A/N: There follows here a bit of sexy violence. Be forewarned.
When Gabrielle awoke in her bed the next morning, she opened her eyes to find an ink blue hyacinth flower laying next to her on the pillow. She feels a smile arcing its way over her face as the sunrise did over the horizon. Putting a delicate hand beneath its soft petals, she brings it close to her nose so that she may smell its perfume. It is one of her favourite scents, although she had never told that to anyone. Sitting up, she cradles the large flower in her small palms. Then it all comes rushing back to her, carried on the waters of the river. If this flower was from Xena––it had to be, for she was the only one who could sneak in her room without her hearing––then she wanted nothing to do with it. Gabrielle gets up and opens the shutters to her window.
Outside, the sky is a beautiful blue, without even a trace of the rain clouds that had been swarming for the majority of the week. With a hand extended out the window and the hyacinth in it, she doesn't have the heart to throw it out. Instead, she clutches it close to her heart, willing it to sap the pain she felt there. She had to remember her task: I'm not here to bed a wild young warrior princess, nor I am here to burn with jealousy when that young warrior princess beds someone else. In fact, if Gabrielle thought about it, removed from her consuming jealousy, she had no right to her expectations of loyalty. Xena had in fact offered herself, and she refused; there was no reason that Xena could not look elsewhere to sate those particular desires. But, that was what it was all about: it was about curbing that Desire. Isn't that what Lao Ma had taught to the older Xena when she was literally crippled by the driving force.
Conquer Desire. Conquer yourself.
Wise words from a wise woman. Gabrielle realises that what upset her most about the exchange between this Xena and Aleathea––while the physical lust was hard to stomach––was the words that the brunette seductress had uttered in the warrior's ear and the power it wielded over that warrior's sense of purpose and self. Conquest, Power, Skill, Alaethea had said. It had all sounded too much like the words of a particular god she knew. Suddenly, it all clicks in Gabrielle's mind. Maybe that god was the one who was responsible for sending her back to this time? She couldn't fathom why he would, but then again there was only one reason and one reason only that this god did anything: for Xena and to enact his will through her. With renewed purpose, Gabrielle moves from the window and dresses herself. She must find this Alaethea and have a serious conversation with her.
Once downstairs, taking the servants' passageway to the kitchens, Gabrielle runs into Lyceus, who is in deep conversation with Toris by the ovens. Their words seem to be as heated as their surroundings.
"Good morrow Brigadier," says Lyceus in jest. He is smiling around his brother's shoulder. Toris turns around and grimaces at the blonde's advance.
"Morning Gabrielle," he says. Gabrielle greets them both with equal cordiality, her thoughts far away from the kitchens of the Inn. A bowl of oatmeal appears in front of her vision and she looks up to find Lyceus' hand offering it.
"Better get this down quick," he says. Gabrielle takes it, a question in her eyes. "Ganix rode in this morning with the magistrates from your village and Meride."
"Already?" says Gabrielle around a mouthful of porridge.
"Yep, and they don't look too happy," says Toris with a little pride in his voice, "She'll never persuade them."
"Maybe not," says Gabrielle, distractedly. It was not a good thing that three riders had made it through the city border and within its walls without anyone having been notified. "Lyceus," she says, "will you select a few of the men today to be border patrol? Fast runners, able to make decisions quickly."
"Your command, my hands," says Lyceus, thumping a fist on his chest. Toris snorts.
"Thank you," says Gabrielle, setting her barely-eaten oatmeal on the counter, "Where are the magistrates now?"
"Just in there–" says Lyceus, pointing toward the dining area of the Inn.
"And Xena?" asks Gabrielle.
"With them already," he replies. Gabrielle nods and sets her jaw. She makes it a point to remind the general just what the duties of her second-in-command were, namely to be notified when important things like this occur.
Rounding the corner of the hall into the dining area, she sees the room cleared of any patrons save Dimas, Ganix, two other men who must be the magistrates, and Xena standing with her hands planted on the table in front of them.
"You're not listening," says the young general, her teeth gritted.
"Sure we are," says one of the magistrates with a too-white wig set over his hair, "you want our people to die in your war." The other magistrate, with a bulkier build in full riding gear, nods his heavy head in agreement.
"Not to die," says Gabrielle, interrupting the meeting, "but to fight for their own peace."
They all turn at her voice, Xena's face colouring only slightly.
"Themis, this is my second, Gabrielle," says Xena, gesturing to the bulky man. "Aidos, you must know each other."
The elder man quirks a finely plucked eyebrow, "And why should I?".
"She's from your own village––" starts Xena.
"A cousin of Hecuba," finishes Gabrielle, feeling sweat condense on her palms. She had completely forgotten the hairy situation it would be if a fellow Potidaean did not recognise her; she would certainly incur a whole new onslaught of questions from the sharply assertive warrior princess.
"Ah, Herodotus' wife?" says Aidos.
"Yes," says Gabrielle, relieved.
"A beautiful woman, indeed. I hear she is with child."
"She is," says Gabrielle, reeling some at the news. Was that child in her mother's stomach her own self? Was is another child altogether? Had Astarte, the goddess of fertility, simply skipped over the birth of Gabrielle and moved on to Lila? This time travel thing was confusing indeed.
"A happy blessing," says Aidos, interrupting her train of thought. "Tell me, Gabrielle, what do you think of this zealous young warrior's proposition? That we ally our three villages to fight this warlord. I would trust the opinion of a kinsman over these foreigners."
Gabrielle registers the fire in Xena's cold eyes as she moves closer to stand beside her general. She notices a map of Thrace spread out over the table from which Xena was trying to explain Cortese's path of destruction. Laying a hand over Amphipolis, Gabrielle leans on the table, her eyes set in a serious expression.
"I think it absolutely necessary," she says.
Themis hits Aidos on the arm. "You Potidaeans are just as crazy as Amphipolis."
"And why do you think this?" answers Aidos, ignoring Themis.
"Because it is your duty as leaders of good people to protect them from harm, future and present, even if it means sacrifice." She looks to Xena, their eyes meeting quickly. "Cortese is a very capable warlord, I'm sure my general here has explained to you both just how capable. Now, our only chance to stop such evil is to come together under the banner of that which is for the greater good. For the health and prosperity of the people who look to us for guidance."
"Still though," injects Themis, "we are not fighting people. It is not our way."
"Nor ours," says Gabrielle, "but at least we don't mask our cowardice with our peacefulness." Xena attempts to conceal her laughter at the bard's words. Themis sputters, looks incredulously to Aidos.
"I believe you speak the truth," says Aidos, "but my mind is not yet made up."
"Mind you, our time constraints bar from deep reflecting," growls Xena, "Cortese will be at Meride in three days." This statement brings a thoughtful scowl to Themis' face.
"Nonetheless," says Gabrielle, her mind working quickly, "please accept a day of hospitality on behalf of Amphipolis. It will give you a chance to get a sense of our war preparations and see the magic Xena has worked on the militia." Themis and Aidos look to each other in consideration. "We'll reconvene at a dinner tonight, here," continues Gabrielle, "in your honour and you both will make your decisions then." Both men seem to accept the terms of her plan.
"Very well," says Xena, usurping the conversation once more, "Dimas, Ganix, please escort our guests around. Show them the walls, the hospice and anything else you think necessary. Bring them round at high sun to witness the men drilling–– under my command," she adds. Both of her soldiers beat a fist on their chest.
"Princess," they both say. It had started out as a joke among her men to call her that, stemming from Alaethea's coinage of Warrior Princess, but now it took on an air of demurred respect from their lips.
"Since when did Amphipolis churn out such loquacious women?" says Aidos to Themis as they follow Dimas and Ganix out of the Inn.
Once alone, Xena looks to Gabrielle. "Good talking," she said. Her voice betrays the embarrassment returning over the events of last night.
"Thank you," says Gabrielle, "I'll have you remember that your Brigadier should be notified when such things happen, for she is still of some use." Intent on walking away from Xena, Gabrielle turns at those words. Xena's hand on her arm impedes that intent.
"Gabrielle––" she begins. The bard turns back around, meeting very distressed arctic eyes.
"I was wrong to spy on you," says Gabrielle at once, "it won't happen again." Xena emphatically shakes her head.
"It– it's not that," her voice softens, the fire dies a little in her eyes, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... Alaethea is nothing to me."
"Yeah, it seems that way," grates Gabrielle, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Xena's brow stiffens into a more stoic expression.
"You heard me though," she reasons, "she asked me to forget you and I walked away. You see, I'm serious about you. I love you."
Gabrielle allows a snort of disbelief, "Spare me, Xena".
"What?" The warrior's grip tightens on the bard's arm.
"Did you realise you loved me before or after your fingers were inside her?" She didn't mean to admit her anger, hadn't she resolved herself in her room earlier? "Walking away mid-fuck is not evidence of love, Xena, it's insanity. If you think it is, then you have no idea what love is."
"You're right!" exclaims Xena, releasing her hand from Gabrielle's arm and slamming it down on the map of Thrace, "I know nothing of love. You were supposed to teach me!".
"Don't you dare!" yells Gabrielle, her thoughts completely obscured by her anger, "I love you with every breath in my body, I'm doing all this for you! I do everything for you!"
"For me?" says Xena, flashing a vicious smile, "Cow shit. You're doing it for the other Xena, and moreover you're doing it for your own love of her. So really, it's for yourself. And I know you're not telling me everything, Gabrielle, I saw the look on Aidos' face when I introduced you. He'd never seen you in his life."
Damn, thought Gabrielle, Xena is much too perceptive for her own good. And the warrior was more right about Gabrielle's selfishness than she cared to admit. For it wasn't a desire to help Xena that she had prayed to travel back in time, it was because of her anger at the warrior, her desire to change her. It was Dahak's fire and the child ripped from her body that drove her actions; it was Caesar and the legions of Rome marching upon the soil of Brittainia. It was Hatred that moved her. The thought stings her into silence. Maybe they both had a lot to learn about Love, for they knew too much of Hatred.
"Are you going to answer me?" demands this Xena in front of her. All the anger and all the antipathy leaves the bard's body and in its place all she feels is sadness and defeat.
"You're right," says Gabrielle, surprising Xena at the change in her voice.
"So you're not from Potidaea?" the warrior's eyebrows knit together.
"No, I am," says Gabrielle. Should I tell her the truth? Would it make a difference in Xena's distrust of me? She takes a deep deep breath, "I just lived there when Magistrate Lares was in office."
"Oh," breathes Xena. The warrior and bard stand in awkward silence. Finally, Gabrielle moves to cover Xena's hand that rests on the map over the table. She traces the bones in the warrior's hand, noting that they are in the same shape as those of her friend in the future. Except, she considers to herself, without that thin white scar on the thumb knuckle of her right hand.
"Forgive me?" asks Gabrielle, her eyes seeking out the warrior's. Xena allows herself to look into those green eyes and she finds the same honesty as there always exists in them.
"You're not the one to be asking forgiveness, Gabrielle," says Xena, "I am. I heard you in the barn talking to Lyceus; I know you love me. I feel horrible about doing what I did and I've never felt that horrible or that guilty over anything that I've ever done. I shouldn't have let Alaethea get to me. Sometimes, I act too impulsively. Well, I guess you know..." She was blathering and Gabrielle knew it.
"It's okay," says Gabrielle, taking Xena's hand from the map and into her own.
"Forgive me?" asks Xena, sincerity apparent in her eyes.
"Always," says the bard, kissing the warrior's thumb without the scar. Gently, Xena disentangles her hand and cups Gabrielle's cheek in her palm. The skin is smooth despite being a little damp from a tear that had escaped into her hand; she brushes the tears away.
"Boy, you are a crier, aren't you," says Xena, feeling her own eyes prickle.
"Yeah," laughs Gabrielle, then her face turns serious once more, "Xena, I don't want you to touch her again. There's something not right with her."
Xena's face retains its shame, "I won't. I swear it. I'm yours, all yours." Outside there is a clap of thunder in the distance. "Damn," says Xena, looking out the far window, "I thought the rain would break today."
"Me too," Gabrielle replies. Then, moved by some rule of the Fates, both women's eyes meet each other and stay locked in a bemused sort of attraction. There are the same questions cinctured by blue and green: Who are you? Why do I love you? And it is the green eyes that draw closer and the lips beneath them that part. In the chastest of touches, Gabrielle brushes her lips against Xena's. They echo the thunder outside with lightning between them. In a breath it is over, but it doesn't stop Xena from pushing her strong body close to the bard's, backing her up against the table. Xena's hands travel down the smaller woman's shoulders, over her biceps and forearms to her hands that lay planted behind her on the map. The gesture is not one of possession or domination, but one of passion. Bending her dark head down, Xena places her lips on the dip of fragrant skin where Gabrielle's collar bone meets her shoulder. Its affect is tantalising for both women. But, borrowing from the newly resigned promise of restraint, Xena stands up straight and takes a step subtly away from the bard.
"Thank you for the flower," says Gabrielle, breathlessly, "Hyacinths are my favourite".
But before Gabrielle can register Xena's look of confusion, the door of the Inn opens admitting Lyceus onto the raised threshold. Upon spotting them and their proximity, Lyceus clears his throat.
"Uh, excuse me," he says, his heart in his throat, "Gabrielle I did what you asked."
Gabrielle steps away from Xena, her cheeks colouring a darker shade of red than they already were, "Thank you, Lyceus."
"Marius and Leon will serve as border patrol," he replies, hopping over the guard rail and onto the floor of the dining room, "Both of them tied for second place in the long-distance run at last year's festival races."
"Oh?" says Gabrielle, "Who won first?"
"Xena," says Lyceus, looking at the champion herself.
"Of course," says Gabrielle, "well, I should really get over to the hospice and get some projects going with the women over there. Xena, I'll meet you at noon when the magistrates come to see you drill."
"Sure," replies Xena, watching Gabrielle's hips as she walks up the stairs of the foyer and out the front door. Lyceus too looks after the blonde woman, yet when he opens his mouth to say something, Xena holds up a hand.
"Not a word, brother, not a word," she says.
Both Themis and Aidos had come and gone at the hospice by late afternoon, on their way to the practice fields. Gabrielle had spent a whole candlemark explaining to them all the preparations taking place in Amphipolis. She told them that the townspeople––mostly the women as Xena had all the men––had been split into tasks of their skill. Those good with craft were told to start fashioning clay smoke bombs, arrowheads and arrow shafts. Those with strength help build high walls on both roads that led into the eastern and western gates of the town. And those left over had been sent to gather healing herbs in the forest, collect buckets upon buckets of water to store in the hall should there be a siege, and to tear endless pieces of cloth into bandage strips. The magistrates had paid close attention and Gabrielle was heartened to learn that they were at least considering participation in the movement.
Now, preparing to go join them on the field with Xena, she tries to finish up some of the tasks she had started. Adelphe stood next to her, churning a vat of beeswax and plantain salve over a fire.
"Good," says Gabrielle, bending to inspect the greenish fluid, "In a few minutes, Astrophe and Bella will help you divvy it up into jars to let it harden."
"Sho' thing, miss," says Adelphe.
"All right, I'll see you all tomorrow morning," says Gabrielle, and she leaves them to it.
As she walks through the marketplace on her way across town down toward the southern pasture, Gabrielle spots two familiar people talking to one another near the apothecary's building–– she intended to stop there to have a few words with Zelos, the alchemist. She steels herself and approaches Alaethea and who she remembers to be Mufias.
"Ah, here's the bard," greets Alaethea, visibly displeased in seeing the approaching blonde.
"Hello," says Gabrielle, allowing only sweetness in her voice.
"Alaethea and I were just discussing my absence from the drilling fields thus far," says Mufias. Gabrielle remembers not liking Mufias' tone at the dance a few days ago; the same is true now.
"Oh?" she says, looking at Alaethea.
"Yes, and it's simply because my father did not wish it. He has unfortunately taken ill recently, and now I am free to train with Xena. If you'll excuse me, I need to go speak with Zelos about the medicine he has prescribed." Mufias leaves them without another word and disappears inside the apothecary. Alaethea also turns to walk away but Gabrielle stops her.
"Taking a personal interest in Xena's betrothed?" asks the bard.
"Yes, of course. Xena needs all the manpower she can get," answers Alaethea.
"Mufias hardly counts as manpower. Are you not hoping, just a little, that he'll die if he were to fight in battle?"
"I believe that's called projection, Gabrielle." Alaethea's eyes twinkle, and her full lips set into a smirk. The memory of those lips crashing against Xena's invades Gabrielle's memory. She tries to swallow down her anger.
"I need to talk to you," she manages. Gesturing to a nearby alleyway, Gabrielle leads a half-confused, half-intrigued Aleathea in her wake.
"You wondering where Xena was last night?" taunts the brunette.
"I know where she was," replies Gabrielle, not saying any more.
"Then you must be trying to scare me off, then."
"No, there's no need to. Xena knows where her loyalty lies."
"Loyalty? Please. The woman is at the very whim of her desire."
"Now, yes she is," Gabrielle relents, "but you know she won't be in the future. She'll learn wisdom and control and love outside of your bastardising influence."
"What are you talking about?"
"I know who you are, Alaethea, or should I say, Ares," spits Gabrielle. In an instant, the attractive brunette is laughing, and then her face is changing, her stature growing, her body thickening into the darkly handsome form of the God of War.
"Very clever, bard," he says, "I didn't think it would take you this long to figure it out."
"Have you always been inside that poor girl?" she asks.
"Who? Alaethea? Nah, not always. Just when I saw Cortese on the march toward my chosen Warrior Princess, did I decide on a little... divine intervention. I can't inhabit a body without some consent of my host, though. The girl has been devoted to Xena all her life, obsessed some call it, so I saw an opportunity–– in this life and the other."
"So it was you who sent me here?" says Gabrielle, keen to learn the mystery of it all.
"Me? No no no, not me. I like to keep one eye on the loom of the Fates just to see if anyone's messing around, you know. When I saw one of the gods had sent Gabrielle of Potidaea back in time, I had to check it out for myself. And I swear on my Father's throne," he pushes the bard violently against the wall of the alley and draws close to her face, "if you try to take away the one period of time where I had her in my grasp, I will reduce you to a smoking pile of ash." His pupils are dilated, but a fire dances in the colour of his irises; a fire burns over the worlds unknown to mortal man.
"So you don't know who sent me?" says Gabrielle, trying not to blanche in the presence of a god so close.
"I'll figure it out and believe me, when I do, I won't be telling you," says Ares.
"Don't you think whoever did will make themselves known to me, the one they sent, before they do to you?"
"Maybe so, but Gabrielle," he says, backing up, "I am a god, and you are a bard."
Gabrielle holds his stare, not flinching.
"Oh, and take this bad seed back to her father, she'll be a little weak," says Ares. With that there is a flash of brilliant light and all that is left is the crumpled body of Alaethea on the cobbled surface of the street. Gabrielle rushes to the girl's side, taking her head in her hands.
"Alaethea? Alaethea wake up!" says Gabrielle, shaking the girl's shoulders.
"Wh– what?" she moans. Once her eyes flutter open, she brings a hand up to her head. "My head is throbbing."
"Do you remember what happened?" asks Gabrielle, her voice impatient.
"Ares," says the girl.
"Yes, Ares."
"Oh gods, my body aches," she says, clutching her arms, her skin turning pale. Gabrielle slips an arm under her shoulders and lifts the woman into a sitting position.
"Can you stand? Come on, we'll take you to Zelos," says Gabrielle. She helps Alaethea up and supports her weight, half carrying her to the apothecary.
Once inside, the two lumbering women startle Mufias who is deep discussion with old, wizened Zelos over a few viles in his hand.
"What's this?" asks Zelos, happy to have a distraction from Mufias.
"She's very weak, she needs a pain reliever," says Gabrielle.
"Bring her over here, child," he says, gesturing to a nearby cot. Gabrielle struggles with Alaethea, careful not to knock into any of the shelves holding thousands of multi-coloured liquids in various jars and viles and stoppered tubes. "Mufias! Make yourself useful, boy," he says. Mufias jumps from his inaction and helps Gabrielle with Alaethea. They lay her down on the cot and Zelos kneels next to her, checking her vitals. "What happened?" he asks.
"I'm not sure," lies Gabrielle, "I think she fainted and hit her head."
"Is that what happened?" Zelos asks to the sickly woman. Alaethea looks briefly to Gabrielle, noting the expression on the bard's face.
"Yes, it must be the weather," she answers.
"Frail girl like you would do well to drink more water," replies Zelos, getting up to rummage through his medicines. Mufias bids them all a good day, telling in much too long-winded a fashion that he had to go and tend to his father. With the alchemist distracted for the moment, Gabrielle kneels down next to Alaethea's side.
"Ares is a dangerous god," whispers Gabrielle, "you would do well not to get mixed up with him again."
"He brought Xena back to me," she says, her voice low, a sheen of sweat rising on her pretty face, "and I would do it all over again if I could."
"Foolish girl," Gabrielle hisses, "and if he did get her back? What do you think he would have done with you? Stayed in your body? He would have cast you away like wheat chaff, like he's done now."
"If you hadn't called him out," she replies. Zelos returns to her side, interrupting their conversation.
"Here we go," he says, putting a small brownish liquid up to her lip, "Drink this and it'll take away the pain. Your mind will be a little fuzzy, but the pain will leave."
Alaethea drinks down the brown liquid, making a face at its taste. Within a moment, she sinks down onto the cot and quiets her moans and sighs.
"She'll be all right for now," says Zelos to Gabrielle, "you could leave her here for a bit and then come back to check on her."
She doesn't want to, but Gabrielle knows she should stay with Alaethea if not to see that she is okay, then to make sure that she doesn't say anything about Ares in her drugged up state. Besides, she did have a few things to talk to the alchemist about. "That's okay, I'd like to stay," she says. Zelos nods his head.
"Good friend she has in you," he replies. Yeah right, thinks Gabrielle. She smiles uneasily.
From the cloudy vision of Alaethea's grey eyes, she sees the rough outline of a blonde woman talking to hunch-backed old man in deep purple robes. The colour around them is distended, looking like fanned auras. The blonde woman glows like an angel, casting all around her into shadow. Alaethea wanted to call out to the angel. Help me! she pleads. Then, a bright wind sweeps through the opened door, rattling the glass jars and viles and a tall frame is silhouetted in the threshold. The figure sweeps down the aisles, and walks into the angel's aura of light. The glow that results is blinding, so white a light that it makes one forget colour. It is healing, redemptive light, the stuff of Elysian suns.
She will rip her away from you. That voice deep as coal travels through Alaethea's body, makes her organs shudder at the sound.
I know, she answers.
Only I can get her back for you, says the voice.
I know, she answers.
Submit to me, says Ares. Alaethea looks into the heavenly light.
No, she says.
"What happened?" says Xena, breathlessly. She must have run all the way from the southern pasture.
"She's fine," says Gabrielle at once.
"Did she hurt you?" asks Xena, grabbing the bard and checking her body for any injuries.
"Why do you ask?"
"I assumed you two got in fight," admits Xena.
"We all don't resort to our hands to sort things out," draws Gabrielle. Xena has the grace to blush. Zelos grasps Xena by the shoulder.
"Young lady fainted," he said, "I gave her some Devil's Claw root. She's been a bit loopy."
"I'll say," mutters Gabrielle. Xena nods and thanks the alchemist for tending to her. She asks him how much they owe for his medicine and Zelos shakes his head, says he's willing to help a friend of Xena and Gabrielle what with all the good they were doing for Amphipolis.
"Thank you Zelos," Xena says again, grasping his forearm, "We'll take her home."
With Alaethea draped in her arms, Xena and Gabrielle walk east toward the girl's home. She and her father lived in town, on account of her father being very ill. Her mother had died in childbirth and only Alaethea was left to care for her father. Their home was a very silent, very sad place. And unfortunately, its very bleakness had darkened its beautiful child.
"What really happened?" Xena asks, grunting some at her burden. Gabrielle debates with herself for a moment.
"I saw her in the market when I was going to meet you, and she looked ill. So I went to see what the matter was and she collapsed in my arms. Ask her yourself when she comes to," answers Gabrielle. No sense in telling her of the God of War's presence; it might fill her with intrigue and self-purpose. Ares himself, taking interest in a small peasant war? It would raise too many questions.
"Alright," says Xena, not really at ease, "I believe you. You know, Gabrielle, it was good of you to help her in spite of everything."
"I don't deserve any credit for that," says Gabrielle, throwing a menacing look at the unconscious girl. Xena grunts. "Anyway," Gabrielle continues, "how did you know I was at the apothecary?"
"Mufias came to the field and told me, suck up slug," she said.
"Oh, so he is good for something," replies Gabrielle.
"Yeah, goosing," says Xena. The bard laughs.
"So you left the magistrates there?"
"Yeah, I handed 'em off to Lyceus," she says. They stop in front of a red clay stuccoed building.
"We better tell your mother that they're expecting a feast tonight," remembers Gabrielle.
"Already did," says Xena, smiling, "She went on a rant and I told her it was all your idea."
Gabrielle laughs and raises a hand to knock on the front door, but Xena shakes her head. "Just open it," she instructs, "Her father's bedridden."
Inside, it is dark and musky, a fire absent in the hearth. In the living room is set up a large goosedown mattress upon which lies a crippled old man. Beneath layers of blankets and with what seems like hundreds of scrolls scattered over their surface, he sits propped up by a dozen or so pillows. In his hand is an unfurled scroll over which contents he steadily moves his tired eyes. He doesn't notice the intruders until Xena is standing in front of him.
"Oh, Xena!" he startles, sending himself into a coughing fit, "Didn't see you there!" It is then that he realises what she carries in her arms. "Alaethea!" he yells, almost toppling over himself onto the floor. Gabrielle rushes forward and steadies him.
"It's okay," says the bard, "she's all right. She was just dizzy and Zelos gave her a potion for it." The man visibly settles down, situating himself back on pillows.
"I'm going to put her in her room. She'll be awake in a few hours," says Xena. Alaethea's father nods. Gabrielle elects to stay in the living room and start building a fire for the frail old man.
Xena carries the brunette down the short hall and up a flight of stairs which led to only one room. Inside, the room is a right mess. Fabrics and dresses and crumpled bits of parchment lay strewn over the floor. She moves deftly over to the single mattress on a rickety frame and deposits her burden onto its surface. Kneeling, she attempts to arrange the covers over her erstwhile lover. On the floor, however, she spots a drawling. The charcoal is smudged, but she can recognise the shape. Uncrumpling the parchment, Xena finds her own face looking back at her. It is drawn with quite some talent. Alaethea was always talented, remembers Xena.
"Xe–" comes a small, rough voice, "Xena." The warrior looks down at her charge, noting those grey eyes open further and register what she held in her hand.
"They're all like that," says Alaethae, casting her eyes about the room, over all the crumpled bits of parchment. "I can't seem to find anything else beautiful anymore."
"Oh, Alie," says Xena, dropping the parchment to the floor, "I'm sorry."
"So am I," she says, then drops once more into unconsciousness.
Downstairs, Xena finds a roaring fire in the hearth and Gabrielle in the midst of a fascinating story from the look on the old man's face.
"...and so Leda lay helpless on the banks of the Aegean, Zeus' seed planted within her. She watched as the great, powerful swan gathered its majestic wings and prepared to take flight once more up into the heavens. And it is said, that Leda gave birth to four eggs and in two of those eggs were Helen and Castor, and so Leda is said to be the mother of both love and war," finishes Gabrielle dramatically. The invalid claps his hands together, his soft skin barely making a sound.
"We've got to get going," says Xena from the doorway.
"Your friend tells a wonderful story, Xena," he says, "please, child, come back to me some time. I would love to hear more. As you can see, I am a great lover of stories."
"I would like that," says Gabrielle, genuinely. Xena has to pause a moment and allow herself an amount of awe. She glances to the hearth and thinks of Gabrielle, and how she can be a bright fire in the darkest of houses.
Outside, Gabrielle cannot help but lean into the solidly striding form of her friend. Responding, Xena slings an arm over the bard's shoulders and hugs her tight. They walk like that down the streets and the sky is an odd mixture of orange sunset and rain clouds, as if it cannot decide whether to darken or to storm.
"Xena," says Gabrielle.
"Hmm?" answers the warrior.
"When I was with Alaethea's father just now, I happened to glance briefly at one of his scrolls. He's an amazing writer. Just a sentence I read... 'The morn, all beauteous to behold, Drawn by white steeds bound o'er the enlightened earth; At once from ev'ry Greek with glad acclaim Burst forth the song of war"–– it was so beautiful and so sad. One sentence, huh? I wish I could write like that. Do you think people's tragedies make them more graceful?"
Xena grips the bard's shoulder, relishing their closeness. "Too deep for me, Gabrielle," she says. But really, she is saying yes, she thinks they do. "Better ask Lyceus."
"What's his name?" asks the bard.
"Aeschylus," replies Xena.
That evening, Cyrene's Inn is bursting forth with people. In fact, it had never seen this many patrons at one time. Word had spread throughout the counties, through Meride and Potidaea of this convention of warmakers, or was it peacemakers? They had set up the dining area with the head table situated on the raised platform of the second tier. At its head sits Xena, to her right Gabrielle, and next to her Lyceus. At Xena's left sits Aidos and then Themis and around them every villager this side of Thrace and their mother. The noise is a regular raucous, people talking heatedly and excitedly with one another. In fact, the energy of the gathered people amounts to a familial frenzy of appetites and swears and hearty laughs and beer being passed freely between tables filled with buxom ladies and bearded men.
Xena had explained to her mother that this dinner was important, that they needed the support of Aidos and Themis in order for their war strategy to work. And so Cyrene delivered, and boy did she deliver. Xena sinks back into her chair, happy to be part of it and happy to be at the centre of it. When dinner had been reduced to a pile of chicken bones and olive pits, Xena leans over to Gabrielle.
"What about now?" she asks, impatience in her voice. Gabrielle laughs and leans closer to Xena, their faces mere inches apart. Xena can smell a fragrant wine on the bard's lips and its effect is strangely arousing in the warrior. Although, if Xena would admit it, everything that bard did had a strangely arousing affect. They were both a little drunk, Xena muses, everyone was a little drunk. Perfect.
"Xena, let them enjoy the dinner," says Gabrielle, her eyes glazed.
"I've waited the entire dinner," retorts the warrior, "I don't see why we have to treat them with such extravagance, they should just join me and that's that."
"Oh, so everyone should just submit to you?" smiles Gabrielle.
"Everyone with whom I share wine," Xena purrs. Leaning in, she plants a quick kiss beneath the curtain of blonde hair, right beneath her jaw. Gabrielle swats playfully at the end of a lock of Xena's long black hair.
"Easy, princess," says Gabrielle, "I think it's time." She gestures with her eyes at Aidos, who seems to have taken an interest in the activities of the General and her Second. Xena fixes Gabrielle with an overtly desirous stare, then turns easily in her seat to Aidos.
"What say you?" she asks, skipping all formalities. Aidos turns to Themis and they exchange a look between themselves.
"It's a consensus, we pledge to join your campaign," he says. Xena looks at Themis who also nods his head.
"Good," is all Xena replies, as if she had known all along they had it in them to make the proper decision. Gabrielle feels a surge of joy rush through her. They would win the war, now she was certain. Xena had won it by herself of course, having no reason in the previous life to save Meride and Potidaea. So, now, with their towns banded together, they were sure to defeat Cortese. Gabrielle leans across Xena and addresses the magistrates.
"We would like to extend our hospitality for the night," she says.
"And talk with you in depth come morning for plans and preparations," finishes Xena. The magistrates agree. "Great," says Xena, "now announce it to the people."
Aidos stands from his chair and holds up his hands, yet no one seems to notice him. The noise continues at a dull roar. He attempts to knock an eating utensil against a wooden cup, and tries to whistle. Nothing works. Gabrielle can see that Xena is highly amused. Lyceus ribs Gabrielle in the side. Eventually, Xena comes to his aide. She makes a show of pushing back her chair, and usurping her towering height. In an instant, a quiet hushes over the people like admonished schoolchildren.
"That's better," says Xena, clearly drunk on her ego, "Aidos of Potidaea and Themis of Meride have an announcement for all of you." At her side, Aidos clears his throat, looking a bit miffed.
"By the honour invested in us by Zeus, king of all Gods, we magistrates of Potidaea and Themis pledge to aide Amphipolis in their war campaign against Cortese, the Butcher of Thessaly."
There is a deafening noise of acclamation among the people, and many cups of port and beer are clanged together in toast. Somewhere, a fiddle starts to play and tables and chairs begin to be moved for the purposes of dancing.
"We're gonna kill 'em all," mutters Xena, sinking back into her chair. Gabrielle does not hear her over the noise. Instead, she leans over to Lyceus and hauls him up to go join the people dancing. Xena watches her young brother and her what?... friend, lover, bard, brigadier? But in the warrior's sloshed mind, she doesn't care for labels anymore. If Gabrielle was close to her and loved her, that was all that mattered. She shuddered when she thought of this time last night in the river with Alaethea. How stupid. Glancing at Dimas a few seats down, she gets up from her chair. Interrupting his conversation with Leon, Xena stops at the back of his chair.
"Dimas," she says, "Come dance with me." Leon glances up at Xena and punches Dimas on the shoulder.
"Uh, yeah sure Xena," he says. She sweeps down the stairs and Dimas follows her without a word.
The space they managed to clear for dancing is small and so people take to squeezing in the aisles and then end up on the tops of the tables. Three fiddles play in tandem and the result is a raucous jig, the walls of the Inn threatening to crash down at their vigour. It was all much more loose and bawdy than the dance at the town hall earlier that week. Here the Amphipolean women batted eyelashes at Meridean men and Potidaen women were lifted in the air by Amphipolean men. Why do people dance in a time of war? Gabrielle muses to herself as she is thrown from partner to partner. Her cheeks rosy with delight and drink, she only laughs at the man who stomps on her feet, trying to grab at her behind. In a blur of motion, the man disappears from sight and Xena is at once in his place. Xena grins and places her hands properly on Gabrielle's waist.
Together, they dance through the crowds, sweaty and stomping their feet and pressing themselves so close together, and steadying each other with others knock brazenly into them. The pass a wandering tray laden with a large pitcher of half-drink wine, of which surely everyone had taken a sip. Xena knows what this is.
"It's the drink of brotherhood!" Xena yells, "For luck!" Grabbing the pitcher, Xena flashes a smile to Vernix who had been bearing the chalice around and raises it to her lips. After taking a healthy swig, she wipes the back of her hand over her mouth. She offers the pitcher to Gabrielle. Eyeing her companion, Gabrielle raises the pitcher to her mouth and takes not one, not two, but three large gulps.
"To Brotherhood!" she shouts, raising the pitcher in the air. Those around her who heard it take up the toast and emit loud yells of accord. Someone jars Gabrielle in their zealous dance and some of the wine slops over the lip of the pitcher and drenches the sleeve of her tunic, and stains one side of her blonde tresses red. Xena darts a hand to grab the clumsy dancer's collar, but Gabrielle puts a hand on her chest which means let him go; Xena releases him, but with a scowl. She hands the pitcher back to Vernix and he makes his way through the rest of the crowd.
"Come on!" Xena shouts, "Lets go get you cleaned up." Gabrielle nods and follows the warrior through a jungle of people and furniture out the back of the Inn.
The springhouse water splashes into the trough and Xena sets the buckets down on the ground.
"Come here," she says, gesturing for Gabrielle to kneel. In one motion, she sweeps off her tunic and plunges it into the water. She is only in a shift underneath, of which short sleeved cuff bears a wine red stain.
"Clumsy fool," mutters Xena.
"It doesn't matter," giggles Gabrielle, "Now wash my hair."
Obliging, Xena carefully gathers the locks of red blonde hair and waits as Gabrielle cranes her neck over the trough's edge. Once in position, Xena dips her hair in the cool water and rinses it gently. Laying with her ear down on the wood, Gabrielle can hear the amplified sounds of the water sloshing around. She looks up at Xena's jawline, the bared skin of her neck. Gods, what a beauty! she thinks. Suddenly, Xena looks down and catches Gabrielle openly admiring her. The bard can tell a blush when she sees one.
"All clean," says Xena, drawling her hair from the water. She fishes for the tunic a moment, then wrings the water from it and hangs it over the side of the trough. Xena plops down again on the ground next to Gabrielle, breathless from her day and her longing and her drunkenness. She looks to the bard.
"Why do ya think people dance in a time of war?" asks Gabrielle. Xena sighs at the question. But she's drunk enough to be a philosopher so she answers the bard.
"Because dancing is like war, it is virile, it is desirous and it is spontaneous. Except no one ever died from a dance."
"Has anyone ever died of love?"
"I'm sure they have," replies Xena, "Dancing is safer. War, even, I think is safer."
"Then I'd rather die," says Gabrielle, "to have love."
In an instant, Xena's lips are on Gabrielle's. She pulls the bard into her lap, and gathers her into one of the most impassioned kisses and if there were legions of poets to witness it, there would be inspired volumes of impassioned sonnets of any and all lovers. Gabrielle relishes the softness of Xena's lips and the incredible symmetry with which they fit with hers; for once, she casts that protesting voice of guilt away and allows herself to be swept up in Xena's winds. In a moment, tongues and hands and teeth are added and both women grasp in the dark at one another, as if clinging to their very lives. Now standing somehow, Xena guides them carelessly to the wall of the springhouse. She puts her hands behind the backs of Gabrielle's thighs and lifts her up; Gabrielle wraps her legs around Xena's hips and they fall sloppily against the wall. Gabrielle, suspended between rock and a solid body, buries her hands in Xena's thick, dark hair. She cranes her neck to give the beautiful warrior better access, which she feasts upon with tongue and lips and teeth. Xena must be a neck woman, thinks Gabrielle. Then, an image of these same lips raking down Alaethea's neck and down her bare chest flashes through her mind. The thought makes her moan aloud. Xena groans in response, slapping a hand on Gabrielle's strong thigh, moving up past the hem of her shift. Her lips seek out Gabrielle's once more. But she finds the lips clamped shut.
"Xena, stop," says Gabrielle, chancing one last nip at at Xena's bruised bottom lip. At once, the warrior releases her and sets her on the ground. Gabrielle straightens the hem of her shift, her hair dry on one side and wet on the other and mused beyond laughter. Xena does not look any better. Both breath heavily.
"I'm sorry," Xena begins, "I got carried away."
"So did I," admits Gabrielle, "I just don't know if––"
"No, it's okay. I understand." They are quiet for a minute.
"Well, I guess this is good night" says Xena.
"Yeah, good night," says Gabrielle. They both take a clumsy step forward and tangle in each other. Xena steadies Gabrielle by the shoulder, then places a sweet kiss on her cheek.
"Good night, Gabrielle," she says, then turns and walks to her cottage.
That night, as warrior and bard slept in their separate beds, they both dreamt of a brilliant light filling their rooms and of voices filling their bodies.
Xena––said the disembodied voice, strong and feminine––wake now, it is I, Artemis.
Gabrielle––sounds a deep, contemplative voice, ringing like diamonds––you must wake and listen to me. It is I, Athena.