Author: Livia Augusta (aka Elizabeth Wilde)
Title: The Storyteller (or Grandma, Tell Me a Story)
Distribution: Anyone who has my fic, anyone who wants it and asks, http://www.geocities.com/livia_augusta/myfic.html [my site]
Disclaimer: I do not own any Xena characters, sorry! Just borrowing them.
'Ship: Xena/other
Classification: general, mild angst
Summary: The grandchildren want another story.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: not really
Feedback: to livia_augusta@yahoo.com
Notes: This story was inspired by the song "Storyteller" by Ray Davies, who is a god. This was the first Xena fic I ever wrote.
The old woman laughed, smile lines creasing her already wrinkled face. Her eyes sparkled with merriment as three of her grandchildren begged for a story.
"Gramma, you tell the bestest stories," Xenea, the youngest, wheedled, her large brown eyes pleading for a tale. She twirled her strawberry-blond hair around a chubby finger shyly.
"Yeah, gramma, nobody tells a story better than you." This vote of encouragement came from Ixeus, the elder of the two boys. Nearly a teenager now, he was skinny and his limbs seemed too long to match his body.
Young Marcos joined in the effort to coerce their grandmother into sharing one of her heroic yarns. "Just one story before we go to bed, please?" His curly tan hair reminded the old woman of his grandfather, who had died some five years before.
"Very well," she assented. After years of sharing the stories with anyone who'd listen, the woman no longer needed her tattered scrolls to read from. Words fell from her tongue like drops of rain, pattering quickly onto the children's eager ears then relenting to a soft mist before unleashing another torrential downpour. By the time she had finished relating the adventure, all three children were wide-eyed with wonder, though they'd all heard the story a hundred times.
"Did you really do that, gramma?" Marcos queried in an awed tone.
"I did. Traveled around for years doing things like that just so I could have stories to tell you." She smiled indulgently. "Now, time for bed." The children groaned. An upheld hand stilled their complaints. They knew better than to fight their grandmother when her mind was set on something. "No arguing. I promise tomorrow I'll tell you another story. Maybe the one about David and Goliath." They cheered and hugged her one after the other. "Now off with you!" All three of them scurried into the small house.
Tired eyes stared at the stars. She could remember a time when each night they had been the roof she and her best friend drifted off the sleep under. //I still miss her . . .// Her friend has passed on a few spare months before her husband. Because of her four children, three of whom were the product of her husband's first marriage--their mother had died--she had never been alone. Grandchildren came often to fill her house with laughter and love. //I never would've made it to where I am without her, though. She was everything to me.// Her best friend had changed her forever, had changed the way she looked at the world. //Yes, she made me.// Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she blinked them back.
She addressed the stars shining overhead, stars that had seen every important event in her life and would soon witness her death. Part of her knew her friend watched from those stars and heard each word. "Thank you, Gabrielle."
Title: The Storyteller (or Grandma, Tell Me a Story)
Distribution: Anyone who has my fic, anyone who wants it and asks, http://www.geocities.com/livia_augusta/myfic.html [my site]
Disclaimer: I do not own any Xena characters, sorry! Just borrowing them.
'Ship: Xena/other
Classification: general, mild angst
Summary: The grandchildren want another story.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: not really
Feedback: to livia_augusta@yahoo.com
Notes: This story was inspired by the song "Storyteller" by Ray Davies, who is a god. This was the first Xena fic I ever wrote.
The old woman laughed, smile lines creasing her already wrinkled face. Her eyes sparkled with merriment as three of her grandchildren begged for a story.
"Gramma, you tell the bestest stories," Xenea, the youngest, wheedled, her large brown eyes pleading for a tale. She twirled her strawberry-blond hair around a chubby finger shyly.
"Yeah, gramma, nobody tells a story better than you." This vote of encouragement came from Ixeus, the elder of the two boys. Nearly a teenager now, he was skinny and his limbs seemed too long to match his body.
Young Marcos joined in the effort to coerce their grandmother into sharing one of her heroic yarns. "Just one story before we go to bed, please?" His curly tan hair reminded the old woman of his grandfather, who had died some five years before.
"Very well," she assented. After years of sharing the stories with anyone who'd listen, the woman no longer needed her tattered scrolls to read from. Words fell from her tongue like drops of rain, pattering quickly onto the children's eager ears then relenting to a soft mist before unleashing another torrential downpour. By the time she had finished relating the adventure, all three children were wide-eyed with wonder, though they'd all heard the story a hundred times.
"Did you really do that, gramma?" Marcos queried in an awed tone.
"I did. Traveled around for years doing things like that just so I could have stories to tell you." She smiled indulgently. "Now, time for bed." The children groaned. An upheld hand stilled their complaints. They knew better than to fight their grandmother when her mind was set on something. "No arguing. I promise tomorrow I'll tell you another story. Maybe the one about David and Goliath." They cheered and hugged her one after the other. "Now off with you!" All three of them scurried into the small house.
Tired eyes stared at the stars. She could remember a time when each night they had been the roof she and her best friend drifted off the sleep under. //I still miss her . . .// Her friend has passed on a few spare months before her husband. Because of her four children, three of whom were the product of her husband's first marriage--their mother had died--she had never been alone. Grandchildren came often to fill her house with laughter and love. //I never would've made it to where I am without her, though. She was everything to me.// Her best friend had changed her forever, had changed the way she looked at the world. //Yes, she made me.// Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she blinked them back.
She addressed the stars shining overhead, stars that had seen every important event in her life and would soon witness her death. Part of her knew her friend watched from those stars and heard each word. "Thank you, Gabrielle."