Caesar had expected Xena to send for him that night. She did most nights, and always after a brush with Callisto's forces, even if she did not meet the Bright Warrior on the field herself. He was not disappointed; she sent for him shortly after sundown, right after her evening meeting with her commanders. She was rough with him when he was brought to her, more so than she had been in a long time; when she hurt him, he shoved her away in protest. As was her custom, Xena responded by striking him hard upside the head; as he struggled to come back to himself, he heard her say coldly, "Don't you ever push me away like that, slave. You don't get the right to deny me. Not you."

Once the room stopped spinning, he met her gaze just as coldly. "If you're going to strike me, at least have the decency to strike me for something I've done, and not because you're angry at the Bright Warrior."

That had been a guess on his part, based on some information he had overheard Dagnon telling her captain of the guard Darius. Xena was good enough to confirm it by cuffing him again, harder; bright lights burst across his vision. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard Xena say, with real heat in her voice, "You leave Callisto out of this. It doesn't concern you."

"Does," he mumbled thickly. "Does—it does concern me, since I'm the one being struck for it."

He thought she might strike him a third time, but she didn't; instead a draft of cold air swept over him as she tossed back the fur rug. His vision cleared; he lay back among the soft skins, watching her as she crossed the floor of her sleeping chamber, skirting the battered table in the middle of the room, to an overly ornate cabinet standing in the corner, beside the stone block to which the chain of his collar was fastened. The cabinet was lacquered with images of dragons; she had brought it back with her from Ch'in. Even dressed in an old bedrobe, she was utterly captivating, he thought, watching her; he mused that he had never seen a more beautiful woman, not even the Bright Warrior. Now Xena opened the cabinet doors and took out an earthen jar of simple plum wine, captured from a village somewhere; he had always been scornfully amused that a conqueror like her could have such simple tastes. She poured some into a glass for herself, stopped, and then poured out a second. Carrying both glasses and skirting the battered wooden table in the middle, she returned to where he lay.

"Drink it," she ordered, shoving one into his chained hands.

He turned his head aside. "I don't want it," he said coldly.

"I don't care what you want. I want to drink, and I hate drinking alone."

"Why don't you send for your little blonde toy?" he tossed at her resentfully.

"Slave, I'm beginning to think you are jealous after all." She smiled, cruelly pleased.

"How could I be jealous of someone so completely beneath notice?" Which she had been; he had seen nothing to differentiate her from Xena's other hundreds of girls, though admittedly she had showed a bit more spirit than most. He had often wondered disdainfully what a woman like the Dark Conqueror saw in peasant girls like those. It annoyed him, to see her wasting herself on those who were so clearly beneath her. Can't she see she deserves better?

"If you want to drink," he continued, "send for her. You're not going to be drinking with me."

The Dark Conqueror's mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "I don't wanna drink with her. You're gonna drink it, slave, or I'm gonna find a more creative use for it."

He stared at her, measuring the depth of her will, then sullenly took a gulp from the glass.

"More," she ordered, her jaw set.

He took another swallow, then a third, careful to limit his intake; when Xena seemed satisfied, he set it down on the floor beside them. Xena settled crosslegged next to him, and took a sip from her own glass, then let it hang from her fingers, staring vacantly off into space; she seemed almost to have forgotten he was there. After a moment, she gave a sigh.

"It'll be a year ago tomorrow," she said after a moment, seeming to speak mostly to herself.

"A year ago?" Caesar realized what the answer must be almost as soon as he asked the question; Xena tossed him a furious glance—whether she was blaming him for reminding her, or whether she was simply angry that he had asked something so obvious, he couldn't tell.

She glared at him, then gestured to his glass. "What's the matter, slave? Don't you appreciate my tastes?"

He swallowed some more to placate her. "Not really. This is vinegar. My slaves had better than this."

"If it's good enough for the Dark Conqueror, it should be good enough for the likes of you," she sneered.

"Has anyone ever told you how unattractive you are when you drink?"

"Anyone important? No." She sneered at him again. "Finish the damn wine, slave. After all, you've got something to celebrate, don't you?"

There was vicious anger in the last words, but he knew her well enough by now to hear the pain underneath. Another sip from the glass helped him conceal his thoughts. He knew exactly what she was talking about, though he had assuredly not been celebrating at the time. It had been a year ago that the news had reached the Dark Conqueror's army of Callisto's destruction of Amphipolis.

Caesar had seen Xena's home village once, when her army had passed back that way; it had surprised him a great deal, and amused him as well, to see that someone as magnificent as the Warrior Princess could have come from such unremarkable origins. He had also met her mother on that occasion—Cyrene, Xena had told him her name was; Cyrene, alone and unarmed, had met Xena at the outskirts of her village with a stinging slap, and told her in no uncertain terms to turn aside. Caesar had waited to see if Xena would order her mother killed for defying her; the Destroyer of Nations had listened, her face as icy and immobile as a glacier…and had backed down. "We go around," she had said curtly, and of course no one else in her army had dared say anything. She had shown nothing overtly, but had seemed depressed and downcast when she had sent for him that night; the sight of the Daughter of War in her gleaming armor giving way before the peasant woman was one that he had never forgotten.

Nor had he forgotten Xena's reaction when the messenger had reached them from Amphipolis, telling them that Callisto had taken the village while Xena was occupied with the Crusader, to the south. The messenger had given reports of what the Bright Warrior had done there, and had finished by telling of the burning alive of Xena's mother, the peasant woman who had dared to strike the Warrior Princess. Caesar had watched Xena's face carefully during the recounting of the tale, looking up at her from where she kept him chained, and had seen not a trace of emotion on those icy features; she had listened, eyes veiled, mouth flat, and even when the messenger had unwrapped the bundle Callisto had forced him to carry back, containing Cyrene's charred bones, Xena had not so much as flickered an eyelash. "Very well," was all she had said. "Dagnon, tell the army we head north in the morning, and see that the messenger is compensated for his pains."

She had carried it off very well, well enough to fool even him; it hadn't been until she summoned him that evening that he had truly seen her. Though not normally one to drink to excess—no more than he had been—she did occasionally indulge; indeed, he had sometimes thought that her bouts of indulgence had been growing in frequency and severity since she had taken him, though it was difficult to tell. Yet that night when he was brought to her, she had been drunker than he had ever seen her before or since. Her immense rage and grief that night had been magnificent. He had watched, half in awe, as the Dark Conqueror had raged and wept, hurled abuse at the heavens and the gods themselves, raved about the futility and worthlessness of her conquests, and finally turned that wrath on him. They say you can't take it with you, she had said, snarling an ugly sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, but I can take you with me. Can't I….slave? And she had drawn her dagger and held it to his throat.

Dissuading her had not been fun. Occasionally he had wondered if that had been what she had been like after he had betrayed her.

Now, remembering, he asked, "The Bright Warrior's going to launch her assault in two or three days, isn't she?"

She turned a suspicious glare on him. "How d'you know something like that, slave?"

"If that imbecile you've made your second in command can't be bothered to keep his mouth shut, don't blame me."

Xena glared at him for a moment longer, as if considering whether to speak to him. At last she gave a long sigh. "Yeah." The hostility seemed to drain out of her, leaving weariness behind. "She is. I thought her forces had been depleted at the Ch'in border in her battle with Lao Ma's army, but….We ran into one of her scouting parties in the east. She's only a few days' ride from here." She looked down at the wine glass she still held as if she weren't sure what to do with it; after a moment, she poured it out into the packed earth of the floor. "I thought I was done with her," she said quietly, looking at the dark stain on the earth where she had poured out her glass. Her face was perfect and unreadable. "At least for a while. But now…."

He watched her carefully. "Callisto the Fiery is hard to finish. How many times have you thought you've finished her before?"

Xena grimaced. "Many. And she always comes back. It's like that song about the cat—d'you ever hear that one, slave?" At his uncomprehending look, she waved a hand at him; then closed her eyes. "Why'd she have to come back now? Why can't she just leave me alone? She…she got what she wanted—isn't it enough already? Why does she have to keep chasing me? I—she and I, together we could have—if she hadn't, we could have—"

Caesar had heard her in this mood many times before, and quickly attempted to divert her, as much for his own sake as for hers; a depressed, self-pitying Xena was hardly a pleasant companion, and could be a dangerous one. "You should be able to defeat her handily. Even if she has managed to rebuild her forces, I doubt she'll have the manpower to match you, and her forces will still be mostly green recruits."

Xena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; he could see she knew what he was trying to do, but was willing to allow it…perhaps even grateful for it. "Maybe," she said after a long pause. "But from what I hear, the Crusader is planning her return from Africa—building up ships, amassing a navy….If she comes back….One at a time I can handle." Maybe, she did not say. Caesar knew her well enough to hear it anyway. "Both at once…." She broke off, rubbing her forehead with one hand.

Caesar frowned in thought, considering. "From a purely practical standpoint, She of the Djinn is the better choice for an alliance. You've had dealings with her in the past."

"Briefly, and it's not a case of 'practical.' The word you're looking for there, slave, is possible." Xena snorted. "Callisto'll do whatever it takes to hurt me no matter what the cost. Remember the last time I sent messengers to her?" Caesar did. Callisto had taken those men, cut them open, and poured hot coals into the wounds while they were still alive. "The Crusader at least has more sense. She'll work with me to stop Callisto; she's done it before. She doesn't hate me, just…." Xena trailed off. She reached out with one hand and he felt her absently stroking his shoulder; he thought again, watching her, that even staring into space, she was the most incredibly beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. When my destiny comes, he mused, perhaps I'll spare her. If she begs me to. Spare her, and take her as my empress… The thought of her in the purple and gold robes of an empress—his empress—with the golden laurel wreath on her head, was breathtaking.

"Just?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. When she spoke, her voice was oddly hesitant. "She told me once…during our negotiations, she was tellin me all this crazy stuff about her Light and her djinn—I think she was trying to get me to follow her—and she comes out and says that she… that she pities me."

She gave him that hesitant, sidelong glance again. Caesar frowned. "She pities you?"

"Yeah. Can you believe that?" Xena gave an attempt at a scornful laugh, but to Caesar's ears it sounded hollow. "Her, pitying me? The Daughter of War. That's a good one, isn't it, slave?"

He was silent, thinking. He had never met Najara up close—Xena had not brought him along on her negotiations—but he had heard a great deal about her, both from Xena herself and from conversations he overheard as he lay chained to the base of Xena's throne. "Maybe she pities you because she knows she'll defeat you."

He had merely been speaking his thoughts, but Xena took it badly; she turned, stung, and struck him with a hot glare. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she accused. "Remember what 'll happen to you if she should kill me, slave?"

"It might be worth it to see you die," Caesar replied coldly. He watched her carefully to see if his shot struck home, and it had; he saw hurt in her eyes. He had barely a moment to treasure the satisfaction, before Xena cuffed him again, hard, upside the head. As he struggled to come back to himself, she rose to her feet in a rustle of silks. She crossed the floor to the stone block where his chain was attached, and unlocked it.

"All right, slave, time for you to go back," she said, her blue eyes bright with anger. She yanked hard on the chain, pulling the iron collar tight against his throat and choking him. He raised his bound hands to claw at it, struggling to relieve the pressure. "You're getting cranky, and I don't feel like dealing with it tonight."

As the guards took his chain in their hands and led him away, he glanced back over his shoulder. Xena was standing in the doorway of her tent, head bowed and one hand pressed to her forehead. He could not see her expression—she was in silhouette—but he somehow thought that she was in pain, and wondered if he had hurt her more than she had let on. For a moment, he almost regretted it. Almost. Then she lowered the tent flap, and his view of her was cut off.

The summons came for Gabrielle at the crack of dawn, earlier than the day before. In the small tent the Dark Conqueror had provided for her, she rose and dressed, wondering if Xena wanted her to serve breakfast before she went to the healers as she had been promised. Quickly, she pulled on the clean white gown Xena had given her, sliding the heavy golden jewelry up her arms and into place around her neck.

When she stepped into the dim light of the command tent, she was surprised to see that the plank table at which Xena took her meals was bare, and the Dark Conqueror was nowhere in evidence. She turned to look at the guard who had brought her in surprise. "Go through to the back," the guard told her, unsmiling.

Gabrielle stepped through the partition at the back of the main room into what she realized was the Dark Conqueror's sleeping chamber, furnished with lacquered, gleaming wooden furnishings, thick rugs, luxurious furs and hanging oil lamps—multiple lamps, though at Athens, lamp oil had been rare and expensive. A small table was in the middle of the room, and in one corner stood a strange heavy granite block with a stone ring attached; Gabrielle wondered what it was for briefly, but then dismissed it.

All of this registered in only a few seconds, as Gabrielle's attention immediately went to Xena.

The Dark Conqueror was lying in bed, a heavy frame structure covered with rich furs, propped up on a pillow. Her long, black hair cascaded about her shoulders. Her face was pale, her blue eyes half-lidded and heavily shadowed. She looked…almost ill, Gabrielle realized in surprise. Xena waved a hand at the soldier who had brought Gabrielle in.

"Tell the cook to bring me some breakfast," she ordered him.

"Yes, my Queen," the soldier replied and backed out.

"My…my lady?" Gabrielle faltered, unsure what to think of seeing Xena in this state.

"Gabrielle." Xena turned her eyes toward Gabrielle. "I'm not feeling good today."

"I'm…sorry to hear that, my lady," Gabrielle responded. "Do—do you need a healer, or—"

"Nah." She raised one hand to rub her head. Gabrielle thought peripherally that she looked almost depressed, and was surprised at her own, strong reaction to the idea of this powerful woman in pain. Xena…. "I'm not going out this morning. You're gonna stay here and tell me stories, instead."

Gabrielle began carefully, "My lady…yesterday I thought that you had said I could go with the healers—"

"Yeah, and this is a whole new day, and I'm saying something different," Xena said with rising irritation. "You said yesterday that you couldn't stand to see people suffering. Well, I'm suffering now, and you're gonna help me. Or are you telling me no?"

"Of course not, my lady," Gabrielle said quietly. "I would never do that."

"Good." The Daughter of War's mouth had an ugly twist to it. "You're my servant, and if I tell you to stay here and tell me stories, that's what you're gonna do, understand?"

"Yes, my lady." Gabrielle swallowed. "What…what stories would you like to hear? I know the epics of the Trojan War and the founding of Rome, and of Ulysses's journey home; I've memorized tales of the gods and heroes, and I even…" She paused, uncertain whether to mention it. "I've even learned tales of your mighty deeds," she brought out hurriedly, "if you would care to hear them—"

Xena glanced at her. Something that might have been the barest edge of a smile flickered at her face, and was immediately extinguished. "Tales about me?"

Gabrielle nodded, trying to smile. "There are many tales about you, if you would like to hear them."

If anything, the shadow over Xena's face deepened. "Nah." She waved a hand at the bard and turned away.

"Then what….what would you like to hear, if I might ask?"

There was a long pause at that. Gabrielle waited, watching the Daughter of War. Even lying ill in bed, Xena drew the eye. After a moment, she said, "Tell me about your mother."

What? Gabrielle realized she had said it aloud. "I'm sorry?"

"Your mother. Tell me about your mother," Xena said impatiently. "You must've had one, right? So tell me about her. Come on, let's hear it."

"My….my mother…." Gabrielle swallowed. She was remembering what the slave had said the day before, and was so apprehensive she could barely speak. Yet somehow, the distress in Xena's face touched her—maybe it was that powerful charisma, maybe something else. Somehow, Gabrielle found courage. "She….she's very kind…."

"Yeah?" Xena was watching her closely, with a strangely poignant expression. "She is?"

"She...she is," Gabrielle affirmed, swallowing. "The—the kindest mother in the whole village," she amplified, "or at least I thought so anyway. She would always make my favorite meal whenever I was sad, to cheer me up, and…and she would sew my dolls when they were ripped or torn…."

"Did she…did she cook, or anything? Like, did she make cookies?"

"She sure did." Gabrielle couldn't suppress a smile at the thought of those cookies. "Whenever I got home from the academy—well, I only really got home once since I started going, it was the first month I was there—but she and Dad walked out two miles from my village to meet me on the road. Mom carried a plate of my favorite lemon cookies the entire way, so that I could have them as soon as I got home, because she guessed that I'd missed them."

She paused, remembering. Somehow the thought of her mother's lemon cookies comforted her, diminished the apprehension a little. She went on, losing herself in the reassurance provided by thoughts of home. "My sister and I used to love coming back to the house after playing on cold winter days, because Mom would always have dinner ready and waiting for us—it would smell so good. I liked her lentil stew best—it was so thick you could practically eat it with a fork. Lila—that's my sister—liked Mom's cabbage rolls. They were good too," she said, remembering. "That's the one thing I really missed about the Academy, was Mom's food."

"Huh." Xena's face was shadowed. She looked pensive, downcast. Gabrielle watched her. She was still afraid, but somehow less so than she had been; she didn't know why, but again, it seemed as if she could sense the Dark Conqueror's pain, and it touched her heart. She could not deny that need. After a moment, her heart in her throat, Gabrielle ventured, "If—if you d-don't mind my asking, my lady, is there—is there s-some reason you want to hear, or—?"

"What? Nah, I just—kinda want to hear about it," the Dark Conqueror averred. "My mom cooked too. She was an innkeeper….." She paused. An innkeeper? Gabrielle wondered. "Well, don't stop," she said with some irritation. "Go on, go on, tell me some more. Like—like, what did you do for Solstice? Did you get a Solstice tree, or….?"

"Yes, we did," Gabrielle said, remembering. "We all would go out together and get the straightest Solstice tree in the woods that we could find, and cut it down and bring it back. Mom made some ornaments—she baked them out of dough, and Lilla and I would paint them and hang them on the tree. One of them was Tympani—that's my pony, Tympani, I had when I was little. Tympani's ornament was mine—I would always fight with Lilla over who got to hang that ornament—"

"Yeah?" The Dark Conqueror was listening with that strange, poignant expression. "Did you—did you have the rule that you could open one Solstice gift the night before?"

"Oh, yeah!" Gabrielle said, suddenly reminded. "Mom always said it wasn't fair to us kids to make us wait like that, so she would always pick out one gift apiece for us to open. Mom and Dad would always get into these mock fights about that—Dad's family didn't do it that way, and he would go around scoffing and acting all put out about it, like it was such an outrage, but we could always tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was just kidding. And then we would try and guess what the rest of the gifts we got were by the shapes of the presents under the tree, I remember this one year, I was sure I got a hat…."

"Were your Mom and Dad…." Xena paused, looking almost hesitant. "How do they…..are they….Did they fight a lot, or—Are they happy together?"

"Yeah," Gabrielle said quietly, thinking. "Yeah, they are. They really are. They'll argue sometimes, but in the end they're really devoted to each other. Even in the village, I knew I was lucky, that my parents cared for each other like that. I hoped….I hoped that I would one day have the same kind of marriage, but….." Suddenly she thought of Perdicus, the husband she had had so briefly, and her throat closed up; she felt her eyes stinging.

She was jolted out of her grief by Xena's voice. "Well, go on—tell me more. How—how did your parents meet? Did your mom—"

So Gabrielle went on, losing herself in reminiscences of home. She spoke for what seemed like hours, wandering through her childhood memories of sunny Potedaia, relating tales of scrapes she and Lilla had gotten into, talking about her family's routines and daily life—helping her father plant in the spring, fishing in the brook near the house, making offerings to the temple of Gaia with her family. At first she wondered why the Dark Conqueror would want to hear these tales—Gabrielle worried that she might be boring Xena, but the Destroyer of Nations listened raptly, showing real interest, cueing her with questions when she faltered or felt as if she were running out of things to say. When the servant brought Xena's breakfast in, she waved it aside, picking at it absently as she listened to Gabrielle. As she talked, Gabrielle found her fear slipping away—she welcomed the chance to remember a time when she had been safe and secure, and was eager to lose herself there. Xena seemed no less eager, and as Gabrielle continued to talk, the Dark Conqueror's downcast mood seemed to dissolve; she laughed at the funny parts, expressed outrage over Gabrielle's childhood injustices, crowed with delight over her triumphs, and made sympathetic noises over the bard's tales of youthful defeats. It felt almost as if the two of them were simply talking, like two new friends meeting. Or old friends, Gabrielle mused, wondering. Old friends meeting again after a long separation…. It was strange that she could feel so at home with the Dark Conqueror.

"Oh, you should have seen her!" Gabrielle exclaimed, laughing so hard she almost lost her balance. "She was so muddy—of course, I was just as muddy, after she pushed me in like that—"

"Well, whose idea was it even to go down there in the first place?" Xena asked, laughing hard herself.

"Oh, it was mine of course—Lila was a real mama's girl, she probably wouldn't have gotten into half the trouble she did as a child without me. Oh, and get this—" Gabrielle suddenly remembered. "So at just that time, of course Mom comes by, just after Lila has pushed me down in the mud, and sees us there--'What happened here?' So here I am—just had the wind knocked out of me, can't even talk—and what does Lila do?"

"What does she do?" Xena asked, grinning.

"She goes, 'Gabrielle pushed me!' Which was a flat-out lie," Gabrielle averred, grinning herself. "I did not push her. She fell down on her own—I didn't even think she was going to fall! So guess what Mom does?"

"What?"

"So picture this: There I am, down at the bottom of the hill, gasping for breath, can't even talk, and Lila's standing up at the top, perfectly fine except for being covered with mud, and Mom goes, 'Gabrielle, you're grounded.' I was grounded! When I hadn't even done anything but led Lila out there! Now tell me—wasn't that unfair?"

Xena clicked her tongue and shook her head in disgust. "That rat!" she exclaimed. Eyes bright, she asked, "At least tell me you got her back.

"Sure did—I put a frog in her bed that night," Gabrielle said, grinning. "I felt a little bad, but really—she had it coming. And it was fun to hear her freak out too—you know how little sisters are."

"I never had a little sister," Xena said, shaking her head. "I had two brothers."

"Older or younger?"

"Both. I was a middle child." She paused, and a shadow crossed over her face, somehow chilling the atmosphere of the room. Gabrielle fell silent, unsure what to say.

After a moment Xena spoke. "You make me feel so good, Gabrielle," the Dark Conqueror told her quietly. "I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard."

Gabrielle bit her lip. A qualm ran through her; the slave's words, which she had almost succeeded in forgetting, returned to her mind. Most last a week, maybe two if they're lucky…some exceptional few have made it to three…. The fear she had managed to banish while lost in her memories suddenly returned; her stomach knotted with unease.

Xena sensed it. "What?" she asked her.

Gabrielle didn't answer. She was afraid to. She sat, mute, as the Destroyer of Nations looked her over carefully. A frown crossed her face.

"You've been talking to my slave, haven't you?" The frown deepened, and so did the chill in the air. "Haven't you, Gabrielle?"

"Y—yes," Gabrielle whispered. There was nothing else to say.

"What'd he tell you?"

"I—"

"Come on, Gabrielle," Xena demanded, her scowl darkening further. "Spit it out. What'd he tell ya?"

"He said….he said…." She stammered, afraid to continue. Xena's blue eyes fixed on hers, piercing, demanding. Gabrielle's mouth was dry as a desert. "He said that….that you did this in every town you pass through. He said that you had taken hundreds of girls to be your slaves and that you'd…."

"That I'd what?" That stare. Harsh, cold, expressionless. Gabrielle could not read the emotions behind that snowy mask.

"He said that you'd k—killed them. Killed them all."

Xena was silent for a long time. Her expression could have meant anything. "They betrayed me."

Gabrielle was silenced by the bleakness of Xena's voice. Her heart was caught in her throat. The anger the Destroyer of Nations had shown earlier was gone. Her pain was naked in her face, and wrenched at Gabrielle's heart. She felt sympathetic tears prickle at the back of her lids. "Xe—Xena," she managed, surprised at the strength of her own emotions. "Xena—"

"They all betrayed me." She closed her eyes, and Gabrielle saw her swallow. "Every one of them. I hoped. I thought—but they all did, one way or another. They all did."

"Oh, Xena," Gabrielle whispered. "I'm sorry." She barely knew what she was saying. She knew she should be afraid—should be reacting in horror to Xena's confession; she knew that it did not bode well for her—but the pain on Xena's face made her own heart ache. She was suddenly struck by a terrible wave of pity for the Warrior Princess, so strong it left her shaken. "I'm so sorry…."

Xena opened her eyes now and looked at Gabrielle. "Don't you betray me. Please, don't ever betray me." Her eyes were too bright.

"I won't." Gabrielle heard herself promise. This woman is a monster, she thought dimly, trying to remind herself; it made no difference. She felt no fear, only that terrible sorrow. The thought was distant, remote. "I promise I won't, Xena."

A smile trembled on the Destroyer of Nations' lips. "You're a good girl, Gabrielle," she said quietly. She stood up then, pushing back the fur over her. "I think I'm going to go out today after all," she said, and smiled at Gabrielle again. "Go have Argo readied for me, would you?"

Touched, Gabrielle went, troubled by the image of Xena's pain.