else, "Of course remember our deal. Only the five of us will know about this little…correction…But you can be sure I won't forget your promise of loyalty."

Xena pulled in a weary breath. Oh yes, her promise.

Slowly, Ares toyed with the edges of her clothing, moving his hands back toward hers, "Just don't cut the threads before-"

There was a deafening crack as if lightening had struck the temple, and all sound all light, snuffed out in an instant. The threads had been cut.