They came as if a flood washing down the road. Men injured, half dead and barely hanging on. The others were ghosts just floating about, not speaking, not looking anyone in the eye. All those young men and boys who had gone off to war came back as ashen men, the horrors they experienced draining something within them and leaving nothing but shells.

Tents had been set up as soon as they had been spotted. Now they are full with the sounds of death. A healer known as Hippocrates had wandered in amongst the soldiers, apparently drawn to help. His methods are new but I have found I'm a willing student and follow his every word.

I sit here now, cleaning a wound that smells foul and leaks even fouler liquid. The soldier passed out long ago from the pain. I stay in these tents, ignoring my own body's cries of pain, because it's the only thing that quells my worries.

Xena has yet to be seen. I keep waiting for her to stride in, exuding all her power and grace. But there is no word, no one has seen her. I'm not the only worried one, Cyrene paces everywhere, she's slept even less than me. The generals and those of rank tremble in fear. If the conqueror is dead, what does that mean for Greece? Rome will swoop in, taking the land from a weary and depleted army.

Alexius somehow seems to be keeping everything in control. Food and beds for any soldier still standing. Herbs, clean rags and a prayer to the Gods for those that are still between realms. He looks at me with such pity I almost can't stand to meet his eyes anymore. Damon shadows me, watching my every move, almost as if he's my bodyguard.

I finish cleaning the wound of the soldier, wrapping fresh rags around it. My body is stiff and sore, but I'm moving better than I was a few days ago. Hippocrates wrapped my ankle and I use the staff to help me walk. As I step out of the tent, cool air rushes to great me, it's night once more. The passing of day and night have eluded me these past few days. The moon is big and bright, I feel if I just stand on my tip toes my fingers might brush against its surface.

"Gabrielle." Cyrene's voice is rough and hushed. I turn, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. Suddenly this woman who was big and brash, feels so frail in my arms.

"Cyrene, you should get some sleep." She pulls away, giving me a sad smile.

"Are you going to get any rest?"

"I may not have a choice. I feel Hypnos beckoning me to a bed." I rub the back of my neck. "How about we both get some sleep." Tears begin to form at the corners of Cyrene's eyes. I know what she's thinking. Pushing down my own fears, I take her calloused hand in mine. "Don't give up yet." Cyrene merely nods before walking away, the tears falling in streaks down her face.

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The tittering of the trees playing in the wind slowly fills my ears. The breeze floats across my body, pulling me from the darkness. As my senses come back, the pain in my body makes itself known. I didn't die. My eyes drift open to a sky that is darkness and light at the same time. The sun is rising, pushing the clouds away, drying the earth beneath me. For this brief moment I forget that I am a warrior and a ruler. The humanness, the softness of caring, appears and relaxes my body. But it's quickly washed away by my inner demons.

I begin to force myself into a standing position, a movement my body rejects almost immediately. My jaw sets as my teeth lock together. Pushing away the pain, I move. Looking down at the sword still in my hand, I flex my fingers around its hilt. I feel as if I've run across Greece, breathing as if I only just stopped. My senses begin to stir, taking in my surroundings. My ears do not catch the sound of any movement, except that of a rabbit. My nose smells no fire, no smoke from a doused campfire or fireplace. I turn, scanning everything for any signs of life.

Behind me, not far off in the distance is a ramshackle building, probably a home. From this distance it looks abandoned, the roof partially caved in. To think, if I had walked just a bit further, I could have had a dry place to pass out. Slowly I walk towards it, more out of caution than the weakness in my body. The closer I get, the more it looks abandoned. The wood of the porch is half rotted, but the door is still in place. I push it open with the tip of my sword, wary of what may lie in the darkness. Still nothing.

Inside are the remnants of what it used to be. A table and some chairs scattered about. A cook pot on its side in front of the fireplace. Some blankets on crumbling beds. Without hesitation I grab every piece of cloth I can find and begin to tear them into strips, setting them on the table. I grab the rotting wood that lay scattered around, and hay from what used to be the mattresses and throw it all into the fireplace. Using the blade of my sword, I make sparks against the stone until the hay catches fire. Then with some considerable effort, I place the cooking pot back onto the hook that hangs within.

Water. There must be a stream or a well somewhere near. Taking the rags back in hand, I make my way out into the sun. There's no well out front, so I walk around the house till I am behind it. A well with crumbling stone walls sits in the middle of what looks like it could have been a herb and vegetable garden. I'm already able to spot several herbs that I need, growing wildly about. Looking in the well, a piece of rope still hangs onto a bucket that sits on a hook on the inside wall. My fingers test the rope but it's not completely rotted yet, it will hold.

The bucket drops down into the darkness with a splash. It's not dry and the relief I suddenly feel surprises me. The first bucket I pull up I use to wash the rags as best I can. The next, to wash the dirt and mud out of all the wounds that litter my body. Finally, the third bucket I carry, with all the strength I can muster, inside and pour it in the pot. I throw a few specific herbs into the water to boil. The rags drape across two chairs right in front of the heat to dry.

Finally I sit on the only remaining chair, my sword and chakram now sitting on the table. I put the remaining herbs in my mouth and chew until it becomes a thick wad. I keep doing this until all the dry herbs are gone. Mentally I try to prepare myself as I grab the dried rags. There are two arrow shafts still buried in my body. I sit in the chair and steel my nerves. My hands wrap around the shaft, sticking out of the side of my thigh muscle. I can't waste time. With a quick jerking movement, the remains of the arrow are thrown to the floor. Both sides of the wound get packed with the chewed herbs, then my thigh is wrapped in strips of cloth.

The hard part is next. Reaching back over my shoulder, my fingers find the arrow. I don't have very good leverage and can do more damage by not pulling it out straight. So my only choice is to pull it slowly. My mind focuses completely on the task, it's the only way to ignore the pain. It too clatters to the ground, my body slumping as soon as it leaves my hand. I don't have time to rest though and pack my wounds before binding them as tight as I can. I continue to pack gashes and cuts with the medicine, until my body is mostly wrapped in rags.

The pot is now boiling. I need to drink the tea I've made to help ward off the infection and to get some strength to keep going. There's a discarded cup in the corner. It"ll have to do for now. I use a leftover rag and wipe out the dirt and dust, then I dip it into the hot liquid. As I sit and drink I can't help but wonder what's happened to my men. Did Xerxes push past my forces and take control?

After a few more cups it's time to move on. It may take me days or weeks to walk home, but now I"ll have a better chance of making it. I don't even think about anything but getting back. I have to make sure Greece doesn"t fall into the wrong hands. Gabrielle showed me that. The clarity of what my decisions can really impact. For now I am the only hope.

I walk for days, living off the fish and animals I can kill. Luckily I'm adept to living out here, but it's not easy with as many wounds as I have. They are healing though. I've even unwrapped some wounds. I just keep pushing, avoiding towns and farms. People can't see me like this, they'll lose faith in my abilities, see me as weak.

The second I hit the edge of my land, my steps quicken and the weight of worry that has been sitting on my shoulders is lifted. There's no one tending to the vines, in fact I don't see anyone at all. The smell of death drifts on the wind. I move quicker. As I get closer I hear the sounds of people and animals. I stop just behind the Villa, looking up at the terrace that sits outside my private quarters. I look up into a face full of sadness and grief. She looks beautiful nonetheless. I want to call out to her, to show her I'm ok, but I also want to stand here and hold her in my memory forever.

Something catches her attention and she turns, looking down at me. Gabrielle straightens, body rigid in disbelief. It takes seconds before she takes off into a run, disappearing from view. Hell, I run too. The world fades around me as I turn into the courtyard. Her body slams into mine, arms wrapping around my neck as I pick her up. She doesn't even hesitate as her lips crush against mine. Tears stream down her face and she buries her head into my neck. I let go of her and pull away.

"Xena." She whispers, looking up into my eyes. My forehead falls against hers. This, whatever this is, it's overwhelming and powerful. The moment I saw her up on that terrace I knew. I can't leave her again, I don't know what that will do to my heart.